Lucy Foster Madison

“From every valley and hill there come
The clamoring voices of fife and drum;
And out in the fresh, cool morning air
The soldiers are swarming everywhere.”

—“Reveille,” Michael O’Connor.

“But first, Harriet, do take off that bonnet, and let me see thee as thou art really; with thy hair about thy face. So.” Peggy reached over and untied the bow as she spoke, then removed the prim little bonnet from her cousin’s head. “How beautiful thee is,” she commented gazing at the maiden with admiring eyes. “I think thee grows more so every time I see thee. That bonnet doth not become thee.”

Harriet shook back her chestnut ringlets, and laughed gaily. Her wonderful eyes, dancing with mirth, were starry in their radiance.

“One would think that I did not make a good Quakeress, Peggy, to hear you talk. Now confess,” pinching Peggy’s cheek playfully, “you did not dream that I was aught other than Truelove Davis; did you?”

“N-no; and yet thee puzzled me,” said Peggy. “Oh, Harriet, thee should turn play actress.”

“Well, there are times when I think of it, cousin mine. ’Tis rare sport to make others believe that I am that which I am not.”

“But why did thee do it, Harriet? And to be here alone on the highway!”

“I wanted to see Clifford, Peggy. Neither father nor I had heard aught from him since the misfortune at Yorktown, save that he was at Lancaster. We knew not whether he was ill or in health, or whether he was meeting with kindness or not. As your Congress permits supplies to be sent to the captured British it occurred to me that I might come along with them and find out about my brother. Of course, as the Most Honorable Council of Pennsylvania had banished me from the state, I dared not come openly, so I slipped in by the back door, as it were.

“Father would not hear of my coming at first. Then I dressed up in this garb, and went in to where he sat talking with the new commander, Sir Guy Carleton, who hath come to take Sir Henry Clinton’s place, and neither one of them knew me. Sir Guy declared that there would be no danger, as a Quakeress would meet with respectful treatment anywhere. He gave me a pass which would further insure my well being, and so, when a boat load of stores was shipped to Head of Elk the first of this week, I came with it. Everything hath gone off well until this breakdown, and I do not regret that, since it hath brought us together. So you see, Peggy, the matter is very simple after all.”

“Yes,” said Peggy. “Harriet, thy brother was at our house in Third Month.”

“He was?” exclaimed Harriet. “Tell me about it, Peggy.”

And Peggy told her all that had happened on that memorable first of March, with its consequences.

“So the Council hauled you and Sally up before it, did it?” cried Harriet. “Oh, dear, Peggy! you are always getting into trouble over us, aren’t you? And Sally, and Robert, and Fairfax, all helped you in the affair. That makes me feel sorry about Fairfax Johnson. Do you know, Peggy, that matter hath created quite a stir in New York? There were many who wanted Sir Henry to turn over Captain Lippencott to the rebel general, but the court-martial found that he was acting under verbal orders from the Honorable Board of Associated Loyalists, and so should not be punished for obedience. Sir Guy is not altogether satisfied with the finding.”

“It was very sad, Harriet,” said Peggy, the tears coming to her eyes. “Fairfax was only doing his duty in defending the state from invasion, and ’twas most inhuman to execute him in such a lawless manner. Our people are not satisfied to let the matter rest, because ’twas a crime committed in open defiance of the laws of war.”

“Oh, well,” spoke Harriet lightly. “Don’t let’s talk about it, Peggy. I dare say Sir Guy Carleton and your General Washington will arrive at some understanding regarding the affair. Is that your mother’s coach coming?”

“Yes. She will be glad to see thee, Harriet. She is fond of thee. And Robert Dale is beside her. Thee will like him, Harriet. Indeed, I know not how one could help it.”

“Indeed, my cousin?” Harriet’s brows went up quizzically. “I thought you were all for Captain Drayton? I rather prefer this Major Dale myself. He hath more manners than John Drayton ever had.”

Peggy’s face flushed, but she observed quietly:

“They are both dear lads, Harriet. Thee will see John also at Lancaster. Father said that he had been sent there.”

“Then it will be quite like old times, Peggy. At Middlebrook there were John Drayton and your father to take us about. If we have Robert Dale, in addition to Clifford, we should have a gay time.”

“Perhaps,” was Peggy’s answer.

A look of intense amazement appeared upon Robert Dale’s face as he rode up. He had left a demure Quakeress with Peggy, and returned to find this beautiful, radiant girl. Both girls laughed at his bewildered expression.

“’Tis my Cousin Harriet Owen, Robert,” explained Peggy. “She hath assumed this dress that she might go through to Lancaster with safety to see her brother, Clifford.”

“But—but Truelove Davis?” The youth was plainly nonplused.

“He wants Truelove, Peggy,” cried Harriet her eyes dancing with mischief. “Where is that bonnet?” She caught it up as she spoke, tying it again under her chin. “Does that please thee better, friend youth?” she asked turning toward the young man roguishly.

“Would that I were a limner to paint you,” burst from the young fellow impulsively.

Harriet smiled charmingly as she swept him an elaborate courtesy.

“In that thee does not agree with my cousin, friend. She doth not consider the bonnet becoming. In truth, I fear me that I did give her rather a bad quarter of an hour when I wore it.”

“Harriet?” exclaimed Mrs. Owen looking out of the calash which by this time had come up to where they were. “Why, child, how came thee here? Robert thought——”

“Yes, I know,” cried Harriet. “I know what Robert thought, but ’tis as you see, madam my cousin. If I may ride with you I will explain all.” Into her voice there crept the supplicating quaver that Peggy remembered so well. Her mother responded instantly to the plea.

“Why, Harriet, thou art doubly welcome. Once for the stranger whom we thought thee, and again for thyself. Get right in with me, child, and tell me all that hath befallen thee. Why, ’tis long since I have seen thee.”

“How beautiful she is,” spoke Robert Dale as he and Peggy rode on after Harriet had climbed into the coach beside Mrs. Owen. “How beautiful she is!”

“Is she not?” asked Peggy eagerly. “Methinks she grows more so every time I see her. Does thee not think so too, Robert?”

“I do not know, Peggy. This is the first time I have ever seen her. When you were at Middlebrook I was with General Arnold in Philadelphia. When you were in Philadelphia I was with the army, and so you see, Peggy, this is my first glimpse of your cousin.”

“Why, so it is, Robert. No wonder thee thinks her beautiful when ’tis the first time thee has seen her. Every one does. Are not her eyes dazzling?”

“They are, Peggy. Now tell me why she appeared in this garb here.”

“It was to see how Clifford fared,” answered Peggy. “She hath not heard from him since Yorktown, and she wished to see for herself how he was.” And forthwith she related all that Harriet had told her of the matter.

“That is very brave, Peggy,” he declared with admiration. “Brave and daring! What love she must bear him to risk so much to see him! I should like to know her better.”

“Thee shall, Robert,” she cried, warmly pleased with this whole-hearted commendation of her beautiful cousin. “Harriet rides well, and she shall ride with thee part of the way.”

And so with Harriet alternating with Peggy in riding Star the rest of the journey was passed. They came into Lancaster the next day, the tall spire of the court-house with the two faces of its clock being the first thing to be spied. The town swarmed with soldiers. It seemed to Peggy that there was one on every corner. In truth Lancaster was in fair way toward being a military camp. The Americans found much difficulty in disposing of their prisoners. They had no military posts regularly fitted for the purpose, and could suggest no better means for securing them than to place them under guard in a thickly settled part of the country, where the inhabitants were most decidedly hostile to the English. So Reading, Carlisle, and Lancaster were chosen in Pennsylvania, together with other points in Virginia and Maryland remote from the coast. In addition to the prisoners from the surrender of Saratoga, who had been hurried into Lancaster at the first invasion of Virginia, many prisoners of Lord Cornwallis’s army were confined there. This required a large number of American soldiers for guards, and it was no wonder that the town seemed overrun with troops.

The streets of Lancaster were regular, and paved with brick like those of Philadelphia. It was the most important of the interior cities, and was noted for the manufacture of guns, stage-coaches, stockings, and the peculiar vehicles known as Conestoga wagons.

Peggy, who was on Star when they entered the town, was gazing about with the interested pleasure that a new place always excites, when she gave an exclamation of joy. They were passing the Black Bear Tavern at the time, and at the entrance of the inn stood a well-known form.

“John!” she called. “John Drayton!”

Captain Drayton turned at the call, and an expression of delight swept over his face at sight of the girl. With the jaunty gesture she knew so well he took off his cocked beaver, and came to them quickly.

“Peggy,” he cried, his gladness at seeing her plain to be seen. “You are come at last. Your father told me that you were coming, and I have watched every day for a week for you. Major Dale hath all the luck, to bring you. I should like to have gone, but I could not get leave.”

“And how does thee do, John?”

“Well, Peggy. Well indeed. By the way! you know, I dare say, that your Cousin Clifford is here. I am barracks’ master, and the prisoners are confined in the barracks. Is it not a strange turn of the Wheel of Fortune that he should be in my charge, when a little less than a year ago I was a prisoner under him? He doth not relish it much, either. Is your mother in the coach, Peggy?”

“Yes; with Harriet,” answered Peggy.

“Harriet!” he ejaculated amazed. “Now what doth Harriet want? I thought we had those cousins where they would not trouble you again.”

“Have you seen the lady of whom you speak, Drayton?” asked Robert Dale abruptly.

“Often, major.” Drayton laughed merrily. “There is not much love lost betwixt us, either, although I owe much to her for rescuing me from an exceedingly embarrassing position. She would not let me thank her because, she informed me, that what she did was for Peggy. Now what doth she want, Peggy?”

“She wants to see how Clifford fares, John. Thee is kind to him, I know.”

“I do all that I can, Peggy, because he is your cousin. I’d do much more if he would allow me. You know he never liked me, and he would actually deprive himself of necessities if he had to receive them at my hands.”

“Will thee let us see him, John?”

“Certainly. We are not very rigid. We keep a strict guard to prevent escape, but otherwise we give the prisoners many privileges. I will speak to your mother now, and Harriet.”

A cloud came to Robert Dale’s brow as he heard Mrs. Owen say:

“John, dear lad, if thee can get away from duty why not get inside with us, and go on to the house? Then we shall all be together once more.”

“Thank you, madam,” answered Drayton with alacrity. “I was hoping that you would ask me. I shall be pleased.”

“I did not know that Captain Drayton was so well known to your family, Peggy,” remarked Robert with some stiffness.

“Why, we have known him for years, Robert,” replied Peggy. “Doesn’t thee like him?”

“He is one of the most daring, dashing, reckless officers in the service, Peggy. Whenever there is anything of an especially dangerous nature to be done, John Drayton is the first fellow to be named in connection with its performance. I have always had a high regard for him. At least until——” He paused in some confusion.

Peggy laughed out suddenly, and a sparkle of mischief came into her eye.

“At least until thee found that we knew him well. Is that it? What unworthy people we must be that the mere knowing us would render him unfit for thy regard.”

“Now, Peggy,” he began protestingly, then he too laughed. “I am the unworthy one,” he acknowledged humbly. “I did feel a pang that you people should know him so well, and I not know it.”

“Fie, Robert! As though we had not room in our hearts for many friends. Each hath his own peculiar nook, and thou hast thine.”