Lucy Foster Madison

“Here we have war for war, blood for blood,
Controlment for controlment.”

—King John.

Exclamations of pity and compassion came from the men as Harriet threw her arms about her brother. On General Hazen’s countenance consternation showed as well as commiseration. The scene was sufficiently trying as it was. The feminine note added to the complexity of the situation.

Over Clifford Owen’s face there swept a swift, indescribable change. He drew his sister to him and held her close, bending his head to hers with a gesture that was full of yearning. There was not a dry eye in the room. Both Americans and English felt it no shame to their manhood that tears streamed unrestrainedly down their cheeks.

The brother and sister were so young. The youth, noble and handsome, was striving to bear the tragic fate trust upon him with fortitude yet was torn by his love for his sister. The maiden, so surpassingly lovely that even the violence of her grief could not mar her beauty, was filled with anguish over the impending doom of her brother. That the boy had all he could do to maintain his composure was manifest to every one. For a time it seemed that affection would submerge all other emotions; then came a quick stiffening of his body as though he were preparing himself to resist any further appeal to his tenderness. When he spoke it was clearly and composedly:

“My sister, what do you here? This is no place for you.”

“I had to come,” she cried passionately. “Think you I could stay away when I knew not what would be done to you?”

“’Tis known now, Harriet. The lot hath been taken. I must accept my fate. Help me to do it bravely, my sister. You are a soldier’s daughter, a soldier’s sister. Let us show Americans how English men and English women meet untoward events.”

“Oh,” she uttered piteously, “you are to die. What is pride of race when you are to die? And father? What will father say?”

“He is a soldier, Harriet. He knows that war hath its vicissitudes which to-day may bring victory; to-morrow, death. He knows this, and we, his children, should know it also. He would like us to meet this with courage and calmness.”

“I cannot,” she cried sobbing convulsively. “I cannot, Clifford. They mean to hang you, my brother; just as Fairfax Johnson was hanged. I cannot bear it.”

“Cousin David!” The boy turned appealingly toward Mr. Owen. His lips were white. His brow was wet with perspiration. He was fast approaching the limit of his endurance. “Will you take her? I—I cannot——” He compressed his lips tightly, unable to proceed.

“Yes, my lad,” answered Mr. Owen brokenly. He beckoned to Peggy, and they both endeavored to unclasp Harriet’s clinging arms from her brother.

“No, no,” she shrieked. “I cannot let you go, Clifford. Is there no way to prevent this awful thing? Major Gordon,” turning toward that officer suddenly, “can’t you do something? Can’t you do something?”

“There is naught that can be done,” replied Major Gordon pityingly. As the principal British officer in Lancaster he had been present that he might be satisfied that everything was conducted with fairness. Beyond that he was helpless, being himself on parole.

General Hazen spoke at this moment, to the relief of all:

“My dear young lady,” he said gruffly, to hide his emotion, “your brother need not start for New Jersey to-day. He may remain in Lancaster for two days longer, which will give a slight respite. He must be held a close prisoner during that time, well guarded to prevent escape; but you may see him once each day. It is not in my power to do more than that, but it is something.”

“It is much, sir,” she cried seizing his hand, and impulsively kissing it.

“I thank you, sir,” said Clifford courteously, quick to seize the advantage such diversion created. “I shall see you then to-morrow, my sister. Captain, I am ready.”

With firm step he placed himself by the side of the dragoon, who took him by the arm. On the other side of him walked the British Major Gordon, and thus they passed out of the room. The youth’s departure was the signal for this most tragic meeting to break up. Quietly, showing no elation that they had been spared and another taken, their faces expressive only of sorrow, the twelve British officers, each saluting Harriet as he left, filed out of the apartment. The drummer boys tiptoed after them. General Hazen was the last to go, pausing only to say:

“You shall see him twice more, my dear. I think I would go home now, if I were you. This hath been most trying. Odds life, most trying!”

“You are very kind, sir,” she said miserably. “I appreciate it. But—but after two days; then what?”

“Child,” he said gravely, with great compassion, “I cannot delude you with false hopes. After two days your brother must go to meet his fate in New Jersey. I can do naught to prevent it.” He took a pinch of snuff hastily, then hurried from the room.

“Peggy!” Harriet stretched out her arms to her cousin with a cry of bitterness. “What shall I do? What shall I do?”

But Peggy shook her head sorrowfully as she drew the girl into her arms. What could be done? She knew of nothing. That the safety of American prisoners might be assured Congress had decreed the death of a British officer to retaliate upon a lawless act of the enemy. That the officer chosen chanced to be her cousin did not change the justice of the act. Fairfax Johnson’s death had been too recent, too near to Peggy for her not to see the fairness of retribution. And yet, and yet! that it should prove to be Clifford. It seemed so hopeless, so dark, Peggy could only shake her head while her tears fell fast.

“We must go home, lass,” spoke David Owen. There were tears in his eyes, and he patted Harriet’s shoulder with infinite tenderness. He was deeply moved by what had taken place, for Clifford had become dear to him; yet the boy’s conduct under the trying circumstances filled him with pride. Now he patted the girl’s shoulder, saying, “’Twill be far better for us to be at home than here. Come, Harriet! Perchance something will occur to us now that we have time to think.”

“Yes, Cousin David.” The girl wiped her eyes and rose obediently as though where she was made no difference. As she did so her glance fell upon Captain Drayton and Major Dale. The two young men had lingered, loth to leave them in their trouble. “Are you not coming too?” she asked.

“We do not wish to intrude, Miss Harriet,” answered Robert Dale, speaking for both.

“But you will not,” she replied. “I want you to come. Both of you. You are of the army, and may be able to suggest something. Come, and let us talk it over.”

So, accompanied by the two youths, they went slowly back to the house. The news had spread throughout the town, and the people, knowing that the unfortunate victim was a relative, respectfully made way for them. The young English captain had become a well-known figure during the time he was on parole, and his youth, manliness, and unfailing courtesy caused every one to deplore the fact that such a doom should have fallen upon one who so little deserved it. Mrs. Owen met them at the door, and her manner told them that she had heard what had resulted from the meeting. She took Harriet at once in her motherly arms.

“I shall take thee right up-stairs to bed, my child,” she said. “This hath been very trying for thee.”

“Nay, madam my cousin,” said the girl, smiling wanly. “’Tis no time for coddling. I shall have all the rest of life to lie in bed; now I must try to find some way to save my brother.”

“Mistress Harriet!” Drayton, who had been unusually thoughtful, now spoke abruptly. “What I am about to suggest may not be of worth, but it can be tried. Why not go to General Washington and plead for your brother? If that fails, and fail it may because retaliation is demanded as the only safeguard Americans have for their countrymen who are prisoners, then go on to your own commander. He may be able to arrange matters with our general.”

Harriet listened dazedly at first, as though unable to grasp what he was saying. All at once, as she comprehended the full import of his words, a magical transformation took place. The color returned to her cheeks, and the light to her eyes. She seemed infused with new life.

“John Drayton,” she cried eagerly, “I do believe that you have hit upon the very thing. How strange that no one else thought of it! General Washington might postpone the carrying out of this dreadful measure. And Sir Guy! Why, if the rebel general will only wait until I can see my own commander all will be well. He is indebted to me for service in behalf of the new campaign, and will be glad to requite it. I shall go to General Washington. Thank you, Captain Drayton, for the suggestion. I’ll never forget that ’twas you who offered it. I haven’t always been very nice to you, but if——”

“I am your debtor, Miss Harriet, for what you did for me last year at Yorktown,” interrupted Drayton quietly. “Mind! it may come to naught, but ’tis the only thing that can be done.”

“And I shall do it,” she said with determination. “I shall start for Philadelphia when they leave with my brother.”

“To add to what Captain Drayton hath suggested,” spoke Major Dale, “carry the matter to Congress while you are in Philadelphia. If you can get the execution postponed, and have influence with Sir Guy Carleton, get him to turn Lippencott over to us. He is the man who should be punished.”

“He shall do it,” she cried. “Captain Lippencott is but a refugee, and Clifford is an English officer. An officer who hath given good and honorable service to his king. ’Tis not meet nor fitting that such an one should be punished for the crime of a refugee. Sir Guy shall be made to see it properly. He shall! He shall!”

“But now thee must go to bed,” exclaimed Mrs. Owen alarmed by the girl’s excitement. “Thee can talk again with the lads, but now to bed.”

Despite her protests the good lady hurried her off to bed, nor would she consent that Harriet should leave it until the next morning. By that time the maiden had entirely regained her composure, and was eager to go to Clifford with the news of her intention to go to Philadelphia. Accordingly, as soon as it was permissible to see her brother, she set forth with Peggy for the guard-house at the barracks where he was confined. There were two troopers in the room with him whose duty it was to keep an unfailing watch upon him. Clifford was slightly pale, but seemed to have himself well in hand. He dissented strongly from Harriet’s proposal to see the Congress and General Washington.

“’Twill be useless,” he said. “The Congress seek reprisal. If I am not the victim ’twill be another. There is no reason why I should seek to evade that which must be the fate of some English officer.”

“Clifford, don’t you care?” she wailed.

“Yes; I do, Harriet,” he answered gravely. “I care very much. I don’t want to die at all, particularly by hanging. I don’t suppose that Fairfax Johnson did either, but his wishes weren’t consulted in the matter. And they will remember that fact. It hath been said that he met death with great firmness and composure. I want to do as well.”

“I must do something,” she cried. “I cannot bear it unless I try to do something to save you.”

“Then, Harriet, you shall make any effort that you wish,” he said tenderly. “But do not ask for my life, my sister. Plead for a postponement, an you will; then go to Sir Guy. If you must humble yourself, let it be to your own commander. You are English, remember.”

“And Peggy shall go with me, Clifford,” she said.

“You will, will you not, my cousin?” he asked turning to her.

“If thee wishes it, Clifford,” answered Peggy gently.

“I do wish it. She should have some one with her who would prevent rashness. I cannot imagine where she got the idea——”

“It was John Drayton’s suggestion,” interrupted his sister. “He was the only one who seemed to have any idea what to do.”

“Drayton?” exclaimed Clifford, surprised out of his composure. “Why, that is strange!”

“They are coming for us, Harriet,” spoke Peggy. “We shall have to go.”

“But I have not yet begun to talk,” cried Harriet protestingly. “Why do they make the interview so short?”

“It is pleasant to have one at all, my sister. ’Tis an indulgence that is not often granted in such cases. Beside, you have leave to come again to-morrow, and if you go to Philadelphia there will, no doubt, be opportunity for conversation upon the road.”

But as Harriet passed through the door Clifford laid a detaining hand upon Peggy’s arm.

“My cousin,” he said speaking rapidly, “you have always spoken truth to me, and I want you to do so now. Does Cousin David think there is aught of use in Harriet’s seeing the Congress, or General Washington?”

Peggy’s lips quivered, and her eyes filled.

“Father said last night, my cousin, that there was but one hope,” she said mournfully. “’Tis the talk of the barracks that Captain Lippencott should be given up to us. If he hath an atom of honor, rather than have an innocent person suffer for his deed, he will give himself up as soon as he hears of this. Every one says this, Clifford.”

“And that is the only hope, Peggy?”

“I—I fear so, Clifford. If Lippencott——”

“He won’t,” said Clifford with a sigh. “Thank you, little cousin. It was better that I should know the truth. I am glad that you will go with Harriet, and when she hath finished with General Washington, get her to go right on to father, Peggy.”

“I will,” she promised.

“Good-bye, then, until to-morrow,” he said. “Is Cousin David coming?”

“Yes, Clifford.”

“Peggy,” called Harriet, and Peggy went out to join her.

Mr. Owen, after his visit to Clifford, announced that if leave could be obtained he would accompany them also to Philadelphia.

“There may be trouble for thee in entering Philadelphia again, Harriet,” he said. “Thou hast been banished, remember.”

“True, but they would not hold it against me now,” she cried in dismay.

“I think naught will be said anent the subject,” he replied. “But in case there might be ’twould be well to have me with thee. For this and other reasons I shall go.”

“I am so glad, Cousin David,” she cried. And Peggy too felt greatly relieved when she was told.

So it came about that when the dragoons set forth with their prisoner two days later they were accompanied by Major Gordon, Mr. Owen, and the two girls, Peggy and Harriet. Clifford was closely guarded, but there was no undue severity shown. He was permitted to converse with his cousins and his sister whenever he wished. Frequently he rode long stretches of the road with them, the troopers in front and behind.

And everywhere, at the inns, and the towns through which they passed, the people flocked to see this victim of retaliation. And the extreme youth and manly bearing of the unfortunate young man won him much compassion. The people had been greatly stirred by the death of Fairfax Johnson. He too was young, and his death had been such a lawless proceeding that it had roused the whole country to the necessity of reprisal lest other Americans be subjected to a like fate. But there was a dignity in the warm passions of these people that the instant it was in their power to punish they felt a disposition to forgive. And so there was pity and compassion freely expressed for the young captain and his untoward fate.

It was a sorrowful journey. The troopers rode hard and fast, so that the afternoon of the third day after leaving Lancaster brought them to the Middle Ferry. The sun was just sinking behind the hills of the Schuylkill as they crossed the ferry, and rode down High Street into Philadelphia. Mr. Owen and the two maidens left the party at Fifth Street, bound for the Owens’ residence in Chestnut Street. The troopers continued down High Street to Third; for they were to stop at the Bunch of Grapes Tavern.