Lucy Foster Madison

“Fair as morning beam, although the fairest far,
Giving to horror grace, to danger pride,
Shine martial Faith, and Courtesy’s bright star,
Through all the wreckful storms that cloud the
brow of War.”

—“Lady of the Lake.”

The morning gun at West Point had not ceased to echo among the surrounding hills the next morning when the horses for Mr. Owen and the two maidens were brought to headquarters. Harriet, quite recovered from her indisposition of the day before, vaulted lightly into the saddle, and bowed low as General Washington came forth to bid them farewell.

“Your Excellency overwhelms us with kindness, sir,” she cried. “You have been nobility itself in granting this respite to my brother. I have no fear now as to the outcome of the matter. There is no doubt in my mind but that the real culprit will be delivered into your hands within a few days.”

“I trust that it may fall out as you wish, Miss Harriet,” answered the general courteously. “As I have said, you shall have ample time for your mission.”

“Thank you, sir. Ten days should be more than sufficient time. ’Tis but to go to New York, lay the whole affair before Sir Guy Carleton, and return.”

“There are many things which might occur to bring about delay, Miss Harriet,” he observed quietly. “In a case of this nature ’tis the part of wisdom to accept all that is offered. We will say two weeks; but General Carleton must give his decision by the end of that time. The matter now rests with him. I wish you all a safe journey.”

He bowed gravely, and, overcome by the kindliness of this great man, the three left Newburgh much happier than when they entered it. Harriet was to cross the river at Dobbs Ferry, the post where all communication between the two armies was maintained, while Mr. Owen and Peggy were to return to Chatham to inform Clifford of the result of the interview with General Washington.

In high spirits Harriet laughed and chatted as she had not done for days, pausing ever and anon to admire the beauties of the river, uttering exclamations of delight at some particularly imposing view. Before them lay West Point with Crow’s Nest Mountain, Butter Hill and the two Beacon mountains; on the southwest, Pollopel’s Island, in use at this time as a military prison, lay at the northern entrance to the Highlands; on the east were the fertile valleys of the Mattewan and Wappinger’s Creeks, and the village of Fishkill Landing; behind them was Newburgh Bay with the little village of the same name upon its shores, beyond which lay a broad champaign country.

“Father and Clifford must see this before we sail for home,” cried Harriet. “Oh, if I were king I’d never let the Americans deprive me of such a river!”

“If it affects thee like that, lass, perchance then thee has a slight idea of how we, who are natives of the country, feel toward those invaders who try to wrest it from us.”

“I don’t wonder at your feelings, Cousin David,” she said. “’Tis only, being English, that it seems to me a mistake to give these colonies up.”

“We have demonstrated by force of arms that we are no longer colonies, Harriet,” he reminded her quietly.

“Oh, I know, Cousin David,” she replied gaily. “But, until peace is declared, I cannot but regard you as belonging to us.”

At this David Owen laughed heartily, but his daughter’s cheeks flushed, and her eyes sparkled.

“Thee amuses me, lass. Thy attitude is England’s precisely. The king and his counselors know that they are beaten, but are loath to sign articles of peace, acknowledging our independence, because by so doing they surrender their last hold upon what they are pleased to still term ‘colonies.’ But it must come.”

“A truce, a truce,” she cried laughing. “How can we acknowledge that we are beaten? When did England ever confess such a thing? At any rate you never could have been victorious had you not been English yourselves.”

Peggy joined her father’s laughter, and Harriet too was merry.

“Get all the consolation thou canst out that fact, Harriet,” said Mr. Owen. “So long as independence is acknowledged we care not what sop England throws to her pride. But,” he added with a deep sigh, “I do wish most earnestly that peace would come.”

And so, in such frame of mind, for Harriet’s confidence was so great that it could not but infect them, Dobbs Ferry was reached. The girl waved them a lively farewell as she stepped aboard the barge which was to take her across the river.

“It won’t be a week ere I shall be back, Peggy,” she cried. “I don’t mind saying now that I have reason for my belief that Sir Guy will do as I wish in this. A week, my cousin, and you, and Clifford, and I will start again for Lancaster.” She secreted her passport as she waved again to them.

“I pray so, Harriet,” returned Peggy.

“She builds too strongly upon the belief that the British commander will help her, I fear me,” remarked Mr. Owen as the ferry pushed away for the far shore. Peggy turned to him quickly.

“Has thee no hope, father?”

“Very little, lass. General Washington warned Sir Henry Clinton what the consequences would be if he did not give up the perpetrators of the murder of Captain Johnson. Sir Henry responded by ordering a court-martial. When Sir Guy came he communicated the findings of the court, and seemed to feel bound by the fact that it returned a verdict of not guilty against the leaders. I see not how Harriet can change the attitude of the British commander.”

“If she fails will General Washington carry out the execution, father?” Peggy’s lips tremblingly put the question.

“He must, child. He must do what is right at whatever cost to his feelings. This whole affair hath distressed him greatly, but justice to the army and to the public require that the measure be carried out in full. He did not come to his determination without mature deliberation, and his course hath been sanctioned by Congress, and supported by the approbation of the principal officers of the army. The general explained the matter at some length to me last night. It is peculiarly distressing to us, lass, because the victim happens to be of kin. Still, however painful the matter is, we must acknowledge the justice of the proceeding.”

“Ye-es, father.” But Peggy’s voice was very faint, and she looked white and spent.

Just? Oh, yes; it was just, but granting justice; granting that it was the method of procedure in warfare, what comfort could that give to those who loved the boy? Peggy was greatly downcast in spirits when, as Harriet’s figure became a mere speck on the farther shore, she and her father resumed their journey to Chatham.

Colonel Dayton was greatly pleased over the report from headquarters.

“I hope that the guilty may be brought to punishment instead of this youth,” he ejaculated fervently. “I cannot tell you, Mr. Owen, how exceedingly distasteful this whole affair is to all of us. If it were not right and just we could not proceed with it. I believe that I voice the thought of every American when I say that I hope the sister will succeed in her efforts. Did the general send any message regarding the young man’s treatment?”

“There is a letter, colonel,” exclaimed David Owen, drawing forth the missive. “I had nigh forgotten it.”

“This is most kind of the general,” exclaimed the colonel with an expression of relief as he perused the letter. “I will call the young man to hear it.”

In a few moments an orderly with Clifford in charge entered the room. The youth greeted his cousins affectionately, and listened attentively to the officer as he read the epistle:

“You will treat Captain Williams with every tenderness and politeness consistent with his present situation which his rank, fortune and connections together with his private estate demand. Further, inform the young gentleman that his sister hath been permitted to go to New York to place the matter in the hands of Sir Guy Carleton. No further steps in the matter will be taken until his commander is heard from.”

Colonel Dayton looked up benignantly.

“So there is hope that you may not suffer for the guilty, Captain Williams,” he said. “If Sir Guy will but let us have Captain Lippencott, you, young sir, will not have to pay the penalty for this most atrocious deed. Let us hope that your sister will be successful.”

Clifford smiled rather wearily.

“’Tis but a prolongation of the suspense,” he remarked. “She won’t succeed. Sir Guy can’t give up any man after a court-martial absolves him from blame. Still, I am glad that Harriet is well away. ’Twill be just as well for her to be with father until this whole miserable business is brought to a conclusion.”

“Then, lad, thou hast no hope?” questioned Mr. Owen.

“None whatever, Cousin David. How long a time hath your chief given Harriet?”

“Two weeks, Clifford.”

“Two weeks! Why, that is a lifetime,” exclaimed he. “Much may happen in two weeks.”

“True, Captain Williams; and, provided you will give your word of honor that you will make no attempt to escape, you shall be free to go and come at your pleasure,” spoke Colonel Dayton.

“I give it, sir, and thank you,” returned Clifford. “You have been and are most kind.”

“Then we shall begin by leaving you with your cousins,” said the colonel. “Come, orderly.”

“Is there aught that thou wouldst have me attend to, my lad?” asked Mr. Owen as Colonel Dayton left them. “If there is anything that can be done I should be glad to do it.”

“There is something, Cousin David.” Clifford looked at him eagerly. “I suppose the end will come soon after the two weeks are up, therefore I wish you would stay until ’tis over. You and Peggy. When I was in Virginia last year wounded, as I thought, unto death, Peggy came to me there that I might have some of my kindred near me in my last hours. My need is greater now than it was then. It won’t be very long. I’d like a friendly face near me at the last.”

Mr. Owen was almost overcome by the plea.

“My lad,” he replied huskily, “it distresses me to refuse thee aught at this time, but I cannot stay. I am a soldier, as thou art, and under orders. Leave was given for a few days, but ’tis nearly gone. I will make an effort to come again before the two weeks are up.”

“Then let Peggy stay, sir. Accommodations are easily procured either in the village, or out here with one of the officers’ families. She would be well cared for, and ’twould be a comfort to me.”

The boyish face was full of pleading. He was very young. David Owen’s eyes misted suddenly as his youth came home to him.

“It must be as Peggy says, lad,” he rejoined, turning toward his daughter with concern. He had noted her pallor and sadness when he told her that there was but little hope for the boy, and he knew that if she stayed it must of necessity be a tax upon her strength. Peggy met his anxious glance with a brave smile. She was ever ready to sink self if by so doing she could give comfort to another.

“Certainly I will stay, if Clifford wishes it, father,” she said. “I think I should like to, and Harriet would wish it, I know.”

“Can thee bear it, lass, knowing that thy cousin’s time may be short?”

“Cousin David,” spoke Clifford quickly, “there isn’t going to be anything melancholy about these two weeks. ’Twould benefit neither my cousin nor myself to dwell upon the approach of death; so——”

“She shall stay, lad,” interrupted Mr. Owen. “Thy words remove the last scruple I had anent it. Would that I might be with thee also, but I shall try to come back.”

Accordingly when David Owen started on his return to Lancaster Peggy was left at Chatham. Mrs. Dayton had declared that she must make her home with them, and gratefully the maiden accepted the hospitality. Clifford, conformable to the instructions sent by General Washington, was subjected to little restraint. Relying upon the safeguard of his honor the American colonel let him come and go through the cantonment, the village, and about the surrounding country at his pleasure.

Peggy had her own little mare with her, and Clifford having procured a mount, it came about that they spent long hours in the saddle, exploring the neighboring hills, the roads and byways around the camp. At no time did Clifford exhibit sadness or melancholy. Had it not been for the knowledge ever present in the background of their consciousness of what was to come it would have been a happy period.

The days passed. Ten had gone by, but there came no word from Harriet. Peggy found herself growing apprehensive. Would Harriet succeed? she asked herself again and again. No word had come from her. Did it mean failure? She had been so sure. And Peggy was glad that General Washington had insisted that two weeks be the period given for the mission. That Clifford was not insensible of the flight of time was made known to her the day before the two weeks were up.

“We are going to ride as far as we can to-day, my cousin,” he said as the horses were brought round. “There may be word from Harriet, or from your general to-morrow. Perhaps something will occur that will prevent us from riding.”

“Where shall we go, Clifford?” asked Peggy falling at once into his mood. “Our longest ride is to the five knob tree on the Short Hills road.”

“That will do admirably,” he answered. “And the glen beyond. Let us go through it once more. It hath much of beauty and romance in its scenery.”

The day was quite warm, but it was pleasant riding. Clifford was unusually silent, and for the greater part of the distance seemed absorbed in thought. He turned toward her at length smiling:

“I am not very talkative this morning, Peggy. I have been thinking of your father. He thought that he might return, you remember.”

“Yes, Clifford. And I,” she added tremulously, “have been thinking of Harriet. We have had no word.”

“She hath failed, my cousin. Had it not been so she would have been here. Harriet likes not to confess failure. I was certain that she would not succeed, and consented for her sake alone that she should make the effort.”

“Still, by that means thee had an extra lease of life, Clifford,” Peggy reminded him.

“I wonder if that hath been altogether for the best, Peggy,” he said seriously. “Sometimes, when after all one must undergo such a penalty as lies before me, the kindest thing that can happen is to have it over with without delay.”

“Don’t, Clifford,” she cried shuddering. “I think that none of us could have stood it. It would have broken our hearts. With the delay we cannot but hope and believe that something will prevent this awful measure from being carried out.”

They had reached the five knob tree by this time, and beyond it lay the glen of which Clifford had spoken. It was as he had said romantic in its wildness. Various cascades leaped in foamy beauty across the path of the road which ran through the deep vale. Firs lay thickly strewn about, and the horses had to pick their way carefully through them. Copper mines, whose furnaces had been half destroyed by the English, were now overgrown with vines and half hidden by fallen trees, showed the combined ravages of war and nature. A few yards in advance of them the glen widened into a sylvan amphitheater, waving with firs and pines, and rendered almost impassable by underbrush. A short turning in the road suddenly brought them in front of a romantic waterfall. The cousins drew rein, watching the fall of the water in silence, for the sound of the cascade precluded them from conversation. The sun shone through the tree tops giving a varied hue to the rich greenness of the foliage, and tinging with prismatic hues the sparkling water. So intent were they upon the downpour of the waterfall that they did not notice the dark forms which stole out from the underbrush, and stealthily formed a cordon about them. By the heads of the horses two forms arose suddenly like gnomes from the earth, and a scream escaped Peggy’s lips as a hoarse voice shouted:

“You are our prisoners! Dismount instantly.”