CHAPTER XVIII UNDER THE LINDENS

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“Snatchfromtheashesofyoursires,

Theembersoftheformerfires;

Andleaveyoursonsahope,afame,

Theytoowillratherdiethanshame;

ForFreedom’sbattleoncebegun,

Bequeathedbybleedingsiretoson,

Thoughbaffledoftiseverwon.”

—“TheGiaour,”Byron.

“You are late,” spoke Clifford Owen with anything but an amiable expression when at length Peggy reached his bedside. “Methought you had forgot that I lay here without breakfast?”

“Nay, my cousin,” said the girl apologetically. “I started with thy breakfast some time since, but one of thy generals stopped me; and then, as the broth was cold, I tarried in the hospital kitchen to warm it.”

“Is it the everlasting broth again?” queried the boy irritably. “Odds life! I think that Yankee doctor is determined to keep me here all summer. How can a fellow gain strength with naught but broth to eat?”

“Thee should not speak so of the good doctor,” reproved Peggy gently. “And to show thee that thee should not, know that that same Yankee doctor said, when I was warming the broth, that thee was strong enough to take something other than it. And he had me prepare, what does thee think? Why, a soft-boiled egg and a bit of toast. So there, my cousin! is not that a nice breakfast?”

“It isn’t half enough,” grumbled her cousin. “One little egg, and one piece of toast that would scarce cover a half joe. Why, I could eat a whole ox, I believe. I tell you the fellow wants to keep me on a thin diet for fear that I will get strong enough to fight. I am going to have one of the British surgeons look me over.”

“Thee is cross, and hungry; which is vastly encouraging,” commented the maiden sagely.

The youth looked up at her with the merest suspicion of a smile.

“If being cross and hungry are encouraging symptoms,” he said somewhat grimly, “I think I ought to get up right now. I’d like to tear this bed to pieces, I am so tired of it; and as for hunger——” He paused as though words failed to express his feelings.

“Then thee had better fall to at once,” suggested Peggy. “And thee is talking too much, I fear.”

“No,” he said. “The coming of the army hath put new life into me. I am no longer a prisoner, Mistress Peggy. That in itself is enough to cure one of any malady. Think! ’twill not be long ere I shall come and go at pleasure. Nor shall I be bound by a parole.”

“But thee must be patient a little longer,” advised the maiden, as he resigned the tray to her with a sigh of content. “Thee must not overdo just at this time, else thee will tax thy new-found strength too much. And I wish to thank thee again, my cousin, for thy kindness yesterday. Thy people have not molested us in any way, and thy friend, the officer who spoke with thee, hath placed a guard about our house to ensure our safety. Both Nurse Johnson and I appreciate thy thoughtfulness. We might have fared ill had it not been for thee.”

“I like not to be beholden to any,” he remarked. “’Twill serve to repay in part for your nursing. I see not yet why you should journey so far to care for an unknown kinsman.”

“Thee did not seem unknown to me, my cousin,” returned Peggy quietly. “Thy father stayed with us for nearly a year when he was upon parole in Philadelphia. And I have been with Harriet for two years almost constantly. Then, too, the dictates of humanity would scarce let us leave thee down here without any of thy kin near. That is all, Clifford.”

And Peggy would discuss the matter no further. Her heart was very warm toward her cousin, and she did not wish a repetition of the conversation of the day before. Seeing that he was inclined to converse too much she quietly withdrew, and busied herself in other parts of the hospital, winding bandages for the surgeons, or reading to the sick. She feared to return to the cottage lest she should again meet with General Arnold; and that, Peggy told herself, she could not bear. At length, however, just about sunset, which was her usual time for returning, she ventured forth.

The evening was a lovely one. The sun had sunk beyond the belts of forest lying to the westward of the town, leaving the sky rosy and brilliant. The street was deserted, and breathing a sigh of relief the maiden hastened to the cottage. She found Mrs. Johnson awaiting her.

“You are late, child,” she said with so distraught an air that Peggy looked up quickly. “I was beginning to fear that some ill might have befallen you. What kept you so?”

“Friend nurse,” answered Peggy with some agitation, “General Arnold stopped me this morning when I went to the hospital with my cousin’s breakfast. I feared lest I should meet with him again, so I waited until the street was clear.”

“Arnold, the traitor?” exclaimed Nurse Johnson.

“The very same. I knew him in Philadelphia when he was our general. I liked not to talk with him, but he would not let me pass. Friend nurse, does thee think the British will stay here long?”

“’Tis hard to tell, Peggy. I blame you not for not wanting to meet with him, but ’tis a thing that will be unavoidable in this small town if they stay any length of time. I think he must be with General Phillips at the palace. I wish,” ended the good woman with the feeling that all Americans held toward the traitor, “I wish that we might do something to capture him. ’Tis said that His Excellency is most anxious to effect it.”

“Yes; but naught can be done with an army back of him. But something worries thee, and I have done naught but speak of my own anxiety. What is it?”

“’Tis Fairfax,” Nurse Johnson told her in troubled tones. “He is hiding in the forest, and wishes to come home for the night. I had a note from him. He tried to creep in to-day, but was deterred by seeing the guard in the yard. Of course, I knew that the militia must have fled to the forest, and the poor fellows are in want of food because the British have ravaged all the plantations near. If the boy could get in without the knowledge of the guard he could stay in the garret until the soldiers leave. But how to accomplish it I know not. He will be in the palace grounds to-night a little after sunset, he said. And he wished me to meet him there. But I promised the guard that I would cook them Indian cakes to-night, and so I cannot leave without arousing their suspicion. ’Tis time to go now, and to serve the cakes also. What to do I know not.”

“Why could I not go to thy son, while thee stays and cooks the cakes?” asked Peggy eagerly.

“Why, child, that might do! I did not think of that; yet I like not to send you out again so late.”

“It is not late. The dark hath come only in the shadow, which will be the better. And where will he be, friend nurse? The grounds are so large that I might go astray if I did not know the exact spot.”

“He will be in the great grove of lindens which lies on the far side of the grounds,” the nurse told her. “Yet I like not——”

“Say no more, friend nurse,” said Peggy quickly. “’Tis settled that I am to go. Now tell me just what thee wishes me to do.”

After some further expostulation on the part of the nurse she consented that the girl should go to meet the lad, carrying some of his mother’s clothes which he should don, and so arrayed come back to the cottage.

“I wonder,” mused Nurse Johnson, “if he knew that the English general hath his headquarters in the palace. ’Tis a rash proceeding to venture so near. If he is taken they will make him either swear allegiance to the king, or else give him a parole. Fairfax will take neither, so it means prison for the boy. Foolish, foolish, to venture here!”

“But all will be well if we can but get him here unbeknown to the guard,” consoled Peggy. “Friend nurse, cook many cakes, and regale them so bountifully that they will linger long over the meal; and it may be that Fairfax can slip in unobserved.”

“The very thing!” ejaculated the nurse excitedly. “What a wit you have, Peggy. I begin to think that we can get him here, after all.”

She bundled up one of her frocks hastily, saying as she gave it to the girl:

“Of course you must be guided by circumstances, my child, but come back as quickly as possible lest the guard be through with the meal. If they can be occupied——”

“I will hasten,” promised Peggy. “And now good-bye. Oh, I’ll warrant those guards will never have again such a meal as thee will give them. Now don’t be too anxious.”

“But I shall be,” answered the nurse with a sigh. “Not only anent Fairfax but you also.”

Peggy passed out of the cottage quickly, and went toward the hospital. It was so usual a thing for her to go back and forth that the going attracted no attention from the guards. Now the hospital had an entrance that opened directly into the palace grounds, and Peggy availed herself of this convenience.

The grounds were very large, and it was fortunate that she knew the exact situation of the grove of linden trees, else she must have become bewildered. The lawns were in a sad state of neglect, overrun with vines and wild growths; for, since Lord Dunmore, the last royal governor, had left, the mansion had held but an occasional tenant. So much of underbrush was there that it was a comparatively easy matter for Peggy to pass unobserved through the trees in the gathering dusk of the twilight. A guard had been placed in the immediate vicinity of the mansion, and the town itself was thoroughly picketed so that sentinels in the remoter parts of the grounds were infrequent. And unobserved Peggy presently reached the great grove of lindens, the pride of the former royal governor.

The moon was just rising through a bank of threatening clouds which had gathered since the sunset. They obscured the moonlight at one moment, then swept onward permitting the full light of the orb to shine. Peggy’s voice trembled a little as she called softly:

“Friend Fairfax!”

“Mistress Peggy!” Fairfax Johnson rose slowly from the copse near the grove, and came toward her.

“Is it thou?” asked Peggy in a low tone. Then as he drew closer: “Thee is to put on this frock, friend. ’Tis thy mother’s. Then thee is to come boldly back to the cottage with me, and enter while thy mother hath the guard in the kitchen regaling them with Indian cakes and honey. Be quick!”

The youth took the bundle silently, and retired a short distance from her. The clouds cleared in the next few moments, discovering Master Fairfax arrayed in his mother’s frock, which was a trifle long for him. He stumbled as he tried to approach Peggy, and grabbed at his skirts awkwardly.

“Thee must not stride, friend,” rebuked Peggy in a shrill whisper. “Thee is a woman, remember. Walk mincingly. So! Hold not thy skirt so high. Thy boots will betray thee. No woman had ever so large a foot. Oh, dear! I don’t believe that thee will ever get by the guards. And thy mother is uneasy about thee.”

“I’ll do better,” answered the youth eagerly. “Indeed, I will try to do better, Mistress Peggy. Show me just once more. Remember that I’ve never been a woman before.”

“’Tis no time for frivolity,” chided the girl, laughing a little herself. “There! ’tis a decided improvement, Friend Fairfax. I think we may start now. And as we go thee may tell me why thee should be so rash as to venture into the town while the enemy is here. Thy mother wondered anent the matter. Why did thee, friend?”

“Why, because the Marquis de Lafayette hath entered the state, and is marching to meet the British,” he answered. “The militia of Williamsburg is to join him. We march at daybreak. I wanted to see mother before going, and to get something to eat. I have eaten naught since yesterday morning.”

“Why, thou poor fellow,” exclaimed Peggy. “No wonder thee would dare greatly. And ’tis venturesome, friend. Vastly so! And hath the Marquis come from General Washington?”

“Yes; he hath twelve hundred regulars, and everywhere in tide-water Virginia the militia are rising to join him. We must do all we can to keep the old Dominion from being overrun by the enemy. The meeting place is near the Richmond hills.”

“Thank you for the information,” came a sarcastic voice, and from out of the gloom there stepped a figure in the uniform of an English officer. The moon, bursting through the clouds at this moment, revealed the dark face of Benedict Arnold. Peggy gave a little cry as she recognized him.

“So this is your trysting place,” he said glancing about the grove. “Upon my word a most romantic spot for a meeting, but a trace too near the enemy for absolute security. You realize, do you not, that you are both prisoners?”

“Sir,” spoke Fairfax Johnson, “do with me as you will, but this maiden hath done naught for which she should be made a prisoner. She but came to conduct me to my mother.”

“And ’tis no trysting place,” interposed Peggy with some indignation. “The lad but ventured here to see his mother. He hath eaten nothing since yesterday morning. The least, the very least thee can do is to first let him see his mother, and have a good meal.”

“And then?” he questioned as though enjoying the situation. “Upon my word, Miss Peggy, you plead well for him. I have heard you plead for another youth, have I not?”

“Thee has,” answered she with spirit. “But then I pleaded with an American officer, a gallant and brave man. Now——”

“Yes, and now?” he demanded fiercely. “Have I no bowels of compassion, think you, because I have changed my convictions? I will show you, Mistress Peggy, that I am not so vile a thing as you believe. Go! You and this youth also. The information he hath so unwittingly given is of far more value than he would be as a prisoner. We had not yet been advised of Lafayette’s whereabouts, and we were anxious to know them. We have tarried at this town for want of that very intelligence. Therefore, go! but take this advice: Hereafter, choose your meeting place at a spot other than the enemy’s headquarters.” He laughed sneeringly, and turning strode off under the trees.

“I would rather he had taken me prisoner,” observed the lad gloomily.

“Well, I am glad that he did not,” answered Peggy. “Thy mother would have grieved so. Come, Friend Fairfax! With such a man one knows not how long his mood of mercy will last. Let us hasten while we may.”

He followed her awkwardly. They reached the cottage without further molestation, and entered it unobserved.

On the morning following the drums beat assembly soon after the sounding of the reveille. The different commands filed out of their camps, and, forming into a column, took up the line of march out of the city.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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