A cry of horror broke from Peggy’s lips as they came in sight of the house. The barns, granaries, smoke-houses, and other dependencies were in flames. Clothing and even furniture were being carted from the dwelling by the soldiery; that which could be carried easily being appropriated by them, and the rest consigned to the fires. At some little distance from the dwelling, pale but composed, bearing herself with the fortitude of a Roman matron, stood Mrs. Weston, surrounded by a group of wailing slaves, her little boy clinging to her skirts. She beckoned the girl to her side when she caught sight of the cousins.

“They are leaving nothing, absolutely nothing,” she whispered. “How we shall sustain life, if that is left us, is a problem I dare not face. They found the cows.”

“Oh,” breathed Peggy. “What shall thee do? And Fairfax?”

“Is undiscovered so far. If the house is not burnt he may remain so. The boy wanted to fight this whole force. I had hard work to convince him of the folly of such a course. And you, Peggy? You will go with your cousin, will you not?”

“Why, how did thee know ’twas my cousin?” queried Peggy in surprise.

“’Tis plain to be seen that he is kin, child. The resemblance is very strong. Perhaps I did wrong, but when he came this afternoon to look over the place as a possible site for some of the army to camp I thought at once that it must be your British cousin. When he told me that his lordship was to make his headquarters at Tilghman’s Ordinary at Hanover Court House, and that the whole of the army would have to be quartered in the near vicinity, I knew what that meant. So I took it upon myself to tell him at once where you were, and sent him in search of you. Go with him, Peggy. The safest place in the state at the present time is in the enemy’s lines. ’Tis the wisest thing to do. And oh, my dear! My dear! don’t start out again alone so long as this awful war continues. Go with your cousin.”

“I fear me that I must,” said the maiden sadly. “But if I do what hope is left me of getting home? After these troops pass on, the road will be clear, will it not? Then what would be the risk for me to start forth? If I could get to our own lines thee knows that all would be well. Surely our army is somewhere near.”

“’Tis not to be considered for an instant, child,” spoke the matron quickly. “After the regular army hath its fill of pillage there always comes the riffraff to gather up what their masters have left. Scoundrels they are; utterly devoid of every instinct of humanity. I would not have you meet with them for the world. Peggy, be advised by me in this, and ride on with your cousin.”

“I must go,” broke from Peggy. “I see that I must. But ’tis bitter to go back; ’tis bitter to be compelled to be with such an enemy as this army; ’tis bitter also to leave thee like this, destitute of everything. How terrible a thing is war,” she cried bursting into sudden weeping. “Oh, will the time never come when nations shall war no more? I long for the day when the sword shall be turned into the ploughshare, and the spear into the pruning-hook.”

“And so do we all,” cried Mrs. Weston taking the girl into a tender embrace, for she perceived that she was near the limit of endurance. “Now mount that little mare of yours, and go right on with your cousin.” She motioned Clifford to approach. “Unless your orders are such that you cannot, young man,” she said, “take your cousin away from here at once.”

“I will do so gladly, madam, if she will but go with me,” he returned. “Will you come, my cousin?”

“I must, Clifford,” answered Peggy, striving for composure. “There seems naught else for me to do. Mrs. Weston thinks it the wisest course.”

“I thank you, madam,” he said bowing courteously. “And I pray you believe me when I say that this plundering and burning are not at all to my liking. ’Tis winked at by the leaders, and for that reason we, who are of minor rank and who do not approve such practices, must bear with them. Come, my cousin.”

“For those words, Clifford, I will forgive thee everything,” exclaimed the overwrought girl.

“There are many who feel as I do,” he said assisting her to mount. “I like army life, my cousin. There is nothing so inspiring to my mind as the blare of bugle, or the beat of drum. The charge, the roar of musketry, the thunder of artillery, all fill me with joy. They are as the breath of life to my nostrils. Glory and honor lie in the field; but this predatory warfare, these incursions that for their end and aim have naught but the destruction of property—Faugh!” he concluded abruptly. “Fame is not to be gained in such fashion.”

In silence they rode down the shaded lane to the road. The main army had long since passed on, but the rear guard and baggage train still filled the cleared stretch of road from which the lane turned. As had been the case in every state that the English had entered, a number of loyalists with their families flocked to the British standard, and traveled with the army. Clifford, who was obliged to rejoin his command, found a place for Peggy among these persons, promising to return as soon as possible.

The company was not at all congenial to the girl. The feeling between loyalist and patriot was not such that either was easy in the presence of the other. Women are ever more intensely partisan than men, and the comments of some of these latter against their own countrymen tried Peggy severely, but she bore it patiently, knowing that this was the best that could be done in the matter. When at last Hanover Court House was reached, Clifford came to see about accommodations for her; and on this, as well as the days that followed, Peggy had no cause to complain of his manner. That little reference concerning the nearer kinship of his father had been productive of good fruit, and he no longer insisted upon his own relationship offensively. So agreeable was his behavior that when, at length, he brought his father to her she said not one word to Colonel Owen about placing herself under his care. The colonel himself seemed in high good humor, and greeted her with something of affection.

“And so we are met again, my little cousin,” he said warmly. “Clifford tells me why you are in this part of the country, and it seems that ’tis to your nursing that he owes his continuance upon this mundane sphere. Harriet hath not yet returned to New York, I understand, so we will be a reunited family. It hath been some years since we have had that pleasure. ’Twill be all the greater for having you with us.”

“I thank thee, Cousin William,” answered Peggy, responding at once to his unexpected graciousness. “And thee will be glad to know that Harriet hath quite recovered from her illness. She grows more beautiful, I think, were that possible.”

“And this son of mine? What think you of him?” asked he. “I had some cause for offense with him, but since he hath shown himself worthy to follow in my footsteps I have forgot displeasure. He looks like David, does he not?”

“So much, my cousin, that I cannot but think that he should be my father’s son instead of thine. How strange that he should look so much like him!”

“Yes. And I’ll warrant because of that you consider him better looking than his father,” said Colonel Owen laughing heartily.

“But father hath uncommon good looks,” answered she. “And thee does resemble him to some extent.”

“Well,” he said laughing again, “I suppose I’ll have to be satisfied with that. Now, Peggy, if this boy does not look well to your comfort, just let me know. I am obliged to be with my regiment, but I shall manage to look in upon you occasionally. Captain Williams,” he made a wry face at the name, “hath somewhat more leisure.”

And so Peggy found herself well cared for, and in truth she needed much comfort in the ensuing days. Of that march when Cornwallis continued his retreat toward tide-water she never willingly spoke. To Point of Fork and then down the river to Richmond the British commander proceeded by leisurely marches, stopping often for rest, and oftener to permit his troops time for depredations. Scene after scene of rapine followed each other so rapidly that the march seemed one long panorama of destruction. She thought that she knew war in all its horrors. Their own farm had been pillaged, their barn burned, and they had suffered much from the inroads of the enemy; but all this was as naught to what Virginia had to endure.

It had come to mean comparatively nothing to these people to see their fruits, fowls and cattle carried away by the light troops. The main army followed, collecting what the vanguard left. Stocks of cattle, sheep and hogs together with what corn was wanted were used for the sustenance of the army. All horses capable of service were carried off; throats of others too young to use were cut ruthlessly. Growing crops of corn and tobacco were burned, together with barns containing the same articles of the preceding year, and all fences of plantations, so as to leave an absolute waste. This hurricane, which destroyed everything in its path, was followed by a scourge yet more terrible—the numerous rabble of refugees which came after, not to assist in the fighting, but to partake of the plunder, to strip the inhabitants of clothes and furniture which was in general the sole booty left to satisfy their avidity. Many of these atrocities came directly under the girl’s vision; there were others of which she was mercifully spared any knowledge.

In ignorance also was she of the fact that hard after them, not twenty miles away, rode Lafayette. His forces augmented by additions from Greene, by the Pennsylvanians under Wayne, by Baron Steuben’s command, and by the militia under General Nelson, he no longer feared to strike a blow, and so became the hunter instead of the hunted. Consequently there was constant skirmishing between the van and the rear of the two armies.

The month was drawing to a close when the army fell back to Williamsburg, and halted. The heat had become so intense that the troops were easily exhausted, and necessity compelled a rest. Peggy was glad when the spire of Bruton Church came into sight.

“I am so tired, Clifford,” she said wearily when the lad came to her as the army entered the place from the west. “Tired and sick at heart. I know not what form is used in leaving, if any, but if there be custom of any sort to observe, let it be done quickly, I pray thee. And then let us go to the cottage to Nurse Johnson.”

“There is no form to comply with,” he said, regarding her with compassion. “We will go at once, though not to the cottage. Father hath taken a house more commodious on the Palace Green, and hath sent me for you. Harriet will be there also.”

And, though well she knew that taking a house meant in this instance the turning out of the inmates that they might be lodged, Peggy, knowing that protest would be of no avail, went with him silently.