Peggy Owen and Liberty Part 1

Peggy Owen and Liberty.

by Lucy Foster Madison.

Introduction

In "Peggy Owen," the first book of this series, is related the story of a little Quaker maid who lived across from the State House in Philadelphia, and who, neutral at first on account of her religion, became at length an active patriot. The vicissitudes and annoyances to which she and her mother are subjected by one William Owen, an officer in the English army and a kinsman of her father's, are also given.

"Peggy Owen, Patriot" tells of Peggy's winter at Middlebrook, in northern New Jersey, where Washington's army is camped, her capture by the British and enforced journey to the Carolinas, and final return home.

"Peggy Owen at Yorktown" details how Peggy goes to Virginia to nurse a cousin, who is wounded and a prisoner. The town is captured by the British under Benedict Arnold, the traitor, and Peggy is led to believe that he has induced the desertion of her friend, John Drayton. Drayton's rescue from execution as a spy and the siege of Yorktown follow.

In the present volume Peggy's friends rally about her when her Cousin Clifford is in danger of capture. The exciting events of the story show the unsettled state of the country after the surrender of Cornwallis.

Peggy Owen and Liberty

CHAPTER I

A SMALL DINNER BECOMES A PARTY

"At Delaware's broad stream, the view begin Where jutting wharfs, food-freighted boats take in; Then, with the advancing sun direct your eye Wide opes the street with firm brick buildings high; Step, gently rising, over the pebbly way, And see the shops their tempting wares display."

--_"Description of Philadelphia," Breitnal, 1729._

It was the first of March, 1782, and over the city of Philadelphia a severe storm was raging. A stiff wind, that lashed the black waters of the Delaware into sullen fury and sent the snow whirling and eddying before it, blew savagely from the northeast. The snow, which had begun falling the day before, had continued all night with such rigorous, relentless persistence that by the noon hour the whole city was sheeted with a soft white blanket that spread abroad a solemn stillness. The rolling wheels of the few vehicles in the streets were noiseless, and the sharp ring and clatter of horses' hoofs became a dull m.u.f.fled tramp. High up overhead the snow settled on the church spires, clothing them in a garb of pure cold white, and drifted among the niches of the State House Tower, until the face of the great clock was hidden, and could scarce be told for what it was.

Just across from the State House, in the midst of extensive grounds, stood a large double brick house which was taking its share of the storm. There were piles of snow on the steps and broad piazzas, huge drifts against the fences, and great banks on the terraces of the gardens. The wind lashed the lithe limbs of the leafless trees of the orchard, shrieked through the sooty caverns of the wide chimneys, whistled merrily as it drove the snow against the windows, and rattled the cas.e.m.e.nts with howls of glee as it went whirling by.

Storm-bound the mansion seemed, but its cold and wintry appearance was wholly on the outside, for within its walls there was no lack of cheerfulness and warmth. Great fires blazed on every hearth and puffed clouds of smoke through the broad chimneys, in defiance of the wind which strove there for the mastery. Between the heavy gusts of wind came gleeful bursts of laughter from the sitting-room as though the inmates were too happy to heed the driving storm without, and from the kitchen arose savory odors that spoke of tempting preparations for a bounteous meal, which further enhanced the air of geniality that pervaded the dwelling.

In this latter apartment were two persons: one, a serene faced woman of middle age who was busily engaged at the kneading board; the other, a slender maiden well covered by a huge ap.r.o.n and with sleeves rolled back, stood before a deal table reducing loaf sugar to usable shape.

They were Mistress David Owen and her daughter Peggy.

"How it blows!" exclaimed the girl, looking up from her task as a sudden gust of wind flung the outside door wide, and sent the snow scurrying across the sanded floor of the kitchen. "What shall be done anent that door, mother?"

"Tell Sukey to bring a large stick of wood and put against it,"

returned the lady. "Then look to the oven, Peggy. 'Tis hard to get a clear fire with so much wind."

"I do believe that everything is going to be done to a turn in spite of it," remarked Peggy, a little frown of anxiety which had puckered her brow disappearing as she glanced into the great oven.

"Then as soon as thou hast set the table the dinner will be ready to take up. I make no doubt but that thy friends are hungry. And what a time they seem to be having," Mrs. Owen added as a merry peal of laughter came from the sitting-room.

"Are they not?" Peggy smiled in sympathy. "I am so glad they came yesterday. I fear me that they could not have reached here to-day in this dreadful storm. 'Tis too bad to have such weather now when 'tis Robert's first home leave in three years."

"Methinks that 'twould better come when one is on a furlough than in camp," remarked her mother gravely. "It must be terrible for the soldiers who lack so much to keep them comfortable."

"True," a.s.sented the girl soberly. "Would that the war were at an end, and the peace we long for had come in very truth."

"And so do we all, my daughter. 'Tis weary waiting, but we must of necessity possess ourselves with patience. But there! let not the thought of it sadden thee to-day. 'Tis long since thou hast had thy friends together. Enjoy the present, for we know not what the morrow may bring. And now----"

"Set the table," added Peggy with a laugh, as she rolled down her sleeves. "And don't thee dally too long talking with thy friends, Peggy. Thee didn't add that, mother."

"As thee knows thy weakness it might be well to bear it in mind,"

commented her mother with a smile.

The kitchen was the princ.i.p.al apartment of a long low building attached to the main dwelling by a covered entry way. Through this Peggy went to the hall and on to the dining-room, where she began laying the table. This room adjoined the sitting-room, and, as the bursts of merriment became more and more frequent, the maiden softly opened the connecting door and peeped in.

A tall youth of soldierly bearing, in the uniform of the Light Infantry, his epaulettes denoting the rank of major, leaned carelessly against one end of the mantelpiece. On a settle drawn up before the fire sat two girls. One held a book from which she was reading aloud, and both the other girl and the youth were so intent upon her utterances that they did not notice Peggy's entrance. They turned toward her eagerly as she spoke:

"Aren't you getting hungry, or are you too interested to stop for dinner?"

"'Tis quite time thee was coming, Peggy," cried the girl who had been reading, tossing back her curly locks that, innocent of powder, hung in picturesque confusion about her face. "I really don't know what we are to do with Betty here. Since she hath taken to young lady ways there's no living with her."

"What has thee been doing, Betty Williams?" queried Peggy with mock gravity, turning toward the other girl. Her hair was done high over a cushion, profusely powdered, and she waved a large fan languidly.

"Sally is just talking, Peggy," she said. "She and Robert seem to find much amus.e.m.e.nt in some of my remarks. 'Tis just nothing at all. Sally Evans is the one that needs to be dealt with."

"Sally hath been reading to us from your diary, which you kept for the Social Select Circle while you were in Virginia," explained Robert Dale. "We were much entertained anent the account of your bashful friend, Fairfax Johnson. Betty amused us by telling just what she would have done with him had she been in your place."

"I often wished for her," declared Peggy, smiling. "Poor Fairfax would mantle did a girl but speak to him. And yet he was so brave!"

"He was indeed," a.s.sented the youth with warm admiration. "Sally hath just read where he went to warn the Legislature of Virginia of Tarleton's coming despite the fact that he was ill. But, Peggy, we could not help but laugh over what he said to you. Read his words, Sally."

"'I said,'" read Sally picking up the book again, "'Friend Fairfax, thee always seems so afraid of us females, yet thee can do this, or aught else that is for thy country. Why is it?' And he replied:

"'To defend the country from the invader, to do anything that can be done to thwart the enemy's designs, is man's duty. But to face a battery of bright eyes requires courage, Mistress Peggy. And that I have not.'"

"Wasn't that fine?" cried Betty with animation. "I adore bravery and shyness combined. Methinks 'twould be delightsome to be the woman who could teach him how to face such a battery. Thee didn't live up to thy opportunity, Peggy. It was thy duty to cure such a fine fellow of bashfulness. It was thy duty, I say. Would I could take him in hand."

"Would that thee might, Betty," answered Peggy. "But I fear thee would have thy hands full."

"I wonder if thee has heard the latest concerning Betty's doings,"

broke in Sally. "Mr. Deering told me of it. Betty was dancing a measure with Colonel Middleton at the last a.s.sembly when Mr. Deering came up to her and said:

"'I see that you are dancing with a man of war, Miss Betty.'

"'Yes, sir,' says Betty, 'but I think a tender would be preferable.'"

"Oh, Betty! Betty!" gasped Peggy when the merriment that greeted this had subsided. "How did thee dare?"

"La!" spoke Betty, arranging the folds of her paduasoy gown complacently, "when a man is so remiss as to forget the refreshments one must dare."

"I verily believe that she could manage your friend, Fairfax,"