Peggy Owen at Yorktown Part 33

"I think father ought to have the right to ask whom he chooses to his own house," declared Harriet, who was in one of her moods. "He says that when one of these misguided rebels realizes his error and strives to rectify it we should encourage him, so that others may follow his example. I expect rare sport when you meet."

Peggy said no more, knowing how useless it would be to plead with either Colonel Owen or Harriet once either had determined upon any course. So, nerving herself for the ordeal, she went down to dinner the next day in anything but a happy frame of mind.

To her surprise only Colonel Owen and Harriet were in the drawing-room.

There was no sign either of Clifford, or of John Drayton.

"Are you disappointed, Peggy?" asked Harriet with some sarcasm, catching the girl's involuntary glance about the apartment. "So are we, and father thinks it unpardonable in a guest to keep us waiting so. I always said that Captain Drayton lacked manners."

Before Peggy could reply the door was flung open, and Clifford dashed into the room.

"What in the world is the matter?" queried Harriet startled by his manner of entrance. "One would think that you had affairs of state to communicate that would brook no delay."

"And so I have," cried the lad with exultation. "Do not all of you remember that I was not taken with that Yankee captain? Did I not say from the beginning that he was not to be trusted? I was right, but no one would heed me. I knew after the way he boasted the day we met with the sword in Hanover that he was an unregenerate rebel, but my suspicions were laughed at. I was right, I say."

"Clifford, what do you mean?" cried his sister. Peggy did not speak, but stood waiting his next words with feverish eagerness, her breath coming quickly, her eyes dilated, her hands clasped tightly.

"Go on, my son," spoke Colonel Owen with some impatience. "We all know your feelings on the subject. What hath happened to verify such suspicions?"

"Just this," answered he with triumph: "last night the fellow stole out and met one of the enemy. In company with another officer I followed after him as he stole through the lines. Beyond Wormeley's Creek the meeting took place, and we apprehended him on his return. His spying mission is over. He will do no more harm."

"Clifford!" shrieked Peggy. "What does thee mean?"

"That because he is a spy," cried Clifford, "he is condemned to die at sunrise."

CHAPTER XXIX-"I SHALL NOT SAY GOOD-BYE"

"How beautiful is death when earned by virtue!

Who would not sleep with those? What pity is it That we can die but once to save our country."

-Addison's Cato.

"He is to die at sunrise." The announcement came with such suddenness that for a moment no one spoke. Peggy stood as though stricken. Colonel Owen was the first to recover himself.

"Suppose that you unravel the matter from the beginning," he suggested.

"'Twill be the better understood. Do I hear aright that you were the means of discovering his duplicity?"

"It was I of a truth," answered Clifford speaking rapidly. "I never trusted him; so, while the rest of you made much of him and received him into your confidences, I kept my eyes open. For a long time no act of his justified suspicion, and it did seem as though distrust was groundless. And then, 'twas just after we entered camp here at Yorktown, I came upon him one night in the woods south of the Moore House. He was pretty far afield, so I spoke to him sharply. He laughed, and said that the heat had made him sleepless, and that he preferred the air to the closeness of his quarters. I said no more, but resolved to double my watch of him. This I did, and three times have I seen him leave camp without permit. Confiding my fears regarding the reason for such absences to Lieutenant Bolton we followed him last night, and our vigilance was rewarded. Drayton met one of Lafayette's men, and we were close enough to them to hear him repeat the orders issued by Lord Cornwallis yesterday to Lieutenant-Colonel Dundas concerning some movements which were to take place from Gloucester Point, and also impart other important information.

"Fearful lest some untoward incident might contribute to his escape we let him return unmolested to the camp before apprehending him. His lordship is quite cut up over the matter, and hath commended me publicly for my alertness. He hath also," concluded the youth proudly, "placed the prisoner in my entire charge, leaving all proceedings in the affair to be arranged by me. There will be no flaw in carrying out the sentence, I promise you."

"And all this time, while I have thought him disloyal, he hath been true, true!" cried Peggy brokenly. "Oh, I should have known! I should have known!"

"And he is in your charge, Cliff?" asked Harriet. "My, but you are coming on! Father will have to look to his laurels."

"You are o'er young, my son, to have the management of so serious an affair," remarked Colonel Owen gravely. "Lord Cornwallis likes young men, and hath favored them upon many occasions when 'twould have been better to give preference to older men. However, if you see that his confidence is not misplaced we shall all be proud of you."

"Have no fear, sir," said Clifford pompously. "I have placed the prisoner in a small cottage where there is no possibility of holding communication with any one. He is not only well guarded, sir, but I have the door locked upon the outside, and I myself carry the key. Even Lord Cornwallis could not see him without first coming to me. Oh, I have provided well against any miscarriage of justice."

"Thee must let me see him, Clifford," spoke Peggy abruptly. "I shall never know peace unless I have his forgiveness. Thee will let me see him, my cousin?"

"What you ask, Peggy, is utterly impossible," answered Clifford. "He shall not have one privilege. A spy deserves none. 'Twas not my desire that the execution should be deferred until morning. There should be no delay in such matters. Spies should be dealt with summarily."

"You forget, son, that doctrine of that sort works both ways," observed his father, smiling at the youth's important air. "We have spies of our own in the enemy's lines. Too great harshness of dealing will be retaliated upon our own men."

"Clifford," cried Peggy going to him, and laying her hand upon his arm pleadingly, "does thee not remember how he spared thee? He could have slain thee when he had thee at his mercy. Thee will not refuse me one little hour with him, my cousin."

"I shall not grant one minute," returned he sternly. The look which she had seen when he refused to greet Harriet until satisfied of her loyalty came now to his face. "He shall not have one privilege."

"'Twould be inhuman not to permit it, Clifford. 'Tis not justice thee seeks, but the gratifying of thine own rancor toward him."

"She is right, my son," spoke Colonel Owen. "You lay yourself open to that very charge. To guard closely against escape is right. To take every precaution against the miscarriage of the sentence is duty. But to refuse a small privilege is not only against the dictates of humanity, but 'tis impolitic as well. The vicissitudes of war are many, and by sad fortune you might find yourself in the same condition as this young fellow. 'Tis the part of wisdom to grant what one can in such cases."

"Captain Williams needs no instructions as to his duty, sir," returned Clifford hotly.

Colonel Owen laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

"I had forgot," he said ironically. "I cry you pardon. Captain Williams, of course, is conversant with the entire code of civilized warfare. I shall say no more." He arose and left the apartment.

"Clifford, thee must let me see John," urged Peggy with feverish insistence. "A little time is all I ask. It could not matter, nor make the least difference in carrying out thy duty. One little hour, Clifford!"

"Say no more," he cried harshly. "I will not permit it."

"Thee shall, Clifford Owen." Peggy's own voice grew hard in the intensity of her feeling. "I have never asked favor of thee before, and yet thee is indebted to me. Have I not cared for thee in illness? Thee has said that thee would try in part to repay what thee owed me. This is thy opportunity. When thee was about to die among strangers I came to comfort and console thee in thy last hours. Wilt not let him have a like consolation? Clifford!" Her voice broke suddenly. "Thee will let me see him."

"No," he responded inexorably. "Where are you going?" he asked abruptly as the girl turned from him with determination written on her countenance.

"I am going to Lord Cornwallis," answered Peggy. "I shall lay this matter before him, and show him that 'tis not zeal which animates thee in the discharge of thy duty, but private hatred. I make no doubt but that he will accord me permission to see John."

"I make no doubt of it either," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the boy savagely. He was well enough acquainted with his chief to know that a demand made by so winsome a maiden would be granted. "Come back here, Peggy. I'll let you see him. I don't care to have Lord Cornwallis, or any one else, mixed up in our private affairs. But mind! it will only be for one hour."

"Thank thee, Clifford. 'Tis all I ask," she said sorrowfully. "When will thee take me to him?"

"So long as it has to be, it might as well be now," he told her sulkily.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, Clifford."

"And the dinner, good people?" broke in Harriet. "Am I not to be pleasured by your company?"

"The dinner can wait," exclaimed her brother shortly. "We'll get this business over with."

Too intent upon her own feelings to give heed to the dourness of the lad Peggy followed him silently as he strode from the house. In all her after life she never forgot that walk: the glare of the sun; the soft touch of the breeze which came freshly from the sea; the broad expanse of the river where it melted into the broader sweep of the bay; the frigates and shipping of the British lying in the river below, and above all the heaviness of her heart as she followed her cousin to the place where John Drayton awaited death.

Eastward of the village, on its extreme outskirts stood a small one story house with but one window and a single door. It was quite remote from the other dwellings of the town, and the tents of the army lay further to the east and south so that it practically stood alone. A mulberry tree at some little distance from the house afforded the only relief from the blazing August sun to be found in that part of the village. Two sentries marched to and fro around the hut, while a guard, heavily armed, sat just without the threshold of the door. Clifford conducted the girl at once to the entrance. The guard saluted and moved aside at his command.