Peggy Owen at Yorktown Part 36

"John," she breathed.

"Peggy," he answered in so low a tone that she could scarcely distinguish the words. "How did you manage it? I thought your cousin my most implacable enemy."

"'Twas Harriet," she told him. "She wears Clifford's uniform."

"Harriet!" Drayton's whisper expressed the most intense astonishment.

"Harriet!" And even as he spoke the name she stood beside them.

"Come," she said. They glided after her, pausing only when they had reached a safe distance from the hut.

"We must not stop to talk," said the English girl in peremptory tones.

"Captain Drayton, you will have to depend upon yourself now."

"Gladly," he responded having recovered from his amazement by this time.

"How can I thank you, Mistress Harriet? I--"

"You owe me no thanks," she interrupted coldly. "I did it for Peggy. We cannot stay longer. We must get back with the key before Clifford wakes.

Go!"

"Yet none the less do I thank you," spoke the youth huskily. "'Twould have been a shameful death. I thank you both. Good-bye!" He said no more, but disappeared into the darkness.

With anxiety the girls returned to the house. All was as quiet as when they left. Without incident the key was restored to Clifford's pocket, and, donning her own attire, Harriet went to rouse Colonel Owen. For it was near midnight.

CHAPTER x.x.xI-THE DAWN OF THE MORNING

"What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses?

Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected now shines on the stream; 'Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!"

-Francis Scott Key.

"Hurrah! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin!

Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, Charge for the golden lilies now-upon them with the lance!"

-"The Battle of Ivry," Macaulay.

Would the escape be discovered at once? The maidens asked this over and over as they crept into bed, and lay listening to every sound with feverish expectancy. But the night hours came and went, bringing with them no incident that betokened any unusual commotion in the camp. So, declaring that naught was to be learned until morning, Harriet dropped into slumber. Not so Peggy.

With the first faint streaks of the dawn sounded the bugle and drum beat of the reveille, and she arose, dressed, and went down to the small portico in front of the house, hoping to hear something which would a.s.sure her that Drayton had not been retaken.

The sweet coolness of the early morning came restfully after the excitement of the night, and under its pleasantness Peggy felt all her anxieties fade away, and in their stead there came a deep feeling of peace. Over the world the darkness of the night still brooded, but lightly like a thin curtain whose filmy meshes were even now dissolving under the growing brightness. All the stars save the morning one had been extinguished by the gray dawn, and this first messenger of the day still hung tremblingly in the east, a prophet sign of the light and glory to follow. From the distance came the noises of the great camp, and from a neighboring bush sounded the melody of a mocking-bird. The world was sweet and fair, and life, in spite of dark moments, was well worth while. Peggy had reached this point in her musings when the voice of Colonel Owen startled her:

"You are up early, my little cousin. I feared that you would not sleep."

There was an unwonted note of solicitude in his tones, and it came to the girl with something of a shock that he was thinking of the execution which was to have taken place at this hour. She opened her lips eagerly to reply, and then there came the thought that not yet could she declare her thankfulness until the escape had become known.

"Sometimes," continued the colonel coming from the door to her side, "sometimes, Peggy, 'tis wise to move about in sorrow. Action distracts the mind, and anything that draws the thoughts from grief is of benefit.

Come, my little cousin! let's you and I go to see the sun rise over the river. 'Tis said to be wondrously beautiful. Will you come?"

"Yes," answered she gently, touched by his thought of her.

"We shall have just time to reach the point," he said leading the way to the gate, "but there will be need for haste."

The main street of the village faced the river, and this they followed eastward. The way led by the hut where Drayton had been confined, and Peggy glanced quickly at it. It was closed and apparently deserted, with no sign of sentinel, or guard. She gave a sigh of relief. William Owen's brow contracted in a frown.

"Peggy, I did not think," he exclaimed with contrition. "I forgot that we should pa.s.s by the place."

"It doth not matter," she returned so cheerfully that his face brightened. "Shall we go on, Cousin William?"

The walk took them through rows and rows of tents where the soldiers were busily engaged in preparing breakfast, and on to a high point of land far to the east of the village facing Chesapeake Bay.

The shadows still lay darkly under trees and shrubs. The distant woods were veiled and still, but already in the east a faint rose bloom was creeping. Below them was the river and on its broad bosom floated the British ships. The soft murmur of the waves as they caressed the sh.o.r.e came ripplingly with musical rhythm. The color of the sky deepened and grew to deepest crimson, and water, tents, woods and fields bloomed and blushed under the roseate effulgence. Great shafts of golden light flamed suddenly athwart the rosy clouds. The green of the woods, and the purple mists of the horizon became gradually discernible. The waters were tinged with rainbow hues. As the crimson, and purple, and gold of the river mingled with the gold, and purple, and crimson of the bay the sun rose majestically from a sea of amber cloud. A wonderful blaze of glory streamed over river and bay. Suddenly from around a bend to the southward, as though they were part of the picture, three ships sailed into the midst of the enchanting spectacle. Three ships, full rigged, towering pyramids of sails, which moved with graceful dignity across the broad expanse of glorified water, and came to rest like snowy sea-gulls near the Gloucester sh.o.r.e.

"The French fleet," burst from Peggy's lips involuntarily.

"The French fleet! Nonsense! Girl, why do you say that?" exclaimed her cousin. "What reason have you for thinking them so? No, they are the ships that Sir Henry was to send as convoy to the transports. We have expected them." He regarded the vessels keenly for a time, and all at once an uneasy expression crossed his face.

"Why do they not answer the signals of the 'Charon'?" he muttered. "See!

They do not respond, yet our ship signals. Odds life, my cousin! I believe that you are right."

Peggy began to tremble as Drayton's words came to her.

"If the French fleet comes, the end of the war comes with it." Could it be? Was it in very truth the beginning of the end?

That for which the people prayed had come at last; for it was indeed the French fleet, and with its coming came the dawn of victory. The sun of Liberty was brightening into the full day of Freedom when, her last fetter thrown aside, America should take her place among the nations.

"There is a fourth vessel coming," remarked Colonel Owen presently. "A frigate this time. The others were ships of the line. We must go back, Peggy. My Lord Cornwallis should know of this arrival."

With a great hope filling her heart Peggy followed him silently back to the dwelling. He left her at the door, and hastened to the house of Secretary Nelson, where the earl had his headquarters. Harriet was already at the breakfast table.

"Where have you been, Peggy?" she asked. "Here I have searched all through the house but could find no one. I was beginning to regard myself as a deserted damsel. Were you seeking further adventures?"

"No, Harriet," Peggy laughed lightly. "I went with thy father to see the sun rise over the river. 'Twas a beautiful sight. Thee must see it. Four ships came while we were there and Cousin William hath gone to inform Lord Cornwallis of the fact."

"The English fleet, I make no doubt," remarked Harriet carelessly. "I think it hath been expected. Did'st see anything of Clifford?"

"No." A perplexed look shadowed Peggy's face. "Nor did I hear a word anent the escape, Harriet. The hut was closed, and there was no sentry about it. 'Tis strange that we have heard naught regarding the matter.

Would that Clifford would come."

As though in answer to her wish Clifford himself at this moment appeared at the door. He was haggard and pale, and he sank into a chair as though utterly weary.

"You are worn out, Clifford," exclaimed Harriet with some anxiety. "Have a cup of tea. You take your military duties far too seriously, I fear me."

"Yes, I will take the tea, Harriet," said the youth drearily. "Make it strong, my sister. Everything hath gone awry. That Yankee captain escaped."

"Escaped?" Harriet brought him the tea, which he quaffed eagerly. "Tell us about it, Clifford. How did it happen?"