Peggy Owen at Yorktown Part 38

-"Lord of the Isles," Scott.

As the youth spoke the cannonading which for ten long days of thunderous bombardment had raged incessantly suddenly ceased, giving place to a stillness painful in its intensity.

"What doth that mean?" exclaimed Harriet.

"It means a cessation of hostilities," explained Clifford huskily. "It means that old Britain is beaten. Oh! if I were Cornwallis, I'd fight until there was not a man left. I'd never yield."

"Blame him not, Clifford," said Harriet. "He hath made a brave defense.

For my part, I am thankful that 'tis over. Have you seen father?"

"No," answered the youth. "Not since yesterday."

"Then let us find him," suggested she. "'Twill be a relief to get out of this cave. Come, Peggy!"

And nothing loth Peggy followed her. The village was utterly wrecked. On every side were mute tokens of the fury of the siege. The houses were completely dismantled; in many instances literally riddled by shot. The streets had been torn into great holes and ploughed into deep furrows by the burrowing of sh.e.l.ls. There were sights of horror everywhere, and the girls grew faint and sick as they hastened with averted eyes to their former dwelling, which was found to be less dilapidated than many of the others. Clifford went in search of his father, and soon returned with him. Colonel Owen was as gloomy as his son over the prospect of surrender. He frowned at sight of Peggy.

"I suppose that you are rejoicing over our defeat, my little cousin," he exclaimed harshly.

"I am glad indeed that the cause hath succeeded, my cousin," answered the girl frankly. "We have fought so long that 'tis matter for rejoicing when at length the victory is ours. Yet," she added meeting his look with one of compa.s.sion, "I am sorry for thee, too. I grieve to see either a proud nation or a proud man humbled."

"And is it indeed over, as Clifford says, father?" questioned Harriet.

"Yes," he told her, his whole manner expressive of the deepest chagrin.

"Washington hath consented to a cessation of hostilities for two hours, but there is no doubt as to the outcome. Our works are shattered, and the ammunition almost exhausted. There is naught else to do but surrender, but 'tis a bitter dose to swallow."

He covered his face with his hands and groaned. Clifford turned upon Peggy with something of irritation.

"Why don't you say what you are thinking?" he cried. "Say that you are glad, but don't for pity sake look sorry for us!"

"I am not thinking of thee at all," returned Peggy wistfully, "but of father. Neither thee nor thy father is hurt, but what of my father?"

"And do you wish to go to him?"

"Yes," she uttered eagerly.

"It can be arranged," he said. "I will see to a flag." As he started to leave them William Owen looked up.

"Include Harriet in that too, my son," he said. "This will be a sad place for her until after the manner of capitulation hath been arranged."

"I shall not go, father," interposed the maiden raising her head proudly. "An English girl hath no place among victorious foes. Send Peggy and you will, but I shall not leave you in your humiliation."

"So be it," he said.

Thus it came about that Peggy found herself outside the British works, advancing toward the American lines under a flag. Less than three hundred yards from the shattered works of the British the second parallel of the patriots extended, and in front of it were the batteries which had raked the town with such destructive fire. Midway of this distance they beheld the solitary figure of a man approaching, also bearing a flag. At sight of him Peggy forgot her escort, forgot everything, and ran forward uttering a cry of gladness.

"Father, father!" she screamed.

"My little la.s.s!" David Owen clasped her in a close embrace. "I was coming in search of thee. I have been wild with anxiety concerning thee since I learned that thou wert in the town. It hath been a fearful time!

Had not our cause been just I could not have borne it. There is much to tell and hear, la.s.s. Let us seek a place more retired."

The batteries of the patriots, the redoubts taken from the enemy, and the parallel, were connected by a covert way and angling works, all mantled by more than a hundred pieces of cannon and mortars. David Owen hurried his daughter past these quickly, for the girl paled at sight of the dreadful engines of war whose fearful thundering had wrought such havoc and destruction. Presently they found themselves somewhat apart from the movements of the army, and Peggy poured forth all her woes.

There was indeed much to relate. She had not seen her father for three long years, and in his presence she felt as though there could no longer be trouble.

"And after they had been so kind of late," concluded Peggy in speaking of their cousins, "they seemed just to-day as though they did not wish me with them. Even Harriet, who hath been clamorous for me to remain with her, seemed so."

"Mind it not, la.s.s," said he consolingly. "'Tis because they did not wish a witness to their humiliation. After the first brunt of feeling hath worn away I make no doubt but that their manner will be better even than before. Ah! yonder is Captain Drayton. The boy hath been well-nigh crazed at thy peril. I will call him."

The rest of the day and the next also flags pa.s.sed and repa.s.sed between the lines, and on the afternoon of the latter commissioners met at the Moore House to draw up articles of capitulation. These were acceded to and signed. The British received the same terms which they had imposed upon the Americans at Charlestown. Nothing now remained but the observance of the formal surrender, which was set for the next day.

The nineteenth of October dawned gloriously. About noon the combined armies marched to their positions in the large field lying south of the town, and were drawn up in two lines about a mile long, on the right and left of a road running from the village. On the right of the road were the American troops; on the left those of the French. A large concourse of people had gathered from all the countryside to see the spectacle.

Every countenance glowed with satisfaction and joy. The long struggle was virtually ended. It had been a contest not for power, not for aggrandizement, but for a great principle.

To Peggy's joy it was found that her little mare had not been killed, and so, mounted on Star, she was permitted to view the pageant by her father's side.

The French troops presented a most brilliant spectacle in white uniforms with colored tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, and with plumed and decorated officers at their head. Along the line floated their banners of white silk embroidered with the golden lilies. They were gallant allies in gallant array. Their gorgeous standards caught the glint of the sun and glittered and sparkled in its rays. But the girl turned to view the less attractive Americans.

There was variety of dress, poor at best. The French gentlemen laughed at the lack of uniform, but respected the fighting abilities of the men so clad. But if many wore but linen overalls there was a soldierly bearing that commanded attention. These men were conquerors. Their very appearance bespoke the hardships and privations they had undergone to win in the struggle. Over their heads there fluttered the starry banner which through their exertions had earned its right to live. Through these men a nation had been born into the world. The golden lilies were soon to wither; the red, white and blue of America was to be taken later by France in their stead.

At two o'clock the captive army filed out of the garrison. "Let there be no cheering," had been the order from Washington. "They have made a brave defense." And so the march was made between silent ranks of conquerors, the music being the then well-known air of "The World Turned Upside Down." The tune probably expressed very accurately the feelings of the men who were to lay down their arms that autumn afternoon. Their world had indeed been turned upside down when they were prisoners of the men whom they had affected to despise. Each soldier had been given a new uniform by Cornwallis, and the army marched quietly and with precision to the field where they were to lay down their arms. But if there was quietness there was sullenness also. The pride and spirit of Britain were put to a severe test, and many could scarcely conceal their mortification as they marched with cased colors, an indignity that had been inflicted upon the garrison at Charlestown.

As they came forth every eye sought, not the plumed leader of the French, but the plainly attired gentleman who sat upon a n.o.ble charger, and viewed their coming with an inscrutable countenance. This was the man but for whom they would have been victorious-that n.o.ble and gracious figure which signified to all the world that the American Revolution had ended in complete victory, the Virginia planter, whom they had despised at the beginning of the conflict. They regarded him now with something nearly approaching awe-the leader who had encountered trials and obstacles such as no general had ever before been called upon to face.

The trials had been overcome and endured; the obstacles surmounted, and the country carried on to victory in spite of itself.

Earl Cornwallis pleaded indisposition, and sent the soldiers who worshipped him out to stand their humiliation without him. It was General O'Hara who tendered his sword to General Washington who, with dignity, motioned that it should be given to General Lincoln, who had been in command at Charlestown when that place surrendered to the British.

It was over at last, and the stars and stripes floated from the redoubts at Yorktown. The officers were released on parole, and the men were to be held prisoners in the states of Virginia and Maryland.

"And now what shall be done with thee, la.s.s?" queried David Owen of Peggy.

"Let us go home, father," cried Peggy. "I am so tired of war and its surroundings. Can thee not get a leave?"

"Yes," he said. "To-morrow we will start for home."

"For home and mother," cried Peggy joyfully.

The Stories in this Series are:

PEGGY OWEN PEGGY OWEN, PATRIOT PEGGY OWEN AT YORKTOWN PEGGY OWEN AND LIBERTY

LUCY FOSTER MADISON