Peggy Owen Patriot Part 1

Peggy Owen Patriot.

by Lucy Foster Madison.

Introduction

In "Peggy Owen," the preceding book of the series, the heroine, a little Quaker maid, lives across from the State House in Philadelphia. By reason of this she becomes much interested in the movements of the Continental Congress, and when her father, in spite of his religion, takes up arms for the Whigs she too becomes an ardent patriot. While David Owen is with the army before Boston, Peggy and her mother find a kinsman of his-William Owen, a colonel in the English army-a prisoner in the city's new jail.

They succeed in having him released on parole, and take him into their home, where he requites their kindness by selfishness and arrogance, even killing Peggy's pet dog, Pilot. He is exchanged at length, but before leaving he brings one James Molesworth to the house, claiming that he does not like to leave them unprotected. This man Peggy discovers to be a spy.

Upon the advance of the British toward Philadelphia Peggy and her mother go to their farm on the banks of the Wissahickon. Here they are almost denuded of supplies by foragers, one party of which is headed by their own kinsman, Colonel Owen. American troopers arrive, and a sharp skirmish takes place, in which Colonel Owen is wounded. While caring for him word is received that David Owen is a prisoner in Philadelphia, and ill of a fever. General Howe proposes to have him exchanged for one Thomas Shale, and Peggy rides to Valley Forge to secure the consent of General Washington. Owing to the fact that the man is a spy and a deserter the exchange cannot take place, and, in a blaze of anger at finding her cousin so comfortable while her own father lies ill, Peggy denounces him, and forces him to accede to the proposal that he be exchanged for her father. The book closes with the evacuation of Philadelphia by the British.

The present volume shows the Owens at Washington's camp in northern New Jersey. Peggy's further adventures are continued in "Peggy Owen at Yorktown" and "Peggy Owen and Liberty."

PEGGY OWEN, PATRIOT

CHAPTER I-ON THE ROAD TO PHILADELPHIA

"And rising Chestnut Hill around surveyed Wide woods below in vast extent displayed."

-"The Forester," Alexander Wilson.

"Oh, gracious!"

The exclamation burst from the lips of a slender girl mounted upon a small black mare, and she drew rein abruptly.

"What is it, Peggy?" asked a sweet-faced matron, leaning from the side of a "one horse chair" drawn up under the shade of a tree by the roadside. "What hath happened? Thee seems dismayed."

"I am, mother," answered the girl, springing lightly from the back of the horse. "My saddle girth hath broken, and both Robert and Tom are back with the wagons. There is a breakdown. What shall I do? This will cause another delay, I fear."

"Thee can do nothing, Peggy, until Robert returns. Try to content thyself until then."

"I could repair it myself, I believe, if I only had a string," said the maiden. "I wonder if there isn't one in the chaise. Let's look, mother."

Throwing the bridle over her arm the girl joined her mother, and the two began a hasty search of the vehicle.

It was a golden day in September, 1778, and the afternoon sun was flooding with light the calm and radiant landscape afforded by the wooded slopes of Chestnut Hill, penetrating even the dense branches that overarched the highroad leading to Germantown.

It was one of those soft, balmy days when the fathomless daylight seemed to stand and dream. A cool elixir was in the air. The distant range of hills beyond the river Schuylkill was bound with a faint haze, a frail transparency whose lucid purple barely veiled the valleys. From the motionless trees the long clean shadows swept over tangles of underbrush brightened by the purple coronets of asters, feathery plumes of goldenrod, and the burning glory of the scarlet sumac. Ranks of silken thistles blown to seed disputed possession of the roadside with lowly poke-bushes laden with Tyrian fruit.

The view from the crest of the hill where the chaise had stopped was beautiful. The great forest land spread out beneath seemed boundless in extent, for the farms scattered among the woodland were scarcely visible from the height, but the maiden and her mother were so intent upon the mishap of the broken strap as to be for the nonce insensible to the delights of the scenery. So absorbed were they that they started violently when a voice exclaimed:

"Your servant, ladies! Can I be of any a.s.sistance?"

"Why," gasped Peggy, turning about in amazement as a lad of about eighteen, whose appearance was far from rea.s.suring, stepped from the woods into the road. "Who art thou, and what does thee want?"

"I want to help you mend your saddle," said the youth coolly, doffing a tattered beaver with some grace. "Didst not say that the girth had broke?"

"Yes, but," began the girl, when her mother spoke:

"Art sure that thou canst aid us, my lad?" she asked mildly. "Thou wilt not mind if I say that thee looks in need of aid thyself."

"As to that, madam, it can be discussed later," he rejoined. "For the present, permit me to say that here is a piece of rawhide, and here a jack-knife. What doth hinder the repairing of the saddle but your permission?"

"And that thou hast," returned the lady. "We shall be indeed grateful to thee for thy aid."

At once the youth stepped to the side of the mare, and inspected the broken band critically. Then, removing the saddle to the ground, he set to work upon it with a dexterity that showed him to be no novice. "What is the name of the pony?" he asked, addressing the maiden directly.

"Star," answered she regarding him with curious eyes.

He was in truth a spectacle to excite both curiosity and pity. He was haggard and unkempt, and his garments hung about him in tatters. His form was thin to emaciation, and, while he boasted the remains of a beaver, his feet were without covering of any sort.

"'Tis a pretty beast," he remarked, seeming not at all concerned as to his rags. "One of the likeliest bits of horse-flesh I've seen in many a day. Are you fond of her?"

"I am indeed," answered the girl, patting the mare gently. "My father gave her to me, and I would not lose her for anything. He is now with the army at White Plains, New York."

"Are you not Quakers?" he queried, glancing up in surprise.

"We are of the Society of Friends, which the world's people call Quakers," interposed the matron from the chaise.

"And they, methought, were neutral," he observed with a smile.

"Not all, friend. There be some who are called Free Quakers, because they choose to range themselves upon the side of their country. Methinks thou shouldst have heard of them."

"I have," he rejoined, "but as Fighting or Hickory Quakers."

"It doesn't matter what we are called so long as we are of service to the country," exclaimed Peggy with some warmth. "Is thee not of the army too? Thou art an American."

The lad hesitated, and then said quickly: "Not now. I have been." And then, abruptly-"Are you ladies alone?"

"No," replied the girl, casting an anxious glance down the roadway. The highways of Pennsylvania, once so peaceful and serene, were by this period of the war so infected with outlaws and ruffians as to be scarcely safe for travelers. "We have an escort who are coming up with the wagons. One broke, and it took all hands to repair it. They should be here at any time now."

"There!" spoke the youth, rising. "I think, mistress, that you will find your saddle in prime order for the rest of your journey."

"Thank thee," said Peggy gratefully. "It is well done. And now what shall we do for thee? How can we serve thee for thy kindness?"

"Are you bound for Philadelphia, or do you stop in Germantown?" he asked.

"Philadelphia, my lad," spoke the mother.

"Would thee--" She hesitated a moment and then drew forth some bills.