Peggy Owen Patriot Part 44

"I know, but I'm not going to leave you to the mercy of those fiends,"

he cried.

"John, thee must not fail. See! they are gaining. Go, go! Does thee remember that thee will be suspected until thee is tried?"

"I know," he said doggedly, "but I won't leave you."

"For thy country's sake," she entreated. "Oh, John, I can't have thee fail because of me. Think of that poor vidette. Is thee going to do less than he? 'Tis thy duty."

"Peggy, don't ask it," he pleaded.

"Thee is less than soldier if thee doesn't do thy duty," she cried, quick to see her advantage. "John Drayton, I will never trust thee again if thee fails in thy duty now."

The two young people gazed at each other through the dust of the road, the girl with earnest entreaty, determined to keep the lad to his duty in spite of himself, and the youth torn by his fear for her and his loyalty.

"Go," she cried again. "I am a soldier's daughter. Would I be worthy the name if thee failed because of me? Go at once, or 'twill be too late."

"I'm going, Peggy," he said with a sob. "I'm going to do my duty even if you are the sacrifice. Take this pistol, and defend yourself. Good-bye."

He bent and kissed her hand, and then without one backward glance went flying down the road and disappeared around a bend. For duty to country must come before everything, and father, mother, brother, sister, wife or sweetheart, must be sacrificed upon its altar, if need arises.

There was a smile on Peggy's lips, for Drayton had kept to his duty in spite of as great a temptation as ever a.s.sailed a man to do otherwise, and so smiling she turned to meet the pursuers.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII-A GREAT SURPRISE

"A man's country is not a certain area of land, of mountains, rivers and woods-but it is a principle, and patriotism is loyalty to that principle."

-George William Curtis.

There came hoa.r.s.e shouts from the pursuing troopers as Drayton disappeared from view, and they galloped toward the girl at increased speed. There was something so fierce, so martial in their aspect that it struck terror to the maiden's heart, and she found herself all at once shaking and quaking with fear.

Dear as freedom is to every pulse, standing up for the first time before an advancing foe one is apt to find one's courage oozing out at the fingers' ends. And so with Peggy.

The smile died from her lips, and a sort of panic took possession of her as the sunshine caught the sheen of their scabbards and lighted into glowing color the scarlet of their uniforms. Nearer they came. The girl trembled like a leaf.

"I am a soldier's daughter," she told herself in an effort to regain self-control. "I will die like one."

Almost unconsciously her little hand clutched the pistol that Drayton had thrust into it, and, as the enemy were nearly upon her, in an agony of fear Peggy raised the weapon and fired. The foremost dragoon reeled slightly, recovered his balance immediately, and drew rein with his right arm hanging limply by his side. The others also checked their horses as a scream of horror burst from Peggy's lips.

"G.o.d forgive me," she cried. "Blood-guiltiness is upon me! I knew not what I did."

And with this cry she threw the pistol from her, and dashed at once to the dragoon's side.

"Thee is hurt," she exclaimed looking up at him wildly. "Forgive me, friend. I meant not to harm thee. Oh, I meant it not!"

"Then why did you fire?" he demanded, regarding her with astonishment.

Peggy wrung her hands in anguish.

"I was afraid. Thee and thy troopers looked so terrible that I was in panic. I knew not what I did, friend. And thy arm! See how it bleeds!

Sir, let me bandage it, I pray thee. I have some skill in such matters."

Her distress was so evident, her contrition so sincere that the scowl on his face relaxed. Without further word he removed his coat, and let her examine the injured member while the dragoons gathered about them, eyeing the girl curiously. Her face grew deadly pale at sight of the blood that gushed forth from a wound near the elbow, but controlling her emotion she deftly applied a ligature, using her own kerchief for it.

"You're a fine rebel," was his comment as she completed the self-imposed task. "Shoot a man so that you can patch him up! 'Tis small wonder that you have skill in such matters. Gordon, bring me that pistol. 'Tis the first time that Banastre Tarleton hath been wounded in this war, and I am minded to keep the weapon that did it."

"Is thee Colonel Tarleton?" asked she, her heart sinking.

"Yes," he made answer, a peculiar light coming into his eyes at her involuntary shrinking. "And now, my fair rebel with the Quaker speech, will you tell me why one of your sect fires upon an officer of His Majesty? But perchance you are not a Quakeress?"

"Methought I was in all but politics," she replied. "I have been trained all my life to believe that courage is displayed, and honor attained by doing and suffering; but I have sadly departed from the ways of peace,"

she added humbly. "I knew not before that my nature had been so corrupted by the war that my fort.i.tude had become ferocity. Yet it must be so since I have resorted to violence and the shedding of blood. And how shall I tell my mother!"

"Have you despatches?" he asked sternly. "Where were you going when we captured you? I suppose that you realize that you are my prisoner?"

"Yes; I know, sir. I bear no despatches," she told him meeting his eyes so frankly that he could not but believe her. "I was trying to get to my home in Philadelphia. I started three days since, but lost my way. Every one I asked for guidance gave it, correctly, I doubt not, but what with the crossroads and swamps, and being unfamiliar with the country I have gone far astray. Now I suppose that I shall never see my mother again!"

"Well, you know that you deserve some punishment for that hurt. And now what about that fellow that was with you? Why did the dastard leave you?

Zounds! how can a maiden prefer any of these uncouth rascals when they exhibit such craven spirit!"

"He was doing his duty, sir," answered Peggy, and her eyes flashed with such fire that he laughed, well pleased that he could rouse her.

"His duty, eh? And did duty call him so strongly that he could leave a girl alone to face what might be certain death? We English would call it another name."

"Then you English would know nothing of true courage," she retorted. "He is a patriot, and his duty must come before everything else. Thee will find, if thee has not already found, Colonel Tarleton, that these uncouth rascals, as thee terms them, are not so wanting in spirit as thy words imply."

"No; 'fore George, they are not," he exclaimed. "And now unravel your story to me. Your whole history, while we go on to Camden. 'Tis a goodly distance, and 'twill serve to make me forget this hurt."

"Doth it pain thee so much?" she asked tremulously, the soft light of pity and sorrow springing again to her eyes.

"Oh, yes," he answered grimly. "But now your story, mistress. And leave out no part of it. I wish to know of all your treasonable doings so as to make your punishment commensurable with your merits."

And Peggy, suppressing that part of her narrative that related to the army, told him how she had been taken to New York, of the shipwreck, and about her efforts to reach her home.

"And so Colonel Owen of the Welsh Fusileers is your cousin," he mused.

"Methought that I had seen you somewhere, and now I know that it must have been at his house. Would you like to stay with your cousin and his daughter until I decide upon your punishment?"

"Thee did not understand, I fear me," she exclaimed with a startled glance. "I could not stay with them because they were lost at sea. Does thee not remember that I said they were on the 'Falcon'?"

"True; but you could not see for the fog what happened after you left in the small boat. They were rescued by another schooner, the 'Rose,' which I was on myself. We escaped serious injury in the storm, and came across the 'Falcon' just in time to rescue the crew and skipper, and those officers and others who happened to be aboard."

For a short time Peggy was so overcome that she could not speak, but at last she murmured faintly:

"Oh, I am glad, glad!"

"What sort of girl are you," he asked abruptly, "that you rejoice over their rescue? They were unkind to you, by your own telling. Why should you feel joy that they are living?"