CHAPTER XXI--THE RECKONING
"He flees From his own treachery; all his pride, his hopes, Are scattered at a breath; even courage fails Now falsehood sinks from under him."
--Walter Savage Landor.
As Peggy placed the candle she had carried to light them up the stairsin the socket of a candlestick on the chest of drawers, Harriet closedthe door, and shot the bolt. Then slowly the two turned and stood faceto face. Not a word was spoken for a full moment. They gazed at eachother as though seeking to pierce the mask of flesh and bones that hidtheir souls.
It was a tense moment. The attitude of the Quakeress was accusing; thatof the English girl defiant, changing to one of supplication as the darkeyes of her cousin held her own orbs in that intent look. For a time shebore the gaze unflinchingly, but soon her glance wavered, her eyelidsdrooped, and she sank into a chair whispering:
"You know, Peggy. You know!"
"Yes," said Peggy. "I know, Harriet."
"Will--will they hang me, Peggy? What did Mr. Washington say? Oh, I havebeen so miserable this afternoon! I thought they were coming to take meevery time the door opened. And you were so long with him. What did hesay?"
"He does not know that it was thee who writ the letter yet, Harriet,"Peggy informed her calmly.
"Not know?" ejaculated Harriet, springing up in amazement. "Did you nottell him, Peggy?"
"No, Harriet. I promised thee this morning that I would not, and I couldnot break my word," explained Peggy simply.
"You did not tell him?" cried Harriet, as though she could not believeher ears. "Why, Peggy Owen, how could you get out of it? He wouldbelieve that you were the guilty one if you did not."
"So he told me, Harriet. But I had promised thee; and then, and then,though thee does not deserve it, I could not help but think of that spywe saw---- But, Harriet, I asked him to give me a little time, and Ithought that I would ask thee to return my promise, because I cannotsubmit to rest under the implication of having tried to injure GeneralWashington. Thee must give me back my word, my cousin."
"And if I do not?" asked Harriet anxiously.
"I am going to father with the whole matter. I shall do that anyway. Thegeneral claims that I was tricked, and I was, most shamefully. Thatletter was not the one that thee let me read. And the letter telling ofthe attack was thine. I see it all--why thee rode ahead to warn thegovernor and the garrison, and everything. The time has come, Harriet,when thou shalt tell me why thou hast come here to act as a spy. Whyhast thou used us, thy kinspeople, to mask such plots as thou hast beenin against our own friends? Have we used thee unkindly? Ordiscourteously? Why should thee treat us so, my cousin?"
"WHY SHOULD THEE PLAY THE SPY?"]
"I did not mean to, Peggy," returned Harriet with her old manner ofaffection. "Do you not remember that I said this morning that I wassorry that I let you send it? And I am. I am. But John Drayton was to bewith us, and he watched me so that I feared that he would see me. Truly,I am sorry, Peggy."
She spoke with evident sincerity so that Peggy believed her.
"Harriet," she said, "tell me why thou hast done this? Why should theeplay the spy?"
Harriet shivered at the word. "I am cold," she said. "Let us get intobed, Peggy. I am cold."
Without a word of protest Peggy helped her to undress, but she herselfclimbed into the four-poster without disrobing. Harriet pulled the manycolored counterpanes about her and snuggled down into the thick featherbed.
"Peggy," she said presently, "I know 'tis thought most indelicate for afemale to engage in such enterprise as spying, but would you not takeany risk for your country if you thought it would benefit her?"
"Yes," assented her cousin. "I would."
"That and one other thing is the reason that I have become one," saidHarriet. "We English believe that you Americans are wrong about the war.We are loyal to our king, and fight to keep the colonies whichrightfully belong to him. I came with my brother, Clifford, over here,and both of us were full of enthusiasm for His Majesty. We determined todo anything that would help him to put down the rebellion, and sobelieving offered our services to Sir Henry Clinton.
"There was but this one thing that I could do, and when we learned thatyou and your mother were to join Cousin David we knew that it was theopportunity we sought. Sir Henry welcomed the chance to have aninformant who would be right in the midst of things without beingsuspected. And I have learned much, Peggy. I have done good work."
"Harriet," interrupted Peggy amazed at the recital, "does thee mean totell me thee knew when mother and I were coming?"
"To the very day," answered Harriet with a laugh. "Oh, we keep wellinformed in New York. You little know the people who are around you. Andyour general hath spies among us, too. 'Tis fortune of war, Peggy."
"So General Washington said," mused Peggy. "But I would thee were notone. 'Tis a life full of trickery and deceit. I like it not for a girl."
"And the other reason," continued Harriet, "is more personal. Peggy, myfather hath lost all his fortune. We are very poor, my cousin."
"But--but thy frocks?" cried Peggy. "Thee has been well dressed, Harriet,and frocks are frocks these days."
"It seems so to you because you know not the mode, cousin. Were you inLondon you would soon see the difference betwixt my gowns and those offashion. But I was to have the reward for Governor Livingston should theplan for his capture succeed, and that would have helped father a greatdeal."
"Oh, Harriet, Harriet!" moaned Peggy bewildered by this maze ofreasoning. "I would that thee had not done this, or that thou hadstreturned to thy people long ago. Why did thee not go back the other day?'Twas in the letter that thee should be near so as to be taken also."
"I intended to," answered Harriet. "That was why I wished to ride nearto Liberty Hall, but when I found that I had lost the note, I came backfor it, hoping that you had not seen it. You were determined to warnboth the garrison and the governor, and that would render it impossiblefor me to get to our forces. I tried to slip away yesterday, but therewas no chance. And now you will tell on me to-morrow, and I will behanged."
"Don't, Harriet," pleaded Peggy. "I am going right down to father, andsee if he can tell us some way out of this. It may be that he canpersuade General Washington to let thee go back to thy people."
"Peggy," cried Harriet laying a detaining hand upon the girl as sheslipped from the bed. "You must not bring Cousin David into this. He isa soldier who stands high with the general. If he intercedes for me hewill himself be under suspicion. You would not wish to get your fatherinto trouble, would you? Beside, 'tis his duty, as a patriot, to give meup to punishment. Do you not see it? If I were not your cousin you wouldnot hesitate in the matter."
"True," said Peggy pausing. Well she knew that her father was so loyalthat the matter might appear to him in just that very way. "He lovesthee well though, Harriet."
"And for that reason he shall not be tempted," cried Harriet. "No,Peggy; there is no help. I must pay the penalty. I knew the risk."
She buried her face in the pillow, and, despite her brave words, sobsshook her form.
"Is there no way? No way?" cried Peggy frantically. "I cannot bear tothink of thee being hang----" She paused, unable to finish the dreadfulword.
"There is one way," said Harriet suddenly sitting up. "If you would helpme, Peggy, to get to Amboy I could get to New York from there."
"Could thee, Harriet? How?"
"There are always sloops that ply betwixt the two places," said Harriet."If I could but reach there I know that I could get one of them to takeme to the city."
"But how could thee reach Amboy?" asked Peggy.
"Peggy, go with me now," pleaded Harriet, clasping her arms about hercousin. "Let us slip down, and get our horses. Then we can get to Amboy,and you could be back to-morrow morning. Your father, ay! and yourmother, too, would be glad to know that I had go
t away before they cameto arrest me."
"But why should I go?" inquired Peggy. "Can thee not go alone? Theeknows the way."
"They would not let me pass the lines," said Harriet. "They would knowby my voice that I was English, and would detain me. Whatever we try todo in the matter must be done to-night, because to-morrow will be toolate. Will you come with me, Peggy? I shall never ask aught else ofyou."
"I will come," said Peggy, after a moment's thought. "I do believe thatfather and mother will approve. And, Harriet, will thee give me back mypromise, if I do come?"
"Yes, Peggy. And further, my cousin, if you will but help me to get toNew York I will never act the spy again. I promise you that of my ownaccord. 'Tis too much risk for a girl, and I have had my lesson."
"Oh, Harriet," cried Peggy. "If thee will only do that then I can tellGeneral Washington all the matter with light heart. I like not to thinkof thee as a spy."
The tattoo had long since sounded. The house was still. The girlsdressed themselves warmly, and stole silently out of the dwelling downto the stables where their horses were kept. Deftly they bridled andsaddled the animals, and then led them quietly to the lane which wouldtake them to the road.
In the distance the flames of the dying camp-fires flickered palely,illumining the shadowy forms of the few soldiers grouped about them, andaccentuating the gloom of the encircling wood. A brooding stillness hungover the encampment, broken only by the sough of the wind as it wanderedabout the huts, or stirred the branches of the pines on the hills. Thearmy slept. Slept as only those sleep who have earned repose. They weresoldiers whose hardships and sufferings have scarcely a parallel in theannals of history, yet they could sleep even though they had but hardboards for a couch, and but a blanket or a little straw for covering.
Peggy started suddenly as the deep bay of a hound came to them from thevillage of Bound Brook.
"Harriet," she whispered, "I am afraid. Let us wait until to-morrow."
"To-morrow will be too late," answered Harriet, and Peggy wondered tohear how hard her voice sounded. "Do you want me hung, Peggy? Beside,you promised that you would come. 'Tis the last time that I'll ever askfavor of you."
"Yes, I know," answered Peggy, in a low tone. "I will go, Harriet; but Iwish now that I had not said that I would."
"Come," was Harriet's brief answer. And Peggy followed her into thedarkness.
Peggy Owen, Patriot: A Story for Girls Page 23
