Chapter XVI: The Two Warnings

"Though your prognostics run too fast,
They must be verified at last."

--Swift.

"And here is some one to see thee, Peggy," said Mrs. Owen a week later, coming into the little chamber under the eaves which the two maidens occupied in common. "Bring thy cousin and come down."

"Is it John, mother?" asked Peggy, letting her tambour frame fall to the floor. "I wondered why we did not see him."

"Yes, 'tis John, Peggy, though he is called Ensign Drayton here. Perhaps 'twould be as well for us to term him so, too."

"Come, Harriet," called Peggy rising. "Let us run down. 'Tis our first caller."

"And being a soldier let us prepare for him," said the English girl, reaching for a box. "What would we females be without powder? 'Tis as necessary to us as to a soldier, for 'tis as priming to our looks as 'tis to a gun. There! will I do, Peggy?"

"Thee is beautiful, my cousin," replied Peggy with warm admiration. "Thee does not need powder nor anything else to set off thy looks."

"Oh, well," laughed the maiden, plainly gratified by her cousin's remark, "'tis as well to be in the mode when one can. And I wish to do you honor, my cousin."

"Oh, John," cried Peggy as she entered the parlor, where young Drayton stood twirling his cocked beaver airily. "That I should live to see thee wearing the white cockade of the Parley-voos on thy hat. What hath happened?"

"The most wonderful thing in the world, Mistress Peggy," answered Drayton reddening slightly at her raillery. "General Washington hath said that if my behavior warranted it he would put me with the Marquis de La Fayette's brigade upon his return from France. As 'tis to be a picked corps of men 'tis most gratifying to one's vanity to be so chosen. And in compliment to my prospective commander I am wearing the white cockade with our own black."

"I am so glad," exclaimed Peggy. "Thee is making us proud of thee. Father said that there was no soldier more faithful to duty than thou. This is my cousin from England, John. Mistress Harriet Owen, Ensign Drayton."

"Your servant, madam," said Ensign Drayton with a sweeping bow, which Harriet returned with a deep curtsey.

"Ah, Drayton," said David Owen, entering at this juncture. "The lassies are wild to see the camp. Canst thou ride, ensign?"

"That is how I made Miss Peggy's acquaintance, sir," said young Drayton frankly.

"Ah, yes; I had forgot, my boy. I was thinking that perhaps thou couldst join us in our rides, and when it would not be possible for me to be with the girls thou couldst escort them."

"I should be pleased, sir," answered Ensign Drayton. "The country hereabouts is well adapted to riding as 'tis much diversified. The roads, though narrow, are through woods and dales, and are most beautiful. I have been over the most of them, and know them well."

"Then thou art the very one to go with us," said Mr. Owen. "Now, my lad, answer any questions those camp wild maidens may ask and I will improve my well-earned repose by perusing the 'Pennsylvania Packet.' A new one hath just reached me."

"Wilt pardon me if I say something, Mistress Peggy?" inquired young Drayton an hour later as Harriet left the room for a moment.

"Why yes, John," answered Peggy. "What is it?"

"It is to be careful of your cousin," said the boy earnestly. "I like not the fact that she is English and here in camp. She means harm, I fear."

"Why, John Drayton," exclaimed the girl indignantly. "Just because she is English doth not make her intend any hurt toward us. I am ashamed of thee, John, that thee should imagine any such thing of one so sweet and good as my cousin, Harriet. And is she not beautiful?"

"She is indeed very beautiful," he answered. "Pardon me, mistress, if I have wounded you, but still do I say, be careful. If she intends no hurt to any, either the camp or you, there still can be no harm in being careful."

"John, almost could I be vexed with thee," cried Peggy.

"Don't be that, Miss Peggy. I may be wrong. Of course I am all wrong if you say otherwise," he said pleadingly. "I spoke only out of kindness for you."

"There, there, John! we will say no more about it; but thee must not hint such things," said Peggy. And Drayton took his departure.

"Mother," cried Peggy several days after this incident when she had returned from the ride which had become a daily institution, "mother, John is becoming rude. I don't believe that I like him any more."

"Why, what hath occurred, Peggy?" asked Mrs. Owen, glancing at her daughter's flushed face anxiously. "Thy father and I are both much pleased with the lad. What hath he done?"

"'Tis about Harriet," answered Peggy, sinking into a chair by her mothers side. "The first time he came he cautioned me to be careful because of her being here. I forgave him on condition that he should never mention anything of like nature again. And but now, while we were riding, Harriet stopped to speak for a moment to a soldier, and he said: 'I don't like that, Mistress Peggy. Why should she speak to that man? This must be looked into.' And, mother, he wished to question Harriet then and there, but I would not let him. He is monstrously provoking!"

"Well, does thee know why she spoke to the soldier?" asked her mother quietly.

"Mother!" Peggy sat bolt upright in the chair, and turned a reproachful glance upon the lady. "Thee too? Why, Harriet told me but yesterday that she was becoming more and more of the opinion that the colonists were right in rebelling against the king. And is she not beautiful, mother?"

"Thou art quite carried away with her, Peggy," observed Mrs. Owen thoughtfully. "Thou and thy father likewise. As thee says, Harriet's manner to us is quite different to that which her father used. But William, whatever his faults, was an open enemy for the most part, and I like open enemies best. I cannot believe that an English girl would so soon change her convictions regarding us."

"Mother," cried Peggy in open-eyed amaze, "I never knew thee to be suspicious of any one before. Thou hast been talking with John. What hath come to thee?"

"I have said no word concerning the matter to John; nor will I, Peggy. 'Tis not so much suspicion as caution. But now I heard her ask thy father if there were but the three bridges across the Raritan, and if 'twere not fordable. Why should she wish to know such things?"

"Did thee ask father about it, mother?"

"Yes."

"And what said he?"

"He feared that because of William's actions I might be prejudiced against her. He thought it quite natural for her to take an interest in military affairs, and said that she asked no more questions concerning them than thou didst. Beside, he said, she was such a child that no possible harm could come of it."

"Belike it is because of Cousin William that thee does not feel easy, mother," said Peggy much relieved.

"It may be," admitted the lady. "Yet I would that she had not come. I would not have thee less sweet and kind to her, my daughter, but I agree with John that it can do no harm to be careful. Watch, my child, that thou art not led into something that may work harm to thee."

"I will be careful," promised Peggy, adding with playfulness: "As careful as though I did not have thee and father to watch over me, or the army with General Washington right here. Let me see! Seven brigades, are there not? To say nothing of the artillery and four regiments of cavalry variously stationed, and I know not how many brigades along the Hudson and the Sound. There! thou seest that I am as well versed in the disposition of the army as Harriet is."

"Is thee trying to flout thy mother, Peggy?" asked Mrs. Owen laughing in spite of herself. "I may in truth be over-anxious and fearful, but 'tis strange that John feels so too. As thee says, it does seem as though naught could happen with the whole army lying so near. Still I have the feeling that harm threatens through the English girl."

But the days passed, and the time brought no change to Harriet's manner. She remained affectionately deferent to Mr. Owen, full of respectful courtesy toward Mrs. Owen, and had adopted a playful comradeship toward Peggy that was charming. The good lady's reserve was quite melted at length, and she became as devoted to the girl as her husband and daughter.

With girlish enthusiasm the maidens regulated their own days by that of the camp. They rose with the beating of the reveille, reported to Mrs. Owen as officer of the day for assignments of duty, and, much to her amusement, saluted her respectfully when given tasks of knitting or sewing. When the retreat sounded at sunset they announced their whereabouts by a loud, "Here," as the soldiers answered to roll call, and, unless there was some merrymaking at one of the various headquarters, went to bed at the beating of tattoo.

Lady Washington joined her husband in February, and there was an added dignity to the kettledrums and merrymakings in consequence. Better conditions prevailed throughout the camp than had obtained at Valley Forge the preceding winter. The army was at last comfortably hutted. The winter was mild, no snow falling after the tenth of January. Supplies were coming in with some degree of plenitude, and the outlook favored rejoicing and entertainment.

But life was not all given up to amusement. The women met together, and mended the soldiers' clothes, made them shirts and socks whenever cloth and yarn were to be had, visited the cabins, carrying delicacies from their own tables for the sick, and did everything they could to ameliorate the lot of the soldier.

After a few such visits to the huts Harriet made a protest.

"I like not common soldiers," she explained to Peggy. "I mind not the sewing, though I do not understand why Americans deem it necessary to always be so industrious. 'Tis as though they felt that they must earn their pleasures before taking them."

"Are not ladies in England industrious too?" inquired Peggy.

"They look after their households, of course, my cousin. And they paint flowers, or landscapes, and the tambour frame is seldom out of the hand when one is not practicing on the spinet, but they do not concern themselves with the welfare of the common soldiers as your women do."

"Oh, Harriet," laughed Peggy. "Thee has said that before, but thee does not practice what thee preaches."

"What mean you?" demanded Harriet with a startled look.

"I have seen thee several times give something to a common soldier, as thee calls him. Yesterday when we were leaving General Greene's I saw thee slip something to one when he came forward to tighten Fleetwood's girth. John saw it too."

"I had forgot," remarked the girl carelessly. "Yes; I did give him a bit of money. Methinks he hath rendered us several services of like nature, Peggy, when something hath gone amiss. Yet it may not have been the same soldier. I scarce can tell one from another, there are so many."

"Thee has a good heart," commended Peggy warmly. "Mother says that 'tis the only way to do a kindness. Perform the deed, and then forget it. But I always remember."

"Does Cousin David ride with us to-day, or doth the ensign?" asked Harriet.

"'Tis John, my cousin. Father is on duty."

"I am sorry," said Harriet. "I do not like Ensign Drayton. He reminds me of a song they sing at home:

"'With little hat and hair dressed high,
And whip to ride a pony;
If you but take a right survey
Denotes a macaroni,'"

she trilled musically. "Now don't say anything, Peggy. I know he is considered a lad of parts. I heard two officers say that he would no doubt distinguish himself ere the war was over. 'Twas at Mrs. Knox's kettledrum."

"Now I must tell mother that," cried Peggy, her momentary vexation at Harriet's song vanishing. "He is our especial soldier."

"Is he? And why?" asked Harriet. "Nay," she added as Peggy hesitated. "'Tis no matter. I knew not that it was a secret. I care not. I like him not, anyway. Peggy, do you like me very much?"

"I do indeed, Harriet," answered Peggy earnestly. "Why?"

"I am just heart-sick to hear from my father," said Harriet, the tears welling up into her beautiful eyes. "It hath been so long since I heard. Not at all since I came, so long ago."

"'Tis hard to get letters through the lines," said Peggy soberly.

"I know it is, for I have tried," answered Harriet. "The officers won't send them. If you were away from Cousin David wouldn't you make every effort to hear from him?"

"Indeed I would," responded Peggy. "Harriet, has thee asked father to help thee? He would take the matter to General Washington."

"General Washington does not wish to do it because I am British," answered Harriet after a moment. "I know that they must be careful, but oh! I am so anxious anent my father, Cousin Peggy."

"That is just as mother and I were about father last winter," observed Peggy. "At last Robert Dale wrote us that he was a prisoner in Philadelphia, and I rode into the city to see him."

"Was that when father was exchanged for him?" questioned the girl eagerly.

"Y-yes," hesitated Peggy. She did not like to tell Harriet what effort had to be made to get the exchange.

"Peggy, he helped you anent Cousin David then; will you help me about my father?"

"How could I, Harriet?" asked Peggy.

"If you will just hand this note to that soldier that you saw me give the money to yesterday he will get it through the lines. Nay," as Peggy opened her lips to speak. "You shall read it first. I would do nothing unless you should see that 'twas all right. Read, my cousin."

She thrust a note into Peggy's hand as she spoke.

"Miss Harriet Owen presents compliments to Sir Henry Clinton, and would esteem it a favor if he would tell her how Colonel William Owen is. A word that he is well is all that is desired. I have the honor, sir, to be,

"Your humble and obliged servant,
"Harriet Owen.

"Middlebrook, New Jersey,
Headquarters American Army."

"Why, there ought to be no objection to getting that through," exclaimed Peggy. "Harriet, let me ask father----"

"I have asked him," said Harriet mournfully. "He would if he could, Peggy. He wishes me not to speak of it again, and I promised I would try to content myself without hearing from father. You must not speak of it either; else Cousin David will be angry with me for not trying to be content."

"Don't cry, Harriet," pleaded Peggy, as the girl commenced to sob, and her own tears began to flow. "Something can be done, I know. Thee ought to hear from Cousin William."

"Cousin David said I must be content," sobbed Harriet. "And he hath been so good to me that I must; though 'tis very hard not to hear. I see that you do not wish to do it, Peggy. I meant no wrong to any, but----"

"How does thee know that the soldier could get the note through the lines, Harriet?" asked Peggy thoughtfully.

"He said that he was to have leave to go to Elizabethtown for a few days, and while there he could do it," said Harriet, looking up through her tears.

"Why does thee not give it to him, then?" inquired Peggy.

"It must be given to him to-day," answered the other, "because he goes to-morrow. If Cousin David were to ride with us I would, but Ensign Drayton always watches me as though I were in communication with the enemy, and about to bring the whole British force right down upon us. You know he does, Peggy."

Peggy flushed guiltily.

"Yes," she admitted, "he doth, Harriet. I knew not that thee was aware of it, though."

"Give me the note," said Harriet, rising suddenly. "As my father helped you to your father I thought you would aid me, but I see----"

"Nay," said Peggy, her gentle heart not proof against the insinuation of ingratitude. "Give me the note, Harriet. I will give it to the man. I see not how it can bring harm to any, and thee ought to hear from thy father."

"How good you are, Peggy," cried Harriet, kissing her. "Here is the note. If I can only hear this once I will be content until such time as Cousin David deems best. You are very sweet, my cousin."

And under the influence of this effusiveness Peggy saw not that the note her cousin handed to her was not the one which she had read.