Chapter XXVI: The Battle with the Elements

"Southward with fleet of ice
Sailed the corsair Death;
Wild and fast blew the blast
And the east wind was his breath."

--Longfellow.

"There is but one explanation to the whole thing," growled Colonel Owen the next morning. With the two girls for an audience he was voicing his disappointment at the failure of the alert, and incidentally nursing a frost-bitten foot. "And that is that the guide purposely led us astray."

"But why a guide at all, father?" questioned Harriet. "The highway is easily followed."

"'Tis the snow," he explained irritably. "All roads are buried under four or more feet of it. Landmarks are obliterated and the forest but a trackless waste. 'Tis no wonder the fellow lost his way, though, methinks. 'Twas as though he knew our errand, and kept us floundering among the drifts purposely."

"Belike he did," observed Harriet. "What with Peggy feeding all the rabble that comes along 'tis small wonder that your plots and plans become known to the rebels. I bethought me the other day when she had that teamster in the kitchen that he was a spy. Now I make no doubt of it."

"What's all this?" demanded her father sharply. "What teamster are you talking about, Harriet?"

"'Twas the man who brought the wood, Cousin William," explained Peggy, trying to speak quietly. "Harriet objected at the time to his being fed, but 'twould have been unkind not to give him cheer when 'twas so cold."

"But that is no reason why you should talk with him," sneered Harriet. "I saw that parley you held when he was throwing off the wood."

"Did you talk to him, Peggy?" Colonel Owen regarded her keenly.

"Why, yes," she answered. "I went out to scold him because he was piling the wood in such a way that it could not be measured."

"There was naught amiss about that," he remarked with a relieved expression. "Nor about the food either, if that was all there was to it."

"But was it all?" queried Harriet. "The servants said that Peggy was over-solicitous anent the fellow."

"Peggy!" Colonel Owen faced the maiden abruptly. "Let us have this matter settled at once. You usually speak truth. Do so in this instance, I beg of you. Was the wood and feeding the man all there was to the affair?"

Peggy did not reply.

"There is more then," he said. "Your silence speaks for you. I demand now to know if this fellow was responsible for the failure of our plan to captivate the rebel general?"

But Peggy was not going to betray Drayton's disguise if she could help it, and neither would she speak an untruth. So she met her kinsman's glance with one as direct as his own as she answered, "I am to blame for thy plan going amiss, Cousin William."

"You?" he exclaimed incredulously. "Why, you knew naught of it. I was careful that even Harriet should not know it."

"I was in the drawing-room," she told him boldly, "when thee and thy commander were discussing the plan. I heard the whole plot. While the dinner was being served I slipped out and sent word to the general."

"By whom?" he asked controlling his anger with difficulty. "By whom did you send word?"

"That, sir, I will not tell," responded she resolutely.

"And do you know what this action hath cost me?" he thundered, livid with rage. "A knighthood and fortune. Was not the account long enough betwixt us that you must add this to it? To come here and play the spy in mine own house. 'Tis monstrous!"

"I did not come here of my own accord," she reminded him becoming very pale. "If I have played the spy 'tis no more than thy daughter did for many months in our house. I will gladly relieve thee of my presence at any time that thee will let me go."

"You shall not go--now or at any time," he stormed, his voice shaking in its fury. "Moreover I shall put it out of your power to work any further harm here. Sir Henry Clinton leaves for the South in a few days. I shall go with him, and take you both with me."

"Oh, father!" wailed Harriet. "Not me?"

"You too," he answered. "You and this marplot of a girl, who hath spoiled a most feasible plan of ending the rebellion." He glared at Peggy for a moment with a look that made her tremble and then stalked out of the room.

"Just see what you have done, Peggy Owen," cried Harriet, her eyes ablaze with wrath. "Now we'll have to go I know not how far away, to some old place where there is no fun. Just mind your own affairs after this, will you?"

"No," replied Peggy stoutly, though her heart swelled at the thought of going upon a journey that would take her further away from home. Like most girls of the period she was hazy about the geography of the country, and the South seemed an indefinite somewhere a long way off. "No, Harriet, my affairs are those of the rebels, as thee calls them. If at any time I hear aught planned either against them or the general, and 'tis in my power to warn them, I tell thee frankly that I shall do so."

"I shall go right to father with that," cried Harriet, and in turn she flounced out of the room.

In spite of her brave words, however, Peggy's tears fell like rain as she slipped down to the stable and flung her arms about Star's neck.

"Oh, Star, Star!" she sobbed. "I'll never see mother again, I fear me. Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?"

Sir Henry Clinton was to set sail for Savannah, Georgia, which had fallen into the hands of the British in December of the preceding year. The province, after being overrun by the army in an incursion of savage warfare, appeared to be restored to the crown, and now Charleston was to be taken and South Carolina restored to its allegiance by the same method. North Carolina and Virginia were to follow in turn, and the campaign in the South concluded by a triumphal march back through Delaware, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey, until Washington would be between the two British armies. Then, with an attack from New York simultaneous with one from the rear, the Continentals would be swept out of existence. This, in brief, was the British plan of campaign for the ensuing year, and the English commander-in-chief was setting forth for its accomplishment.

Colonel Owen's determination to go with his chief seemed to grow firmer the more Harriet pleaded with him to stay, and the day after Christmas they set sail in the schooner "Falcon." Reinforced by Admiral Arbuthnot with new supplies of men and stores from England the British were jubilantly sure of success, and set forth with their transports under convoy of five ships of the line.

"We shall have our horses with us, anyway," declared Harriet, who brightened up wonderfully once they were under way, and addressing Peggy with the first gleam of good humor that she had shown since it had been decided that they should accompany her father. "I saw to it that they were sent aboard with the cavalry horses, on one of the transports. I dare say there will be a chance for rides. At any rate 'twill not be so cold as it hath been in New York."

"I suppose not," agreed Peggy sadly. She was calling all her resolution to aid her to bear this new trial.

The early part of the voyage was extremely fortunate. The sea was smooth, the sky clear, the air sharp but kindly. To Peggy's surprise she was not at all sick, and her spirits rose in spite of her sorrow at her separation from her mother. With the closing in of the night of the fourth day out, however, they fell in with foul winds and heavy weather. The wind began to whirl, and the sea to lift itself and dash spray over the schooner until the decks were as glassy as a skating pond. The temperature fell rapidly. All day Sunday the ships went on under this sort of weather which was not at all unusual for the time of year, but the next day the weather began to quiet, and the waves sank gradually to a long swell through which the vessels went with ease.

The whole surface of the sea was like a great expanse of molten silver which shimmered and sparkled under the rays of the wintry sun. The prospect was now for a smooth voyage, and the sailormen scraped the ice from rail and deck, and the passengers who had been confined to the cabin now came on deck and raced about like children under the influence of the pure air. The sky was very clear above, but all around the horizon a low haze lay upon the water.

"Isn't this glorious, Peggy?" cried Harriet dancing about the deck like a wind sprite. "After all, there is nothing like the sea."

"'Tis wonderful," answered Peggy with awe in her tone. The vast spread of the waters, the immensity of the sky, the intense silence through which the creaking of the boats as they swung at the davits, and the straining of the shrouds as the ship rolled sounded loud and clear, all appealed to her sense of the sublime.

"I hope 'twill be as fine as this all the way to Georgia," said Harriet. "And that seems to be the prospect."

The captain of the vessel, a bluff Englishman, was passing at the moment and caught the last remark. He paused beside the maidens.

"It won't be fine long," he declared gruffly. "With a ground swell and a sinking temperature always look for squalls. Look there at the north!" The haze on the horizon to the north was rather thicker than elsewhere, and a few thin streaky clouds straggled across the clear, cold heavens. It told nothing to the girls, but the skipper's face grew grave, and he hurried forward to give some commands.

"Furl topsails!" he shouted to the mate, "and have the mainsails reefed down!"

"Ay, ay, sir," came the response, and instantly the men began hauling at the halliards, or sprang to the yards above to tuck away the great sails making all snug for the coming storm.

Even Peggy, unused to the sea as she was, could see that a storm was about to burst upon them. The north was now one great rolling black cloud with an angry ragged fringe which bespoke the violence of the wind that drove it. The whole great mass was sweeping onward with majestic rapidity, darkening the ocean beneath it.

"Get below there," shouted the captain as he suddenly caught sight of the two girls still standing on deck watching the approach of the storm with fascinated eyes. "Get below, I say! D'ye want to be blowed away? Here she comes!"

As he spoke the wind broke in all its fury. The schooner heeled over until her lee rail touched the water, and lay so for a moment in a smother of foam. Gradually she rose a little, staggered and trembled like a living thing, and then plunged away through the storm.

It was a wild and dreary night that followed. Shut in the dark of the cabin Peggy and Harriet clung to each other, or to lockers, to keep from being dashed across the floor of the tossing vessel. All night long there was no chance for sleep. Every moment it seemed as though the ship must go down at the next onslaught of the waves.

"I like not to be mewed up like this," objected Harriet when there came a chance for speech. "I like the feel of the wind and the hail and the spray."

"Is thee not afraid, Harriet?" questioned Peggy.

"I am, down here," answered her cousin. "I can stand any danger best that I can face. But they will not let us up. We might be swept away even if we could stand. And listen to the shouts, Peggy. There must be something amiss."

And so on all through the long night. The dawn broke at last and brought with it a slight abatement of the tempest, but with the lessening gale came a new form of assault. The air was colder. A heavy fog rolled up and through it came a blinding snow-storm, fairly choking the deck of the ship.

For three days the girls were confined to the cabin, with but biscuits to nibble on. The fourth the wind fell at last, leaving the vessel rudderless and dismasted, and heaving on vast billows.

"There is but one hope for us," said Colonel Owen as he explained the damage to the girls, "and that is to be picked up by another vessel."

"Is it so bad as that, father?" questioned his daughter.

"Yes," he answered gloomily.

But over the inky shroud of the ocean white capped and furious there shone no sign of a sail. The snow had ceased falling, but it was bitterly cold. The fifth and sixth days they tossed helplessly, but on the seventh day Peggy turned to her cousin with a startled query.

"Harriet," she cried, "does thee hear that throbbing sound? What is it?"

Harriet Owen paled as she listened. "That, Peggy," she said after a moment, "is the noise of the pumps. The ship hath sprung a leak."

At this moment Colonel Owen came from the deck. He was visibly pale, and much troubled in manner. "Wrap yourselves as warmly as possible," he advised them. "'Tis but a question of time now ere we must take to the boats, and there is no telling to what ye may be subjected before reaching land, if in truth we ever tread foot on solid ground again. Hasten!"

His warning was well timed; for, as he ceased speaking, there came hoarse shouts from above, a rush of hurrying feet, and the chugging of the pumps stopped. He ran up the hatchway, and was back almost instantly. "The boats are being lowered," he informed them. "Throw what you can about you and come. If we dally we may be left behind. Men become beasts in a time like this."

The girls obeyed him with the utmost haste. They were both colorless, but composed. On deck a wild scene was being enacted. The ship no longer rose to the waves, and even to an inexperienced eye was settling. That it was time to lower the boats was plain to be seen. The captain was trying to preserve something like order among the crew, but the hour for discipline had gone by.

"Women first," he was crying in trumpet tones. "Men, remember your wives and daughters. Would ye have them left as ye are leaving these?"

But over the side of the vessel the men scrambled with fierce cries and imprecations, paying no heed either to his commands or pleadings. They swarmed into the boats, fighting for places like wild animals. The frail barks went down to the water loaded until the gunwales were lapped by the smallest waves. The skipper turned to Colonel Owen.

"The dingey is left, sir," he said. "If you will help me to defend it from the rest of these brutes, we may be able to get these girls into it."

"I will do my utmost," rejoined the colonel. "Harriet, do you and Peggy stand behind me. When the boat is lowered be ready to get into it as soon as the captain speaks."

Colonel Owen faced the few remaining men with drawn pistols as the boat was let down. The first mate took his place, and stood ready to receive the maidens.

"Go, Harriet," said her father. But to Peggy's amazement her cousin turned to her, crying, "You first, Peggy! You first!"

"But," cried Peggy her heart flooded with sudden warmth at this unlooked-for solicitude, "I cannot leave thee, Harriet. I----"

"Stop that nonsense!" exclaimed Colonel Owen gruffly. "We have no time for it. Get into the boat at once."

Without further comment Peggy permitted herself to be handed down into the boat, and as she reached it in safety she looked expectantly up for Harriet to follow. At that moment came a hoarse cry from the skipper.

"Cast off, Mr. Davy! Cast off! You'll be swamped."

The mate pulled away just as half a dozen frantic seamen leaped from the deck toward the boat. The swirl of the waters caught it, turning it round and round by the force. With a great effort he succeeded in sending it out of the eddy just in time to avoid being drawn under by the drowning seamen. Again making a strenuous effort to get beyond their reach he sent the dingey scudding to westward, was caught by a current, and carried further away from the vessel.

"What is it?" asked Peggy as she caught a glimpse of his whitening face.

"God help them," broke from him. "We are caught in the current and can't get back to the 'Falcon.'"