Chapter XXXIII: 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 hoarse 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.

"God 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 fortitude 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?"

"They are my kinspeople," she said. "And sometimes they were kind. Had it not been for Harriet I would not have been in the little boat. She made me enter it when to remain on the 'Falcon' seemed certain death. She knew not that they would be rescued."

"Perhaps not," he remarked dryly. "Although I have never known Mistress Harriet Owen to do one act that had not an underlying motive. But I should not speak so to one who sees no wrong in others."

"Don't," she uttered the tears springing to her eyes at the sneer. "I do see wrong; and thee doesn't know how hard I am trying not to feel bitter toward them. I dare not think that 'tis to them I owe not seeing my mother for so long. I--I am not very good," she faltered, "and thee knows by that wound how I am failing in living up to my teaching."

"I see," he said; and was silent.

Camden, a strong post held by the British in the central northern part of South Carolina, was reached at length. It was at this place that General Gates met his overwhelming defeat in the August before, and as Peggy viewed its defenses she could not but wonder that he had ventured to attack it. Colonel Tarleton proceeded at once to a large two-story dwelling, the wide verandah of which opened directly upon the main street.

"I will leave you," he began, but Peggy uttered a cry of surprise as a girl's figure came slowly through the open door of the house.

"Harriet! Harriet!" she cried. "Oh, thee didn't tell me that Harriet was here!"

She sprang lightly from the pony's back, and ran joyfully up the steps, with arms outstretched.

"I thought thee dead," she cried with a little sob. "I knew not until now that thou wert alive. Oh, Harriet, Harriet! I am so glad thee lives. And where is Cousin William? And oh!----" she broke off in dismay. "What hath happened to thee? What is the matter, Harriet?"

For Harriet's wonderful eyes no longer flashed with brilliancy but met her own with a dreary, lustreless gaze. Her marvelous complexion had lost its transparency, and was dull and sallow. She leaned weakly upon Peggy's shoulder, and as the latter, shocked at the change in the once spirited Harriet, asked again, "Oh, what is the matter? What hath happened?" she burst into tears without replying.

"'Tis the Southern fever," spoke Colonel Owen, coming to the door at this moment. "So you escaped a briny grave, my little cousin? How came you here? Was it to seek us that you came? You at least seem to have suffered no inconvenience from this climate. It hath carried off many of our soldiers, and Harriet hath pulled through by a miracle. It will take time, however, to restore her fully to strength. Did you say you came to seek us?"

"Nay," interposed Colonel Tarleton. "The girl is my prisoner, Colonel Owen. I will leave her with you for the present, but will hold you answerable for her safety. You are to send her to me each day so that she may give attention to this wound which I owe to her marksmanship. So soon as it shall heal I will decide upon her punishment."

"Well, upon my word, my cousin," exclaimed William Owen as Colonel Tarleton, scowling fiercely, went away. "You are improving. I knew not that Quakers believed in bloodshed. Tell us about it."

And Peggy, drawing Harriet close to her in her strong young arms, told of her rescue and how she came to be once more with them.