CHAPTER I--A LOYAL SUBJECT OF HIS MAJESTY, GEORGE THIRD, MAKES A SHIRT
"Alone by the Schuylkill a wanderer roved, And bright were its flowery banks to his eye, But far, very far were the friends that he loved, And he gazed on its flowery banks with a sigh."
--Thomas Moore.
It was a fine winter day. There had been a week of murky skies anddripping boughs; a week of rain, and mud, and slush; a week of suchdisagreeable weather that when the citizens of Philadelphia awoke, onthis twenty-first day of February, 1781, to find the sun shining in asky of almost cloudless blue and the air keen and invigorating, theyrejoiced, and went about their daily tasks thrilled anew with thepleasure of living.
About ten o'clock on the morning of this sunlit winter day a young girlwas slowly wending her way up Chestnut Street. At every few steps shewas obliged to pause to lift into place a huge bundle she was carrying--abundle so large that she could just reach her arms about it, and claspher hands together in the comfortable depths of a great muff. A rippleof laughter rose to her lips as, in spite of her efforts, the bundle atlength slipped through her arms and fell with a soft thud upon thefrozen ground.
"It's lucky for thee, Peggy," she cried addressing herself merrily,"that 'tis not yesterday, else thee would have a washing on thy hands.Oh, if Sally could only see me! She said that I'd not reach home withit. Now, Mr. Bundle, is thee carrying me, or I thee? Just lie there fora moment, and then we'll see who is worsted in this fray."
Removing her winter mask the better to inhale the bracing air, shedisclosed a face flushed rosily from her exertions and dark eyesbrimming with laughter just now at the plight in which she foundherself. She stood for a moment breathing deeply then, readjusting themask under the folds of her calash, managed with some difficulty to getthe bundle once more within the circle of her arms, and again startedforward. It was slow progress, but presently she found herself withoutfurther mishap in front of a large dwelling on the corner of Fifth andChestnut Streets, standing in the midst of extensive grounds just acrossfrom the State House.
With a sigh of relief the girl deposited the bundle on the bottom stepof the stoop, and then, running lightly up the steps, sounded the greatbrass knocker. The door was opened almost instantly by a woman whosesweet face and gentle manner as well as her garb bespoke the Quakeress.
"I saw thee coming, but could not get to the door before thy knocksounded, Peggy," she said. "And did thee have a good time? Harriet hathmissed thee, and in truth it hath seemed long since yesterday. And whatis in that bundle, child? 'Tis monstrous large for thee to carry."
"'Tis linen, mother," answered the maiden bringing the bundle into thehall. "It came last night to Mrs. Evans for her to make into shirts forthe soldiers, but word came from the hospital this morning that both sheand Sally were needed there, so I told her that, as we had ourapportionment all made up, we would gladly do hers. And such a time toget here as I had. So thee missed me? 'Tis worth going away for thenight to hear thee say that. How is Harriet?"
"Wherriting over thy absence. Indeed, she seems scarce able to bear theefrom her sight. I persuaded her to work upon the shirt, thinking tobeguile her into something like calm. She should go out to-day if 'tisnot too cold."
"'Twould do her good," declared Peggy. "It is fine out. Such a relieffrom the rain and mud of the past week. And oh, mother! what does theethink? Mistress Reed hath twenty-two hundred shirts already that theladies have made, and she hath received a letter from His Excellency,General Washington, concerning them. She wished that all that were notneeded for the Pennsylvania line should be given to our near neighbor,New Jersey, but left it with him to do as he thought best. She told Mrs.Evans that she wished to see thee and others of the committee soon.There is to be a notice as to time. Thee does not mind this extra work,does thee, mother?"
"Nay, Peggy. 'Twas right to bring it. 'Tis little that we who are athome can do for those in the field, and Mrs. Evans and Sally give toomuch time as it is to the hospital to undertake anything more. But letus go in to Harriet. She will be glad that thou art here."
"Have you come at last, Peggy?" cried a slender girl starting up from asettle which was drawn before a roaring fire as mother and daughterentered the living-room. "And did I hear you say something about morecloth for shirts? Peggy Owen, you have done nothing else since we camefrom the South two months ago but make shirts. I doubt not that everysoldier of the rebel army hath either a shirt of your making, or a pairof socks of your knitting."
"That could hardly be, Harriet," laughed Peggy. "I have made but twelveshirts, and just the same number of socks. As we have a few more in thearmy than that thee sees that it could not be. And how does thee feel?"
"Oh, I don't know," spoke Harriet plaintively. She was very pale asthough she had been ill, which was the fact, but her disorder hadreached that stage of convalescence in which it was more mental thanphysical. "I don't know, Peggy. I don't believe that I'll ever be wellagain."
"How thee talks," chided Peggy. "Did thee finish the shirt mother gavethee to make? Methought that would woo thee from thy megrims."
"Yes; it is finished," answered the other with a sigh of weariness. "Ihave just put the last stitch in it, and I'll do no more. Heigh-ho! tothink of Harriet Owen, daughter of William Owen, a colonel of the WelshFusileers, and a most loyal subject of His Majesty, making a shirt forone of the rebels. What would father think of it, I wonder?"
"I think that he would rather have thee so engaged than to have theegive up to thy fancies, Harriet," answered Peggy as her cousin drew thegarment from among the pillows of the settle, and held it up to view."Did thee put thy name on it? Mistress Reed wishes every woman and girlwho makes one to embroider her name on it."
"'Tis athwart the shoulders," said Harriet, handing the shirt to Peggy,a little sparkle coming into her eyes. Wonderful eyes they were: gray incolor, surrounded by lashes of intense black, and dazzling in theirbrilliancy. "Well, Peggy?"
"Oh, Harriet," gasped the Quaker maiden, a look of vexation flashingacross her face. "What will Mistress Reed say?"
For across the shoulders of the garment was embroidered in red letters:"Harriet Owen--A loyal subject of the king."
"What will she say?" repeated Peggy in dismay.
"Well, I am a loyal subject of the king, am I not? Doth being inPhiladelphia instead of London or New York make me otherwise? Doth evenmaking a rebel shirt change me?"
"N-no," answered Peggy. "I do not wish thee to change, Harriet; only itdoth not seem quite, quite---- In truth, as thee is just among us to getwell it doth not----" She paused hardly knowing how to continue.
"'Tis naught to trouble over, my daughter," spoke her mother serenely."'Twill wear just as long and keep some soldier just as warm as thoughit were not there. I doubt not that it will cause some amusement incamp, and what is't but a girlish piece of mischief, after all? I ampleased to see a spark of thy former spirit, Harriet. Thee is growingbetter."
"Thank you, madam my cousin. And I will make no more, if it please you.I find the stitching wearisome, and the object not much to my liking."
"Then it were better for thee to make no more," declared the lady."Though 'tis not well to lie on the settle and do naught but read. Ithink with Peggy that to go out will do thee good. Therefore, afterdinner thou must go with her to take the shirts that are finished toMistress Reed. Then a walk to the river, or to Pegg's Run, where thereis sure to be skating if the ice is strong enough, will do nicely forto-day. There are some fine skaters among us, and 'twill amuse thee tosee them."
"I care more for assemblies and small dances than I do for sports,"declared Harriet. "Still, if you think best, I will go, madam my cousin.I get lonesome here. I am so far from my people, and from my country.New York was gayer when I was there. Do you not think so, Peggy? And yet'tis not nearly so large as this city."
"Thee has not been strong enough for much gayety," reminded the ladygently. "As
soon as the spring comes we will see about more diversion.There will be the rides, and many jaunts which the weather hath notpermitted heretofore. But for to-day the walk must do. So be ready to gowith Peggy as soon as the dinner is over."
"And may I read until then?" queried the girl wistfully. "The book isvery enticing. I but laid it aside to finish the shirt."
"Yes; and Peggy may join thee, if she wishes," said Mrs. Owen rising. "Ilike not for her to read idle tales, nor much verse when there is somuch to be done, but the poem that thou art reading now is a noble one.I would like her to become familiar with it. I read it when a girl."
"What is it, Harriet?" questioned Peggy as her mother left the room.
"'Tis 'Paradise Lost,' by Mr. John Milton," answered her cousin, takingthe book from a near-by table, and turning the leaves of the volumeidly. "'Tis considered a la mode in London to be so familiar with it asto be able to quote passages from it on occasion. So long as I must stayin the colonies 'tis as well to prepare for my return."
"But thee cannot go back until the war is over," Peggy reminded her."Thee would not wish to go without thy father, would thee?"
"Of course not. But the war is sure to be over soon now. Three of theSouthern colonies are already restored to the Crown, and after LordCornwallis subjugates Virginia 'twill be an easy matter to movenorthward toward your main army. And where will your Mr. Washington bethen--with Sir Henry Clinton attacking him from the front and LordCornwallis from the rear? Oh, it will soon be over!"
"That is what thy people have said from the beginning," remarked Peggyquietly. "And yet, in Fourth month, 'twill be six years since the battleof Lexington in Massachusetts was fought, and we are not conquered yet."
"But 'tis different now, Peggy. Your resources are drained. Even CousinDavid, fervent patriot though he is, murmurs at the weakness of yourcentral government. Part of your own soldiers mutinied last month. Oneof your best generals hath come over to us, and you have won but twovictories in nearly three years--Paulus Hook and Stony Point. Oh, 'tisvastly different now. We shall see the end soon."
"Thee has forgotten King's Mountain, which was a decided victory," spokePeggy. "And," she added stoutly, "though I know that what thee says islargely true, Harriet, and that it doth indeed look dark for us, I feelsure that we will win eventually. Whenever it hath been the darkest somegreat event hath happened to raise our spirits so that we could go on. Ijust know that 'twill be the same now. Something will occur to give ushope."
"It may be," observed Harriet carelessly, "though I see not how it can."
Peggy made no answer. She had spoken more hopefully than she felt. Incommon with other patriots she was appalled at the dark outlook withwhich 1781, the sixth year of the war, had opened. It was in truth avery dark hour. The American Revolution was in sore straits. It wasdragging and grounding on the shoals of broken finances and a helplessgovernment. The country had not yet recovered from the depression causedby Arnold's treason. True, the plot had failed, but there was nothinginspiriting in a baffled treason, and there had been no fighting and novictories to help the people and the army to bear the season of waitingwhich lay before them. General Washington lay helpless with his armyalong the Hudson River, unable to strike a blow for the lack of men andsupplies. The Revolution seemed to be going down in mere inactionthrough the utter helplessness of what passed for a central government.
As all this passed through Peggy's mind she leaned back in her chair,and gazed sadly into the fire, a hopeless feeling creeping into herheart in spite of herself.
"If after all we should fail," she half whispered and then sat upquickly as though she had been guilty of disloyalty. "This will neverdo, Peggy," she murmured chidingly. "Fail, with General Washington atthe head of things? What an idea! Harriet," turning to her cousin,"haven't we forgotten the poem?"
"Yes," answered Harriet who was gazing dreamily into the fire. "Don'tlet's read, Peggy."
"But----" began Peggy when there came the excited tones of Mrs. Owen fromthe hall greeting a guest:
"And is it really thou, John? What brings thee? Peggy will be so glad tosee thee. Come in, and welcome."
"John! John Drayton!" cried Peggy springing to her feet as the dooropened to admit the tall form of a youth. "What brings thee from theSouth? Hast thou news? Oh, come in! I am so glad to see thee. Is thee anexpress?"
"Yes, Peggy." The youth's clothing was bespattered with dried mud asthough he had ridden hard and fast without time for attention toappearances. A handsome roquelaure[[1]] was so covered that its colorwas scarce distinguishable. There were deep circles under his eyes asthough he were wearied yet his manner was full of subdued joyousness."Yes, I am an express. I have just brought Congress despatches whichtell that on the 17th of January, under General Morgan we met ColonelTarleton at the Cowpens in South Carolina, and utterly routed him."
"Did what?" gasped Peggy, while Harriet Owen sat suddenly bolt upright.
"Routed him! Wiped him out!" repeated young Drayton with a boyish laugh,and the old toss of his head that Peggy remembered so well. "We metColonel Tarleton at the Cowpens, and we soundly whipped him."
-----[1] Cloak.