“A defeat, I grant you.” Drayton picked a thread of lint from his sleeve, and puffed it airily from him. “A defeat so fraught with disaster to the victors that many more such would annihilate the whole British army. A defeat so calamitous in effect that Lord Rawdon could no longer hold Camden after inflicting it, and so evacuated that place.”
“’Tis false,” raged Clifford Owen. “If Lord Rawdon held Camden, he still holds it. He would evacuate no post held by him.”
“Perchance there are other war news that might be of interest,” went on Drayton provokingly, evidently enjoying the other’s rage. “I have the honor to inform you, sir, that Fort Watson, Fort Motte and Granby all have surrendered to the rebels. They have proceeded to Ninety Six, and are holding that place in a state of siege. The next express will doubtless bring intelligence of its fall. Permit me, sir, to felicitate you upon the extreme prowess of the British army.”
“And what, sir, is the American army?” stormed Clifford. “A company of tinkers and locksmiths. A lot of riffraff and ragamuffins. What is your Washington but a planter? And your much-lauded commander in the South? What is he but a smith? A smith?” he scoffed sneeringly. “Odds life, sir! can an army be made of such ilk?”
“The planter hath sent two of your trained generals packing,” retorted Drayton. “The first left by the only ‘Gate’ left open by the siege; the other did not know ‘Howe’ to take root in this new soil. The third remains in New York like a mouse in a trap, afraid to come out lest he should be pounced upon. Our smith——” he laughed merrily. “His hammer hath been swung to such purpose that my Lord Cornwallis hath been knocked out of the Carolinas, and the South is all but retaken. Training! Poof! ’Tis not needed by tinkers and locksmiths to fight the English.”
“Draw and defend yourself,” roared the English lad, whipping out his sword furiously. “Such insult can only be wiped out in blood.”
“Thou shalt not,” screamed Peggy throwing herself before him. “Thou shalt not. I forbid it. ’Twould be murder.”
“This is man’s affair, my cousin,” he said sternly. “Stand aside.”
“I will not, Clifford,” cried the girl. “I will not. Oh, to draw sword on each other is monstrous. For a principle, in defense of liberty, then it may be permitted; but this deliberate seeking of another’s life in private quarrel is murder. Clifford! John! I entreat ye both to desist.”