“For two reasons: First, the redcoats swarmed about us, and ’twould not have been safe. Second, you were with your cousins, and I knew that Clifford at least would be suspicious of me—particularly so if you were not distressed over my desertion. ’Twas best to let you think as you did, though I was sorely tempted at times to let you know the truth. I thought that you would know, Peggy. I was surprised when you didn’t.” It was his only reproach,
Peggy choked.
“I ought to have known, John. I shall never forgive myself that I did not know. Was it necessary for thee to come?”
“Some one had to, and the Marquis wished that I should be the one. You see, he could not understand why Cornwallis faced about, and made for the seaboard. He did not have to retreat, but seemed to have some fixed purpose in so doing that our general could not see through. Nor could any of us. The Marquis sent for me, and explained the dilemma, saying that he needed some one in the British camp who could get him trustworthy intelligence on this and other things. The service, he pointed out, was full of risk but of inestimable value. I should be obliged to be with the enemy for a long time. It might be weeks. If I were discovered the consequence would be an ignominious death. Of course I came. When there is service, no matter the nature, there are not many of us who are not glad to undertake it.”
“But to die?” she gasped.
“I shall not pretend that I don’t mind it, Peggy,” went on the youth calmly, but with sadness. “I do. I would have preferred death in the field, or some more glorious end. Still, ’tis just as much in the service of the country as though I had died in battle. Were it to be done again I would not act differently.”
“Thee must not die, John,” she cried in agonized tones. “Is there no way? No way?”
“No, Peggy. I would there were. I’d like to live a little longer. There’s going to be rare doings on the Chesapeake shortly. Let me whisper, Peggy. ’Tis said that walls have ears, and I would not that any of this should reach Cornwallis just at present. ’Tis glorious news. The Marquis hath word that the French fleet under the Count de Grasse hath sailed from the West Indies for this bay. ’Twill bring us reinforcements, beside shutting Cornwallis off from his source of supplies. His lordship hath not regarded the Marquis seriously as an adversary because of his youth, and so is fortifying leisurely while our young general hath encompassed him in a trap. He is hemmed in on all sides, Peggy.
“Wayne is across the James ready to block him should he try to retreat in that direction; the militia of North Carolina are flocking to the border to prevent the British commander cutting a way through that state should he get past Wayne. The Marquis is in a camp of observation at Holt’s Forge on the Pamunkey River ready to swoop down to Williamsburg on the arrival of the fleet. General Nelson and the militia of this state with Muhlenberg’s forces are watching Gloucester Point. Best of all,—lean closer, Peggy,—’tis whispered that Washington himself may come to help spring the trap. He hath led Sir Henry into the belief that he is about to attack New York, and my Lord Cornwallis feels so secure here that he expects to send his chief reinforcements to help in its defense. If the French fleet comes, the end of the war comes with it. Ah, Peggy! if it comes.”
“Thee must live, John,” cried she excitedly. “Oh, thee must be here if all this happens. Help me to think of a way to save thee.”