“The general won’t like it,” Peggy reiterated in a low tone as Mr. Washington began to give orders to the slaves concerning the supplies while his wife hastened to see about breakfast. “He won’t like it. I know that he would rather have his home burned than that the enemy should be supplied from his plantation. Oh, I know he won’t approve of it.”
“Lil’ missy’s right,” declared a venerable darky who stood near. “Marse George ain’t gwine ter laik hab’n de enemy fed offen his craps. ’Tain’t fitten dat he’d fight ’em, an’ feed ’em, too.”
“That is just it,” declared the girl turning toward him quickly, surprised that a negro should grasp the point of honor affected. “What is thy name?” she added. “I should like to know it.”
“Lawsy, missy! doan you know old Bishop?” said the old darky, bowing deeply. “Why, I wuz Marse George’s body sarvant all froo de French an’ Indian Wahs. Bin wif him most ebbrywhar, old Bishop has. Too old to go enny mo’ dough, an’ so he has Mista Willum Lee to look aftah him. P’raps you might hab seen Mista Lee. A black, sassy nigga, lil’ missy.”
“Yes,” answered Peggy smiling. “I know him, Bishop. I used to see him often at Middlebrook. And so thee is Bishop?”
For Peggy had heard General Washington speak affectionately of his former body servant. Bishop was too old now for camp life, but he had, as he said, served General Washington through the French War. He was almost eighty years old now. There were deep furrows upon his cheeks, his hair was gray, and his form was bent by the weight of his years, but old Bishop knew his master’s heart, and knew that that master would rather lose his whole property than to have it succor the enemies of his country.
So the venerable darky and the maiden watched with sorrow the labor of the slaves as they ran back and forth to the ship, laden with flour, hams, bacon from the storehouses; chickens, geese and turkeys from the poultry yards; fruits and vegetables from the cellars; while the air was filled with the shrill cries of swine being slaughtered.
It was over at last. The crew had been fed; the ship was heavily laden with supplies, and with a sarcastic acknowledgment of their courtesy the captain weighed anchor and sailed away. And then the family sat down to a belated breakfast.
The meal was a mere pretense, however, and soon after it the cabriolet was brought round, and Peggy and her companions set forth once more upon their journey.
“I wish,” said Mrs. Johnson as they drove away from the mansion, “I wish you were safe at home, Peggy. I don’t believe that I am doing right in permitting you to go on.”