Was this modest hamlet with its few detached houses with no pretentions to architectural beauty the gay capital of Virginia? As though divining her feeling Nurse Johnson spoke.
“Virginia is a state of large plantations and few cities,” she said.
“Williamsburg is not like Philadelphia, my dear, and yet it hath had its share of gayety. Before the war began ’twas a goodly sight in winter to see the planters and their families come in for divertisement and enjoyment. ’Twas very gay then. Gloucester Street was filled with their coaches and the spirited horses of the youths. Those were gladsome times that I fear me we shall see no more since the capital hath been removed.”
She sat for a time lost in thought, and then spoke mournfully:
“Ah, child, ’tis sad to see the passing of greatness. There are many like me who grieve to see the old town overshadowed. And this,” she continued as they passed a long low building with a wide portico and a row of dormer windows frowning from the roof, “this is the Raleigh Tavern. Its Apollo room is a famous place for balls, and meetings of belles and beaux. We are entering Palace Street now, Peggy. That large building at the end was formerly the Government Building, or the Palace, as ’tis called, where the royal governors were wont to dwell. The old powder magazine yonder held the spark that ignited the wrath of Virginians to rebel against the king. And this, my dear, is the end of our journey. ’Twas formerly the barracks of the mansion, but ’tis now used for a hospital.”
Peggy was conscious of quickening heart throbs as she alighted from the cabriolet, and ascended the few steps that led to the door of the building.
The westering sun cast a pleasant glow through the wide hall, for the entrance doors were thrown back, but Peggy had time for only a glance. The nurse led the way at once to one of the rooms which opened from the hall, saying:
“I must give report of the supplies immediately to the storekeeper, my child. Then I will see the matron and find where your cousin lies. Sit you here for a short time.”
Peggy sank obediently into the high-backed chair that the nurse pulled forward, and waited with some trepidation for the summons to go to her cousin. The office was full of business. A large force of storekeepers were busied in giving bedding and other necessaries to what seemed to Peggy an endless stream of nurses; while a number of clerks bent over their books, deep in the accounts of the storekeepers.
The song of birds came through the open window near which the girl sat. A bee hummed drowsily over a budding peach tree that stood just outside, and all at once it came to her that she was a long, long way from home. All her light-heartedness had vanished. The sunshine, the budding trees, the journey with its pleasant companionship, and, above all, her own youth, had served to lull into forgetfulness, for the time being, the purpose of the journey. Now, however, the passing to and fro of the nurses, the coming and going of the doctors with their low-toned orders, all brought a vivid realization of her mission, and Peggy felt suddenly faint and weak.