The morning broke gloriously, and held forth the promise of a beautiful day. So mild was the weather that it seemed more like a spring day than the last of February. Out in the bay of the Raritan rode a sloop at anchor, and toward this the shallop made its way. They were taken aboard, and Harriet, who had left Peggy to her grief, now approached her.
“We have been long without either rest or food, my cousin. Come with me to breakfast. Then we will sleep until New York is reached.”
Peggy vouchsafed her never a word, but taking a position by the taffrail stood looking over the dazzling water toward the now receding shores of New Jersey. Into the lower bay sailed the sloop, heading at once for the narrows. Few sails were to be seen on the wide expanse of water save to the left where, under the heights of Staten Island, a part of the British fleet lay at anchor. Brilliant shafts of sunlight wavered and played over the face of the water. Astern, as far as the eye could see, lay the ocean, blank of all sail, the waves glinting back the strong light of the east. Sky, water and shore all united in one sublime harmony of pearls and grays of which the grandeur was none the less for lack of vivid coloring.
The discordant note lay in Peggy’s heart. She was full of the humiliation and bitterness of trust betrayed. Humiliation because she had been tricked so easily, and bitterness as the full realization of her cousin’s treachery came to her. And General Washington! What would he think when she did not come to him as she had promised? He would deem her a spy. And she was Peggy Owen! Peggy Owen—who had prided herself on her love for her country. Oh, it was bitter! Bitter! And so she stood with unseeing eyes for the grand panorama of bay and shore that was unfolding before her.
The wind was favorable, yet it was past one of the clock before the vessel made the narrows, glided past Nutten’s[[2]] Island, and finally came to anchor alongside the Whitehall Slip. Harriet, who had remained below the entire journey, now came on deck looking much refreshed.
“You foolish Peggy!” she cried. “Of what use is it to grieve o’er what cannot be helped? Think you that I did not wish to be with my people when I was in the rebel camp?”
“Thee came there of thine own free will,” answered Peggy coldly, “while I am here through no wish of mine. Why did thee bring me?”
“Out of affection, of course,” laughed Harriet. “Ah! there is father on the shore waiting for us.”
“I thought thee said that he was in the South,” Peggy reminded her.
“One says so many things in war time,” answered Harriet with a shrug of her shoulders. “Perchance I intended to say Clifford.”