“I do wish, Henry,” said his wife, “that you would sell off all the beef cattle and marsh ponies that you have. We’ll be getting a visit along with the rest of the folks. I reckon, if you don’t.”
“Everything is all right,” cried Henry who had just returned from Wilmington. “Tidings jest come that Congress has sent General Gates to take command of the Southern army, and they say he’s advancing as fast as he can.”
“Well, it wouldn’t do no hurt to get rid of the critters anyway,” persisted his wife. “A lot of harm can be done before Gates gets here.”
“I tell you everything is all right now,” said Henry exultingly. “Just let Horatio Gates get a whack at Cornwallis, and he’ll Burgoyne him jest as he did the army at Saratoga.”
“I wish it was General Arnold who was coming,” said Peggy. She had never felt confidence in General Gates since John Drayton had related his version of that battle. The exposure of the “Conway Cabal” had lessened her faith in him also, as it had that of many people. “General Arnold was the real hero of Saratoga. He and Daniel Morgan; so I’ve heard.”
“Well, I ain’t saying nothing against Arnold,” was the fisherman’s answer. “He’s a brave man, dashing and brilliant; but if Congress hadn’t thought that Gates was the man for us they wouldn’t have sent him down.”
Peggy said no more. The climax came in August when, utterly routed at Camden, Gates fled alone from his army into Charlotte. A few days later, Sumter, who now commanded the largest force that remained in the Carolinas, was surprised by Colonel Tarleton as he bivouacked on the Wateree, and put to rout by that officer. Elated by his success Cornwallis prepared for his northward march, and in furtherance of his plans inaugurated a reign of terror.
One night in the latter part of August Peggy could not sleep. It was very warm, and she rose and went out on the little porch where she stood trying to get a breath of air. The sea moved with a low murmur, the surf being very light.
“How warm it is,” she mused. “Even the sea is quiet to-night. How different it is down here from my own Philadelphia. Is mother there now, I wonder? Or would she be at Strawberry Hill? I wish——”
She bent her head abruptly in a listening attitude. The tramp of a horse approaching in a gallop was plainly heard. But a few moments elapsed before a man, who in the starlight she could see was armed, dashed up and drew rein before the cottage calling loudly: