Mistress Egan, who had borne up wonderfully all through the long night and the wearing walk, now broke down at this kindly greeting. “The Tories, under some British, burnt us out last night,” explained her husband. “They sacked the house first, of course, and ran off all the ponies and cattle. We have come to you for help, Martha. Will you let us have the horses to get up to Charlotte to her mother’s?” “Of course I will, Henry. All sorts of reports are flying about. Will says that down at Wilmington ’tis thought that nothing can save the old north state. Cornwallis hath already begun his march toward us.” “Heaven save us if ’tis true,” ejaculated the fisherman, sinking into a chair. “First Lincoln and his whole army at Charleston; then Gates and his forces at Camden! Two armies in three months swept out of existence. The cause is doomed.” “Oh, if they had only sent General Arnold,” cried Peggy. “He is so brave, so daring, I just know he could have saved us.” Gravely, oppressed by vague fears for the future, they gathered about the table. American freedom trembled in the balance. Disaster had followed fast upon disaster. Georgia, South Carolina restored to the British—North Carolina’s turn to be subjugated was at hand. It was with sad forebodings that the three began their journey toward the north early the next morning. CHAPTER XXIX—PEGGY FINDS AN OLD FRIEND “One hope survives, the frontier is not far, And thence they may escape from native war, And bear within them to the neighboring state An exile’s sorrows, or an outlaw’s hate: Hard is the task their fatherland to quit, But harder still to perish or submit.” —Byron. The travel northward was by slow stages, on account of the intense heat of the lowlands. The settlements along the Cape Fear River were composed principally of Scotch Highlanders, who were favorable to the side of the king, and these the fisherman’s little party avoided by leaving the road and making a wide détour through the woods. But often in the gloaming of the summer evenings the weird notes of the bagpipes sounding old Highland tunes would mingle with the mournful calls of the whip-poor-wills, producing such an effect of sadness that Peggy was oft-times moved to tears. Still, these regions were not deserted. They sometimes came across numerous groups of women and children—desolated families, victims of Tory ravages, who were fleeing like hunted game through the woods to the more friendly provinces northward. It was a great relief when they finally reached the undulating country of the uplands, and, after a week of hard riding, the town of Charlotte, to the left of which, on the road leading to Beattie’s Ford on the Catawba River, lay the plantation and mill of William and Sarah Sevier, parents of Mistress Egan.