My aunt turned, and knew I meant something. I suppose my face may have
been more grave than my words. “What is it, Hugh?”
“I have strange news, Aunt Gainor.”
“News? and what?” As she spoke the talk ceased, and every one looked up.
“There has been a fight at Lexington. Major Pitcairn is beat, and my
Lord Percy. The farmers were all up to hinder them as they were on their
way to seize our powder, and to take Mr. Hancock. The king has lost some
three hundred men, and we under a hundred.”
“Good heavens!” said Mr. Galloway. “But it cannot be true.”
A pause came after, as I said there was no doubt of it.
Dr. Franklin asked if I was sure. I said, “Yes; I have it of James
Wilson, and the town is already in an uproar over it.” The great
philosopher remained deep in thought a moment, while the women sat or
stood in fear, or whispering excitement. At last he said he must go, and
that it was the beginning of war, and welcome too. Then he bowed gravely
and went out. As he left, the stillness which had prevailed for a time
was broken.
A dozen questions fell on me from all sides. I could only repeat my
story, as Jack went by me to go out and hear, if possible, more of the
news than I had to tell.
At last Mr. Chew said thoughtfully, “If it be true, it is a sad
business; but, really, how can it be, Hugh? How could a lot of farmers,
without good arms and discipline, put to rout a body of trained men,
well armed?”
“I think,” said Galloway, “we shall have quite another version
to-morrow. How does it strike you, Mr. Woodville?”
“Oh, quite absurd,” said the officer. “You may reassure yourselves,
ladies; such a loss, too, would be incredible, even in regular war. I
think we may go on with our game, Mrs. Ferguson.” He was very pompous,
but none seemed inclined to take his advice.
“And yet I don’t like it,” said a lady of the Tory side.
“And I do,” said Mistress Wynne. “It is as good news as I have heard
this many a day.”
“It is nonsense!” said the officer; “sheer nonsense! You have strange
notions, madam, as to what is good news. It is only another rebel lie.”
“I think not,” said I, venturing to add that men who could kill
squirrels would rarely miss a man, and that many of the older farmers
had fought Indians and French, and had, I suspected, picked off the
officers.
“How horrid!” said Darthea.
Had a stray bullet found my cousin I should not have grieved profoundly.
“You see where all your neutrality and loyalty have brought you,” said
Mistress Wynne. “I wish King George were with Mr. Gage; he might learn
wisdom. ‘T is but the beginning of a good end.”
“May I remind you,” said Woodville, very red in the face, “that I am his
Majesty’s officer?”
“No, you may not remind me. A fig for his Majesty!” cried my aunt, now
in one of her tantrums.
“Shame!” cried Mrs. Ferguson, rising, as did the rest, some in tears and
some saying Mrs. Ferguson was right, or the Lord knows what--not at all
a pleasant scene; the men very silent, or vexed, or troubled.
My Aunt Gainor, as they filed out, made them each her finest curtsey.
Darthea stood still, looking grave enough. Mr. Woodville, the
lieutenant, lingered, made his adieus very decently, and went out, I
showing him the way. On the step he said: “I do not quarrel with women;
but I have heard that in Mistress Wynne’s house, to which, as an officer
of his Majesty, I cannot submit.”
“Well?” I said; and my abominable propensity to grin got the better of
me.
“You seem amused, sir,” he said.