“Don’t be frightened,” he said. “Go home and look the premises over again and wait for him there while I go to Norwoods.”
The Norwoods lived at the opposite end of the town fully a mile away. The most direct course ran through the public square. Mr. Cornwallis went on in that direction, making his way as rapidly as possible through streets that were already strewn with firecrackers and torpedoes. It seemed to him that he had never before seen so many of all sorts and sizes in the town of Killsbury. Wherever there was a boy there was a fusilade of the evil-smelling things. Wherever there were several boys, small cannons and cartridges added to the noise and danger. Was it his anxiety about his own boy that made it seem so much worse than ever before, or was it a day of unusual horror in Killsbury? When he reached the Public Square the question was answered. The scene beggared description. The air was full of stench, smoke, hisses, cries of fright, hurt and brutal laughter. Horses, dogs and babies were fired at indiscriminately. It seemed as though all the boys in Killsbury and the surrounding country must have assembled there and were trying to do their worst—as though they had made a concerted attempt to seize the Public Square in army fashion and fire upon every one who attempted to enter it from any of the streets; for squads of them stood at every corner.
Mr. Cornwallis saw that it would be impossible to cross the square safely and he was in haste to reach Norwoods’ and find out if his boy were there. His boy! Had not a monster seized the town and swallowed up his boy already? He pushed his way desperately to a side street hoping to avoid further delay. As he turned the corner he saw a large load of people headed for the square. He looked again and recognized the Rundels—a family of hard working farmers—eleven in all, counting the aged grandfather and grandmother and an uncle and aunt. They were accustomed to driving into town on Independence Day to help celebrate and have a little pleasant diversion. They were in holiday mood and array and were coming on at a lively pace.
“Good God!” exclaimed Cornwallis, “It will not do for them to drive into that infernal place.”
He ran after them and called on them to stop; but he called in vain. They were on a down hill grade and before the driver could check the horses, a fusilade of fireworks struck them and they rushed madly into the square. Women with young children sought refuge in the nearest shops. Men and boys fell over each other, trying to get out of the way of the infuriated beasts. The helpless family by some sort of loving instinct huddled together in the bottom of the staunch old hayrack—the children and grandparents in the center and the others on the outside encircling them with their strong arms. When the crash came, which was caused by running against the town pump, they were all thrown out in a heap, the horses wheeled about and stood gazing at them apparently aghast at the deed they had helped to commit.
Fortunately, none of them were killed. One of the girls had a sprained wrist, one of the boys a sprained ankle, the aunt a dislocated shoulder, and the father and mother were badly bruised; but after the cheering report of the Doctor, they inclined to take their misfortunes resignedly and thank the Lord they were no worse—quite as though they had been necessary martyrs to the noble cause of American freedom, instead of the sport of mischievous boys, and victims of an outrageous custom.
“O! what a terrible world this is getting to be! Too terrible for any innocent child to live in,” Mr. Cornwallis repeated to himself again and again as he continued his way to the Norwoods’. Without being distinctly conscious of it he was preparing himself for the disappointment and grief which awaited him.
Laurens had not been there and they had seen nothing of him.
“Come with me, Ralph, and help me find him. It’s a terrible day down town.”
“So Police Haggard told father. I’ll go and see if he can help us. He has just driven in the stable with his horse.”