"The Americans are treated better elsewhere, however," he remarked. "At Chatham, and at Stapleton too, they receive more considerate attention. There, at least, they obtain what the British Government is pleased to give them."
"And the markets shut agin us—that's consarned robbery," said James Knapps. "'Tis the loss of the market that angers me most past bearing."
"A very great injustice," answered Miller sadly. "It cannot be known. The French are permitted to trade with the people of the country. Farmers and farmers' wives are admitted into the great court and they barter regularly there. But we can only get our cheese, or butter, or eggs for our sick folk through the French, and they charge five-and-twenty per centum above the market prices."
"So we are robbed every way," said Knapps. He was a powerful, middle-aged man, of genial aspect and ordinary appearance; but another American who now approached and walked beside his friends, discovered a countenance that had called for second glances in any company. He was tall, extraordinarily thin and very high-shouldered. His eyes were of the palest grey, his high cheek-bones seemed nearly thrusting through the skin. He was almost bald, and his woollen cap came down over his ears. A flat nose and a fan-shaped tuft of hair upon his chin completed the man's physiognomy; and much bitterness usually sat upon these strange features.
"What say you, Leverett?" asked Stark of the new-comer.
David Leverett, who had been a carpenter on the Marblehead, and lost one hand in the engagement which ended that vessel's career, waved his stump to the sky.
"I say 'tis small wonder that some on us enlist in the King's service, damn his eyes! It's their dirty, devilish game ter make us. They torture us and starve us and freeze us, till narry a one but would Judas his own mother, if 'twas only for the sight of salt water again."
Cecil Stark nodded.
"That is what they mean, sure enough. Another batch came up yesterday from the Hector prison ship. Many, they say, have gone into the King's service."
"'Tis the refinement of cruelty to make a man turn against his motherland," mused Miller; "yet there were a few good Englishmen on the Marblehead."