"Hello, Binkus! What the hell do you want?"
"Who be ye?" Solomon asked.
"Preston."
"Preston! Cat's blood an' gunpowder! What's the matter?"
Preston, an old comrade of Solomon, said to him:
"Go around to headquarters and tell them we are cut off by a mob and in a bad mess. I'm a little scared. I don't want to get hurt or do any hurting."
Jack and Solomon passed through the guard and hurried on. Then there were hisses and cries of "Tories! Rotten Tories!" As the two went on they heard missiles falling behind them and among the soldiers.
"They's goin' to be bad trouble thar," said Solomon.
"Them lads ain't to blame. They're only doin' as they're commanded. It's the dam' King that orto be hetchelled."
They were hurrying on, as he spoke, and the words were scarcely out of his mouth when they heard the command to fire and a rifle volley--then loud cries of pain and shrill curses and running feet. They turned and started back. People were rushing out of their houses, some with guns in their hands. In a moment the street was full.