There was a rustle among the seats. Some had begun to realize their fate; some had realized it from the start but were powerless to prevent it. Two or three faces turned a shade paler, and they became profoundly silent. The others, too, held their tongues to await the result of the controversy. For here was a matter of vital concern to all. Up to now very few deserters, especially among the Catholics, had been discovered among the American forces. They had heard of an individual or two surrendering himself to the enemy, or of whole families going over to the other side in order to retain their possessions and lands. But a mutiny was another matter altogether. What if they failed and the Colonists gained their independence!
"I suppose we are powerless," admitted Stephen in a low tone of voice as he watched the effect of his words on the gathering. "We are confronted," he continued, "with the dilemma of estrangement no matter what side gains."
"England can't lose," interrupted Colonel Clifton, who heretofore had been seated, an attentive observer. "And with victory comes the establishment of the will of the conqueror. Care will be taken that there shall be adequate reparation."
"Very good!" answered Stephen. "Now together with that privilege of immunity, can we be assured of the extension of the Quebec Act? Has England so decreed?"
"Not yet," Anderson admitted, "but that extension, or one equal to it, will be made one of the conditions of peace."
"We are sure of that, then?"
"Well, we are not sure, but it is only logical to infer such a condescension will be made."
"I don't agree with you, I am sorry to say, for the English Parliament may be of another mind when peace and victory have been established."
"You are interrupting the meeting. Please let us continue with our business," Anderson sharply reproved him.
"I speak for my fellow-citizens here," said Stephen as he turned toward them with an appealing gesture, "and I maintain that it is our privilege to know certain matters before we transfer our allegiance."