But before a trigger could be pulled, or a flintlock fall, Brandon was upon them. His sword flashed in and out, there was a swaying back and forth, shouts and cries, the clubbing of muskets, the groans of the wounded, a mêlée, in which all were mingled in a blur of strife and struggle....
Then, the line parted; and through the opening, his sword at the lunge, staggered Brandon. Blood gushed from his face and head, from his breast, from his legs. He was almost sped. He came a little way—faltered—stopped. A soldier stepped out behind him and passed his hanger through his throat. He fell without a word. So, Long-Sword died.
The Governor, his wrath passed, looked down at the dead, and shook his head, sadly.
"He was a brave man!" he said. "May I meet death as fearlessly, when my time comes.... Gentlemen, this deplorable scene is over—let me suggest that you hasten to the ladies, and keep them on the other side of the house, until all traces of the conflict have been removed."
He hooked his arm within Maynadier's, and went slowly in.
"I have had enough of crime and punishment," he said, as they passed the doorway. "What think you, shall we excuse Parkington—let him depart in peace, for England?"
"Yes!" replied Maynadier.
"How say you, Marbury?" the Governor asked.
"As I have said all along: let it rest! let him go!"
"There are some things that are not explained, but they can bide—yes, I think that he may go.—Parkington!" he called.