Nat looked at him inquiringly.
“I was born in Lisbon, of an English mother and an Italian father,” said Scarlett, “and in my childhood, you might say the world was my cradle. My father followed the wars and my mother followed him. And when they died, I took up their task of wandering. This sword,” and his hand rested upon the heavy hilt, “was my father’s, and I have carried it from Muscovy to the Floridas; and it has profited me no more than the cloth you see upon my back.”
“You have lived and fought in old countries, or among old peoples,” spoke Nat, eagerly. “But here is a new land, a new people. In the years to come, by the righteousness of our cause and the strength of our arms, we’ll stand free and alone. Make this your country. Draw your blade for it. And when all is done, it will not forget you.”
Scarlett’s eyes sparkled; he looked at Nat with admiration.
“That’s well spoken,” said he, “and you all but persuade me. But,” and he shook his head, “I have seen uprisings of people before. I have seen them suffer under burdens imposed upon them by their masters until they could bear it no more; then they threw it off and struck out madly, blindly at their tormentors. But always they were beaten down. They were untaught in war; they had no skilled leaders to show them the way to point out the foe’s weaknesses, to direct their strength. If I expect to see this repeated now it will not surprise you, surely.”
“When you come to know us,” smiled Nat, “you’ll know us better.”
As they entered Cambridge they encountered Colonel Stark, with his powerful face and fearless bearing. Ezra saluted and stopped him, and as they conversed at some distance, Scarlett said:
“Who is that?”
“It is Colonel Stark, of New Hampshire. He has fought the French and Indians all his life and is a sample of our leaders.”
“He has the front of a man who’d face terrible odds and never flinch,” commented the adventurer as he regarded Stark narrowly. “Yes, I like your Colonel Stark; but I will require to see the others before I change my mind.”