“General, if I and my friends can be spared, we’d like to ride to Sun Court.”
“Why?” asked Putnam.
“My grandfather lives there; he may be in danger.”
“I understand,” replied the general. “Go at once; you have my authority to put down any kind of illegal violence.”
So away the five dashed through the streets. The smashed doors and windows of stores mutely told their tale; the rows of razed houses whose timbers had gone to keep the British army warm during the winter, left great gaps and also made the town look queer and strange. Gaunt and wan-faced people feebly cheered the boys as they raced over the stones; bands of eager, wolfish-looking men were already prowling about in search of what plunder the outgoing army had been forced to leave behind.
As they approached Sun Court, a muffled roar began to reach their ears. It was the sound of distant voices, angry, threatening, and high-lifted.
“Push on!” cried Ezra, his face whitening.
Urging their mounts to the utmost, they wheeled out of Fish Street into Prince’s. Louder grew the cries; people were pouring into Sun Court from every direction. Turning the corner the five rode over the bricked pavement into the midst of these and to the edge of a huge, swaying, shouting mob gathered before Seth Prentiss’ door. A stout man with a very red face and wearing the smock of a butcher stood upon the steps.
“He’s had his will with us this many a day,” cried this person loudly, “and now his British friends have left him for us to have our will with him.”
There was a shriek from the mob, and a tossing of hats and arms.