Clark’s Inn was a quaint and ancient place, almost as old as the city itself; the doors stood wide and the light streamed out upon the stone-paved walk. Within, all was hubbub; the day’s misfortunes were, of course, the chief topic, but the decision of Congress to quit the city was almost as much discussed.
“What do I call it, sir?” were the first words that come to Ben’s ears as he entered the inn. “What do I call it, do you say? Why, I call it cowardice, sir, rank cowardice.”
The speaker was the stout Master Samuel Livingstone, whom Ben had met with several times before. His face was mottled with excitement, and one fat hand beat the table before him.
“Not cowardice, perhaps,” said the person to whom he addressed himself. “Not cowardice, exactly, but rather unseemly haste.”
“It is cowardice, sir!” maintained Master Livingstone. “It is just that, and nothing less! Was it not Congress who brought us all to the point of resistance to the king? Was it not, I ask of you? And now that we have resisted to the extent of all we have, what does Congress do?” He paused, and his great face glowered at the man to whom he was speaking. “It deserts us! No sooner does it hear of the enemy’s approach to the city than it deserts us. The moment that the slightest chance of danger to itself appears, it flies.”
Here the other man held up a warning finger; bending across the table he said something in a low tone. Master Livingstone grew a little paler in color; his manner took on a trace of anxiety.
“Hah!” said he, as his eyes went about the room, alarmed. “Yes, yes, you are right. Perhaps I had best not go too far. I did not know,” in a still lower tone, “that our friends voted for the removal to Lancaster.”
In a quiet corner, Ben found John Hancock and some friends soberly talking over the momentous happenings of the day. The elegant Hancock received the boy with the rather distant formality for which he was known; and the dispatches were read at once.
“Somewhat too late,” said he, coldly, after reading the hasty lines to his friends. “This matter of there being no immediate danger will have to be acted upon at Lancaster.”
There was a slight laugh at this, for the remark was evidently intended as a witticism.