In spite of the lowered voice, the words were caught by those seated close by; and George Prentiss noticed that every one near paused and looked up.
“Hah! Those Johnsons!” grumbled a gentleman of undoubted Dutch extraction at the table at George’s right. “A dangerous set of rascals, indeed!”
“If I may make bold, sir,” asked the young man, “to whom does he refer?”
The pursy gentleman looked astonished at this.
“Is it possible,” said he thickly, “that there is any one who does not know of Sir William Johnson, once His Majesty’s Indian agent?”
“But is he not now dead?”
“Yes, but his descendants still live,” complained the other, his broad Dutch face full of indignation. “Sir William made vast wealth in his office; he was almost actual sovereign of the Six Nations. His family have all his riches and all his power over the Indians, and they threaten to bring the tomahawks upon us if we persist in our demands for justice.”
George could not help a shudder at this; that the British might resort to the Indians to help their cause had never occurred to him.
“And, uncle,” demanded the heavy-browed young man, “do you approve of so barbarous a method of putting down the popular will as Guy Johnson or Colonel Claus could supply?”
Here Mr. Camp was seized with a fit of coughing; that he did not approve of it was plain enough; but he was not the man to give an opponent in debate the slightest advantage. It was Mr. Dana who next spoke.