Mr. Meredith, who had divided his attention between what his interlocutor was saying and the sentence, “When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another,” concluded that human events could wait, and ceasing to read, he gave his attention to the speaker.
“If ye think to frighten or grieve me, ye are mightily out,” he trumpeted loudly. “Hitherto Britain has dealt gently with ye, but now ye’ll feel the full force of her wrath. A six weeks will serve to bring the whole pack of ye to your knees, whining for pardon.”
The prediction was greeted with a chorus of gibes and protests, and on the instant the squire was the centre of a struggling mass of militiamen and villagers, who roughly pulled him from his horse. But before they could do more, the colonel of the troops and the parson interfered, loudly commanding the mob to desist from all violence; and with ill grace and with muttered threats and angry noddings of heads, the crowd, one by one, went back to their glasses. That the interference was none too prompt was shown by the condition of the squire, for his hat, peruke, and ruffles were all lying on the ground in tatters, his coat was ripped down the back, and one sleeve hung by a mere shred.
“You do wrong to anger the people unnecessarily, sir,” said Mr. McClave, sternly. “Dost court ducking or other violence? Common prudence should teach you to be wiser.”
The squire hastily climbed into the saddle. From that vantage point he replied, “Ye need not think Lambert Meredith is to be frightened into dumbness. But there are some who will talk smaller ere long.” Then, acting more prudently than he spoke, he shook his reins and started Joggles homeward.
It was little grief, as can be imagined, that the events of the next few weeks brought to Greenwood; and the day the news came that Washington’s force had been outflanked and successfully driven from its position on the hills of Brooklyn, with a loss of two of its best brigades, the squire was so jubilant that nothing would do but to have up a bottle of his best Madeira,— a wine hitherto never served except to guests of distinction.
“Give a knave rope enough and he’ll hang himself” he said gloatingly. “Because the land favoured them at Boston, they got the idea they were invincible, and Congress would have it that New York must be defended, though a hundred thousand troops could not have done it against the fleet, let alone Howe’s army. Ho! By this time the rogues have learned what fifteen thousand butchers and bakers and candlestick-makers can do ’gainst thirty thousand veterans. And they’ve had but the first mouthful of the dose they’ll have to swallow.”
The jubilation of the prophet was short-lived, for even as he spoke, and with decanter but half emptied, the tramp of feet sounded in the hallway, and the door was flung open to admit four men, armed with muskets.
“In the name of the Continental Congress, and by orders of General Washington, I arrests yer, Lambert Meredith,” announced the spokesman.
“For what?” cried Janice.