“You had best sit where you are, ladies,” the aide remarked, “for the inn is full of men;” and the two accepted his suggestion, and from their coign of vantage surveyed the scene, while the squire, tumbling off the waggon, demanded word with the commander-in-chief.
“I’ll tell him you wish speech with him,” said Brereton, dismounting and going into the tavern.
It is only human when one is in misery to take a certain satisfaction in finding that misfortune is not a personal monopoly. While the squire waited to pour out his complaint, he found farmer after farmer standing about with similar intent; and, greatly comforted by the grievances of his neighbors, he became almost joyous when Squire Hennion, following a long line of carts loaded with his year’s harvest, added himself to the scene, and with oaths and wails sought in turn to express his anger and misery.
“Tew rob a genuine Son o’ Liberty,” he whined, “ez hez allus stood by the cause! The general shall hear o’ ’t. I’m ruined. I’ll starve. I’ll—”
“Ho, ho!” laughed Mr. Meredith, heartily. “So sitting on both sides don’t pay, eh? And a good serve out it is to ye, ye old trimmer. What! object to paper dollars, when ye are so warm a Whig? What if they are only worth two shillings in the pound, specie? Liberty for ever! Ho, ho! This is worth the trip to Brunswick alone.”
Colonel Brereton came out of the tavern with a paper in his hand, and called the squire aside.
“Mr. Meredith,” he said in a low voice, his face eager, yet worn with anxiety, “I find that since I left camp this morning the rest of the New Jersey and all of the Maryland flying camps have refused to stay, and have left us, though Cornwallis’s advance is at Piscataway, and as he is pushing forward by forced marches he will reach the Raritan within two hours.”
“No doubt, no doubt,” assented the squire, gleefully. “Another week will put him in Philadelphia, and then ye rebels will dance for it. No wonder ye look frighted, man.”
“I am not scared on my own account,” replied the officer, bitterly. “A dozen bullets, whether in battle or standing blindfold against a white wall, are all the same to me. I’ll take the gallows itself, if it comes, and say good quittance.”
“Ay,” grunted Mr. Meredith, “go on. Tip us a good touch of the heroics.”