Bareheaded children lay slumbering on stone steps; young women, with infants at suck, sat dumb and vacant-eyed on the ground, too weak to reply to those who offered aid. Haggard men, dragging their rifles, turned sunken, perplexed eyes, slowly answering in monosyllables, as though stunned by the swift ruin which had overwhelmed them.
And the story repeated was always the same: burning and butchery everywhere; the frontier a charred, blood-soaked desert; homes, crops, cattle, the very soil itself had gone roaring up in smoke, and all behind was blackness—hopeless, unutterable devastation.
The living fled, the dead lay where they had fallen—and the dead were many. Scarcely a family but had lost a child or a father; few of the aged escaped; neighbours had fallen under hatchet and knife; friends had disappeared.
To and fro the good people of Pitt hastened on their errands of pity; others, having done their part, gathered in groups discussing openly the riot of the previous evening and the scenes in "Governor's Hall."
It was, truly enough, not the first time that Pittsburg streets had been filled with fugitives from the far frontiers; but last night's riot was the first which had ever disturbed the little town, although there had been a disturbance when, early in the week, a runner from Cresap came in to announce the fate of Logan's children and the rising of the Cayugas.
But this new outbreak was very different: people and soldiers had come to blows; blood had flowed, although nobody exactly understood for what reason it had been shed. Patched pates and plastered cheeks were plentiful about the streets; there were rumours, too, of tragedies, but these rumours proved baseless when the morning wore away. As for the death of Greathouse, nobody suspected it, because nobody, except Dunmore and his followers, was aware that Greathouse had fled to Fort Pitt. It is probable that even Wraxall and Murdy and Tice supposed that Greathouse had escaped from us, and that he was somewhere in close cover, waiting an opportunity to rejoin them.
There appeared to be no effort on the part of the town-watch or of the soldiers to arrest any citizen whose body or apparel bore marks of the conflict. Citizens and soldiers eyed each other askance, but apparently without rancour or malice, like generous adversaries who appreciate a fight for its own sake, and respect each other for stout blows given and returned.
Certainly neither could complain of the scarcity of knocks. Scores of noddles had been laid open by citizens' cudgels or by the brass buckles on the soldiers' belts; scores of pates bore brave bumps and pretty protuberances, coyly hiding under patches that exhaled the aroma of vinegar. Many a respectable wig knew its rightful owner no longer; many a pair of spectacles had been gathered into Shemuel's basket; many, many hats had vanished into memory, probably, however, to reappear, peddled by this same Shemuel, when safe opportunity offered and peace once more smiled her commercial smile.
That morning I had reckoned with my host of the "Virginia Arms." As he appeared somewhat uneasy about the reckoning of Jack Mount and the Weasel, I settled that, too, my means permitting me.
However, I observed to Rolfe that the friends of liberty ought to trust each other implicitly, and he answered that they did, especially when cash payments were made.