"Oho, so you're playing David, are you? Well, I tell you what, this settlement of Penn's is going to need all the Davids it can muster one of these fine days. And that day's not so far off, my friends."
"What do you mean?" asked Jack, sitting down in the doorway.
"I mean," said the stranger, "that you simple folk along the Delaware are like fat sheep that the wolves have sighted. Sea-wolves, they are." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his plump knees. "Have you ever heard of a Frenchman named De Castris?"
"I have," said Gregory.
"I haven't," said Jack.
"Well, the Frenchman has four fast frigates, and he's been cruising up and down the coast between Long Island and the Chesapeake capes, looking for English prey. He chased two small English corvettes up the Delaware almost to Newcastle. He's captured over a score of merchant ships, and a week ago he landed at Lewes for water and provisions, and carried off the pick of the live stock there."
"And what would you have us do, Mr. Hackett?" asked Gregory, picking up another boot. "Arm, and march up and down the river bank? We're peaceable people. We try not to make any enemies, and so we don't expect any enemies to come against us. See how friendly we've lived with the Indians, while the Virginians have been fighting them all the time."
The other man smiled, that superior, much-amused smile of the wise man arguing with the ignoramus. "And the sheep don't make enemies of the wolves either," said he. "The sheep are peaceable beasts, tending to their own concerns. But that doesn't keep the wolves from preying on them, does it? Not by a long chalk, my friend Diggs. As for the Indians, it's only your good fortune that you haven't stirred them up to attack you. You don't think they care any more for you because you make treaties with them, and give them beads and trinkets for their land, and smoke their pipe of peace?"
"We've been thinking that," answered Gregory. "We thought we'd been treating them as good Christians should."
"Oh, you foolish Quakers!" said Hackett. "You're worse than sheep; you're like the ostriches that stick their heads in the sand. Look here. Suppose the Indians should drink too much fire-water some day and make a raid on your farms; where would your treaties be then? Or suppose,—what's much more likely,—that this French privateer captain should take it into his head to sail up the Delaware and levy a ransom on your prosperous people, and maybe carry off some of your fine Quaker gentlemen as prisoners. What would you do then?"