On a table lay a paper, awaiting signatures. A silver ink-stand held the ink that trembled and wavered to the sound and stir of John Adams’s voice, as he stated once more the why and the wherefore of the step America was about to take.
This final statement was made for the especial enlightenment of three gentlemen, new members of the Congress from New Jersey, and in reply to the reasons given by Mr. Dickinson why the Declaration of Independence should not be made.
In the meantime Bellman Grey was up in the steeple, “seeing what he could see,” and Blue-Eyed Boy was answering knocks at the entrance doors; then running up the stairs to tell the scraps of news that he had gleaned through open door, or crack, or key-hole.
The day wore on; outside a great and greater crowd surged every moment against the walls; but the walls of the State House were thick, and the crowd was hushed to silence, with intense longing to hear what was going on inside.
From his high-up place in the belfry, where he had been on watch, Bellman Grey espied a figure on horseback, hurrying toward the scene; the horse was white with heat and hurry; the rider’s “face was no bigger than an apple,” but it was a face of importance that day.
“Run!” shouted Bellman Grey from the belfry. “Run and tell them that Mr. Rodney comes.”
The boy descended the staircase with a bound and a leap and a thump against the door, and announced Cæsar Rodney’s approach.
In he came, weary with his eighty miles in the saddle, through heat and hunger and dust, for Delaware had sent her son in haste to the scene.
The door closed behind him and all was as still and solemn as before.