Pendleton's Inn, as you may remember, was a famous place in its time. Colonel George Washington often stopped there, and Mr. Patrick Henry often held a group of listeners spellbound with his peculiar eloquence on its wide verandah.
So proud was the proprietor of his distinguished guests, that the bed Colonel Washington usually slept in, and even a certain chair at the head of the dining room table, in which it was claimed he generally sat, have been preserved and pointed out to new-comers as objects of peculiar interest. As for me, I have been to hardly a single house between New York and Richmond that has not boasted of possessing some of the Washington furniture, and I have been somewhat sociable in my habits.
Pendleton himself was a sad rake. But his hospitality was known to the young men for miles around, and his house was often used as a meeting place on Sunday afternoons, when the gentlemen would indulge themselves in such exciting sports as cock-fighting and rat killing. Sometimes affrays of a more sanguinary nature occurred within the limits of its broad orchard, but these happened seldom, and, on the whole, the Inn was considered respectable enough for any lady in the commonwealth.
"I could not have stood it much longer, my dear Richard," said my mother, the morning after our arrival. "I am too old for such scenes as that which happened at the Hall. I have not slept since Mary was taken away, and I have not had my bath for two days. All the servants ran away from that odious Captain and his terrible men. The only ones I have with me here are old Mammy Liza and Mary Jane Johnson. They were so old the men took no notice of them, so they hobbled all the way over here to me. But they cannot do anything, let alone fix my bath. And poor Rose, she has been so quiet. Not a word has passed her lips and she walks to and fro in her room with her head held tightly in her hands. The shock to her young nerves at seeing such revelry has completely unstrung her. Mammy Liza said she had delirium last night, for she heard Rose scream 'villain' and 'scoundrel' at the top of her voice, and when she looked into her room she was sitting in bed with her hands clenched and her eyes staring into vacancy."
"I suppose she will not breakfast with us, then," I said.
"I doubt it, but when I tell her you and Captain Barron are to take us to Williamsburg, she may make her appearance in time. You will not leave before we get some news of Will and Lord Dunmore, will you?"
"Possibly not," I answered, "but it is hardly worth while to stay here. It is not likely the Governor will send a party this far inland after us, and as for Will, he will have no message of importance, even if he has a chance to send one. The Governor is in a hurry to get out of the river, for the climate does not agree with him. He is probably now as far down as Jamestown on his way out."
While I was speaking, Barron made his appearance, accompanied by old Pendleton and half a score of armed men who had camped in the barn over night. These militiamen were on their way to join the forces under Colonel Henry, and they were armed and dressed in the most fantastic manner. They had just visited our prisoner, the Corporal, who was confined in a box-stall in the stable, and were in high good humor at the soldier's fierce threats and wild vaporings. Barron left these men on the far end of the verandah and came up and saluted my mother.
"I shall wait upon you, madam," he said, "just as soon as I ride over to my lodgings at the Widow Brown's house and attend to some little private matters there. It is not likely I will be back this way before next year, and I reckon I had better tell my landlady so. I think, however, that the Governor has made his last trip up the river, and, if that is the case, you can soon go back and remain unmolested at the Hall. But here comes our host, and he looks as if he had some matters of importance to communicate."
"Matam ees sarved wid her bickfust," spoke up old Pendleton, giving my mother a sweeping bow as he approached.