This was only one of many such offensive speeches which Dunbar had contrived to make during the evening. The commissioners contented themselves with marking the individual, but without answering him. But his rudely expressed opinions were not pleasing to old Sabb himself, and still less so to his worthy vrow, who withdrew at this into the hall; while the stern voice of Elijah Fields descended in rebuke upon the offender.
“And who art thou,” said he, abruptly, “to sit in judgment upon thy brethren? And who has commissioned thee to lend thyself to the taking of human life. Life is a sacred thing, young man—the most precious of human possessions, since it depends on the time which is allowed us whether we shall ever be fit for eternity. To one so young as thyself, scarcely yet entered on thy career as a man, it might be well to remember that modesty is the jewel of youth, and that when so many of the great and good of the land have raised their voices against the oppressions of the mother country, there may be good reason why we, who know but little, should respect them, and listen till we learn. If thou wilt be counseled by me, thou wilt hearken patiently to these worthy gentlemen, that we may know all the merits of their argument.”
Dunbar answered this rebuke with a few muttered sentences, which were hardly intelligible, making no concessions to the preacher or the commissioners, yet without being positively offensive. Richard Coulter was more prudent. He preserved a profound silence. But he was neither unobservant nor indifferent. As yet he had taken no side in the controversy, and was totally uncommitted among the people. But he had been a listener, and was quietly chewing the cud of self-reflection.
After a little while, leaving the venerable signiors still engaged in the discussion—for Wagner and Long, the commissioners, were not willing to forego the hope of bringing over a man of Sabb’s influence—the young men strolled out into the grounds, where their horses had been fastened. It was almost time to ride. As they walked, the Scotchman broke out abruptly:
“These fellows ought to be hung, every scoundrel of them; stirring up the country to insurrection and treason; but a good lesson of hickories, boys, might put a stop to it quite as well as the halter! What say you? They ride over to old Carter’s, after they leave daddy Sabb’s, and it’s a lonesome track! If you agree, we’ll stop ’em at Friday’s flats, and trice ’em up to a swinging limb. We’re men enough for it, and who’s afraid?”
The proposition was received with great glee by all the young fellows, with one exception. It was a proposition invoking sport rather than patriotism. When the more eager responses were all received, Richard Coulter quietly remarked:
“No, no, boys; you must do nothing of the kind. These are good men, and old enough to be the fathers of any of us. Besides, they’re strangers, and think they’re doing right. Let ’em alone.”
“Well, if you wont;” said Dunbar, “we can do without you. There are four of us, and they’re but two.”
“You mistake,” replied Coulter, still quietly, “they are three!”
“How! who!”