Scarcely had Harry put spurs to his horse when Uncle Pete—his movements happily hidden by a cloud of dust—sprang up the ladder, turned the sign-board round in a jiffy, then, pulling from his pocket a bit of chalk, drew it thrice across George Washington’s benign visage. After which down he came, or rather down he tumbled; the ladder was hastily flung aside, and through the doorway after Martha he ran, shouting: “Smash the bottles, child! Smash a lot of ’em!”
Poor Martha, who was cleansing the mortar from her eyes, was filled with amazement at these words. Had her parent suddenly lost his wits? Ay, surely he had, for he was already hard at work breaking bottle after bottle, and by the time Colonel Glover’s regiment, which pursued the enemy only half a mile, drew up at the Old Stone Jug, two pounds ten shillings would not have made good the damage which Uncle Pete had wrought to his own property.
“God save our liberties, and the devil take King George!” cried Van Alstyne as the American colonel dismounted; then, pointing indignantly at the sign-board: “Look, sir, what the British villains have done! Look!”
“Ay, disfigured our noble commander-in-chief,” answered the officer.
“But now come, sir, and see what they have done inside,” continued Uncle Pete, foaming at the mouth.
In a few minutes the tavern was crowded with officers and soldiers heaping maledictions upon the British for having destroyed so much excellent rum; the whole floor was reeking with spirits.
But Uncle Pete, in consideration of his loyalty to the American cause, recovered all he had lost, and more too; for the cavalry-men made the inn merry until the day was well-nigh spent. And when at length they departed there was not a more contented citizen in the township than Peter Van Alstyne.
“What a narrow escape we had!” he said to Martha when they were once more alone.
“Very; and we may thank God ’tis all over without one drop of blood being spilt,” answered the girl.
“Well, no, ’tisn’t quite over yet,” added the publican; then, going to the door, he shouted: “Popgun, come down.”