Mr. Bordley’s sloop took Mr. Swain to Gordon’s Pride in May, and placed him in the big room overlooking the widening river.  There he would lie all day long, staring through the leaves at the water, or listening to the sweet music of his daughter’s voice as she read from the pompous prints of the time.  Gentlemen continued to come to the plantation, for the barrister’s wisdom was sorely missed at the councils.  One day, as I rode in from the field, I found Colonel Lloyd just arrived from Philadelphia, sipping sangaree on the lawn and mopping himself with his handkerchief.  His jolly face was troubled.  He waved his hand at me.

“Well, Richard,” says he, “we children are to have our first whipping.  At least one of us.  And the rest are resolved to defy our parent.”

“Boston, Mr. Lloyd?” I asked.

“Yes, Boston,” he replied; “her port is closed, and we are forbid any intercourse with her until she comes to her senses.  And her citizens must receive his gracious Majesty’s troopers into their houses.  And if a man kill one of them by any chance, he is to go to England to be tried.  And there is more quite as bad.”

“’Tis bad enough!” I cried, flinging myself down.  And Patty gave me a glass in silence.

“Ay, but you must hear all,” said he; “our masters are of a mind to do the thing thoroughly.  Canada is given some score of privileges.  Her French Roman Catholics, whom we fought not long since, are thrown a sop, and those vast territories between the lakes and the Ohio and Mississippi are given to Quebec as a price for her fidelity.  And so, if the worst comes to worst, George’s regiments will have a place to land against us.”

Such was the news, and though we were some hundreds of miles from Massachusetts, we felt their cause as our own.  There was no need of the appeal which came by smoking horses from Philadelphia, for the indignation of our people was roused to the highest pitch.  Now Mr. Swain had to take to his bed from the excitement.

This is not a history, my dears, as I have said.  And time is growing short.  I shall pass over that dreary summer of ’74.  It required no very keen eye to see the breakers ahead, and Mr. Bordley’s advice to provide against seven years of famine did not go unheeded.  War was the last thing we desired.  We should have been satisfied with so little, we colonies!  And would have voted the duties ten times over had our rights been respected.  Should any of you doubt this, you have but to read the “Address to the King” of our Congress, then sitting in Philadelphia.  The quarrel was so petty, and so easy of mending, that you of this generation may wonder why it was allowed to run.  I have tried to tell you that the head of a stubborn, selfish, and wilful monarch blocked the way to reconciliation.  King George the Third is alone to blame for that hatred of race against race which already hath done so much evil.  And I pray God that a great historian may arise whose pen will reveal the truth, and reconcile at length those who are, and should be, brothers.