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âI expect, Long, you sailors hev a drefful hard, onsartain time navigatinâ, donât ye?â
âWell, skipper! that are depenâs on folks. I donât calkâlate to hev no sort of a hard time, ef I donât get riled with it; but these times I doo rile easy.â
âWhat onsettles ye, Snapps?â
âWell, thereâs a squall to windâard, skipper; âtaânât no catâs-paw neither; good no-no-east, ef itâs a flaw. And you landlubbers are a-goinâ to leeward, some on ye.â
âYou donât say! what be you a hintinâ at?â
âWell, thereâs a reel blow down to Bostin, Zekle; thereâs no more gettinâ out oâ harbour with our old sloop; sheâs ben anâ gone, anâ got some âtarnal lawyerâs job spliced to her bows, anâ sheâs laid up to dry; but thatâs a pesky small part oâ judgment. Bostinâs full oâ them Britishers, sech as scomfishkated the Susan Jane, cos our skipper done suthinâ he hednât oughter, or didnât do suthinâ he hed oughter; and I tell yew the end oâ things is nigh about cominâ on here!â
Sally, in the chimney corner, heard Long Snapps with open eyes, and hitching her wooden chair nearer, inquired solemnly,â
âWhat do you mean, Mister Snapps? Is the end of the world cominâ here?â
âBless your pooty little figger-head, Sally! I donât know as âtis, but suthinâ nigh about as bad is a-comin. Them Britishers is sot out for to hev us under hatches, or else walk the plank; and theyâre darned mistook, ef they think men is a-goinâ to be steered blind, and canât blow up the capâen no rate. There aânât no man in Ameriky but whatâs got suthinâ to fight for, afore heâll gin in to sech tyrints; and itâll come to fightinâ, yet, afore long!â
âOh my! oh goody! the landâs sakes! yew donât mean ter say that, Long?â wofully screeched Aunt Poll, whose ideas of war were derived in great measure from the tattered copy of Josephus extant in the Parsons family; and who was at present calculating the probable effect of a battering-ram on their back buttery, and thinking how horrid it would be to eat up Uncle âZekiel in case of famine,âeven after long courses of rats and dogs.
âWell, I dew, Aunt Poll; thereâll be some poppinâ anâ stickinâ done in these parts, afore long!â
âThe Lord deliver us! anâ the rest onât!â devoutly ejaculated Poll, whose piety exceeded her memory; whereat âZekiel, pulling on the other blue stocking that had hung suspended in his fingers, while the sailor discoursed, exhorted a little himself.
âWell, the Lord donât deliver nobody, without they wriggle for themselves pretty considerâble well fust. This aânât the newest news to me; Iâve been expectinâ onât a long spell, anâ Iâve talked considerâble with Westbury folks about it; and there aânât nobody much, round about here, but whatâll stand out agin the Britishers, exceptinâ Tuckerâs folks; theyâre despârit for Church anâ King; they tell as ef the Lord gin the king a special license to set up in a big chair anâ rewl creation; anâ they think itâs perticular sin to speak as though he could go âskew anyhow. Now I believe the Lord lets folks find out what He does, out oâ Scriptur; and I hanât found nothinâ yet to tell about kings beinâ better than their neighbours, and it donât look as ef this king was so clever as common. I sâpose you haânât heerd what our Colony Congress is a-doinâ, hev ye, Snapps?â
âWell, no, I haânât. They was a-layinâ to, last I heerd, soâs to settle their course, I âxpect theyâve heaved up anâ let go by this, but I hanât seen no signals.â
âDear me!â interrupted Sally, âa real war coming! and I aânât any thing but a woman!â
Her cheeks and eyes glowed with fervent feeling, as she said this; and the old sailor, turning round, surveyed her with a grin of honest admiration.
âWell said, gal! but youâre out oâ your reckoninâ, ef you think women aânât nothinâ in war-time. I tell yew, them is the craft that sails afore the wind, and docs the signallinâ to all the fleet. When gals is full-rigged anâ tonguey, theyâre regâlar press-gangs to twist young fellers round, anâ make âem sail under the right colors. Stick to the ship, Miss Sally; give a heave at the windlass nowân then, anâ donât let nary one oâ them fellers that comes a buzzinâ round you the hull time turn his back on Yankee Doodle; anâ you wonât never hanker to be a man, ef âtis war-time!â
Sallyâs eyes burned bluer than before. âThank you kindly, Mister Snapps. Iâm obleeged to you for putting the good thought into my head. (If I donât pester George Tucker! the plaguy Tory!)â
This parenthesis was mental, and Sally went off to bed with a busy brain; but the sleep of youth and health quieted it; and if she dreamed of George Tucker in regimentals, I am afraid they were of flagrant militia scarlet;âthe buff and blue were not distinctive yet. However, for the next week Sally heard enough revolutionary doctrine to revive her Sunday-night enthusiasm; the flame of âsuccessful rebellionâ had spread; the country began to stir and hum ominously; people assembled in groups, on corners, by church steps, around tavern-doors, with faces full of portent and expectance; ploughs stood idly in the fields; and the raw-boned horses, that should of right have dragged the reluctant share through heavy clay and abounding stones, now, bestridden by breathless couriers, scoured the country hither and yon, with news, messages, and orders from those who had taken the right to order out of the hands of sleek and positive officials.
Nor were Westbury people the last to wake up in the general rĂ©veille. Everybody in the pretty, tranquil village, tranquil now no more, declared themselves openly on one side or the other;âPeter Tucker and his son George for the king, of course; and this open avowal caused a sufficiently pungent scene in Miss Sally Parsonsâs keeping-room the very next Sunday night, when the aforesaid George, in company with several of his peers, visited the farm-house for the laudable purpose of âsparkinââ Miss Sally.
There were three other youths there, besides George; all stout for the Continental side of the question, and full of eager but restrained zeal; ready to take up arms at a momentâs notice; equally ready to wait for the ripened time. Of such men were those armies made up that endured with a womanâs patience and fought with a manâs fury, righting a great wrong as much by moral as by physical strength, and going to death for the right, when death, pitiless and inevitable, stared them in the face.
Long Snapps had been, in his own phrase, âweather-boundâ at Westbury, and was there still, safe in the chimney-corner, his shrewd face puckered with thought and care, his steady old heart full of resolute bravery, and longing for the time to come; flint and steel ready to strike fire on the slightest collision. On the other side of the hearth from Snapps sat Zekle in his butternut-colored Sunday suit; the four young men ranged in a grim row of high-backed wooden chairs; Sally, blooming as the roses on her chintz gown, occupying one end of the settle, while Aunt Poll filled the rest of that institution with her ample quilted petticoat and paduasoy cloak, trying hard to keep her hands still, in their unaccustomed idleness,ânay, if it must be told, surreptitiously keeping up a knitting with the fingers, in lieu of the accustomed needles and yarn.
An awful silence reigned after the preliminary bows and scrapes had been achieved,âfirst broken by George Tucker, who drew from under his chair a small basket of red-cheeked apples and handed them to Aunt Poll.
âWell, now, George Tucker!â exclaimed the benign spinster, âyou dew beat all for sass out oâ season! Kep âem down sullar, I expect?â
âYesâm, our sullarâs very dry.â
âWell, it hed oughter. What kind be they?â
âEnglish pippins, maâam.â
âDew tell! be you a-goin to hev one, Sally?â
âNo, Aunt Poll! I donât want any thinâ English âround!â
The three young men grinned and chuckled. George Tucker turned red.
âHooray for you, Sally!â sung out old Snapps. âYouâre a three-decker, ef ever there was âun!â
Again George reddened, fidgeted on his chair, and at last said, in a disturbed, but quite distinct voice,â
âI think the apples are good, Miss Sally, if the name donât suit you.â
âThe nameâs too bad to be good, sir!â retorted Sally, with a decided sniff and toss of the head. Old Zekle gave a low laugh and interfered.
âYou see, George Tucker, these here times is curus! It wakes up the wimmen folks to hev no tea, nor no prospects of peace anâ quiet, soâs to make butter anâ set hens.â
âOh, father!â burst out Sally, âdo you think thatâs all that ails women? I wouldnât care if I eat samp forever, and had nothing but saxifrax tea; but I canât stand by cool, and sec men driven like dumb beasts by another man, if he has got a crown, and never be let speak for themselves!â
Sallyâs logic was rather confused, but George got at the idea as fast as was necessary.
âIf âtwas a common man, Miss Sally; but a kingâs set up on high by the Lord, and we ought to obey what He sets over us.â
âI donât see where in Scriptur you get that idee, George,â retorted Zekle.
âWell, it says in one place youâre to obey them that has the rule over you, sir.â
âSo it do; but ef the king haânât got no rewl over us, (anâ it looks mighty like it jesâ now,) why, I donât seeâs weâre bound to mind him!â
This astute little sophism confounded poor George for a minute, during which Sally began to giggle violently, and flirt in her rustic fashion with the three rebels in a row. At length George, recovering his poise and clear-sightedness, resumed,â
âBut he did rule over us, Mister Parsons, and I canât see how itâs right to rebel.â
âThere donât everythinâ come jest square about seeinâ things,â interposed Long Snapps; âfolks hed better steer by facts sometimes, than by yarns. Itâs jest like vâyaginâ; yew doânoâ sumtimes whatâs to pay with a compass; itâll go all pâints to once; mebbe somebodyâs got a hatchet near by, or some lubberâs throwed a chain down by the binnacle, or some darned thingâs got inside onât, or itâs shipped a sea anâ got rusted; but thereâs allers the Dipper anâ the North Star; theyâre allers true to their bearinâs, and you canât go to Davy Jonesâs locker for want of a lightâus so longâs theyâre ahead. I calkâlate its jesâ so about this king-talk; orders is very well when they aânât agin common sense anâ the rights oâ natur; but you see, George Tucker, folks will go âcordin to natur anâ reason, ef thereâs forty parlamints anâ kings in tow. Naturâs jest like a noâwest squall; you canât do nothinâ but tack agâinst it; and no men is goinâ to stanâ still and see the wind taken out oâ their sails, anâ their liberty flung to sharks, without one mutiny to know why!â
âNo!â burst out Sally, who had stopped flirting, and been listening with soul and body to Long; âand no man, that is a man, will go against the right and the truth just because the wrong is strongest!â
This little feminine insult was too much for George Tucker, particularly as he had not the least idea how its utterance burned Sallyâs lips, and made her heart ache. He got up from his chair with a very bitter look on his handsome face.
âI see,â said he, quite coldly, âI am likely to be scarce welcome here. I believe the king is my master, made so by
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