University of Virginia Library

81. CHAPTER LXXXI.
THE ROBBERY OF THE COACH OF THE KING'S RECEIVER-GENERAL.

Just an hour before the interview which we have just related,
a chariot, drawn by four fresh horses, and driven at
full speed, left Williamsburg by the road leading to New
Kent.

The speed of the coach, great as it was, however, did not
seem to keep pace with the feelings of its inmate.

The head of a gentleman about forty years of age, wearing
a long flaxen peruke and ample cocked hat, was thrust
from the window, and this head uttered, in an impatient and
hurried voice, the words,

“Faster! faster! make the horses gallop!”

The driver obeyed and laid his long lash on the backs of
the horses.

They started forward, at a gallop, and the coach whirled
along through the fields and into the forest with fearful rapidity.

At the end of half an hour the speed of the horses began
to abate, their strength to flag. The coach then proceeded
at a more moderate pace, apparently causing the gentleman
within great impatience.

He took from his pocket some papers, however, and
examined them carefully. Then he opened a large pocket
book of leather, and counted some notes of the Bank of
England.

As he did so, he heard, or thought he heard, the rapid
foot-falls of a horse behind the carriage.

He thrust his head from the window, and at the same
moment descried a horseman who rushed rapidly toward
him, and drew rein beside the window.

The chariot was descending a gorge in the forest at
the moment, and had moderated still further its headlong
speed.

The stranger drew rein, and leaning one hand on the
edge of the window, said,

“Have I the honor to speak to Colonel Braxton?”

“Yes,” said the occupant of the chariot; “your business,
sir!”

“Order the coach to stop, colonel.”

“Impossible, sir; I am on urgent public business, and can
not tarry for a moment.”

“Still it's necessary, my dear colonel,” said the enemy;
“give the order.”

“I'll do nothing of the sort, sir!” cried the other; “drive
faster!”

These latter words were directed to the coachman, who
raised his whip to strike the horses.

Before it descended the cavalier had rushed on his swift
horse to the head of the animals, and catching the leaders by
the bridle, made them rear and start sidewise.

He was immediately at the coach window again, and said,
coolly,

“Now, your money, my dear colonel.”

“My money sir! are you mad?” cried Colonel Braxton,
in a fury.

“No, morbleu!” cried the enemy, “I'm perfectly sane!
I repeat that I want your money, my dear friend—not your
money or your life, as the highwaymen say—but the sum
which you bear from his Excellency!”

“You are insane!” cried the colonel, shouting to the
driver to lash his horses; “you shall repent this outrage,
sir! begone!”

The horses again darted forward, but the cavalier kept
his place at the carriage window.

“For the last time, your money, friend!” he said; “mor
bleu, I shall not ask you again.”

“You intend to rob me, then?”

“Precisely.”

With a movement as rapid as lightning, Colonel Braxton
thrust his hand into the pocket of the coach and drew forth
a pistol.

He leveled the weapon at his enemy and discharged it,
the bullet passing through the lappel of the horseman's surtout.

“Ah! well!” cried that gentleman, “you'll do battle, will
you, friend? But first I'll secure what I want.”

With these words the speaker suddenly extended his
hand through the window of the coach, and caught from
the other's grasp the three or four hundred pound notes
which he held.

“Now friend,” he said, “this will suffice! I had some
compunctions about proceeding so irregularly, but you've attempted
my life, and I'm quite easy! Don't discharge
another pistol at me as I go, or I'll imitate you. I have
two in my holsters, and perhaps I shall blow out your
brains!”

With these words the speaker put spur to his horse, and
striking the coach horses as he passed, disappeared in the
forest.

With a face full of rage and amazement, Colonel Braxton
was borne onward, asking himself if he had dreamed this
outrage—if he really could be awake.

“Well,” he growled, “'t is far more important to arrive
yonder in time, and I can easily give my note for the money.
Lash your horses!”

And in obedience to his order the driver again struck his
animals, which rapidly bore the vehicle to the Ordinary.

The Hanover company and the rest were drawn up before
the door, and Colonel Henry was just issuing forth to get

into the saddle. He paused, however, as the chariot flashed
up.

“Ah! is that you, colonel?” he said; “you have come at
last.”

“Yes,” said Colonel Braxton, getting out of the chariot
and exchanging a grasp of the hand with Henry, “I have
come, on the part of his lordship, to pay for the powder.”

“To pay!”

“Yes, its full value.”

A grim smile came to the face of Colonel Henry, and he
hesitated, looking at his men. With a deep sigh he seemed
to decide.

“I am told we'll have an army of five thousand men to-morrow,”
he said; “still I promised to take the money, and
I must take it.”

With these words Colonel Henry walked into the Ordinary,
followed by Colonel Braxton.

“Pen and ink, landlord,” he said; “of course I shall give
a receipt.”

“I must first premise that I was robbed on the route
hither,” said Colonel Braxton. And he related the scene
on the road to Henry. Some of the company, who were in
the room, laughed heartily, and the same grim smile reappeared
on the face of Henry.

“In truth, he must have been a madman,” he replied,
“and what you have said, colonel, materially alters the face
of affairs.”

With these words Colonel Henry laid down his pen.

“Alters affairs?” asked the other; “how is that?”

“Why, unfortunately, I gave a promise no later than half
an hour ago, that I would take only gold or bank bills in
payment. 'T is unfortunate, my dear colonel, but the promise
is given.”

“To whom—Heaven preserve us!” cried Colonel Braxton,
in despair.

“To a friend—Captain Waters by name.”

“Tall—with a black moustache—riding a black Arabian?”

“Yes, that is an accurate description of him.”

“Why, he it was who robbed me!”

“Possible!” said Colonel Henry, with his former grim
smile; “why, my dear colonel, he is a gentleman of large
landed estate, and I have always heard that he was honest.”

“I say 't was he!”

“Captain Waters?”

“Yes! Colonel Henry. 'Tis a deep-laid conspiracy, and
the object of this gentleman was plainly to paralyze me.”

“If so, it was very reprehensible in the captain.”

And the same sardonic smile wreathed the corners of the
iron mouth of Henry.

“Of course you will not suffer the affair to affect your
action.”

“Unfortunately I've promised to take gold or notes only,
colonel. I am the veriest slave of my word.”

“You then refuse my own obligation for the powder?”

“I must—perforce.”

Colonel Braxton bit his lip, and looked both anxious and
irritated. But the expression of pain and regret predominated.

“Of course, sir,” he said, “I am not so discourteous as to
intimate you had any part in this. Your action, however,
supports Captain Waters' outrage, and the result will be
blood.”

“It is unfortunate,” said Henry, with the same iron calmness,
and buckling on his sword.

Colonel Braxton knit his brows in anguish, and remained
thus silent and gloomy for some moments.

Then his countenance was suddenly illumined with joy,
and he hastened to his chariot, and immediately returned
with a small leather portmanteau.

From this portmanteau he drew a roll of bank notes.

“It is most fortunate, colonel,” he said to Henry, “that
the events of the last few days have caused me so much
concern. I brought this money to Williamsburg to make a
payment on my own private account, and such was my preoccupation

that I quite forgot it until this moment. I now
offer you, on the part of his Excellency, three hundred and
thirty pounds in Bank of England notes, in payment for the
powder. There, colonel.”

And he laid the notes on the table.

Colonel Henry thereupon sat down, and spreading a large
sheet of paper before him, wrote the following receipt:

Colonel Henry had scarcely affixed his signature to this
paper, when the hoof-strokes of a horse resounded on the
road before the tavern, and the next moment Captain Waters
entered the apartment, his spurs jingling and his lips
smiling.

At sight of the money, however, and the receipt which
Colonel Braxton raised from the table and folded, this expression
suddenly changed.

“The money's paid!” he cried; “you don't say the powder
is paid for, my friends!”

“Yes, sir,” said Colonel Braxton, with an angry flush;
“and your outrage has failed—your robbery, sir”

The captain was so much overwhelmed by this failure of
his scheme that he scarcely heard the angry words addressed
to him.

His head drooped, his hands fell at his side, and from his
lips escaped the sorrowful words,

“Then Foy and myself will not meet!”

The captain sighed, and looked around mournfully.

“Ah! well!” he said at length, “I'll not be cast down!
What's not to-day may be to-morrow! Let us wait!”

Then turning to Colonel Braxton, the captain took from
his pocket the four hundred pound notes and returned them.

“You will pardon my little jest, my dear colonel,” he
said, “as I freely pardon you the pistol shot which passed,
you see, close to my breast, spoiling my best coat—my best,
parole d'honneur! It was only a little escapade of fun, an
ebullition of youthful spirits. I'm getting old and I need
amusement. My object was simply to further a small private
affair, which the march of our friends here upon Williamsburg
would have suited admirably. I thought I had
provided for every thing—well! well! The best schemes
sometimes fail—the most honest intentions! I suppose now
the chance of war's at an end—what unhappiness!”

And the captain sighed in the midst of laughter.

Even Colonel Braxton, who was excellently pleased with
the result, joined in the laughter, and one would have
thought that these men were in a ball room, instead of on
the surface of a volcano.[1]

“So the affair is all over, and the fight will not take place,”
said Captain Waters to Colonel Henry, as he got into the
saddle.

A grim smile wreathed the firm iron lips, and the man of
the red cloak replied,

“Let us wait; 't is the momentary ebb of the wave,
friend!”

“The ebb?”

“Yes; the silence in the air—the lull before the storm—

the retrograde movement of the great wave of revolution.
When that wave rushes forward again, as it will before you
can speak, almost, it will strike and overwhelm! Then you'll
see the last scene of the last act of the tragedy—the tragedy
of `George III. in Virginia!' Farewell!”

And the trumpet sounded to horse.