85. CHAPTER LXXXV.
LINDON SMILES.
At the moment when Bonnybel folded and sealed the
letter last laid before the reader, Lindon entered Williamsburg
from the south, riding at full speed, and casting a
glance toward the palace as he passed, halted in front of
the Raleigh tavern.
He threw his bridle to a servant, and ordering him to
hold his horse, and not take him to the stable, entered the
tavern.
To his demand, whether any one had asked for him, the
landlord respectfully replied that a gentleman giving his
name as Tag, had done so.
Where was he?
In the room which his honor had directed him to be
shown to—No. 6, second floor.
And preceded by a servant, Lindon quickly ascended.
He was met upon the threshold of the room by no less a
personage than Mr. Tag, unsuccessful candidate for the
commissariat.
The door closed behind them, and remained closed for an
hour.
Then it opened, and Lindon gave orders to have dinner
served to him and his companion, cautioning the servant to
have “plenty of wine.”
The servant bowed respectfully, and hastened to obey,
bringing, when he came again, half a dozen bottles of mine
host's best Rhenish.
The dinner went in and came out; and still the two men
remained shut up together.
They remained thus until three o'clock in the afternoon,
when they issued forth and descended.
A second horse came to the door in accordance with
Lindon's orders, and he and Mr. Tag got into the saddle,
setting forward immediately toward Burwell's ferry on the
James.
As they proceeded through the streets of the town, they
perceived that the whole place was in commotion.
Groups of men assembled at the corners, were discussing
with excited voices and gestures, something which seemed
to have profoundly aroused the popular mind.
As the two men pushed onward, and approached the embouchure
of Palace street, this agitation grew greater and
greater—the crowds still more numerous—and the groups
were gathered more closely around those stump-speakers,
who give utterance at all times to the general sentiment,
rising like bubbles on the waves of commotion.
From the groups thus gathered around the excited speakers,
hoarse murmurs rose from time to time, and even
shouts were heard when some sentiment peculiarly acceptable
was uttered, or some lengthened or fiery period brought
to a defiant close.
“What the devil are these canaille talking about?” said
Lindon disdainfully to his companion; “let us listen.”
“Let us listen, sir.”
They soon discovered. From his lofty position in the
saddle, Lindon looked down upon the excited figures of the
speakers, swaying to and fro in the gusts of oratory; and
distinctly heard the words which they uttered.
The popular commotion was excited by a report just
disseminated, that Captain Collins, by the orders of his
Excellency, Lord Dunmore, was marching at the head of a
company of his marines, to take vengeance on the city of
Williamsburg for the late outrages; intending to reduce
that city to ashes.
This was the sudden rumor which had drawn the population
from their houses into the streets; and the sudden
nature of this sally, at a moment's notice, sufficiently proved
that the general feeling was as fiery as ever, and that every
one looked forward to critical events, and was prepared for
the issue. The specious words of his Excellency had not
deceived a single individual; and Williamsburg had never
been so thoroughly on its guard, as it was when the powder
affair was arranged.
It now rose en masse, as we have seen, at a word, and all
classes—from the members of the House of Burgesses,
which assembled on the day before, to the humblest citizen
of the town—all was violent commotion and expectation.
More than one sinister glance was directed toward Lindon
as he proceeded, for he was recognized as lieutenant of
the Governor's guard. But no violence was offered him,
and he was allowed to proceed quietly.
“Fools!” he muttered; “you are as fearful as children!
You make bugbears and tremble at them! With a single
company I'd crush out your sedition, and teach you your
duty to the government!”
In spite, however, of this lofty tone, Lindon hastened the
speed of his horse, and arriving thus, followed by Tag, at
the outskirts of the town, betrayed visible satisfaction at the
event.
He looked back at the crowd which seemed gradually
diminishing, and then turning his head in front again, encountered
the gaze of a horseman coming into, as he was
leaving, Williamsburg.
As he and the horseman exchanged low and ceremonious
salutes, a cold and sinister smile for a moment illuminated
Lindon's countenance; and this smile became one of triumph
as the horseman passed on and disappeared.
That horseman was Mr. St. John, who, having bid adieu
to his friend, Tom Alston, now came to make his preparations
to leave Virginia, as he had said, “never to return.”
