A night at the Greenwood cabin and I resumed my journey to Salem on the Roanoke. Near this hamlet lived Colonel Andrew Lewis, to whom I was to report before carrying or forwarding Doctor Connolly’s despatches to Governor Dunmore. The trip was free from any incidents and seemed exceedingly tame after the stress of over-mountain travel. All the settlers I talked with were very anxious to know the true conditions along the border.

As I pressed on and found the cabins more thickly strewn along the various waters I was impressed by the belief of many that the Cherokees would join the Ohio tribes before the war ended. One would expect to find this apprehension to be the keenest where the danger would be the greatest. But not so. Whenever I related how Isaac Crabtree had murdered Cherokee Billy, brother of the powerful Oconostota, the pessimists were positive that the Cherokee nation would lay down a red path.

Notwithstanding these natural fears the war remained popular with practically all the men with whom I talked. Various companies were being formed, and militia captains, to make sure of seeing active service, were not punctilious as to where and by what means they secured their men. There was much ill-natured bickering over this rivalry, with several matters assuming such proportions that only Colonel Lewis could straighten them out.

The war was popular because the people realized a farther western expansion would be impossible until the Indians had been crowded back and firmly held behind the Ohio. Anything short of a permanent elimination of the red menace was cried down.

Much resentment was felt against the hotheads in Pennsylvania for openly accusing the Virginians of inciting the war to establish their land claims. It was widely known that the Pennsylvania Gazette had published charges against Doctor Connolly to the effect that his agents, acting under his orders, had fired on friendly Shawnees who were escorting white traders into Fort Pitt. Among these settlers east of the mountains the common complaint was about the scarcity of powder and lead.

When within a few miles of my destination I came upon a group of settlers who were gathered about a travel-stained stranger. For the first time since leaving Dunlap’s Creek I found myself of second importance. This man was tanned by the weather to a deep copper color and wore a black cloth around his head in place of a cap.

I halted on the edge of the group and waited for him to finish his narrative which must have been of lively interest if the rapt attention of the men and women was any gage.

“—and using the ax I jumped over his body, got to the horse and rode away,” his deep voice concluded. He spoke with a palpable effort and almost with a sing-song intonation.

I dismounted and pressed forward, and told him:

“You talk like an Indian.”

“God’s marcy, young sir!” cried an old dame. “An’, please sweet grace, why shouldn’t he? Isn’t he Johnny Ward, took by the Injums when a boy, an’ just managed to scoot free of ’em?”

The man slowly looked me over, his face as immovable as any Shawnee chief’s. Then with the slightest of hesitation between each two words he calmly informed me:

“Escaped as the white woman says. Named John Ward. Indian name, Red Arrow. Now I am back with my people. Now I am John Ward again. I talk bad. I talked with Indians most the time all these years. With my old friends I will grow to talk better.”

I congratulated him on his return to civilization. Many a man holding a high place in the colony’s government and in the affection of the people had been held in captivity; but few were the men who returned after spending so many years with the Indians. In that respect Ward’s case was unusual.

“Your talk sounds all right to us,” said one of the men. “Mayhap you l’arned some things about the red hellions that’ll help our boys to give ’em pepper.”

“I can lead you to their towns by the shortest trails. I can lead you to their new towns that white men can not find quick,” he replied, after a few moments’ pause, just as an Indian would wait before answering a question.

Young Cousin flashed into my mind, and I asked:

“Do you know of a white woman—she would be nineteen years old now—named Cousin? She was captured by Shawnees at Keeney’s Knob ten years ago.”

For half a minute I was doubtful if he understood my query. Then he shook his head. I was disappointed as it seemed to be an excellent chance to learn whether the girl be dead or alive. Still talking in his peculiar, halting way, he said:

“She, the white woman, was killed, probably. If not that she would be taken to Detroit and sold. Now married and living on a Canada farm, probably. Whites taken prisoners were not let to see each other. No whites were ever kept in the village where I lived.”

“What village were you kept in?”

“First in Lower Shawnee Town. Then in more towns. As I grew old they took me to the towns farthest from the Ohio. Then came a time when I went where I pleased, but they never took me on their war-paths south the Ohio.”

By this time the country folk began to remember that I, too, was a newcomer, and should have much information or gossip. They turned from Ward and plied me with questions. I briefly recited for the twentieth time since leaving Dunlap’s Creek the conditions west of the mountains.

Detailed cross-examination brought forth the happenings at Howard’s Creek and the murder of the four Grisdols, and the firing of the Edgely cabin. When I said that Black Hoof was in command of the Grisdol raiders my audience displayed nervousness, and more than one glance was cast toward the west. The effect on Ward was pronounced, also. Rising, he asked:

“Catahecassa led that path? I must be going. It was from his band I escaped. His warriors followed me. I will go to the east before camping for the night.”

“He’ll never dare come east of the mountains!” loudly declared one of the men.

Ward’s face was inscrutable as he walked to his horse. As he vaulted into the saddle he remarked:

“Black Hoof has a long arm.”

So it happened that John Ward, the returned captive, and I finished the distance to Salem. Temptation assailed me as we reached the edge of the settlement. I had planned all the time to finish my business with Colonel Lewis at his home at Richfield. I had planned this even after learning from Mrs. Davis of the Dales’ presence in Salem.

Now, of a sudden, it seemed that I must hunt them up and look on Patricia once more. But Colonel Lewis was waiting for me. I had endured three years without a glimpse of the girl; and leaving Ward to ride on and relate his experience to the Salem people I skirted the town and pressed on to Richfield.

Arriving at the Lewis home I was informed by a colored man that the colonel was not at the house, but somewhere about the grounds.

“An’ please goodness, massa, I’s gwine to fotch him in two shakes of a houn’ dawg’s tail,” he told me.

I threw myself on the grass and waited. Either the servant’s powers of “fotching” had been exaggerated, or else the colonel was quite indifferent to my arrival. Nearly an hour passed before my meditations were interrupted.

This was not my first visit to Richfield to report to the colonel, but I felt no better acquainted at the last meeting than at the first. There was a certain reserve in his manner which held folks at arm’s length. This impression of aloofness was increased by his personal appearance. His tall figure and stern dark eyes made for austerity.

In military affairs he was said to be overstrict in discipline; this from those who had served under him in former wars. Yet he stood very high in the esteem of the county militia and his superiors. Perhaps his severe mien was the natural result of a life filled with stormy experiences. From early manhood he had been employed in fighting Indians.

He was a captain of militia at the age of twenty-two. Twelve years later he was a major, serving under Colonel George Washington. He was seriously wounded at Fort Necessity. He would have played a prominent part in Braddock’s first and last Indian battle had he not been detailed to complete a chain of frontier forts. He was in the disastrous Sandy Creek expedition the year following Braddock’s defeat.

In 1758 he was an officer under Forbes, and was one of those captured with Grant’s detachment. He escaped the stake only to be held a prisoner in Montreal. Later he led a force against the Cherokees; and in Pontiac’s War he commanded two hundred and fifty riflemen under Colonel Bouquet. Now he was picked to command one of the two armies that Governor Dunmore proposed to send against the Indian towns above the Ohio.

Among the Indians the name of Lewis stood very high. The natives knew the colonel to be the son of that John Lewis who was long famed as an Indian fighter. It was commonly believed by red and white, and I have no reason to doubt the truth of it, that it was John Lewis who introduced red clover to America.

Whether he did or did not, the Ohio Indians credited him with planting the first seed and said the color resulted from the blood of the red men he had slain. William and Charles Lewis, the colonel’s brothers, also were noted border men. Charles undoubtedly ranked as high for courage and astuteness as any frontiersman in Virginia.

The colored man at last turned the corner of the house. Behind him, and not yet in sight, was the colonel, and he was not alone for I could hear his grave voice addressing some companion.

“De c’unel dat stubbo’n I jes’ have to talk mighty plain ’fore I could make him pudge erlong,” proudly whispered the servant as he passed me.

I sprang to my feet, and Colonel Lewis and His Excellency, John Murray, Earl of Dunmore, our royal governor, leisurely strolled into view.

Colonel Lewis wore no wig and was smoking a pipe, of which he was inordinately fond. It was characteristic of him to be more democratic and careless in personal presentment when with his superiors than when meeting the rough and ready people of the border.

Nor was Governor Dunmore given to set forms. He was forty-two years of age and in his prime, a man among men. He could be most democratic, and on this day there was none of the town beau’s fastidiousness in his dress. Yet his wig and his coat were a mode in themselves, while his shoe, knee and stock buckles were of gold. Ultra-genteel young bucks would have had such buckles set with brilliants, that they might twinkle and glitter at every mincing step.

His Excellency walked with a man’s stride and gave the impression of being careless in dress, whereas, in fact, he always was perfect in his points. He dominated his attire and left you scarcely conscious of it. The two of them had been discussing something with great earnestness for as they drew near me the colonel gestured with his pipe-stem, and His Excellency pushed back his wig and appeared inclined to disagree.

“Lord, man! I tell you it’s their cursed provincial jealousy. They malign the man.”

“Your Excellency, I am not the judge,” Colonel Lewis calmly replied. “I simply repeat what I hear, and suggest how it may be disastrous to the campaign.”

“Jealousy and slander!” heatedly declared the governor. Then his lively gaze rested on me. He frowned, as if trying to remember, then smiled with that graciousness he could so charmingly display when he deemed it worth while and said:

“I’ve been keeping you from your guest, Colonel. He looks brown and lean enough to have traveled far and to have brought a pretty earful. I know the face and ought to be calling him by name.”

Colonel Lewis advanced a few steps and bowed slightly, and refreshed the governor’s recollection by saying:

“He is Basdel Morris, Your Excellency. Of Prince William County originally. Before Your Excellency came to Virginia he came out here to act as scout and messenger between us and Fort Pitt.”

“Fort Dunmore,” coldly corrected the governor, giving the name bestowed in honor of his earldom. Then with a genial smile:

“I remember Mr. Morris distinctly. He has brought papers to me. I vow but he should have a good budget of news. If we could retire to the shade and escape this cursed heat——”

“Inside, inside,” brusquely interrupted the colonel, and he waved us through the door with his pipe-stem. “We’ll find it cool in there.”

And we did; and very pleasant too, and with many little comforts for those who wish to be indolent, such as foot-rests, and low tables for holding decanter and glasses and a sheaf of long pipes and some of Virginia’s superb tobacco.

“No ceremony here, Mr. Morris. Sit down, man. We will play His Lordship is traveling in disguise.”

“Forsooth! He has that which we are hungry to receive! It’s more fit we should stand while he takes his ease,” gaily exclaimed His Excellency. And he removed his wig and mopped his cropped poll and sipped appreciatively of the tall glass a soft-footed servant placed at his elbow.

This was a most pleasing trait about His Excellency, and one which in happier times should have endeared him even to people who have small use for earls. He could make the young or diffident man feel more at home than could the democratic and autocracy-hating Andrew Lewis. Nor was it any affectation; for we were soon to learn he could keep up with hardy borderers on long forest marches, and at that, proceed afoot and carry his own blanket and equipment like any backwoods volunteer.

Colonel Lewis shot a glance at me and then at the governor, and I verily believed his dark eyes were laughing at one of us. Surely not at me, for I was too insignificant. I obtained an inkling as to the cause of his cynical amusement when he said:

“Young Mr. Morris, while not forest-bred, has lived long enough in the woods as to make him blunt of tongue. Would Your Excellency prefer that he make a verbal report to me and that I reduce it to writing for your consideration?”

“After what the Quakers have said I find my skin to be very thick except when it comes to something touching my personal honor,” coldly replied the governor. “Let the man tell what he will. We want the truth.”

Until this moment I had barely opened my mouth. Now I produced the despatches committed to my care by Doctor Connolly. In presenting these to Governor Dunmore I remained standing, waiting to be dismissed.

His Excellency, however, made no move to open and read his despatches, but fell to staring at me speculatively. Finally he said:

“Let’s have the personal side—the things you observed on your journey back here.” And he motioned for me to be seated.

I told them of Bald Eagle’s murder, and His Excellency exhibited hot anger, and broke in on my recital long enough to exclaim:

“Curse their black hearts! I drove John Ryan out of the country for murdering on the Cheat, Ohio, and the Monongahela. I’ve had others arrested, and their crazy neighbors have released them. I offer rewards for still others, and they come and go unmolested!”

“Yes, it’s unfortunate that some of our border men are as murderous as the Indians,” quietly agreed Colonel Lewis. His Excellency subsided and nodded for me to continue.

I next spoke of young Shelby Cousin, and the colonel’s eyes grew hard as I related the youth’s lament over his little sister, and, in his behalf, urged that some effort be made to ascertain the girl’s fate. The governor wrinkled his nose and brows in an effort to remember something. Then he said:

“I knew the name was familiar. I’ve sent word to Connolly to seek traces of the girl through the different traders. The war has closed that line of inquiry, I fear, as the traders have come in, or have been slaughtered. Very sad case. Very sad. The young man should go to England to begin life anew and learn to forget. I shall arrange it for him.”

“He would die before he would quit the woods, Your Excellency,” said the colonel. “If he did consent and did go to England he would die of homesickness inside of ten days. Either that, or he would try to swim back.”

“Rather a poor opinion of England’s charms,” remarked the governor.

When I took up the general scarcity of powder and lead and described how handicapped the settlers were by the lack of these vital necessities, it was Colonel Lewis’s turn to show the most feeling.

His anger was almost passionate, and none the less impressive because he held it in check. Staring wide-eyed at the governor he concluded his outburst by demanding:

“What about it, Your Excellency?”

“What about it? Why, that’s something to ask of the House of Burgesses, wound all up in their red tape. His gracious Majesty suggested in ’sixty-three that insomuch as the colonies implored England’s aid against the French and Indians they should contribute something toward the cost of their defense in that war. Methinks they have taken the suggestion as an affront.”

“The French War is ten years old. It was fought so that England might gain Canada. Virginia is still a royal province and her people need powder and lead,” the colonel replied. Perhaps he stressed “still” a bit. At least the governor’s gaze dropped and concealed any impression he might have received.

The governor drummed his fingers on the low liquor-stand, then lifted his head and stated:

“This war will never be won by isolated groups of settlers fighting on the defensive along the many creeks and rivers. The decisive blow will be struck by the two armies soon to take the field. There will be plenty of powder for the men I lead and the men you are to lead. As to the back-country settlements, the House of Burgesses should have provided for them. His Majesty is eager to aid all his subjects, but there’s scant policy in serving our powder and balls to be husbanded along the western slope of the Alleghanies and perhaps later used against England’s soldiers.”

Colonel Lewis dropped his pipe and stared wrathfully at his noble guest. With an effort he restrained his temper and rejoined:

“The talk seems to touch upon some war other than that with the Ohio tribes.”

His Excellency at once was all smiles and graciousness. Leaning forward and placing a hand on the colonel’s knee, he earnestly declared:

“The conversation has wandered, foolishly on my part, I admit. I have lacked in tact, but the first fault I swear is due to the attitude of the Burgesses in neglecting to take proper measures for defending the frontier. Before England can send sufficient supplies to Virginia this war will have ended. There is plenty of powder at Williamsburg. Why doesn’t the House of Burgesses send it to the border?”

“There is but a small store at the most, Your Excellency.”

“But why retain it when it is needed elsewhere?”

“That is hardly a question I can answer,” was the stiff reply. Then with a flash of heat:

“It’s a shame! We repeatedly urge those families to stick, not to come off their creeks until they’ve laid by their corn and harvested their oats; and they are denied the simple means of defending their lives. Whether the Burgesses or the royal governor be at fault the fact remains that the settlers pay in blood and anguish.”

“If there is any powder at Williamsburg or Norfolk that I can lay hands to, it shall go over the mountains. At least the royal governor will prove his hands are clean,” solemnly declared His Excellency.

“I’ll warrant that Pennsylvania has traded enough guns and powder to the Shawnee and Mingos,” moodily observed the colonel.

“There’s too much talk in Williamsburg over peoples’ rights, and not enough concern for peoples’ lives,” declared His Excellency. “It would be a good thing if the House of Burgesses could be locked up in a fort and made to repel an Indian attack.”

“Well, well,” sighed the colonel, “we’ll never lick the Ohio tribes with proclamations and empty hands.”

“By gad, sir! We’ll whip them with powder and lead! I’ve set myself to the task of crushing the Indian power. It shall be done!”

They settled back and signaled for me to resume my narrative. When I mentioned Crabtree and the other killers both the governor and the colonel expressed a wish that the Indians might catch them, or else scare them from the border. I closed my story by speaking of John Ward, the returned captive. The military instinct of both my hearers was instantly aroused; for here was a source of inside information our spies could not hope to provide.

“Find that man and send him here,” ordered the governor. “But before you go tell us something of conditions about Fort Dunmore. You seem to have skipped that.”

This was what I had expected, and I did not relish the task. Had I been talking alone with Colonel Lewis it would have been the first topic I had touched upon.

“Your Excellency has Doctor Connolly’s despatches. Doubtless they will give you much more than I can,” I faltered.

“There isn’t any danger of your duplicating Doctor Connolly’s information,” said His Excellency sharply.

“His Excellency desires to learn those odds and ends which wouldn’t be included in an official report, but which may throw some light on the whole situation,” added the colonel, his gaze resting on me very insistently. And somehow I knew he wanted me to talk, and to speak plainly.

If I reported according to my sense of duty I feared I was in for an unpleasant experience with His Excellency. If I would ever receive any favors from him it would be because I kept my mouth shut and steered clear of dangerous ground. The situation at Pitt, however, had offended me; and now that I must speak I grew reckless and decided to speak frankly.

“Arthur St. Clair, representing the Pennsylvania proprietors, together with other eminent men in that colony, publicly declared that Your Excellency is in partnership with Doctor Connolly in various land-deals,” I began.

“Doctor Connolly has acted as my agent, just as his uncle, Michael Croghan, has acted for Colonel George Washington,” easily remarked His Excellency.

“Croghan repudiates the acts of Connolly,” I said.

Dunmore frowned and spoke wide of the mark when he said:

“What St. Clair and his friends see fit to believe scarcely constitutes facts. But go on.”

“They also say that this war with the Shawnees is being hurried on for the purpose of establishing our boundary-claims and making good our titles to grants under Virginia patents.”

“Scarcely news. They’ve been howling that ever since last April,” growled Lewis.

“I’ve been absent some months. I have no way of knowing what you’ve heard, or haven’t heard. I’m afraid I have nothing new in the way of facts or gossip,” I said, and my face flushed.

Governor Dunmore laughed softly and good-naturedly nodded for me to continue. I said:

“It is commonly believed in Pennsylvania that Connolly’s circular letter to our frontier was meant to precipitate a war so that he might cover up the costs of rebuilding Fort Pitt. It is said on all sides that the commandant fears the House of Burgesses will repudiate his expenditures even after Your Excellency has endorsed them—providing there is no war.”

The governor’s face colored, but his voice was quiet as he said:

“Connolly may be a fool in many things, but he is right about the House of Burgesses. There isn’t any doubt as to their repudiating anything which looks like a benefit to our frontier.”

“Your Excellency, I can scarcely agree to that,” cut in Colonel Lewis. It was the second time their counter-views had struck out sparks.

Both remained silent for half a minute, each, I have no doubt, controlling an impulse to explode. Relations between the colonies and England resembled an open powder-keg. With a bow that might indicate he desired to avoid a dangerous subject the governor shifted the conversation by remarking:

“After all, it doesn’t matter what Pennsylvania thinks, so long as we know her interests are hostile to Virginia’s. I am governor of Virginia. I will serve her interests, and by gad! if the Quakers don’t like our way they can chew their thumbs.”

“We are one in that!” heartily cried the colonel.

Governor Dunmore frowned down at his gold shoe-buckles and wearily said:

“They say I want war. But the Williamsburg paper has insisted on this war since last March. Truth is, the border wants the war. And let me confess to you, Colonel Lewis, that the Earl of Dartmouth, as Secretary of State for the colonies, will express His Majesty’s great displeasure to me before this war is over.

“England does not want his campaign to go through. Taking the position I have means I will meet with disfavor and criticism at home.”

Turning to me, he querulously complained.

“And it’s you people along the border who make the war necessary. It’s the horrible massacres of harmless Indians that brought the trouble upon me.”

This was grossly untrue and I countered:

“Even Logan doesn’t claim that. It’s been give and take as to the killings, with the Indians getting the better of it in scalps. A general war can result only from the Indians’ belief that our settlers are crossing the mountains to settle in the Kentucky country.”

“Ah! There you go! True to the dot, too!” he cried. “You Americans are restless. You acquire no attachment to any place. Wandering about seems to be engrafted in your natures. It’s your great weakness that you should forever be thinking the lands farther off are better than those on which you’re already settled.”

“But land-grants on the Ohio are worthless without settlers,” I meekly reminded. Colonel Lewis indulged in a frosty smile. His Excellency eyed me shrewdly, and said:

“Of course the lands must be settled sometime. The trouble comes from the frontier people’s failure to understand that His Majesty’s government has any right to forbid backwoodsmen from taking over any Indian lands which happen to hit the fancy.

“They have no idea of the permanent obligation of treaties which His Majesty’s government has made with the various Indian nations. Why, some of the frontier people feel so isolated from the colonies that they wish to set up democratic governments of their own. A pretty kettle of fish! Then such creatures as this Crabtree murder such men as the brother of the powerful Cherokee chief. More trouble for the border.

“I shall offer a reward of a hundred pounds for Crabtree’s arrest. If he is arrested the border men will release him. And yet they demand that His Majesty supply them with powder to defend their homes. Good God! What inconsistency! And as if we did not have enough trouble inside our colony there is Mr. Penn, to the north. As proprietary governor he sullies the dignity of his communications to the House of Representatives by making the same a conveyance of falsehood, thereby creating trouble between Pennsylvania and Virginia.

“He is even now trying to make my Lord Dartmouth believe that my zeal in carrying on this war is not through any sense of duty to my king, but because of a desire for personal emoluments. If he can make the people of Virginia believe that, then I am helpless.” Certainly this defense of his motives was not meant to convert me. My ideas worried His Excellency none. He was testing Colonel Lewis, whose reserve made the broaching of delicate subjects very much of a difficulty. The colonel quickly declared:

“Your Excellency knows that I thoroughly understand the true bias of Pennsylvania. We are with you in this war heart and soul. But I do think, to put it mildly, that Doctor Connolly has been indiscreet.”

He had come back to the one phase of the conversation which interested him. The governor hesitated a moment, then asked me:

“What is your personal opinion of Doctor Connolly? Speak freely.”

“I consider him to be a very ambitious, intriguing man, and very much of a fire-eater.”

Both the gentlemen smiled, His Excellency being less genuine than the colonel. “To be an ambitious fire-eater is not a bad quality in these times,” said the governor. “As to intrigue, so long as it is for Virginia I will not condemn it too strongly. What other charges are there in your arraignment?”

“I do not arraign him,” I retorted. Believing I had gone too far ever to retrieve myself in the governor’s good graces, and being made angry by the thought, I boldly continued: “Connolly is too autocratic. He carries things with too high a hand. He takes measures which neither Your Excellency, nor any other of His Majesty’s governors would dream of indulging in. He arrests and imprisons citizens without any pretense at legal procedure. It is because of such actions that many in Pennsylvania expressed the wish we might lose the war. I will add that I heard no such expressions of ill-will since the white families were murdered along the Monongahela.”

“It does make a difference as to whose ox is being gored,” grimly commented Colonel Lewis.

“Does Pennsylvania still blame Michael Cresap for the death of Logan’s people?” asked the governor.

“Many of them do, because Connolly reduced him in rank. His reinstatement at Your Excellency’s command is not so generally known.”

“Confusion and bickering!” wrathfully exclaimed the governor. “Virginia demanding a decisive war—England opposed to it. Our militia captains stealing each other’s men—Sir William Johnson’s death is most untimely.”

Sir William Johnson dead! For the moment I was stunned. My facial expression was so pronounced that His Excellency kindly added:

“The sad news has just reached us. Never was he needed more and wanted more. The colonies have been so used to having him hold the Iroquois in check that few have paused to picture what might happen if his influence were removed from the Six Nations.”

He rose and paced the room for a few turns. Then with a short bow to me he addressed the colonel, saying:

“With your permission, Colonel, I believe I shall retire for an hour. When the man Ward comes I wish to question him.”

“By all means, Your Excellency, take a bit of rest. I shall call you if the fellow comes.”

I turned to go and the colonel walked with me to the door, urging me to return and remain his guest that night. I thanked him, explaining an acceptance of his kind offer would depend on circumstances. He walked with me to my horse and with a side-glance at the house softly inquired:

“What do the people over the mountains and in Pennsylvania say about the Quebec Bill now before Parliament?”

“I do not remember hearing it mentioned. I do not think any of the settlers are interested in it.”

“Not interested!” he groaned. “And if it is approved[3] by Parliament the American colonies will be robbed of hundreds of thousands of square miles of territory. They will lose the lands which already have been given them in their own charters. Think of Virginia and Pennsylvania quarreling over the junction of two rivers when we stand fair to lose all the country west of the Alleghanies. Young man, there’s going to be war.” This was very softly spoken.

“We’re in it now,” I stupidly replied.

“I am speaking of war with England,” he whispered.

I could scarcely accept it as being a true prophecy. I was not disturbed by it. The quarreling between colonies and the mother-country was an old story. Hiding my skepticism I asked, “When will it begin?”

“It began in 1763, when the English Ministry decided to collect revenues from the colonies,” was the quiet reply. “It will soon be open war. I verily believe I am entertaining in my humble home to-day the last royal governor of Virginia.”