They walked to church together; and Hyde thought how beautiful the
pleasant city was that sabbath morning, with its pretty houses shaded by
trees just turning green, its clear air full of the grave dilating
harmony of the church-bells, its quiet streets thronged with men and
women--both sexes dressed with a magnificence modern Broadway beaux and
belles have nothing to compare with. What staid, dignified men in
three-cornered hats and embroidered velvet coats and long plush vests!
What buckles and wigs and lace ruffles and gold snuff-boxes! What
beautiful women in brocades and taffetas, in hoops and high heels and
gauze hats! Here and there a black-robed dominie; here and there a
splendidly dressed British officer, in scarlet and white, and gold
epaulettes and silver embroideries! New York has always been a highly
picturesque city, but never more so than in the restless days of A.D.
1775.
Katherine and Hyde and Bram were together; Joris and Lysbet were slowly
following them. They were none of them speaking much, nor thinking much,
but all were very happy and full of content! Suddenly the peaceful
atmosphere was troubled by the startling clamour of a trumpet. It was a
note so distinct from the music of the bells, so full of terror and
warning, that every one stood still. A second blast was accompanied by
the rapid beat of a horse's hoofs; and the rider came down Broadway like
one on a message of life and death, and made no pause until he had very
nearly reached Maiden Lane.
At that point a tall, muscular man seized the horse by the bridle, and
asked, "What news?"
"Great news! great news! There has been a battle, a massacre at
Lexington, a running fight from Concord to Boston! Stay me not!" But, as
he shook the bridle free, he threw a handbill, containing the official
account of the affair at Lexington to the inquirer.
Who then thought of church, though the church-bells were ringing? The
crowd gathered around the man with the handbill, and in ominous silence
listened to the tidings of the massacre at Lexington, the destruction of
stores at Concord, the quick gathering of the militia from the hills and
dales around Reading and Roxbury, the retreat of the British under their
harassing fire, until, worn out and disorganized, they had found a
refuge in Boston. "And this is the postscript at the last moment," added
the reader: "'Men are pouring in from all the country sides; Putnam left
his plough in the furrow, and rode night and day to the ground; Heath,
also, is with him.'"