We would sell them by the hundred, if we had our way.
Caleb Strong, William Palmer and Roger Griswold, three of New England's
leaders, will never allow a soldier to march from their states to fight
the English--oh, no!"
Terrence was now almost beside himself with rage. He vividly recalled
the tyranny of Snipes, and remembered that many of his friends were
still slaves aboard the man-of-war. His cheek flamed, and his eye
flashed. Slowly rising, he said:
"Do yez set up yer riches aginst the poor lads, better than yerself,
who are dyin' by the hundreds in British slavery? Do ye? Why, ye
spalpeen, ye have no more heart than a stone!"
"I don't believe your stories in the first place, sir, and I don't care
if they are true in the second. What is the life or happiness of such a
low creature as yourself to the prosperity of Strong, Palmer or
Griswold? I think that impudence has mounted its topmost round, when you
dare enter these headquarters."
"So yer for peace?" cried Terrence, his eyes dancing.
"Yes."
"Well, I'm for war!" and with this he struck Mr. Crane a blow between
his eyes which smashed his glasses, lifted him from the chair and sent
him head first into a waste basket. When Mr. Crane recovered, he was at
a loss for awhile to tell whether the house had fallen upon him, or he
had been struck with a six pounder. Terrence disappeared from the
Continental House, and on the next day applied at the white house to see
the president.
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