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Thus it was the destiny of the Carolinians to follow, since follow they must, but never to lead, in this conflict with authority. News of the skirmish at Lexington last April had rudely shaken them. But things had settled down again. Congress had met to frame a petition to the King, and the hope that all would yet be adjusted and that a reconciliation would be effected was held as stoutly as men hold the hopes of things they desperately desire.

Captain Mandeville's views on colonial matters were pessimistic, and it also happened that he loved antitheses as well as any man with a sense of irony. Therefore, it was with mildly amused detachment that he returned the salutes of some of these ubiquitous blue-coated officers of the provincial militia—a body more or less constitutionally brought together against the need for unconstitutional emergencies—who doffed their black-cockaded hats to him as he rode by. He reflected that, despite their superficial friendliness, they regarded his scarlet coat much as a bull might regard it, and that notwithstanding their friendly smiles of greeting—for many of them were men with whom he gamed and hunted and laid wagers on a main of cocks or a horse race—they might very possibly be cutting his throat before the week was out.