Friends, though divided: A Tale of the Civil WarHenty, G. A. (George Alfred)
History
Friends, though divided: A Tale of the Civil War
Henty, G. A. (George Alfred)
Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Juvenile fiction
Two days later, when the planter happened to be in the field with the
overseer, two gentlemen rode from the house, where they had been to
inquire for him. The sobriety of their garments showed that they
belonged to the strictest sect of the Puritans.
"I have ridden hither," one said, with a strong nasal twang, "Zachariah
Stebbings, having letters of introduction to you from the governor.
These will tell that I am minded to purchase an estate in the island.
The governor tells me that maybe you would be disposed to sell, and that
if not, I might see the methods of work and culture here, and learn from
you the name of one disposed to part with his property."
At the first words of the speaker Harry Furness had started, and dropped
his hoe; without, however, looking round, he picked it up and applied
himself to his work.
"I should not be unwilling to sell," the planter answered, "for a fair
price, but the profits are good, and are likely to be better, for I hear
that large numbers of malignants, taken by the sword of the Lord
Cromwell at Dundalk and Waterford in Ireland, will be sent here, and
with more labor to till the fields, our profits will increase."
"I have heard," the newcomer said, "that some of the ungodly followers
of the man Charles have already been sent here."
"That is so," the planter agreed. "I myself, standing well in the favor
of the governor, have received four of them; that boy, the two men next
to him, and that big man working there. He is a noted malignant, and was
known as Colonel Furness."
"Truly he is a stalwart knave," the other remarked.
"Ay is he," the planter said; "but his evil fortune has not as yet
altogether driven out the evil spirit within him. He is a man of wrath,
and the other day he smote nigh to death my overseer, whose head is, as
you see, still bandaged up."
"Truly he is a son of Belial," the other argued, but in a tone in which
a close observer might have perceived a struggle to keep down laughter.
"I warrant me, you punished him heartily for such an outbreak."
"To tell you the truth," the planter said, "the man is a good workman,
and like to an ox in his strength. The three others were by his side,
and also withstood me. Had I laid a complaint before the governor they
would all have been shot, or put on the roads to work, and I should have
lost their labor. My overseer was in the wrong, and struck one of them
first, so 'twas better to say naught about the matter. And now will you
walk me to the house, where I can open the letter of the governor, and
talk more of the business you have in hand."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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