Edmund Porter, going to the store at the crossroads on a July day, heard men discussing news that had just come from Jamestown. The rumor was that, despite Nathaniel Bacon's success as a commander, Sir William Berkeley had again denounced him as a rebel and traitor, and had fled to York River and set up his banner there not only as governor, but as general also. The report proved true. Sir William had nursed his anger for a short time, and now it flamed forth afresh and even more bitterly than before. In spite of Bacon's success he was still a rebel in the governor's eyes; he had forced the Assembly at Jamestown to do his bidding, and had acted as if the colony belonged to Bacon and his followers, and not to the king of England and the royal officers. This matter the governor meant to decide when he flew his flag at York River and summoned all loyal Virginians to come to his aid. Some came; there were many planters who honestly believed that Berkeley was in the right and Bacon in the wrong; but the great mass of the people sided with the latter, and it began to look as if Sir William might still call himself the governor, but would find that he had no people to govern. Then, when the old Cavalier, proud in his defeat as the Cavaliers of England had been when the Roundheads beat them in battle after battle, was beginning to see his men desert him, a messenger came post-haste from Gloucester County, to the north of the York River, with word that the planters there were still loyal to the king's governor, and begged him to come to their county and to protect them from the Indians. The loyalists of Gloucester, some of whom Bacon had disarmed, were ready to rally round Sir William. Sir William was overjoyed; he went to Gloucester at once, he flew his flag there, and called all loyalists to join him. Twelve hundred people came on the day Sir William set. But, with the exception of the wealthy planters who had sent the message, even these men of Gloucester were unwilling to take the field against General Bacon, as Sir William wanted. Some of them said that Bacon was fighting the common enemy, the Indians, with great success, and that as good Virginians they ought to help, and not to hinder, his work. The governor urged and argued with them, but as he talked men began to leave, muttering "Bacon! Bacon! Bacon!" as they went. A short stay showed that Sir William was not to find, even in Gloucester, the support he wished. Where could he go? There was one place where men might yet listen to him, the distant country that was sometimes called the "Kingdom of Accomac." It lay across Chesapeake Bay, remote from the rest of Virginia. The governor took ship and sailed across the thirty miles that divided it from the mainland, a romantic, apparently defeated figure, like some of the English Royalists who fled before the victorious troops of Oliver Cromwell.