“Turn out!” he shouted. “Turn out, or you will all be killed! The British have landed at Ipswich and have marched to Old Town Bridge! They are cutting and slashing all before them!” He paid no attention to the huddled group of women, but galloped past. “Turn out! Turn out!” he panted. “The British have landed at Ipswich!” His voice grew fainter as he rounded the end of a low hill and swept out of sight. They stood looking at one another. “If you ask me, his wits are addled,” said Gran stoutly. “He had a mad look in his eyes. I’d want some further word--” Then a chaise hurtled down the road, swaying from side to side, driven by a lean woman with gray hair streaming about her shoulders and a swansdown hat hanging on one ear. “The British!” she choked as the chaise went rocking by. After her came a young couple on horseback, and then three farm wagons loaded with family groups and household goods. A wooden churn fell off and rolled into the brimming gutter, but they did not stop to retrieve it; they drove furiously on. Nance stood there, as silent and rooted to earth as one of her own hickory trees. Kitty and Sally Rose held hands tightly and looked at each other, uncertain whether to laugh or be afraid, waiting to see what would happen next. Then it seemed as if half the Port went streaming by. Gran stood at the side of the road and waved her beaded purse at the mad rout of chaises and wagons, but nobody would stop for her. Finally a farmer hastened by on foot, leading a plow horse that had gone lame. She stepped up smartly and caught him by the front of his tow-colored smock. “Young man, what is the meaning of this?” she demanded. “God Almighty, are ye deaf, Mother?” he growled, spitting tobacco juice into the dust of the road, just missing her dainty kid slipper. “The British ha’ come ashore. Come ashore at Ipswich, and hacked their way past Old Town Bridge. I rode over twenty dead bodies as I come from there. They’ll be at the Port now, heading this way.” For the first time Kitty began to feel that this was not some ridiculous mistake. Her throat grew tight, and her nerves began to tingle with fear. “Where is everyone going?” she cried. The farmer turned to answer her. “They’re all trying to get across the river into Hampshire,” he said. “Some’s for the woods and swamps nearby. Better get along yourselves. You’ll be the safer, the further you can go.” He urged his old horse forward again. Gran turned back from the highroad as another half dozen wagons rattled past. “He looked like an honest lad, and he saw it with his own eyes, Nancy,” she admitted reluctantly. “You bundle up the children and whatever food you’ve got on hand, and come along in our wagon. I’m going to drive as hard as I can for Haverhill Ferry. I trust we’ll get across.”