The stranger returned his greeting, with a distressed glance toward their noisy companions, and seated himself heavily on the ground, leaning back against the palisade. The tumult and apparent danger of finding himself trodden underfoot vexed and confused him in his weakness; presently he grew faint, and his head dropped on his breast. His last thought was a wish to be back in the wretched barracks, where at least it was quiet. At that moment two men pushed their way out of the middle of a quarreling group of playmates, and ran toward him. "’Tain’t never you, sir!" cried one. "’Tis Mr. Roger Wallingford, too! Don’t you think I ’ve got sense enough to know?" scolded the other, both speaking at once, in tones which conveyed much pity and astonishment to the Newbury men’s ears. "By God! it is, an’ he ’s a dyin’ man!" Gideon Warren was a Berwick sailor of the old stock, who had known the lieutenant from a child, and was himself born and reared by the river. "What ’ve them devils used him such a way for?" he demanded angrily. "He looks as ancient as the old judge, his father, done, the week afore he died. What sort of a uniform’s this he’s got on him?" The other men looked on, and, any excitement being delightful in so dull a place, a crowd gathered about them quickly, pushing and jostling, and demanding to know what had happened. Warren, a heavily built, kind-faced old mariner, had fallen on his knees and taken the sick man’s head on his own ample shoulder, with all the gentleness of a woman. There was more than one old Berwick neighbor standing near The general racket of noise began to be hushed. "Git him some water, can’t ye?" commanded Warren. "I misdoubt we ’ve got no sperits for him. Stand to t’ other side, there, some on ye caw-handed cutters, an’ keep the sun off’n him!" "’T ain’t no British fightin’ gear, nor French neither, that’s on him," said Ichabod Lord, as he leaned forward to get a better view of the red waistcoat, and, above all, the gilt buttons of the new prisoner’s coat. "’T is an officer from one o’ our own Congress ships; they ’d keep such news from us here, any way they could," said young Earl angrily. "Looks to me different," said the Newbury man who was with Herbert. "No, I ’ll begretch it’s anything more ’n some livery wear and relic o’ fashion. ’T is some poor chap they ’ve cotched out’n some lord’s house; he mought be American-born, an’ they took him to be spyin’ on ’em." "What d’ you know o’ them high affairs?" returned Warren with indignation. "Livery wear? You ain’t never been situated where you’d be like to see none! ’T is a proper uniform, or was one, leastways; there’s a passel o’ anchors worked on him, and how he ever come here ain’t for me to say, but ’tis our young Squire Wallin’ford, son an’ heir o’ the best gentleman that was ever on the old Piscataqua River.