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Updated: May 27, 2025
In the dead of the night preceding the 21st of April, 1775, a little less than a month, therefore, after the convention of Virginia had proclaimed the inevitable approach of a war with Great Britain, a detachment of marines from the armed schooner Magdalen, then lying in the James River, stealthily visited this storehouse, and, taking thence fifteen half-barrels of gunpowder, carried them off in Lord Dunmore's wagon to Burwell's Ferry, and put them on board their vessel.
He looked at the figured oilcloth on the table and thought of the shining glass and silver at Juliet Burwell's. The flavour of the cake she had given him seemed to intensify his distaste for the food before him. He felt that he cared for nobody that he wanted nothing.
When he reached Kingsborough and crossed the green to the Burwell's house, which was in the lane called "Back Street," he fell to a creeping pace, held back by the fluttering of his pulses. Not until he saw Juliet standing at the little whitewashed gate did he brace himself to the full courage of approaching.
The splendid breadth of the brow, the classic nose, the firm, thin lips, and the shaven chin these were all downstairs on faded canvases, magnificent over lace ruffles, or severe above folded stocks. Over the pillows the chrysanthemums shed a golden light that mingled in his mind with the warm brightness of Mrs. Burwell's smile giving the room the festive glimmer of an autumn garden.
So I contented myself with administering a sleeping potion. As soon as I was free to leave Burwell's bedside I returned to the officers and obtained from them details of what had happened. A woman's body had been found a few hours before, shockingly mutilated, on Water Street, one of the dark ways in the swarming region along the river front.
"And the writing on the card, have you any memory of it, for Burwell told me that the words have faded?" "I have something better than that; I have a photograph of both card and writing, which my sister was careful to take. I had a notion that the ink in my pocket pen would fade, for it was a poor affair. This photograph I will bring you to-morrow." "Bring it to Burwell's house," I said.
Their foremost vessels had got below Burwell's Ferry on the 6th instant, when on the arrival of a boat from Portsmouth, and a signal given, the whole crowded sail up the river again with a fair wind and tide, and came to anchor at Brandon; there six days' provision was dealt out to every man; they landed, and had orders to march an hour before day the next morning.
"Jack," was his first word, "I am in dreadful trouble, and you are the only man in the world who can help me." An hour later Burwell sat at his friend's dinner table, talking over the situation. Evelyth was all kindness, and several times as he listened to Burwell's story his eyes filled with tears.
Seeing the wild light in Burwell's eyes, and the fever that was burning him, I gave the promise asked of me, and the sick man sank back calmer. A little later, the nurse and attendants came for the operation. As they were about to administer the ether, Burwell pushed them from him, and insisted on having brought to his bedside an iron box from the safe.
A report has reached us of her being at Mr. Burwell's. Miss Mary Cocke and her brother John paid us a short visit from Saturday to Monday, and several of our neighbors have been over to spend the day. We have a quiet time, which is delightful to me, but I fear not so exhilarating to the girls. I missed Uncle Carter's visit.
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