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Updated: June 17, 2025
There's his codfish ensign at his masthead. He's making for the other side now, but he'll come over here to sell his rum and kickshaws before he goes out." "Hello, Mr. Browne!" It was a voice coming from the river in front of the house. The owner of the voice was concealed by some bushes at the margin of the water. "Hello!" answered Browne to the invisible caller. "Is that you, Mr. Wickford?"
Even the most sleepy tourist could not fail to be impressed with the exquisite beauty of the scene at Wickford Harbor, where the boat was taken for Newport. The slow awaking of morning life scarcely disturbed its tranquillity. Sky and sea and land blended in a tone of refined gray.
Thus, being no longer needed, the Narragansett Pacer ceased to exist. There died in Wickford, R. I., a few years ago, a Narragansett Pacer that was nearly full blooded. She was a villainously ugly animal of faded, sunburnt sorrel color. She was so abnormally broad-backed and broad-bodied that a male rider who sat astride her was forced to stick his legs out at a most awkward and ridiculous angle.
After a few questions and a few words of welcome, they plunged into a description of their picnic, the yacht-sail, the landing, the luncheon, the general delightfulness of everything. "Berry Joy was not there," remarked Georgie. "She had gone up to Wickford to meet some one. By the way, she must have come down on the 'Eolus' with you, Candace. Did you see her?"
Why I sold her a ticket to Lamberton this morning." "I know. But there must have been some accident. I just got a message from Wickford Junction." "I know, for I wrote it down. The person wouldn't give any name, but I'm sure it wasn't your mother." "No, it couldn't have been! She's hurt!" "Hurt?" "Well, of course I'm not sure, but I fear she is. She must have told someone to send it.
I heard someone say, by the way, if you two could be thrown into one, and taught to hold your bat straight and not hit everything across the wicket, you could be spared to play substitute in Wickford Infant School eleven at their next treat. I said I fancied not, but they're going to try you, for the sake of getting rid of you for half a day." "Get along.
The pools of blood which the frost had congealed, bubbled in the heat of the flames. None could escape; infants, old women, all must die. It was as ghastly a fight as was ever fought. The victors remained in the charred shambles till evening, resting and caring for their wounded; and then, as the snow began to fall, went back to Wickford, carrying the wounded with them.
An army of a thousand men, early in January, was dispatched from Boston to re-enforce the encampment at Wickford. Their march, in the dead of winter, over the bleak and frozen hills, was slow, and their sufferings were awful. Eleven men were frozen to death by the way, and a large number were severely frostbitten. Immediately after their arrival there came a remarkable thaw.
The neighbor was desirous of getting on to have the first telling of the news about the death of Prince Frederick, and Mr. Browne was impatient to open the packet from his factor. "Good-by, Mr. Wickford. Come down and see us some time, and bring all your family," he called as the neighbor's canoe shot away in answer to the lusty paddle strokes of his men.
An old straggling red brick house at Crossways, a stone's throw from a fingerpost on a square of green: roads to Brasted, London, Wickford, Riddlehurst. I shall find it. Write what you have to say, my lady, and confide it to me. She shall have it to- night, if she's where you suppose. I 'll go, with your permission, and take a look at the mare.
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