'When the carriage at last returned, it was stopped by the rebels,
who filled the street; they held their pikes to the horses and to
the coachman's breast, accusing him of being an Orangeman, because,
as they said, he wore the orange colours (our livery being yellow
and brown). A painter, a friend of ours, who had been that day at
our house, copying some old family portraits, happened to be in the
street at that instant, and called out to the mob, "Gentlemen, it
is yellow! Gentlemen, it is not orange!" In consequence of this
happy distinction they let go the coachman; and the same man who had
mounted guard at the gate, came up with his friends, rescued the
carriage, and surrounding the coachman with their pikes brought him
safely into the yard. The pole of the carriage having been broken in
the first onset, the housekeeper could not leave Edgeworth Town till
morning. She passed the night in walking up and down, listening and
watching, but the rebels returned no more, and thus our house was
saved by the gratitude of a single individual.
'We had scarcely time to rejoice in the escape of our housekeeper
and safety of our house, when we found that new dangers arose even
from this escape.
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