ABSTRACT
Belknap did not receive the hastily sent message of his new friend Hazard until four days had passed, notwithstanding that Portsmouth was but ten miles downstream from Dover by boat – less as the crow ies. But it was winter, and there was war; nothing was in order, nothing passed for normal, and the letter received was like everything else – one’s salary, a break in the weather, peace – much too late. And now Hazard was gone, riding slowly along post roads to the south, to Boston and beyond, to warmer regions than the deep woods of New Hampshire – though warmer not by much.
