Uriah nudged the squeaky double doors wider, then looked into the huge, dark assembly room.  Caleb charged right in.  When he reached the center of the room, he stopped to look around.

Matthew lightly slapped Uriah on the back. "There, there, my boy, you . . ." The walls were streaked with Virginia humidity and angrily thrown food. Oversized paintings of unsightly men in Redcoats hung crooked and the candle holders between them were encrusted with months of drippings. Chairs lay broken, upholstered davenports were stained, tables sat upside down and the floor was littered with newspapers, empty bottles, broken dishes, and footprints caked in mud.

At the far end of the room, a broken and unpolished grand staircase led to a balcony. The balcony extended down both sides and was supported by carved, round pillars. Second floor doors were either off their hinges or barely hanging by one. Soiled clothing and bedding were strewn along the banisters. And just to the right of the stairs stood a twelve foot, headless, naked statue of a man. In his right hand he held a spear and in his left, high above his head -- a dead bird.

"Where's the head?" Caleb asked, gawking at the statue. "Oh there it is, in the bend of the arm."

Behind them, a women in her thirties with red hair and brown eyes slipped through the door. In a tattered servant's frock, with no shoes and a torn bonnet, she quietly hid in the shadows.