Richard's life had been one of activity.  Whether fighting or administrating or farming, his simple and practical nature had found its natural outlet in work.  Speculations on religion or forms of government had little attraction for him; there was always some work to be done, and that he found more congenial than meditation.  Now, his occupations were gone, his career wrecked, the only subject for his thoughts was how to preserve his own wretched life, a matter which soon grew to him one of complete indifference.  His relations painted to him in glowing colours the future that still opened to him in the New England plantations where their friend Parson Perrient was sure to offer him a warm welcome, and to satisfy their wishes, he made his way eastward, hoping to find a ship bound for Holland at King's Lynn, and so to take passage for the New World from Rotterdam.  But the new life in the West that had once seemed so attractive, the day dreams that had woven themselves about the log cabin in a forest clearing, faded almost before he began to desire them.  He was too heart-sick to hope, too weary to devise new ambitions, or even to recall the old ones that had kept him company from his youth.