Chapter XXIV: In the Old Home 374 (7)

"Let us treat the fishes to a cup of tea," shouted another, and the windows rattled with their stamping.

"Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!"

It was a yell from the street.

"Let the meeting be in order. It is a trick of our enemies to distract us," shouted some one.

"Order, gentlemen!" cried the moderator.

"Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!"

Longer and louder the yell.

"The Mohawks! the Mohawks!" the cry at the door.

Those in the galleries left their seats and hastened down the stairs. People were rising in the pews and crowding the aisles.

"This meeting can do no more," said Mr. Adams, and he declared it adjourned.

The people saw forty or fifty Indians who had suddenly appeared upon the street. Where they came from no one knew, but they were rapidly making their way to Griffin's Wharf where the ships were lying. Roger Stanley and a great number of citizens followed them. The sentinels with muskets on their shoulders, keeping watch over the ships, made no effort to stop the Mohawks. Roger saw the ship Dartmouth alongside the wharf and the Elenor and Beaver a little distance from it. The chief leaped on board the Dartmouth. The captain was on the quarter-deck; the crew huddled at the bow were astonished to see Indians with tomahawks climbing over the sides of the vessel.

"The Mohawks will unload your tea. Please direct your men to open the hatches and then order them below into the forecastle," said the chief, addressing the captain. "You will retire to your cabin. The Mohawks will not injure your ship or do you any harm."

It was spoken resolutely and in such good English that the captain understood every word. The sailors lifted the hatches, provided hoisting tackle, and disappeared down the forward hatchway, and the captain retired to his cabin. Roger saw an Indian run up the shrouds by the mainmast and hitch a tackle. He thought the savage had some resemblance to Tom Brandon. He also saw by the light of the moon, near its first quarter, that while one party of savages were at work upon the Dartmouth, others were warping the Elenor and the Beaver to the dock. It was nearly low tide, and the waves were swashing the timbers beneath the wharf. Not far away lay the Romney with her cannon peeping from the portholes. Very quietly the Mohawks began their work, hoisting chests from the hold, cutting them with hatchets, pouring the contents over the sides of the vessels. Roger felt a desire to take part in the work. Running to a blacksmith's shop, he smeared his face and hands with charcoal, took off his coat, turned it inside out, put it on, leaped on board the ship, seized a hatchet, smashed the chests, and tumbled them overboard. The Indians worked in silence. The clock was striking ten when the last chest was thrown into the dock. Their work finished, the chief rapped upon the cabin door, and the captain opened it.

"We have discharged your tea, captain, but we have disturbed nothing else. If we have we will cheerfully pay the damage."

The captain thanked him for being so considerate.

Tom, Abraham, and Roger, and the other Indians, walked up the street past the house of Nathaniel Coffin, his majesty's receiver-general. His eldest son, Isaac, one of Tom's schoolmates, had just sailed for England, Admiral Montague having obtained a commission for him in the king's navy, but John, the younger brother, was at home.

Admiral Montague was there standing by an open window.

"Well, boys, you have had a fine, pleasant evening for your Indian caper; but don't forget, you will have to pay the fiddler by and by."

"Oh, never mind, admiral, we are ready to pay him now," Tom replied.

The other Indians laughed as the admiral closed the window and turned away.

Very quietly the Mohawks separated. Abraham went to his own house, Roger went with Tom. They were soon in their chamber washing the garget stains and charcoal from their faces and hands.

"Rat-a-tat-tat!" went the knocker on the door.

They heard feet tripping over the stairs and then Berinthia's voice. "Oh, Tom, the officers are at the door. Put out your light. Let me have your Indian clothes. Get to bed, quick."

Tom raised the window, emptied the water from the bowl into the alley behind the house, handed his Indian suit to Berinthia, put out the light, and jumped into bed. Captain Brandon was not at home, having gone to Maine to obtain timber for the building of a ship. Berinthia returned to her room, lifted the sheets and blankets, tucked Tom's suit safely away between the feather bed and the straw mattress beneath it.

"Rat-a-tat-tat! Rat-a-tat-tat!" went the knocker, louder than before. Tom heard Berinthia's window open.

"Who's there, and what is wanted?" It was Berinthia speaking.

"Is Captain Brandon at home?" asked one of the men at the door.

"He is not. He is in Maine."

"We want to search your house."

"Why do you wish to search it?"

"An outrage has been committed, and we believe that his son had a hand in it!"

"My brother is in bed, and a friend is spending the night with him; but I will go and tell him."

Several minutes passed before Tom could strike a light with the tinder-box, put on his clothes, and get to the door. Before descending the stairs he looked in the glass to see that the stains had been wholly removed from his face, and examined the floor to ascertain that no tea-leaves had been dropped from their clothing. He then descended the stairs and opened the door.

"Good-evening. What is it you wish?" he said.

"You are Tom Brandon, are you not?" asked one of the officers.

"That is my name."

"It is believed, Mr. Brandon, that you were one of the party who poured the tea into the harbor this evening, and we have come to search for evidence."

"Come right in, gentlemen."

The officers stepped into the hall.

"This is the parlor, here is the sitting-room, and beyond it is the pantry. I don't think you will find much tea, for we quit drinking it three years ago, and haven't had any since," said Tom.

"Shall we see your chamber, Mr. Brandon?"

"Certainly; you will find my old schoolmate, Roger Stanley of Concord, in bed, but he won't mind."

They climbed the stairs, entered the chamber, asked Mr. Stanley's pardon for intruding, took a look at the washbowl, opened a clothespress, got down on their knees and looked at the floor, to see if they could find any tea.

"Here is another chamber, my sister's; she spoke to you from the window. You will hardly think of entering the room till she has had time to put on her dress."

"Oh, no; we would not be so rude as to enter her chamber. We do not suppose she had anything to do with it," said the officers.

"Will you not take a look at the garret?" Tom asked.

"No. You have covered your tracks so well, I do not suppose we should find anything."

"Thank you. If, as you say, I had a hand in it, I regard it quite a compliment that I have covered my tracks so well," Tom replied, as the officers took their departure. He went upstairs and opened the door to Berinthia's chamber a little.

"'Rinth, you are the best girl that ever lived," he said.

"Oh, Tom, you did that splendidly," she replied.

There was merry laughter from her lips as he closed the door and returned to his chamber.

XIV.

BENEVOLENCE AND BROTHERHOOD.

The summer of 1774 was waning. Once more Robert Walden was on his way to Boston. The wagon which Jenny and Paul were dragging was loaded with bags filled with corn and rye, not to be sold in the market, but a gift from Joshua Walden and his fellow-citizens of Rumford to the people of Boston. Parliament, in retaliation for the destruction of the tea, had passed an act closing the port to commerce.[50] After the first day of June, no vessels other than those of the navy could enter or depart from the harbor. Fishermen could no longer catch cod or mackerel for the market. Farmers on the banks of the Mystic could not dig potatoes from their fields and transport them down the river on the ebbing tide to the town dock. The people of Charlestown could not gather cabbages from their gardens, take them across the ferry, and peddle them in Boston. Only by the road leading to Roxbury could the suffering people be supplied with food. Besides closing the port, Parliament had abolished the charter of Massachusetts. The people no longer could elect thirty-six councilors; they were to be appointed by the king, instead. No more could they lawfully assemble in town meeting to elect representatives to the legislature. All rights and privileges were swept away.

[Footnote 50: It is known in history as the Boston Port Bill. It was passed as a retaliatory measure. No possible advantage could accrue to government by its passage and enforcement. It was designed not only to awe the people into submission, but to overturn the government of the people and establish kingly prerogative. Parliament could not have committed a greater blunder. Instead of humbling the people of Boston, it aroused the sympathies of the entire country, and became a potent influence in bringing about the union of the Colonies. Contributions of food, wheat, corn, rye, peas, beans, flocks of sheep, and herds of cattle came from all of the Colonies.]

It was near sunset when Robert turned into the highway leading from Roxbury to Boston. He was surprised to find fortifications--a ditch and embankment and cannon mounted upon it--at the narrowest part of the Neck. The sentinels glared at him, but did not offer any insult.[51] He knew several regiments of troops had already arrived, and it was reported that others would soon be sent from England to enforce the laws. He drove slowly along the street, past the Liberty Tree. A half dozen citizens were sitting on the benches beneath it smoking their pipes. There were few people but many soldiers in the streets. He watered the horses at the pump, then drove to the Green Dragon.

[Footnote 51: Several regiments of troops had already arrived in Boston, and fortifications were being constructed on Roxbury Neck, making it a garrisoned town.]

It was a hearty welcome which he received in the Brandon home.

"You find us under the harrow," said Mr. Brandon. "The king and ministry are determined to crush the life out of us. All business has stopped. Grass is growing in the streets. Ship-carpenters, joiners, blacksmiths, ropemakers, are idle; no one has any work for them. Thousands have already left town, and others are going. Nobody can earn a penny, and we are all growing poorer. We should starve in a short time were it not for the kindness and benevolence of the people. We are receiving contributions of food from everywhere. Doctor Warren, John Hancock, and a large number of our public-spirited citizens are distributing the gifts."

Tom said he was aiding the committee, looking after the poor. Not only were kind-hearted people sending grain, but flocks and herds.

"Only yesterday," he said, "Colonel Israel Putnam, who served in the French and Indian war, arrived with a flock of sheep from Connecticut. Day before yesterday a sloop dropped anchor in Salem harbor, loaded with corn contributed by the people of North Carolina. It will be teamed into Boston. The Marblehead fishermen have just sent between two and three hundred quintals of codfish. The committee has received a letter from Mr. Gadsden of South Carolina, expressing the hope that we never will pay a cent for the blasted tea. As evidence that South Carolina is with us, he sent one hundred casks of rice, contributed by his fellow-citizens, shipping it to Providence, to be hauled the rest of the way by teams. The people of Baltimore loaded a vessel with three thousand bushels of corn, twenty barrels of rye flour, and as many of shipbread. Herds of cattle and flocks of sheep are driven in every day. The town of Lebanon, Connecticut, sent three hundred and seventy sheep; Norwich, two hundred and ninety; Groton, one hundred sheep and twenty-six fat cattle. Two schooners have arrived at Salem, bringing three thousand bushels of corn from Maryland. Another vessel brought one thousand bushels from Virginia."

"These contributions," said Mr. Brandon, "show that the people of the Colonies, or at least a large portion of them, sympathize with us in our resistance to tyranny."

"You have not told me about Rachel; is she well?" Berinthia asked.

Robert informed her she was quite well, and hard at work as usual.

"I suppose she is spinning for herself, these days?" said Berinthia, smiling.

"Yes, I dare say; she has been making sheets and pillow-cases since Roger Stanley was in Rumford."

"She has written me about him, and thinks there is nobody else in the world so good as he. I'm glad they are engaged. She is just the one for him and he for her."

There was one person whom Robert wished to know about, who had been in his thoughts through every step of his journey. How should he ask about Miss Newville without revealing his interest in her? How ascertain if she were well: if her heart was still her own?

"I suppose the arbitrary acts of Parliament may have brought about estrangements between old-time friends," he said.

"Yes, former friendships are being broken. Many of my old acquaintances do not speak to me."

"Is it so bad as that?"

"Yes, families are being divided. Fathers and mothers taking sides with the king, sons and daughters standing resolutely for the rights of the people. You remember that sweet girl, Lucy Flucker, whom you met at Miss Newville's garden party?"

"Yes, a lovely lady."

"Her father is secretary of the Colony, and of course sides with the king, but she is soon to be married to the bookseller, Mr. Knox, greatly against the wishes of the family; not because he is not worthy of her, but because he opposes the king and his ministers," said Berinthia.

"Are you and Miss Newville still friends?"

"Yes, just as good friends as ever. Her father, of course, is a Tory, and her mother is a red-hot one, but Ruth keeps her own counsel. You can have no idea what a noble girl she is, gracious to everybody, but true to herself. She had an offer of marriage from Lord Upperton, a little while ago, and refused him, to the astonishment of all her friends, and especially her mother. Just why she rejected his suit no one knows. Intimate as we are, she never has let me into the secret."

"From what little I have seen of Miss Newville, she seems to be a lady of sterling character," Robert replied.

"She has many admirers, especially among his majesty's officers. She receives them with charming courtesy, listens to their flattering words, but is very chary of her favors. I do not wonder that half a dozen colonels, majors, and captains are dead in love with her. I hope you will see her while here. She often inquires about you and Rachel, and wishes she could have another ride in a pung. I'll tell you what I'll do,--invite her to take supper with us, and then you'll see what a glorious girl she is."

"I can believe all you say of her."

Once more, the following morning, Robert had the pleasure of shaking hands with Doctor Warren and Samuel Adams, and receiving the thanks of the committee of supply for the contribution from Rumford.

Mr. Adams said the Colonies must prepare to enter upon a struggle to maintain their liberties. Governor Gage was carrying things with a high hand. A few nights before, a body of troops had seized the powder in the magazines out towards Medford, and taken it to the Castle.[52] General Gage was seizing muskets. He had purchased cannon and cohorn mortars, and chain-shot of Mr. Scott, and had paid him five hundred pounds for them. He hoped the people of Rumford would put themselves in a condition to be ready at a minute's warning to resist any aggressions on the part of the troops. It was evident that the king was determined to carry out his plans by force of arms.

[Footnote 52: The powder belonging to the Province was stored in a magazine on Quarry Hill, in Charlestown. During the month of August, 1774, several of the towns removed their proportion of the ammunition. At half past four o'clock, on the morning of September 1, Lieutenant-Colonel Madison, with 260 men, embarked in thirteen large boats at Long Wharf, rowed up Mystic River, and landed at Mr. Temple's farm, seized 250 half barrels of powder and landed it in the Castle, also two cannon from the gun-houses in Cambridge. The news spread, and before evening nearly 5,000 people had assembled in Cambridge with their muskets. They compelled Mr. Danforth, member of the governor's council, to resign. The high-sheriff promised to serve no warrant under the new act of parliament. Lieutenant-Governor Oliver hastened to Boston, and informed General Gage that if he were to send a body of troops into the country the people would rise in their anger. Upon his return to Cambridge the people surrounded his house and compelled him to resign his commission. General Gage wrote to London that he must have more troops to enable him to strike a decisive blow. He expected the people would march into Boston. In order to prevent surprise, the guards were doubled, and the troops ordered to lay on their arms through the night.]

Having delivered the donation to the committee, Robert strolled through the town, finding many houses, shops, and stores tenantless. There was a strange silence,--no hurrying of feet, no rumbling of teams, no piles of merchandise. The stores were closed, the shutters fastened. Grass was growing in the streets and tufts of oats were springing up where the horses, a few weeks before, had munched their provender. Here and there he met men and boys, wandering listlessly, with sadness in their faces, but yet behind the sorrow there was a determination to endure to the bitter end.

Robert visited his old acquaintance, Henry Knox, no longer in the bookstore at the corner of King Street, opposite the Town House, but in a store of his own on Cornhill. He passed a tailor's shop and a harness-maker's before he came to Mr. Knox's bookstore, where he was heartily welcomed.

"I remember the book which you purchased the first time we met; I hope you liked it."

"It is very entertaining, and has been read by nearly everybody in Rumford, and is pretty much worn out," Robert replied.

While talking with Mr. Knox, he saw a white-haired gentleman pass the store. The next moment he heard a bell jingling in the shop of the harness-maker, then in the shoemaker's, and lastly in the tailor's. Mr. Knox laughed as the gentleman quickened his pace.

"Possibly, Mr. Walden, you do not understand the ringing of the bells in succession. The gentleman is one of the Tory councilors recently appointed by Governor Gage. He has accepted the appointment and the citizens are worrying the life out of him. Each shopman has a bell which he jingles the moment he spies a councilor, giving notice to the other shopmen." Mr. Knox looked up at the clock. "It is about time for the council to assemble in the Town House; quite likely you will hear the bells tinkle again. More than half of those appointed by General Gage have already resigned, and I do not doubt others will ere long throw up their commissions. Not much honor is to be gained by holding an office against public opinion."

"It is not a pleasing sight--the presence of so many troops," Robert remarked.

"Nominally, we are under civil law; but in reality our civil rights are gone, and we are under military government," Mr. Knox replied.

Two officers entered the store and were courteously received by the bookseller, who showed them the latest books received from London. He informed Robert, in a whisper, that they were Major John Small and Ensign De Berniere. Another gentleman entered, a citizen, whose coat was covered with dust, as if he had been long on the road. He was heartily welcomed by Mr. Knox, who introduced him to Robert as Colonel Israel Putnam of Connecticut.

"I think I have heard my father speak of you; he was a lieutenant under Captain Stark at Ticonderoga. Perhaps you remember him," Robert said.

"Indeed I do remember Joshua Walden, and a braver man never wore a uniform in the Rifle Rangers than he."

The major of the king's troops laid down his book and approached with outstretched hand.

"Well, I declare! If here isn't my old friend Putnam," he said.

There was mutual hand-shaking between Major Small and Colonel Putnam, who had fought side by side under the walls of Ticonderoga and at Fort Edward.

"And so you are here to enforce the Regulation Act," said Putnam.

"It is because you are rebellious," Small replied.

"You are attempting to subvert our liberties by enforcing unrighteous laws. The Colonies exhibited their loyalty to the king when we stood side by side to drive out the French. We taxed ourselves to the utmost. England has repaid but a very small proportion of the cost. We were loyal then, and we are loyal now; but we never will submit to tyranny," continued Putnam.

"The people of this town threw the tea into the dock, and now they must pay for it. Those that dance must settle with the fiddler," Small replied.

"Not one penny will we ever pay. Parliament and the king have closed the port, bringing distress upon the community; but it has awakened the sympathies of the country from Passamaquoddy to Savannah. Now, Small, you are an old soldier, and so am I; we have smelled gunpowder, and can afford to talk plainly. You are here, five thousand or more, with several thousand additional troops just ready to sail from England. You have come to overawe us by force of arms. You have changed the charter of this Province; if this, why not all the others? Why do you do it? I say you, for you represent the king; you do it because you are determined to make the Colonies subservient to the crown. You cannot bear to have us manufacture anything this side of the sea, and are determined to make us your milch cow. Let me tell you that you won't succeed. You do not know the spirit of the people. Let one drop of blood be shed by the troops, and a mighty host of armed men will close around you. I know you can fight, and so can we; if you don't think so, try it."

"Ha, ha! Put, you are the same old flint, ever ready to strike fire. We won't quarrel now. Come, let us step down to the Bunch of Grapes, have a glass of wine, and talk over old times."

Arm in arm they walked down King Street to the tavern.

Early the following afternoon Miss Newville was welcomed to the Brandon home.

"It is a long time since we have met," she said, reaching out her hand to Robert. "I am pleased to see you once more. I hope you are well. And how is Rachel?"

Many times he had thought of her as he last beheld her, standing beneath the portico of her home in the radiant light of the moon. Her parting words had been an abiding memory--"Good-by, till we meet again." Once more her hand was resting in his. She was no longer a girl, but entering upon womanhood. He told the reason of his being there, to bring the gift of Rumford to the suffering poor. She had many questions to ask about Rachel. Was she still making cheese? Had she many flowers?

"I suppose Rachel's brother prepares the flowerbeds as in former years," she said, laughing.

"Yes, I spaded them for her."

"Berinthia informs me that she has found her true love."

"So it appears."

"I doubt not she is very happy."

"She seems to be; she is singing from morning till night."

"I am so glad. I only saw Mr. Stanley at the time of the launching of the ship, you remember, but thought him worthy of any woman's love. Do you still have delightful times at quiltings and huskings?"

"In the country, customs rarely change. The young ladies still have their quilting parties. Rachel will soon be getting her fixings, and we doubtless shall have jolly times."

"I should like to be able to help her. With so many things to care for, I do not suppose she finds much time for reading?"

"Very little. Besides, we do not have many books to read. 'The New Hampshire Gazette' comes once a week, giving us a little glimpse of what is going on in the world."

"I forgot you have no bookstore with all the new volumes printed in London,--history, travel, poetry, and novels, as we have here."

She said that Mr. Knox, the bookseller, had been very kind to her, supplying her with the new books arriving from London, and had just handed her the poems of Oliver Goldsmith.

The afternoon waned.

"Shall we go up on the housetop and see the sun set?" Berinthia asked.

The harbor, the fleet of warships at anchor, the distant ocean, the distant woodlands, made a beautiful panorama.

"When I see such beauty," said Miss Newville, "I want to be an artist or a poet to give expression to my feelings. See the purple and gold on the Milton Hills, the light on the water, the russet and crimson of the forests! How beautiful!" she cried, with a rich bloom upon her cheek as she gazed upon the landscape. The tap of a drum and the tramping of a regiment along the street attracted her attention. "I am weary of seeing scarlet uniforms," she said.

"Will you not make an exception of those who call upon Miss Newville?" Berinthia asked.

"No. I do not even care to see General Gage or Earl Percy in their gold-laced coats. They are delightful gentlemen, and frequent visitors in our home. I find much pleasure in listening to Earl Percy's description of things in London; but I should be better pleased were he to visit us as a citizen, laying aside his military trappings, the emblems of arbitrary power."

The sun was sinking behind the western hills. As the last beams faded from the gilded vane of Christ Church, they heard the beating of drums and the shrill piping of boatswain's whistles on the decks of the warships. A cannon flashed on the bastion of the Castle, and the boom of the gun rolled far away as the Cross of St. George descended from flagstaff and topmast to be furled for the night.

"It is the sunset gun; the signal for taking down the flags," said Berinthia.

"I often watch from my chamber window for the flashing of the cannon," Miss Newville remarked.

"It is a beautiful sight; but would be more exhilarating if the flag was what it ought to be," said Robert.

The twilight had not faded from the sky when Robert accompanied Miss Newville to her home. Officers of the king's regiments lifted their hats to her upon the way; their attentions were recognized with dignified grace. Robert saw scowls on their faces as they glared at him, as if to challenge his right to be her escort.

"The night is hot and the air sultry, and if you please, Mr. Walden, we will sit in the garden rather than in the house," she said.

They strolled beneath the trees bending with the weight of ripening fruit, and seated themselves in a rustic arbor. The early grapes were purpling above them.

"I do not know, Mr. Walden, that I quite comprehended your meaning when you said the flag would be more beautiful if it were what it ought to be. I think it very beautiful as it is."

"I did not have reference, Miss Newville, to the texture or quality of the cloth, or the arrangement of colors, neither to the devices,--the crosses of St. George and St. Andrew,--but thought of it as a symbol of power. My father fought under it, and it has waved in triumph on many battlefields; but just now it is being used to deprive us of our rights."

"Have you ever read the legend of St. George?" she asked.

"I have not, and I hardly know what the Cross of St. George stands for."

"It is a beautiful story. I read it not long ago in a book which I found in Mr. Knox's store. Would you like to hear it?"

"Please tell me about it."

"The story runs that ever so many years ago there was a terrible dragon--a monster, part snake, part crocodile, with sharp teeth, a forked tongue, claws, and wings. It could crawl upon the land or swim in the water. Every day it came from its lair and ate the sheep in the pastures around the old city of Berytus. When the sheep were gone it ate little children. The king of the city could think of nothing better than to issue an edict requiring the selection of two children under fifteen years old by lot, to be given to the dragon. One day the lot fell upon the king's daughter, the Princess Cleodolinda, a beautiful girl, and as good as she was beautiful. It was a terrible blow to the king. He offered all his gold, precious stones, glittering diamonds, and emeralds, and half his kingdom, if the people would consent to her exemption, which they wouldn't do. He had made the edict; they had given their children; he must give his daughter. Being king, he thought he could take somebody else's daughter. That made the people angry, and they threatened to kill him. Then the princess showed how good and noble and true she was. She said she would die rather than there should be any trouble. It was a sad morning when she bade her father and mother and all her friends good-by, and went out from the city, all the people weeping to see her in her youth and beauty, so calm, peaceful, and resigned, walking in the green field, waiting for the dragon. They saw the monster crawl towards her. Just then they beheld a young man with a shining shield and waving plume, on horseback, with sword and lance, approaching. It was George of Cappadocia, a brave Christian youth. 'Fly! fly!' shouted the princess. 'Why should I fly?' he asked. 'Do you not see the dragon? He will eat you as he will me.' 'I am not afraid of him, and I will deliver you,' said he, rushing upon the dragon with his lance. It was a terrible fight. The monster hissing, running out his tongue, snapping his jaws, striking with his tail and sharp claws; but the brave George kept up the fight, striking his lance through the thick hide and shiny scales, and pinning the writhing creature to the earth. 'It is not by my own might, but God, through Jesus Christ, who has given me the power to subdue this Apollyon,' he said. At that, the whole city accepted the Christian religion. In recognition of the victory he put the sign of the letter X, representing the cross, upon his flag. The king was so pleased that, besides becoming a Christian, he offered George all his gold and silver and diamonds and precious stones; but the prince would not keep them; he gave them to the poor."

"It is indeed a beautiful story," said Robert, charmed by the narration.

"I suppose the legend represents the conflict between wickedness and righteousness," added Miss Newville.

"Did George become the son-in-law of the king?" Robert asked.

Miss Newville laughed heartily.

"If it were a story in a novel," she said, "of course that would be the outcome of the romance. No; he went on his travels converting people to Christianity. The Greek Christians kept him in remembrance by adopting the letter X as the sign of the cross. When Richard the Lion-Hearted started on his crusade to rescue the holy sepulchre from the Moslems, he selected St. George as his protector. He is the patron saint of England. He stands for courage in defense of the truth."

"That is what the Cross of St. George should stand for, Miss Newville, but just now it represents tyranny and oppression. It is a beautiful flag, the crosses of St. George and St. Andrew combined, in red, white, and blue. No other banner symbolizes so much that is precious of what men have done, but the king and his ministers are perverting it. St. George and St. Andrew were representatives of justice and righteousness. They died for principles which in their nature are eternal, which will remain, when we are gone. I have taken pride in being an Englishman. The flag thrills me. I like to think of the brave deeds that have been done under it. No other banner means so much. It stirs me to think of it as waving not only in England, but here, in Canada, in South America, and on the banks of the Ganges. Of course, the flag, the crosses upon it, signify suffering, devotion, heroism, bravery. It is these things that warm my blood."

"Go on, please, Mr. Walden. I want to hear more," said Miss Newville as he paused.

"I have delighted in being an Englishman because the flag stands for all I hold most dear, but I am conscious that my love for it is not what it was. The king and his ministers by their arbitrary acts, Parliament by passing laws taking away chartered rights, are alienating the affections of the Colonies. We are not so meek that we are ready to kiss the hand that smites us. The time may come, Miss Newville, when the people this side the Atlantic will have a flag of their own. If we do it will be a symbol of a larger liberty than we now have. The world does not stand still. I do not know what Almighty God has been reserving this Western world for through all the ages; but it must be for some grand purpose. It is a great land and it will be peopled some day. We have made our laws in the past, and we shall not surrender our right to do so. The king and his ministers are not using the crosses of St. George and St. Andrew for the good of all. The crosses should represent brotherhood, but they do not. I think the time may come, though, when there will be such a flag."

Again he paused, and again Miss Newville begged him to go on.

"I cannot tell when it will be, but I know what I would like to see."

"Please tell me," she said earnestly.

"I would like to see the time when men will recognize their fellow-men as brothers, and when the flag will stand for equality, unity, liberty, and brotherhood."

"Do you think such a time will ever come?"

"I do not doubt it. The prophets in the Bible have predicted it, and it seems to me that the human race is advancing in that direction. Have you not noticed that almost everything we prize has come through sacrifice and suffering? I came here with food because the people of this town are suffering. The bags of corn which I have brought are an expression of brotherhood, of unity, love, and good will. The people all the way from the Penobscot to the Savannah are acting from such motives. It is curious that Parliament by passing a wicked law is uniting the Colonies as nothing else could have done. What the king designed for a punishment, in the end may be a great blessing."

"I see it, and I want to thank you, Mr. Walden, for your words. You have made clear what hitherto I have not been able to understand. Of course, you must be aware that I hear many conversations upon affairs in the Colonies. General Gage and Earl Percy are frequent guests in our home, as are many gentlemen who sympathize with the king and the ministry rather than with Mr. Adams and Doctor Warren. I do not see how the king, who they say is kind-hearted, could assent to a law which would bring suffering and starvation to so many people."

She sat in silence a moment, and then went on.

"I like to hear you, Mr. Walden, speak of that good time that is to come. I should like to do something to hasten it. I feel that I am stronger for what you have said. Shall we take a stroll through the grounds?"

Through the day he had been looking forward to a possible hour when he could be with her alone, to feel the charm of her presence. And now that it had come, what should he say, how let her know she had been an inspiration to him; how since their first meeting his last thought at night and the first of the morning had been of her? Were he to say the thought of her had filled the days with happiness, would she not think him presumptuous? They were widely separated by the circumstances of life,--he of the country, a farmer, swinging the scythe, holding the plow, driving oxen, feeding pigs; she, on the contrary, was a star in cultured society, entertaining high-born ladies and gentlemen, lords, earls, and governors; chance, only, had made them acquainted. She had been very kind. No, he must not presume upon her graciousness and tell her that his heart had gone out to her in a wonderful way. Many men had proffered their love, but had been rejected. It was blessedness unspeakable to be permitted to walk by her side, to hear her voice, to enjoy her esteem, friendship, and confidence.

The song-birds of summer had gone, but the crickets were merrily chirping around them; flowers were fading, but fruits were ripening. Slowly they walked the winding paths, stopping at times to gaze upon the clouds, silver-lined, in the bright light of the full-orbed moon.

"I shall not soon forget this quiet evening with you, Mr. Walden, nor the words you have spoken. I have thought it was my foreboding, but now I can see that there may be trying times before us,--times which will test friendships."

"I trust, Miss Newville, that I may ever be worthy to be numbered among your friends."

"I know you will." After a moment's hesitation she added, "The time may come when I shall need your friendship."

Her voice was tremulous. The nine o'clock bell was ringing. They were by the gate leading to the street.

"You go home to-morrow. Will it be long before we shall see you again? I may want such strength as you can give," she said.

"I trust that in God's good time we may meet again. How soon I may be here or what may bring me I do not foresee; but be assured, Miss Newville, I shall ever be your friend."

"I do not doubt it. Good-by," she said.

She heard his retreating footsteps growing fainter.

"Oh, if he had only said, 'I love you,'" the whisper on her lips.

"I could die for her; no, I'll live for her," he said to himself, as he walked towards the Brandon home.

XV.

THE MIDNIGHT RIDE.

Abel Shrimpton, loyal to the king, hated Samuel Adams and John Hancock and the Sons of Liberty, holding them responsible for the troubles that had come to the people. In Mr. Shrimpton's attractive home, made beautiful by the presence of his daughter, Tom Brandon had been a welcome visitor, but the relations between Mr. Shrimpton and Tom were changing.

"The Regulation Act," said Tom, "which in fact makes the king the government, deprives the people of their liberties."

"People who abuse their liberties ought to be deprived of them," Mr. Shrimpton replied.

"We are not allowed to select jurors. The law takes away our right to assemble in town meeting, except by permission, and then we can only elect selectmen to look after town affairs," said Tom.

"The people have shown they are not fit to govern themselves," said Mr. Shrimpton. "They allow the mob to run riot. It was a mob that smashed Chief Justice Hutchinson's windows. Your gatherings under the Liberty Tree are in reality nothing but mobs; you have no legal authority for assembling. It was a mob that assaulted the king's troops on the 5th of March; a mob threw the tea into the harbor, and I strongly suspect that Tom Brandon had a hand in that iniquity. The king stands for law and order. The troops are here in the interest of good government, by constituted authority, to enforce the law and put down riots."

"Just who had a hand in throwing the tea overboard no one can find out, but I am glad it was done," said Tom.

"So you uphold lawlessness, Mr. Brandon?"

"I stand against the unrighteous acts of Parliament. We will not be slaves; we will not be deprived of our liberties. If King George and Lord North think they can starve the people of this town into submission, they will find themselves mistaken," said Tom.

"I hope he will compel every one of you to obey the laws, and that whoever had a hand in destroying the tea will suffer for it," Mr. Shrimpton replied.

Tom saw the smile fade from the countenance of Mary as she listened to the conversation. Her quick insight, and acquaintance with her father's surly temper, enabled her to see what was withholden from Tom's slower perception.

"Mary," said Mr. Shrimpton, after Tom took his departure, "I want you to stop having anything to do with Tom."

"Why, father?"

"Because I don't like him."

"But I do like him."

"No matter. He's an enemy to the king. I have good reason to believe he had a hand in throwing the tea overboard. If he did, he is no better than a thief. He willfully, wantonly, and with malice aforethought stole the property of others from the holds of the ships, and destroyed it. It was burglary--breaking and entering. It was a malicious destruction of property of the East India Company. It was a heinous affair--not mere larceny to be punished by standing in the pillory, or sitting in the stocks, or tied up to the whipping-post and flogged, but an offense which, if it could be proved, would send every one of the marauders to jail for ten or twenty years. Now I don't want the name of Shrimpton mixed up with that of Brandon. So you can cut Tom adrift."

"But, father"--

"I don't want any buts. You will do as I tell you if you know what is good for yourself."

"Have you not, father, said in the past that he was an estimable young man?"

"But he is not estimable now. He meets others in secret to plot mischief. I have had spies on his track. He is a lawbreaker, a mischief-maker, and sooner or later will be in jail, and possibly may be brought to the gallows. Now, once for all, I tell you I will not have him coming here."

Mr. Shrimpton said it with a flushed face, setting his teeth firmly together as he rose from his chair.

"Very well, father," said Mary, wiping the tears from her eyes.

She knew how irascible he was at times,--how he allowed his anger to master reason, and hoped it might pass away. Through the night the words were repeating themselves. What course should she pursue? Give up Tom? What if he did help destroy the tea; was it not a righteous protest against the tyranny of the king and Parliament? He did not do it as an individual, but as a member of the community; it was the only course for them to pursue. Tom was not therefore a thief at heart. Was he not kind-hearted? Was he not giving his time and strength to relieve suffering? Had he not just as much right to stand resolutely for the liberties of the people as her father for the prerogatives of the king? Must she stop seeing him to please her father? It would not be pleasant to have Tom call upon her, and have her father shut the door in his face; that would be an indignity. Should she withdraw her engagement? Should she plunge a knife into her own heart to please her father? Never. Come what would, she would be true to Tom. She would not anger her father by inviting Tom to continue his visits, but there were the elms of Long Acre, Beacon Hill, the market, and other places, where from time to time they might meet for a few moments. True love could wait for better days.

There came a morning when the people saw a handbill posted upon the walls which said that the men who were misleading the people were bankrupt in purse and character. Tom Brandon's blood was at fever heat as he read the closing words:--

"Ask pardon of God, submit to our king and Parliament, whom
we have wickedly and grievously offended. Let us seize our
seducers, make peace with our mother country, and save
ourselves and children."

He knew that the sentiments of the handbill were those of Mr. Shrimpton, and suspected that his hand had penned it. The rumor was abroad that the king had sent word to General Gage to seize the two arch leaders of the rebels, Adams and Hancock. The following evening Tom and other Sons gathered at the Green Dragon, laid their hands upon the Bible, and made a solemn oath to watch constantly the movements of the Tories and soldiers, and give information to Samuel Adams, John Hancock, Doctor Warren, and Benjamin Church, and to no others.

There came a day when a great multitude assembled in town meeting, in the Old South Meetinghouse, to listen to Doctor Warren's oration commemorative of the massacre of the people by the troops. Citizens from all the surrounding towns were there to let General Gage know they had not forgotten it; besides, they knew they would hear burning words from the lips of the fearless patriot.

Tom Brandon and Abraham Duncan, looking down from the gallery upon the great throng, saw Samuel Adams elected moderator. He invited the officers of the regiments to take seats upon the platform. Tom wondered if they were present to make mischief. The pulpit was draped in black. Every part of the house was filled,--aisles, windows, seats,--and there was a great crowd in the porches. Tom was wondering if it would be possible for Doctor Warren to edge his way through the solid body of men, when he saw the window behind the pulpit opened by one of the selectmen and the doctor, wearing a student's black gown, enter through the window. The audience welcomed him with applause. For more than an hour they listened spellbound to his patriotic and fearless words. At times the people made the building shake with their applause. Some of the king's officers grew red in the face when he alluded to their presence in Boston to suppress the liberties of the people. One of the officers of the Welsh Fusilliers sitting on the stairs was very insulting. Tom saw him take some bullets from his pocket and hold them in the palm of his hand to annoy Doctor Warren, but instead of being frightened, he very quietly rebuked the officer's insolence by letting his handkerchief drop upon the bullets. Bold and eloquent were his closing words.

"Fellow-citizens," he said, "you will maintain your rights or perish in the glorious struggle. However difficult the combat, you will never decline it when freedom is the prize. Independence of Great Britain is not our aim. Our wish is that Britain and the Colonies may, like the oak and the ivy, grow and increase in strength together. If pacific measures fail, and it appears that the only way to safety is through fields of blood, I know you will not turn your faces from your foes, but will press forward till tyranny is trodden under foot and you have placed your adored goddess Liberty on her American throne."

The building shook with applause when he sat down.

"It is moved that the thanks of the town be presented to Doctor Warren for his oration," said the moderator.

"No, no! fie, fie!" shouted a captain of the Royal Irish Regiment, and the other officers around thumped the floor with their canes.

Tom's blood was hot, as was the blood of those around him. Some of the people under the galleries, who could not see what was going on, thought the officers were crying fire, to break up the meeting. Very quietly Samuel Adams raised his hand. The people became calm. The officers left the building, and the town went on with its business. The people were learning self-control.

When the meeting was over, Tom and Abraham walked along Cornhill, and turned down King Street on their way home. They saw a crowd around the British Coffee House tavern,--the officers who a little while before had left the Old South Meetinghouse, laughing, talking, and drinking their toddy. Tom soon discovered they were having a mock town meeting. One was acting as moderator, pounding with his cane and calling them to order. They chose seven selectmen and a clerk. Then one went upstairs and soon appeared upon the balcony wearing a rusty and ragged old black gown, a gray wig with a fox's tail dangling down his back. He bowed to those below, and began a mock oration. He called Samuel Adams, Doctor Warren, and John Hancock scoundrels, blackguards, knaves, and other vile names. His language was so scurrilous, profane, and indecent that Tom could not repeat it to his mother and Berinthia. Those who listened clapped their hands. Tom and Abraham came to the conclusion that most of the officers of the newly arrived regiments were too vile to be worthy the society of decent people.

Tom was boiling hot two nights later, at the treatment given Thomas Ditson of Billerica, who had come to market. A soldier persuaded the guileless young farmer to buy an old worn-out gun. The next moment he was seized by a file of soldiers and thrust into the guardhouse for buying anything of a soldier against the law. He had only the bare floor to sleep on. In the morning, Lieutenant-Colonel Nesbit ordered the soldiers to strip off Ditson's clothes, and tar and feather him.

It was a pitiful spectacle which Ruth Newville saw,--Colonel Nesbit marching at the head of his regiment, the soldiers with their bayonets surrounding a man stripped to the waist, smeared with tar, covered with feathers, the fifes playing, and the drums beating the Rogue's March.

"It is disgraceful," she said, with flashing eyes, to her mother. "Colonel Nesbit ought to be ashamed of himself. If he ever calls here again, I'll not speak to him."

Fast Day came, and again the eyes of Miss Newville flashed when she saw the king's troops parading the streets; the drummers and fifers taking their stations by the doors of the meetinghouses to annoy the people, playing so loud they could scarcely hear a word of what the minister was saying.

"Do you think, father, that General Gage will win back the affections of the people, or even retain their respect by permitting such outrages?" Ruth asked.

"Perhaps it is not the wisest course to pursue. Quite likely the officers of the regiments did it of their own notion," Mr. Newville replied.

If Lord North and King George thought a show of military force would overawe the people of Boston town, they were mistaken. Possibly they did not reflect that military repression might beget resistance by arms; but when the regiments began to arrive, the Sons of Liberty resolved to prepare for whatever might happen. They appointed a committee of safety to protect the rights of the people.

* * * * *

Winter was over, and with their singing the birds were making the April mornings melodious. The Provincial Congress was in session at Cambridge, and Samuel Adams and John Hancock had left Boston and with Dorothy Quincy were with Reverend Mr. Clark in Lexington. Abraham Duncan discovered that General Gage had sent Captain Brown and Ensign De Berniere into the country to see the roads.[53] Sharp-eyed Sons of Liberty watched the movements of the soldiers. They saw Lord Percy march his brigade to Roxbury, and return as if for exercise, with no one opposing them.

[Footnote 53: Captain Brown and Ensign De Berniere, March 20, visited Concord and Worcester and intermediate towns, dressed as citizens. The vigilant Sons of Liberty were cognizant of all their movements and notified the patriotic citizens, who had them under surveillance every moment. Ensign De Berniere has written a narrative of the journey.]