A REDCOAT GETS WET
In the absence of Glen Drake, Don had formed the habit of going down to
the wharves and watching the great ships that lay in forced idleness.
The boys that he knew were divided sharply between Whigs and Tories,
though most of them were Whigs like himself. So far he had found no one
with whom he could be as intimate as he had been with Tom Bullard; so
he spent much of his time alone.
On the first day of September, Don was on his way to the water-front
when he observed an excited group of sailors and townsmen on the
opposite side of the street; they were talking loudly and making
violent gestures with their hands. He crossed just in time to hear one
of the sailors say: “I was down at Long Wharf and saw them go early
this morning--more than two hundred Redcoats in thirteen boats!”
“And they went to Winter Hill,” exclaimed another, “broke open the
powder house and carried off two hundred and fifty half-barrels! And a
second detachment went to Cambridge and brought back two field-pieces
that belong to the militia. Thieving Redcoats! It’s high time Congress
took some measures to oust ’em!”
“Have patience, Jim,” said a third. “Our time will come, see if it
doesn’t.”
“Patience! We’ve shown too much of it already.”
Before Don reached home the news of the raids had spread all over town.
People were discussing it on the street corners and in public meeting,
and many persons were of a mind to organize at once and recapture as
much of the stores as possible.
The Powder Alarm, as it was called, spread rapidly. Messengers from the
Committees of Correspondence carried the news to the other Colonies,
and the whole country soon blazed with indignation; as a result
Lieutenant Governor Oliver and other important officers of the Crown
were forced to resign. General Gage began at once to fortify Boston
Neck, and then the flame of indignation blazed brighter.
In the midst of the excitement Uncle David and Glen Drake returned with
the information that all the people of the other Colonies had “all
their eyes turned on Boston.” “We’ll have to open hostilities before
long,” Don’s uncle declared. “Human nature can bear just so much--then
look out!”
“O David!” cried Aunt Martha. “You seem to be anxious for bloodshed.
You do indeed!”
“I’m anxious for justice,” replied Uncle David.
“Ye can torment a critter just so far, Aunt Martha,” said Glen; “then
it’ll turn and fight. I don’t care what it is--mink, otter or even a
poor little muskrat. And when it does fight it fights like fury. It’s
not only human nature, but the nature of every living critter.”
Aunt Martha was silent, and Don, observing the old trapper’s powerful
fingers as he tightened the lacing in one of his boots, secretly wished
that he were old enough to carry a musket in one of the companies of
militia.
Two days later the two men were off on separate missions to the west
and south, and again Don was left alone with his aunt.
One Saturday afternoon late in September he took a long walk with his
dog, a young terrier that a sailor on one of the ships at Woodman’s
Wharf had given him in exchange for three cakes of maple sugar and a
set of dominoes. Up past the Faneuil Hall the two went, past the Green
Dragon Tavern and along to the shipyard at Hudson’s Point, the dog
tugging eagerly at his leash, and Don holding him back.
For a while Don stood in Lynn Street, looking across the water at
Charlestown and enjoying the cold wind that was sweeping in from the
east. So far he had not found a name for the dog, and he was walking
along thoughtfully when he caught sight of a red-coated figure standing
at the approach to Ruck’s Wharf and talking with--why, it was Tom
Bullard! Don stopped short and then turned to watch the tide, which was
sweeping round the point. What was Tom doing, talking with a Redcoat?
On second thought Don realized that Tories and Redcoats had only too
much in common these days. He was on the point of resuming his walk
when he heard someone shout at the end of the wharf, and, turning, he
saw a man in a small sloop holding something upraised in his hand. Tom
and the soldier started toward the sloop, laughing. Then Don observed
that it was a bottle that the man in the boat was holding. “Tom’s found
bad company, I’m afraid,” he thought and again resumed his walk.
On coming opposite the end of the wharf, he observed that Tom had gone
aboard the sloop; he had crossed on a narrow plank stretched between
the boat and the dock. The soldier, a tall, well-built fellow, had
started across at a swinging gait. He had passed the middle and was
only a few feet from the sloop when, apparently, the narrow plank
tilted sidewise. “Look out!” Don heard Tom shout.
The soldier threw out both arms, balanced uncertainly for several
seconds, took two short quick steps and then slipped. Don saw the man’s
hat fly off and go sailing in the wind. The next instant the soldier
struck the water with a tremendous splash.
Tom Bullard stood with open mouth, looking down at the black water that
had closed over the head of the soldier. The man with the bottle ran to
get a rope, but by the time he reached the gunwale again the soldier
reappeared a dozen yards from the bow, uttered a gurgling shout and
sank even as the man on board made his cast.
Don’s fingers had tightened round the leash; his eyes were wide, and
his breath came quickly. Then, letting go the leash, he ran to the
edge of the wharf. He paused and in two swift movements tore off his
jacket; then he felt a stab of doubt. What was he thinking of? Save
a Redcoat! He thought of his uncle and of Glen Drake; he thought of
all the wrongs the town was suffering at the hands of the King’s
soldiers--their insolent conduct on the streets, their hatred of the
townsfolk. Then he thought of his aunt. That thought settled it. As the
tide swept the man to the surface for the third time, Don jumped.
The water was like ice. He strangled as a wave struck him in the face
just as his head came to the surface. He caught a glimpse of a dark
red mass of cloth a dozen yards at his left; it seemed rapidly to be
taking on the color of the water round it. Kicking with all his might,
he struck out toward it, swinging his arms with short, quick strokes.
Everything was confusion--air, sky, water. A great weight seemed to
be pressing against his chest. Then one foot struck something hard.
In an instant he had turned and plunged downward. All was water now,
black, cold and sinister. His fingers closed on something soft--it
might be seaweed. He struggled upward. His lungs seemed on the point
of bursting. Upward, upward--then a rush of air and light. A bundle of
sodden red cloth came up beside him.
“Grab the wharf!” someone shouted.
But Don did not hear. He took a stroke with his free hand, and at that
moment a length of heavy rope whipped down across his arm. Seizing it,
he held on. Then he saw that the tide had carried him and his burden
against the piling of the next wharf.
“Hold him a moment longer,” said a voice, and then three red-faced
sailors lowered themselves like monkeys, and two of them lifted the
soldier out of the water. The third caught Don by the back of his shirt
and pulled him upward.
On the splintery planks of the wharf, Don blinked his eyes and looked
about him. A group of men were carrying the Redcoat into a warehouse.
“How do you feel, my lad?” asked the sailor who had pulled Don from the
water.
“C-C-Cold.”
“That’s right, stand up. You did a plucky thing. Too bad the fellow was
a Redcoat.”
“Is--is he alive?”
“Oh, yes; he’ll stand parade to-morrow all right. I’m sorry for that.
How I hate ’em!”
Don caught a glimpse of Tom Bullard entering the warehouse. Then a low,
plaintive cry sounded behind him, and, looking over the edge of the
wharf, he saw his terrier in the water. “My pup!” exclaimed Don. “Get
him somebody, please!”
A good-sized group of persons had gathered round the boy by that time,
and the sailor and two other men hastened to rescue the dog. Once on
the wharf, the terrier ran to his young master and began to leap up on
him.
“Get the boy to a warm place,” said a lanky fisherman and grasped Don
by one arm.
The sailor who had pulled him from the water placed himself on the
other side, and together the three of them started down the street at a
rapid pace. Soon Don felt a warm glow all over his body; nevertheless
his teeth were chattering, and with each puff of strong wind he
shivered.
“Wish it had been old Gage instead of a common Redcoat,” the sailor was
saying.
“Same here,” replied his companion. “You’d have pushed him under when
you pulled the lad out, wouldn’t you, Hank?”
“You’re right, I would have done just that.”
Down one street and into another the three hurried and then paused in
front of a tavern with a swinging sign-board that bore the grotesque
figure of a green dragon. “Here’s Revere’s place,” said the sailor. “In
we go.”
Don soon found himself seated in front of a blazing wood-fire in a
large room. It was the first time he had ever entered the Green Dragon
Tavern. He glanced round the low-ceilinged room--at the long table, at
the rows of pewter on the walls, at the dozen or more chairs with shiny
rounded backs. Then he moved as close to the fire as he could with
safety, and soon steam was rising from his shoes and stockings. The dog
curled up on the hearth and blinked now at the boy, now at the blazing
logs.
Hank left the room and returned a few minutes later with a bowl of
broth and a cup of strong tea. “You needn’t be afraid of this tea, my
lad,” he said and grinned. “Nobody’s paid a tax on it.” He winked at
the fisherman. “See if you can find some dry clothes about the place,
John.”
Don finished the broth and was sipping the hot tea when a big,
rugged-faced man strode into the room, and Don recognized Paul Revere.
“This is the boy,” said John.
“H’m,” said Revere. “David Hollis’s nephew, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Don.
“They tell me you saved a Redcoat.”
“I did, sir,” replied Don. “He couldn’t swim.”
“What’ll your uncle say to that?” The man smiled.
“I’m sure I don’t know.” Indeed the question had occurred to Don
several times before. What would Glen Drake say? Don felt his face grow
hot; he thought he ought to say something more. “I--wouldn’t pick a
Redcoat to save--if I had my choice,” he added.
Revere laughed heartily. “No, I don’t believe you would,” he said.
“Well, I’ll have some clothes for you in a trice. Put ’em on in the
other room; you can return ’em to-morrow or next day.”
Half an hour later Don said good-bye to Hank and John and set forth
toward the house in Pudding Lane. Twilight was coming on, but Don was
not sorry for that. He thought of the miserable figure that he must
present to passers-by. The coat he wore was several sizes too large
for him; he had turned up the sleeves three times, and still they
reached to his knuckles. The trousers were so big that he felt as if he
were walking in a burlap bag. The hat, which was his own, was wet and
misshapen. And at his heels trotted a wet, shivering terrier; no leash
was necessary now.
What would his aunt say? And then he happened to remember that the day
was Saturday. “Why, I declare,” he said to himself. “Uncle Dave and
Glen are expected home to-night.”
He quickened his steps as he crossed the cobblestones on King Street.
He was thinking of just how he should begin his story, but suddenly in
the midst of his thoughts he stopped and looked at the pup. “I believe
I’ve found a name for you!” he said.
The pup wagged his tail.
“I can’t call you Redcoat or soldier, but since it was a sailor I got
you of, and a sailor that pulled both of us out of the water, I’m going
to call you--Sailor!”
The pup’s tail wagged more vigorously, as if he were content with the
name.
Don reached his aunt’s house; there was a light in the store; he
entered and passed through to the sitting-room. Uncle David and Glen
evidently had been home for some little while, for they were both
seated comfortably beside a candle, reading the _Massachusetts Spy_ and
the _Boston Gazette_. They looked up as Don entered, and Aunt Martha,
who had just come from the kitchen, dropped a plateful of doughnuts and
gave a little cry.
“Where you been, Don, to get such clothes as those?” asked Glen.
“Donald Alden, I couldn’t believe it was you,” said Aunt Martha. “How
you frightened me!”
“Scarecrow come to town,” said David Hollis.
Don helped to pick up the doughnuts, adding as he held the last one,
“This one’s dirty, Aunt Martha; I’ll eat it.” Then he told what had
happened to him on his afternoon walk, and Uncle David’s face glowed
while he listened, though Don could not tell whether it was with
satisfaction or with anger. “Did I do what was right, Uncle Dave?” he
asked when he had concluded the narrative.
David Hollis did not reply at once, but Aunt Martha said quickly, “You
did, Donald; but, my dear boy, what a risk you took! Don’t ever do
such a thing again--that is,” she hastened to add, “don’t do it unless
you have to.” The good lady seemed to be having a hard time adjusting
her spectacles.
“Yes,” said Uncle David at last, “your Aunt Martha is right, Don.” He
laughed and added, “You did right, but don’t do it again unless you
have to.”
Glen Drake nodded and bent over the _Gazette_.