A BROKEN LOCK
For many days the townsfolk and the soldiers talked of the performance
that the Continental assault on Charlestown had interrupted. Don and
Jud joked about it frequently, but they were always careful that
neither Hawkins nor Snell should overhear them.
If all the Redcoats had been like Hawkins, the good people of Boston
would have had little to complain of. He was always courteous and
considerate; he seemed to spend as little time as possible in the
house and kept to his room even on the coldest nights. The fellow was
undoubtedly a fine soldier and as loyal to his King as any of them
were, and secretly both Don and Jud admired him for it. He seemed to
have a genuine affection for Don, though he rarely spoke more than a
few words at a time to the boy.
Snell, on the other hand, was surly and quick-tempered and an ugly
person to have about the house. He was inquisitive also. Once Aunt
Martha found him trying to unlock the door to the cellar, and though he
desisted at sight of her, the circumstance troubled her. It troubled
Don too, but there was something that troubled him more than that.
Snell had formed an acquaintance with Tom Bullard, and the two spent
much time together.
“I tell you,” Don said to Jud one evening in February, “I don’t like
it one bit, the way those two are together so much. Tom Bullard
hates us like poison--I know that’s why he tried to steal your ma’s
chickens--and I’m sure he’d like nothing better than to make us
uncomfortable somehow.”
“But he can’t do anything, can he? You and your aunt have complied with
all the town regulations, haven’t you?”
Don did not reply at once. “Well, maybe,” he said at last.
But Jud was not easily put off. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you something sometime,” said Don. “Not now, though.”
Don might not have told his companion his secret at all if it had not
been for an unfortunate event that occurred toward the end of the
month. One Saturday when Aunt Martha had been at the home of a sick
neighbor almost all morning Don entered the house in Pudding Lane and
to his consternation found Snell coming up from the cellar with an
armful of wood. The broken lock lying on the floor told how the man had
entered.
For several moments the two stood confronting each other; Don’s face
was flaming, and his heart was beating a tattoo against his ribs.
Snell, a bit discomfited, soon recovered his poise. “It’s cold in
here,” he said; “I suspected all along that you had wood in the cellar.”
“There’s wood out in the back shed too,” replied Don in a voice that
trembled slightly. “Why didn’t you use that?”
Snell evidently thought no reply was necessary. He crossed the floor
and tossed several sticks upon the fire.
“Why didn’t you use the wood in the shed?” repeated Don in a louder
voice.
Snell looked at the boy tolerantly. “Now see here, young sire,” he said
slowly. “It won’t do for you to ask too many questions. I will say,
though, that if the wood in the shed had not been wet, I might not have
gone to the cellar. Now let that be an end of it. Understand?”
Don was silent and bit his lips. How long had the fellow been down
cellar? Had he seen the merchandise and the powder that belonged to his
uncle? Or had he known that they were there in the first place? Or had
he gone down merely to fetch dry wood? Over and over Don asked himself
the questions without being able to answer them.
He glanced slyly at the Redcoat as he sat in front of the fire,
toasting his fingers. The man was smiling to himself--a faint,
inscrutable smile that told nothing. The fellow might be smiling
because he had discovered the stuff, or he might be smiling merely
because of the discomfiture that he knew he had caused the boy. Don
could not tell which answer was right.
At any rate he was glad that Snell was not in the house when Aunt
Martha entered two hours later. If Snell had been there he would have
learned just exactly what she thought of him and of his inquisitive
visit to the cellar.
Hawkins, however, did enter while Don and his aunt were discussing the
matter. “What is wrong?” he asked, glancing from one to the other and
then at the broken lock, which Don was trying to fix.
“Your comrade,” replied Aunt Martha steadily, “has seen fit to force
his way into the cellar to get wood with which to replenish the fire.
Our fire-wood is in the back shed, and he knows it.”
Hawkins frowned and then, taking the lock from Don’s hands, examined it.
“There is a great deal of wood in the back shed, as you know,”
continued Don’s aunt, “and I know that it is not all wet as he says it
is.”
“Just so,” said Hawkins and placed the lock on the table. “Just so.”
And he went abruptly to his room.
“There,” said Aunt Martha. “What did I say? They’re all alike, these
Redcoats.”
Later Snell returned, and while Don was helping his aunt to prepare the
supper the two heard the sound of voices from up-stairs. Louder and
louder they became until it was quite plain that the two soldiers were
disagreeing over something.
Suddenly the voices ceased, and the ceiling jarred with a heavy crash.
“O Donald! What are they doing?”
Steps sounded on the stairs, and a moment later Hawkins, red of face,
entered the room. “I’d like a basin of hot water, if you please,” he
said.
Aunt Martha hastened to get it for him, and presently he returned with
it to the room. He was down again in a few minutes and went out into
the street.
Don and his aunt had finished supper when Hawkins again entered the
house. “Here, my lad,” he said and put a small package into Don’s hand.
“No,” he added, smiling, “it’s something that you can very well accept.
Don’t thank me for it.” And he hurried up-stairs.
Don opened the package; it contained a new lock similar to the one that
Snell had broken.
“Well, I declare!” exclaimed Aunt Martha. “Donald, I believe I wronged
that man.”
When Snell came down-stairs the following morning he made for the door
without delay, but, quick as he was, Aunt Martha observed that he
carried the marks of his encounter with Hawkins; one eye was partly
discolored, and his cheek was swollen.
Later in the morning Don fixed the new lock in place and then hurried
off to find Jud and tell him what had happened.
The day was warm for a day in late February; indeed the winter, which
had begun with severe weather, had proved to be mild after all. The two
boys directed their steps toward Walmer’s wharf at the foot of Beech
Street, where they sat down in the sunlight with their backs against
one of the deserted warehouses.
“We’ll be safe here,” said Don; “no one is likely to overhear what I’ve
got to tell you, Jud.”
Jud leaned forward eagerly, and neither boy observed a third person,
who had followed them at some distance and who now took a position just
within hearing round the corner of the silent warehouse.
“Go on and tell it,” said Jud. “You’ve got me all curious.”
“Well, in our cellar----” began Don, and the hidden figure near the
corner of the building slunk a step nearer. “In our cellar there’s
quantities and quantities of linen and cloth and some powder----” And
Don told of the purchase that his uncle had made before the blockade.
When he had finished that part of his story Jud whistled softly.
“My, but that’s risky business, keeping it there,” he said. “Just
suppose----”
Don put his hand on his friend’s arm. “Not so loud,” he whispered.
“And, Jud, I know you won’t breathe a word of it to anyone--not even to
your mother.”
“Of course not.”
Don glanced round cautiously. The old wharf apparently was quite
deserted except for themselves. The sun was shining brightly on the
water; the wind, blowing across the rough planks, was rattling the
loose shingles on a small fisherman’s shack beside the big warehouse.
“Now for some reason,” Don continued, “Snell, the Redcoat, broke into
our cellar yesterday, and that’s why I’m telling you this; I’m afraid
he knows what’s down there, and I want you to help me if you can.”
Jud’s eyes snapped as he listened to his comrade’s story of how Snell
had broken the lock on the cellar door.
As a matter of fact Snell had not known of what was in the cellar;
it was curiosity more than anything else that had prompted him to
break the lock. But it would not be long before he knew just what was
hidden away beneath the little house in Pudding Lane, for before Don
had finished his story the figure that had been listening so intently
at the corner of the warehouse drew back and walked quickly in the
direction of Beech Street. He had not gone far, however, before he
turned on his heel and strode carelessly toward the wharf.
A few minutes later the boys spied Tom Bullard walking toward them;
his hands were in his pockets, and he seemed wrapped in thought. “Oh!”
he exclaimed as if catching sight of them for the first time. “Didn’t
expect to find anybody here.”
“Huh,” said Jud and turned his back.
Tom walked to the edge of the dock and, smiling to himself, stood for
some time, looking at the sparkling waters. Then he turned and strode
back toward Beech Street.
Don glanced at his companion. “It’s lucky he didn’t hear anything,” he
said.
“If he had,” Jud replied with emphasis, “I’d have pushed him into the
water. What do you suppose he was doing down here anyway?”
“Oh, just snoopin’ around,” replied Don easily. “Since he’s become a
sort of aide to old Ruggles he’s been doing it, you know.”
The boys continued to talk in low tones for some time. It was pleasant
there on the dock in the morning sunlight.
Once Tom Bullard was out of their sight, he started to run. He ran
up Beech Street to Shea’s Lane and from there made his way to Common
Street. Out on the Common some of the companies were drilling, but Tom
did not pause to look at them. He crossed the Mall and then at a fast
walk went here and there among the troops.
It took him almost half an hour to find the person he was looking for,
and when he did find him at last he was so excited that he could hardly
talk. “Snell--Snell,” he began, “I’ve got--something--to--to----”
“Toot, toot!” said Snell, taking his arm. “Get your breath before you
tell it.”
Tom got his breath, enough of it anyway to tell the Redcoat what he had
overheard at the warehouse. Then Snell was almost as much excited as
Tom was. He rubbed his swollen face thoughtfully.
“Powder in the cellar of that house!” he exclaimed. “Powder and fine
cloth, and I like a fool was down there and didn’t even see it! You’re
sure of it, Bullard?”
“I should say I am,” Tom replied. “Didn’t I hear of it with my own
ears?”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“That’s for the two of us to decide together,” replied Tom. “There’s no
hurry, you know. We want to do it in the best way.”
“Yes; in the best way.” Snell touched his fingers lightly to his
discolored eye. “In the best way,” he repeated.