CREAN BRUSH’S MEN
Don said nothing to his aunt about the powder in the cellar. Indeed
after Jud had gone he thought little of it and of the advice his
companion had given. Don and his aunt waited until Snell and Hawkins
had gone up-stairs, and then Aunt Martha said:
“Well, Donald, I think we’re almost at the end of the story.”
“What story?” asked Don.
Aunt Martha smiled. “I merely meant,” she replied, “that in a few more
days we’ll be all through with our suffering--or else there will be
more suffering, far more terrible than some of us can bear perhaps.”
“You’re still afraid they’ll burn the town?”
“I can’t get it off my mind. Just look at Charlestown across the water.
What a snug little place to live in it used to be--and just see it now!”
Don was silent for a few moments. “Everything has gone pretty well so
far,” he said at last.
“And maybe before long we’ll see Uncle David and Glen.”
“O Donald, I’ve prayed for it!”
“I certainly wish that one or the other were here now.” Don was
thinking of Crean Brush and of his lawless men.
“Ah, yes. Well, we’d best go to bed now. Another night--another night.”
“Yes, and before you know it General Washington will be here, and the
Redcoats will be on the water.”
Up-stairs in his room, Don lay for some time listening to the sound
of firing that seemed to come from the direction of Noddles Island.
The night was dark, and a strong wind was blowing against the little
windows. From across the hall came the sounds of snoring and of
heavy breathing; apparently both Snell and Hawkins were asleep.
Don closed his eyes and lay back on the pillow; but the position
was uncomfortable, and he turned on his side. That position also
uncomfortable, and he turned on his other side. Then his foot began to
itch, then his back, then his neck. He could not sleep.
At last he sat up in bed. Now he could hear the regular breathing of
his aunt; no doubt she was exhausted with the day’s worry. Once more
he tried to get to sleep, but it was of no use. He raised himself on
his elbow. “Now what in thunder ails me?” he thought.
There was something--something that somebody had said. What was it?
The next instant he thought of Jud and of what he had said about the
powder. “That’s it!” he said to himself. “What if Crean Brush and his
men should find it in the cellar and, drunk as some of them were likely
to be, touch a light to it!”
The thought made him spring part way out of bed. Aunt Martha was still
breathing regularly. That was enough for Don to make up his mind.
He began softly to dress. The house was cold, and he shivered as he
put on his shirt and his trousers. In a few minutes he was all dressed
except for his shoes. Then he made his way cautiously to the head of
the stairs. Once he stepped on a loose, squeaky board and heard his
aunt turn and sigh; but she did not waken. Neither did either of the
soldiers.
Down the steep stairs Don went on all fours. In the kitchen he found
the candlestick, but he did not light it until he had opened the door
to the cellar. Half-way down the old steps he paused, undecided
whether to go the rest of the way. Then he took another step, but it
required courage. The flickering light of the candle sent grotesque,
ghostlike shadows dancing along the walls, like great unearthly black
vultures.
He wondered whether he were doing right and then wished that Jud were
with him. But, taking a fresh grip on himself, he went the rest of the
way.
Trembling with nervousness, he set the candle on a box and looked about
him. All around lay the goods that David Hollis had bought in a hasty
moment--large bales and small bales piled side by side and on top of
one another. With shaking fingers Don examined them, going quickly from
one to another. Then suddenly he came upon the powder; there were one
small keg and seven canvas bags of it lying close to the foot of the
steps.
He lifted the keg and then lifted one of the bags; the keg was much the
heavier. “Now what shall I do with the stuff?” he wondered.
For a few moments he stood in deep thought. The old cellar was cold and
damp, and a draft from somewhere was stirring the flame of the candle.
“I know,” he said at last and bent over the keg again.
With an effort he lifted it and started up the stairs. In a moment or
two he no longer felt cold. It was no easy task to get that heavy keg
up the stairs. From step to step he half rolled, half lifted it, and
in a few minutes he was sweating with the exertion. Another thing that
made the work hard was that he did not dare make any noise.
At last he got the keg to the top, and then after a brief rest he
carried it through the room to the back shed, the door to which had
only a latch. There he found another candle, and lighting it, set it on
the floor. Five minutes later he had the keg hidden well at the back of
the woodpile.
Then he returned for the bags. One at a time he carried them--all seven
of them--up the steps and stowed them close to the keg. Having covered
them well with the wood and having snuffed both candles, he returned to
his room and began hastily to undress. He was congratulating himself on
not having disturbed anyone when he heard the voice of his aunt:
“Donald, are you awake?”
Don paused in the act of removing his shirt. He did not reply at once.
“Donald!”
“Uh-hm,” said Don.
“There--you _are_ awake!”
“Didn’t you hear a noise down-stairs a few minutes ago?”
“Noise? H’m--what noise?” Don was in bed by this time and had the
covers well round his head.
He heard his aunt sigh heavily. How could her nephew sleep so soundly?
The good woman was really sorry that she had wakened him!
It was not long before Don was asleep indeed. Nor did he waken when
Snell and Hawkins descended the stairs in the morning. Aunt Martha had
to call him four times before he roused and crawled sleepily from his
bed.
“My goodness,” said his aunt as she was putting the breakfast on the
table, “you’re surely a sleepyhead this morning, Donald Alden. Ah,
well, you’re a growing boy, and you need your rest.”
Don grinned up at her. “You have a speck on your specs, Aunt Martha.”
“Donald!”
“A speck of dust on your spectacles, Aunt Martha.”
His aunt hastily removed the speck with the corner of her apron. “Now
just see that candle,” she said. “I thought it was just yesterday that
I put a fresh one in the stick--but see how short it is now!”
Don examined the candle with great care, as if to find out what had
become of the rest of it. “Why, it seems that----” he began and then
sprang to his feet.
From the street came the sound of shouting and of heavy footsteps on
the cobblestones.
“O Donald, they’ve come. It’s--it’s----”
“Now, you be easy, Aunt Martha,” Don interrupted her.
Though he spoke calmly he was anything but calm in his mind. He went
to the door, and just as he reached it someone pounded heavily on the
outside.
“Open the door, Donald,” said Aunt Martha, “or they’ll beat it down.”
Don flung the door open and to his great astonishment looked full into
the leering face of Tom Bullard. Beside him were three of Crean Brush’s
men, and behind them, grinning insolently, was the Redcoat Snell. In a
moment all were inside, and Snell was striding toward the door to the
cellar. “We’ll find something this time, boys!” he said exultantly.
“Gentlemen, what is it you wish?” It was the voice of Aunt Martha, and
Don, glancing at her as she stood slight but well poised beside the
fireplace, thought she looked fully ten years younger.
There was something in her voice that made everyone turn and look at
her. “A-hem,” began one of the Tories--a big fellow who obviously was
the leader. “A-hem, we’ve come to search your house.”
“Yes,” said Snell, “we’ve come to get that powder which you’ve got in
the cellar.” With his bayonet he began to pry at the lock on the cellar
door.
Aunt Martha looked helplessly at her nephew. Tom Bullard, standing
near the door, made a sneering remark to the Tory beside him, and Don
clenched his fists and started for him. But he had taken only two steps
when he checked himself and turned to the leader. “You’ve no right in
that cellar!” he cried. “You’ve no right in this house!”
“Hold your young tongue,” said the Tory sharply. “There’s powder in
this cellar, and we know it. That’s what we want, and that’s what we’re
a-goin’ to get.”
“There’s not a grain of powder in the cellar,” Don replied.
Aunt Martha’s eyebrows lifted in astonishment; never in her life had
she known her nephew to tell an untruth, even in fun.
“No powder?” repeated the Tory. “Well, now that’s curious--very
curious--because both these fellows say there is.” He indicated Snell
and Tom.
“I’ll stake my life on it,” said Tom, stepping forward and throwing out
his chest.
“And I’ll stake mine,” said Snell.
“Well, hurry up and get that lock off, and we’ll soon see,” said the
leader.
Snell inserted the bayonet and gave a wrench. Don was thinking, not of
the powder, but of the bales of cloth at the foot of the stairs. In a
few minutes they would find them, and then things would go hard with
him and his aunt. Well, he had done his best, but what wouldn’t he have
done to keep them out of the cellar altogether!
“Blasted lock!” muttered Snell and gave another fierce wrench; there
was a sharp crack, and his bayonet was in two pieces.
Infuriated, the Redcoat hacked away with the short end that was in his
hand, and in a few moments the lock clattered to the floor. He had
opened the door and was about to go down when a sharp command behind
him made him turn as if he had seen a ghost.
“Snell, you hound, what does this mean!” Harry Hawkins, gun in hand,
crossed the threshold; he had just returned from the drill grounds.
Snell’s face had gone suddenly white, and he only stood and looked.
“It means,” said the leader, “that we’re about to get some ammunition
that these rebels have hidden in the cellar.”
“It’s not true, sir!” cried Don, turning to Hawkins. “It’s not true.
There is no ammunition in the cellar--not a speck!”
Hawkins looked steadily at Aunt Martha. “That is true, I suppose?” he
inquired.
“My nephew has never told a lie in his life, and, sir, he--he is
telling the truth now. There is no ammunition in the cellar.”
“They’re both lying----” Tom Bullard stopped as abruptly as he had
begun as Hawkins whirled and faced him.
For a long moment no one spoke; then Aunt Martha addressed Hawkins:
“These men have taken it upon themselves to enter my house unbidden.
Five men against one boy and a woman! They have no right here----”
“Oh, enough of that!” cried the leader and strode toward the cellar
door.
“Halt where you are!” exclaimed Hawkins, and as the Tory hesitated the
soldier raised his gun a few inches. “Let me see your orders.”
“Orders! Orders to search a rebel’s house?”
“Now, see here,”--Hawkins’s voice was hard and cold, and his eyes were
like points of fire--“this thing has gone about as far as I want to see
it go. I’ll stand sponsor for the boy and the woman--and I’ve got a
good reason for doing it. Now, my friends, you’ll oblige me by leaving
the house----”
“Why--why, you don’t mean to say----” began the leader.
“At once,” finished Hawkins and tapped the stock of his musket.
Tom Bullard was already outside the door, but Snell and the three
Tories did not move. Whereupon Hawkins stepped swiftly to the cellar
door and, slamming it shut, quickly drew his bayonet and affixed it to
the end of his piece.
“By heaven, you’ll hear of this!” cried the leader and backed slowly
across the room. “I promise you I’ll see you in the guard-house before
nightfall!”
“And,” added another, “we’ll be here again, and we’ll bring Brush,
himself, along.”
Hawkins made no answer but followed the three across the room and,
when they had gone out, held the door open for Snell, who lost no
time in joining them. The sudden turn of affairs had left the fellow
speechless, for he had expected to find the powder and then to accuse
Hawkins of knowing that it was hidden in the cellar.
“Oh, sir,” exclaimed Don a few moments later, “it’s true, what I told
you, every word of it, but, oh----”
“Say no more,” interrupted Hawkins, smiling. “Say no more. I don’t
doubt your word; and if I had I should have stopped them, Tories
as they are. But had they been the King’s men, I should not have
interfered in any circumstances.”
“But you’ve rendered us a great service----” Aunt Martha began.
“It is nothing compared with the service your nephew once rendered me.
I owe him my life, and I trust that sometime we may meet again--in
better days.” Hawkins turned and walked to the stairs.
Later in the afternoon Don explained to his aunt what he had done with
the powder the night before, and a look of relief came into her tired
eyes. “I knew there must be some explanation,” she said simply. “And,”
she added, smiling slightly, “that accounts for the noise I heard last
night and for the shortness of the candle.”
“Do you suppose they’ll return?” asked Don.
“I’m afraid so,” his aunt replied.