About the time that Dick was standing behind the tree, with the two
redcoats approaching, in a little log cabin that was used as a school
building, at a point about a mile from a Tory settlement consisting of
about thirty families, sat a rather good-looking young man of perhaps
twenty-four years of age. He was to play a rather important part in the
life of Dick Dare and must now be introduced to the reader.
Herbert Miller was his name, and he was the teacher of the school. As
the children had gone home, he was sitting at his desk, reading.
As has been stated, the schoolhouse stood about a mile from a Tory
settlement, and about two miles from the schoolhouse, in the other
direction, was a patriot settlement, consisting of about a dozen
families. The schoolhouse had been placed where it stood, for the
convenience of the children from both settlements, but was closer to the
Tory settlement because there were more of the Tories than of the
patriots. Of late, however, since the coming into that region of Arnold,
with his army of British and Tory soldiers, the Tories of the settlement
had grown rather arrogant. This, being taken up by their children,
resulted in lots of trouble at the school, the Tory children abusing the
patriot children in spite of the efforts of the teacher to prevent it,
and at the time of which we write only a few patriot children were
attending the school. These few were the larger children, who could hold
their own successfully against the arrogant and aggressive Tory
children.
Herbert Miller was an intelligent young man, and he was at heart a
sympathizer with the patriots, and hoped the American people would gain
their independence, but of course he did not say much about this in the
settlement, where he boarded. He was not a resident of this community,
having come from a point more than a hundred miles distant.
Suddenly the sound of voices and the scraping of feet were heard by the
teacher, and he rose and walked to the door. He was about to open it,
but hesitated, and then placed his eye to a crack and looked through. He
saw standing in front of the schoolhouse four men, and they were the
worst and most rabid Tories in the settlement. Their leader was Hank
Sprowl. He was practically a desperado, who made his living by hunting,
and was not liked even by those who professed to be his friends.
Miller stood there gazing through the crack and wondering why the Tories
were there. What did it mean? And why did they not enter, if they had
business with him?
These questions he could not answer, and so after hesitating a few
moments, he having first thought of opening the door and questioning the
men, he turned and walked back to his desk, sat down and began reading.
“If they have any business with me, they will come in and say so,
presently.” This he thought was likely.
Suddenly Miller’s attention was attracted by a tapping on the window,
and he glanced in that direction, and saw the face of Henry Philips, a
boy of ten years, and a true friend of his. The boy was indeed a patriot
at heart, and for that reason he was not liked by the other pupils at
the school, and Miller had often interfered to keep bigger boys from
abusing Henry, thus earning the boy’s regards.
There was a look of excitement on the boy’s face, and Miller, guessing
that there was something in the wind, rose and went quietly to the
window, and raising it, was about to speak, but the boy said, “Sh! Don’t
say anything, Mr. Miller. I’ve come to warn ye.”
“What is the trouble?” the teacher asked in a whisper.
“The Tories are goin’ to ketch ye when ye leave the schoolhouse an’ give
ye a coat uv tar an’ feathers!” whispered the boy, glancing warily
around him.
Miller started. “Why?” he asked.
“Cause ye’re a patriot,” was the reply. “Hank Sprowl an’ two or three
more Tories are aroun’ at the front, now, waitin’ fur ye to come out.”
“I knew they were out there, Henry, but I didn’t know, could not
imagine, why they were there. So that is what they are up to, is it?”
“Yes, an’ ye had better climb out of the winder an’ make your escape.”
Doubtless that was Miller’s first inclination, but he thought a few
moments, and then shook his head. “I don’t think that I’ll do that,
Henry,” he said. “No, I’ll go out through the front door, as usual, and
I don’t believe they’ll dare lay hands on me.”
“Ye don’ know Hank Sprowl ef ye think that,” said the boy. “He’s a bad
one, he is.”
“I don’t doubt that, but I’m not going to climb out at the window and
try to avoid them. I might as well meet them face to face, and I don’t
believe they’ll bother me.”
“They’re cookin’ the tar down here in the gully,” said the boy, his face
pale. “An’ I seen Jim Simmons comin’ with a bag of feathers as I left
the gully.”
“Oh, well, I’ll not try to avoid them by slipping out of the window,
Henry. If they are making their preparations, I might as well meet them
and show them that I’m not afraid of them.”
“They’ll handle ye rough, Mister Miller,” said the boy, his face pale.
“They’re mighty mean men, them fellers that Hank Sprowl has helpin’
him.”
“I know that, Henry. I’m much obliged for your kindness in coming to
warn me. Now you had better go, before they see you, and handle you
roughly also.”
“I’ll go. Well, good-by, Mister Miller. I hope they won’t put no tar an’
feathers onto ye.”
“I hardly think they will, Henry. Good-by.”
Then the boy dropped to the ground, and disappeared into the brush at
the back of the schoolhouse.
Miller slowly and thoughtfully lowered the window, returned, took a seat
at his desk, and sat there, gazing toward the door and evidently doing a
lot of thinking. He glanced toward the window once or twice, and then
resolutely rose and walked to the door, and opening it, stepped out of
doors--to be confronted by Hank Sprowl and the three Tories.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” greeted Miller, pleasantly. “Fine evening, is
it not?”
The men exchanged glances, and it was evident that they were somewhat
taken aback by the coolness and _sang froid_ of their intended victim.
“Good evenin’,” said Sprowl, gruffly. “Yas, et’s a fine evenin’--a fine
evenin’ to put geese-feathers onto rebel birds like ye! Hey, fellers?”
The others nodded, and one said: “Ye’re right, Hank.”
“What do you mean?” asked Miller, pretending that he did not grasp
Sprowl’s meaning.
“I mean that we’re goin’ to give ye a coat of tar and feathers, ye
blamed rebel!” snarled Sprowl. “That’s what I mean.”
Miller looked from one to another inquiringly, and then said: “Why
should you want to do that?”
“I’ve jest told ye,” replied Sprowl, harshly. “Because ye’re a rebel,
that’s why.”
“But I’m not a rebel.”
“I know better. Ye air a rebel. We’ve heerd how ye talk in favor of the
rebels, and how ye hev said as how ye hope ther rebels will win in ther
war ag’in ther king. Ye kain’t deny that ye hev talked in favor of ther
rebels, an’ so now we’re goin’ to give ye a coat of tar and feathers an’
twenty-four hours to git out of this part of the country. We don’t want
no rebel a teachin’ our children rebel sentiments.”
“I am sorry, my friends,” said Miller, calmly, “but I shall not quit
teaching here unless told to do so by the men that hired me--and neither
of you had anything to do with that. I will now go on home. Good
evening,” and he walked quietly away.
This action on his part so amazed the ruffians that they stood there,
staring after him, with mouths agape. But Hank Sprowl presently
recovered from his amazement, and said to his companions sharply: “After
him, boys! We mustn’t let him git away. We’ll give him that coat of tar
and feathers, that’s what we’ll do. Come with me.”
Then he hastened after Miller, and his three companions hurried to
followed him. They soon caught up with the young man, and as he heard
their footsteps, and half-turned, as if to speak to them, they leaped
upon him and bore him struggling to the ground.
Miller was a rather strong and athletic young man, and he fought with
all his strength. But four to one was too big odds, and he was soon
overpowered. Then, with his hands tied together behind his back, they
hustled Miller to a nearby gully, where a kettle was already suspended
above a fire, and in the kettle itself was a lot of tar, bubbling at a
great rate. Near at hand was a bag of feathers.
“Ther tar’s cooked good enuff,” said Sprowl. “Take it off and let it
cool a little bit. We’ve got ther bird here, an’ we’ll soon put ther
feathers onto him.”
“Gentlemen, I protest against any such proceeding,” said Miller, with
dignity. “You have no right to do any such thing as that. I demand that
you set me free and let me go my way.”
“Ye kin demand, but that’s all ther good et’ll do ye,” grinned Sprowl.
A couple of the ruffians took the kettle off the fire, and set it at one
side to cool a few minutes. Then one or two of the others took off
Miller’s coat, vest and shirt, and Sprowl ordered them to get to work,
which they did, one applying the tar to the teacher’s body with a brush,
while others sprinkled on the feathers.
The tar was still too hot for comfort, and Miller writhed and gave
utterance to groans expressive of pain, in spite of his efforts to keep
from doing so, but the ruffians merely laughed and kept on till they had
finished. Then they gave Miller a shove, and told him to go.
“And see to it thet ye are gone from this neighborhood in twenty-four
hours!” cried Sprowl. “Ef we ketch ye here, arter that, we’ll give ye
somethin’ worse’n tar and feathers. Now git!”
And Miller, glad to escape from such heartless villains, staggered away
through the forest, followed by jeering remarks and coarse laughter from
the Tories.