Two little New Hampshire boys play a part in the patriots’ capture
of a quantity of King George’s powder, and this very same powder was
afterward used to fight the redcoats at the Battle of Bunker Hill.
Tony sat on a bench in the corner of the great stone fireplace watching
the big logs as they sang and crackled and the flames leaped upward
filling the room with a cheerful glow. Now and then he turned his head
and glanced at a tall woman who was bustling about, getting supper
ready.
“Aunt Mercy?”
No answer.
“Aunt Mercy,” he said, a little louder.
But his aunt did not reply. She probably did not hear the boy so
occupied was she with her thoughts. Her usually pleasant face wore an
anxious look and several times Tony fancied from the movements of her
lips that she was speaking to herself.
“Oh, dear!” he thought. “I wonder what it is that has made Aunt Mercy
so sober for the last day or two! She doesn’t answer me when I speak.
She hardly notices Larry and me, and it’s just the same with Uncle
Eben. They whisper together, and some of the neighbors have been here,
and they have all been shut up in a room together, and they all look
so solemn! I only hope that dreadful war isn’t going to come that they
talk about.”
“Tony,” said his aunt, as she took two shining pewter platters from the
dresser and placed them on the table, “have you or Larry come across my
spectacles anywhere?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Well, perhaps I left them at meeting last Sunday. Never mind. I want
you to go up garret and bring me that big bunch of herbs hanging by the
east window.”
Tony glanced toward the kitchen window and was relieved to find it
was still quite light. He was always shy of the old, open garret even
in the daytime. He never liked to play there as well as his brother
Larry and the other boys. The long rows of cloaks and coats and gowns
swinging from their pegs in the dimly lighted space under the rafters
had a look that made him feel as if they might spring out at him as he
passed.
And there were certain other things there which helped to increase
Tony’s dread of the garret. There were an old chest in the corner
containing the uniform of Tony’s great uncle who had served as captain
in the early French and Indian wars, and a rusty sword and tomahawk
hanging from a nail in the huge beam overhead. The sword had two or
three suggestive notches in the long blade, and on the wooden handle of
the tomahawk which had once belonged to a ferocious Indian chief were
several suspicious-looking brown stains. Larry liked to handle these
relics, but the mere sight of them always sent shivers creeping down
Tony’s back.
“Make haste, Tony, and bring the herbs before it grows any darker,”
continued his aunt. “I never like to go up garret with a light; it’s
dangerous business. I am worried and nervous, and I want a bowl of hot
herb tea.”
Tony stopped, his thumb on the latch. “What is it that worries you so?”
he asked in his sweet, sympathetic voice.
“A thousand things, child, you wouldn’t understand if I told you--the
dread of what’s coming--the loss of property and friends--life itself
perhaps. But we’ll hope for the best. The king may yet repent and try
to do what is right by us. But we don’t know--we don’t know.”
It was the December of 1774, five months before Lexington, the first
battle of the American Revolution. Throughout the colonies there was
a growing feeling of uneasiness and indignation. The colonists were
too much attached to the mother country to wish for war. Morning and
night they prayed that God would show them some peaceful way out of
the trouble. But the king had taken away so many of their rights and
laid taxes so heavy and unjust upon them that it began to look as if
the only thing to do was to fight him. The people of New Hampshire,
where Larry and Tony lived, were especially excited and alarmed, for
they were so near Boston that they sympathized heartily with that
much-wronged city which seemed to have been singled out as a mark for
special spite.
Tony passed through the cold hall and upstairs, and opening the garret
door stumbled hastily to the top step. As he reached the landing his
heart gave a sudden thump. He fancied he heard a noise. He stood
listening, but there was not a sound. “I guess it was the branches
of the big elm scraping against the roof,” he thought. Mustering his
courage he darted by the row of clothes and was just reaching up for
the herbs when a figure suddenly stepped from behind the chimney.
“Oh!” gasped the frightened boy, stumbling back over the big chest and
bumping his head with a clatter against the dreaded sword and tomahawk.
Larry’s arm raised him to his feet and Larry’s bright face bent over
him.
“Why, Tony! how little it takes to scare you! I was up here and heard
some one coming and thought it one of the men and that I’d have some
fun with him. See!” and Larry took down the rusty tomahawk and gave a
whoop that made the rafters ring, and flourished the old relic in a
way that caused Tony’s curly hair to stand on end. “This isn’t such a
terrible thing, after all--it can’t hurt you.”
He got the herbs for his young brother and as he did so, happened to
look out of the window. “Whew!” he whistled softly, “there are two men
going into the meeting-house. And how queerly they act, looking all
around as if they were afraid some one would see them.”
“Oh, Larry! can’t you run up and see if Aunt Mercy’s spectacles are in
the pew? She thinks she left them there last Sunday.”
“All right! you take the herbs downstairs and I will.”
On his return to the kitchen Tony found that his aunt had left the
room, and he sat down in the chimney corner to wait for supper. In
a few moments the door opened, and Larry stood before him, his eyes
flashing, his cheeks flushed.
“Did you get the spectacles, Larry?”
“Spectacles! I haven’t even thought of them. Listen, Tony! I have
a secret--a _great_ secret. After I left you I hurried up to the
meeting-house and as I stepped inside the entry I thought I heard a
queer noise, as if some one were digging. So I opened the door softly
and peeped in--and there--_as sure as you are alive, I saw two men
digging a great, deep hole under the pulpit_. They were talking so low
I couldn’t hear more than half they said. But I made out that uncle and
Captain Sullivan and some others are going to meet there to-night and
go off in boats on some wonderful expedition. And, Tony, I am going
to find out what it is. We’ll go to our room as usual after supper,
but instead of going to bed, we’ll creep downstairs and go up to the
meeting-house and hide inside, and wait there.”
“But will it be right to listen, Larry?” asked Tony gravely. “You know
Aunt Mercy says ‘Eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves.’”
“But this isn’t eavesdropping, Tony. Listening is a mean trick. But
this is different. Uncle is going into danger of some sort and I
_ought_ to learn what it is. I can’t believe _that_ is wrong.”
Tony finally consented, thinking he would rather watch with Larry in
the church than stay in his room at home alone in the dark.
When Aunt Mercy returned, she filled the big iron pot with water, hung
it on the crane and swung it over the blazing logs. “We are going to
have pudding and milk for supper,” she said, “and we won’t wait for
your uncle; he’s away, and may not be back until late into the night.”
At these words Larry glanced significantly at Tony and gave a wise
little nod.
* * * * *
With the going down of the sun the cold rapidly increased. The night
was clear and frosty. In front of the little wooden meeting-house on
Durham Hill stood the two brothers shivering with cold and excitement.
“Whew!” exclaimed Larry, pulling his cap down over his ears, “it’s a
sharp night, Tony. Come farther this way; the meeting-house will keep
off the wind.”
“Shall we have to wait long, Larry?” asked Tony.
Larry glanced at the moon just rising above the treetops. “I think it’s
past the time now. Oh, I wonder what it is they are going to do.”
“P’raps they are going to cross the ocean and take the king prisoner. I
don’t think he treats us very well nowadays,” said Tony plaintively.
Larry laughed. “I guess they won’t go quite as far as that. Oh, Tony!
if I were a man, they would take me. It’s so provoking to be only a
boy. I’m just big enough to want to be of some use, but not old enough
to be trusted.” He drew Tony back in the shelter of the church and
waited with his eyes fixed on the flowing Piscataqua which swept around
the base of the hill on which they stood, and at the next turn widened
into the broad expanse known as “The Great Bay.”
It was upon the banks of this river that some of the bloodiest scenes
of the early Indian wars had been enacted. Again and again had its
shores resounded with warwhoops as the red men under cover of night
rowed their canoes up to the infant settlements of New Hampshire and
spared neither man, woman, nor child in the slaughter which followed.
Across the river, in full view of the meeting-house, was a log fort
known as the “Old Block House” which had served on many occasions as
a refuge for the early settlers and enabled them to keep their savage
foes at bay.
“It’s cold--and--lonesome out here,” said Tony with a shiver, glancing
involuntarily at the “Block House.”
“You don’t mean to say you’re afraid of the Block House, Tony! Why, you
are always glad of a chance to play there, afternoons.”
“Yes--but that was in the daytime. Out here in the dark I don’t like to
think of the people who have been killed there.”
“Tony! If we come to blows with England you won’t make a very good
soldier. Now I’d like no better fun than to be in the Block House with
a lot of screeching Indians outside. But we mustn’t talk so loud--and
remember--if we hear the least noise we are to scamper into the
meeting-house and hide.”
The moon climbed higher and higher in the heavens, and soon there came
to the ears of the watchers by the church the plash of oars. Larry bent
forward, and his keen eyes detected a small black speck on the surface
of the river. At the same time the sound of rapid footsteps was heard,
and the two boys hastily entered the church and stumbling through the
dark entry felt their way along the aisle and crouched down in one of
the pews.
Meantime, a man closely wrapped in a military cloak had taken their
place in front of the church and stood looking out on the water. He,
too, saw the dark object. Raising his fingers to his lips he gave a
shrill whistle, which was promptly answered from the river, and in a
short time eleven men, armed with muskets, came creeping stealthily up
the hill, single file.
“We are late, Captain Sullivan,” called out a gay voice, “but His
Majesty has several devoted subjects hereabouts, and we did not dare
venture within range of their prying eyes until after dark.”
“Peace, Scammel, or that merry voice of yours will be starting some
of these same good folks from their firesides,” returned Sullivan.
“My trusty men!” there was a triumphant ring in his voice as he
greeted them each by name--“Captain Winborn Adams, Eleazer Bennett,
Ebenezer Thompson, John Demeritt, Alpheus Chesley, Jonathan Chesley,
John Spenser, Micah Davis, Isaac Small, Benjamin Small, Alexander
Scammel--thank God! not one of you is missing. And now, is everything
ready yonder?” He pointed to the church.
“See for yourself, Captain,” answered one of the men; and opening the
door he paused to light a lantern which stood in the little entry.
The eleven men followed him, their heavy boots clattering on the bare
floor--down the aisle, to the pulpit. Here he stopped, and held the
lantern high above his head. By the dim light they saw the deep pit,
the loosened boards, and the pile of earth standing ready for filling
in again.
“’Tis well planned,” said the Captain, nodding approvingly. “It is the
last place the British will think of searching for their lost powder.
When Paul Revere came riding in hot haste into Portsmouth town last
night, bearing despatches from the Massachusetts Committee of Safety
saying the king had ordered the seizure of all the powder and arms
in the provinces, and that two of Gage’s regiments were on their way
to garrison Portsmouth and Fort William and Mary here in Piscataqua
harbor, I made up my mind that what was done must be done quickly. For
if England forces us to fight--and it looks that way now--’twere well
to have something to fight with.”
“In good sooth, Captain Sullivan,” returned Scammel, “we should have to
fight with the butt-end of our muskets, for powder and bullets are as
scarce as roses at Christmas.”
Sullivan continued: “I made up my mind that if I could get a few
trusty men to join me I would make a dash for the fort on my own
responsibility, for the possession of that powder means _everything_
to us. But I do not want one of you to stir a foot unless you have
counted the cost. This is a deliberate assault on a royal fortress, and
it exposes every one of us to the penalty for high treason. If any man
shrinks, let him turn back now before it is too late.”
“We have counted the cost,” answered John Demeritt, “and we are ready.”
“Follow me, then,” cried Sullivan, “and may God speed the right!”
At that instant Tony, who was doubled up under the seat like a
jackknife, had a cramp in his leg, and in trying to move his foot hit a
wooden stool--and over it went with a loud crash, causing the utmost
confusion. The men began searching the church while Larry’s uncle
rushed around shouting savagely: “A spy! A spy! Seize him! Take him,
dead or alive!”
“It’s only us--Larry and me,” piped Tony, frightened almost out of his
wits by his uncle’s fury. “We wanted to find out what was going on. And
won’t you please take Larry with you? He is so brave and wants to fight
so much.”
“Go home, boys, and to bed, both of you!” ordered Larry’s uncle. “I’ll
settle with you for this to-morrow. Do not look so disturbed, Captain
Sullivan--I’ll answer for their secrecy.”
“Oh, uncle! Oh, Captain Sullivan!” begged Larry in an eager, excited
tone, “do let me go. I know I can help in some way. I want to be of
some use, and I’m not afraid any more than you are.”
Sullivan was touched by the boy’s earnestness. “We cannot take you,
my boy. It would not be prudent--but you can help if you really wish
it--there _is_ a way.” He turned and whispered with some of the men.
“We may need a pair of oxen to cart the powder. We ought not to bury it
all in one place.”
“If the lad will have the oxen and some straw ready for us in yonder
barn, I’ll cart the powder wherever you say,” said John Demeritt. “I’ll
bury it in my own cellar if you can think of no better place.”
Sullivan noted the disappointment in Larry’s answer. “We are trusting
much to you, my boy,” he said gravely; “and remember, Larry, if you
want to be a soldier you must first learn to _obey_. Now go take your
little brother home, and then have the team ready for us by the time
yonder bright star reaches that line of woods by the Block House.”
When the boys left, the men quickened their pace almost to a run
in order to keep up with the Captain as he strode down-hill to the
“gondola.”
“Gondola” was the name given by the colonists to the broad,
flat-bottomed scows used on the Piscataqua in the transportation of
stone and other heavy material.
The members of the little party quietly took the places assigned them,
and the scow swung off into the middle of the river and moved slowly
down-stream. The only sounds to be heard were the moaning of the wind
through the bare forests and the measured dip of oars. The trip was
made for the most part in silence, the men bending eagerly over the
oars too much engrossed with their thoughts to indulge in idle chat. As
the scow approached Portsmouth and the lights of the town glimmered in
the distance, Sullivan ordered the men to row slowly.
“If discovered now,” said he, “all is lost.”
In a few moments they rounded a little headland and found awaiting them
in the cove beyond two gondolas and a small boat containing in all some
eighteen men. These were under the leadership of Captain Pickering.
“Let us be off!” exclaimed Sullivan impatiently. “We must cross
Portsmouth harbor before the moon shows her face again.”
They pulled out into the middle of the stream in the momentary
darkness, and by the time the clouds had drifted away from the moon the
little fleet was within a rod of the island on which stood Fort William
and Mary. All was dark and still within, and the only sound outside
was the wash of the waves on the narrow beach. After a whispered
consultation the men disembarked at a signal from Sullivan. Wading
through the icy water they arranged themselves in line at the rear of
the fort, while Pickering with three others crept cautiously in the
shadow of the wall and disappeared behind one of the bastions. In a
moment more a sentinel’s challenge rang out sharp and clear: “Who goes
there? Stand, and give the countersign!”
Pickering seized the soldier’s gun and grasped him by the throat. “Not
a word more or you are a dead man,” he whispered.
The men then made their way to the commandant’s room. He looked up as
Sullivan and Pickering entered, but his smile of recognition changed to
a blank stare as the former said with much agitation: “Captain Cochran,
you are our prisoner. Your little garrison has surrendered. You had
better follow its example!”
Cochran glanced at the resolute faces of his captors, then tendered his
sword. He was left in charge of two of the men while the rest of the
party proceeded to break open the magazine. In the course of an hour
and a half the powder was safe in the gondolas and the little band
left the fort and began the hard task of rowing up-stream. Absolute
silence was maintained, and when they finally landed at the foot of
meeting-house hill and found Larry with the oxen awaiting them, they
took off their heavy, nailed shoes lest a spark from them should set
fire to the powder.
By dawn Larry was back in his room telling the wonderful story to Tony.
One half of the king’s powder was buried deep beneath the pulpit of the
meeting-house, and John Demeritt, with the other half snugly hidden
under a load of straw, was on the road to Madbury driving along his
oxen as unconcernedly as if nothing had happened.
The next day Governor Wentworth issued a proclamation, declaring all
those who took part in the capture of Fort William and Mary guilty of
high treason. Four months later the news from Lexington and Concord
spread from the White Hills of New Hampshire to the pine forests of the
Carolinas arousing the people to a renewed determination to defend with
their lives--their rights and liberties.
Major Sullivan, accompanied by his faithful little band, started at
once for the scene of action. Indeed the New Hampshire troops were
among the earliest at the front, for Bancroft tells us “the ferries on
the Merrimack were crowded with the men of New Hampshire,” and that
“they finally paraded on Cambridge Common having _run_ rather than
walked the entire distance.”
Captain John Demeritt, after reserving a portion of the powder for the
use of his own company, brought out the remainder from his cellar and
once more concealing it beneath a load of straw carted it with his ox
team all the way to the headquarters of the American Army at Cambridge.
He arrived in time to have it sent out to the troops at Bunker
Hill, and a local historian tells us that it was stated on the best
authority, that had not the powder arrived at so opportune a moment the
fate of the day would have been far different. It was with this powder
that the New Hampshire troops with two regiments from Connecticut
guarded the flank at Bunker Hill, twice driving back the British. And
it was with the same powder that they held the enemy at bay until
Prescott’s little band had left the redoubt and then they retreated in
good order through a galling fire.