Among Enemies
The next morning I boldly resolved to ride out into the country. A
double purpose moved me to this course. I was anxious first, to
recover, if possible, my father's body, and secondly, I knew that by
mingling with the rebels, I would gather information that might be of
service to me and to my mother in making our future plans. The
invasion of our home by the soldiers and the sudden and dramatic
disappearance of my friend and schoolmaster, Duncan Hale, to whom I had
intended to look for advice, threw me quite upon my own resources. As
to Dr. Canfield, much as he might wish to be of service to us, I was
aware that his position, as well as his pronounced sympathy with the
King's cause, would render it almost impossible for him to obtain
information except regarding the Royalist side. I saw at once that if
information was to be gained, I must gain it myself.
I knew that there were many in the country around who had taken no part
in the long controversy that had preceded the shedding of blood. There
were the quiet farmer people, with whom my father had traded so long,
and whom until yesterday I had seen for years almost daily go in
towards Boston with produce. I was sure that these could not in a day
have become strong and violent partizans for either side. Then, there
were those who were opposed to war, because it was wicked, and violated
the teaching of Scripture. Taking our day-school to reflect the mind
of the community, I concluded that there must even yet be great
diversity of views regarding what was right and what was wrong.
My father had warned me against declaring myself on either side. When,
in our home, Duncan Hale had fiercely engaged in denouncing the rebels,
he had urged upon him the necessity of a more cautious attitude. The
events of the previous night led me to think that Duncan had not fully
taken to heart the advice my father had given him. But I was sure
that, if he had offended, I had not. At any rate I resolved to go out
into the country.
I found Peter, and told him to saddle the horse he used about the farm
and garden; then having dressed myself to look like one of the many
farmer boys I had seen passing our home, I rode off toward Lexington.
It was still early, but there were many coming and going. I soon
learned that I had been quite successful in disguising myself. A
fellow a little older than myself galloped up beside me.
'Goin' to enlist?' he asked.
'I am going out to Lexington to learn the truth about what happened
there,' I said. 'Where are you from?'
'Out Concord way. I come from there last night, an' am on my way back.
Day before yesterday I shot a redcoat, one o' them fancy soldiers the
King sent to Boston two years ago to enforce his laws. I'll show you
the place when we come to it.' I glanced at his face, and marked in it
a note of triumphant glee.
'How long do you suppose the siege will last?' he said a little later.
'The siege,' I said, 'what siege?'
He stared at me for some moments. 'Where've ye been livin' lately, ye
galoot? Don't ye know 'at Boston is besieged, an' that before two
weeks we're to drive what we don't shoot uv the King's men into the
harbour? That's the plan. That's good 'nough for 'em. Why couldn't
they act decent, instead uv puttin' on airs an' insultin' folks. How
much better is a soldier than a farmer, I'd like to know? Then think
uv them laws. Go 'way back to the very first--back over a hundred
years, when the trouble began by the surveyors puttin' the King's mark
on all the pine-trees over two feet in diameter. Supposin' the King
did want masts for his ships, what was the sense in puttin' his arrow
on thousands of trees that would never be used? What justice was there
in finin' a man a hundred pounds for cuttin' down an' sawin' up a tree
that was bein' left to rot? Think uv my great grandfather spendin'
three months in jail for cuttin' lumber to build his house. Was that
right?
'An' that wasn't the only bad law. Why wouldn't the King allow people
to build mills an' use the waterfalls? Who'd any right to say we
couldn't sell fish or boards wherever we chose--even to the French or
Spanish? Our people wanted to work an' they weren't allowed to.
That's the way the trouble begun. An' then think uv all them later
taxes on tea an' other things we 'ad to buy. Were we to go on for ever
payin' an' payin', an' have nothin' to say about spendin' the money we
paid in? No, sir; I'm glad war's come. Now we've a chance to get even
with the King an' these saucy insultin' soldiers an' stuck-up officers,
who've always been pokin' fun at our militia. Just wait till I get
another chance at them. Then there's them Tories--all those people
who've been sayin' the King's right an' England's right--they're little
better'n the soldiers. But they'll soon find out that.--Are there any
Tories up your way?' He broke off suddenly, and looking at me more
critically than he had looked before, asked--
'What's your name?'
'Roger Davis,' I said at once, for I had determined to tell no lies.
'Davis?' he repeated. 'Davis?' Then he looked at me yet more
critically. 'Yer father a merchant?'
At that moment the sound of galloping troops fell upon our ears, and a
little later the largest body of American soldiers I had yet seen swept
around a turn in the road just ahead of us. I drew to the left, and
they thundered past, going in the direction of Boston. My companion
turned his horse, and prepared to join the troops. As he galloped off
with them, I heard him shouting my name, at which I saw three or four
of those nearest to him turn their heads and look back toward me
somewhat curiously. But they all kept on, and were soon lost in the
dust and distance.
As I went on my way alone, I could not help thinking upon the words of
my late companion, who had left me as suddenly as he came upon me.
What he had told me regarding laws and taxes was not really news; I had
heard the rebel side of the case many times from Duncan Hale; but there
was quite a different note in the words of the rough young farmer.
Evidently there were two sides to the great question--at least it was
not difficult to see that people thought there were.
With myself, as with many others, up to the time of the real outbreak,
it had not been necessary to take sides. But now it was quite
different. Then I was a schoolboy thinking only of Oxford; now I was
the sole defender and counsellor of my mother and sisters. I was
anxious to try the case fairly and honestly. I wished to do right.
Consulting my feelings alone, recalling the words of Duncan Hale, and
remembering that my father had been slain, I felt that perhaps I had
done wrong in not openly, even before the troop of soldiers, declaring
myself a sympathiser with the King and his cause. But second thought
showed me that such a course would have been folly. If I did this,
what of my mother and sisters? It was here that the real difficulties
of my situation first dawned upon me. Things were strangely bound
together. As I rode along, thinking all the while, the situation,
instead of growing simpler, became more complex.
The whole country was, I saw, in the hands of the rebels. During my
entire ride so far, I had not seen a single soldier of the King. My
mother and sisters, my father's fine and valuable property, were all at
the mercy of the King's enemies. Duncan Hale was a fugitive, if not
already a captive. My brother was somewhere in the King's service,
but, following his usual policy, my father had revealed nothing. Then
if we were able to find him, how could he help us? He could not look
for a discharge at such a time. Again, his presence with us might mean
more of danger than his absence from us. But the question that
insisted on coming to me most seriously and frequently was, 'How am I
to serve the King, and yet do what is best for my mother and sisters?'
The sun was now getting high. The glory of the spring was everywhere.
Here and there a ploughman followed his team in a distant field. But
it became more and more evident, as I advanced along the road, that the
spirit of war would soon absorb everything.
Suddenly my horse snorted and lurched violently back, almost throwing
me from the saddle. He gazed wild-eyed and with fiercely-blowing
nostrils at a spot in the road. Here blood had been shed. A momentary
shudder ran through me, but I urged him on. A few miles further along
the way I noticed that the fence had been torn with bullets, and in a
field, a little from the road, were four fresh mounds that I took at
once for graves. Under a shady tree near these sat an old man of some
eighty years.
'Are these graves?' I asked.
'Aye, they be. Four redcoats lie here, or accordin' to some, three
sodgers and a Tory. But if you're wantin' to see where the main
slaughter was, go on. I'm watchin' here. There's some reason for
thinkin' the one who wasn't a sodger was a person o' consequence--a man
o' valuable property that may be useful during the siege as well as
after. There was a lank old villain--a schoolmaster of Cambridge, I
think our Colonel said--nosin' round here early this mornin'. It
leaked out that he was huntin' for a body. Anyway he was surprised,
captured, an' carried off to the village. It's generally agreed that
he'll be hanged.'
It flashed upon me in an instant, that the man of consequence spoken of
was my father, and that the other was Duncan Hale. I was quite sure
Duncan had escaped from the soldiers who had attempted to seize him in
our home; and I knew also that for friendship's sake he would in all
probability venture out, even in the face of danger, to learn, if
possible, where my father fell. If I was right in my conjecture, and
the old man spoke truly, the faithful fellow's love had got him into
strange difficulties. I resolved to go on, hoping to pick up some
further scraps of information before returning home. Had I known all
that was to befall me, I certainly would not have gone further. But
the information I had received regarding Duncan Hale, especially the
hint of his danger, convinced me that it was my duty to go on at least
to Lexington.
After leaving the old man at the graves, I saw numerous evidences of
severe fighting almost everywhere. Barns and buildings on every side
were riddled with bullets. Fences were thrown down, and the fields
showed the marks of galloping troops. Graves and bloodstains became
more and more common.
But as I proceeded, I noticed that a Sabbath quiet had settled upon the
country. I now met nobody. The houses seemed deserted. One of the
only moving objects was a farmer far up a hill slope who, with a large
white grain basket by his side, strode over the red ground sowing
grain. One man at least in the midst of war was determined to be at
peace.
But I understood the quiet as soon as I came in sight of the village.
The church bell was slowly tolling and there seemed to be thousands of
people upon the village green.
At sight of the crowd the old man's words regarding the probable fate
of Duncan Hale flashed upon my mind. For a moment my heart stood
still. Was the crowd in the distance a mob bent on vengeance? And
yet, why was the bell tolling?
In spite of the feeling that I might be acting unwisely, I urged my
horse rapidly on toward the village that lay in the valley before me.
I was out in search of information, and must obtain it.