By noon we were well on our way towards Boston, I riding beside Mrs.
Hamilton's carriage wheels, Jack Mount perched up on the box, and very
gay in a new suit of buckskins which he bought from a squaw in the
village, the woman being an Oneida half-breed and a tailoress by
trade.
So gorgeous was this newly tailored suit that, though my own buckskins
were also new and deeply fringed on sleeve and leg, even to the quill
and wampum embroidery on the thigh, I did cut but a dingy figure
beside Jack Mount. His shoulders were triple-caped with red-fox fur
edges; he wore a belted hunting-shirt, with scarlet thrums; breeches
cut to show his long legs' contour to the clout, also gay with scarlet
thrums; and Huron moccasins, baldric, holster, and sporran, all of
mole-skin, painted and beaded with those mystic scenes of the
False-Face's secret rites, common to the Six Nations and to other
Northern and Western clans.
Proud as a painted game-cock with silver steels was Jack. Poor gossip,
how different his condition now, with a rasher o' bacon and a cup of
ale under his waist-band, a belt full of money outside of it, and his
scarlet thrums blowing like ribbons in the wind! A new fox-skin cap,
too, with the plumy white-tipped tail bobbing to his neck, added the
finish to this forest dandy. Truly it did warm me to behold him
ruffling it with the best o' them; and it was a wink and a kiss for
the pretty maid in the pantry, and a pinch o' snuff with mine host,
and "Your servant, ma'am," to Mrs. Hamilton, with cap sweeping the
dust in a salute that a Virginian might envy and mark for imitation.
The post-boys slunk past him with rueful, sidelong glances; the
footman gave him wide berth, obeying the order to mount with an
alacrity designed to curry favour as soon as possible, and let the
painful past go bury itself.
"You had best," muttered Mount, with pretence of a fierceness he loved
to assume. "Gad! I'm minded to tan your buttocks to line my
saddle--ho!--come back! I'm not going to do it, simpleton! I only said
I was so minded. Into your saddles, in Heaven's name. Salute!--you
mannerless scullions! Do you not see your mistress coming?"
I handed Mrs. Hamilton to her chaise, and stood in attendance while
she tied on her velvet sun-mask, watching me steadily through the
eye-holes the while, but not speaking. Yet ever on her lips hovered
that smile I knew so well; and from her hair came that fresh scent
which is of itself like the perfume of Indian swale-herb, and which
powder and pomatum can neither add to nor dissimulate.
Over her gown of shimmering stuff, garlanded with lilac-tints, she
wore a foot-mantle, for the road was muddy from the all-night rain,
and this I disposed around her ankles when she had seated herself in
the chaise, and wrapped her restless little feet in a thick,
well-tanned pelt.
"_Merci_," she said, in a whisper, with her bright eyes sparkling
under her velvet mask; and I closed the carriage and mounted Warlock
nimbly, impatient to be gone.
"Michael," she said from the chaise window, nose in the air to watch
me ride up.
"Madam," I replied, politely.
"Let Captain Mount ride your horse, and do you come into the carriage.
I have so much to tell you--"
I made what excuse I could. She tossed her chin.
"I shall die of ennui," she said.
"Count the thraves in the stubble," said I, laughing.
"And talk to my five wits of the harvest? How amusing!" she retorted,
indignantly.
"Repent the past, then," I suggested, smiling.
"Ay--but 'tis one blank expanse of white innocence, with never a stain
to mark for repentance. My past is spotless, Michael--spotless--like a
fox-pelt, all of a colour."
Now, though we call foxes red, their ear-tips are jet black and their
brushes and bellies touched with white. But she was right; your
spotless fox can have no dealings with a dappled fawn.
I signalled the footman and post-boys; the chaise creaked off down
the road, and I dropped behind, turning a sober face to the
rain-washed brightness of the world.
So we journeyed, coming into dry roads towards noon, where no rain had
fallen. And already it seemed to me my nostrils savoured that faint
raw perfume of the mounting sea, which only those who have lived their
whole lives inland can wind at great distances. It is not a perfume
either; it is a taste that steals into the mouth and tingles far back,
above the tongue. And it is strange to say so, but those who never
before have tasted the scent know it for what it is by instinct, and
fall into a restless reverie, searching to think where they have
savoured that same enchanted ocean breath before.
At Grafton we baited at the "Weather-cock Tavern"; then on along the
Charles River, with the scent o' the distant sea in every breath we
drew, through Dedham, past Needham, and north into a most lovely
country of rolling golden stubble and orchards all red with apples,
and bridges of stone, neatly fashioned to resist the freshets. Alas,
that this fair province of Massachusetts Bay should lie a-gasping amid
plenty, with the hand of Britain upon the country's thrapple to choke
out the life God gave it.
On the straight, well-laid high-road we passed scores of farmers'
wains, piled with corn and yellow pumpkins, cabbages, squashes,
barrels of apples, sacks o' flour, and thraves, all bound for Boston,
where the poor were starving and the rich went hungering because the
King of England had been angered to hear men prate of human rights.
Since the 1st day of June the Boston Port Bill was in full effect, and
the city was sealed to commerce. Not a keel had stirred the waters of
the bay save when the great bulging war-ships shifted their moorings
to swing their broadsides towards the town; not a sail was bent to the
shore breeze in this harbour where a thousand vessels had cleared in a
single year from its busy port.
So when the city felt the punishment heavy upon her, and the poor
starved and the rich suffered, and the hot sun poured down on the
empty rotting wharves, the farmers of Massachusetts Bay brought their
harvests by land to the famine-stricken city, and sister colonies sent
generously of their best with the watchword: "Stand fast, Boston! A
King's anger is a little thing, but human rights shall not perish
until we perish, every one!"
It was sunset as we turned into the Roxbury road, with the salt wind
blowing the marsh-reeds and ruffling the shallow waters of the harbour
to the north and east. It was ebb-tide; beyond the eastern bog, far
out in the yellow shallows, the harbour channel ran in a darker
streak, glittering under the red blaze of sunset.
Wet marshes spread away to the north; the wind was heavy with the
salty stench of mud-flats uncovered at low-water, and all alive with
sea-fowl hovering. Northeast the steeples of Boston rose, blood-red in
the setting sun; distant windows flashed fire; weather-vanes turned to
jets of flame.
The red glow enveloped the road over which we travelled, now in
company with scores of other vehicles, all bound for Boston--coaches,
flies, chaises, wagons, farm wains--all moving slowly as though the
head of the column had been checked by something which we could not
yet see.
I rode forward to where Jack Mount was sitting on the box of the
chaise, and he motioned me to his side.
"We're close to Boston Neck," he said. "Tommy Gage has been making
some forts ahead of us since I last smelled the mud-flats yonder."
I rode on slowly, passing along the stalled line of vehicles, until,
just ahead, I caught a glimpse of an earthwork flying the British
flag. The red banner stood straight out in the sea-wind, rippling, and
snapping like a whip when the breeze freshened. Under it a sentry
moved, bayonet glittering as he turned, paced on, turned again, only
to retrace his endless path on the brown rampart of earth.
I shall never forget that first coming to Boston, and the first
glimpse of the round city, set there in the sea with only a narrow
thread of land to fasten it to the continent which had made the city's
cause its own. Nor shall I forget my first sight of the city's
landward gate, closed by British earthworks, patrolled by British
bayonets, with the red standard flying in the setting sun.
The Providence coach was standing in the road to my left, the six
horses stamping restlessly, the outside passengers shivering in the
harbour wind, while the red-nosed coachman muttered and complained
and craned his short bull-neck to see what was blocking the highway
ahead.
"It's them darned cannon," he explained to everybody who cared to
listen; "they're a-haulin' some more twenty-four pounders into the
right bastion. Ding it! My horses are ketchin' cold an' bots an'
ring-bone while we set here in a free land waitin' his Majesty's
pleasure!"
"The cannon will come handy--some day," called out a passenger from
the Philadelphia coach, stalled just behind.
"You'd better get your cannon out of the south battery before you lay
plans to steal these!" retorted a soldier, derisively, making his way
towards the city between the tangle of wheels and horses which almost
choked the road.
"We'll get 'em yet, young red-belly!" shouted a fat farmer, cracking
his whip for emphasis. His horses started, and he pulled them in,
shouting: "Whoa, lass! Whoa, dandy! Don't shy at a redcoat; he can't
harm ye!"
"Gad!" burst out an old gentleman on the Roxbury coach, "is this rebel
impudence to be endured?"
A chorus of protestations broke from the tops of neighbouring coaches,
but the sturdy old gentleman shook his cane, defying every Yankee
within hearing, while the protests around grew to angry shouts and
cries of: "Enough! Tar the Tory! Pitch the old fool into the mud!"
In the midst of the bawling and uproar the line of vehicles ahead
suddenly started, and those behind moved on, rumbling over the planked
road with creaking wheels and thunder of a hundred hoofs, drowning the
voices of disputing Whig and Tory.
I looked up at the passengers as the huge mail-coaches with their
four, six, or eight horses rumbled past. Many of the people glanced
somewhat curiously down at me, smiling to see a forest-runner mounted
on so fine a horse as Warlock. And I was proud to sit the saddle under
their gaze, not minding the quips and jests directed at me from above;
though, when once a mealy faced post-boy shouted at me, I fetched him
a cuff on the ear which nigh unseated him, and drew a roar of laughter
from the people near.
The Philadelphia coach with passengers from Maryland and Virginia came
swaying up, horses dancing, guard standing by the boot, and sounding
his long coaching-horn--a gallant equipage, with its blue gear and
claret body showing through a skin of half-dry mud.
I glanced up at the outside travellers, thinking I might know some
face among them, yet not expecting it. There were no familiar faces. I
wheeled my horse to watch the coach go by, glancing idly at the window
where a young girl leaned out, sucking a China orange. Our eyes met
for a moment; the girl dropped the orange and stared at me; I also
eyed her sharply, certain that I had seen her somewhere in the world
before this. The coach passed. I sat on my horse, looking after it,
cudgelling my wits to remember that red-cheeked, buxom lass, who
seemed to know me, too.
Then, as our chaise rattled by, with the post-boys urging the horses,
and Jack Mount on the box, it came to me in a flash that the girl was
the thief-taker's daughter from Fort Pitt.
I rode up beside Mount and told him in a low voice that Billy Bishop's
buxom lass was ahead of us in the Philadelphia coach, and that he had
best keep his wits and eyes cleared for Billy Bishop himself.
He shrugged his shoulders, not answering, but I noticed he was alert
enough now, unconsciously fingering his rifle, while his quick eyes
roamed restlessly as the chaise passed in between the British
earthworks on the Neck.
Truly this Captain-General Thomas Gage, whom the King of England loved
so well, had cut Boston from the land as neatly as his royal master
had cut it from the sea.
The Roxbury road ran through a narrow passage between two bastions of
earth, surrounded with a heavy abatis and _trous de loup_. In the left
bastion I could see magazines and guard-houses, and beyond it, near
the shore, a small square redoubt, a block-house, and a battery of six
cannon. In the right bastion there was a guard-house, and beyond that
a block-house on the shore of the mud-flats, while farther out in the
shallow water lay a floating battery.
Our chaise rolled in through the earthworks and down a causeway
surrounded by water. This was Boston Neck, a strip of made land not
wider than a high-road, and blocked at the northern extremity by a
solid military work of stone and earth, bristling with cannon.
The gate guards eyed us sullenly as we drove into the city and up a
long, dusty road called Orange Street. We continued to Newbury Street,
to Marlborough Street, Mount directing us, thence through Cornhill to
Queen Street, where we drew up at a very elegant mansion.
Dismounting, I took Mrs. Hamilton from the carriage, and she unmasked,
for the fire was dying out in the western heavens.
"If," she began slowly, "I should bid you to supper at my house, would
you hurt me with refusal, Michael?"
"Is this your house?" I asked, in surprise.
"Yes--my late husband's. Will you come?"
I explained that I cared not to leave Mount, and that also we must
seek a tavern as soon as might be, for we had much business on the
morrow which could not wait.
She listened, with a faintly mocking air, then thanked me for my
escort, thanked Mount for his share in providing me as her escort by
stopping her carriage, and finally curtseyed, saying in a low voice:
"Your charming Miss Warren is doubtless impatient. Pray believe me
that I wish you joy of your conquest."
I thought she meant it, and it touched me. But when I stepped to her
door-yard to conduct her, she turned on me like a flash, and I saw her
eyes all wet and brilliant, and her teeth crushing her under-lip.
"For a charming journey in my own company, I thank you," she said;
"for your conceit and your insufferable airs, I will find a
remedy--remember that! My humiliation under your own roof is not
forgotten, Mr. Cardigan, and it shall not be forgotten until you pay
me dearly!"
Astonished at her bitterness, I found not a word to answer. A
man-servant in purple livery opened the door. Mrs. Hamilton turned to
me with perfect composure, returning my bow with the smile of an
angel, and tripped lightly into her house.
The post-chaise had driven off into the mews when I returned to the
street, but Jack Mount was waiting for me, patting Warlock, whose
beautiful head had swung around to watch for my coming.
"Well, Jack?" I asked, wearily.
"The 'Wild Goose Tavern' is ours," he said--"good cheer and company to
match it."
I walked out into the paved street, leading Warlock. Mount swaggered
along beside me, squaring his broad shoulders whenever we passed a
soldier, and whistling lustily "Tryon County Men," till the stony
streets rang with the melody.
We now crossed into Treamount Street, passed Valley Acre on our right
into Sudbury Street, then northwest through Hilliers Lane, crossing
Cambridge Street to Green Lane, and west again along Green Lane to the
corner of Chambers Street, where it becomes Wiltshire Street and runs
due north.
There was enough of daylight left for me to see that we were not in an
aristocratic neighbourhood. Warehouses, ship-chandlers, rope-walks,
and scrap-iron shops lined the streets, interspersed with vacant,
barren plots of ground, rarely surrounded by wooden fences.
The warehouses and shops were closed and all the shutters and doors
fast bolted. There was not a soul abroad in the streets, not a light
to be seen save from one long, low building standing midway between
Chambers and Wiltshire Streets--an ancient, discoloured, rambling
structure, with a weather-vane atop, and a long, pillared porch in
front, from which hung a bush of sea-weed, and a red sign-board
depicting a creature which doubtless was intended for a wild goose.
"Lord, Jack!" I said, "Shemuel's 'Bear and Cubs' appeared preferable
to your 'Wild Goose' yonder. I'm minded to seek other quarters."
"Never trust to the looks o' things," he laughed. "God made woodchucks
to live on the ground, but they climb trees, too, sometimes. Do I
think on the hog-pen when I eat a crisped rasher? Nenny, lad. Come on
to the cleanest tap-room in Boston town and forget that the shutters
yonder need new hinges!"
I led Warlock into the mews to a clean, well-aired stable, where an
ostler bedded and groomed him, and shook out as pretty a handful of
grain as I had seen since I left Johnson Hall.
Then Mount and I went into the tavern, where half a dozen sober
citizens in string-wigs sat, silently smoking clay pipes with stems
full three feet long.
"Good-evening, the company!" said Mount, pleasantly.
The men repeated his salutation, and looked at us sleepily over their
pipes.
"God save our country, gentlemen," said Mount, standing still in the
centre of the room.
"His mercy shall endure," replied a young man, quietly removing the
pipe from between his teeth. "What of the Thirteen Sisters?"
"They sew that we may reap," said Mount, slowly, and sat down,
motioning me to take a chair in the circle.
The men looked at us curiously, but in silence, although their sleepy,
guarded air had disappeared.
After a moment Mount asked if there was anything new.
"Yes," replied the young man who had spoken before; "the Lawyers' and
Merchants' Club met at Cooper's in Brattle Square last night to
receive instructions from the Committee of Safety. I do not know what
new measures have been taken, but whatever they may be we are assured
that they will be accepted and imitated by every town in Massachusetts
Bay."
"Who were present?" asked Mount, curiously.
"The full committee, Jim Bowdoin, Sam Adams, John Adams, John Hancock,
Will Phelps, Doctor Warren, and Joseph Quincy. Paul Revere called a
meeting at the "Green Dragon" the same night, and the Mechanics' Club
sent invitations to the North End Caucus, the South End Caucus, and
the Middle District, to consider the arrival of British transports
from Quebec with the Tenth and Fifty-second regiments."
"What! more troops?" exclaimed Mount, in amazement.
"How long have you been absent from Boston?" asked the young man.
"Since April," replied Mount.
"Would you care to hear a few facts that have occurred since April,
gentlemen?" asked the young man, courteously including me in his
invitation. Mount called the tap-boy and commanded cakes and ale for
the company, with a harmless swagger; and when the tankards were
brought we all drank a silent but significant toast to the dark city
outside our windows.
The young man who had acted as spokesman for his company now produced
a small leather book, which he said was a diary. Pipes were filled,
lips wet in the tankards once more, and then the young man, who said
his name was Thomas Newell, opened his little note-book and read
rapidly:
_1774, May 18._--Man-o'-war _Lively_ arrived with Gen. Gage.
Town meeting called. _A._ sent Paul Revere to York and
Philadelphia. _H._ very anxious.
_May 17._--Gage supersedes Hutchinson as Governor. _S. A._
has no hopes.
_June 1._--Three transports here with redcoats. _Thirteen
Sisters_ notified.
_June 14._--The Fourth Regiment (King's Own) landed at the
Long Wharf and marched to the Common. No riot.
_June 15, A.M._--Stores on Long Wharf closed. Forty-third
Regiment landed. We are already surrounded by a fleet and
army, the harbour is shut, all navigation forbidden, not a
sail to be seen except war-ships.
_July 1._--Admiral Graves arrived with fleet from London,
also transports with Fifth and Thirty-eighth Regiments.
_July 2._--Artillery landed with eight brass cannon. Camped
on Common. _S. A._ notified _Thirteen Sisters_.
_July 4._--Thirty-eighth Regiment landed at Hancock's Wharf,
with a company of artillery, great quantity of ordnance,
stores, etc., three companies of the Royal Irish Regiment,
called the Eighteenth Foot, and the whole of the
Forty-seventh Regiment. Also bringing news that the Tenth and
Fifty-second Regiments would arrive in a few days! _S. A._
sent riders to York and Philadelphia. Much hunger in town.
Many young children dying.
Newell paused, glanced over the pages again, then shut the little book
and placed it in his breast-pocket.
Mount sat grim and silent, twisting the scarlet thrums on his sleeves;
the others, with painful, abstracted faces, stared at vacancy through
the mounting smoke from their long clay pipes.
Presently the landlord came in, glanced silently around, saluted Mount
with a quiet bow, paid his respects to me in a similar manner, and
whispered that we might sup at our pleasure in the "Square Room"
above.
So, with a salute to the company, we rose and left the tap-room to the
silent smokers of the long pipes.
The so-called "Square Room" of the "Wild Goose Tavern" was a low,
wainscoted chamber, set with small deep windows. It was an ancient
room, built in the fashion of a hundred years ago, more heavily
wrought than we build in these days; and although the floor-beams had
settled in places, and the flooring sagged and rose in little
hillocks, yet the place suggested great solidity and strength. Nor was
it to be wondered at, for this portion of the tavern had at one time
been a detached block-house pierced for musketry, and the long
loopholes were still there above the wainscoting.
Spite of its age and fortified allure, the "Square Room" was cheerful
under its candle-light and illuminated sconces. Rows of framed
pictures hung along the walls, the subjects representing coaching
scenes in England and also many beautiful scenes from the sporting
life of country gentlemen.
Relics of the hunting field also adorned the walls, trophies of
fox-masks, with brush and pads, groups of hunting-horns, whips, and
spurs, with here and there an ancient matchlock set on the wall,
flanked by duelling-pistols, powder-horns, and Scottish dirks.
The furniture was of light oak, yet very clumsy and old-fashioned,
being worn shiny like polished Chinese carvings. Pipe-racks of oak
were screwed into the wainscoting under long shelves, well stored with
pewters, glass tankards, punch-bowls, and tobacco-jars.
There were a few small square tables scattered along the walls, but
the centre of the room was taken up with a long table, some three
dozen chairs placed, and as many covers spread for guests.
To this long, tenantless table our host conducted us, seating us with
a silent civility most noteworthy, and in sharp contrast to the
majority of landlords, who do sicken their guests with obsequious
babble.
"Well, Clay," said Mount, hitching his heavy chair closer to the white
cloth, "I left brother Jim in good spirits at Pitt."
The landlord bowed, and seemed gratified to hear it.
"You should know," said Mount, turning to me, "that our host is
Barclay Rolfe, brother to Jim Rolfe, of the 'Virginia Arms' in Fort
Pitt." And to the landlord he said, "Mr. Cardigan, late ward of Sir
William Johnson, but one of us."
"I owe your brother much," said I, "more than a bill for a chaise and
four. Possibly you have heard from him concerning that same chaise?"
"I have heard through Saul Shemuel," he said, gravely. "I guess my
brother was tickled to death to help you out of that pickle, Mr.
Cardigan."
"He shall not lose by it either," said I. "My solicitor, Peter Weaver,
of Albany, has sent your brother full recompense for the carriage and
animals."
The elder Rolfe thanked me very simply, then excused himself to go to
the kitchen where our dinner should now be ready.
It was truly a noble dinner of samp soup, roast pork, beans, a boiled
cod, most toothsome and sweetly salt, and a great wild goose, roasted
brown, with onion and sage dressing, and an aroma which filled the
room like heavenly incense.
With this we drank October ale, touching neither Madeira nor sherry,
though both were recommended us; but I wished not to mix draughts to
set that latent deviltry a-brewing in Jack Mount, so refused all save
ale for himself and for me, though I allowed him a hot bowl with his
hazel nuts.
We now withdrew to one of the small tables in a corner of the room, a
servant bringing thither our nuts and hot bowls, and also some writing
materials for me.
These I prepared to use at once, pushing the nut-shells clear, and
seized the pen to cramp it in my fist and set to work, tongue-moistening
my determined lips:
"OCTOBER 28, 1774.
"THOS. FOXCROFT, Esquire,
"Solicitor, Queen Street,
"Boston.
"MY DEAR SIR,--At what hour this evening will it prove
convenient for you to receive the undersigned upon affairs of
the utmost urgency and grave moment concerning Miss Warren
whose interests I believe you represent?
"The instant importance of the matter I trust may plead my
excuse for this abrupt intrusion on your privacy.
"Pray consider me, Sir,
"Y'r most obliged and obedient Servt
"MICHAEL CARDIGAN.
"At the Wild Goose
near Wiltshire and Chambers Streets."
Sealing the letter, I bade the servant take it and bring an answer if
the gentleman was at home, but in any event to leave the letter.
Mount had taken a pipe from the stranger's rack, and now lighted it,
peering out of the window, and puffing away in vast contentment.
Northward, across the water, the lights of Charlestown glimmered
through a thin fog. Nearer, in mid-stream, rose the black hull of a
British war-ship, battle-lanthorns set and lighted, stabbing the dark
tide below with jagged shafts of yellow light, cut by little black
waves which hastened seaward on the sombre ebbing tide.
As for Boston, or as much of it as we could see over the shadowy roofs
and slanting house-tops, it was deathly dark and still. Fort Pitt,
with its hundreds of people, which Boston could match with thousands,
was far more stirring and alive than this dumb city of shadows, with
never a stir in its empty streets, and never a light from a
window-candle. Truly, we sat in a tomb--the sepulchre of all good
men's hopes for justice from that distant England we had loved so well
in kinder days.
Somewhere, deep in the dim city's heart, a fire was burning, and we
could see its faint reflection on chimneys in the northwest.
"Doubtless some regimental fire on the Common," muttered Mount, "or a
signal on Mount W--d--m, where the Light Horse camp. They talk to the
war-ships and the castle from Beacon Hill, too. It may be that."
Musing there by the window, we scarcely noticed that, little by
little, the room behind us was filling. Already at the long table a
dozen guests were seated, some conversing, some playing absently with
their glasses, some reading the newspapers through round horn-rimmed
spectacles.
Many of them glanced sharply at us; some looked at Mount, smiled, and
nudged others.
"Do you know any of these gentlemen, Jack?" I asked, in a low voice.
He swung around in his chair and surveyed the table.
"Ay, all o' them," he said, returning their amused salutations; "they
all belong to the club that meets here."
"Club? What club?" I asked.
"The Minute Men's. I meant to tell you that you're a member."
"I a member?" I repeated, in astonishment.
"Surely, lad, else you never could ha' passed these stairs. I am a
member; I bring you, and now you're a member. There's no oath to take
in this club. It's only when you go higher into the secret councils
like those o' the three caucuses, the Mechanics', and some others I
shall not mention, by your leave."
Mount watched the effect of his words on me and grinned.
"You didn't know that I am one of the Minute Club's messengers? That's
why I went to Pitt. Did you think I went there for my health? Nenny,
lad. I had a message for Cresap as well as you, and I gave it, too."
He laughed, and moistened his lips at the hot bowl.
"Paul Revere, the goldsmith--he who made the print of the Boston
Massacre--is another messenger, but not of the Minute Club. He is
higher--goes breakneck to York for _S. A._, you know."
"What is S. A.?" I broke in, petulantly. "You all talk of J. H. and S.
A. and the Thirteen Sisters, and I don't understand."
"S. A. is Sam Adams," said Mount, surprised. "J. H. is John Hancock, a
rich young man who is with us to the last gasp. The Thirteen Sisters
mean the thirteen colonies. They're with us, too--at least we hope
they are, though York is a hell for Tories, and Philadelphia's full o'
broad-brims who may not fight."
"But what is this Minute Men's Club?" I asked, curiously.
"Headquarters for delegates from the Minute Men and all alarm
companies in Massachusetts Bay. You know that every town, village, and
hamlet in the province is organized, don't you? Well, besides the
regular militia we have alarm companies, where half of the men are
ready to march at a minute's notice. One officer from every company
throughout the province is delegated to attend the Minute Club here,
so that he can keep his company in touch with the march of events.
"Besides that, the club has a corps of runners, like me, to travel
with orders when called on. I'm in for a rest now, unless something
pressing occurs."
"And--what am I in this club?" I asked, smiling to see how well Jack
Mount had kept his secrets since I first knew him.
"You? Oh, you are a recruit for Cresap's battalion," said Mount, much
amused. "We recruit here, for certain companies."
"Is Cresap coming here?" I asked, eagerly.
"He marches in the spring with his Maryland and Pennsylvania
Rangers--to pay his respects to Tommy Gage? Nenny! To help turn this
pack o' bloody-backs out of Boston, lad, and that's the truth, which
you should know."
I sat silent, pondering on the strange circumstances of these months
which had brought me so swiftly, from my boyhood's isolation, into the
thick of the tremendous struggle between King and colony, a struggle
still bloodless, save for the so-called Boston Massacre of some years
past.
That Mount had coolly recruited me without my knowledge or consent
disturbed me not at all: first, because I should have offered my poor
services anyway; second, because, had I been free to select, I should
have chosen to serve with Cresap's men, knowing him, as I did, for a
brave and honourable young man.
I told Jack as much, and his face brightened with pleasure. He
insisted on presenting me to the company--which was now fast filling
the room--as one of Cresap's Rangers; and he further did most
foolishly praise me for my bearing in certain common dangers he and I
had shared, which made me red and awkward and vexed with him for my
embarrassment.
The gentlemen I met were all most kind and polite; some appeared to be
gentlemen bred, others honest young men--over-silent and sober for
their years, perhaps, but truly a sturdy, clean-limbed company, neatly
but not fashionably attired, and the majority characterized by a
certain lankness of body which tended to gauntness in a few.
All were officers of alarm companies belonging to the numerous towns
of the province; all were simple in manner, courteous to each other,
and thoughtful of strangers, inviting us to wine or punch, and taking
no offence when I prudently refused, for my own sake as well as for
Jack's.
Two soldiers of the Lexington militia entertained me most agreeably;
they were Nathan Harrington and Robert Monroe, the latter an old
soldier, having been standard-bearer for his regiment at Louisburg.
"For years," he observed, quietly, "the British have said that all
Americans are cowards, and they have so dinned it into their own ears
that they believe it. It is a strange thing for them to believe. Who
was it stood fast before Duquesne when Braddock's British fled? Who
took Louisburg? What men have fought for England on our frontiers from
our grandfathers' times?"
"Ay," broke in Harrington, "they tell us that we are yokels without
wit or knowledge to fire a musket. Yet, to-day, two-thirds of the men
in our province of Massachusetts Bay have served as soldiers against
the French or the savages."
"That we are under the King's displeasure," said Monroe, "I can well
understand; but that he and his ministers and his soldiers should wish
to deem us cowards--we who are English, too, as well as they--passes
my understanding."
"Mayhap they will learn the truth ere winter," observed Harrington,
grimly.
"If I or my friends be cowards, I do not know it," added Monroe,
simply. "It is not well to boast, Nathan, for God alone knows what a
man may do in battle; yet I myself have been in battle, and was
afraid, too, but never ran. I carried England's flag once. It is not
well that she foul her own nest."
"I have never smelled powder; have you, sir?" said Harrington, turning
to me.
"Not to boast of," I replied.
"Mount says you conducted most gallantly under fire," said Monroe,
smiling.
"No more gallantly than did all at Cresap's fort," said I, annoyed.
"We were behind ramparts and dreaded nothing save an arrow or two."
"But you had some warm work with certain Tories, too," began
Monroe--"one Walter Butler, I believe."
"How did you hear of that?" I asked, in astonishment.
"Benny Prince brought the news," he replied. "Where he heard it I do
not know, but it is noised abroad that you laid no kind hands on
Walter Butler and Lord Dunmore. Nay, sir, you should not be surprised.
We have our agents everywhere, listening, watching, noting all facts
and rumours for those whom I need not name. We know, for instance,
that Walter Butler has travelled north in a litter. We know that
Dunmore scarce dare show his head in Virginia for the shame you put
upon him and the growing hatred of the people he governs. We know that
Sir John Johnson is fortifying Johnson Hall and gathering hordes of
savages and Tories in Tryon County. Ay, Mr. Cardigan, we know, too,
that the son of your father will fight to the death for the cause
which his honour demands that he embrace."
"My father died for his King," I said, slowly.
"And mine, too," said Monroe; "but were he not with God to-day, I know
where he would be found."
Others began to join our group. Mount, who had been conversing with a
handsome and very fashionably dressed young man, approached our table
with his companion, and presented me to him.
I had, of course, heard more or less of John Hancock, but had pictured
him as an elderly man, sober of costume and stern and gray. Therefore
my first meeting with John Hancock was a disappointment. He was young,
handsome, decidedly vain, though quite free from affectation of speech
or gesture. He appeared to lack that gravity of deportment and
deliberation which characterized the company around us; gestures and
words were at times impetuous if not whimsical; he appeared not too
free from an egotism which, I thought, tinged all he said, so that,
somehow, his words lost a trifle of the weight they deserved to carry.
His style of dress was not to my taste, savouring of the French, I
thought. He wore an apple-green coat, white silk stockings, very large
silver buckles on his pumps, smallclothes of silver-net tied at the
knees with pea-green ribbons, which fell to his ankles, and much
expensive lace at his throat and cuffs.
His hair was frizzled and powdered, and worn in a French club with
black ribbon, and the hair on his temples was loaded with pomatum and
rolled twice.
He certainly was most civil to me, mentioning his pleasure that
Captain Cardigan's son should embrace the patriots' cause, and
inquiring most respectfully concerning the last moments of Sir William
Johnson, a man, he said, for whom he had entertained the highest
possible respect and admiration.
Our conversation was of short duration, Mr. Hancock being addressed
and solicited by so many who had business with him in his capacity of
delegate from the secret club at the "Green Dragon Tavern."
I learned from the hints dropped that Boston was literally crowded
with clubs, some open, some secret, but all organized to discuss
politics, and pledged to combat the acts of the British Parliament to
the bitter end.
Many clubs were formed among the Boston mechanics, of which the
Mechanics' Society or Club was the centre. The Boston mechanics, I
learned, were the earliest and most constant supporters of the patriot
cause. Neither threats, temptations, Tory arguments, nor loyalist
bribes could shake their fidelity; and they were the people, too, who
had most to lose when the city was closed to commerce. Starvation
faced them; troops thickened in Boston; but the mechanics remained
true. And although, when in dire need, to sustain their wives and
little ones, they thoughtlessly started work on the new barracks, at a
word of warning and explanation from the Committee of Safety, they
left their work in a body, to the rage and chagrin of General Gage and
every soldier and Tory in Boston.
I further learned that the patriots carried on their political action
not only by clubs and through the newspapers, but also by public
meetings in defiance of Governor Gage.
All men know that we Americans have inherited the right of public
meeting. But when the "regulating act" came from England to prohibit
that right, it missed fire, for though it did forbid such meeting
unless authorized by Governor Gage, it did not provide for adjourning
meetings already in progress. Therefore the assemblies in all the
provincial towns had begun meetings in anticipation of the 1st of
August, the date set for their prohibition, and the meetings were
carried over that date, and kept alive day after day by not being
officially declared adjourned.
It was useless for Gage to fume; he had no authority under the law to
adjourn them.
In Boston the people flocked in crowds to Faneuil Hall and the Old
South Church, where Samuel Adams, James Otis, and Josiah Quincy were
the orators. And the government, in secret dread, watched the people
thronging around these fiery orators, whose theme was liberty and
equal rights for all.
The Committees of Donation and of Correspondence were most active. The
former was organized to distribute relief to the poor in the stricken
city; the latter was formed to keep all patriots in all of the
thirteen colonies in touch with each other, and to observe the
approach of the great current which was surely bearing war upon the
waves that formed its crest.
This Committee of Correspondence was the great executive of our party.
It watched unceasingly: it received information from all the
societies, clubs, town assemblies, caucuses, and local committees. It
distributed all information, all warnings, all rumours, not only from
America, but also, through its agents, from abroad.
Many of its members were also members of the "Green Dragon." John
Hancock was such a member, and therefore his presence here at the
"Wild Goose" was perhaps significant.
That he was about to address the company was apparent, for everybody
had now taken chairs and formed a semi-circle around Mr. Hancock, who
stood leaning against the great centre-table, coolly taking snuff,
and glancing over a written sheet of paper which he held in his left
hand.
"It may be," he said, "a trifle premature to discuss here in open
meeting those measures of resistance contemplated and now under
discussion in the Committee of Correspondence, the Provincial
Congress, and the Continental Congress.
"It is sufficient, therefore, for the moment, that you should know
that Virginia and South Carolina are at last aroused to the necessity
of taking thought for their local defences. I may also add that my
Lord Dunmore's government increases in rigour and also in disfavour.
"The Committee of Correspondence has received word direct from Mr.
Patrick Henry that he regards the cause of peace as already lost, and
urges us to rely on Virginia, at least, for loyal support in whatever
measures we may deem necessary to maintain our manhood in the face of
all the world."
A murmur of applause swept like a whisper through the room, hushed
immediately by cautious gestures and glances at the street outside,
which might harbour a spy in its heavy gloom and impenetrable,
brooding shadows.
"There is a certain document embodying a proposed declaration,"
continued Hancock, "which, although at present merely under
discussion, I expect to see one day printed, completed, and framed,
and hung in every home in these thirteen colonies. You may perhaps
imagine what document I refer to, and doubtless many of you sitting
here are not yet prepared for that supreme step forward in our
manifest destiny. Neither, I may say, are many who have the framing of
that declaration under discussion. Time alone will show that future of
which I, for one, am so certain.
"I am not here to discuss with you the proposed declaration in
question, which is not even yet existent save in the hearts of those
who have dared to dream of it.
"I am here to submit to you a list of crimes against our colony of
Massachusetts Bay, committed or contemplated by the King of England."
He unrolled his bit of paper, took a fresh pinch of scented snuff, and
read, somewhat carelessly:
"The history of the present King of Great Britain:
"He refuses his assent to necessary laws for the public good.
"He forbids his Governors to pass laws of immediate
importance, unless suspended in their operation till his
assent be obtained; and when so suspended he has utterly
neglected to attend to them.
"He has called together legislative bodies at places unusual
with intent to fatigue, discourage, and annoy the members of
such bodies.
"He has repeatedly dissolved representative houses for
opposing his invasions of the people's rights.
"He obstructs the administration of justice.
"He makes judges dependent on his will alone for tenure of
office and payment of salaries.
"He has created a multitude of new offices and sent hither
swarms of officers to harass our people.
"He keeps among us, in times of peace, standing armies,
without consent of our legislature.
"He renders his military independent of and superior to civil
power.
"He protects these troops, by mock trials, from punishment
for murders committed on the inhabitants of this province.
"He has cut off our trade with the whole world.
"He taxes us without our consent.
"He deprives us of the benefits of trial by jury.
"He transports us beyond the seas for trial for pretended
offences.
"He takes away our charters, abolishes our laws, suspends our
legislatures."
Hancock looked up, still holding the paper unrolled.
"Why," he said, lightly, "this is no King, but a Caesar amid his
praetorians! Faith, I have been reading some history of the
tyrants--surely not the history of our beloved monarch, George the
Third!"
There was a grim silence. Hancock's manner changed. He folded the
paper, placed it in the bosom of his white waistcoat, and turned
soberly to the rows of silent, seated men.
"Yesterday," he said, "a carpenter was arrested for stealing bread for
his little children. May I request, gentlemen, that you send a
delegate to the committee which will wait upon the Governor to-morrow
to intercede for the starving man?"
Then, with a brief inclination, he turned and left the room ere
anybody was aware of his purpose.
The effect of his unexpected appeal was as dramatic as his sudden
exit. With one impulse the company rose, grave, pale, tight-lipped;
little groups formed on the floor; few words passed; but Hancock had
done his work, and every alarm company in Massachusetts would know,
ere many hours, that they were to fight one day, not for their honour,
but to prevent the King of England from driving them to dishonour, so
that their children might not die of want before their eyes.
It was not an orator's effort that Hancock had accomplished; it was a
mere statement of a truth, yet so skilfully timed and so dramatic in
execution that it was worth months of oratory before the vast
audiences of Faneuil Hall. For he had startled the representatives of
hundreds of villages, and set them thinking on that which was closest
to them--the danger to the welfare of their own households. Such
danger makes panthers of men.
If Hancock was theatrical at moments, the end justified the means; if
he was an egotist, he risked his wealth for principle; if he was a
dandy, he had the bravery of the true dandy, which clothes all
garments with a spotless, shining robe, and covers the face of vanity
under a laurelled helmet.
* * * * *
It was late when the servant returned from Mr. Foxcroft, with a curt
note from that gentleman, promising to receive me at one o'clock in
the afternoon of the day following.
As I stood twisting the letter in my fingers, and staring out into the
black city which perhaps sheltered the woman I loved somewhere amid
its shadows, Jack Mount came up, peering through the window with
restless eyes.
"Cade has never returned to this tavern," he said, gloomily. "No one
here has either seen or heard of him since he and I left last April
for Cresap's camp."