dragon--a monster, part snake, part crocodile, with sharp teeth, a
forked tongue, claws, and wings. It could crawl upon the land or swim
in the water. Every day it came from its lair and ate the sheep in the
pastures around the old city of Berytus. When the sheep were gone it
ate little children. The king of the city could think of nothing
better than to issue an edict requiring the selection of two children
under fifteen years old by lot, to be given to the dragon. One day the
lot fell upon the king's daughter, the Princess Cleodolinda, a
beautiful girl, and as good as she was beautiful. It was a terrible
blow to the king. He offered all his gold, precious stones, glittering
diamonds, and emeralds, and half his kingdom, if the people would
consent to her exemption, which they wouldn't do. He had made the
edict; they had given their children; he must give his daughter. Being
king, he thought he could take somebody else's daughter. That made the
people angry, and they threatened to kill him. Then the princess
showed how good and noble and true she was. She said she would die
rather than there should be any trouble. It was a sad morning when she
bade her father and mother and all her friends good-by, and went out
from the city, all the people weeping to see her in her youth and
beauty, so calm, peaceful, and resigned, walking in the green field,
waiting for the dragon. They saw the monster crawl towards her. Just
then they beheld a young man with a shining shield and waving plume,
on horseback, with sword and lance, approaching. It was George of
Cappadocia, a brave Christian youth. 'Fly! fly!' shouted the princess.
'Why should I fly?' he asked. 'Do you not see the dragon? He will eat
you as he will me.' 'I am not afraid of him, and I will deliver you,'
said he, rushing upon the dragon with his lance. It was a terrible
fight. The monster hissing, running out his tongue, snapping his jaws,
striking with his tail and sharp claws; but the brave George kept up
the fight, striking his lance through the thick hide and shiny scales,
and pinning the writhing creature to the earth. 'It is not by my own
might, but God, through Jesus Christ, who has given me the power to
subdue this Apollyon,' he said. At that, the whole city accepted the
Christian religion. In recognition of the victory he put the sign of
the letter X, representing the cross, upon his flag. The king was so
pleased that, besides becoming a Christian, he offered George all his
gold and silver and diamonds and precious stones; but the prince would
not keep them; he gave them to the poor."
"It is indeed a beautiful story," said Robert, charmed by the
narration.
"I suppose the legend represents the conflict between wickedness and
righteousness," added Miss Newville.
"Did George become the son-in-law of the king?" Robert asked.
Miss Newville laughed heartily.
"If it were a story in a novel," she said, "of course that would be
the outcome of the romance. No; he went on his travels converting
people to Christianity. The Greek Christians kept him in remembrance
by adopting the letter X as the sign of the cross. When Richard the
Lion-Hearted started on his crusade to rescue the holy sepulchre from
the Moslems, he selected St. George as his protector. He is the patron
saint of England. He stands for courage in defense of the truth."
"That is what the Cross of St. George should stand for, Miss Newville,
but just now it represents tyranny and oppression. It is a beautiful
flag, the crosses of St. George and St. Andrew combined, in red,
white, and blue. No other banner symbolizes so much that is precious
of what men have done, but the king and his ministers are perverting
it. St. George and St. Andrew were representatives of justice and
righteousness. They died for principles which in their nature are
eternal, which will remain, when we are gone. I have taken pride in
being an Englishman. The flag thrills me. I like to think of the
brave deeds that have been done under it. No other banner means so
much. It stirs me to think of it as waving not only in England, but
here, in Canada, in South America, and on the banks of the Ganges. Of
course, the flag, the crosses upon it, signify suffering, devotion,
heroism, bravery. It is these things that warm my blood."
"Go on, please, Mr. Walden. I want to hear more," said Miss Newville
as he paused.
"I have delighted in being an Englishman because the flag stands for
all I hold most dear, but I am conscious that my love for it is not
what it was. The king and his ministers by their arbitrary acts,
Parliament by passing laws taking away chartered rights, are
alienating the affections of the Colonies. We are not so meek that we
are ready to kiss the hand that smites us. The time may come, Miss
Newville, when the people this side the Atlantic will have a flag of
their own. If we do it will be a symbol of a larger liberty than we
now have. The world does not stand still. I do not know what Almighty
God has been reserving this Western world for through all the ages;
but it must be for some grand purpose. It is a great land and it will
be peopled some day. We have made our laws in the past, and we shall
not surrender our right to do so. The king and his ministers are not
using the crosses of St. George and St. Andrew for the good of all.
The crosses should represent brotherhood, but they do not. I think the
time may come, though, when there will be such a flag."
Again he paused, and again Miss Newville begged him to go on.
"I cannot tell when it will be, but I know what I would like to see."
"Please tell me," she said earnestly.
"I would like to see the time when men will recognize their fellow-men
as brothers, and when the flag will stand for equality, unity,
liberty, and brotherhood."
"Do you think such a time will ever come?"
"I do not doubt it. The prophets in the Bible have predicted it, and
it seems to me that the human race is advancing in that direction.
Have you not noticed that almost everything we prize has come through
sacrifice and suffering? I came here with food because the people of
this town are suffering. The bags of corn which I have brought are an
expression of brotherhood, of unity, love, and good will. The people
all the way from the Penobscot to the Savannah are acting from such
motives. It is curious that Parliament by passing a wicked law is
uniting the Colonies as nothing else could have done. What the king
designed for a punishment, in the end may be a great blessing."
"I see it, and I want to thank you, Mr. Walden, for your words. You
have made clear what hitherto I have not been able to understand. Of
course, you must be aware that I hear many conversations upon affairs
in the Colonies. General Gage and Earl Percy are frequent guests in
our home, as are many gentlemen who sympathize with the king and the
ministry rather than with Mr. Adams and Doctor Warren. I do not see
how the king, who they say is kind-hearted, could assent to a law
which would bring suffering and starvation to so many people."
She sat in silence a moment, and then went on.
"I like to hear you, Mr. Walden, speak of that good time that is to
come. I should like to do something to hasten it. I feel that I am
stronger for what you have said. Shall we take a stroll through the
grounds?"
Through the day he had been looking forward to a possible hour when he
could be with her alone, to feel the charm of her presence. And now
that it had come, what should he say, how let her know she had been an
inspiration to him; how since their first meeting his last thought at
night and the first of the morning had been of her? Were he to say the
thought of her had filled the days with happiness, would she not think
him presumptuous? They were widely separated by the circumstances of
life,--he of the country, a farmer, swinging the scythe, holding the
plow, driving oxen, feeding pigs; she, on the contrary, was a star in
cultured society, entertaining high-born ladies and gentlemen, lords,
earls, and governors; chance, only, had made them acquainted. She had
been very kind. No, he must not presume upon her graciousness and tell
her that his heart had gone out to her in a wonderful way. Many men
had proffered their love, but had been rejected. It was blessedness
unspeakable to be permitted to walk by her side, to hear her voice, to
enjoy her esteem, friendship, and confidence.
The song-birds of summer had gone, but the crickets were merrily
chirping around them; flowers were fading, but fruits were ripening.
Slowly they walked the winding paths, stopping at times to gaze upon
the clouds, silver-lined, in the bright light of the full-orbed moon.
"I shall not soon forget this quiet evening with you, Mr. Walden, nor
the words you have spoken. I have thought it was my foreboding, but
now I can see that there may be trying times before us,--times which
will test friendships."
"I trust, Miss Newville, that I may ever be worthy to be numbered
among your friends."
"I know you will." After a moment's hesitation she added, "The time
may come when I shall need your friendship."
Her voice was tremulous. The nine o'clock bell was ringing. They were
by the gate leading to the street.
"You go home to-morrow. Will it be long before we shall see you again?
I may want such strength as you can give," she said.
"I trust that in God's good time we may meet again. How soon I may be
here or what may bring me I do not foresee; but be assured, Miss
Newville, I shall ever be your friend."
"I do not doubt it. Good-by," she said.
She heard his retreating footsteps growing fainter.
"Oh, if he had only said, 'I love you,'" the whisper on her lips.
"I could die for her; no, I'll live for her," he said to himself, as
he walked towards the Brandon home.
XV.
THE MIDNIGHT RIDE.
Abel Shrimpton, loyal to the king, hated Samuel Adams and John Hancock
and the Sons of Liberty, holding them responsible for the troubles
that had come to the people. In Mr. Shrimpton's attractive home, made
beautiful by the presence of his daughter, Tom Brandon had been a
welcome visitor, but the relations between Mr. Shrimpton and Tom were
changing.
"The Regulation Act," said Tom, "which in fact makes the king the
government, deprives the people of their liberties."
"People who abuse their liberties ought to be deprived of them," Mr.
Shrimpton replied.
"We are not allowed to select jurors. The law takes away our right to
assemble in town meeting, except by permission, and then we can only
elect selectmen to look after town affairs," said Tom.
"The people have shown they are not fit to govern themselves," said
Mr. Shrimpton. "They allow the mob to run riot. It was a mob that
smashed Chief Justice Hutchinson's windows. Your gatherings under the
Liberty Tree are in reality nothing but mobs; you have no legal
authority for assembling. It was a mob that assaulted the king's
troops on the 5th of March; a mob threw the tea into the harbor, and
I strongly suspect that Tom Brandon had a hand in that iniquity. The
king stands for law and order. The troops are here in the interest of
good government, by constituted authority, to enforce the law and put
down riots."
"Just who had a hand in throwing the tea overboard no one can find
out, but I am glad it was done," said Tom.
"So you uphold lawlessness, Mr. Brandon?"
"I stand against the unrighteous acts of Parliament. We will not be
slaves; we will not be deprived of our liberties. If King George and
Lord North think they can starve the people of this town into
submission, they will find themselves mistaken," said Tom.
"I hope he will compel every one of you to obey the laws, and that
whoever had a hand in destroying the tea will suffer for it," Mr.
Shrimpton replied.
Tom saw the smile fade from the countenance of Mary as she listened to
the conversation. Her quick insight, and acquaintance with her
father's surly temper, enabled her to see what was withholden from
Tom's slower perception.
"Mary," said Mr. Shrimpton, after Tom took his departure, "I want you
to stop having anything to do with Tom."
"Why, father?"
"Because I don't like him."
"But I do like him."
"No matter. He's an enemy to the king. I have good reason to believe
he had a hand in throwing the tea overboard. If he did, he is no
better than a thief. He willfully, wantonly, and with malice
aforethought stole the property of others from the holds of the ships,
and destroyed it. It was burglary--breaking and entering. It was a
malicious destruction of property of the East India Company. It was a
heinous affair--not mere larceny to be punished by standing in the
pillory, or sitting in the stocks, or tied up to the whipping-post and
flogged, but an offense which, if it could be proved, would send every
one of the marauders to jail for ten or twenty years. Now I don't want
the name of Shrimpton mixed up with that of Brandon. So you can cut
Tom adrift."
"But, father"--
"I don't want any buts. You will do as I tell you if you know what is
good for yourself."
"Have you not, father, said in the past that he was an estimable young
man?"
"But he is not estimable now. He meets others in secret to plot
mischief. I have had spies on his track. He is a lawbreaker, a
mischief-maker, and sooner or later will be in jail, and possibly may
be brought to the gallows. Now, once for all, I tell you I will not
have him coming here."
Mr. Shrimpton said it with a flushed face, setting his teeth firmly
together as he rose from his chair.
"Very well, father," said Mary, wiping the tears from her eyes.
She knew how irascible he was at times,--how he allowed his anger to
master reason, and hoped it might pass away. Through the night the
words were repeating themselves. What course should she pursue? Give
up Tom? What if he did help destroy the tea; was it not a righteous
protest against the tyranny of the king and Parliament? He did not do
it as an individual, but as a member of the community; it was the only
course for them to pursue. Tom was not therefore a thief at heart. Was
he not kind-hearted? Was he not giving his time and strength to
relieve suffering? Had he not just as much right to stand resolutely
for the liberties of the people as her father for the prerogatives of
the king? Must she stop seeing him to please her father? It would not
be pleasant to have Tom call upon her, and have her father shut the
door in his face; that would be an indignity. Should she withdraw her
engagement? Should she plunge a knife into her own heart to please her
father? Never. Come what would, she would be true to Tom. She would
not anger her father by inviting Tom to continue his visits, but there
were the elms of Long Acre, Beacon Hill, the market, and other places,
where from time to time they might meet for a few moments. True love
could wait for better days.
There came a morning when the people saw a handbill posted upon the
walls which said that the men who were misleading the people were
bankrupt in purse and character. Tom Brandon's blood was at fever heat
as he read the closing words:--
"Ask pardon of God, submit to our king and Parliament, whom
we have wickedly and grievously offended. Let us seize our
seducers, make peace with our mother country, and save
ourselves and children."
He knew that the sentiments of the handbill were those of Mr.
Shrimpton, and suspected that his hand had penned it. The rumor was
abroad that the king had sent word to General Gage to seize the two
arch leaders of the rebels, Adams and Hancock. The following evening
Tom and other Sons gathered at the Green Dragon, laid their hands upon
the Bible, and made a solemn oath to watch constantly the movements of
the Tories and soldiers, and give information to Samuel Adams, John
Hancock, Doctor Warren, and Benjamin Church, and to no others.
There came a day when a great multitude assembled in town meeting, in
the Old South Meetinghouse, to listen to Doctor Warren's oration
commemorative of the massacre of the people by the troops. Citizens
from all the surrounding towns were there to let General Gage know
they had not forgotten it; besides, they knew they would hear burning
words from the lips of the fearless patriot.
Tom Brandon and Abraham Duncan, looking down from the gallery upon the
great throng, saw Samuel Adams elected moderator. He invited the
officers of the regiments to take seats upon the platform. Tom
wondered if they were present to make mischief. The pulpit was draped
in black. Every part of the house was filled,--aisles, windows,
seats,--and there was a great crowd in the porches. Tom was wondering
if it would be possible for Doctor Warren to edge his way through the
solid body of men, when he saw the window behind the pulpit opened by
one of the selectmen and the doctor, wearing a student's black gown,
enter through the window. The audience welcomed him with applause.
For more than an hour they listened spellbound to his patriotic and
fearless words. At times the people made the building shake with their
applause. Some of the king's officers grew red in the face when he
alluded to their presence in Boston to suppress the liberties of the
people. One of the officers of the Welsh Fusilliers sitting on the
stairs was very insulting. Tom saw him take some bullets from his
pocket and hold them in the palm of his hand to annoy Doctor Warren,
but instead of being frightened, he very quietly rebuked the officer's
insolence by letting his handkerchief drop upon the bullets. Bold and
eloquent were his closing words.
"Fellow-citizens," he said, "you will maintain your rights or perish
in the glorious struggle. However difficult the combat, you will never
decline it when freedom is the prize. Independence of Great Britain is
not our aim. Our wish is that Britain and the Colonies may, like the
oak and the ivy, grow and increase in strength together. If pacific
measures fail, and it appears that the only way to safety is through
fields of blood, I know you will not turn your faces from your foes,
but will press forward till tyranny is trodden under foot and you have
placed your adored goddess Liberty on her American throne."
The building shook with applause when he sat down.
"It is moved that the thanks of the town be presented to Doctor Warren
for his oration," said the moderator.
"No, no! fie, fie!" shouted a captain of the Royal Irish Regiment, and
the other officers around thumped the floor with their canes.
Tom's blood was hot, as was the blood of those around him. Some of the
people under the galleries, who could not see what was going on,
thought the officers were crying fire, to break up the meeting. Very
quietly Samuel Adams raised his hand. The people became calm. The
officers left the building, and the town went on with its business.
The people were learning self-control.
When the meeting was over, Tom and Abraham walked along Cornhill, and
turned down King Street on their way home. They saw a crowd around the
British Coffee House tavern,--the officers who a little while before
had left the Old South Meetinghouse, laughing, talking, and drinking
their toddy. Tom soon discovered they were having a mock town meeting.
One was acting as moderator, pounding with his cane and calling them
to order. They chose seven selectmen and a clerk. Then one went
upstairs and soon appeared upon the balcony wearing a rusty and ragged
old black gown, a gray wig with a fox's tail dangling down his back.
He bowed to those below, and began a mock oration. He called Samuel
Adams, Doctor Warren, and John Hancock scoundrels, blackguards,
knaves, and other vile names. His language was so scurrilous, profane,
and indecent that Tom could not repeat it to his mother and Berinthia.
Those who listened clapped their hands. Tom and Abraham came to the
conclusion that most of the officers of the newly arrived regiments
were too vile to be worthy the society of decent people.
Tom was boiling hot two nights later, at the treatment given Thomas
Ditson of Billerica, who had come to market. A soldier persuaded the
guileless young farmer to buy an old worn-out gun. The next moment he
was seized by a file of soldiers and thrust into the guardhouse for
buying anything of a soldier against the law. He had only the bare
floor to sleep on. In the morning, Lieutenant-Colonel Nesbit ordered
the soldiers to strip off Ditson's clothes, and tar and feather him.
It was a pitiful spectacle which Ruth Newville saw,--Colonel Nesbit
marching at the head of his regiment, the soldiers with their bayonets
surrounding a man stripped to the waist, smeared with tar, covered
with feathers, the fifes playing, and the drums beating the Rogue's
March.
"It is disgraceful," she said, with flashing eyes, to her mother.
"Colonel Nesbit ought to be ashamed of himself. If he ever calls here
again, I'll not speak to him."
Fast Day came, and again the eyes of Miss Newville flashed when she
saw the king's troops parading the streets; the drummers and fifers
taking their stations by the doors of the meetinghouses to annoy the
people, playing so loud they could scarcely hear a word of what the
minister was saying.
"Do you think, father, that General Gage will win back the affections
of the people, or even retain their respect by permitting such
outrages?" Ruth asked.
"Perhaps it is not the wisest course to pursue. Quite likely the
officers of the regiments did it of their own notion," Mr. Newville
replied.
If Lord North and King George thought a show of military force would
overawe the people of Boston town, they were mistaken. Possibly they
did not reflect that military repression might beget resistance by
arms; but when the regiments began to arrive, the Sons of Liberty
resolved to prepare for whatever might happen. They appointed a
committee of safety to protect the rights of the people.
* * * * *
Winter was over, and with their singing the birds were making the
April mornings melodious. The Provincial Congress was in session at
Cambridge, and Samuel Adams and John Hancock had left Boston and with
Dorothy Quincy were with Reverend Mr. Clark in Lexington. Abraham
Duncan discovered that General Gage had sent Captain Brown and Ensign
De Berniere into the country to see the roads.[53] Sharp-eyed Sons of
Liberty watched the movements of the soldiers. They saw Lord Percy
march his brigade to Roxbury, and return as if for exercise, with no
one opposing them.
[Footnote 53: Captain Brown and Ensign De Berniere, March 20, visited
Concord and Worcester and intermediate towns, dressed as citizens. The
vigilant Sons of Liberty were cognizant of all their movements and
notified the patriotic citizens, who had them under surveillance every
moment. Ensign De Berniere has written a narrative of the journey.]
"We can march from one end of the continent to the other, without
opposition from the cowardly Yankees," said the boasting soldiers.
Paul Revere, Tom Brandon, Robert Newman, and a score of the Sons of
Liberty were keeping watch of the movements of the redcoats. They saw
the sailors of the warships, and of the vessels which had brought the
new troops, launching their boats and putting them in order. They knew
General Gage wanted to seize Samuel Adams and John Hancock, and quite
likely the military supplies which the committee of safety had
collected at Concord. Paul Revere rode out to Lexington on Sunday to
see Adams and Hancock, and let them know what was going on in Boston.
"The launching of the ship's boat means something," said Mr. Adams.
"It looks as if the troops were going to make a short cut across
Charles River instead of marching over Roxbury Neck."
"We will keep our eyes open and let you know the moment they make any
movement," said Revere.
"Quite likely Gage will set a patrol so you can't leave Boston," said
Hancock.
"I'll tell ye what we'll do. If the troops leave in the night by way
of Roxbury, I'll get Robert Newman to hang a lantern in the steeple of
Christ Church; if they take boats to make the short cut across Charles
River, I'll have him hang out two lanterns. I'll tell Deacon Larkin
and Colonel Conant, over in Charlestown, to keep their eyes on the
steeple."
* * * * *
It was Tuesday morning, April 18. Abraham Duncan wondered how it
happened that so many British officers with their overcoats on were
mounting their horses and riding out towards Roxbury, not in a group,
but singly, or two together, with pistols in their holsters.
"We will dine at Winship's tavern in Cambridge, and then go on," he
heard one say.
He also noticed that the grenadiers and light infantry guards were not
on duty as on other days.
He hastened to inform Doctor Warren, who sent a messenger with a
letter to the committee of safety.
It was evening when Richard Devens and Abraham Watson, members of the
committee of safety, shook hands with their fellow members, Elbridge
Gerry, Asa Orne, and Colonel Lee at Wetherby's, bade them good-night,
and stepped into their chaise to return to their homes in Charlestown.
The others would spend the night at Wetherby's, and they would all
meet in Woburn in the morning.
Satisfying to the appetite was the dinner which landlord Winship set
before a dozen British officers,--roast beef, dish gravy, mealy
potatoes, plum-pudding, mince pie, crackers and cheese, prime old
port, and brandy distilled from the grapes of Bordeaux.
"We will jog on slowly; it won't do to get there too early," said one
of the officers as they mounted their horses and rode up past the
green, and along the wide and level highways, towards Menotomy, paying
no attention to Solomon Brown, plodding homeward in his horse-cart
from market. When the old mare lagged to a walk, they rode past him;
when he stirred her up with his switch she made the old cart rattle
past them. The twinkling eyes peeping out from under his shaggy brows
saw that their pistols were in the holsters, and their swords were
clanking at times.
"I passed nine of them," he said to Sergeant Munroe when he reached
Lexington Common; and the sergeant, mistrusting they might be coming
to nab Adams and Hancock, summoned eight of his company to guard the
house of Mr. Clark.