SHOWS HOW EZRA ADVENTURED TOWARD THE “INDIAN’S HEAD”
As Ezra Prentiss and Ben Cooper dashed away from the “Plow and Harrow,”
Jason Collyer and his comrades flung themselves with loud cries out of
the door. A moment later these cries were redoubled.
“They’ve found their chargers without bridles,” said Ben. “And perhaps
more than one of them has got a fall from a twisting saddle. I’m sorry
for the landlord; but I’ll contrive to pay him later.”
They drew rein and sat their horses, looking back toward the inn. The
stout landlord was plain in the doorway, and visibly much distressed;
hostlers and others appeared with lights; riderless horses were prancing
and snorting about with angry men pursuing them.
“How did you come to get out our own nags?” asked Ezra, who had
recognized the familiar gait of his tall bay horse at once.
“When that fellow came to the window, I thought I’d not have the chance
to do what you suggested,” answered Ben. “So I went to the barn, and by
good luck found that our mounts had not been unsaddled. When I led them
out, taking care to keep in the shadow, I noted the man gone from the
window. So I out with my knife and cut the bridles of my friends, gave
each girth a slash, and there they were, as neat as you please.”
“I think we’d better make the best of our way to Chelmsford,” suggested
Ezra, after a time spent in watching the dim confusion before the inn.
“And it would be better, also, that we keep our pistols ready to hand,
for Master Jason Collyer seems a person of some parts.”
The road was good and within an hour they had reached Chelmsford, where
they had the good fortune to fall in with others upon the same errand as
themselves.
“That means,” said Ben, as they stretched themselves contentedly between
the cool sheets at a cool, clean little inn, a short time after, “that
this riding about is over and done. Our section has been covered with
the circulars, and we can return to Cambridge.”
“And I’m glad of it,” yawned Ezra. “There promise to be certain matters
of interest before Boston at no distant time, and I, for one, want to
see the whole thing.”
Next morning Ezra gathered the riders of the Committee of Safety
together, and, with their number added to by a half dozen young farmers,
they made a descent upon the house of Abdallah.
But they were too late. The place was in ashes; not a sign or trace of
any one was to be found.
“I suppose Jason Collyer lost no time in making his report after the
affair at the ‘Plow and Harrow,’” said Ezra to Ben, after they had left
the others and were making their steady way toward Bedford. “And now, I
suppose, an alarm will be sent out, and this Mr. Pennington, whoever he
may be, will take care not to present himself at the ‘Indian’s Head’ to
receive messages of any sort.”
From Bedford they took the road to Lexington, and late in the afternoon
entered the town of Cambridge. At once they sought out Dr. Warren, as
the leading spirit of the Committee of Safety, and made him acquainted
with all that had occurred.
The great patriot knit his brows.
“It has a bad look,” said he. “The fact that our strength is known and
perhaps our every move, is not calculated to give us much satisfaction.
But I will see Colonel Prescott in the matter, also Generals Ward and
Putnam. And in the meantime,” placing a hand upon the boys’ shoulders,
his kind, grave face alight, “let me tell you that you have both done
well. If all who professed the cause did half so well, we would have
very little to fear from any source.”
Upon the beginning of the enlistment, which commenced after the
Lexington fight, both Ezra and Ben had promptly put their names to the
roll of Prescott’s regiment, as did Ezra’s twin brother, George, and
Ben’s stalwart, ready-handed cousin from the Wyoming wilderness, Nat
Brewster. But they had all four been detailed upon special duty for the
Committee of Safety, and so lodged at a house at no great distance from
Dr. Warren’s.
The candles were lighted when Ben and Ezra reached their lodging. George
and Nat sat at a table playing at draughts. Both leaped up at the sight
of the newcomers.
“Something told us that you would get back this evening,” cried George,
as they shook hands all around.
“And we asked Mrs. Parslow, as a special favor, to delay supper,” spoke
Nat Brewster.
“That was thoughtful enough, eh, Ben?” laughed Ezra. “And to show how we
appreciate it,” to Nat, “we’ll try to do it full justice.”
While Mrs. Parslow, a good-humored, elderly woman, was bringing in the
smoking dishes, the four lads related their experiences. George and Nat
had ridden together upon the same mission as the other two, but had gone
in the direction of Milton and Braintree.
“And the people listened to the Committee’s warnings with their hearts
in their eyes,” said Nat Brewster. “Let there be only action, and
General Ward will not want for men.”
“But Massachusetts cannot be expected to do it all,” said Ben. “The
other colonies must bear their share of the burden.”
“They will, never fear,” said Ezra. “Only this afternoon I heard of a
company of riflemen being recruited as far south as Virginia. Then there
are the Connecticut men and those from New Hampshire. And don’t forget
that these last bring leaders with them. The British themselves
acknowledge the ability of Putnam, Stark and Greene.”
Ezra and George sat side by side and Mrs. Parslow looked bewilderedly at
them.
“One of you likes griddle-cakes with honey,” she said, “but for the life
of me I can’t tell which of you it is.”
“It’s George,” spoke Ben Cooper, with a grin.
“And which is George?” asked the good woman, looking from one to the
other.
“Here he is,” responded George, reaching for the much-prized
griddle-cakes. “I’ll never fail to acknowledge myself for these, Mrs.
Parslow; and I’ve never seen any one that made them like you.”
Mrs. Parslow looked vastly gratified.
“I’m sure I’m glad to please you,” she said. “But how your mother ever
told you two apart, I’ll never be able to say.”
The Prentiss brothers had been a puzzle and a delight to her ever since
the four came to lodge with her. Nat Brewster, with his grave, competent
ways and manly face of character, she had taken to at once; and the
chubby face of Ben Cooper, his merry eye and ready laugh, had always
pleased her. But the twins were a perpetual bewilderment and mystery to
her, as indeed they might be to many with greater observation and
sharper eyes than she.
After supper George and Ben got out the draughts, while Ezra and Nat
drew their chairs together and discussed the features of the situation
as each saw it.
“I heard a long talk between Dr. Warren and Colonel Prescott, only
to-day,” said Nat. “I had come to make report of our work and the two
were deeply engaged with each other. It would seem that each has a great
respect for General Ward, but no large idea of his military ability.”
“It requires, I should say, a man of much power to grasp things and
bring them into a state of order,” said Ezra. “The Congress at
Philadelphia is, I believe, to name a commander-in-chief for the
colonial army; and let us hope that their choice will be one that will
bring the best results for the cause.”
“He will have no great soldier to fight in Gage,” spoke Nat, “if the
opinions of the experienced Englishman, Charles Lee, and our own General
Putnam, have any weight. I have heard it said that Lee has repeatedly
declared that Gage is woefully incompetent; and that his every move has
been a blunder since the first gun was fired.”
“At any rate,” said Ezra, “he has permitted General Ward to compass him
about. He is as tightly boxed up as a tame badger.”
“If it were not that the sea is open to him, we’d starve him out in a
very little while. However, King George will see to it that his servants
do not go hungry.”
“But it will be salt beef and hardtack that will keep them from it. The
colonial lines and earthworks so hedge them in that they’ll never get a
scrap of fresh meat or measure of vegetables.”
“But what of our own people who are closed up in the town along with the
enemy?” questioned Nat, gravely. “If the British are in want of
palatable things, can we be sure that the townspeople have sufficient
food of any sort?”
“You’re right,” said Ezra, thoughtfully. He leaned his head upon his
hands and stared at the floor. Nat watched him for some time and then
said:
“Your grandfather is not in Cambridge?”
“No,” replied Ezra, “in Boston.”
There was another pause; then Nat spoke:
“But, then, I don’t think you need trouble for him.” He placed a hand on
Ezra’s shoulder. “Forgive me for saying it, but your grandfather will
not be likely to come to harm.”
“Not from the British, no,” Ezra’s voice was bitter and low. “But from
the patriot people of Boston, yes.” He paused a moment and looked into
the frank, friendly face of the youth from Wyoming. “You understand how
it is with me. And there are many like me. In the war that has just
begun, there will be countless families divided like mine has been.”
“Take heart,” said Nat Brewster. “One can hardly expect an old man, and
one born on British soil in the bargain, to be other than a friend to
the King. There are some who have greater cause for regret than you.
They say that the New Hampshire Colonel Stark’s very brother has gone
over to the British.”
“It is not altogether my grandfather’s being an enemy to the colonies
that troubles me,” said Ezra. “He is a very old man and can do no great
harm. But he has made himself hated by the people. And if they are, by
any chance, starving in Boston, there will one day come an outbreak; and
it is not against the soldiery that vengeance will be directed. It will
be against such bitter-spoken partisans as Seth Prentiss.”
Nat nodded.
“That is usually the way,” he said. “Such a thing is greatly to be
feared; but in this case it will hardly go so far. I have heard that
there is a plan afoot to permit those who so desire to leave Boston. If
this is carried out, it will help matters wonderfully.”
But, though Ezra drew some small measure of hope from this suggestion,
he was still vaguely troubled. Somehow, the thought of his grandfather
kept recurring to him. He seemed filled with an indefinite fear
concerning him; it was as though the future held something unpleasant in
store. As this state of mind continued, he finally arose and bid his
friends good-night with a feeling of great depression. He had entered
his room and lighted a candle when he heard a low knock upon the door.
Opening it he saw his brother.
George entered and closed the door behind him.
“I have been wanting to say something to you all evening,” said he, “but
could not get the opportunity.”
He drummed with his fingers upon the back of a chair, and the other saw
a troubled look in his eyes.
“What is it?” asked Ezra.
“It’s about this man Pennington,” replied George. “And also about the
one you call Abdallah.”
Ezra regarded him steadily.
“What do you know of them?” he asked.
George, from the time of their father’s death, had made his home with
their Tory grandfather. In a measure he had shared the old man’s views.
But at the Lexington fight, all this changed, and now he was the
stoutest patriot of them all. Ezra had scarcely seen his grandfather in
years; for the boy’s open advocacy of the cause of liberty had deeply
incensed the old man against him.
“I don’t know a great deal about them,” answered George. “I wish I did.
It might save us something. Pennington is a King’s man, of course. He
and grandfather have been intimate—I might say, very intimate. I noticed
even long ago that they whispered a great deal in corners and held many
consultations in the library with the doors carefully closed.”
Ezra pursed up his mouth and frowned.
“I see,” was all he said.
“Pennington came and went a great deal. Sometimes I would not see him
for weeks. Then, again, he’d be at the house almost constantly. Now and
then he’d bring a stranger. That is how I came to see Abdallah.”
“Ah.”
“They came late one night, in the midst of a storm. There was a great
banging of doors and lifting of voices. I had gone to bed some time
before; but the noise was so unusual that I got up again, dressed and
came down. The library door stood open, and I saw grandfather, Mr.
Pennington, Abdallah and General Gage.”
“Did you by any chance hear what was said?”
“Not much. But I learned that grandfather had been expecting Abdallah
for months. The man had just arrived that night in a brig from San
Domingo. I also drew from what I heard that grandfather desired him to
perform some work of great value. But just what its nature was, I did
not know until to-night.”
“So grandfather is intimately concerned in the affair,” said Ezra. “Do
you know, somehow I felt that some such condition existed. Ben Cooper
says he can often feel things coming; and in this case, at any rate,
it’s been so with me.”
He paused a moment, then he resumed:
“Grandfather always hated spying and spies. And the fact that he has
personally imported this man, shows how great is his hatred of the
cause.”
“It has no end,” and George Prentiss shook his head.
“I can’t help the impression that he will come to danger through it
all,” said Ezra. “It is a time when men do not stay their hands; and
should he risk himself, his life will pay for it.”
Again George shook his head.
“And he is of the sort that risk themselves,” he said.
“But, tell me,” said Ezra. “What sort of a person is Pennington?”
“Not more than thirty-five; but he would strike you as being much older.
He is about the average height; and his most noticeable characteristics
are a very high and very narrow forehead, and a most disagreeable
laugh.”
After George had left him, Ezra undressed and went to bed. But not to
sleep! Before his mind came pictures of conspiracies in which his bitter
old grandfather played a conspicuous part. In his unreasoning hatred of
the colonies’ desire for liberty, the lad knew the old man would go to
any length.
“He hasn’t spoken to, or looked at me for years,” thought Ezra. “But
I’d have no harm befall him for all that.”
Even after he had gone to sleep the idea clung to him in his dreams. Men
with wonderfully high and astonishingly narrow foreheads laughed at him
in a disagreeable way; suave, dark-skinned persons in flowing robes
sought for the destruction of the colonies in the musty rolls of ancient
manuscript. And the dreams were also filled with formidable General
Gages, who, sword in hand, urged the others to hasten their tasks.
Next morning Ezra was up before his friends and after breakfasting,
mounted and rode away toward the lines.
There were not a great many people to be met with. The outbreak of war
had caused great terror, and very many of the inhabitants had left
Cambridge, fearful of what was to come. Property was for the most part
left unprotected; and as there were many vagabonds hanging upon the
skirts of the colonial army, there was more or less looting.
That a general panic did not seize upon the people was due to the great
influence and untiring efforts of Dr. Warren. No public character of the
time had impressed itself so upon the masses. Even the only partly
disciplined troops felt the magnetism of the man, and many times, when
they were on the verge of rising against their officers, had a word from
him made them see the folly of such an action.
It was with the intention of advising with the doctor that Ezra made
such an early start. But early as he was, the patriot had preceded him.
“The doctor has gone to Charlestown,” the serving maid replied to the
boy’s inquiries. “Something was amiss there among the soldiers, and he
was sent for.”
“I will follow him there,” said Ezra.
“Will nothing do them but that they must be forever disturbing him?”
demanded the girl, in an aggrieved sort of way. “He cannot get a sound
night’s rest for you all. First it’s one and then it’s the other who
comes rushing for him. Are you all children, that you can do nothing for
yourselves?”
Leaving the doctor’s door, Ezra mounted once more and rode toward
Charlestown. Here, after much inquiry, he found the doctor advising with
a company of riflemen of Colonel Prescott’s command.
There were some British gunboats and a heavily-armed transport anchored
in the Charles River, and toward Boston several frowning frigates swung
at their cables, black and ominous. Ezra spent some time in watching
these, and the distant city where the army of Gage was quartered; and
when Dr. Warren was disengaged, he at once approached him with the
matter that was nearest his heart.
“I understand you perfectly,” said the patriot, after Ezra had related
his story. “But I do not see any great occasion for alarm on your part.
This spy system, which you so fortunately discovered, will not long
survive the exposure. It is the nature of such things to die of too much
light.”
He paused a moment and then said:
“As to your grandfather’s connection with it, now. It is not, in all
probability, very great. He has proved himself useful in some way,
perhaps, and they have made use of him. I know him fairly well. Seth
Prentiss is too quick-tempered and far too outspoken a man to be
knowingly selected as an important part in such a plot. And regarding
any outbreak in Boston, you may put your mind at rest. Word has been
sent to the townspeople to remain quiet, and they will obey.”
Dr. Warren talked in the same soothing strain for some time; he saw that
the lad was vaguely troubled, and desired to reassure him.
While they were so engaged, Colonel Prescott rode up. His strikingly
handsome person was set off by his neat uniform, and he sat his horse
like an Arab.
“Ah, Prentiss,” cried he, after saluting the doctor cordially, “you are
just the sort of lad I’ve had in mind. There’s a dispatch to be carried
to Colonel Stark at Medford, and I can scarcely spare an officer.”
Ezra saluted promptly.
“Yes, colonel,” spoke he.
It took some time to get the dispatch in proper order; and when Ezra
finally left Prescott’s quarters, it was high noon. After a sharp ride
to Medford the papers were delivered to Colonel Stark. Then there was
another wait while that fine warrior prepared his answer. Darkness had
fallen when he arrived at Charlestown once more.
[Illustration: DR. WARREN TALKED IN THE SAME STRAIN]
The bay was rubbed down, rested and fed; its rider stretched himself
upon a bench with a biscuit and a slice of beef. The sky had a sort of a
bronze hue and the stars burned dimly, like bright rivets set in a
giant’s shield.
Ezra, when he had finished his supper, lay looking up at this and
wondering at the vastness of it. The lights of camp-fires flared here
and there; files of rough, un-uniformed soldiers passed and repassed;
bursts of laughter and snatches of song came down from groups whose duty
was done.
And across the river, under the same stars, lay the British army; it was
perilously near, and it was powerful and deadly if properly guided.
Ezra sat up and looked toward the danger point. Boston was dark, save
for a few winking fires; orders had been given long before for civilians
to extinguish lights of all descriptions before a given hour. The side
lights burned steadily upon the war-ships; occasionally a singsong cry
came from their decks as the watches were changed or a seaman called the
hour.
Somehow, it seemed to the boy that this was the sort of night that
strange, wild things might well go forward. Odd enterprises might be
tried and accomplished under that bronze sky and those dimly-burning
stars. Strange people might well meet in all sorts of queer places and
mysterious deeds might well happen.
In the midst of these reflections, Ezra came to his feet, a sudden
resolve fixed in his mind. A little distance away a group of townspeople
were gathered. He approached and said to one of them:
“Do you know of an inn anywhere about that is known as the ‘Indian’s
Head’?”
The man stared a moment, then shook his head. But one of his companions
spoke up.
“There is none in Charlestown; but outside,” and he pointed to the
north, “there is a small tavern called by that name. It lies upon a road
between Breed’s and Bunker’s Hills.”
“And which do you think would be the best way to reach it?” inquired
Ezra.
“What, to-night?” the man glanced about among his companions. And all
seemed to reflect his incredulity.
“And why not?”
“Haven’t you heard that the British talk of crossing and setting
themselves up upon those two hills?”
“Yes, and of firing upon Charlestown?” put in another.
“They are only wild reports,” answered Ezra. “Such like get abroad in
times like these, but there is no reliance to be placed in them.”
If the facts be told, he had heard the same things himself, and from
persons of some consequence; but it would not do to encourage the
thoughts of the already frightened townspeople in such channels.
“Well,” said the man who professed to know the inn’s location, “if you
don’t mind making the venture to such a place, my lad, I’m sure I have
nothing more to say.”
His feelings were ruffled at having his warnings made so light of; so
without more ado he directed Ezra as to the way to go to reach the inn
desired.
“I thank you,” said Ezra.
He went at once to the place where his horse was kept, saddled, bridled
and mounted it.
“There may be some risk,” he told himself, as he rode out of the guarded
town. “And perhaps I should have asked Ben or Nat or George to go with
me. But there is no time for that, if I am to go to-night. And like as
not it is a quiet country place, with never a spice of danger in it.”
The way took him along a narrow road bounded by stretches of grazing
land. The sheen of the sky showed him the smooth swelling rise of two
large hills ahead, the twinkling, far-off stars seemed peering down
searching fearfully for dangers among the darkness.
The directions of the man at Charlestown had been unusually good, for
after a deal of weaving in and out and the crossing of fields, the boy
caught the twinkle of lights from a building ahead. As he came up he
found a lantern swinging above the door; and mounted upon a post in the
light of this he saw a rough painting of an Indian’s head, which seemed
to serve as a sign.
“This is the place, sure enough,” he said.
He at once got down. He had probably not been heard to approach; no one
came out to take his horse, so he tied it to a post near the door,
slipped his long pistol into the breast of his coat, and coolly entered
at the door.
The very first thing that met his eyes were two men seated upon a settle
engaged in earnest talk; one had a large, plumed hat beside him on the
floor; he wore long soft leather boots and a heavy sword.
“Gilbert Scarlett!” breathed Ezra.
Instantly his eyes went to the person who sat beside the adventurer.
Something that Scarlett had said seemed to amuse the other, for just as
Ezra turned his attention to him, he uttered a high-pitched,
disagreeable laugh.
And then, to make identification doubly sure, the head turned slightly.
And Ezra saw that the man’s forehead was very narrow and very high.