IN WHICH EZRA FARES INTO THE CITY OF THE ENEMY, AND HEARS THE
VOICE OF AN ACQUAINTANCE
It was very evident to Ezra Prentiss that the purpose of Pennington was
to entrap him. Once safe in Boston, so the spy’s thoughts ran, he and
his friends could put upon the boy whatever pressure it pleased them;
there the latter would not be so indefinite in his statements as he was
at the “Indian’s Head.”
“If you have a way of crossing, it must be a most secret one,” said
Gilbert Scarlett, who, like the others, was preparing to depart. “Only
this morning I made the rounds, or as much of them as I was permitted to
make, and I found the shore very well guarded.”
“They make a great display of activity and alertness,” said Pennington,
with disdain. “But the river is open for any one who cares to cross it.”
Here Pennington stepped into the kitchen and exchanged a few rapid words
with the innkeeper. Scarlett pursed his lips and regarded Ezra with
attention.
“It would seem to me that under proper conditions, he would prove a very
thorough-going gentleman,” remarked he, with a nod toward the door.
“I have no doubt of it,” said the boy.
Scarlett continued to look at him; and there was speculation in his
eyes. At length he spoke again.
“You baffle me sometimes. By your looks you should be a plain dealer, if
one is to place an atom of trust in the reading of faces. And yet I find
you writhing about like an eel upon a brick pavement.”
“What I have said,” returned Ezra, “is the truth.”
“Ay, what you have said!” The other laughed and slapped his chest. “It’s
what you have not said that takes me by the horns. And,” with a jerk of
the thumb over his shoulder, “our acquaintance there is bothered by it
too.” The speaker studied Ezra for a moment. “Has it occurred to you
that you may have fallen in with his desires very neatly in offering to
cross the river?”
Ezra smiled and nodded. At this Gilbert Scarlett laughed and slapped him
upon the back.
“I might have known it,” said he. “You are a deep one for a lad.”
“Only a few nights ago you had a rather poor opinion of my wit,” said
Ezra.
“I remember the saying and I recall it,” spoke Scarlett. “I took you for
a country lad, in sympathy with the colonists; and I thought it quite a
jest to have you carry a message which I felt sure was calculated to
help your countrymen but little. But,” with a gesture, “I have changed
my mind with regard to you. I no longer know what to think. But this I
do know,” with great candor, “I like you; and I’ll stand your friend, if
you need a friend, at any place and at any time.”
Before the boy had an opportunity to express his thanks, Pennington
emerged from the kitchen. Buttoning up his coat, he said:
“You’ll have to leave your horses in care of the landlord, gentlemen.
The patrols and detachments that hold the roads would be sure to see us
if we went mounted.”
Gilbert Scarlett did not like this.
“Without a horse,” declared he, “I am like a fish without water to swim
in. But, if we must, we must, and that’s all there is to it.”
Without, it was dark and silent. The bronze sky of the early evening had
given place to one entirely black. But the stars winked curiously down,
and their rays relieved the darkness to a great extent.
“It will behoove us to mind our steps,” said Pennington, as they made
their way along the road by which Ezra had approached the “Indian’s
Head.” “Daylight shows many ditches and sunken fences in this hollow,
and it would scarcely benefit our peace of mind or body to come upon one
or the other.”
“’Twas a good thought to create the stars,” mused the soldier of
fortune, aloud, after they had gone some distance. “They relieve the
moon of duty when she is weary. If it were not for them and their
twinkling, the night would be as black as my hat.”
“Queer things are done on dark nights,” said the spy, and he laughed in
his disagreeable way.
Scarlett nudged Ezra in the darkness. Then he made reply:
“I can well believe that. And the saying brings to mind a little
experience that I once had in Moscow while I served my short career with
the Czar. My regiment had but returned from the frontier, after several
onfalls at Tartar towns; and I and several of my comrades were drinking
our glasses of tea in a booth. It was a very dark night and we talked
over the times just passed, and were hoping good fortune for those to
come, when there entered a ——”
A shrill whistle sounded and Scarlett’s anecdote was nipped suddenly.
“Be silent,” said Pennington in a whisper. He drew them to the side of
the road, where all three halted and crouched, watchfully. The steady
tramp of men was heard in the darkness; then some indistinct forms began
to wave uncertainly on their vision; finally a voice was heard saying:
“No, I was not sure. But it sounded much like some one speaking.”
“It may have come from a great distance off. Sounds travel far at night,
you know.”
“Yes; but this seemed fairly close. And it is hereabouts that we were
warned that the British might venture seeking information, so we can’t
be too careful.”
The tramp of the men continued along the road. At length they were
swallowed up; and both their voices and footsteps died away.
“A patrol,” said Pennington. “And it’s the first time that I’ve seen one
so far away from the shore. It seems that we must be extra careful
to-night.”
They remained as they were for a time, then, under the guidance of the
spy, they left the road, mounted a fence and entered the fields. From
then on it was very rough traveling; but Pennington, who had most
probably been over the ground often before, selected the least broken
ways, in spite of the darkness. After what seemed a very long time
indeed, they mounted to the top of Breed’s Hill; and off before them
they now made out the lights of the British gun vessels swinging in the
stream.
Cautiously they descended to the water’s edge. Here and there, some
distance back, there was a watch-fire, about which were gathered a small
group of hardy colonists; but Pennington had studied the situation well;
for that point of the shore upon which they stood was apparently
unguarded.
The spy waited in silence for a time; then he uttered a low, mournful
cry like that of a night-bird haunting the water’s edge. There was a
brief pause; then the sound was repeated from the river.
“It is a most excellent thing,” observed Pennington, “to have an aide
who can be depended upon at all times.”
“That remark,” said Scarlett, “is almost exactly similar to one that I
once heard from the old Elector of Hanover. He said——”
“Sh-h-h!” warned Pennington. “Not so loud.”
Scarlett at once ceased speaking. Again they stood in silence; then the
faint dip of oars reached them. A little later a low voice asked
inquiringly:
“For whom?”
“For King George,” replied Pennington promptly. Then the low-pitched
voice resumed:
“Is that you, Mr. Pennington?”
“Yes, with some friends.”
The spy, followed by Scarlett and Ezra, climbed into the skiff; it was
manned by four sailor-like men, who at once pushed off.
Not a word was spoken after they had once started; carefully the sweeps
were dipped, slowly they were pulled; the skiff progressed steadily and
with scarcely a ripple of the water.
Gradually the lights of a vessel grew nearer. There was a rattling and
clinking of metal from her low-lying deck; then a hoarse voice,
startlingly loud after all their caution, hailed them.
“Ahoy!” cried the voice. “Belay there, and give an account of yourself.”
“Is that the ‘Scorpion’?” asked Pennington.
“It is. For whom?”
“For King George.”
“Come alongside and let’s have a look at you.”
The skiff approached the gun vessel; as its bow scraped the side a man
leaned over the rail with a ship’s lantern.
“Ay, ay,” he said in a tone of recognition. “So it’s you, once more, is
it, Pennington?”
“Once more, Mr. Halsey,” returned the spy.
“Quite a boatload, I see,” and the man flashed his lantern aloft.
“Yes, some gentlemen who wish to enter the town.”
“It’s the only place for honest men,” grumbled the sailor. “But I must
say there is a great shortage of fresh provision there. My men will all
be down with the scurvy if they don’t get a change soon.”
The seaman was still speaking when the skiff pulled out of hearing.
Three times they were halted before they reached a point on the Boston
side just above Gree’s shipyard. A heavy battery was planted here that
commanded Charlestown, and they were brought under this in charge of a
yawl filled with men and in command of a young officer of marines, who
showed dapper and spick and span under the lantern light.
When they were landed, a file of men took them in charge until
Pennington, after some whispered conversation, was passed by the officer
in charge.
“A right soldierly way of looking at the matter,” observed Scarlett, who
had been keenly watching all that occurred.
“General Gage is a most excellent soldier,” spoke Pennington. “None of
the rebel troops shall get in while he is in command, nor,” and there
was a sneer in his tone, “none of his own troops shall get out.”
As they passed through Prince’s Street they heard the steady tramp of
troops on their way to the southerly part of the city. When beyond the
Mill Pond, a roar of hoofs met them as squadron after squadron of
cavalry dashed by headed in the same direction. At Middle Street they
encountered a battery of field-guns also hastening southward.
“Something is toward, to-night,” said Scarlett with great interest.
“It may be that they are on their way to the Neck,” was Ezra’s thought.
And a shiver ran through him as he fancied the colonists not being ready
to meet the attack.
When they passed the gardens they came to Sun Court; and as they paused
before a stately mansion, Ezra said:
“But why here? Surely my grandfather has nothing to do with this
business.”
Pennington laughed.
“Don’t be too sure of that. He is a man much desirous of the
government’s advancement, and he does not hesitate to use whatever means
he can to serve that purpose.”
The speaker ascended the steps and gave a sharp rat-tat-tat upon the
heavy knocker; then he turned and looked down at the boy, who remained
upon the brick walk.
“Another thing,” said he. “You will find him a man not easily
satisfied.”
“I know that,” replied Ezra.
“Your explanation as to how you came to part with Abdallah’s dispatch
will have to be very much more complete than the one you gave me,” said
Pennington, rubbing his hands together in a satisfied way. “He will not
tolerate evasion of any sort, especially in the presence of those whom
he is entertaining to-night.”
“He has guests, then?” said the boy.
Before Pennington could reply, the door opened. A grave servant stepped
aside in the brightly-lighted hallway, and they entered. And as the door
closed behind them, from a room to the left of a hall came a great voice
roaring:
“I tell you, General Gage, I did all that a soldier and a gentleman
could well do. If the messenger proved a knave and a traitor, the blame
is not to be laid at my door.”
Pennington’s hand fell lightly upon Ezra’s shoulder, and he said
sneeringly in the boy’s ear:
“Here is good fortune. I knew of Gage, but I did not even dream of your
acquaintance Major Buckstone being here.”