A patriot lad of old Boston

For many days the townsfolk and the soldiers talked of the performance that the Continental assault on Charlestown had interrupted. Don and Jud joked about it frequently, but they were always careful that neither Hawkins nor Snell should overhear them.

If all the Redcoats had been like Hawkins, the good people of Boston would have had little to complain of. He was always courteous and considerate; he seemed to spend as little time as possible in the house and kept to his room even on the coldest nights. The fellow was undoubtedly a fine soldier and as loyal to his King as any of them were, and secretly both Don and Jud admired him for it. He seemed to have a genuine affection for Don, though he rarely spoke more than a few words at a time to the boy.

Snell, on the other hand, was surly and quick-tempered and an ugly person to have about the house. He was inquisitive also. Once Aunt Martha found him trying to unlock the door to the cellar, and though he desisted at sight of her, the circumstance troubled her. It troubled Don too, but there was something that troubled him more than that. Snell had formed an acquaintance with Tom Bullard, and the two spent much time together.

“I tell you,” Don said to Jud one evening in February, “I don’t like it one bit, the way those two are together so much. Tom Bullard hates us like poison—I know that’s why he tried to steal your ma’s chickens—and I’m sure he’d like nothing better than to make us uncomfortable somehow.”

“But he can’t do anything, can he? You and your aunt have complied with all the town regulations, haven’t you?”

Don did not reply at once. “Well, maybe,” he said at last.

But Jud was not easily put off. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I’ll tell you something sometime,” said Don. “Not now, though.”

Don might not have told his companion his secret at all if it had not been for an unfortunate event that occurred toward the end of the month. One Saturday when Aunt Martha had been at the home of a sick neighbor almost all morning Don entered the house in Pudding Lane and to his consternation found Snell coming up from the cellar with an armful of wood. The broken lock lying on the floor told how the man had entered.

For several moments the two stood confronting each other; Don’s face was flaming, and his heart was beating a tattoo against his ribs. Snell, a bit discomfited, soon recovered his poise. “It’s cold in here,” he said; “I suspected all along that you had wood in the cellar.”

“There’s wood out in the back shed too,” replied Don in a voice that trembled slightly. “Why didn’t you use that?”

Snell evidently thought no reply was necessary. He crossed the floor and tossed several sticks upon the fire.

“Why didn’t you use the wood in the shed?” repeated Don in a louder voice.

Snell looked at the boy tolerantly. “Now see here, young sire,” he said slowly. “It won’t do for you to ask too many questions. I will say, though, that if the wood in the shed had not been wet, I might not have gone to the cellar. Now let that be an end of it. Understand?”

Don was silent and bit his lips. How long had the fellow been down cellar? Had he seen the merchandise and the powder that belonged to his uncle? Or had he known that they were there in the first place? Or had he gone down merely to fetch dry wood? Over and over Don asked himself the questions without being able to answer them.

He glanced slyly at the Redcoat as he sat in front of the fire, toasting his fingers. The man was smiling to himself—a faint, inscrutable smile that told nothing. The fellow might be smiling because he had discovered the stuff, or he might be smiling merely because of the discomfiture that he knew he had caused the boy. Don could not tell which answer was right.

At any rate he was glad that Snell was not in the house when Aunt Martha entered two hours later. If Snell had been there he would have learned just exactly what she thought of him and of his inquisitive visit to the cellar.

Hawkins, however, did enter while Don and his aunt were discussing the matter. “What is wrong?” he asked, glancing from one to the other and then at the broken lock, which Don was trying to fix.

“Your comrade,” replied Aunt Martha steadily, “has seen fit to force his way into the cellar to get wood with which to replenish the fire. Our fire-wood is in the back shed, and he knows it.”

Hawkins frowned and then, taking the lock from Don’s hands, examined it.

“There is a great deal of wood in the back shed, as you know,” continued Don’s aunt, “and I know that it is not all wet as he says it is.”

“Just so,” said Hawkins and placed the lock on the table. “Just so.” And he went abruptly to his room.

“There,” said Aunt Martha. “What did I say? They’re all alike, these Redcoats.”

Later Snell returned, and while Don was helping his aunt to prepare the supper the two heard the sound of voices from up-stairs. Louder and louder they became until it was quite plain that the two soldiers were disagreeing over something.

Suddenly the voices ceased, and the ceiling jarred with a heavy crash.

“O Donald! What are they doing?”

Steps sounded on the stairs, and a moment later Hawkins, red of face, entered the room. “I’d like a basin of hot water, if you please,” he said.

Aunt Martha hastened to get it for him, and presently he returned with it to the room. He was down again in a few minutes and went out into the street.

Don and his aunt had finished supper when Hawkins again entered the house. “Here, my lad,” he said and put a small package into Don’s hand. “No,” he added, smiling, “it’s something that you can very well accept. Don’t thank me for it.” And he hurried up-stairs.

Don opened the package; it contained a new lock similar to the one that Snell had broken.

“Well, I declare!” exclaimed Aunt Martha. “Donald, I believe I wronged that man.”

When Snell came down-stairs the following morning he made for the door without delay, but, quick as he was, Aunt Martha observed that he carried the marks of his encounter with Hawkins; one eye was partly discolored, and his cheek was swollen.

Later in the morning Don fixed the new lock in place and then hurried off to find Jud and tell him what had happened.

The day was warm for a day in late February; indeed the winter, which had begun with severe weather, had proved to be mild after all. The two boys directed their steps toward Walmer’s wharf at the foot of Beech Street, where they sat down in the sunlight with their backs against one of the deserted warehouses.

“We’ll be safe here,” said Don; “no one is likely to overhear what I’ve got to tell you, Jud.”

Jud leaned forward eagerly, and neither boy observed a third person, who had followed them at some distance and who now took a position just within hearing round the corner of the silent warehouse.

“Go on and tell it,” said Jud. “You’ve got me all curious.”

“Well, in our cellar——” began Don, and the hidden figure near the corner of the building slunk a step nearer. “In our cellar there’s quantities and quantities of linen and cloth and some powder——” And Don told of the purchase that his uncle had made before the blockade.

When he had finished that part of his story Jud whistled softly. “My, but that’s risky business, keeping it there,” he said. “Just suppose——”

Don put his hand on his friend’s arm. “Not so loud,” he whispered. “And, Jud, I know you won’t breathe a word of it to anyone—not even to your mother.”

“Of course not.”

Don glanced round cautiously. The old wharf apparently was quite deserted except for themselves. The sun was shining brightly on the water; the wind, blowing across the rough planks, was rattling the loose shingles on a small fisherman’s shack beside the big warehouse.

“Now for some reason,” Don continued, “Snell, the Redcoat, broke into our cellar yesterday, and that’s why I’m telling you this; I’m afraid he knows what’s down there, and I want you to help me if you can.”

Jud’s eyes snapped as he listened to his comrade’s story of how Snell had broken the lock on the cellar door.

As a matter of fact Snell had not known of what was in the cellar; it was curiosity more than anything else that had prompted him to break the lock. But it would not be long before he knew just what was hidden away beneath the little house in Pudding Lane, for before Don had finished his story the figure that had been listening so intently at the corner of the warehouse drew back and walked quickly in the direction of Beech Street. He had not gone far, however, before he turned on his heel and strode carelessly toward the wharf.

A few minutes later the boys spied Tom Bullard walking toward them; his hands were in his pockets, and he seemed wrapped in thought. “Oh!” he exclaimed as if catching sight of them for the first time. “Didn’t expect to find anybody here.”

“Huh,” said Jud and turned his back.

Tom walked to the edge of the dock and, smiling to himself, stood for some time, looking at the sparkling waters. Then he turned and strode back toward Beech Street.

Don glanced at his companion. “It’s lucky he didn’t hear anything,” he said.

“If he had,” Jud replied with emphasis, “I’d have pushed him into the water. What do you suppose he was doing down here anyway?”

“Oh, just snoopin’ around,” replied Don easily. “Since he’s become a sort of aide to old Ruggles he’s been doing it, you know.”

The boys continued to talk in low tones for some time. It was pleasant there on the dock in the morning sunlight.

Once Tom Bullard was out of their sight, he started to run. He ran up Beech Street to Shea’s Lane and from there made his way to Common Street. Out on the Common some of the companies were drilling, but Tom did not pause to look at them. He crossed the Mall and then at a fast walk went here and there among the troops.

It took him almost half an hour to find the person he was looking for, and when he did find him at last he was so excited that he could hardly talk. “Snell—Snell,” he began, “I’ve got—something—to—to——”

“Toot, toot!” said Snell, taking his arm. “Get your breath before you tell it.”

Tom got his breath, enough of it anyway to tell the Redcoat what he had overheard at the warehouse. Then Snell was almost as much excited as Tom was. He rubbed his swollen face thoughtfully.

“Powder in the cellar of that house!” he exclaimed. “Powder and fine cloth, and I like a fool was down there and didn’t even see it! You’re sure of it, Bullard?”

“I should say I am,” Tom replied. “Didn’t I hear of it with my own ears?”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“That’s for the two of us to decide together,” replied Tom. “There’s no hurry, you know. We want to do it in the best way.”

“Yes; in the best way.” Snell touched his fingers lightly to his discolored eye. “In the best way,” he repeated.