A patriot lad of old Boston

Crean Brush’s men did not return to the house in Pudding Lane; they had more than enough to do in the excitement of the withdrawal. Nor did Snell give any further trouble; no doubt the fellow feared the strong arm of Hawkins.

On the sixteenth of the month both Redcoats carried all their equipment from the house and did not return. All that Hawkins said as he left the room was “Better days, young sire; better days, my good woman.”

“Ah, yes, let us hope for them,” replied Aunt Martha.

Don only smiled, and Hawkins, as he closed the door, smiled in return. That was the last that Don ever saw of him during the war.

The following day, which was Sunday, the Redcoats began to embark; and not only the soldiers left the town, but the Tories also. Don and Jud caught a glimpse of Tom Bullard and his father carrying some of their household effects down King Street. The faces of both Tories showed anger and mortification.

“Come on,” whispered Jud, “let’s get ahead of ’em and then turn and give ’em a yell. We’ll never see them again.”

“No, Jud,” Don replied, “I’m just a little sorry for them. Oh, yes, I know Tom’s acted mean, but just think what’s happening to him and his father; they’re going to Halifax, so I’ve heard, and all they can take along is just that little bit of stuff they’re carrying. Their fine house up on Hanover Street is lost, and they’ll never get it again, because they daren’t ever return.”

Jud did not reply but glanced at his companion sidewise. And so the two boys stood and watched their enemy until he and his father had disappeared among the throngs of Redcoats and Tories at the foot of the street.

The last boatload of soldiers and refugees had not been long away from the shore when the Continental soldiers entered the town by way of the Neck and by boats across the river. The boys spied one of the first patrols on the southern end of the Common and hastened toward them.

“I want to find out first of all about Uncle Dave and Glen,” Don said to Jud.

But none of the men in the patrol knew either of the two men. Kindly fellows they were, all of them, and they laughed and joked with the boys and with one another as they marched along toward the Mall.

“Say!” exclaimed Jud when they had gone past. “I’m so glad to see those buff and blue uniforms I can hardly say how I feel. I feel as if I’d burst!”

“Me, too,” said Don, “except that I almost feel like—well, like when you’re so happy it makes the tears come into your eyes. Look, here come some more of our men!”

Probably most of the good people of Boston felt as Don and Jud felt; certainly there were many who shed tears of joy as they stood in their doorways and watched the various detachments of Continentals arriving. There was good reason for the tears, for the people who shed them had suffered like martyrs during long months of privation, insult and oppression—to say nothing of disease, for smallpox had broken out in the poorer parts of the town.

The first words that greeted Don as he entered his aunt’s house were, “Donald, my boy, did—did you see your uncle?”

“No, Aunt Martha. I asked at least a score of our men about him, but none of them seemed to know him. But, O Aunt Martha, ain’t it fine! The Redcoats are gone!”

“When I’ve seen your uncle I shall rejoice,” his aunt replied and turned quickly away.

One thing that annoyed Don the following day was that he failed to see General Washington, who had entered the town and had dined with Mr. James Bowdoin at the home of Mr. Erving, both of whom were friends of Don’s uncle. Nor did Don see Washington the next day, for the general had returned to Cambridge.

On Wednesday, the twentieth, the main body of the Continental troops entered the town, with flags flying and drums beating.

“Watch out for my uncle and for Glen Drake,” Don said to Jud as the two boys stood on a crowded street corner waiting for the head of the column to appear.

“Yes, and you keep your eyes open for my father and for my brothers.”

From far off came the sound of drums and fifes. The crowd at the corner, mostly boys and women, moved uneasily. “It’s Yankee Doodle they’re playing,” whispered Jud. “Say, doesn’t that sound good!”

“It surely does!” agreed Don.

In a few minutes the regular tramp, tramp of marching feet reached the ears of the eager little group.

“Here they are!”

A cavalcade of horses, white, black and chestnut, had turned a corner. Behind them came the foot soldiers, resplendent in buff and blue, ruddy of face, keen of eye.

“Hurrah! Hurrah!” Don and Jud swung their caps high into the air. “Hurrah!” cried the rest of the little group.

But for the most part the main body of Continentals were greeted with few cheers. The people of the besieged town had suffered too much under Howe and the British; most of the inhabitants remained at doors and windows and were content to wave their hands.

“There he is!” cried Jud.

“Who? Who?”

“General Washington! See, there on the big horse! Don, just look how——”

But Don was not listening. All his attention was given to the man who sat with such ease and dignity on the big horse. Never had he seen anyone who looked so thoroughly like his ideal of a soldier. Tall and well-proportioned, the general looked truly noble and majestic. His coat was blue with buff facings, and on each shoulder he wore a rich epaulette. His under dress was buff, and he wore a black cockade in his hat. At his side hung an elegant small-sword.

The cavalcade swung past, and the two boys turned to each other at the same time. “Jinks!” exclaimed Jud. “Wasn’t he fine!”

“Fine!” echoed Don and with a deep sigh turned again to view the troops.

Several ranks of foot soldiers had already passed, but the boys sharply scrutinized those who were approaching. Company after company swung past. Then Jud suddenly spied his father and the next instant one of his brothers. Both recognized him and smiled as they passed. A few minutes later he spied the other brother.

Don was worried; not a man had he seen who looked in the least like his uncle or Glen. Company after company, regiment after regiment, marched by, and somehow Don felt his lips beginning to quiver.

“It’s too bad, Don,” said Jud. “I’d hoped we’d see Glen and your uncle right off. Here’s the end of the column. Maybe they’ll come later.”

Don made no answer; he was wondering how he could tell his aunt that Uncle David had not entered with the troops. He bit his under lip. Maybe his uncle’s wound had not healed. Maybe——

“I’ll see you later, Don,” Jud was saying. “Won’t Ma be glad when I tell her!”

Don made his way dejectedly to the little house in Pudding Lane. He could just picture his aunt’s face when he told her the news. He opened the door and with head down stepped inside; the next instant, when he lifted his eyes, he could hardly believe what he saw. There, standing beside his aunt near the fireplace, resplendent in a captain’s uniform was—David Hollis! His arm was round Aunt Martha’s waist, and she was laughing and crying both at the same time. And there in one corner of the room, looking almost as he had looked when Don had first seen him, was Glen Drake!

“Donald, my lad!”

Don felt the breath almost squeezed from his body, for his uncle was a big man. And then he felt the bones in his hand crunch as the old trapper greeted him.

“Oh, this seems almost too good to be true!” Aunt Martha was saying.

For the next fifteen minutes questions and answers followed one another in quick succession. Then at last Don asked gravely: “Uncle David, where did you come from? I never saw you in the column.”

David Hollis laughed heartily. “I saw you, though; my company led the column. But you were so interested in our general that you didn’t have eyes for anybody else.”

“Never mind, Don,” said Glen; “he’s a fine man to look at, the general is.”

“What a hard time you’ve had here!” said Uncle David. “Your aunt has been telling me. My boy, I’m proud of you for the way you’ve acted and especially for the way you kept the Redcoats from getting that stuff in the cellar.”

“Yes, Don, you sure played the fox that time,” said Glen. “And now that the Redcoats have gone, I’m thinking you and I and that other boy will be able to do a little trapping in the woods together.”

“Now, David,” said Aunt Martha, “what are we going to do with the stuff in the cellar? I don’t want it to remain there; truly I don’t.”

David Hollis laughed and turned to his nephew. “It’s yours, Donald,” he said; “you’ve earned the right to it, I think; do with it as you wish. Perhaps you can sell it.”

“Me—sell it!” exclaimed Don.

“It’s yours. My friend in the South doesn’t want it.”

“With all that cloth you won’t have to worry about breeches now for the rest of your life, Don,” said Glen grinning.

Don did not reply; he was thinking hard.

The next morning while Glen and his uncle were with the troops he entered the cellar and spent almost an hour making a list of the supplies that were there. Then he hurried up-stairs and went out into the street.

Half an hour later he was standing in front of a lieutenant in a large hallway. “I’d like very much to see General Washington,” he said.

“Indeed,” said the lieutenant; “and what may be your business?”

“I have something to give him.”

“Indeed. You don’t look as if you had much to give.” The lieutenant smiled good-naturedly. “I’m sorry to have to turn you away, but the general is a busy man these days.”

Don fell back a pace and looked around him.

“I’m sorry——” the lieutenant was saying, when a door opened, and a tall figure stepped into the hall.

Like a flash the lieutenant and several other officers who were standing near by snapped to attention. It was Washington himself that was walking quietly toward the entrance. Don gulped once, and then before he knew what he was doing he had exclaimed:

“Sir—General Washington!”

The general turned, and Don pulled his slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to him. “This is a list of goods that were in our cellar all during the occupation,” he said. “My uncle, Capt. David Hollis, gave them to me for keeping the Redcoats from getting them. I want to give them to our army.”

Washington glanced at the paper—he seemed to read everything on it in a single glance—and then turned to the boy. “The army will be very grateful to have these supplies,” he said. “I thank you, my boy. You are a true patriot.”

Don colored to the roots of his hair as he watched the general hand the paper to the lieutenant and then turn and smile and pass into the street.

“Donald!” cried Aunt Martha as Don burst noisily into the room. “What’s the matter?”

“I gave the supplies to Washington!” cried Don. “I saw him, Aunt Martha, and he said the army would be glad to get them. You know they need stuff for uniforms, and especially powder.”

“Good for you, Donald! It’s the best thing you could have done with them.”

“And, Aunt Martha, he said I was a true patriot!”

“You are, Donald; you’ve helped the cause.”

In another minute Don was, closely followed by Sailor, on his way to Hog Alley to tell Jud the news. His eyes were bright, and his face was flushed as he ran along the streets, which now were filled with Continental uniforms. He had done something to help his country at last.