GENERAL GAGE LOOKED AT THE SPEAKER
“Mr. Pennington gave us your name,” said he, “but I have forgotten it. Perhaps you would favor us, sir?”
Scarlett bowed elaborately.
“I am Gilbert Scarlett,” said he, “and have but lately served His Majesty of Spain. Also I have seen blows struck while in the armies of the Turk, the Elector of Hanover, and His Grace of Wurtemburg. I could add to these,” with modesty, “the names of the Swiss and some Northern nations, but,” as he shrugged his shoulders, “what purpose would it serve? From what I have already said you must have gathered that I know whereof I speak.”
The British general smiled satirically.
“You are overyoung to have served so many princes and states,” said he. “And I fear that your time with each one must have been a brief one.”
At this the dark brows of the young soldier of fortune came together; his hand hitched his sword around in a manner that Ezra well remembered, and was about to speak. But the lad placed a warning hand upon his arm, and gave him a look.
However, Gage paid no attention to the other’s reception of his remarks. Indeed, no sooner had he uttered them than he turned to the master of the house, and said:
“If you will be so obliging, Mr. Prentiss, we will continue our conference. This stranger gentleman and your grandson can, no doubt, await our convenience.”
“Sir,” replied the merchant, “I beg your pardon for leaving the room so abruptly. But I could not wait. I could not remain and think of him being here,” indicating Ezra, “under the weight of this accusation.”
“That is very natural,” returned Gage, good-naturedly enough. “But let us come at the matter in an orderly, soldierly way. When we have fully understood what Pennington has to say, then we shall call the lad in—and his very experienced friend also,” with rather a mocking look at Scarlett. “That will be much the best way.”
The aged merchant bowed to the suggestion of the British governor. But his stern eyes lost none of their anger; his jaws were set as grimly as ever. And as he preceded Gage up the hall, his manner was proud and unrelenting.
“It would seem,” said Scarlett, who had ignored Gage’s last fling with considerable effort, “that your grandfather is a gentleman who would judge and condemn one very quickly if he were so inclined.”
“He is a proud man and an intolerant one,” replied the boy. “He loves to rule, and, as you may have noticed, his rule is not likely to be of the lightest.”
Both Seth Prentiss and General Gage had disappeared into the room from which they had lately emerged; and the grave-faced serving man brought the two visitors chairs, that they might rest while awaiting the British commander’s pleasure.
The night was drawing on; indeed it was past midnight, and the quietness of the house in Sun Court was unbroken as they sat in silence, each moment expecting to be summoned. Ezra had no notion of how the matter would terminate. But he had expectations of learning something that would help the cause of the colonies; and so he sat patiently, alertly, never for a moment allowing his mind to drift from its purpose.
Without in the court a guard paced slowly and steadily up and down. The footsteps were heavy and measured; the soldier evidently had plates of steel set in his shoes; for when his heels struck the stones they gave out a metallic ring. Every now and then from the direction of Middle Street came the rush of hoofs.
“They seem to be pushing troops steadily toward the lower end of the town,” said Scarlett, lowly, at length. “And to my mind that means nothing less than the delivery of an attack, or the expectation of receiving one.”
“The lower end of the town! The delivery of an attack!”
These words startled Ezra. Like a flash the thought of a few hours before came to the boy. Finding that his dispatch bearer had failed him, Major Buckstone had delivered his information by word of mouth. And now, under cover of the darkness, Gage was hurrying his most formidable troops toward the Neck, meaning to hurl them forward and crush the slender line of guard.
As the moments slipped by, the lad’s feelings can well be imagined. He was forced to wait. Even had he slipped out of his grandfather’s house, he could give his commanders no warning. The river lay between them, the passage of which, under the circumstances, was all but impossible.
However, there was one thought that gave him courage and kept him cool.
“Dr. Warren received the dispatch in good time,” he told himself. “He must have consulted with General Ward. The guard at the Neck has surely been made strong enough to resist any sally.”
An hour went by and the greater part of another. Scarlett was beginning to grumble impatiently when Pennington pushed aside the hangings of the far doorway and beckoned them forward.
“It is surely time,” said Scarlett, as he arose and shook himself together like a great dog. “Even the softest cushion grows hard, Master Pennington, when a man waits overlong.”
But Pennington made no answer; there was a mocking light in his eyes, as he held back the hangings that they might enter; and an unpleasant smile was upon his lip.
In the centre of the room, which was a lofty one, was a huge table. At the head of this sat General Gage. Upon either side sat Ezra’s grandfather and Major Buckstone.
As the latter caught sight of Ezra he arose to his feet and his heavy voice arose with him.
“Ah, my young gentlemen,” he saluted. “Well met. I am more pleased to see you than I can express.”
“You are very good, Major Buckstone,” said Ezra calmly. He bowed to the angry old officer. There was a smile upon his face as though the meeting gave him real pleasure. This rendered the major furious.
“You are impudent, sir,” he roared, banging the table with his fist. “You are insolent! But,” in triumph, “there are several matters which we have before us which will make you change your manner in a moment.”
He would have continued in this strain, had not Gage said, coldly:
“Kindly remember, Major Buckstone, that I am to conduct this affair.”
The major grew purple; however, he saluted silently and resumed his seat.
The British governor-general regarded Ezra speculatively for a moment. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts. Finally, he cleared his throat and said:
“We have been informed by Mr. Pennington with regard to what passed a few nights ago. Also he has told us of his meeting with you,” then nodding at the young soldier, who stood stiffly, “and with this gentleman, to-night.”
There was a short pause; then the commander of the British continued:
“This dispatch—a paper of the utmost importance in furthering the King’s cause—I understand was turned over by you to a certain mysterious person whom you have not named.”
Ezra inclined his head.
“It is necessary,” and Gage leaned his stout body forward, “that the name and quality of this person be supplied us.”
“As to his quality,” returned Ezra Prentiss, “I can vouch for that. He is a most excellent gentleman and has the country’s peace at heart.”
Gage frowned.
“That tells us very little,” he said. “The country’s peace is claimed by those rascals across the river to be the thing nearest their thoughts. And yet you see them in arms against the King and his Parliament. You must go further than that, Master Prentiss.”
But Ezra shook his head.
“I am sorry,” said he. “But that I cannot do.”
The displeasure upon the face of Gage increased. He was about to continue; but suddenly his expression changed; he held up one hand and appeared to be listening intently. Then suddenly a smile overspread his countenance.
“It is more than likely that the misuse which you have made of this dispatch will do little harm,” he said. “But, for all,” with a keen look, “I would like much to have this unknown gentleman’s name.”
A deep rumbling sound came from off in the distance. This was what Gage’s quick ear had heard. Through one of the windows Ezra noted a red reflection glance across the sky.
“They have begun the sally,” he thought. But he kept his expression of his concern from appearing in his face; the gaze of Gage was fixed upon him, and it would not do to show any interest except in the matter at hand.
Major Buckstone also caught the sound. He looked at his commanding officer inquiringly.
“You have been prompt,” said he.
“It was necessary,” replied the governor, dryly. “A great deal of time had been wasted, you know.”
The bluff major seemed stung by this and was about to reply; but Gage’s upraised hand silenced him. The general gave Ezra his attention once more.
“You have not answered,” said he.
“I cannot,” returned the boy.
“I would hesitate in ascribing any motive to your actions that would be to your discredit,” said General Gage; “but in the face of this answer, what else can I do? Some time since, before that unfortunate occurrence at Lexington, I recall that you tried to be of some service to me, Master George. And your grandfather tells me, though reluctantly,” with a twinkle in his eyes, “that there have been numerous other things you have done to serve the King. But he tells me that you have had queer notions—mixed feelings—odd ways of showing your loyalty.”
“He has always had too much regard for the colonies,” said Seth Prentiss, and from the expression of his face this was nothing short of a crime. “He has done, it is true, many things that helped our cause,” continued the old merchant. “But he has done them because he thought it the best way to serve the colonies. The King was never in his heart.”
There was a pause. The rumble of the guns rolled across the city; the red flashes became incessant in the sky. And as they grew in volume and frequency, so did the good humor of General Gage increase.
“So long as he has served the King’s cause,” said the commander, “it matters but very little what his reasons were. But this affair of the dispatch is different.”
Here Gilbert Scarlett cleared his throat.
“If I may speak a word,” said he, and he bowed elaborately, “I will say that I see no great difference in what has already happened and what is happening now.”
Gage looked at him inquiringly.
“If the youth has had odd and curious ways of performing his services in the past,” said the soldier of fortune, “is it any matter for wonderment that he should have them in the present?”
“Why,” said Gage, apparently much struck by this reasoning, “what you say has the ring of philosophy.”
He tapped the edge of the table with his finger-tips for a moment. He was a good-natured man when things were working smoothly; and he showed it now.
“Who knows,” laughed he, “but what this is some sort of a pleasant surprise he has in store for us? As he deals in mysteries, much as Abdallah does, there is no telling.”
He turned to Ezra.
“So,” he continued, “we will allow the matter to rest for a time. Further action can be taken when any developments come to our notice.”
“And in the meantime,” inquired Major Buckstone, “what disposition is to be made with regard to the prisoners?”
“Oh, I would scarcely regard them in that light,” replied Gage carelessly. “We will allow them what run of the city the townspeople have. Never fear but that they will be at hand when wanted. The ways out of Boston are closely watched, my dear major, as Master Pennington can well tell you. They cannot get out, should they desire to do so ever so much.”
The major glowered at Ezra, displeased. The old merchant sat silently grim and unbelieving. Pennington, with satire in his eyes, rubbed the palms of his hands together softly.
Then there came a clatter of hoofs that broke the silence of Sun Court. They paused under the window, and the rider was heard dismounting. An instant later the heavy knocker at the door of Seth Prentiss’ house gave its thunderous rat-tat-tat.
“Something very urgent, it would seem,” said Pennington.
The man servant hurriedly brought into the governor’s presence a much bespattered and all but breathless young officer of dragoons.
“Well, sir?” inquired Gage, sharply.
“News from Boston Neck, sir,” and the young officer saluted hurriedly. “The attack was made, but the Americans were in large force and we were repulsed. Then they attacked in turn and drove us back. The George tavern has been burned by them and we have suffered some loss.”
“Very well!” The general’s voice was now sharp and angry. “If there is any further action, let a report be sent me at once.”
The dragoon saluted and disappeared. Gage turned to Ezra.
“It may be that this upsetting of my plans has been caused by you,” he said. “And then again, perhaps Abdallah’s information may have been erroneous. However, I shall soon come at the real facts; and you shall remain in Boston until I do.”
Ezra Prentiss and Gilbert Scarlett left the house of the former’s grandfather in the dark of that April morning. And as they crossed the threshold, Gage’s voice sounded in their ears.
“Mind you what I say, and be careful to follow it out. Make your quarters at the ‘Jolly Rover’ Inn, in Ship Street; and report to Major Buckstone at headquarters between ten o’clock and noon each day.”
“And never let me hear of you or see you again,” said old Seth Prentiss to Ezra, “until you have cleared yourself of all suspicion in this matter. As you stand now, George Prentiss, you are labeled in my mind as a traitor, as your brother Ezra is.”
Ezra said nothing; he merely bent his head in a mute good-bye; and with Scarlett set off through the dark court. A sergeant of grenadiers bore them company; it was his duty to see that they went to the “Jolly Rover” as directed, and also that they were not molested by the guards that patrolled the streets.
They passed from Sun Court into Fleet Street, and from thence into Ship Street. This was on the harbor front and was badly kept and worse lighted. At one end was what was known as the North Battery; the wharves of merchants and dockyards of shipbuilders lined the water side of it; while upon the other were gloomy-fronted warehouses and the offices of shipmen of various degrees.
Midway, at White Bread Alley, they came to the “Jolly Rover.” It was tightly closed; not a light was to be seen.
“We are all hard put to it because of the closing of the inns,” said the sergeant of grenadiers. “There is no place to spend a comfortable hour when off duty of a night.”
He beat loudly upon the door. For a long time there was no result save the sharp summons of a guard who rounded the corner of Foster Lane.
“What’s this?” demanded the guard. “Have you no homes to go to that you are abroad at such an hour? And will nothing do but that you must make noise enough to wake the dead?”
“Use your eyes and your lanthorn, soldier,” spoke the sergeant gruffly. “If we are abroad it is because we must be. And as for the noise, it is made but to carry out the governor’s orders.”
The guard held up his light. Then, recognizing the sergeant, he saluted.
“Our orders call for the apprehension of all found abroad after hours,” apologized he.
A nightcapped head, lighted up by a sputtering candle, appeared at one of the upper windows of the inn.
“What now?” demanded a rough voice. “Plague take you, neighbors, to go battering at an honorable man’s door.”
“Come down and draw your bolts,” said the sergeant of grenadiers.
“Not I, indeed,” answered the man in the nightcap, and with a promptness that caused both Ezra and Scarlett to laugh. “I obey the law, gentlemen; no man in the town of Boston minds it better. And the law says that all places of public entertainment must out with their lights and up with their shutters at sundown.”
“If you don’t want your door in splinters, you’ll come down and open it,” said the sergeant. “I bring you two persons whom you are to harbor, at command of General Gage.”
“That,” replied the nightcapped one, in an altered tone, “sets a different face upon the matter. Why did you not say so at once? I will be down instantly.”
The candle vanished; a little later, after a great deal of clatter and clinking of bars and chains, the door opened; the man in the nightcap was shown to be a squat, broad-shouldered personage with gold rings in his ears and the aspect of a seafarer.
“Now, open your ears,” spoke the British sergeant, briefly. “And give heed to what I’m going to tell you.”
“Ay, ay,” replied the host of the “Jolly Rover.”
“These two are to lodge here and pay for their own entertainment. You are to report at headquarters at once if they are absent for more than a half day at a time.”
The landlord regarded the newcomers with no great favor.
“I’ll see to it,” he growled.
“Mind that you do. And, when I am gone, out with the lights and on with the bolts at once.”
So saying the British sergeant turned and stepped out into Ship Street once more. The door closed behind him; the bars and chains went up, and again the man with the rings in his ears looked at his guests.
“I will not say that I am pleased to have you,” he told them with great frankness, “for the custom of such as you brings little but trouble to an inn. I’ll have soldiers about the place constantly; and, if you are gentlemen of any consequence, spies will be as thick as flies in August.”
“We are sorry to give you any trouble,” said Ezra. “But we were directed to come here and could not well refuse.”
The man grinned.
“I suppose not,” said he. “Well, if it be any comfort for you to know it, you are not the only gentlemen in Boston who are in the black books of the King’s officers. The town is full of suspected men. General Gage is a governor who acts mighty quickly in such matters, even if he won’t,” here the grin grew broader, “do the same in weightier things.”
The flickering candle lit up the place but dimly; the ceiling was low, the walls were paneled; in furnishing and equipment the room resembled the cabin of a ship.
Scarlett, who had been observing the landlord, here remarked:
“You are a man who has followed the sea in your day.”
The other nodded.
“For a full forty year,” he said. “Man and boy I’ve spliced, knotted, hauled and reefed in every kind of craft that’s sailed from here to the Horn, and from there to the China Seas.”
“A tarry, healthy profession,” commented Scarlett. “I have known many shipmen in my day, and they have been mostly sound fellows and honest.”
The man took off his nightcap and scratched his head.
“As to health,” said he, “I agree with you. But there have been as big rascals walked the decks of ships as any they’ve ever bred ashore. I remember when I sailed my last voyage in the ‘Champion,’ we had a skipper that was as great a villain as ever robbed his employers.”
At the mention of the vessel’s name, Ezra became more attentive.
“The ‘Champion’?” said he. “What owners?”
“Prentiss & Son, Boston.”
Scarlett gave Ezra a quick look. The boy regarded the innkeeper with interest.
“I recall the old ‘Champion’ very well. Her timbers are now rotting on a reef in the South Pacific,” said he.
“Hello,” said the man with the rings in his ears. He peered at the boy through the candle-light. “And who might you be?”
“My name is Prentiss,” answered the lad. “I am the son of James Prentiss, one of the ‘Champion’s’ owners.”
The man thrust out a great broad hand.
“Young gentleman,” said he, “if you’ll do me the honor, I’d like to shake your hand.”
Ezra smiled and gripped the big paw.
“Your father,” continued the other, “was the finest man in this colony. I’ve sailed for many owners, but he was the best of them all. Your grandfather now,” and the ex-sailor’s expression of admiration greatly changed, “was a most excellent merchant. But he expected much and gave but little. That little was, to be sure, regularly and promptly paid; but that is the best I can say.
“But James Prentiss was different. He had a heart in his body for a sailorman. And if one went out of his way to serve him, he’d see to it that he was properly rewarded.”
“A good quality,” commented Scarlett, approvingly. “It is a proof of appreciation and also encourages effort.”
“Quite so, comrade,” replied the host. “It does that very thing; and I can prove it to you. On the last voyage of the ‘Champion,’ she had for her master a Hingham man named Pickering. I was her first mate and she carried a mixed cargo for trading among the islands. Pickering was a man who believed in handspikes and belaying pins in his treatment of the crew, and he was not long out before they were all but in a state of mutiny.
“This proved a fortunate thing for Prentiss & Son,” continued the landlord. “We ran on the reef one moonlight night with a light wind blowing and Pickering at the wheel. So when he proposed to abandon ship and cargo without an effort to save either, I objected.”
“He must have been a coward as well as a bully,” spoke Ezra.
“No, he was a knave. I’d never suspected the true reason of it all if it hadn’t been for the bos’n. He’d noticed the same sail hanging in our wake for three days, and he spoke to me of it. Then I saw the real truth. Pickering had laid the ‘Champion’ on the rocks deliberately. Then his plan was for all hands to make away; the stranger was to approach, quietly take in our cargo, and Prentiss & Son would be the poorer for a fortune.”
“A very complete rascal, indeed,” said Scarlett. “What did you do?”
“Clapped him in irons and warned the strange vessel off with a show of six-pounders. Afterward I got a brig at Valparaiso, put the cargo into her, and disposed of it to good advantage in the regular way. For that service old Seth Prentiss paid me a first mate’s wages; but his son,” turning to Ezra, “your father, was more open-handed. It was through him that I could at last afford to give up the sea and buy out the ‘Jolly Rover.’”
They talked in the same strain for a while longer. But a patrol, knocking loudly at the door and bidding them extinguish the light, at last put an end to it.
The seaman innkeeper led his guests to their rooms.
“I can give you no light,” said he, “and I’m main sorry for it. But you can manage to sleep without it, I’m sure.”
He had said good-night to both, when he knocked at Ezra’s door and reopened it.
“Lad,” said he in a low tone, “your father was a friend to me. And if I, William Stacey, can do anything for you or your friend at any time, all you have to do is to give it a name.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stacey,” replied Ezra, gratefully. “I’ll remember that.”
The meeting with William Stacey was a most fortunate thing for Ezra. He and Scarlett, before many days had passed, found that they could not take a step without a spy being at their heels. Their every action, so it seemed, was noted by a sharp-eyed stranger. They at length mentioned this to Stacey; he grinned and observed:
“I didn’t expect anything else, gentlemen. People like you are left at liberty so that you’ll in the end lead Gage’s spies to something worth paying attention to. But I think I can help you at times when you especially want to escape their notice.”
And this he did very successfully. Changes of clothing and large wigs, which were then generally worn, combed in various ways, served to throw the spies off the scent at such times as they were worn. And the two made the rounds of the city in all the guises that Stacey’s supply of “slops” could provide them with. As sailors, mechanics and common loafers, they sought information as to the British distribution of force; each battery was carefully marked in their minds, for they dared put nothing upon paper; and each item of whispered news that was picked up was remembered.
They soon learned that Gage feared an uprising of the townspeople in case the city should be attacked. He knew that the citizens had rifles in plenty; and to prevent any possible use of them, he caused it to be made public that in case the town arose against his troops, he’d give it over to the torch and take to his ships.
Then it was proposed that all those who would lodge their weapons at Faneuil Hall might depart from the city with their families and effects. Thousands immediately complied with this; for a time it seemed that all Boston was on the move. The Provincial Congress made an equally liberal move. All Tories who desired to enter the city were permitted to do so. But finally the outgoing townspeople received a check.
“The Tories under Ruggles,” William Stacey told Ezra, “think it a bad policy to let them go. They claim that the Whig inhabitants are necessary to save the town from assault and conflagration. They also threaten to lay down their arms and give the King’s cause no further aid if the people are not kept within the lines.”
The late days of April had passed and May was well advanced. From without the news came of the progress of the American cause. Recruits were reported to be coming strongly into their camp. Their works were growing in extent and strength day by day. A Continental Congress had met at Philadelphia and were considering the matter of a commander-in-chief for the colonial army and assuming the general direction of the war.
One day in May, Ezra saw General Putnam march about twenty-five hundred Americans from Cambridge to Charlestown, which was deserted by its population. This little army crossed Bunker and Breed’s Hills, came out by Captain Henly’s house, and passed into the main street near the old ferry. This was to inspire the army with confidence; they had gotten within gunshot of the enemy when they were ordered back, and so returned to Cambridge.
A spirited fight took place on the 17th near Wheeler’s Point. On the 21st, two sloops and an armed schooner sailed out of Boston, being so ordered by General Gage. They carried a detachment of troops to Grape Island, their purpose being to seize upon a quantity of hay which was stored there. Scarlett got the facts of this expedition and related them to Ezra with great gusto.
“The vessels landed the troops on the island and the hay was being placed on board. But they were not long undisturbed. The bells began to ring at Weymouth; the people assembled on a point of land near the island and fired at the troops. But their rifles could not carry so far. Then General Thomas, whom I understand is an officer of experience, came up with three companies of your farmer soldiers. Though under fire of the vessels, these launched a lighter and a sloop and so reached the island. The British, like churls, never waited them, but took to their craft and sailed back to Boston.
“Your friends, so I have heard, burned some eighty tons of hay which they could not take off; and also a barn was destroyed. The cattle on the island were then taken to Weymouth.”
Some time later there were like encounters at Hog and Noddles Islands near Chelsea. General Putnam and Dr. Warren both took part in these affairs. The British lost about twenty killed and fifty wounded, besides some swivels and light guns.
The fights on the islands became so frequent that the Americans began to venture out with small armed craft and some successes were had, which excited the ire of the British sea-dogs in command of the heavy ships in the bay.
About this time the army of Gage was largely reinforced; a number of troop ships arrived, also large quantities of stores, and a fleet of vessels of war. Thus encouraged, the British governor on June 12th issued his famous proclamation in which he threatened all “rebels and traitors” and offered pardon to those who should lay down their arms. In this latter Samuel Adams and John Hancock were excepted. It was Gage’s intention to punish them, so he said, as their actions deserved.
“It will serve one good purpose,” said Ezra in speaking of the proclamation to his companion, Scarlett. “It will rouse the people to a greater anger than before.”
“Gage is a very dull-witted gentleman,” replied Scarlett. “He once had a chance to add a person of experience,” here he twirled his moustaches, “to his command, but, by his insults and insinuations, lost him for good.”
“He has those now, who will perhaps prove to be of quicker thought,” said Ezra. “Generals Clinton, Howe and Burgoyne arrived in the frigate ‘Cerberus’ some little time since. Their hands will be felt, I fear, when the time comes to strike a blow at the colonial army.”
“General Gage is going to send forces to occupy Dorchester Heights and the two hills near Charlestown,” said William Stacey, upon the day after the proclamation. “He now has ten thousand men and is beginning to take pride in his strength.”
Reports ran riot through the city. The British troops, privates and officers both, took on a different aspect. Their appearance grew smarter; they stepped with a jauntier tread, their spirits were higher. They paraded more frequently; their drums seemed to beat more briskly; their fifes to squeal more shrilly. More artillery was put ashore; the gunboats and armed craft of lighter draught became much more enterprising.
From these indications Ezra Prentiss drew that there was something of moment about to happen. But the exact nature of it all, for he could place no dependence upon the gossip that reached him, was not made known to him until the morning of the fifteenth of June when he and Scarlett went to make their daily report to Major Buckstone.
That bluff, honest old soldier was seated frowning over some papers.
“Hah!” said he to Ezra, as the sentry led them in, “here is a communication just come to me regarding you, young sir. It will require your attention at once.”
Ezra took the paper from the major’s hand and scanned it. It ran as follows:
“Major Buckstone:
“Sir:—When George Prentiss, my grandson, next reports to you, inform him that his presence is required at my house in Sun Court at once.
“Your obliged and humble servant,
“Seth Prentiss.”
“I will go immediately,” said the boy. “Thank you, Major Buckstone.”
They left the headquarters and proceeded along the street in the direction of the old merchant’s mansion.
“Something,” said Gilbert Scarlett, “is in the air. Within an hour you will be much wiser than you are now at this moment.”
“It must be of more than ordinary importance,” said Ezra. “For he said on that last night at his house, you remember, that he never wanted to see me or hear of me again.”
“Until you had cleared yourself of mishandling Major Buckstone’s dispatch,” the other reminded him. “Perhaps the chance has now come for you to do that.”
The two parted at the point where Fish Street opened into Prince’s; Scarlett went his way toward the “Jolly Rover,” while Ezra continued along Prince’s until he reached Sun Court.
The boy’s knock brought an immediate answer. The grave-faced man servant showed his pleasure at sight of the youth.
“Your grandfather has been expecting you, Master George,” said he. “I will tell him that you have arrived.”
To be constantly forced to move under false colors was a bitter thing for Ezra. He was a lad who was frankness itself and one who detested methods that smacked of trickery. But to have all in Boston continue to believe him to be his brother George he felt was necessary if he was to aid the colonial cause. There was not a moment of his stay in Boston, during this period, or a time that he answered to his brother’s name, that his honesty and shame did not urge him to proclaim himself. But he stubbornly held this impulse in check.
“If it were a matter of my own,” he frequently told himself, “I could act as I saw fit. But this matter is not my own.”
His grandfather greeted him in his library, a stately room filled with morning sunshine, and furnished after the stiff fashion of that day. Seated at a window with a tall volume upon his knees, was a striking-looking officer, attired in the brilliant uniform of a British general.
“I would not have thought you interested in such things as this, Mr. Prentiss,” this gentleman was saying, not noticing the boy’s entrance. “It denotes rare judgment and taste in the binding. And the book itself is very rare,” with much admiration. “I know of only one other in existence.”
“The gathering of such was a folly of my son’s,” said the old man sternly.
“Folly!” The soldier laughed amusedly. “Well, that’s all to one’s taste, I suppose. But for my part, the more follies of this sort,” nodding toward a great heap of other books which he apparently had already inspected, “a man possesses, the more apt I would be to like him.”
“And he was not alone in his folly,” said the old merchant. “He left two sons, both of whom have inherited more or less of his manner of thought.” He gestured grimly toward Ezra as he added: “This is one of them.”
The general looked over his shoulder at the boy; then he arose, brushing traces of dust, left by the books, from his immaculate uniform. He was a polished man of the world, plainly a scholar and unquestionably a gentleman.
“Ah, yes,” said he. He took a step toward Ezra and held out his hand. “I ask your pardon,” he continued, “and am greatly pleased to see you.”
“This is General Burgoyne,” said old Mr. Prentiss to Ezra. “He happens to be here, having heard of the library, and will no doubt join with me in what I am about to say to you.”
The officer smiled pleasantly at Ezra.
“I have heard of your case from Major Buckstone,” said he. He was about to proceed, but the merchant interrupted him.
“And no doubt,” said Seth Prentiss, “you think the transaction a rascally and traitorous one.”
“I never make up my mind to things,” answered Burgoyne, “until I have sounded them for myself.”
He reseated himself and took up the book which had before engaged his attention. There was the same pleasant smile upon his face; he delicately turned the leaves and continued:
“I give your grandson far too much credit for clear understanding than to believe him in any way connected with this absurd condition which,” with a laugh, “the colonists call a siege. That ten thousand peasants can coop up an equal number of the King’s trained troops is too monstrous for any sane mind to believe. But Gage is a good-natured gentleman who believes in mild measures. Since Clinton and Howe have arrived, things will be vastly different. Let us get among the rebels and we’ll soon find elbow-room.”
With that he gave his attention to the precious volume which he held on his knee. The merchant turned to his grandson.
“I told you when I last saw you, that I was done with you until you had redeemed yourself. I had not thought to help you in any way, but it appears that blood is thicker than water, and I want to give you a chance of proving to me and His Majesty’s governor and officers that you are not what you have appeared to be.”
Ezra inclined his head, but was silent.
“Within a few days there will be a happening that——”
The handsome head of General Burgoyne was lifted from the book like a flash. There was a ring of reproof in his voice, as he cut the old man short.
“It would be well to specify nothing,” said he.
“And I desire to hear nothing of the King’s business from you, sir,” said Ezra, hastily.
Much as the young patriot desired to serve the cause of liberty, he could not bear to do so at the expense of his grandfather. He felt that it would be shameful to take advantage of the old man’s unguarded eagerness.
A flush stained the old merchant’s hard face. He bowed to Burgoyne.
“I ask your pardon,” said he. “In my anxiety to give my grandson this chance to reëstablish himself, I had forgotten more important things.”
“I understand perfectly,” said the general, once more smiling. “The thing was natural enough.” He turned toward Ezra, his well-kept hands caressing the book. “It will be sufficient for you to know that there will soon be an opportunity for all loyal subjects of King George to show that they are such.” He paused a moment, then went on: “It would be well for you to take advantage of this at once. There has been talk of curtailing your liberty to some extent.”
A thrill of dismay ran through the boy.
“That means imprisonment,” he thought. “If I don’t join with the British, I’ll be clapped in irons.”
But he concealed his feelings. His face was unruffled as he made reply.
“I thank you, General Burgoyne, for the hint. You may rely upon me to act for the best.”
The officer shot Ezra a penetrating glance. But he said nothing, and with a little shrug, he turned to his book.
“And now,” said the merchant, “that is all. I feel that I have done my duty toward you. It remains for you to do the rest. Harrison,” as the servant answered his pull at the bell-cord, “show this young gentleman out.”
Once in the street, Ezra made all haste to the “Jolly Rover.”
“Something must be done at once,” he muttered. “I’ll have to contrive to leave Boston within twenty-four hours, or I’m done for.”
The first persons he saw at the inn were Scarlett and the landlord in close converse in a far corner of the long room. Scarlett beckoned him at once, and the boy approached them.
“Sit down,” said the soldier of fortune, “and as there are two of our shadows keeping us under observation, I would suggest that you do not allow anything that we might say to make you change countenance.”
“You have news then?” questioned Ezra.
“Most urgent news for you at least,” said Gilbert Scarlett.
He pulled up his soft leather boots and twirled one point of his moustache.
“At first,” said he, “like the others here I was not at all sure as to which side you favored in this struggle. But since becoming more intimate with you, I have discovered at least enough,” laughing, “to make up my mind.”
“A son of James Prentiss could not be for anything else than liberty,” said the ex-first mate of the “Champion,” stoutly.
“Thank you, Mr. Stacey,” said Ezra, quietly.
“Well,” said the adventurer, “let’s to our news. It has transpired,” he proceeded to Ezra, “that General Gage will at last make a move. A large body of troops will cross the river with entrenching tools within the next three nights.”
“But you don’t know exactly when or where?”
“No,” replied the innkeeper as the other hesitated. “I had the news from a source that can’t be wrong; but it went no farther than to say that the movement would be carried out within three nights.”
Ezra sat for a moment regarding his friends.
“There are two reasons, then,” he said at length, “why I should leave Boston at once.”
The others said nothing, but waited for what was to come.
“I must warn General Ward,” continued the boy. “That is the first and most important. The second is that I must keep myself out of a dungeon.”
“Your visit to your grandfather, then, has not been without result,” hazarded the soldier of fortune shrewdly.
“No,” said Ezra. “On the contrary, what I heard there was sharp and definite enough.” Then he turned to the innkeeper. “Mr. Stacey, I will trouble you to-night for one of your suits of slops and any other thing that may be useful in hiding my identity. If you can also direct me to a place where a boat is to be had, I shall be much in your debt.”
“No son of your father’s can speak of being in my debt,” said the old sailor. He pondered a moment while the others watched him. Then he proceeded: “A disguise is simple enough. But a boat is a different matter. However, I think I can do it.” Then he laid a hand upon Ezra’s arm. “You are running a great risk in making such a venture.”
“I would be running one equally great if I did not take it,” replied the boy.
“The waters all about the city are fairly choked with armed craft,” said Scarlett. “How can we pass them and get fairly away?”
“We?” said Ezra.
“Why, to be sure, we.” The speaker gestured his entire acceptance of the situation. “Do you forget that I promised to stand your friend if you needed one?”
“I would shake your hand, comrade,” spoke Ezra, much touched, “if it were not for our being watched.”
“Don’t give me too much credit,” laughed Scarlett, his moustaches pointing upward. “You forget that if you stand a chance of going to a dungeon, I would not be far behind you; for I am not much beyond their suspicions.”
“You are right,” said Ezra, “and that makes it easier for me to accept your offer.” He bent his head toward them and his voice lowered. “It will be a desperate risk, no doubt. But, somehow, I feel that if there is a chance to make the crossing, we will do it.”
“Spoken like a lad of mettle,” commented the landlord of the “Jolly Rover.” “That is the sort of spirit that carries a man well on his way in anything he undertakes.”
The remainder of the day they spent together in one of the upper chambers, where they would be well out of the way of all prying eyes and listening ears.
“There is a brig tied up at Burrough’s wharf, just opposite Battery Alley,” said the innkeeper. “Her skipper is still aboard of her and he is an old shipmate of mine. I can get a dory from him if the case be made plain to his understanding. Then we can put into it some fishing-tackle, floats, trawls and such like as was used by the fishermen who once drew their living from the harbor.”
“An excellent idea,” applauded Scarlett. “It reminds me of a little experience I had once in the Bosphorus while I was in the service of the Moslem. And if this ends as fortunately as that, we shall do very well, indeed.”
As it was found necessary to get some idea of the anchorage of the heavy vessels and the patrolling guard of the smaller, the ex-seaman got out a long glass and they ascended to the garret, where from one of the dusty windows they could sweep the bay.
Ships of the line and frigates were there in plenty. Heavy troop ships, and others which had lately arrived with cargoes of supplies, lay sluggishly tugging at their chains.
“There is nothing to be feared from the seaward,” said Stacey. “So there is little or no activity. The smaller vessels are further up in the rivers. So your best plan, as I see it, is to take a small lug-sail in the bottom of your boat, pull straight out into the harbor, and when you think you are beyond the danger line, up with your sail and head for the nearest safe point that you can make.”
This seemed a most excellent piece of advice, and after some discussion it was adopted. As night drew on the two ate a hearty supper.
“It will help both our strength and our courage,” said Scarlett. “My experience has taught me that a well cared for stomach is a most necessary thing in an adventure.”
It was eleven o’clock when they donned some worn fisherman’s clothing and each a tarpaulin hat. Both wore their hair clubbed in seafaring fashion; and with them they carried the trawl-lines and other equipment that Stacey provided.
The latter had preceded them; so they stole along, keeping in the deepest shadows, toward Burrough’s wharf. They narrowly escaped several guards; but at last came safely to the place where the brig was tied up. The dory was ready; and Stacey and his friend the skipper were awaiting them.
“There are two strong sweeps, a mast and sail in the bottom of her,” the innkeeper told them. “Keep your minds clear as to the position of the war-ships and guard vessels; pull straight out of the harbor between them, if you can. It is a moonless night, and so far the luck is with you.”
The speaker shook their hands as did the brig’s master.
“I’m taking a risk in doing this,” said the latter. “But, then, every man must do what he can for the cause, and this is my share for the time.”
There were low-voiced good-byes spoken, then Ezra and Scarlett stepped into the dory, slipped the sweeps into place, headed out into the dark harbor and gave way.
More and more distant grew the few military lights on shore. Nearer and nearer drew the belt of ship lights; and the vessels themselves began to lift their dark bulks out of the water like huge monsters of the deep, watchful, waiting, full of silent terrors.
The night was moonless and without stars; a fresh breeze was blowing from the landward; this, together with the strong strokes of the rowers, drove the dory forward at a good rate of speed.
Two tall ranges of lights were visible directly ahead and the oarsmen headed to pass in the thick murk between them. And this they would have safely done had it not been for the unforeseen. The little craft was driving along in fine style, when suddenly out of the darkness loomed the towering bulk of a ship without lights. Before they could prevent it, the dory fouled the chains; Scarlett was thrown from his seat amid a clatter of oars.
A sharp outcry came from the ship’s deck. Feet were heard running forward and lights began to flash.
“Quick!” breathed Ezra, dragging the discomfited adventurer into his seat. “To your oars before they make us out.”
Scarlett had just recovered his stroke and pushed the boat away from the ship’s bow, when a solid shot, directed by the owner of a pair of sharp eyes, fell into the water beside them. Had they delayed another moment, it would have dropped into the boat, stove in the bottom and sunk them.
But they not only escaped this by their quick recovery, but also escaped the lights that were lowered over the side.
“It was a clever trick,” spoke Scarlett, guardedly. “They kept no lights burning, for the purpose of entrapping any one that should attempt to steal by.”
They pulled noiselessly away, out into the harbor and into the thick of the British ships. They heard the creaking of blocks as boats were lowered from the vessel with which they had collided; then they heard the splash of their oars. But they continued their strong, regular tugging at the sweeps, and gradually left the sounds behind. One by one they passed the ships; once, indeed, there came a doubtful hail; but they rested upon their oars for a full ten minutes and it was not repeated. Finally, as far as they could make out, they were free of all obstacles and fell to the sweeps with a will.
In a little while again, they stepped the mast and hoisted the lug-sail. The breeze caught and filled this, and away the boat swept into the darkness, like a night-bird skimming the surface of the sea.
After a good hour’s running they began to beat to and fro; but when the first glimmer of dawn struck the water they found themselves between Spectacle and Castle Islands; sighting Dorchester Point, they put for it with the lug full of wind, for several small sail of a suspicious nature were in plain view toward Thompson’s Island.
As the dory neared the point, the American sentinels sighted it; there was a three-gun battery planted at no great distance, and this was trained upon the flying little craft. Some difficulty was had in getting ashore, and when they had scrambled to solid ground, they found a file of men, ununiformed, but armed with long-barreled rifles and in charge of a youthful lieutenant.
“You will please give an account of yourselves,” announced this latter in a businesslike tone of voice.
Scarlett sat down, drew off his boots and emptied the water from them. Ezra, however, gave his attention to the lieutenant.
“Sir,” said he, “we are sympathizers of the colonies who have just made our way out of Boston through the fleet.”
The young officer, who wore a new, spick and span blue uniform turned up with red, regarded them suspiciously.
“That,” said he, with a glance out at the ominous black hulks that were now plainly showing through a faint early morning mist, “would be a hard thing to do.”
“It was,” smiled Ezra, “and good fortune alone enabled us to accomplish it.”
The young lieutenant, proud of his new trappings and his new office, saw fit to regard the two with great suspicion.
“My orders are to apprehend any one coming from the seaward,” spoke he, importantly. “So it will be my duty to hold you until the colonel arrives to inspect this post.”
“And when will that be?” asked Gilbert Scarlett.
“Toward noon, or perhaps somewhat later,” replied the lieutenant.
The soldier of fortune drew on his wet boots and stood up.
“Sir,” observed he, his legs wide apart and his thumbs hooked in his belt, “you seem to have very little notion as to the value of time. We have but a few hours to go about the business of saving the colonial army.”
The youthful officer started at this. But there was that in the hectoring tone of Gilbert Scarlett which he did not like. So he frowned and said sharply:
“If you have anything to impart my commission, issued by the Provincial Congress, makes me a proper person to hear it.”
That the speaker was right, even though unnecessarily stubborn, Ezra saw at once. But with the hot-headed adventurer it was a different matter.
Without more ado, he whipped out his long sword, and addressed the lieutenant with careless superiority.
“Step to one side,” directed he, “and have your fellows do the same, or I’ll contrive a piece of work for you that none of you will forget.”
The lieutenant spoke swiftly to his men. They threw forward their rifles; and Ezra had just sprung between them and Scarlett when there came a quiet, chuckling voice, saying:
“Hot work, Master Prentiss! Hot work, upon my word!”
All eyes went toward the point from where the voice proceeded; and all, even to the angry Scarlett and the stubborn lieutenant, burst into a laugh.
Upon a large flat stone, at no great distance, sat a dwarfish figure. The short legs were crossed Turkish fashion, and the huge head, with its stiff crest of hair, was bent forward, the chin resting upon his palms.
“What!” said Ezra, astonished. “Is it you, Porcupine?”
The imp grinned, showing his strong white teeth.
“It is no one else,” answered he, arising. “I had just come down this way to look about me before the others were awake. And,” with a look at Scarlett, “it’s a good thing that I have. Your friend there seems to want to get himself into mischief.”
Scarlett sheathed his sword with a flourish.
“I crave the pardon of your assured smallness,” said he with a sweep of his feathered hat. “It is a trick of the temper that lasts but a moment. I also,” turning to the lieutenant, “ask pardon of you, sir.”
The young officer nodded stiffly and gestured the long rifles away. Then he turned and gave ear to the dwarf, who claimed his attention.
“Porcupine, you call him?” said Scarlett, his eyes traveling over the stunted body. “And a very good name it is, indeed. Was there ever such a stiff crest of hair upon a human before? Have you known him long?”
“He rode with myself and some friends from Philadelphia last fall,” replied Ezra, “and proved himself of value to us all. He is faithful, watchful, shrewd and has uncommon courage.”
“Excellent!” cried the soldier of fortune, with high admiration. “In those you have some beautiful qualities for so small a youth.”
At the Porcupine’s low-spoken words, the face of the American lieutenant changed in expression.
“If Master Brewster and his friends will vouch for these gentlemen,” said he, “that will be enough for me.”
“I will fetch them at once,” said the dwarf.
Ezra advanced a step or two eagerly.
“You don’t mean to say that Nat is hereabouts!” said he.
The Porcupine grinned and replied:
“Not only Nat, but Ben and George as well. We all rode this way yesterday, after a journey which we had been on for Dr. Warren to the lower counties.”
“Then make haste and tell them of this,” said Ezra, delighted. “Tell them that it is of great importance that they should come at once.”
“I’m off,” said the Porcupine. And away he darted, his short legs twinkling at a most marvelous speed.
“It will all be arranged without difficulty in a little time now,” said Ezra to the adventurer.
“Fortune favors us in spite of my bad temper,” replied Scarlett. Then he added, after the fashion of a philosopher: “Never allow your dependence upon your sword to become your greatest asset. It is a mistake. The wise man always waits until the end before he takes matters into his own keeping. For at the last moment, Fortune may fling her rarest gifts at his feet.”
The lieutenant now spoke.
“In these days, gentlemen,” said he, “one cannot be too careful. I am dangerously placed here, and with but few men. I can, therefore, afford to trust nobody.”
“Sir,” said Scarlett promptly and with a wave of the hand, “say no more about it. You are young and unaccustomed to your work; but you have done well for all.”
The lieutenant was fully as old as the speaker; and he was regarding Scarlett with a puzzled look, when there came a clatter of hoofs upon the road and up clashed Ben Cooper, George Prentiss and Nat Brewster, the latter bearing the dwarf before him in the saddle.
With one accord they leaped to the ground and clustered about Ezra with cries of welcome and delight.
“Why, it’s a good month since you left us,” cried Ben.
“We’d all but given you up for dead,” said George, gravely.
“But we’re glad to have you back,” spoke Nat Brewster, quietly. “The cause would be the poorer for the loss of Ezra Prentiss.”
“Master Brewster,” and the lieutenant addressed Nat, whose grave manner always caused him to be selected from the group upon occasions like this, “these gentlemen but a short time ago landed here in a boat. They claim to have come from Boston, and this one,” indicating Ezra, “claims to be acquainted with you.”
“I can vouch for him,” cried Nat, his strong hand upon Ezra’s shoulder, “and,” with a quick look at Scarlett, “if this gentleman is a friend of his, I can vouch for him also.”
“While my acquaintance with him is something less than two months’ duration,” said Ezra, “I can safely say that he is a friend in everything that the term implies.”
Nat shook Scarlett by the hand, and Ben, George and the Porcupine followed in their turn; and as they did so, Ezra told the adventurer their names.
“I have heard of you all many times,” said Scarlett with vast satisfaction. “And I have listened to some of your experiences of nights at our inn, the ‘Jolly Rover.’ After hearing them, and seeing you, I can say that it all affords me much pleasure.”
“I recall Ezra telling us of you after his return from Chelmsford some time since,” said Nat. “He said that you appeared to be a gentleman of parts.”
The adventurer assumed his favorite attitude.
“If experience makes for quality, I am to be pardoned if I claim it,” said he. “I was younger than the youngest of you when I fought my first field, and since then I have seen service under many flags.” All the time he spoke, and in fact before he began, his eyes went alternately from Ezra to George and back again. Now he broke off his remarks and addressed the latter: “Your name, sir, is——?”
“George Prentiss,” replied the boy.
Scarlett turned to Ezra.
“Your grandfather called you George,” said he, shrewdly.
“Because of a mistake,” said Ezra, his face flushed as he called to mind the fact that the mistake was not corrected.
The soldier of fortune seemed to divine this feeling; he slapped Ezra upon the back.
“No,” said he, “never be ashamed that you did not undeceive him. What you did was for the best.” Then, with another look at George, “I scarcely blame the old gentleman for his blunder. Your brother is most marvelously like you.”
Here George said eagerly to Ezra:
“You have seen grandfather?”
“Twice while in Boston. He is well.”
“But as staunch for the King as ever?”
“Yes.”
They had left the guard and were making their way along a narrow road, the horses, under care of the Porcupine, following. Nat now spoke.
“That you have been in Boston,” said he to Ezra, “is astonishing news. But that you have slipped out again seems almost impossible.”
“Yet here we are,” smiled Ezra.
“But tell us about it,” urged Ben Cooper, his round, good-natured face full of expectancy. “We are all but gaping to hear it.”
So with that, as they walked along, Ezra related how on that April night at Charlestown, he had been seized with a desire to venture toward the “Indian’s Head.” Then how he met with the spy Pennington, and also, for the second time, with Scarlett. From the experiences at the inn, he went to the crossing of the river, the interview with his grandfather and General Gage and the long stay at the “Jolly Rover” in Ship Street. But when the latter part of the story was told, the eyes of Nat, George and Ben opened widely; the Porcupine, back with the horses, executed a caper in the road.
“An attack!” said Nat, his face all alight.
“At last!” cried George, with an involuntary tug at his belt.
“We’ll make them run as we did before,” declared Ben Cooper.
But, as was usual, Nat’s was the practical mind.
“It is good news,” said he, “and we are all glad of it. But the next move, I think, is to get it to the ears of General Ward.”
A chorus of assent followed this. In a few minutes they reached an encampment of colonists; to a gray-haired captain, a veteran of the Louisburg, Nat represented the case as far as he saw fit and asked that two mounts be loaned them.
“We haven’t horses enough for our own use,” said the captain. “But if it is, as you say, a matter of great importance, why of course you must be accommodated.”
Accordingly the nags were brought forward and saddled. Then all six, with the dwarf riding with Nat, mounted and rode off at a smart canter, heading for Cambridge and General Ward.