The very next night, Nat Brewster was admitted with all due formality to membership of that devoted band of patriots known as the “Sons of Liberty,” of which Paul Revere was a leading spirit. This organization met in one of the upper rooms of the “Green Dragon,” and the young mountaineer was astonished to find how complete were their plans of resistance should the time come when it should be necessary to take up arms.

Immediately, after another consultation with Dr. Warren, the boy took up the work that had been assigned to him.

“One of the most pressing needs of the British army now encamped in Boston,” said the doctor, “is for barracks to shelter them during the coming winter. The artisans of Boston have refused to undertake the building, and so bricklayers, masons, plasterers and carpenters are largely in demand. If you were one of these now”—and he looked at Nat speculatively, “you’d be able to get inside the lines and perhaps gather information of great value to us.”

“I have done a great deal of rough carpentry,” said Nat. “And though I am no great mechanic, still, I may do, if they are badly pressed for men.”

“Excellent!” said Dr. Warren, greatly pleased. “Lose no time in applying to the officer in charge.”

This Nat did, later in the same day; and his services were snapped up eagerly at much higher wages than usual.

“Those villains of Whigs will not take honest work in the king’s service,” complained the red-faced captain in charge of the work. “They’d rather stand about the streets meditating treason and throwing black looks at decent persons who uphold the laws.”

So during the days that followed Nat sawed, planed and nailed in the midst of the British with great energy. And all the time he watched keenly and listened for any news that might be of importance. At night he patroled the streets with Revere and his thirty mechanics; and there was little that escaped their sharp eyes and alert minds, for they scattered into every part of the town where they thought there might be a movement of the king’s troops.

Nat saw very little of Ben Cooper, and nothing at all of Ezra for some days; finally one evening as he sat at supper at the “Dragon” Ben burst in upon him.

“Ezra has been recalled to Philadelphia,” he stated. “He starts in the morning, so be ready and you can pick us up on the way.”

“I’m going to remain in Boston,” said Nat, calmly.

“Going to remain in Boston!” Ben almost gasped these words, so great was his astonishment. “Why, what for?”

“I have urgent reasons,” replied Nat. Then seeing his cousin’s reproachful look, he added, laughingly, “Well, I suppose I’ll have to tell you about it; but you will have to promise not to say anything to any one—not even Ezra.”

Ben looked at Nat challengingly.

“I say,” said he, “what’s the matter with Ezra? Somehow or other you don’t take to him very well.”

“He’s said something to you, has he?” said Nat.

“He’s said nothing,” replied Ben warmly. “But I’ve got eyes and I can see as well as the next.”

Nat was silent for a moment. He could tell Ben nothing of that particular affair because Dr. Warren had asked both himself and Revere to keep silent.

“I’ll say nothing about your ideas regarding Ezra and me,” said he, at last. “But I will say, under promise that you tell no one, that I remain in Boston to carry out some work required of me by Dr. Warren.”

Now there was no more ardent patriot among them all than good-natured Ben Cooper. So upon hearing his cousin’s words he at once gave up all expectation of his accompanying them south.

“Very well,” said he. “If that’s the case, I suppose I’ll have to leave you here. But the Porcupine will go back with me, of course.”

“No,” said Nat. “I rather think he wants to remain. But,” turning to the dwarf who sat near him, “speak for yourself.”

“I’ll stay with you if you’ll let me,” came the answer promptly.

“So you see,” smiled Nat to Ben, “you will have the trip all to yourselves. But,” with a sudden recollection of what was due to his uncle, “I must get you to take a letter to your father.”

So while Ben waited, he got a bottle of ink, a quill and a sheet of thick paper, with which he set about composing a long letter to Mr. Cooper. When he finally finished and sealed it up, he had told everything of importance there was to tell. Ben remained for some time talking and then got upon his horse for the ride to Cambridge.

“Do you know,” said he, as he mounted and sat looking down at his cousin, “that I rather envy you.”

“Why?”

“Because there is something in the air of this town that tells me that it’s here or hereabouts that the explosion is going to take place.”

“You are always finding things in the air,” laughed Nat.

“Well, if I do, I am generally right,” argued Ben. “Just you wait and see.”

Then they shook hands and said good-bye; Ben waved his hand and nodded smilingly to the Porcupine, who replied with a grin; then the rein was given the little roan, and she scampered away down the dimly lit street.

During the whole of the long, gloomy winter that followed, Nat Brewster saw no more of his cousin; once there came a letter from Mr. Cooper in which Ben enclosed a page of greetings, but that was all.

But Nat had little time to think of these things. As the winter advanced the situation became more and more tense. The arming of the people went steadily on, as did the collecting of the military stores. Nat, in one capacity or another, served Dr. Warren and the Committee of Public Safety continuously; he kept as close as possible to the British sources of information and more than once was lucky enough to secure news that was of great help to the cause. But the Porcupine was invaluable; he developed a musical talent, which Nat had not suspected, and upon a strange looking string instrument of his own manufacture he played and sang Tory ballads at inns and places where the royalists resorted. In this way he made himself popular with them and so gained admittance to places which would otherwise have been denied him; the result was that there was scarcely a thing of consequence talked of among the Tories that escaped him, or failed to reach the ears of the committee in due course.

In this way it became known to Warren and the rest of the patriot committee that Gage had about despaired of his policy of inaction; he had made up his mind to disarm the people and seize their leaders.

“He has been desirous of having an army of twenty thousand men before resorting to this,” Nat told Dr. Warren in repeating what he had heard. “But he has made up his mind that these will never be sent him, so he is going to make the attempt with his present force.”

“Which is about thirty-five hundred,” said Dr. Warren. “But how is he to proceed, or haven’t you heard?”

“The Porcupine, as it happens, heard that very subject talked of last night at the ‘George and Griffin.’ Ruggles, the loyalist leader, has asked General Gage to send troops to Marshfield to protect the Tories from violence.”

“No violence is meditated against them,” said Warren, sternly. “That is but a subterfuge to test the willingness of the people to permit troops to march into the outlying sections.”

On January 23d, General Gage sent one hundred men and three hundred stand of arms to Marshfield. All Boston, it seemed, was on the streets to watch the tiny column move out of the city; and as Nat stood gazing with interest upon the scene, he was surprised to see Ezra Prentiss upon the edge of the crowd at the opposite side of the street. They exchanged formal salutes, but neither made any attempt to cross to the other. Nat knew that the brothers Adams had left Philadelphia at the adjournment of Congress, but he had heard nothing of Ezra; and, indeed, had given him but little thought.

“That means that we must both be more careful,” said the Porcupine, when Nat told him of the meeting. “If he sees you among the British and me among the Tories, he’ll be sure to whisper something in their ears that will put us in danger.”

In sending the troops to Marshfield, Gage feared an outbreak; but when the colonists merely looked sullenly on and no hand was raised against the soldiers, the governor grew elated.

“They dare not really oppose the king’s troops,” he is reported as saying. “And when the spring opens, I’ll prove it to even themselves.”

A few brass cannon and gun carriages had been deposited by the patriots at Salem, and about a month later Nat, by the merest chance, learned that Colonel Leslie and a detachment were to be sent to seize them. At Warren’s command the young mountaineer sped to Salem as fast as the hard-mouthed black would take him.

It was Sunday morning and the Puritan town was still and covered with snow. But within an hour the streets were alive with citizens, all ready to defend the guns. As the latter were upon the upper side of North Bridge, the draw was raised, and when the British arrived they could not cross the river. Several large gondolas lay upon the south bank. Colonel Leslie at once gave orders that his men cross in these; as the soldiers moved toward the boats Nat saw a youth, followed by several older persons, rush forward, push the craft into the water and proceed to scuttle them.

The redcoats waded into the stream and with their bayonets tried to stop this. The boy leader lifted an oar with which to defend himself and then, for the first time, Nat recognized him.

“Ben Cooper,” he cried in amazement.

A moment later the boats sank, and their occupants struck out for the north side, swimming lustily and uttering derisive cries.

Flushed and angry, Colonel Leslie stood at the open draw and shouted across at the townspeople:

“Lower the draw in the name of the king.”

The Rev. Mr. Bernard, a clergyman of Salem, stepped forward.

“Colonel,” said he, “I take you for a just and reasonable man, and one who would not wish to stain the Sabbath day with blood. This is a private way; you have no right to cross if the owners see fit to object. So go your way in peace.”

Leslie had been especially warned by Gage not to persist if there was danger of bloodshed; and now the news reached him that the minutemen from all the country round had been sent for, and indeed, that the company from Danvers had just arrived. But he was a determined officer, and as he had set out to cross the bridge he made up his mind to do so.

“I am going to march my men across,” declared he. “If you will peaceably lower the draw, I’ll agree to proceed no more than thirty rods beyond it. But if you refuse—well, you must accept the consequences.”

Thereupon the draw was lowered; the British had the empty triumph of crossing; but the brass guns were safe, and the incoming militia drew up in line and watched the redcoats depart, their fifes squeaking dismally, their drums beating a hollow tattoo.

When all danger was past, Nat began a search for Ben Cooper. But the swimmers had landed some distance below the bridge; he located a few of them, but Ben was nowhere to be found.

“The boy who first started for the boats was a stranger to us,” the men told Nat. “We never saw him before. But he’s a plucky one, whoever he is.”

All the way back to Boston Nat wondered over this strange incident.

“Why, I had not thought Ben within hundreds of miles of Boston,” he said. “And here he pops up in the midst of a thing like that just passed. However, I suppose he’ll hunt me up before long and give an account of himself.”

But this Ben did not do; weeks passed and Nat still heard nothing of him. At last the latter made up his mind that he had been mistaken.

“It couldn’t have been Ben, or he’d have looked me up,” he reasoned. “It was the excitement of the moment that led me astray; one is apt to imagine all sorts of things at such times.”

However, as has been noted before, he had not much leisure to think over his own affairs. With Revere and the thirty faithful mechanics, who continued to patrol the bleak streets each night, ever watchful and alert, he gave all his waking time to the Committee of Safety. And in pursuance of the change of policy on the part of their commander, the British grew aggressively offensive. Once they tarred and feathered a citizen whom they claimed had tempted a soldier to desert, and drew him about the streets upon a dray guarded by soldiers, their band playing “Yankee Doodle” in derision.

They attended public meetings at the Old South Church and hissed the speakers. On the day in March set aside by the Provincial Congress for fasting and prayer, they pitched tents near to the meeting-houses and the services were constantly interrupted by the sound of drum and fife. The very next day Mr. Hancock’s house was assaulted and damaged.

“All this is to provoke the people to strike the first blow,” said Warren.

And thereupon the precautions taken by their leaders to prevent their doing so were redoubled.

Some fourteen thousand musket cartridges were seized by the British guard as the patriots endeavored to get them across Boston neck, and the driver of the wagon was severely handled. This was on March 18th; and the same evening a party of officers attacked the Providence coach.

It was about this time that Nat Brewster became aware that an enterprise of some moment was soon to be undertaken by Gage. There was nothing said openly, no one put it into words; but there was much whispering and signaling among the younger officers; and Nat, whose days were almost all employed at the barracks or officers’ quarters, listened with all his ears.

At length, as March neared its end, the rumor became more definite; and then it was given a name. The stores at Concord were to be destroyed!

When Nat excitedly bore this intelligence to Warren, a guard was at once placed over the magazines; teams were held in readiness to carry them away at the first sign of a British advance. Riders were also despatched to carry the alarm to all the towns and have them hold their companies of militia to answer any call that might be made upon them.

Gage now sent out engineer officers to inspect the state of the towns, to make sketches and maps of the roads and all possible places of defence. Bodies of troops were frequently sent out. On the 30th of March, the first brigade, numbering some eleven hundred men, took its way toward Jamaica Plain, and on their march did much damage by throwing down stone walls and otherwise misconducting themselves. Armed to the teeth, they swaggered through the near-by towns like ruffians. Little did they dream what danger they were in. All about them the country slowly arose; bands of armed minutemen appeared like magic, and, unseen, awaited the word. Dr. Warren, watching the truculent brigade of British from a neighboring hill, smiled grimly to Paul Revere, who sat his horse beside him.

“Let them advance a few miles further, attempt to destroy a magazine or in any way abuse our people, and not a man of them will ever see Boston again.”

But the time was not yet. In the city, the bearing of the king’s soldiers became more and more proud; the population, unable to stand their insults, was slowly drifting into the country. It became quite dangerous for a patriot of mark to remain, and, indeed, most of them had taken their leave of the town long before. But the gallant Dr. Warren remained.

“Some one must take the risk,” said he, simply. “And why not I?”

Gage made every effort to purchase supplies for camp service; but the people were before him everywhere; they cut him off both in Massachusetts and New York. About the middle of April a reinforcement came, and the very day of its coming, Nat overheard a conversation between an ensign and a lieutenant at a mess table which immediately set his expectations upon edge. The boy from Wyoming was fitting a window-sash which had been much complained of; and as the two officers were but a half dozen feet from him, he lost not a word.

“This is all the general’s been waiting for,” declared the ensign, a youthful, strapping fellow. “Now mark my words, he’ll slip a second expedition out upon the Yankees and capture all the nest-eggs they’ve been hoarding so carefully at Concord.”

The lieutenant shook his head.

“Of course it’s for General Gage to do as he thinks best,” said he. “But if I were asked what I thought about it—which I’m not likely to be—I’d tell him to go slow.”

“Oh, he’s been going slow since he’s been here,” exclaimed the ensign, “and what has it done for him? Not a thing. Here is an assembly of men, styled the Provincial Congress, and which is totally unknown to the constitution, collecting the public moneys. That alone is enough to arouse him to action; but when he sees the same moneys invested in warlike stores to be used against him, he grows angry. It’s his duty to stop this and prevent the calamity of a civil war.”

The lieutenant nodded.

“You are right,” said he, “so it is; but I don’t like the way he’s going about preventing it.” He lowered his voice after a glance at Nat, and continued: “Have you heard that the grenadiers and light infantry have been relieved from duty?”

“Yes,” returned the other, with a laugh. “The excuse is that they are to learn some sort of a new exercise. It’s a rare good dodge, for of course they’re being got ready for a march.”

“I fancy you are right,” nodded the lieutenant. “And those boats of the transports, which were hauled up for repairs, have been launched again and are now under the sterns of the men-of-war, ready for service.”

Late that night, for he always visited Dr. Warren’s house at hours when he’d be little likely to be seen, Nat Brewster hastened to Hanover Street. Revere was with the doctor at the time and they received the news which he had to tell with set faces.

“Mr. Hancock and Samuel Adams are at the house of the Rev. Jonas Clark at Lexington,” said Dr. Warren to Revere. “I shall wish you to bear a letter to them at daybreak to-morrow.”

“I will be ready,” said Revere.

Nat bore the courier company on the following morning.

“The time,” said Revere, soberly, as they jogged along, “is not now far off.”

“I fear not,” replied Nat. “If Gage strikes, we must strike back. And that will mean a relentless war.”

“I had some faint foreknowledge of what you told us last night,” said Revere. “The whisper came to me that Gage intended to seize Mr. Hancock and Mr. Adams, but just how or when I did not know until you came.”

“If they were taken it would be a worse blow than the loss of the stores could well be,” said Nat, seriously. “Such an event will, of course, be especially guarded against.”

“Right,” returned the man in the same tone. “You may be sure that it will be, if I have any voice in the matter.”

The house of the Rev. Mr. Clark was a wooden one upon a shady street; as it happened both Mr. Adams and Mr. Hancock were at home, and they received the news calmly.

“We have arranged for just this emergency,” said Mr. Hancock. “There are safe places at Sudbury and Groton for the stores; within an hour they shall be on their way.”

“And no British column, no matter how strong, will be able to get that far in search of them,” added Mr. Adams, grimly.

Revere and Nat rode back by way of Charlestown, and here they met Colonel Conant of the militia, and some other gentlemen warm in the cause.

“It puzzles me,” said Revere, after some talk, “how we shall get word across the river when the troops are about to start.”

“I had thought of that,” answered Conant. “From where we stand, the tower of Old North Church is plain to be seen in day-time. When the troops start, climb to the windows in the steeple and signal us by flashes of light—one if they are going by land, two if by water.”

“Good,” praised Revere, “a fortunate idea, colonel. We will act upon it. Don’t forget,” as they were going, “two flashes of a lantern if they go by water—one, if by land.”

When they reported to Dr. Warren he breathed a sigh of relief.

“It now only remains for us to keep a strict patrol,” he said, “and give the signals promptly. Do you,” to Nat, “watch like a hawk. And you,” to Revere, “see to it that your men do the same.”

Monday passed, and Nat, still employed at the officers’ quarters, noted many things that gave him alarm. Late in the afternoon he saw a dozen horses brought out and a group of laughing, chatting officers all ready to mount.

“I think,” said the strapping ensign whom Nat had heard talk a few days before, and who now made one of this party, “that there will be little need for us to watch the roads. The Yankees know nothing, and therefore can send no warning to the peasants in the out-sections.”

Nat did not desire to hear more. In a sheltered spot he scribbled a few words upon the face of a smooth pine block with the point of a nail; hiding this beneath his coat, he made his way to a point beyond the barracks.

“It’s lucky that I thought to tell the Porcupine to hold himself ready to carry a message,” he said as he hurried along.

Rounding the far end of the barracks, he heard a door close, then he caught a quick, sure tread upon some wooden steps; turning his head the least bit, he got a glimpse of the newcomer out of the tail of his eye.

HE GOT A GLIMPSE OF THE NEWCOMER

“Ezra!” almost cried Nat, in dismay. But he choked back the exclamation, lowered his head and walked steadily on. Even though his back was now squarely toward the other, Nat knew that the boy had halted and was watching him. But it was only for a moment, then the same light footstep resumed, now upon the plank walk; and Nat, with a keen, quick glance over his shoulder, saw him hurrying away toward the group of officers who were still gathered, awaiting the command to mount.

As luck would have it, there was a sharp turn around some buildings for Nat to make in order to reach the place where he had told the dwarf to await him. As he rounded this he was screened from view and broke into a run.

With set face he sped forward, not knowing what another moment would develop. And, as it happened, the very moment that he caught sight of the grinning face of the Porcupine, he also heard the roar of hoofs upon the planks of the barracks road. In a flash he tossed the dwarf the pine block.

“To Dr. Warren—and get out of sight quickly!” he said, hastily.

The keen perceptions of the dwarf grasped the situation instantly. Clutching the block, he vanished between two buildings; and Nat, his head bent, as though totally unconscious of everything but his own private affairs, continued on up the street. Nearer and nearer sounded the hoof beats; then two horsemen drew up beside him.