From Kingdom to Colony
He seemed to see again the great dark room, lit only by the leaping
flames from the logs piled in the open fireplace, and the little
scarlet-clad child looking up with big startled eyes at his indignant
face as he stood in the doorway, while the precious bullets poured in a
rattling shower over the wooden' floor. He saw once more her look turn
to fiery anger, as he strode over and boxed her ears; and he could hear
the girlish treble crying, "Wait, Hugh Knollys, until I am as big as
you, and I'll hurt you sorely for that!"
Aye, and she had already hurt him sorely, for all his breadth of
shoulder and length of limb; she had hurt him in a way to make all his
life a bitter sorrow should she now reject his love!
CHAPTER XIX
October had come, with an unusual glory of late wild-flowers and
reddened leaves.
The soldiers were still quartered upon the Neck, and owing to the many
collisions between them and the townspeople, the Governor had seen fit
to augment the force. Several times the citizens had almost determined
to march to the Neck and exterminate the entire body of Britishers; but
wiser counsels prevailed, and no attack was made.
Governor Gage had issued a proclamation forbidding the assembling of
the legislature which had been called to meet at Salem upon the fifth
of the month. But notwithstanding this interdiction it had convened
upon the appointed day, and resolved itself into a Provincial Congress.
Azar Orne, Jeremiah Lee, and Elbridge Gerry were the delegates
representing Marblehead, and they took a prominent part in the
proceedings. A number of important matters were discussed and acted
upon, and a committee was appointed for "Observation and Prevention,"
and with instructions to "co-operate with other towns in the Province
for preventing any of the inhabitants, so disposed, from supplying the
English troops with labor, lumber, bricks, spars, or any other material
whatsoever, except such as humanity requires."
The loyalists in the town were still zealous in the King's cause, and
would not be silenced. And they entreated their neighbors and friends
to recede, before it became too late, from the position they had taken.
But the only reply of the patriots was, "Death rather than submission!"
And they went on making provision for the organization of an army of
their own.
Companies of "Minute Men" were enlisted, and these were disciplined and
equipped. A compensation of two shillings per day was to be allowed
each private; and to sergeants, drummers, fifers, and clerks, three
shillings each. First and second lieutenants were to receive four
shillings sixpence, and captains, five shillings. Pay was to be
allowed for but three days in each week, although a service of four
hours a day was required.
The town house was now filled--as were also most of the warehouses and
other buildings--with the stored goods of Boston merchants, who were
suffering from the operation of the Port Bill, which had closed that
harbor to their business. And owing to this, as also by reason of the
greater advantage afforded for securing privacy, the townsmen now held
their meetings at the old tavern on Front Street, which faced the
water, thus giving a good opportunity for observing the movements of
the enemy upon the Neck.
John Glover, one of the town's foremost men, and a stanch patriot,
lived near here; and he was now at the head of the regiment in which
were John Devereux and Hugh Knollys,--the former being second
lieutenant in the company of which Nicholson Broughton was captain, and
in whose ranks Hugh was serving as a private.
Soon after his return from Boston, Broughton had closed his own house,
deeming it too much exposed to the enemy for the safety of his
daughter, who was compelled during his many absences to remain there
alone with the servants; and Mary had gone with them to the house of a
married aunt--Mistress Horton--living in a more retired portion of the
town, away from the water.
He had consented, in response to the urging of his prospective
son-in-law, that the wedding should take place before the winter was
over. And thus it was that Mary, being busy with preparations for the
event, left Dorothy much to herself,--more, perhaps, than was well for
her at this particular time.
Aunt Penine had departed upon the day her brother-in-law fixed; but
under Aunt Lettice's mild guidance, coupled with Tyntie's efficient
rule, the household went on fully as well as before,--better, indeed,
in many respects, for there was no opposing will to make discord.
The tory Jameson still remained under an unburned roof, despite the
mutterings against him; and he continued to entertain the redcoats with
lavish hospitality.
Several times, during trips to and from the Knollys house, Dorothy,
escorted by Hugh or her brother--sometimes by both--or by old Leet, had
encountered the young officer. But nothing more than a bow and smile
had passed between them since the morning he had turned so haughtily
from her father's presence.
It was about the middle of the month, and the shutters of all the
windows were opened wide to let in the flood of autumn sunshine as the
family sat at breakfast; and the silver service in front of Aunt
Lettice glinted like little winking eyes where it caught the golden
flood.
Her delicate white hands had poured out the sweetened hot milk and
water which she and 'Bitha drank in lieu of tea, while her
brother-in-law, busy with looking over a copy of the "Salem Gazette"
brought by his son the night before, was letting his coffee cool.
Jack himself, after a hastily despatched breakfast, had already gone
into the town, where he had matters of importance to look after, not
the least of them being to dine at the Hortons' with Mary and her
father; and he would not return until late in the evening.
Dorothy had little to say, seeming to be busy with her own thoughts;
but she could not help smiling as little 'Bitha murmured softly, "Oh,
grandame, I am all full of glory by now, for I caught a lot of sunshine
on my spoon and swallowed it."
"And you'll be full of a mess, child, if you stir your porridge about
in such reckless fashion," said Aunt Lettice, smiling as her eyes met
Dorothy's.
"Dot," her father now asked suddenly, lifting his eyes from the paper,
"when did you last see old Ruth Lecrow?"
Dorothy started, and her big eyes turned to him with a troubled look as
she answered, "It is all of a month since I saw her."
The girl's conscience smote her, as never before had she neglected for
so long a time to go and see the faithful carer of her own motherless
infancy, or else send needful provision for her impoverished old age.
"A month!" her father repeated. "How is that, my child?" Then with a
searching, anxious look into her downcast face, he said more gently:
"You had best take Leet, and go to Ruth this very morning. The air and
sun be fine enough to bring back the roses to your cheeks. I am
thinking that you stop within doors too much o' late."
Before Dorothy could reply, Aunt Lettice reminded him that Leet was to
meet Jack in the town that morning.
"Then I will walk, father," the girl said, "and take Pashar."
With this she arose from the table and was about to leave the room,
when 'Bitha put in a petition that she might accompany her.
"No, 'Bitha," interposed her grandmother, "you made such a froach[1] of
your sampler yesterday that you have it all to do over again this
morning, as you promised me." She spoke with gentle firmness, and the
child hung her head in silence.
[1] Spoiled work.
"Never mind, 'Bitha," Dorothy said soothingly, as she touched the small
blonde head,--"mayhap we can have Leet take us to see Mistress Knollys
this afternoon."
"I'd sooner go on the water, Dot," the child suggested timidly. Then
turning to the head of the house, she asked: "Cannot we go out in one
of the boats, Uncle Joseph? We've not been on the water for a long
time." And the blue eyes were lifted pleadingly to the old gentleman,
who had just set down his emptied cup.
"Nay, my child," he answered, "that you must not; and for the same
reason that none have been for so long a time. None o' ye must go nigh
the boats until the redcoats be gone from the Neck."
"When will they go?" asked 'Bitha, pouting a little. "They have
spoiled our good times for long past. We cannot go anywhere as we
used."
"Nor can others older than you, my child," he said with an unmirthful
smile, as he arose from the table. "The soldiers are a pest in the
town, little one. But till the King sees fit to call them off, or we
find a way to make them go, you must be content to stop nigh the house,
and away from the boats." Then he added teasingly, as he put his hand
upon her head, "The redcoats may carry you off, if you put yourself in
their way."
'Bitha shook off his hand as she gave her small head a belligerent
toss. "If they tried to do that, Uncle Joseph, I'd push them over the
rocks, as Mary Broughton did that redcoat we met in the cave. And oh,
Dot,"--turning to her--"that 'minds me that the other day when I was
with Leet and Trent, down in the ten-acre lot, that same redcoat was
there, sitting in the door of the shed, with his horse standing nigh.
And when he saw us coming, he hurried away. And Trent said 't was
lucky no sheep were within the shed for him to steal."
"He is a gentleman, 'Bitha, and would no more steal my father's sheep
than would you or I!"
Dorothy's voice was full of indignation, and the child's eyes opened
wide at its unusual sharpness. But this, as well as her heightened
color, her father and Aunt Lettice ascribed to embarrassment at being
reminded of her exploit of the past summer.
All the outside world lay flooded in the warm golden sunshine that
blunted the cold edge of the wind rushing from the north, where sullen
cloud-banks were piling up in a way to threaten a change of weather
before night. The sea lay a floor of molten silver and burnished
steel, and the crows called incessantly from the woods.
Dorothy chose to take a short cut across the fields to old Ruth's
abode; and while skirting the ten-acre lot, she cast a furtive glance
toward the large shed, as if expecting to see a scarlet coat in the
doorway.
But only the homespun-clad form of Trent was there, letting out a large
flock of sheep, who came gambolling about him, and then dispersed over
the dry brown grass, where a bright green patch showed here and there.
"'T was queer, Mist'ess Dor'thy, dat we nebber foun' de two cows dat
strayed so long 'go, don't ye t'ink?" inquired Pashar, who followed
close behind her with a big basket on his arm.
Dorothy, intent upon her own affairs, did not reply, and the boy went
on: "Trent say now dat he b'leebe de redcoats stole 'em, fo' sure."
"How could that be," she asked sharply, "when the cows were missing
before any soldiers came down here?"
"I dunno, Mist'ess--on'y dat's what Trent say, an' what we all b'leebe."
Here Dorothy was startled by a wild, shrill yell from the boy, and
turned quickly to see the cause of it. The sheep had discovered a
broken place in the fence, and were trooping through it en masse; and
if once out of the field, there was nothing to bar their way to
Riverhead Beach.
Trent had already started in pursuit, but it was easy to see that many
of the flock would be on the other side of the fence before he could
stop them.
"Give me the basket," Dorothy said to the negro boy, "and go to help
Trent. Then come to Ruth's after me."
She had scarcely spoken when he, giving her the basket, uttered another
wild yell and was off, speeding after the wayward sheep. He was soon
alongside Trent, who had stopped to put some bars across the opening,