A Story of the Revolution.
BY JAMES BARNES.
CHAPTER II.
SOME FURTHER ADVENTURES.
As the hand reached out of the water it could be seen that William had twined his free arm about his brother's waist, and that the latter was still struggling weakly.
At this moment a shout sounded from the hill. "I's comin'! I's comin'!" called a voice.
There was a crushing sound, and through the alders and tangle of hardback bushes came the old colored man. His face was ashy gray; but he took in the situation in one frightened glance. Without pausing, he threw himself head foremost into the pool, and in an instant he had grasped both boys, and, puffing loudly after his exertions, landed them safely upon the shelving bank.
Grace's cries had softened to a nervous whimper, and the old man was the first to find his tongue. Probably he knew that neither of his young masters could reply to him just then, for he pitched into them furiously as they lay helpless and spluttering in the sand.
"You heah me," he said, "young Mars Willem an' young Mars George. I see you'll git a trouncin' fur all dis nonsense; scaring Miss Grace half out ob her wits, and spoilin' your bes' clo's; and look at me!" he added, "jes look at me! My waistcoat is plum ruined, an' whar—whar's my hat?"
The huge three-cornered affair lost in Cato's jump was drifting slowly down the brook.
William rolled over on his elbow and caught his breath with an effort.
"Silence!" he shouted. "Where's that fishing-rod?"
"You's done gwine ter ketch a fishin'-rod," said the old man. "Look at your brudder George, 'most drownded; I spec you dared him to jump in."
George managed to look up. "No," he said; "I went in by myself."
The old man, muttering and grumbling, stepped over to the boys, and stood both of them on their feet. It was all that either could do to keep his balance; but at last, they looked at one another, and William half laughed.
"Oh, won't we catch it when Aunt Clarissa sees us!" he exclaimed.
At this, Grace, looking toward the bridge, called out, excitedly, the tears still running down her cheeks, "There's Mr. Wyeth! There he is at last! And, look! there's some one with him. It must be our Uncle Daniel!"
She pointed up the road. Little clouds of dust rose here and there through the trees, and two thick figures, each mounted on a steadily plodding gray nag, were seen riding down the hill.
"Come on, we'll meet them," said William, and taking his brother's hand, they walked out into the meadow with as much dignity as two small dripping figures could assume.
Cato picked out two of the largest and straightest of the discarded switches, and, gazing disconsolately at his ruined waistcoat, strode after them.
Mr. Wyeth and his companion had seen the boys coming, and had halted at the bridge. The merchant was a short, fat man, with a round rosy face, like a ripe New Jersey apple. As he watched the little party walking slowly across the meadow his face took on a quizzical expression, and then wrinkled up into a smile. As they came nearer he burst into a laugh.
The other man, who was larger and quite as florid, joined him. "Well, bless my soul," he said, leaning forward in his saddle, his sides shaking.
The twins by this time were within speaking-distance. They did not smile, but still holding each other's hands bowed quite gravely.
"Mr. Wyeth, your presence, sir," they said.
"In the name of St. George," said the fat man, "what have you been doing?"
"We fell into the water," said the twins, together.
"You'll pardon our appearance," went on George, "but we are glad to see you here at Stanham Mills, I do assure you, sir. I—I suppose this is our Uncle Daniel? Is it not?"
This was said with such a fine imitation of Uncle Nathan's courtliest manner, that Mr. Wyeth could hardly repress another burst of laughter.
But Mr. Daniel Frothingham—for it was none other—gravely lifted his hat, and said: "Young gentlemen, I salute you. The honor is mine, I do declare."
Then seeing Grace, he took his feet from the stirrups. "Will the young lady come up here with me?" he asked.
In a minute the little girl, with her garland of oak leaves trailing to the ground, was seated before her uncle from London on the old gray horse.
"Well, this is an unexpected greeting," remarked the huge man to the merchant.
The twins had started down the road, leaving a trail of water dripping from their soggy coats.
"What are you doing with those switches, Cato?" asked Mr. Wyeth, turning in his saddle and winking at Uncle Daniel.
"I reckin, sah," said the old darky, smiling grimly, "Mars Nathaniel may have need of 'em. I's tol' Miss Frothingham dat dose chilluns oughter be teached ter swim."
Daniel Frothingham gazed at the soaked figures ahead, and his eyes twinkled merrily.
Just to the right of the highway, a short distance from the edge of the pond, a lane fringed with trees led up a gentle incline, at the end of which could be seen a large rambling building, with great white pillars supporting an overheavy Grecian portico.
Before the twins had turned the corner, two figures on horseback came down the main road at a steady trot.
The two boys did not move out of the way a single step, and if the first rider had not drawn off to the road-side they would have been almost under his horse's hoofs. But the twins appeared to pay no attention to this. In fact, so far as any motion of theirs was concerned the two riders might not have existed.
One was a tall man with long leather leggings, and the other a boy of fourteen on a small brown pony. As they passed Mr. Wyeth both gravely acknowledged his salute.
"Who are they?" asked Mr. Daniel Frothingham. He had not spoken for some time, and had been listening to his niece's description of the adventure up the brook.
"Dat's Mr. Mason Hewes and his son Carter," answered the old negro before Mr. Wyeth could reply. "I reckin you's heard 'bout de boundary-line trubbles, sah."
"Oh yes," replied Mr. Wyeth, and he smiled significantly; "that was the man of whom I spoke to you," he went on, addressing Mr. Frothingham. "He is the most advanced rebel in this colony. I have heard utterances attributed to him that ought to—if true bespoke them—place a halter round his neck. It is said that he has proposed resisting the impost taxes with the force of arms. He is a leader of the so-called Sons of Liberty." Mr. Wyeth said the last words with a sneer.
"An arrant scoundrel. I know of him. He should be clapped in prison," rejoined Daniel Frothingham in a voice so like Uncle Nathan's that little Grace looked up in fright. The pleasant expression had vanished from the old man's face.
"This is not England," remarked Mr. Wyeth, sententiously.
"No; I would it were," answered the other. "There's law for such a one as this. A 'Whig' he calls himself? He's a rebel, and naught else."
By this time they had turned into the lane, and could see two figures waiting by the great white pillars. One was a large man in a red coat, and the other was a tall gray-haired lady, who stood very straight and prim beside him.
The twins had prudently fallen behind, and one observed to the other, as they watched the greetings from a distance:
"Did you see Carter Hewes? He made faces at us."
"Wait until we catch him off some time," was the reply. Then both boys ran for it, and dodged into the house through the kitchen door; but they had not escaped Aunt Clarissa's eagle eye. However, they received no punishment that night, and went to bed in peace.
The next day was quite as fine as the one that had preceded it. The morning was spent in a visit to the various works about the place, but the result of the inspection was not encouraging, and the family party at Stanham Manor was much depressed.
Uncle Daniel had proved to be a large edition of the Frothingham characteristics bound in red. His hands were thick and his fingers short. His manner of speech was ponderous, yet emphatic. Nothing in the new country pleased him; he longed for London. Besides this, he saw that the mining property promised little for the future.
Early in the afternoon Uncle Nathan might have been seen seated on the broad piazza in a great, easy-chair; opposite to him sat Mr. Wyeth, and beside him Uncle Daniel. All three were smoking long-stemmed clay pipes, and blowing the white clouds into the air. For some time no one had spoken. The bees were delving into the honeysuckle blossoms that grew about the pillars, and Aunt Clarissa was plying her white fingers at a tatting-frame close by.
Little Grace, seated in the sunlight on a low hassock, was playing with a small black kitten.
The sound of busy wheels and the roar of the waterfall at the dam drifted across the stretch of green, for besides the foundry the Frothinghams maintained a grist-mill, where most of the grinding for the neighborhood was done.
Uncle Nathan was not in the best of spirits. The discord and dispute over the eastern line worried him more and more each day. He had confided this to his brother and to Mr. Wyeth at some length the night before, and had worked himself into a towering rage.
Mr. Wyeth was also troubled, but it was mostly owing to the trend of political events throughout the country.
The spires of the city on a clear day could just be descried through a strong glass, away off to the east, from the top of Tumble Ridge.
"There's trouble, sir, trouble, I fear me, ahead," said Mr. Wyeth, breaking the silence at last. "Business is again at a standstill, and the spirit of discontent is slowly growing throughout the colonies. In fact, among our friends some rebellious spirits have dared to breathe a word against Parliament and the court, and are almost ripe even to disown allegiance to his Majesty. You find some of this here about you in its worst form; that we all know." He said the last in a low tone of voice.
Uncle Nathan's face turned red, and he quivered with excitement. Aunt Clarissa stopped in the middle of a purple blossom in her embroidery.
"Yes," went on Mr. Wyeth, "I fear me we'll have trouble. Many people whom I see every day, and whose loyalty no one could have doubted some time since, appear to be outraged at what they term 'the oppressions of the crown' forsooth. The new duties, they maintain, must be removed. It will require a strong hand and action to repress the growing discontent."
Mr. Nathaniel Frothingham stammered in his rage, finding his tongue at last. "The soldiers treated the villains right in Boston, March two years ago," he shouted, with an approach to an oath, "and they called it 'a massacre! a massacre'!"
"Pay the tax, say I, and avoid the trouble," ventured Mr. Wyeth, who had not expected to call forth such an amount of feeling.
Here Uncle Daniel put down his pipe, and struck the arm of his chair a mighty blow. "A few hangings and the marching of some regiments under the standard of King George would bring them to their senses," he hissed. "Traitors and plotters against our King are enemies to this country's welfare."
"His Majesty will send us troops enough, I trow," said the merchant again. "Doubt me not, we'll need them."
Just then a figure came about an angle of the house, and approached the group sitting in the shadow of the pillars.
"Here's that rascally looking overseer of yours, Nathaniel," said the elder brother. "He is the evilist-looking man, I swear, I ever clapped my eyes on."
"Well, Cloud," interrupted Uncle Nathan, speaking loudly, "what is it now?"
The newcomer had removed his hat, and was standing bareheaded in the sunshine. The black hair was worn short and stood up stiff as a pig's bristles; his narrow eyes were half hidden under the thick eyebrows, but were shifty, like a ferret's; his long nose came down over his thin colorless lips. Another curious thing that would strike an observer at first glance was the man's underpinning; his legs were strong and powerfully muscled, entirely out of keeping with the lean shoulders and narrow chest.
"Mr. Frothingham, I would have a word with you," he began.
"Well, speak out," returned Uncle Nathan. "I have no secrets with you from these gentlemen."
The overseer shifted uneasily. "There's something going on yonder across the hill," he said. "Some mischief, I take it, on the ridge shaft, for they have posted guards up there with rifles."
"I've told our people not to trespass," said Uncle Nathan. "Is that all?"
"No, sir; they have been casting cannon. I saw them at the foundry."
The three gentlemen on the porch looked at one another and then back at the overseer.
"There's no market for iron in that shape," said Nathaniel Frothingham, quietly. "Some people say that Hewes is mad; it must be true. If that is all, Cloud, you can go."
The man, without replying, turned about the corner of the house.
"For some reason he hates Mason Hewes even worse than I do," remarked Uncle Nathan. "But he is a good man-driver, and works the people well."
"Some time they'll have revenge for all his bullying," said Mr. Wyeth.
"But it is well at times to have a bully in one's pay," rejoined the manager of Stanham Mills.
"Come, where are those two young nephews of ours?" asked Uncle Daniel, as if to change the subject.
Aunt Clarissa glanced up. "That is a question, brother Daniel, no one can answer," she said.
As Aunt Clarissa spoke, however, two young figures were ascending the rough hill whose outline cut sharp and dark against the afternoon sky. They were walking in single file, and over the shoulder of the first, grasped firmly in both hands, was the barrel of a huge horse-pistol. It was the twins' greatest treasure, for they had discovered it one day up in the rafters of the old store-house near the mill. It was for this the blasting powder had been procured.
They did not know, as they climbed upwards, that they were being watched by a dozen pairs of eyes from the fringe of timber along the ridge, but such was the fact.
"Did you put in a big load this time, William?" inquired the second figure, as the boys left the clearing and plunged into a thicket of scrub-oak.
"The biggest we have fired yet," was the answer. "Methinks it will take both of us to hold it still."
"We won't shoot now," said the other. "Wait until we get further beyond in the wood up by that big rock, where Cato killed the rattlesnake. Perhaps we'll see another there."
They went on some distance, and finding a little path, turned sharply to the right.
Suddenly William stopped. "Did you see that?" he said.
"What was it?" said George, the tone of his brother's voice making his heart jump quickly.
"A fox, I think," said William, bringing the huge pistol down into the position of charge bayonet, and cocking the ponderous hammer.
"Where! Where!" whispered George, coming to his brother's side.
"It ran behind that big stone yonder," was the excited answer.
"Let's move up closer. It's your turn to shoot," said the holder of the aged weapon, turning half around.
"You shoot for me," was the whispered reply.
Moving on again they stepped quickly around the trunk of a great spreading pine-tree, for the woodman's axe had as yet spared this particular part of the forest.
The heavy branches shadowed the ground, and the hulk of great stone, close to an overhanging bank, made the light seem even more indistinct, but as they stepped deeper into the shadow, and their eyes became accustomed to the half light, they started suddenly.
There, a few feet from them, stretched on the ground, was a creature such as they had never seen before. It was as large as a big dog, with a gaunt body, small narrow head, and gleaming yellow eyes. It was crouching close to the ground, its haunches raised somewhat, its tail moving slightly and rustling the leaves of the bushes behind it.
William felt as if the pistol in his hands was almost too heavy for his arms to lift. A terrible thumping came into his temples.
"Shoot! shoot!" said George, behind him, his voice sounding to himself as if it were some miles away.
There was a tremendous roar and a cloud of sulphurous smoke. Probably no weapon that had ever gone to the wars of the times of good Queen Anne had ever withstood such a charge before.
Backwards fell William, as if he had been kicked by a horse, and both boys rolled over down into the path, but there was a thrashing tearing sound at the foot of the pine-tree, and the strange creature was rolling over and over, clawing the air, and lashing about to right and left.
For some reason the old pistol had shot straight, and two of Aunt Clarissa's best pewter spoons, hammered into irregular lumps of metal, had done their work. After a few struggles, the beast lay still, and the boys recovered themselves quite slowly, for the report and fall had almost stunned them.
"I thought I was killed," was William's first speech.
"I didn't have much time to think," was the rejoinder. "S'death! you must have put in all the powder that we had."
"We hit something, anyhow. What was it?" said William, rubbing his head ruefully. His hands were blackened, and the old pistol, with the hammer broken and the pan blown out, lay on the ground a short distance off.
As the boys rose to their feet, they heard the sound of something coming stealthily down the path in their direction. In a moment a tall figure stood beside them.
It was Mr. Mason Hewes, and only a few rods away, seated in the bushes, well hidden from sight, were a dozen rough-looking men. It was they who had watched the young Frothinghams coming up the hill.
The boys recovered their dignity at once, and Mr. Hewes himself was less composed than they were. He glanced at the big catamount, lying dead on the blood-stained leaves, and then at the young hunters, in mute astonishment.
"Are we on your property, sir?" inquired William, breathing hard, and hiding his tingling hands behind his back.
"You are, sir," said Mr. Hewes; "but what of that? You're welcome to go here when you please."
"We did not mean to trespass, I assure you," said George, "and I suppose that animal is yours."
"You are welcome to him also," said Mr. Hewes, "and you are brave boys. What!" Again his astonishment overcame him, and he bent down to pick up the pistol.
"Well, of all things in the world!" he remarked again, almost at a loss for something else to say.
The boys had gathered themselves together by this time, and were standing like two soldiers at attention.
"You had better go and tell your uncle what you have done," said the tall man, with a half smile.
The prospect was too much for the twins. They exchanged a frightened glance. "Oh no, no, no!" they both exclaimed.
"That would never do at all," said George. "You don't know Uncle Nathan." After this outburst they recovered their composure, and looked as if killing a catamount was an every-day occurrence.
Mr. Hewes took out his watch. "Is there any one working in your uncle's mine on Tumble Ridge to-day?" inquired, casually.
"No, not to-day," said William. "They're doing something else. I think—"
George plucked him by the sleeve, and his mouth closed like a trap.
"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Mr. Hewes, who appeared much relieved at what he heard. "To make it equal, you take his ears and scalp, the way all hunters do, and I will keep the rest."
He leaned over, and deftly cut the skin from around the catamount's head, and handed the trophy to the two young warriors. They bowed politely, and taking up the remains of their old friend, the Queen Anne pistol, went off down the hill.
Mr. Hewes gazed after them. "There's an odd lot," he said to himself. "By Saint George, if their uncle were made of stuff like them, there'd be no trouble between us, I'll wager safe enough."
He turned on his heel and went up the path to where the strange party was hiding in the bushes. There was another tall man there with a rifle over his shoulder, and most of the men were fully armed.
Mr. Hewes told of the adventure in a few words, and the party moved forward to the scene of the short conflict.
At dinner that evening the boys were so subdued that Mr. Wyeth wondered what could have happened. Uncle Daniel's questions were answered in monosyllables.
Just as they all were about to leave the table, a rumbling explosion shook the air, coming from the direction of the disputed territory.
The party jumped to their feet.
"That scoundrel Hewes!" fairly shouted Uncle Nathan, in a voice much like a blast itself. "He's blown into our galleries on the ridge! I feared he would. The scoundrel. He'll pay for this; the villain, oh! the villain!" He caught a chair for support, and went on in a torrent of imprecation.
The dinner ended abruptly, and every one ran out on the broad veranda.
Loud voices could be heard coming from the direction of the foundry, and far off on the hill-side lights were moving as if people were there with torches.