By the side of one of the tables, in front of the president, might also have been seen the stout, burly frame, and the matter-of-fact and business-like countenance, of Paul Spooner, engaged in writing a despatch. And as the last, though not as the least, among the strongly-contrasted characters of this assembly of whom we propose to take note, let us turn to the youthful secretary of the council, Ira Allen. So much the junior of his colleagues was he, indeed, that a spectator might well have wondered how he came to be selected as one of such a sage and elderly body of councillors. But those who procured his appointment knew full well why they had done so; and his history thenceforward was destined to prove a continued justification of their high opinion of him. He was of an active, mercurial turn, and, as might have been seen, was not inclined to remain long in one place or posture. He had now thrown aside his rapid pen, and, with a quick, light step and deeply-cogitating air, was traversing back and forth the open space between his table, in front of the president, and the closed door of the apartment. Both in form and feature, he was one of the handsomest men of his day; while a mind at once versatile, clear, and penetrating, with perceptions as quick as light, was stamped on his Grecian brow, or found a livelier expression in his lucid black eyes and other lineaments of his strikingly intellectual countenance. Such as he appeared for the first time on the stage of public action was the noted Ira Allen, whose true history, when written, will show him to have been, either secretly or openly, the originator, or successful prosecutor, of more important political measures, affecting the interests and independence of the state, and the issue of the war in the Northern Department, than any other individual in Vermont, making him, with the many peculiar traits of character he possessed, one of the most remarkable men of the times in which he so conspicuously figured.
“I have finished, Mr. President,” said Spooner, now breaking the gloomy silence which had, for an unusual interval, pervaded the assembly—“I have finished the despatch, suggested by your honor, requiring the attendance of the absent member from the east side of the mountain—General Bayley. And having put it into the form of a familiar letter, I have ventured to enlarge somewhat on our perplexing situation, especially in the matter of the miserable Squire Spencer, whose treasonable desertion I little dreamed, when I commenced writing, I should have the mortification of announcing.” [Footnote: The original letter from Paul Spooner to General Jacob Bayley, of Newbury, written in council, requiring the attendance of the latter, and informing him of Spencer's defection, and the gloomy situation of affairs, is still preserved, and affords, notwithstanding the disheartening news it communicates, a striking proof of the determination of that body to struggle on to the last against the mountain of difficulties which, at this dark crisis, seemed to lie before them.]
“That is well,” responded the president; “and we must look up some suitable messenger to convey it to its destination. But I had hoped to forward, by the same hand, the despatch requesting the aid and co-operation of New Hampshire, which has been deferred till some definite action of our own should enable us to inform the council of that state what we of the Grants propose to do ourselves towards the object for which we invoke their assistance. This they will doubtless consider essential to be known, before listening to our call, as otherwise they will not know whether they will find among us more friends to assist than enemies to impede them. But what can we now tell them? I will submit to you, gentlemen of the council,” he continued, in a kindly expostulating tone—“I will submit to your good sense and patriotism, whether it is not now time to adopt some decided course to be pursued. We must not be disheartened by a few untoward circumstances. Providence not unfrequently frowns on us for our own good. And who shall say, in the present instance, that our deliberations have not been wisely and kindly rendered of no effect till after Spencer's desertion, since, had we adopted a plan of operations while he was here, the whole of it, by this time, had been in the possession of the British general? But be that as it may, the event of this man's apostasy, of itself, instead of making us timid and irresolute in action, should but render us more prompt and decided. The people, as we all feel painfully conscious, I presume, expect much from us. Shall we disappoint them in every thing? Because we cannot consistently do all that may be expected, shall we resolve to do nothing? I have listened to your objections to levying a general tax upon the people, as the means of raising a military force; and, with you, I consider them valid; for to infringe the constitution, just adopted, by an arbitrary taxation, would be setting a dangerous precedent, and one which would come with a bad grace from those of us here who helped to adopt it. No; we must resort to other means. We can, if we will, borrow, pledging ourselves as individuals, with such others as we may find willing to stand sponsors with us, that the state shall hereafter pay the debt; or we may resort to voluntary contributions. I am aware the people are unable to contribute much. I am aware that a great portion of the inhabitants have been driven from their homes, and are now living on the hospitality of the rest. But for all this, the people can and will cheerfully contribute something—more, I think, than we should be willing to require of them. I have ten head of cattle, which can be spared for the emergency. But am I more patriotic than you, and hundreds of others in the settlement? My wife has a valuable gold necklace. Hint to her to-day that it is needed for the public service, and, my word for it, to-morrow you will find it in the treasury of freedom. But is my wife any more public-spirited than yours and many others among us? Gentlemen, I await your propositions.”
During this moderate, but really well-timed and effective appeal of the president, drooping heads began to be raised, perplexed and desponding countenances grew brighter, and by the time he had closed, several speakers were on their feet, eager to respond.
“Mr. Carpenter has the floor, I think, gentlemen,” said the president.
“I rose,” said Carpenter, “but to give my hearty response to the sentiments of the chair. It is time, high time, for some definite and decided action. Less talking and more action shall henceforth be my motto. I have not now, it is true, any digested proposition to present to the council; but I soon will have one, unless others are offered; for, in this emergency, it is little short of a crime to dally any longer.”
“Ay, action! action!” responded several voices.
“Action let it be, then,” said Rowley, the next rising to speak. “If it be true, as has been urged, Mr. President, that we cannot raise money by general assessment without exceeding our power; and disaffecting the people, and that we must depend on voluntary contribution, which receivers, appointed for the purpose, may more appropriately gather in than ourselves, why are we needed here? I will, therefore, make a proposition, which, while it will be obnoxious to none of the objections brought against other plans of defence, will give gentlemen as much action as they want. I propose, Mr. President, that each of us here, before any more of us run away to the enemy, seize a standard, repair singly to the different hamlets among our mountains, cause the summoning drum to beat for volunteers, and lead them, when obtained, to do battle in person with this Jupiter Olympus of a British general, who has so nearly annihilated the country by proclamation.”
“Tom Rowley all over! but a gallant push nevertheless,” vivaciously exclaimed Samuel Robinson, in an under tone. “And yet, Mr. President,” he continued, dropping the jocose, and now rising to speak in form—“and yet, if our colleague's spirited proposal could be carried into effect, and men be found to volunteer under such military leaders as most of us would make,—or if the different towns, as has been suggested by others, would order out the militia on our requisition,—even then, it appears to me, we should raise a permanent and regularly enlisted force, to serve a rallying point or nucleus for the militia, or our patriotic friend's army of volunteers. I therefore move, as I was about to do when others claimed the floor—I move the raising of a regular force, however small our means may compel us to make it; and as the smallest to be thought of, I will name one company of one hundred men, to be raised and supported by one of the methods suggested by the president.”
“And I,” said Clark, promptly rising—“and I, believing we may venture to go a little higher than that, I propose, we have to raise two companies of sixty men each.”