Roger Davis, Loyalist

by Frank Baird

I knew the King's cause had many sympathisers on the farms that lay about us. What effect the real shedding of blood and the defeat of the British would have I could not determine, but, while I knew that the country would soon be swarming with rebels, I was equally sure that we would not be absolutely alone, if we resolved to declare ourselves in favour of the King and his government in the colony. At first, it occurred to me to advise fleeing at once inside the protected limits of Boston. But the thought of the value of my father's property turned me from this course. That we were in danger, I was certain. My father, owing to his trade relations with the colonists of all types, had not openly espoused the royal cause; on many occasions rebels had claimed him as a sympathiser; but I knew that now all would be revealed. The jeer of the soldiers half convinced me that all was known already. Had these simply gone by that they might return with others to carry us off prisoners?

At that moment, on glancing through the window, I was startled to see several buildings on fire away toward Boston. The rebels had evidently begun the work of destruction; but the thought that it had suddenly come to this, that our quiet, happy, and thriving country-side was to be devastated by fire and sword as during old wars of which I had read in history, made me, for a moment, wonder if it were not all a horrible dream. Recalling myself, however, to the situation in which I was placed, as the defender of my mother and sisters, I turned from the window, and, when a silence fell in the sobbing, said, 'I shall see Duncan Hale; he will help us.'

The painful day wore slowly on. It was evident that the whole country was deeply stirred. Not a single soldier of the King could be seen, but rebels were everywhere. On horseback and on foot; in rough carriages and farm wagons; armed and unarmed; singly and in crowds; cheering, shouting, swearing, threatening—all day long these rough, leaderless, untrained farmer soldiers kept passing and re-passing, in what seemed to be wild, purposeless confusion. Now and then the sound of distant firing came from the direction of Boston; occasionally a column of smoke arose from the country round, telling its own story of destruction.

I wondered if a similar fate awaited our fine old house, with its fluted Corinthian corners, and its air of English solidity. I recalled the peculiar pride with which my father had shown visitors through and around it. The big hallway running from front to back, and on either side the lofty square rooms; the high wainscotting, the deeply recessed window seats, and queer, old-fashioned mouldings that bordered the ceilings; the wide fire-places with their curiously-wrought andirons; the two magnificent lindens before the door, planted by my grandmother when a bride some sixty years ago; the wide garden with shaded walks, and the hundred acres of rich, valuable land, all took on a new interest to me that day. It came to me that these things could not be given up without a pang.

The day—it was the twentieth of April, 1775—proved gloriously fine until the end; this, with the unusual gaiety of the birds in the lindens, the bursting of the buds in the gardens, and other assurances of spring, were in striking contrast with all that had been taking place in the world of men. But the consequences of the events that had preceded that day were to be infinitely greater than any contrast could be. I can see now, as I did not then, that rightly looked at, the skirmish at Lexington where my father fell, had within it the beginnings of two nations—and one of them was Canada. But of this, later in the story.

That night I was again in the library in consultation with my mother and sisters, regarding the possible recovery of my father's body, when a low knocking at the door startled us. A few moments later Duncan Hale and Doctor Canfield, minister of the parish, were seated among us.

In a few softly spoken words the good clergyman expressed his sincere sympathy for us in our sudden affliction. Doctor Canfield was one of Harvard's most brilliant sons; he had travelled much; was directly descended from a noble English family; he was possessed of means; many of the foremost men of letters were his correspondents; he was tall and military in bearing; graceful and eloquent in speech; the soul of courtesy and honour; and withal, he was a master of the fine art of manners. It was Doctor Canfield and others like him who made separation from England difficult, standing, as they did, for the only refinement that the provinces knew, peopled as these were mainly with rough, plain tradespeople and farmers. As he talked with my mother, I could not help setting his fineness over against the coarseness of the many men I had seen through the day.

Duncan Hale sat silent, until Doctor Canfield, turning to him, asked him to relate what he knew of the events of the previous day. As this was a matter to which our minds had been constantly reverting since the reported death of my father, we gave him willing audience.

'Three days ago it became known to General Gage, madam,' he said, rising and addressing my mother, 'that a considerable quantity of rebel stores had been collected at the village of Lexington, some fourteen miles from Boston. The General decided, in the interests of His Majesty's government and of peace, that these should be destroyed. Accordingly he ordered Major Pitcairn to march with eight hundred men to Lexington, and destroy or seize the rifles and ammunition there stored. Guided by your excellent husband, who knew the country as the officers did not, the soldiers succeeded in destroying the stores, but, when they were on the point of returning to Boston, they were attacked by thousands of the rebels, who, having been previously made acquainted with the intention of our soldiers by means of spies riding out from Boston, one Paul Revere being chief, were fully armed and well prepared. Seeing themselves so overwhelmingly outnumbered, and being informed that the whole country for fully fifty miles around was in arms, the English officers, after consulting with Lord Percy, who had gone out later in the day, agreed to fall back upon Boston.'

The schoolmaster finished and sat down. There was a strangely agitated look on his face. I was wondering what this could mean, when a sharp whistle sounded at the door.