“Hello!” I cried, springing from bed, and seizing my sword. My eyes were heavy with sleep, and I thought the Indians were upon us.
The knock came once more, and it did not sound so loud to me when I had shaken off some of the slumber.
“Who’s there?” I called again.
“’Tis I, John Putnam, constable of Salem town under His Most Gracious Majesty, the King,” was the reply.
A nameless dread, a chill, seized me, though I knew not the reason for it. As the constable’s words died away I detected the sound of moving feet beyond the oak door that separated us. I thought at once that Sir George had sent the royal warrant for treason to be executed upon me.
“Wait,” I cried, wishing to gain a little time. Then for an instant I reasoned with myself. What should I do? Give battle now, trusting to break through the ranks of those the constable had brought with him, and, if successful, flee? Or tarry and see the affair through? I did not like to run for it on the first appearance of danger. Perhaps after all I could find a way of escape. So in the next instant I had made up my mind to take my arrest quietly.
I had an idea that the fighting I had done in behalf of the Colony would stand me in good stead, and serve to gain me a pardon from the court.
Once more the summons came.
“We’ll not wait much longer,” was the warning from without.
“Then enter,” I called, flinging open the door. I stood face to face with a half score of men, all armed, who well nigh filled the little hall. John Putnam, the constable, was at their head.