The Loyalist / A Story of the American Revolution

by James Francis Barrett

A strong, athletic individual, clad in a checked shirt and a red flannel jacket, a leathern apron, and a pair of yellow buckskin breeches, entered and stood for a moment looking about the hall. His eyes fell upon the group gathered around the table at the forward end of the room. Two of them he recognized, Colonel Clifton and John Anderson, the latter with his back to the audience. There were many familiar faces in the chairs throughout the room, some of whom had expected him, and accordingly gave him a slight recognition. Slowly, and in a manifestly indifferent manner, he made his way to the front of the chairs where he seated himself, and listened sharply to the little group conversing upon the platform until he had satisfied himself that there was nothing of importance under discussion.

The room was filling rapidly. It was one of those mixed assemblies wherein one could discern many states of mind written upon the faces of those present. Some wore the appearance of contentment and composure; some laughed and talked in a purely disinterested and indifferent manner; others looked the picture of unrest and dissatisfaction, and wore a scowl of disappointment and defeat. These latter Stephen recognized at once and hurriedly made an estimate of their number. Together with the neutral representation he seemed satisfied with the majority.

The most remarkable feature of all was the silence. Not a voice was raised above a whisper. The man at the door at the side of the hall, the little group away to the front of the hall, peeping at the audience and talking in subdued tones, the people in the chairs, those at the back of the hall,—all seemed to hold their tongues to a whisper for interest and a kind of fear. Drama was in the air.

The guard at the door advanced to the front of the hall to announce to Mr. Anderson that the full quota was present. Whereupon the latter arose from his chair and swept with his gaze the entire room, which the dim light of the torches only partly revealed. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he turned and again conferred with his associates who nodded their heads in acceptance of his suggestion. They sat back in their chairs while he came to the center of the platform and awaited the cessation of the hum which was now becoming audible.

"Let me begin by taking further assurance of your number," he said, "for which purpose I shall call the roll of names to which I respectfully ask you to respond."

Then followed the reading of the roll-call to which each man at the mention of his name signified his presence in the room. Stephen's heart fluttered as he replied boldly to the name of "James Cadwalader."

There were eight names to which no reply was given. These very likely would come later, or perhaps they had reconsidered their action and had decided not to come at all. Those present numbered eighty-six, Stephen learned from the count.

"I shall take this opportunity of distributing among you the papers of enlistment that you may read the terms of agreement, and these I shall ask you to sign at the close of this meeting."

As Anderson finished this sentence, he passed to several aids, a bundle of papers which they promptly dealt out to the members of the proposed company.