“Let the English say what they like,” cried he, “we have as good officers as they, and perhaps better. And we were faithful to the king, too, until he hired the Brunswickers and Hessians to come and fight against us. No free men could stand such a thing as that.”
“No, no,” chorused the boys upon the benches.
“That was the last straw,” said Walter Stanton. “If King George had not done that, the gentlemen across the way would never have written, passed and signed the Declaration of Independence, July a year ago.”
So interested were all the boys in the talk, which now became general, that they did not notice a horseman ride up, dismount and tie his nag to a post near at hand. He was a tall, spare, raw-boned man, with fiery red hair. He held himself with the rigid bearing of a man trained in the army; his face was resolute, indeed fierce looking; and an ugly sword slash had left a red scar across it that did not add to his appearance. He stood at his horse’s head listening, as Philip Morgan went on, addressing Danvers.
“You may sneer at Putnam if you like, sir, but he is a bold and able officer, and so is General Arnold. Why, Arnold’s invasion of Canada alone would stamp him as an uncommon man.”
“He had Richard Montgomery with him,” said Danvers, coldly, “and Montgomery got what little training he had as an officer in the British army. The best that one can say of him is that he was brave.”
At the name of the intrepid and lamented Montgomery, the fierce looking man with the scar upon his face had bent forward interestedly; but at the words of Danvers he stepped forward, his strong fingers twisting nervously.
“I knew General Montgomery,” said he to Danvers; “he was the cleverest officer I ever saw.”
Danvers turned and swept him with an insolent look.
“And, pray, sir, who are you?” he asked.