There was only a sullen “No” from Felton.
“You are not entitled to vote in this meeting, sir. I have a clear majority and will take my seat.” So saying, Allen seated himself upon the table.
“The plain facts of the case are these: This Mr. Felton and this Graves, also, were taken by me, and certain other good men, about one month ago, in the act of surveying, under the pretended authority of the tyrannical New York government, lands already granted by His Excellency Benning Wentworth, His Majesty’s duly appointed Governor of New Hampshire. The said persons were ordered to desist from such unlawful business and to depart from these Grants, and were duly warned not to return for a like purpose under pain of being ‘Viewed.’ Furthermore, they were suffered to depart without bodily harm. Here the surveyor comes again, like a bad penny as he is, bearing the King’s mark, but a base counterfeit none the less. And this Graves pretends to own this pitch by right of purchase under York government. Other than them I do not recognize any among this crew who have been ‘Warned.’ Now, friend Beeman, tell us your story.”
Seth told what had passed between him and the surveyor, and then Nathan was called to relate his meeting the party in the woods, which he did in a straightforward manner, except for his boyish bashfulness.
“Now, you have it all. Felton and Graves are here, as you see, in prosecution of their unlawful business, as the testimony of this boy and his father shows. In further proof whereof, see the surveyor’s instruments here in view. What say you, men of the Grants, are they guilty or not guilty?”
“Guilty,” said the various voices.
“What shall be their punishment? That they be chastised with the twigs of the wilderness?”
There was general affirmative response, some answering loudly, others faintly and hesitatingly. Then Job Carpenter stepped forward, and, making a military salute, said:
“I don’t go agin these men a gittin’ what they desarve, but I don’t want to have them skinned. Their skins hain’t worth a-hevin’ only for their selves, and I hate to see white men whipped like dogs. If they was Injins I wouldn’t say agin it. But, bein’ they hain’t, I move they hev jest nine cuts o’ the Blue Beech apiece.”
“Forty, save one,” was the customary award in such cases, and there were a few dissenting voices, but the milder punishment was finally agreed upon.