In the midst of the excitement Uncle David and Glen Drake returned with the information that all the people of the other Colonies had “all their eyes turned on Boston.” “We’ll have to open hostilities before long,” Don’s uncle declared. “Human nature can bear just so much—then look out!”
“O David!” cried Aunt Martha. “You seem to be anxious for bloodshed. You do indeed!”
“I’m anxious for justice,” replied Uncle David.
“Ye can torment a critter just so far, Aunt Martha,” said Glen; “then it’ll turn and fight. I don’t care what it is—mink, otter or even a poor little muskrat. And when it does fight it fights like fury. It’s not only human nature, but the nature of every living critter.”
Aunt Martha was silent, and Don, observing the old trapper’s powerful fingers as he tightened the lacing in one of his boots, secretly wished that he were old enough to carry a musket in one of the companies of militia.
Two days later the two men were off on separate missions to the west and south, and again Don was left alone with his aunt.
One Saturday afternoon late in September he took a long walk with his dog, a young terrier that a sailor on one of the ships at Woodman’s Wharf had given him in exchange for three cakes of maple sugar and a set of dominoes. Up past the Faneuil Hall the two went, past the Green Dragon Tavern and along to the shipyard at Hudson’s Point, the dog tugging eagerly at his leash, and Don holding him back.
For a while Don stood in Lynn Street, looking across the water at Charlestown and enjoying the cold wind that was sweeping in from the east. So far he had not found a name for the dog, and he was walking along thoughtfully when he caught sight of a red-coated figure standing at the approach to Ruck’s Wharf and talking with—why, it was Tom Bullard! Don stopped short and then turned to watch the tide, which was sweeping round the point. What was Tom doing, talking with a Redcoat? On second thought Don realized that Tories and Redcoats had only too much in common these days. He was on the point of resuming his walk when he heard someone shout at the end of the wharf, and, turning, he saw a man in a small sloop holding something upraised in his hand. Tom and the soldier started toward the sloop, laughing. Then Don observed that it was a bottle that the man in the boat was holding. “Tom’s found bad company, I’m afraid,” he thought and again resumed his walk.
On coming opposite the end of the wharf, he observed that Tom had gone aboard the sloop; he had crossed on a narrow plank stretched between the boat and the dock. The soldier, a tall, well-built fellow, had started across at a swinging gait. He had passed the middle and was only a few feet from the sloop when, apparently, the narrow plank tilted sidewise. “Look out!” Don heard Tom shout.
The soldier threw out both arms, balanced uncertainly for several seconds, took two short quick steps and then slipped. Don saw the man’s hat fly off and go sailing in the wind. The next instant the soldier struck the water with a tremendous splash.