Part 3 (2/2)

It was before one of these committees that my fellow prisoner and I were called. It was plain from the beginning that everything was against us. The man who occupied the chair was not a farmer, I noticed. I concluded at once that he, and at least half of the committee of twelve, were residents of Boston. This fact I was quite sure would not increase our chances of acquittal. I had often heard my father express his confidence in the farmer people of the country, but his opinion of many Boston merchants, whose sense of honour had been dulled by years of trading in smuggled goods, was far from high.

As I looked about the room I soon recognised that there were many other prisoners in addition to ourselves. I listened eagerly as one after another was put upon the stand and questioned. It soon appeared to me that most of the men were neutrals who, like David Elton, had been taken forcibly from their farms because they had refused to take up arms. A few boldly declared for the King; some promised to fight; many wavered. These latter, as a rule, were given a time limit, in which to decide finally, and were let go. The Loyalists were sent back to jail.

David Elton, when called, stoutly refused to declare himself. He protested that he was a farmer, a man of peace, who had a large family to support, and he was determined to go back to his farm. He was handed over to a guard, then hurried away. Almost before the sound of his loud, shrill voice, raised high in protest, was out of my ears, I heard my own name sharply called by the court.

When I went forward I noticed a look of deepened interest on the faces of both committee and spectators. My case was not like those of the other prisoners, who were practically all farmers of the community. As I faced the crowd of onlookers I noticed that two men suddenly and quietly left the room. The chairman of the committee followed them sharply with his eye, a few others turned to look, but the great majority steadily and critically scrutinised myself. The murmur in the building fell to silence.

'Your name?' was the first question asked of me.

I gave it, also my age and place of residence.

'Will you now relate fully and concisely all that has taken place in your life since the morning of April twentieth?' This question was put by the man who was acting as judge.

I had spoken but a few words when a member of the committee rose, and addressing the chairman, asked to be excused. While I had not been positive of the face, since the light had been uncertain when I saw the man before, the first words he spoke dispelled all doubt. I knew the man. He was the person whom I had heard addressed as 'Colonel,' on the night Duncan escaped and I was made prisoner.

A chorus of protests broke from both committeemen and spectators.

Instantly I understood. This was the man whom I had heard declare he would tell that Duncan Hale had been hanged. As a reward for his supposed services he had been chosen a member of the Committee of Safety!

During the parley that followed I was able to turn over the situation in my mind. The men who had gone out had evidently been members of the party which Duncan had eluded, and they had feared my story. What would I do? The 'Colonel' feared it also. Would telling the whole truth help or harm me? I did not care to go back to the mine, and I felt that I should proceed with the utmost caution. The mere promise to fight, I had learned from the cases of others that day, meant freedom. Would not this simplify matters? Should I not here under the circ.u.mstances be justified in making a promise that I did not intend to keep. I was sure the truth, if told, would make trouble for the 'Colonel'; but would it not make corresponding trouble for myself by showing my sympathy with Duncan Hale, who was hated as were few men of the King's party? Finally, I resolved to hazard the whole truth.

The uproar in the court ended in the 'Colonel' not being allowed to go, and I was ordered to proceed.

Knowing I had but one thing of importance to say, I spent little time in leading up to it. I said I had taken no part in the dispute: that I rode out to Lexington simply to learn the truth. I spoke of meeting the body of troops, and of seeing the old man at the graves; I referred briefly to the burial, even to the sermon--all this to stamp my story as unmistakably true--then I plunged into the scene on the road to Boston and told of Duncan's escape. 'And that man there,'--I said, turning and facing the 'Colonel,' who sat pale and s.h.i.+vering,--'that man there declared in the presence of all the others in the party, that he would go to the village and tell the committee that Duncan Hale had been hanged.'

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”THAT MAN,” I SAID, TURNING AND FACING THE 'COLONEL,'

WHO SAT PALE AND s.h.i.+VERING.]

I felt sure that this was the point where my story should close. I had nothing stronger than this. Moved by a certain latent instinct for the dramatic I broke off and sat down.

There was a short, ominous silence--then a great uproar. 'Traitor!'

yelled several at once, as they sprang upon the benches, waving their arms wildly.

'Shoot him,' shouted others; 'he let him go purposely.'

But I heard little more, for the individual voices became indistinct in the general chorus of angry shouts that burst from every part of the room. Friends and defenders crowded near the 'Colonel,' and soon the house was divided against itself. Had it not been that two armed guards stood at the door, I think I would have broken for liberty.

Finally, standing upon the table behind which he had sat with so much of badly simulated dignity, the chairman, very red and very hoa.r.s.e, succeeded in restoring order.

'We have agreed,' he said, 'that this whole matter shall be fully investigated, and justice shall be done. It is certainly unwelcome news to hear that the notorious Hale is still at large. If he has escaped, as this lad declares, if among ourselves there are some who are unworthy of our confidence, it is well that these things be known.

Everything will be fully investigated, and'--he roared the words so loudly that they were almost unintelligible--'and justice shall be done to both friend and foe.'

The whole a.s.sembly cheered mightily. Then the man on the table spoke again.

'Now in the name,' he said, 'and by authority of the Committee of Safety for the towns.h.i.+p of Lexington, I adjourn this meeting for one week, and order that this boy Davis and Colonel John Griffin be kept close prisoners till that time.'

I was not taken back to the mine, but was put in a comparatively comfortable prison. That night--a little after midnight--I was aroused by a low tapping on my door. As I drew near this it opened. I stepped out. The brilliant May night was all about me: and it was very still.

Without a word a figure that crouched in the shadow of the door motioned me toward the great black wood that stretched from the edge of the prison yard away up the mountain. I flew off like a bird.

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