Part 5 (1/2)

I left the garden and re-entered the house. At the foot of the stairs I met my sister Caroline.

'You will come with us to church, Roger,' she said. 'Doctor Canfield will be delighted to see you back.'

My mind ran back a little. Would I not be in danger of arrest? The whole country, I knew, was swarming with spies. I thought of the part I had played in saving Duncan Hale, also of my imprisonment and escape.

I had not thought of openly showing myself, at least for a little while.

But Caroline was of quite a different mind. 'You will be in no more danger in church than at home,' she argued. 'I have seen many at church lately who I am sure are in favour of the King. Since you left, things have gone on quite as usual; n.o.body has been molested, and Doctor Canfield has said nothing of the war. Then Roger'--she came nearer to me, and put her hand upon my arm--'should we not go to church to-day, at least, and pray that G.o.d might guide us to do what may be best?'

I felt once more rebuked by my sister.

In less than half an hour I was seated, with my mother and two sisters, in the handsome church that had been for years the pride of the town of Cambridge. Not even Boston could boast a finer church building, or a more cultured congregation. Boston was a centre of trade; its narrow and crooked streets; its wharves and many s.h.i.+ps; its mixed population; its noise and taverns; its large and busy crowds, had for years stood out in sharp contrast with the quiet and delightful country culture of Cambridge. The educated and the wealthy, particularly those in whom the English instincts were strongest, had, like my father, chosen to live in the country rather than in the city. Thus it was that, when Doctor Canfield entered his pulpit that Sabbath morning, he faced representatives of all that was best and most intellectual in the life of the colony.

On glancing about I noticed that the church was very full. Doctor Canfield's church was not the only one in Cambridge, but as a rule to it came not only all the Episcopalians, but most of the Scottish Presbyterians, who had not, at that time, a church of their own in the town. They had been, mainly, silent people, who had lived quietly, without doing or saying anything that betrayed sympathy with either side. Were these friends of the King? Did the circulating of the papers calling for a declaration of sympathy explain their presence in such large numbers this morning at Doctor Canfield's church?

My mother had told me previously that many of them had been attending our church for some weeks. Had the great sifting and selecting process begun? Had persecution here, as in the country, been making friends for the King? At any rate, as I looked about, I was led to hope that religious differences were likely to be obliterated, or sunk, in loyal zeal for the King's cause.

I was interrupted at this point in my thinking by Doctor Canfield announcing his text. It was, 'Love the brotherhood; fear G.o.d; honour the king.'

He repeated the words twice with much deliberation.

A great, strained silence fell upon the vast congregation. I was startled; for a time my breath came short and uncertainly. Had the reserved, hitherto-silent man, made up his mind to declare himself?

One great question--the question raised and forced home to each of his hearers by the papers such as my mother had received--filled every mind. But great and pressing as this question was, could it be discussed? I felt sure I knew what Doctor Canfield would say; he was an honest man, and would honestly speak his mind. But was he sure of the temper and sympathies of his hearers that day? Had he counted the cost?

I glanced at my mother, and saw that she was plainly agitated. Even Elizabeth, my sister of but twelve, seemed to realise that a crisis was at hand. Caroline's face was serenely calm. On every countenance that I could see there sat an expression of profound, even painful interest.

The silence deepened, and the interest grew, as the minister proceeded.

He first briefly discussed the part of his text bearing on love of the brotherhood; then touched briefly, but with earnestness, on the necessity for fearing G.o.d, and pa.s.sed to the third and last part of his subject.

As he approached this, I noticed that a note of emotion had crept into his voice, and some of the colour had slipped down from his face; but he was still very calm, and spoke unbrokenly as he finished his second heading, and then twice repeated the words,

'Honour the King!'

At this point he suddenly stopped. The silence that fell was painfully intense. People leaned forward; here and there heads went down on the pews in front. I felt my heart beat quick and unevenly. But the apparent calmness of Doctor Canfield rea.s.sured me.

He did not proceed with his sermon; but, picking up a paper that lay beside the Bible, he slowly opened it, then brought it before the gaze of the people. I recognised the paper at once as being similar to the one received by my mother.

'It is not necessary,' he began, 'that I should read to you, my brethren, the contents of this paper. With what is here written, you are no doubt familiar. This paper has brought before us all a matter of the supremest importance. I have given it the most earnest and careful consideration. In regard to you, my brethren, as to the course you should pursue in this great and lamentable crisis that is now facing our beautiful but unhappy country--concerning you, I have neither suggestions to offer, nor advice to give; but for myself, I feel now constrained, in the presence of G.o.d and of this congregation, to say that in the past my sympathies have been, at the present they are, and in the future they shall be, always and only with my true and rightful sovereign, the King of England.'

He said no more. The people before him sat stunned and dumb. Many had known his mind before; many were aware that when he spoke he would speak as he had spoken; and yet, to even these, the declaration came with a shock. Hitherto, he had proclaimed only the gospel; he had stood apart from politics; he had considered himself the pastor of all, not of part, of his people. But there is a time when to be silent is to be false--when to be true one must speak. Doctor Canfield had evidently felt that such a time had come in the New England Colonies of King George, and he had spoken in words that could not be misunderstood.

Slowly the people recovered from the shock. Those who had leaned forward leaned back. All through the church there was a swaying movement as when a harvest field is wind swept. I noticed evidences of relief and joy steal into the faces of many; but on the countenances of others there were unmistakable signs of disappointment and anger. I saw at a glance that a majority--but not all--were for the King.

Doctor Canfield stood as still as a statue. His face had gone very white. Soon through the sound of swaying people, there came to my ears the noise of footsteps. Then a moment later, all over the church, men and women rose and pressed toward the door. A few of the leaders of the church went, old and true Episcopalians, some also of the non-Episcopalians. The faces of many who remained showed signs of struggle and indecision. A few rose and sat down again. Some looked questions at those beside them. In the seat directly in front of us a husband was leaving the seat when his wife drew him back. Not a few in the church wept audibly.

And thus it was throughout all New England, during that Sunday and the days following, that men, many of them in the house of G.o.d, silently, suddenly, prayerfully committed themselves to the cause of King or people. They saw themselves under two masters, and painful though the decision was, they felt that they must, for the future, hold to the one, even though it was difficult for them to find it in their hearts to despise the other.

When all had gone who had resolved to go, when quiet had fallen again in the church, the minister, without a word of further comment, announced the National Anthem. The pent-up feelings of the people--and there was yet a large congregation, for fully three-fourths of the wors.h.i.+ppers had remained--found freedom and relief in the old familiar words.

Shortly after we reached home that day, through the green of the trees, waving high in front of the rectory, I caught a glimpse of the Union Jack.