Part 15 (1/2)

”What are they saying?” cried Mr. Bowdoin.

Every minute the crowd increased: men and women, well dressed, sober-looking, crying, ”Shame! shame!” and topping by a head the little squad of undersized soldiers (for the regular army was then recruited almost entirely from foreigners) who marched hurriedly forward, with eyes cast straight before and downward, and dressed in that shabby blue that ten years later was to pour southward in serried column, all American then, to free those slaves whom now they hunted down.

”To the Court House! To the Court House!” cried the mob.

”It's that fellow Simms,” said Mr. Bowdoin, but was interrupted by sounds as of a portly person running downstairs; and they saw the front door fly open and Mrs. Bowdoin run across the street, her cap-strings streaming in the air.

”By Jove, if Abolitionism can make your grandma run, I'll forgive it a lot!” cried Mr. Bowdoin.

”Do you know the facts, sir?” suggested Harley.

”No, nor don't want to,” said Mr. Bowdoin. ”I know that we are jeopardizing the grandest experiment in free government the world has ever seen for a few African darkies that we didn't bring here, and have already made Christians of, and a d----d sight more comfortable than they ever were at home. But come, let's go over, or I believe your grandma will be attacking the United States army all by herself!”

But the rescue was made unnecessary by the return of that lady, panting.

”Now, sir,” gasped Mrs. Bowdoin, ”I hope you're satisfied, that foreign Hessians control the laws of Ma.s.sachusetts!”

”I am always glad to see the flag of my country sustained,” said Mr.

Bowdoin dryly; ”though we don't fly it from our club.”

”I think you misunderstand, sir,” ventured Harley. ”This Simms is arrested by the Boston sheriff for stabbing a man; and the Southerners have got the federal commissioner to refuse to give him up to justice.”

”If he stabbed a man, it's cheaper to let them sell him as a slave than keep him five years in our state prison.”

”The poor man seems to prefer it though,” said Harley gently. ”Have you seen him?”

”No; what should I see the fellow for?” cried Mr. Bowdoin irritably.

”I understand the State Court House is held like a fort by federal soldiers, and thugs who call themselves deputy marshals.”

Mr. Bowdoin growled something that sounded like, ”What if it is?”

The two started to walk down town. Tremont Street was crowded with running men, and School Street packed close; and as they came in sight of the Court House they saw that it was surrounded by a line of blue soldiers.

”Let's go to the Court House,” said Harley.

The old gentleman's curiosity made feeble resistance.

”I had a case to see about this morning. Why, there's Judge Wells, the very man I want to see.”

The judge had a body-guard of policemen, and our two friends joined him as they were slowly forcing a pa.s.sage through the crowd. When they came before the old gray stone Court House, they saw two cannon posted at the corners, and all the windows full of armed troops; and around the base of the building, barring every door, a heavy iron cable, and behind this a line of soldiers.

”What the devil is the cable for?” said Mr. Bowdoin.

The crowd, which had opened to let the well-known judge go by, were now crying, ”Let the judge in! Let the judge in!” and then, ”Give him up! Give Simms up! Give him to the sheriff!” and then, ”Kidnapped!

Kidnapped!” Just ahead of them our party saw another judge stopped rudely before the door by a soldier dropping a bayonet across his breast.

”Can't get in here,--can't get in here.”

”I tell you I'm a judge of the Supreme Court of this Commonwealth,”