University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.
THE YOUNG COLONIST.

THE soft, roseate haze of an autumnal sunset was just deepening
into the obscurity of twilight, as a young man came forth from
the door of a humble dwelling that stood in a narrow court not
far from Cornhill. The air was mild, and not a breath moved the
scarlet leaves of the maple that overshadowed the lowly roof of the
house. There was a little yard in front between the step and the
court, which was ornamented by a few shrubs and plants, and by
each side of the door stoop were three or four pots of geraniums and
rose-trees. These were green and fragrant, and the former were in
flower, thus betraying careful nurture, while all else in the yard was
feeling the first touch of autumn. The two round plats of closely
shaven grass, not larger than a chaise wheel, with the circular paths
around them, were strewn and filled with dead leaves, which rustled
to the tread of the youth, as he passed with a quick step from the
door to the latticed gate.

He wore a broad-brimmed straw hat, and a light brown frock-coat
buttoned to his chin, displaying the fine development of his
manly chest. He was of good height and finely shaped, with a
certain air of nobleness in his carriage and step, that outward expression
of the figure which indicates a frank, generous and bold
spirit within. His age was about four-and-twenty. The shadow

cast by his hat over his features did not bring their outline into view
with sufficient distinctness to judge accurately of their character.
They seemed, nevertheless, to be handsome, and lighted up by a
finely brilliant eye beneath a dark brow, which was something
flushed, as if with some recent excitement.

He carried beneath his arm a stout stick, as if it were a constant
out-door companion. He had closed the door behind him as he
came out, but as he laid his hand upon the little gate, which was but
twelve or fourteen feet separated from it, the door was re-opened by
a young girl, who, looking after him with an earnest expression upon
her lovely features, called in a low tone,

“Fleming!”

“Mary!” he answered, in a kind manner, removing his hand from
the gate, and turning back to the door-step upon which she stood.

“You will not be gone long, will you?” she asked, laying her hand
in his. “Come home before nine.”

“I will be at home as soon as I can, sister. But you must not be
alarmed if I should be out after the bell rings.”

“I do not fear for myself, as we shall not be, probably, disturbed
to-night again to billet the soldiers, but it is for you. You are so
quick and impetuous, and your act in expelling the soldiers from the
house will bring the vengeance of the dreadful lieutenant-governor
upon you.”

“I do not fear him nor his tools, Mary. It is probable that he
may send here to arrest me. You will obey me by having the bar
placed across the door, and by keeping the windows closed. I will
send Saul round at once. As soon as you let him in, keep all close
till I come back. The soldiers will not dare to break in! Every
man in Boston would make the cause his own! Keep courage! I
shall see the governor before any order is issued, and it is for this I
am hastening. I will face him in person, and represent the matter
before him in a fearless and independent manner. I do not fear the
tyrant Hutchinson, Mary. Do not fear for me. I shall return to
you soon, and assure you of our future security. I would not leave
you at this crisis; but by going without delay to the governor, I may
prevent the evil you fear.”

“Be respectful before him, I again entreat you, Fleming,” said the
young girl, looking up into his face with her deep-blue eyes, expressing
mingled admiration, love and timid apprehension.

“I shall speak before him as a man, and one of the true born sons

of liberty!” answered Fleming, with firmness. “Now, good bye!
Remember, as soon as Saul comes, to keep the doors fast. He will
be a host in himself, poor soul as he is, for he is brave, faithful, and a
lion in strength. Keep heart, Mary. All will yet go better than
you mistrust. I do not regret what I have done!”

With these words he kissed her with fraternal tenderness, and releasing
his two hands from the clasp of hers, he hurried out of the
gate, and disappeared down the Court in the direction of Cornhill.

The maiden listened until his footsteps could no longer be heard
by her, and then folding her hands together, she looked up to the
azure skies, where, here and there, a far, faint star had began to
kindle its altar-fire, and fervently addressed a prayer for the safety
of her brother in his present hour of peril.

She was scarcely past seventeen, a sweet, gentle girl, with eyes
that seemed to have stolen their color from the heavens, towards
which they were up-turned. Her soft brown hair was combed back
from her pure brow, and fell upon her neck in shining tresses. Her
features were delicately moulded, and almost angelic in their expression
of goodness and truthfulness. Her lips were like those of a
young child, red and ripely full, and pouting with beauty and love.
Her form was slight and fairy-like, and expressive with the spiritual
embodiment of every womanly grace.

While she still stood in the door, and again was listening, for she
detected fresh footsteps coming up the court, each foot-fall heavier
and louder, a man approached and opened the gate.

His appearance was singular and striking. In height he was full
six feet and eight inches, huge in the breadth of shoulder, and heavily
massive in all his proportions. He was a veritable giant. He wore
a blue woollen cap, with a red tassel dangling behind, a gay jacket
of Scotch plaid, yellow breeches, and scarlet hose. In his hand he
carried a huge cricket-bat, spoon-shaped, at the extremity and from
one of his side pockets projected an enormous leathern ball, the size
of a foot-ball.

“Oh, Saul, I am so glad you have come,” said Mary Field, in a
tone of pleasure. “I was afraid Fleming wouldn't find you!”

“Brother Flemmy, Menny, al'ays knows where to find brothey
Saul,” answered the giant, in a voice like that of an awkward boy
just at that peculiar crisis when his voice is changing from juvenility
to manhood. His face, too, though the features were large and
suited to his size, was like that of a boy of eighteen, though his age

could not have been less than twenty-six or seven. The general expression
of his countenance was kindly, although his restless grey
eyes indicated a temperament that it would be as fearful to rouse as
to stir to anger the unbound lion.

“You must come in, Saul, and bar the door,” said the maiden, in
the manner of one who gently rules.

“I don't want to be in the house a bit, Menny. The stars be
comin' out, and I and the stars have pleasant times togethy, when I
am sittin' a thinkin' on the round hill on the commy!”

“You shall go on the common to-morrow night, Saul. Come in
now and bar the door. The soldiers have been here, and I fear they
may come again!”

“Did they say anything wicked to you, Menny?” asked Saul,
quickly.

“No, Saul. But come in. You must be my guard!”

“That I will, Menny,” answered the giant, taking her cheeks affectionately
between his finger and thumb, as one would an infant's.
“If I had been home, an' the sogies had come to harm you, Menny,
I'd ha' killed 'em! I wouldn't mind knockin' 'em on the head no
more than I would my ball!”

As he spoke, he grasped his bat like a quarter-staff, and gave it a
flourish around his head that made the wind rush again. He then
stooped, bending nearly double, and entered the house. Mary closed
the door after him, and then was heard the sound of an iron bar falling
heavily across it into its bed; for these were times when barred
doors were the only safeguard against the insolence of the British
soldiers who were then quartered in Boston. At the time of our
story the popular mind was in a violent state of agitation from the
tyrannical spirit manifested by the English ministry, at the head of
which was Grenville.

The American colonists had exposed themselves to unparalleled
dangers and hardships to lay the foundation of an empire where
liberty of conscience might prevail. Civil liberty is the offspring of
religious. Religious freedom is political freedom. The colonists
early learned to know the value of liberty. They early began to
cherish it next to their religious faith, out of which it grew, and which
was the soil in which it was nourished. They therefore looked with
careful eye and ever watchful suspicion upon the measures of the
mother country in reference to them. They could not but be otherwise
than jealous of the legislative acts of a power which they knew

loved them not for flying from its abuses and persecuting power.

In the relation which they held as a colony, however, they had
willingly submitted to taxation for the purpose of sustaining the wars
waged against the Indians and the French. But when these wars
were ended, the necessity for taxation ceased, as the colonists had
within themselves resources sufficient for their own existence.
When, therefore, the ministry in the mother country proposed not
only to continue the tax as heretofore, on the plea that the revenue
was needed to defray the expenses of defending, securing and protecting
the colony, but also resolved to levy duties by the infamous
“Stamp Act,” the colonists beheld in this procedure despotism,
usurpation and tyranny of the most bare-faced character. They
saw that England was jealous of their flourishing commerce, and
that led by her sateless avarice, and her imperious desire of power
and dominion, had resolved both to profit by it and at the same time
to restrain it. They saw that so far from being satisfied with engrossing
all the commerce of the colonies by heavy duties that
amounted to prohibition on all goods imported into them from places
not subject to her rule, she sought to make them the slaves of her
lust of riches, and to turn into her own coffers the wealth of colonial
commerce.

When the report, that a bill to levy a stamp-duty on every written
or printed paper drawn up or issued for any legal or business purpose
in the colonies, had been passed by parliament and signed by
the king, reached the shores of New England, the excitement through
all classes was indescribable. The principles of despotism were
unfolded at one view in the despotic bill, and the flame of resistance
to this act of oppression and tyrannical power spread from one end
of the land to the other.

The news had reached Boston the morning of the day upon
which our story opens. The excitement throughout the town was
great. Men left their several pursuits and places of business to
assemble in crowds at the coffee-houses, custom-house, court-hall,
and other public places, to talk over the matter and strengthen each
other's purpose to resist this aggressive act.

The lieutenant-governor, the notorious Hutchinson, witnessing the
popular agitation, and becoming alarmed, sent over to the castle for
troops, which he stationed at different quarters of the town, some in
King-street, near the State-house, others in Cornhill, others in the
square west of Fanueil Hall; for he apprehended, such was his

plea, some outbreak of the stern passions of the people. As night
approached, the citizens mostly retired to their houses peaceably,
and Hutchinson sent detachments of his soldiers to be quartered in
the private houses of the townsmen until the next day, there having
been neither barracks nor provision provided for them. Some of
the more forbearing citizens received the soldiers, fearing to resist
the authority of a man so despotic and vindictive, knowing that it
would be only for one night, while others more resolute closed their
doors against them. The soldiers passed such quietly, having orders
to use no violence, but to report all who shut them out.

A small detachment seeking quarters had marched up the court in
which Fleming with his mother and sister lived, and having drawn
up before the gate, a young officer knocked at the door, demanding
admittance. Fleming was at tea, and leaving the table with an
angry face, for he had seen what kind of guests they were through
the trellised foliage of the window, he opened the door. He knew
the young lieutenant well, and the recognition did not smooth his
temper at the prospect of having twelve huzzars quartered in his
home for a night, and perhaps longer. He had heard already of the
order of the governor, and his sense of justice had caused his spirit
to kindle at the gross outrage put upon the town. He had not yet
heard, however, that any one had resisted it.

“What do you wish, sir?” he demanded, in as quiet a tone as he
could assume towards the officer, an imperious young man, who had
once, on a Sabbath day, followed his sister Mary from church to the
house, and insisted on entering with her, when Saul met him face to
face in the entry, and hurled him nearly over the gate. Saul had
afterwards pointed out the young officer to his brother, and although
Fleming had never spoken to him, he had marked him.

“I intend to quarter here with twelve men, the last left unprovided
for of the detachment I command,” answered the officer. “Sergeant,”
he added, turning round, “fall into file and march in!”

“My house is small—I cannot accommodate you, sir,” answered
Fleming, firmly, as he placed his person in the door-way.

“I have orders from the lieutenant-governor, young man,” answered
the officer, with a pale and angry lip. “I shall obey it!
March forward, men!”

“You cross this threshold at your peril!” cried Fleming. “I have
not the strength of my brother, to hurl you into the court, but I have

a spirit that will resist oppression. My house is my castle! You
enter it at your peril!”

Fleming stood before the English officer with a look of that terrible
calmness which awes. His arms were folded upon his chest.
He held in his hands no weapon. The officer gazed for an instant
upon him with an air of indecision, his eyes lighted up with fierce
resentment. He turned his head twice, as if to give orders to his
men to rush upon the daring young colonist, but at length, as if he
feared the consequences to himself, for he saw that he would be the
first victim of such an attempt, he replied,

“Very well, young man! I forbear to give orders to my men to
cut you down, as you deserve, for this audacity to a British officer—
this defiance of the governor's authority. I will leave your punishment
in his hands; and when you find yourself in prison,” he added,
in a malicious tone of triumph, “you may console yourself that I am
dallying here with your lovely little sister!”

Fleming would have sprung upon him and hurled him to the
ground, if, anticipating the effect of his words, he had not retreated
quickly, and placed the gate between them. Fleming would still
have gone after him, but Mary laid her hand upon his arm.

“Brother!” she said, in a low, sweet voice of expostulation that
he ever listened to in the most angry moment.

“Mary?”

“Let him go! Do not take any rash step! You have not yet
raised your arm against them, and it is best it is so!”

“Go in, Mary! He lingers to gaze upon you!”

“Farewell, pretty one!” cried the English huzzar officer, and he
touched two fingers to his lips, and waved them with an air of gallantry
towards her. “By-and-bye we shall be better friends, my
fair puritan!”

It was with difficulty Fleming could restrain the impulse to bound
forth upon the insulter, and punish him, in the face of his soldiers,
for his insolence; but the mild voice of his sister held him back.

“Fleming, do not bring his vengeance upon you. For your sake
—for my sake, endure!”

“I will let him pass for the present,” answered the indignant young
colonist, as the officer, whose name was Cleverling, and who was
the younger son of a British nobleman, walked menacingly down the
court, followed by his soldiers.

Fleming re-entered the house, and was persuaded to resume his

seat at the tea-table; but his feelings were too much agitated to
enable him to finish the meal. After a few minutes he rose from his
chair and took down his hat.

“Fleming, you will not go out, now that you are so much excited,
and while danger menaces you from this incensed officer. Remain,
dear brother, within, and think no more of what has passed. Whatever
you do will only fan the flame!”

“Mary, you know not what you say! If I bear tamely this outrage—if
every man bears it without a word, we are made slaves.
Hutchinson shall know that he must not place his foot upon the necks
of free-born men. If he imagines we are like the degraded English
peasants at home, he will soon find the difference!”

“But what can you do, Fleming? You are a young man, scarcely
known, and perhaps stand alone in the refusal to admit the soldiers
into your house. If resistance is to be made to this tyranny and
despotism of the governor, it should begin with the rulers of the
town—with the rich and influential!”

“All fires that are lighted begin to burn from the ground upward,
Mary,” answered the young, colonist, moodily. “But I am not the
only one. I know that there are a thousand as free-beating hearts in
Boston as my own. I have witnessed this day a spirit pervading
men's bosoms that makes me feel proud that I am a colonist!”

“I have heard that the town's-people have said bold words to-day,
since the news came that the stamp-act bill is passed,” said his
mother, a tall, dark-eyed, intelligent woman, with a face expressive
of that firmness and nerve which singularly characterised the matrons
of that day.

“If you had seen and heard what I have borne witness to, you
would have gloried in a land that contained such noble spirits as
have this day manifested themselves throughout the streets. There
seemed but one heart and one mind, mother! From the shoemaker
to the judge in his gown, but one sentiment prevailed, and this was a
resolute purpose to resist this aggressive act of the tyrants over sea!
It was for fear that it would take head and bear down his authority,
that the cowardly Hutehinson sent for troops from the castle—these
very troops which he would now quarter upon us. It would seem
as if he would feel the pulse of our forbearance, and guage to the
depth our slavish submission. For one, I thank God that I have resisted
his power!”

“I fear some dreadful evil will befall you and ourselves, my son,

from the governor's resentment,” said his mother, with looks of
anxious solicitude, “when what you have done shall be reported to
his ears with all the exaggerations of malice. I would advise you
to absent yourself from the town for a few days, Fleming, until the
matter is a little blown over. If you remain here you will be
arrested.”

“I do not fear it,” answered Fleming, boldly.

“But I fear it, brother,” said Mary Field, with anxiety. “Do as
our mother advises. Go this night, this hour, to Cambridge, to your
grandfather's, and there stay until I let you know that you can safely
return.”

“And leave my dove-cote to the mercy of the hawk! No, Mary.
I will at once to the presence of the governor. I will forestall the
news of what I have done, by telling it myself. I will speak to the
governor as a man to a man. I do not fear him. My eye will not
quail before his eye, nor my voice falter at the sound of his own.
Do not say a word. I am resolved! It is the only course for your
safety, and for my own. Do not fear for me. I feel that I shall be
sustained by every true heart in the town. It will bring out and
show to the friends of liberty who are men!”

As he spoke, he placed his hat upon his head, buttoned his outercoat
closely over his chest, grasped his walking-staff, and prepared
to go forth.

“Brother, promise me that you will be discreet, if you still will go
to the governor,” said his sister, laying her hand upon his arm.

“I will be so. I shall say nothing unbecoming myself or my birth
as a free colonist. Now do not follow me out. God bless you both!
I will ere long return with good news to you. I will first find Saul,
and send him hither.”

With these words he left the room and the house; but, as he was
passing through the little gate, was recalled by his sister to the door,
as already related in the former portion of this chapter.

Mary Field was a firm and courageous girl. She was fondly
attached to her brother, but not with weakness. She thought with
him and like him, in reference to the subject of their conversation,
and approved of his going to the governor in advance of the officer,
though she strove to temper his fiery spirit with the calmer influences
of her own.