Daughters of the Revolution. Charles Carleton Coffin
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Regiment.14 Some of the redcoats were polishing their gun barrels and bayonets, others smoking their pipes. Beyond the barracks a little distance he saw Mr. Gray’s ropewalk. He turned through Mackerel Lane and came to the Bunch of Grapes Tavern,15 and just beyond it the Admiral Vernon. He strolled to Long Wharf. The king’s warship, Romney, was riding at anchor near by, and a stately merchant ship was coming up the harbor. The fragrance of the sea was in the air. Upon the wharf were hogsheads of molasses unloaded from a vessel just arrived from Jamaica. Boys had knocked out a bung and were running a stick into the hole and lapping the molasses. The sailors lounging on the wharf were speaking a language he could not understand. For the first time in his life he was in touch, as it were, with the great world beyond the sea.
During the day he had met several of the king’s soldiers, swaggering along the streets as if privileged to do as they pleased, regardless of the people. Two, whom he had seen drinking toddy in the Admiral Vernon, swayed against him.
“Hello, clodhopper! How’s yer dad and marm?” said one.
Robert felt the hot blood mount to his brow.
“Say, bumpkin, how did ye get away from your ma’s apron-string?” said the other.
“He hasn’t got the pluck of a goslin,” said the first.
Robert set his teeth together, but made no reply, and walked away. He felt like pitching them headforemost into the dock, and was fearful he might do something which, in cooler blood, he would wish he had not done.
By what right were they strolling the streets of an orderly town? Those who supported the king said they were there to maintain the dignity of the crown. True, a mob had battered the door of Thomas Hutchinson, but that had been settled. The people were quiet, orderly, law-abiding. The sentinel by the Town House glared at him as he walked up King Street, as if ready to dispute his right to do so. He saw a bookstore on the corner of the street, and with a light heart entered it. A tall, broad-shouldered young man welcomed him.
“May I look at your books?” Robert asked.
“Certainly; we have all those recently published in London, and a great many pamphlets printed here in the Colonies,” the young man replied.
“I live in the country. We do not have many books in New Hampshire,” said Robert.
“Oh, from New Hampshire? Please make yourself at home, and look at any book you please. My name is Henry Knox,”16 said the young man.
“I am Robert Walden.”
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Walden, and shall be glad to render you any service in my power. Is this your first visit to town?”
Robert said it was. He could only gaze in wonder at the books upon the shelves. He had not thought there could be so many in the world. Mr. Knox saw the growing look of astonishment.
“What can I show you? Perhaps you do not care for sermons. We have a good many; ministers like to see their sermons in print. I think perhaps you will like this better,” said Mr. Knox, taking down a copy of the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. “You will find it very interesting; just sit down and look at it.”
Robert seated himself in a chair and read the story of the Forty Thieves.
“Do you think these are true stories?” he asked when he had finished it.
Mr. Knox replied they were true in so far as they described the manners and customs of the people of Arabia and Persia. He did not doubt the stories had been told in Babylon, Nineveh, and Damascus, and he might think of the people in those cities sitting in the calm evenings under the almond-trees on the banks of the Euphrates or the river Abana listening to the story-teller, who probably did his best to make the story entertaining.
“Doubtless,” said Mr. Knox, “we think it would not be possible for things to happen as they are narrated, but I am not quite sure about that. One of the stories, for instance, tells how a man went through the air on a carpet. We think it cannot be true, but here is a pamphlet which tells how Henry Cavendish, in England, a little while ago discovered a gas which he calls hydrogen. It is ten times lighter than air — so light that another gentleman, Mr. Black, filled a bag with it which took him off his feet and carried him round the room, to the astonishment of all who beheld it. I shouldn’t be surprised if by and by we shall be able to travel through the air by a bag filled with such gas.”
Robert listened with intense interest, not being able to comprehend how anything could be lighter than air. He was not quite sure that his father and mother would approve of his reading a book that was not strictly true, and he was sure that the good minister and deacons of the church would shake their heads solemnly were they to know it; but he could read it on his way home and hide it in the haymow and read it on rainy days in the barn. But that would not be manly. No, he could not do that. He would tell his father and mother and Rachel about it, and read it to them by the kitchen fire. Hit or miss, he would purchase the book.
Mr. Knox kindly offered to show him the Town House. They crossed the street, and entered the council chamber. Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson and the members of the council were sitting in their armchairs, wearing white wigs and scarlet cloaks. Their gold-laced hats were lying on their desks. Lieutenant-Colonel Dalrymple, commanding the king’s troops, was seated by the side of Governor Hutchinson as a visitor. Upon the walls were portraits of Kings Charles II. and James II. in gilded frames; also portraits of Governors Winthrop, Endicott, and Bradstreet.
Thanking Mr. Knox for his kindness, Robert passed into the street, took a look at the stocks and pillory, and wondered if that was the best way to punish those who had committed petty offenses.
He saw a girl tripping along the street. A young lieutenant in command of the sentinels around the Town House stared rudely at her. In contrast to the leering look of the officer, the negro servants filling their pails at the pump were very respectful in giving her room to pass. He saw the two soldiers who had attempted to pick a quarrel with him on the wharf, emerge from an alley. One chucked the young lady under the chin: the other threw his arm around her and attempted to steal a kiss. Robert heard a wild cry, and saw her struggle to be free. With a bound he was by her side. His right arm swung through the air, and his clenched fist came down like a sledge-hammer upon the head of the ruffian, felling him to the earth. The next moment the other was picked up and plunged headforemost into the watering-trough. No word had been spoken. The girl, as if not comprehending what had happened, stood amazed before him.
“Thank you, sir; I never shall forget your kindness,” she said, dropping a low courtesy and walking rapidly up Queen Street.
Never before had he seen a face like hers, a countenance that would not fade from memory, although he saw it but a moment.
Suddenly he found himself confronted by the lieutenant, who came running from the Town House, with flashing eyes and drawn sword. Robert did not run, but looked him squarely in the face.
“What do you mean, you” —
The remainder of the sentence is not recorded: the printed page is cleaner without it.
“I meant to teach the villains not to insult a lady.”
“I’ve a good mind to split your skull open,” said the lieutenant, white with rage, but not knowing what to make of a man so calm and resolute.
“Let me get at him! Let me get at him! I’ll knock the daylight out of him,” shouted the fellow whom Robert had felled to the ground, but who had risen and stood with clenched fists. The other, the while, was clambering from the trough, wiping the water from his face and ready to rush upon Robert, angered all the more by the jeers of the grinning negroes.
“What is all this about?”
It was Lieutenant-Colonel Dalrymple speaking. He had seen the commotion from the window of the council chamber, and hastened to the scene. “Put up your sword,” he said to the lieutenant.
“What have you been doing, sir?” he asked, turning sternly to Robert.
“Suppose you first ask those