The Young Continentals at Lexington

by John T. Mc. Intyre Author of “With John Paul Jones” “The Boy Tars of 1812”

Illustrated by Ralph L. Boyer.

The Penn Publishing Company Philadelphia MCMIX

COPYRIGHT 1909 BY THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY

Introduction

“The Young Continentals at Lexington” begins with that vital period of our country’s history when the great forces that made the Revolution were slowly coming together.

The port of Boston was closed; an army under Gage occupied the city; Massachusetts Bay was thronged with troop-ships and frigates, and the colonies were writhing under a series of unjust and oppressive laws.

It was at this time that the four boys who play the leading parts in the story began their experiences. Historical events that led up to the war for independence are met with in every chapter; the great personages of the time figure upon almost every page. From the meeting of the first Congress at Carpenter’s Hall to the stand of the minutemen at Lexington and Concord Bridge, every important step in the movement for national life is touched on.

The second book of the series, “The Young[4] Continentals at Bunker Hill,” takes up the thread of history where this book leaves it. It will show the siege of Boston, and the glorious defeat on the Hill. It will tell how Washington was given command of the army; how he sent word to Ethan Allen; how the heavy guns he captured at Ticonderoga were hauled through the winter wilderness upon sledges to Boston; also how Washington mounted them upon Dorchester Heights and finally drove the army of Gage from the city.

Illustrations

[8]

CHAPTER I SHOWS HOW BEN COOPER SAW THE WAR A LONG WAY OFF

The smart little roan mare drew up at the gate of the Cooper place, and Ben Cooper leaned over and lifted the latch with the loop of his riding-whip. The gate was still creaking open when the lad noticed old Stephen Comegies stumping along the road on his gouty legs, and leaning heavily upon a stout oaken staff.

“Good-morning, Mr. Comegies,” saluted Ben, cheerily.

But old Stephen seemed not to hear; his eyes were fixed upon the road, and his lips were muttering; from the way his gnarled hand clutched the staff, it would have fared badly with those who had excited his anger had they been in reach of its iron-shod foot.

[10]“A fine morning, Mr. Comegies,” said Ben Cooper.

This time he was heard. The old man paused—leaned upon the staff and regarded the boy from under his shaggy gray brows.

“A fine morning,” repeated he. “No! That it is not. I see nothing fine in it. But,” and his voice rose a pitch higher, “I see a great deal of bad in it. I see a great store of ill being laid up, for future days to take care of.”

A slow smile stole over Ben Cooper’s round, good-natured face. The whole of Germantown called old Stephen “Grumpy Comegies” and Ben had listened to him frequently before.

“It’s fine weather anyway,” insisted Ben. “The harvests are almost ready; the shooting is going to be good; the rabbits and birds are growing fat and plenty. What more can any one want?”

“If they had any understanding,” replied old Stephen, “they might feel sorry that these colonies are being swept by a flood of ingratitude to an honest king.”

Ben’s mouth puckered into a whistle of[11] surprise; for Stephen Comegies was a man of authority and weight in the community, and it seemed odd that he should begin a political discussion with a boy of sixteen years upon the open road. However, the matter was explained the next moment, when Ben heard his father’s voice and saw him rise up from a bench inside the gate where he had been sitting with a book.

“I know, Mr. Comegies,” said Robert Cooper, “that your words are pointed at myself and not at the boy; so I will take them up.”

He leaned upon the fence as he spoke, fluttering the leaves of the book with his fingers. He was a tall, spare man with a pale, studious face; but there was something about him that was forceful and ready; an opponent would never find him at a loss for either words or actions.

“Can you deny that a spirit of unrest is abroad?” demanded old Stephen, planting the iron-tipped staff in the road. “Can you deny that a rebellion is being fostered against a generous prince? Can you deny that the irresponsible firebrands in New England are arming against their lawful rulers?”

[12]“I shall not deny anything that you charge,” replied Mr. Cooper sternly, “I shall only say that it is all true, and further add that I am greatly pleased to be able to say it.”

“Take care,” cried the old man, his gaunt, once powerful frame quivering with resentment. “Take care, Robert Cooper. You and your like are sowing seeds of sedition that can be reaped only by the bayonets of the king’s regiments. You can flaunt your scandalous theories of liberty in the faces of your neighbors, but when the time for reckoning comes you may not seem so ready.”

“I think,” replied Mr. Cooper, calmly, “that when it does come, the reckoning will find me ready enough.”

Old Stephen lifted his staff and shook it tremulously to the southward.

“The broth that those vipers brew in Philadelphia,” declared he, “will be the death of them!”

“Those sent by the different colonies to this Congress that is to meet,” said Robert Cooper, “are honest American gentlemen. They have wrongs that require redressing and[13] they chose this means, as the best they know, of procuring the remedy.”

“It is a threat,” maintained the old man. “They are shaking a sword in King George’s face. Why do they not beg redress of wrongs like dutiful subjects, and not come together like a lot of skulking rascals?”

“The time for begging has gone by,” said Mr. Cooper. “From now on the colonies will demand—and in a voice not to be mistaken. We have submitted too long; the king is an ignorant old man surrounded by incompetents. There have been no more faithful subjects than those of America; but they will not permit themselves to be plundered. If we are to be taxed we desire a voice in the government that fixes those taxes.”

Stephen Comegies gazed at the speaker in horror. That a man should cherish such sentiments and still be permitted at large filled him with wondering alarm. For a moment he was unable to speak; then, recovering, he burst out:

“This is not the first time I have heard treason from you, Robert Cooper; and the day is fast coming when you shall rue having[14] spoken it.” There was a pause, then he resumed with a harsh laugh, “They will demand, will they? And in a voice that will not be mistaken, eh? Well, take care! It is easy to send out a summons to draw a rebel pack together, but it is not always so easy to actually assemble them.”

Mr. Cooper gazed steadfastly into the deeply-lined face of the old Tory; there was something in the countenance threatening and sombre, and somehow it gave out an impression of hidden joy at some grim joke. Mr. Cooper was about to reply, but old Stephen gripped his staff firmly and moved a step or two on his way. Then he paused and turned his head.

“Don’t forget what I have said,” added he, with another cackle of laughter, “and don’t say you were taken unawares.”

Then he stumped away upon his gouty legs, the iron-shod staff ringing upon the hard road, his big gray head bent and his lips muttering their hatred of all the king’s enemies.

“He seems to be in a high temper this morning,” laughed Ben, who had listened[15] with amusement to the Tory’s words. “But he’s always crying out against something.”

Mr. Cooper shook his head.

“I’m afraid,” said he, “that the coming struggle will see the Tories one of our greatest sources of vexation.”

Ben looked at his father in surprise.

“The coming struggle,” repeated he. “Do you actually believe that it will come to that, father?”

Mr. Cooper resumed his seat upon the bench and opened the book once more. It was easy to see that his fears were of the worst, but that he had no desire to impart them to his son.

“All this controversy is a struggle,” he said. “And as time draws on, it will grow more bitter.”

“But,” queried Ben, his face alight with anticipation, “do you think it will end in blows being struck?”

But his father was bent over the book. All he would say was:

“No one can predict the outcome of such a thing.”

Ben waited for a moment, thinking he would speak further; but as he did not, the[16] lad shook the reins and Molly loped gaily up the path and off toward the barn.

In the shadow of the coach house a broad-shouldered youth of seventeen was engaged in cleaning a long, shining rifle. He looked up as Ben dismounted and turned the mare over to a hired man.

“Good morning for a ride,” commented he, as he rubbed industriously at the brass butt of the weapon. “Wanted to go over my traps, or I’d have joined you.”

“You missed something,” replied Ben, as he sat upon a sawbuck near the other. “The air is fine upon the road.”

“I know,” smiled the other, “full of sunshine and some other things which you can’t see, but which make you feel like a giant. It’s that way among the hills, up in the Wyoming valley.”

Ben kicked at some chips with the toe of his riding-boot and looked thoughtful.

“You are right,” he said, after a short pause; “there are things in the air this morning—things that maybe you don’t mean. And the nearer I rode to the city, the stronger I felt them.”

[17]The broad-shouldered youth laughed and his gray eyes twinkled.

“Maybe,” said he, “they were bits of Mr. Franklin’s electricity.”

“It might seem odd to you, Nat,” proceeded Ben, without noticing the other’s light words, “but I fancied that the roadside looked different. Everything seemed closer together and secretive, somehow. When the trees rustled in the wind and nodded toward each other, it seemed as though they were whispering mysteriously.”

Again Nat Brewster laughed.

“Ben,” said he, “I think you’ve passed the glen where Mother Babette lives, and that she’s put a spell upon you.”

But Ben paid no attention to the raillery; his round, good-natured face was serious and he went on soberly:

“Of course, I don’t think any of these things are so. They are merely impressions caused by something I did not notice at the time.”

Nat looked at him with more interest. The long rifle lay across his knee, and the burnishing ceased.

[18]“That’s so,” said he. “I’ve often felt like that myself. Sometimes when I’ve tramped alone among the mountains I’ve felt worried about things that I couldn’t give a name. And always something of importance turned up afterward. It was just as though I felt it coming a long way off.”

Ben nodded his head.

“That’s it,” said he. “That’s it, exactly.” He paused a moment, then continued, “All along the road the people seemed quiet. Men burning brush in the fields looked strangely at me through the smoke. People in carts who’d usually have something to say just nodded their heads, and seemed to look after me, watchfully. I passed the schoolhouse there at the crossroads and the long drone that always comes from it, of the scholars chanting their lessons, was queer and hushed.”

“It was a strange sort of ride,” commented Nat. “I wish I’d gone with you.”

“I went as far as the ‘Bull and Badger.’ Some farmers were gathered in front of it and some travelers were upon the porch. It was the same with them as with the others. The very inn seemed to be trying to contain some[19] weighty secret; and I turned and rode away without even getting down.”

Ben leaned over and his forefinger tapped his cousin upon the shoulder.

“I was at the gate of this place before I found out what caused it all,” said he.

“What was it?” asked Nat, quickly.

“We’re going to have a war with England,” replied Ben. “It means nothing else.”

CHAPTER II TELLS WHY NAT BREWSTER WALKED TOWARD CLIVEDEN IN THE DARK

Nat Brewster settled his stalwart frame back against the coach house wall and, wrinkling his brows, regarded his cousin attentively.

“It’s very likely you’re right,” said he at length. “The expectation of such a thing would act just about that way upon every one—even to children and others who did not understand.” Then he stretched out his long legs and snapped the lock of his rifle with his strong brown fingers. “If war does come,” he went on, “I hope it comes quickly, while the colonies are aroused to answer the call. The whole of the north country is ready; and from reports, the south and coast colonies are also.”

There was a silence for a moment; then Ben asked:

[21]“Do you think, if it came to blows, the colonies would dare defy the king?”

“They’ve done it before now,” replied Nat. “Charles II tried oppression and his commissioners were soundly beaten and shipped back to England to him. James II patterned by his brother in this, and his governor was first imprisoned and then banished. If the colonies were bold enough to do these things when they were weak, they’ll do others like them, now that they’re stronger.”

As Nat finished speaking there came a clattering of hoofs and the rumble of wheels upon a side road. Then a strong voice called:

“Who-o-e-e!”

The boys looked in the direction of the sound and saw a light spring cart drawn by four wiry little horses. A pockmarked man with fiery red hair sat upon the seat; and in his hands he held a sealed letter.

“Hello,” called he, in his loud voice. “Come get this, some one. I can’t leave these critters. If I did, they’d try to climb over the barn.”

Ben arose and hurried to the fence.

“Something for us, Tom?” he asked.

[22]“Something for you,” replied the pockmarked man. “Was given to me at the City Tavern last night.”

As he spoke the carter tossed the letter to Ben, who deftly caught it; then he went on:

“I stopped there to get some things which came in on the Baltimore coach for Mr. Pendergast, above here. There’s a lot of Massachusetts Bay people stopping there; and one young fellow comes up to me:

“‘I hear you carry goods up Germantown way,’ says he.

“‘I do,’ says I.

“‘Do you know the Cooper place?’ says he.

“‘As well as I do my own,’ I says.

“‘Here’s a letter then,’ he says. ‘And I’d like it delivered with despatch.’

“And with that he gives me a half crown and the message, and tells me to keep the one and give you the other.” The carter grinned across at Ben good humoredly and added: “Anything you want carried toward Whitemarsh?”

“I think not, Tom,” replied Ben.

“Good-day to you,” said the man. He tightened the reins; the wiry little horses[23] sprang forward against their collars and the cart went whirling away in a cloud of dust.

All the time the man was speaking Ben Cooper’s face wore an expression of astonished impatience. The astonishment was caused by a glance at the handwriting upon the letter, the impatience by the carter’s monologue. But now that the man had gone, the lad broke the seal and his eyes ran over the few lines of writing which the sheet contained. Then he turned and dashed back toward the spot where he had left Nat.

“You’ll never guess what it is,” cried he, breathlessly. Then, without pausing for a reply, he added, “Ezra Prentiss, of whom I’ve told you so much, is in Philadelphia.”

“In Philadelphia?” echoed Nat.

“Listen to what he says.” Unfolding the letter, Ben read:

“City Tavern, Aug. 23.

“My dear Ben:—

“I know this will astonish you. I’ve come south with Mr. Samuel Adams and his brother John, of both of whom you’ve no doubt heard. They are here to attend the Congress which is soon to meet at the Carpenter’s[24] Hall. As you might guess, they were in a great hurry as they came into the town and I had no chance to call upon you. We will be staying in the City Tavern; come in if you can. In any event I will come to Germantown in a few days.

“Sincerely, your friend, “Ezra Prentiss.”

“Mr. John and Samuel Adams!” said Nat when his cousin had finished. “They are the brothers who have spoken so boldly and openly against the king. It seems to me, Ben, that your friend keeps very famous company.”

“He’s a great patriot, you see,” explained Ben. “Even while he was at school here several years ago, he used to tell us of the happenings at Boston and how the citizens defied the government.”

“But I think you said his father was an Englishman.”

“His grandfather. His father is dead. He never seemed to care to go deeply into his family history; but he told me this: Some years before his father’s death, there was some sort of an outbreak—against the Stamp Act, I[25] think. Ezra’s father sided with the townspeople. But the grandfather was a Tory. A bitter quarrel was the result and they afterward no longer saw or spoke to each other.”

“I suppose there is a great deal of that,” said Nat. “And if it comes to war, it will be worse.”

They had now risen and walked toward the house. Down the path along which Ben had ridden in entering they saw Mr. Cooper pacing to and fro, with bent head.

“That talk he had with old Stephen Comegies has upset his nerves,” said Ben. “Politics always has that effect upon him.”

As they walked up the step and into the wide hall he related to his cousin what had happened.

“I see,” said Nat, thoughtfully. “That is what has fixed your impression of war.” He looked at Ben steadfastly for a moment. “Tell me again: What was it he said before he left?”

“As near as I can remember,” said Ben, “he said: ‘It’s easy to call a pack of rebels together, but not always so easy to actually get them together.’”

[26]“And you say he seemed to have a sort of—well—a look, while he said it.”

“It was a satisfaction to him. I could see that.”

“And then he bid your father not to say he was taken unawares, eh?”

“Just as he was going,” said Ben. He looked into Nat’s bronzed, thoughtful face and was surprised at its expression. “Why, you don’t think he really meant anything, do you?” he asked.

Nat shook his head.

“I don’t know. Sometimes crabbed old men delight in making meaningless threats. This may be one of them.”

He hung up his rifle upon a rack in the hall and sat down in a broad seat at the door. The beautiful suburb with its broad fields, white roads and stately houses was stretched out before him.

“Are there many Tories hereabouts?” he asked, after a space.

Ben nodded.

“Yes,” he replied, “a great many. And it’s the same way in the city. With a very few exceptions, it is only those who actually suffer[27] by the heavy taxes who are aroused and speak against the government.”

“The people of consequence, as you might call them, are then mostly Tories?”

Again Ben nodded.

“And they are proud of it,” said he. “Though I must say I can’t understand what they have to pride themselves on.” He pointed across some prosperous grain fields; behind a clump of heavy, thick-growing trees could be seen the outlines of a rather fine looking house. “That’s Cliveden, where the Chews live,” he continued. “The Tories meet there now and then and protest about the growing disloyalty to the king.”

For a long time Nat Brewster sat gazing straight ahead and pondering. Ben watched him curiously for awhile, then as his cousin said nothing more, remarked:

“I think after Molly’s rested I’ll ride into town and see Ezra. He must be a regular mail-bag for news. Will you come along, Nat?”

“I think not,” replied the other.

“I’ve often spoken to him about you,” persisted Ben. “He’ll be glad to see you.”

[28]“Another time will do just as well. I hardly feel like going in to town to-day.”

“Very well,” and Ben turned away. “Some other time then. But you must know Ezra before he leaves. You’ll like him.”