by Van Reid
The parson did not appear to be shocked by what he saw, nor did he seem very amused. Peter had never seen such a lack of expression on Parson Leach, and it made him wary of what this man, who could snatch a gun from another’s hand as quickly as the hawk grabs the sparrow, might plan and what he might do. More than one reveler approached them, jug raised or musket lifted to the sky, but they were inevitably brushed back by the peculiar force of the parson’s expressionless eye.
Peter kept Beam’s neck by Mars’s flank as they skirted the bonfire. It was natural to turn his head away from the heat, and doing so, Peter caught sight of several men coming out of the house opposite. One had a jug, and another carried a piece of furniture which he hoisted into the air; the third Peter recognized as one of the men who had been riding with Nathan Barrow.
Peter’s first thought was to wonder where Barrow himself might be. He and the parson, meanwhile, did not pass unnoticed, and though Peter averted his own gaze, he could be sure that his own back, and that of the parson’s, were drilled by this fellow’s scrutiny.
They came to a clapboarded two-story building where a sign hung that bore the likeness of a strange, snout-nosed fish, and a single star. Peter knew the creature was a sturgeon, though he had never seen one before. Tales of sturgeon abounded in the backcountry, fabulous stories of monstrous fish that were first learned at the campfires of Indians. Peter read the sign as meaning “The Star and the Sturgeon.”
Some men stood in the doorway to the tavern and one of them shouted something that was answered by the appearance of a boy on the stoop. This small person pressed his way through the crowd and scurried to meet the horsemen. Parson Leach and Peter dismounted and Peter followed the clergyman’s lead by handing his reins over to the boy.
“I heard it said you were coming, Mr. Leach,” said the boy, who gave Peter–or Peter’s clothes, perhaps–a close inspection. “Not an hour ago.”
“How are you, Robert?” said the parson. “And who’s house is suffering over there?”
“Charles Trall led the sheriff and his men over to Donnell’s farm,” was the boy’s reply, “and they arrested Mr. Donnell and his brother there. Then he led them up to Gray farm so they could take Sam, and Sam hadn’t so much as spoken stern to John Trueman, so they say.”
Parson Leach stood by Mars and considered the commotion before Charles Trall’s house. “He should have foreseen that result,” he muttered with a shake of his head. There was a renewed howl from the crowd as another bit of the Tralls’ furnishings was added to the fire. The men in the tavern doorway made room for the travelers.
The scene inside was several degrees less wild than without; the main room of the tavern was crowded, but many of those making up the crowd were in the latter stages of intoxication, while some talked quietly if earnestly with one another over the dark tables and pints of rum or ale or cider. A fire burned cheerily enough in the great hearth at the midst of the room, but the air was dimmed by the smoke from a score of pipes. Some fellows in less cognizant states still wore their animal masks, and their furred heads, snouts, and long ears seen through the thick atmosphere added to the scene’s already dream-like quality.
The identity of the newcomers had run ahead of them, it seemed, for there was little surprise on conscious men’s faces when Parson Leach and Peter entered, though there were guarded expressions from those who had been with Nathan Barrow at the lake shore.
One of these stood at the door to the kitchen, and when Parson Leach led Peter to the back of the tavern, this man straightened his bearing and effectively indicated that he intended to bar the way. He looked less certain of his office, as the parson approached, however, and when the welcome (to Peter’s eyes) figure of Crispin Moss separated itself from a darkened corner and met them at the door, the watchman left his post with the look of a man who suddenly remembers more important duties.
“Mr. Moss,” said Parson Leach, both in greeting and appreciation.
“Mr. Leach, Mr. Loon,” said the big man. He had obviously indulged his thirst, as evidenced by the tankard he gripped, but perhaps had done so with less zeal than had some of his fellows. He could, in fact, stand pretty steadily, and his words were clear upon his tongue. “Mr. Cutts and I were in hopes of seeing you before cockcrow. Some pretty wild notions have been thrown about, and the supply of clear heads is lacking.” This was said with great indulgence displayed in his expression toward those who proved less temperate than himself.
“I wonder if Mr. Cutts isn’t in the kitchen,” said the parson.
“Indeed, he is.”
“We shall be glad of one moderate soul, at least,” said Parson Leach. “Come ahead,” he said to Peter, and he brooked no discussion on the subject, but opened the door and stood aside for the younger man.
The revel in the road continued to supply a steady roar behind the quieter environs of the tavern. To Peter, he and the parson were entering decreasing stages of noise and confusion as they progressed, and the room beyond was poised, to a man, in that attitude of interrupted dialogue that is part curiosity and part irritation. Almost a score of sober-faced individuals stood or sat in the kitchen of the Star and Sturgeon, gathered about a long board where many a meal had been prepared, and crock and tankard had been filled. Some gripped crocks and tankards now, but they all seemed respectable enough, at first look, and sober, though in some cases this was a relative business to what carried on outside. Peter thought several of them would have looked the proper guests in Captain Clayden’s den.
His attention was quickly drawn to one man, who sat at the further end of the table; Nathan Barrow’s hands were on the board, as if he waited for his plate and bowl; his face was dark with barely suppressed animosity. There were those in the room who cast quick glances in the direction of the lay preacher, wanting to be prepared, should there be some sort of explosion. Manasseh Cutts stood leaning against a cupboard and appeared unconcerned; he nodded to Peter and allowed quietly how he admired the young man’s boots.
Barrow’s head was down slightly, but his eyes were peering up past his brows to glare at Parson Leach and Peter Loon. “I see we have more proprietary agents among us by the minute.”
“Those are hard charges, Mr. Barrow,” said someone.
“This Leach” said Barrow with special emphasis, “has recently absconded with a daughter of the cause, and has been reported to have left her in the care of Captain Clayden himself, who must be as congenial an ally as the enemy can boast of.” Barrow hardly stirred, and Peter was struck–and rather unpleasantly–that the man possessed a latent energy, and perhaps a hidden swiftness, akin to that of Parson Leach.
Several men in the room turned to Parson Leach for a defense against these charges, but among the majority of them, Zachariah Leach was not unknown, or disrespected. “I am sure this was a simple misunderstanding,” said an elder among these.
“I understood that the young woman fled of her own accord, and separate from Mr. Leach’s knowledge,” said another.
“Nonetheless,” said a third, indeed the man who had ridden beside Nathan Barrow at the lake shore, “the girl fled her father’s charge, and if Mr. Tillage gave his daughter over to Mr. Barrow’s protection, then Mr. Leach must keep her away at her father’s displeasure.”
Another man, standing in the corner spoke up. “There’s little point arguing who owns the land, if a man hasn’t possession of even his children.”
Peter wondered why the parson did not answer these charges himself, and only realized later that he was taking the tenor of the room by letting the men about the table first speak for themselves. By such means the discussion was somewhat exhausted of its fire, and Parson Leach would have some inkling how camps were divided.
“You wouldn’t consent for a man to have such possession of a child that you’d watch him murder her,” Manasseh Cutts was saying in a low tone.
“There was no question, I think,” said one of the grayer eminences at the table, “of violence against the
girl.”
“Nor serve her out for a whore,” recommenced Manasseh.
“I would tread cautiously, sir,” said one of the other older men. “Mr. Tillage could realize a legal suit for speaking of his daughter in that fashion.”
“I say nothing against the girl, if you listen,” said Manasseh, “but if Tillage cares to answer for what I’d say about him, I won’t be hard to find.” The woodsman leveled such a direct stare at Nathan Barrow when he said this that there was no mistaking that the condemnation was meant to cover more than the father in question.
“She is a good girl, is Nora Tillage,” said Parson Leach, and Peter would remark to himself later that the first words from the preacher’s lips were in defense of another. “If she fled her father’s wishes out of misunderstanding, then it is easily mended. This gentleman says that a man must have possession of his children, but no one here imagines this to be to all purposes, and even a child has recourse to the safety of the law. Perhaps in my place, Mr. Barrow would not have offered his protection. This young man, here,” added Parson Leach with a nod toward Peter, “raced forward himself to rescue her, and Mr. Cutts stood by us as well as Mr. Moss. Perhaps it is more than some think necessary, to harbor a frightened child.”
Without warning, Nathan Barrow leaped to his feet, shouting “ ‘Let no man deceive you with vain words: for because of these things cometh the wrath of God upon the children of disobedience!’ ”
“Ephesians, five, six,” said Manasseh Cutts before Parson Leach could respond, and this caused someone in the room to laugh.
“ ‘Who can find a virtuous woman?’ ” countered Parson Leach, “ ‘for her price is far above rubies’ How much greater is Miss Tillage’s virtue if she must steal it against her father’s command? And such goodness in hand we must treat with utmost caution.” Since Mr. Tillage had given his daughter over to Nathan Barrow, the point of this statement–or rather the person who was the point of this statement–was fairly transparent.
“This is libel!” shouted Barrow, and the men nearest him steeled themselves for the task of holding him back.
It did not come to that, however; one of the other men stood and put his hands up till the commotion had died somewhat. He was the elderly fellow–Mr. Pelligue–who had suggested that Nora Tillage fled of her own accord. He wore a long gray beard, and his clothes were clean, if well-worn. “We are not here to discuss this particular case, but to decide our response to the arrest of our neighbors, and it seems to me that the power of our reply will be greatly enhanced if we put other differences aside. Mr. Leach, we would be gratified to hear your thoughts on this matter, which I guess must have brought you among us.”
Mr. Pelligue then leveled an eye at Barrow, who did not sit down but let out a sound like a piece of wet wood in the fire.
One of Barrow’s allies stood and said, “It is Mr. Leach himself, perhaps, who first bred difference by his actions, and feeds it by his argument. There is no more subtle way for Great Men to break our cause then by sending a whisperer among us.”
“It matters not!” declared Barrow, having regained his voice. He thumped the table with a fist and said, “What cannot be done by many who are timid, will be done by the few who are resolute. The millennium of the Lord’s resurrection will soon be upon us, and those who face the enemy in a manner lukewarm will be so greeted by Him when He returns. Our rooms in Heaven will be prepared by the numbers of our oppressors we crush.”
Some there were enthusiastic for this vision, and Peter was impressed by their faces as they listened.
Barrow himself looked triumphant. “You may sit here and worry this bone,” he pronounced. “I will gather who will follow me and march upon Wiscasset, and watch it burn if so much as a man stands in my way!” Then he strode about the table, past Parson Leach and Peter, and left the room. Two men, including his lieutenant from the earlier encounter, rose and followed him; others who had been enamored of his vision were yet a little less sure of his plan and elected to stay.
“If this is the right thing,” said one man, a Mr. Kendall, who stood beside Manasseh Cutts, “we should go with him to be sure of its success.”
“If it is the wrong thing, we should quickly stop him,” said Mr. Briner, who sat near Barrow’s vacant chair.
“Men will hie in all directions,” said Mr. Pelligue, “and we can surely divide ourselves, following about to help or hinder, but we Liberty Men have known success by careful planning. Mr. Barrow will not march tonight, and we will never march, if we distract ourselves at every argument. Perhaps we should find Mr. Leach’s opinion by asking what he understands of the matter. Zachariah,” said the elderly fellow, indicating the recently emptied chair, “please, join us. Sir,” he added to Peter Loon, though with a little more humor, “since you are proved a man of action, attend and advise.”
Peter felt deceitful, conceding to such approval and dressed in a wealthy man’s clothes, but the old fellow’s invitation was enough to cause a chuckle or two, and the room appeared to relax.
“Friends,” began the parson as he took the offered seat amid a chorus of agreement. “Word of the arrest you speak of was news to me when I was greeted with it at the bridge yonder, but I had heard how John Trueman was driven back to Wiscasset, stripped and beaten, and guessed that something would result. I only know that someone was arrested, but aside from the names of Donnell and Gray, I know neither who nor how.”
“Yes, Donnell and Gray,” said Mr. Kendall.
“Elbridge Shay,” Mr. Briner began, “Henry Bender, Ezekiel Brackett–”
“There were ten of them,” said Mr. Pelligue, indicating with a wave that a complete list, at this moment, was not to the point. “The sheriff came with twenty men or so and with Charles Trall as his guide, caught them in their fields or snatched them out of their beds. John Trueman, it seems, recognized certain voices when he was set upon the other night, though they all wore masks, as I understand.”
“He didn’t recognize every voice!” declared a man opposite Mr. Pelligue, “for they arrested three men who had no hand in it.”
“He arrested men whose land he’d like to have for his own,” said a Mr. Dodge.
“And you know these men were innocent, Mr. Hook?” said the parson.
“They were all innocent,” said Mr. Dodge.
“I was there,” said Mr. Hook proudly.
“As you have heard, Mr. Leach,” said Mr. Pelligue, “there are those who propose a fierce reply.”
“There isn’t a court in the district that won’t show favor against a setder,” said Mr. Hook.
“What is this fierce reply?” asked the parson. “Does Mr. Barrow expect that it isn’t enough to storm Wiscasset and break open the jail? Must he burn the town and kill the people in their beds while he’s at it? Better he should be thinking what to do with the prisoners, once they’re freed. They’ll be charged with escape and hunted down at the very least.”
“Some, we believe, will be able to hide themselves, for a time, in the backcountry,” said Mr. Pelligue. “The charges against the three are trumpery, and we can’t believe they’ll be pursued for long. As for the remainder, we have arrangements. Mr. Briner, through his brother, has shipboard berths for seven men on the Helene, which is being outfitted at Bath and is bound for the South Seas within a week.”
“Then we have only to get them from the jail,” considered Parson Leach, “and Mr. Barrow’s vision of burning Wiscasset to the ground would prove excessive. A simple foray down river in the night should accomplish your design, and the loosed fellows can be taken to Back River and up the Sasanoa to Bath. Now, there you have the beginnings of a scheme, which will fulfill your purpose and lay nothing like arson or bloodshed on your own heads.”
A blocky fellow, who had hitherto remained silent, rose from his chair beside the door and, leaning upon the table, cast a bland expression at the parson. “I have no love for Nathan Barrow,” he said, “but it is my intent, sir, as it is his, that we inflic
t more harm than that.”
“Is it, sir? I don’t know your name.”
“Joshua Cargin,” said the man. “The fellows who were arrested have been taken to Wiscasset, and it is Wiscasset supports land agents and surveyors and Great Men as much as any town. So we will have our men returned, but burn a house or two as we go and rid ourselves of any man who stands in our way!”
“Are you a New Milford man, Mr. Cargin?” asked the parson.
“I am not, though our enemies are the same.”
“And you would find it simple enough to melt into the forest, I’m guessing, when Boston sends militia here to quell an armed rebellion.”
“What?”
“It’s no danger to you to draw fire against another man’s town.”
“There is the voice of the land agent!” declared Mr. Kendall.
“I think not, Mr. Kendall,” said Mr. Pelligue. “Mr. Leach has a very good question at issue.”
“Are you impugning my nerve?” growled Joshua Cargin. He leaned his large frame a little further over the table, as if considering the possibility of snatching Parson Leach from his chair.
“I am guessing, Mr. Cargin,” said Parson Leach, and he never showed a hint of fear or antagonism, “that you might like to stir a nest of bees, if you could do it from a distance.”
“Or let someone else do it for him,” said Manasseh Cutts.
“I’ll stir a face or two with this!” declared Cargin, and he raised a fist in the air.
Again consternation ruled discourse and voices were raised in argument and anger; but a similar sounding commotion from the tavern room was heard above this–a single outraged voice came through the door and then the door was thrown open. A young woman strode into the room, as might an angry matron who fixes herself to chastise obstinate children. Peter stepped back to avoid her. Joshua Cargin stood his ground however, and she came up short, just shy of colliding with him, took one step aside and cast her indignant glance about the room.
