The Hero of Ticonderoga Part 1

The Hero of Ticonderoga.

by John de Morgan.

CHAPTER I.

AT THE COURTHOUSE.

It was a cold, bleak and freezing day, was that second day of the year 1764, in the good town of Bennington.

The first day of the year had been celebrated in a devout fashion by nearly all the inhabitants of the district. Truly, some stayed away from the meeting-house, and especially was the absence of one family noticed.

"It seems to me kind of strange and creepy-like that those Allen boys will never come to meeting," good old Elder Baker had said, and the people shook their heads, and were quite ready to believe that the Allen boys were uncanny.

But after meeting, when the social celebration was at its height, the absence from the meeting-house was not thought of, and Ethan Allen and his brothers were welcomed as among the best farmers of the district.

When the farmers separated on that New Year's Day they had no thought of trouble, and each and all were planning what crops they should plant that year, and how much land they should reserve for pasture.

The snow was falling fast, and the Green Mountains looked grandly glorious as they, capped with the white snow, reflected into the valleys the feeble rays of the sun which were struggling through the clouds.

The hour of noon had arrived, and the good farmers were sitting down to good boiled dinners, which were as seasonable as the weather, when the ringing of the crier's bell caused every man and woman and child to leave the hot dinner and hurry to the door to hear the news.

All public and important events were announced in that manner, and it would not do to miss an announcement.

"Wonder what is in the wind now, eh, master?"

"Cannot say, but it's likely to be important, for Faithful Quincy has on his best coat."

Faithful Quincy was the official crier, or announcer of events, and was a most important character.

He never spoke one word, though everyone asked him what he had to announce, but he stood as silent as a statue, and as rigid until he thought the people had time to a.s.semble.

Then he rang his bell once more, and followed the last sound of the bra.s.s with a most solemn appeal for attention:

"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!"

Three times the phrase had to be repeated. Faithful would not have done his duty if he had only repeated it twice.

"This is to give notice, in the name of his majesty and of his excellency, the governor, that all true and faithful residents of the Green Mountain district must a.s.semble at the courthouse at two hours after noon, on this second day of January. So let it be!"

That was all, but it was enough to set all the people wondering what was to be heard at the courthouse.

They returned to their homes, and finished their dinners, scarcely noticing that the dumplings were cold or that the boiled carrots had got soggy through long standing.

At two a large crowd had a.s.sembled at the courthouse, and all were in great excitement.

It was just three minutes after the hour, as shown by the sundial, which stood in front of the courthouse, that the sheriff appeared.

Not a murmur was heard. Even the children were silent.

The sheriff was trembling.

He held in his hand a piece of parchment, bearing a big red seal at the bottom, and he tried to read it, but his voice failed him.

After several attempts he succeeded, and the people learned that he had received a proclamation from Gov. Tryon, of the Colony of New York, in which he claimed all the territory west of the Connecticut River, and ordering him to send a list of all persons holding land under grants from the Colony of New Hampshire.

The country west of the Connecticut, now known as Vermont, was then only known as "New Hampshire grants."

When the sheriff had finished he asked what he should do.

"Why did you receive it?" asked one of the oldest residents.

"It was sent to me as sheriff."

"Even so, but you are the sheriff of the district which holds its lands from the Colony of New Hampshire."

The sheriff trembled, fearing he had done some wrong.

"It is in the name of his majesty, the king," he muttered; "and I was bound to receive it."

Through the crowd a young man pushed his way. He reached the side of the sheriff, and in a mild but firm voice asked to be allowed to look at the proclamation.

It was no ordinary man who made the demand. He would have attracted attention anywhere, and among those who knew him best he was esteemed, though the devout believed there was something uncanny about him and his family.

He was Ethan Allen, the head of the Allen boys, who had stayed away from the meeting the day before.

"Men," he said, after glancing at the proclamation, "we hold our lands from the governor of the Colony of New Hampshire. Is it not so?"

"You are right, Ethan."

"We pay our quota to the expenses of that colony. Is it not so?"

"It is."

"Then we have nothing to do with the Colony of New York."

"Nothing, and never want to have anything to do with that colony."

"You are right, Seth Warner; so I tell you what we will do with this piece of parchment."

The people looked at the speaker, and wondered what he was about to propose.

When they saw him take a knife from his pocket and slit the parchment through the middle, they dare not speak, they were so astonished.

In four pieces he cut the proclamation, and then handed it back to the sheriff, who dropped it as though it had been plague infected.

Ethan Allen picked up the four pieces.

"You did well not to receive it. I have a better use for it."