The Young Continentals at Bunker Hill Part 34

In spite of all that had been done by earnest and competent men, it was scarcely an army which Washington took command of that July day. It was, rather, a gathering of armed men, for there was not much organization.

"The men are rugged, faithful and brave," said Ezra Prentiss to his friends that night as they sat at an inn called "The Honest Farmer" on the outskirts of Cambridge, toward Stark and Putnam's entrenchments.

"But they are also independent and impatient of restraint."

"They elect to follow their own officers and obey no others," said Nat Brewster. "And if they are not pleased with what is going forward, whole regiments feel themselves perfectly at liberty to withdraw, wait until their views are agreed to, or return to their homes."

"General Washington will see to all that," spoke Scarlett, with a nod of the head. "I have been giving him some attention to-day and I have perceived that he is not only a man who desires order, but one who has the will to achieve his desires. From this day on things will go differently; men will obey when an order is given them; if they do not, they will find that an accounting is to be made, not to an officer who is a friend and neighbor, but to one who has only the welfare of the colonies at heart."

Ben Cooper laughed.

"The new general has been approved by you, then?" said he.

Scarlett twisted the points of his moustache.

"I am like to serve him before very long," returned he, soberly. "For, under him, this promises to become a very pretty war, indeed."

"The Honest Farmer" was a large place once frequented by farmers driving into Boston with their loads of produce. As it was cleanly kept, even in these lax and unprofitable days, it had become a favorite place of resort for young officers and citizens who liked to drop in and discuss the progress of events with them.

Upon the evening in question there was quite a throng gathered in the public room and the sound of voices filled it. Upon a bench opposite the boys sat a portly old fellow with a full, red face and a downright manner of speaking. A mild, thin-faced man sat beside him, and as they talked the lads could not help but overhear.

"It is all very well for a parcel of men such as Adams and Hanc.o.c.k and their agitating like, to sit safely away in Philadelphia, and send us a stranger to take charge of us," grumbled the portly man, in his downright way.

"But, surely," remonstrated the thin-faced man, "you would not call General Washington a stranger."

"He is a stranger to me, sir," spoke the portly one, in an injured tone.

"And he is from the South. Why could we not have had one of our own people? Answer me that!"

But the thin-faced man shook his head.

"Congress should know what it is about," said he. "It must know that the general is fitted for his work, or it would not have sent him."

"What work?" bl.u.s.tered the portly man, and his voice was loud and domineering. "What work, I ask you, sir?"

But the thin man again shook his head and looked blank.

"The work to be done is to drive the British out of Boston," stated the red-faced man with the portly figure. "To drive them out of Boston so that we can go back and resume our trades and occupations. That's what he's sent to do. But," and he challenged the room with both voice and eye, "how is he going to do it?"

"Faith," laughed a gray-haired major, who stood near, "he has him there."

But the thin-faced man unexpectedly had an answer.

"He will attack them," he declared valiantly. "He will attack them as soon as possible."

The portly man snorted his disgust.

"Attack them," he repeated scornfully. "But plague on it, sir, what will he attack them with? I am no military man, but I know that he can't move on them with his bare hands. To attack successfully," and the stout palm of the speaker struck the bench with a resounding whack, "he must have artillery-heavy artillery."

The thin-faced man had no reply to make to this. But the gray-haired major spoke in his stead.

"You may be no military man, as you say, sir," said he, "but you are quite right, for all. To reach Gage in his den we must have guns that will throw great weight a long distance."

The portly man's red face glistened with triumph.

"Sir," said he cordially, "it is a great satisfaction to speak to a man of understanding. You have the intelligence, apparently, to grasp a situation. And I ask you, sir, as a man of intelligence," impressively, "where those guns are to come from?"

It was the gray-haired major who now shook his head.

"You have a faculty of asking difficult questions, I perceive, sir,"

laughed he. "And that is one which I must allow to pa.s.s me by."

More and more triumphant grew the gentleman with the red face.

"We haven't them," he declared loudly. "We haven't them. And, more than that, we cannot get them."

"Don't be too sure of that," said a quiet voice from a bench in a corner. "Don't be too sure of that, Mr. Trivitt. There are guns a-plenty to be had, if they will but be sought after."

The portly Mr. Trivitt glanced toward the corner, and scorn filled his red face.

"Huh!" he grunted. "Because you served in the militia, Harry Knox, and because you went tearing about on horseback at the Bunker Hill fight, don't think that you can teach me understanding. I was a man before you were born, and I have the sense to see what is open to my eyes."

Harry Knox, as Mr. Trivitt called him, was a medium-sized young man, well built and with a strong, intelligent face. He laughed at the other's words, and replied:

"But it is possible, Mr. Trivitt, that all things do not come beneath your eyes."

To one so self-important as the portly man this was little less than an insult.

"It is a pity that you were forced by the war to give up the selling of books," said he to Knox. "I have heard, though I've never read a book in my life, that you were clever in your trade. But in the trade of a soldier you promise to be less excellent." He arose to his feet with great dignity. "However," he continued, "I never discuss matters of importance with youths. It is a waste of time and breath."

And with that the indignant Mr. Trivitt stuck his three-cornered hat upon his head and stumped out of "The Honest Farmer" much affronted.

Ezra caught the eye of Henry Knox and nodded to him. Young Prentiss had inherited his father's love of books, and had many times purchased volumes from the youthful bookseller at his shop in Boston; indeed, in the discussions that accompanied these transactions, quite an intimacy had sprung up between them.

Knox arose and approached the boys cordially. He was but twenty-five himself at this time, and had many boyish traits still.

"I am glad to see you once more," said he to Ezra, as they shook hands.

"I noticed you and your friends, here," with a smile at the others, "as Prescott fell back from the hill on the day of the fight; but of course there was no time then for any exchanges, except with the enemy."

The others were made known to him; he sat down with them and began to talk over the coming of Washington and the things that were to be expected of the new commander. At length, during a lull in the conversation, Gilbert Scarlett said:

"You did but jest with your fat friend, Mr. Trivitt, I suppose, with regard to the heavy guns."

But young Knox shook his head.

"No," said he, "I spoke seriously enough. If General Washington wants heavier and more cannon than he already has, they are to be had for the journeying after them."

Seeing the look of interest upon the faces of his listeners, he continued:

"It is a simple matter enough. We have all heard of the success of Colonel Ethan Allan and young Arnold at Ticonderoga and Crown Point.

Both these strongholds have been captured from the British and both are provided with heavy guns. A party, equipped with proper authority, could bring these on to Cambridge with some little effort."