Zebedee was flushed and excited when he entered the paternal dwelling.
He had been away all day, and knew that he was likely to get a good thrashing for neglect of his work.
Ezekiel was waiting for him very patiently.
Zeb had taken all in at a glance. There was a thick beechen stick standing by the chimney corner, and old Zeke was not far from it.
One of his most favored passages of the Bible was the one in which the spoiling of the child is said to be caused by the small use of the rod.
Zeb knew what it meant.
He had often felt the strength of his father's muscles, and he fully realized that if he was spoiled it was not because the rod had been spared.
Only three mornings before Zeb had entered the kitchen, which served as dining room as well, and had partaken of his breakfast standing, and at the midday meal he still preferred an upright position instead of the one adopted by the other members of his family.
To be accurate and truthful, it was a rare thing for Zeb to be able to sit down with any comfort, for his interviews with his father were very frequent and generally of a very painful nature.
He entered the kitchen looking more defiant than his brothers or sister had ever seen him.
Zeke did not speak.
He took off his coat and rolled up his homespun linen shirt sleeves.
Then he reached out and got the beechen stick.
Zebedee waited.
He knew that there was a certain formula to be gone through.
His father never thrashed him while angry; he always catechised him, then waited a few minutes before plying the stick or the whip.
"Zeb, did you sort those potatoes?"
"No."
"Did you learn that verse from the Bible the elder told you to commit to memory?"
"No."
"Playing all day?"
"Yes."
"Then I must use the rod, or my son will be ruined."
Everything had been calm up to that point.
The other members of the family had gone out.
Zeb was alone with his father.
"Come here."
"What for?"
"Come here, I say, and place yourself across my knee."
"Not this time, dad."
If Zebedee had drawn a pistol and shot at his father that worthy could not have been more astonished. He almost dropped the stick.
"What do you mean?"
"Just what I say. You are never going to beat me again."
"What?"
"Just what I say, dad. I'm going to make a bargain with you. You swear that you will never hit me again and I'll make you a rich man."
Ezekiel dropped the stick.
He opened his ponderous jaws and looked at his eldest son much as he might at a wild beast.
"You—what?"
"Just what I say, dad. Little pitchers have big ears. Well, the big ears have heard that you hate Ethan Allen."
"Well?"
"You would get the reward if you could."
"Well?"
"Swear that you will never hit me again——"
"I will not. Come here, you rapscalion, and I'll teach you to make a laughingstock of me."
Zeb saw his father pick up the stick again, and he got into the corner, and picking up a chair, held it so that his father could not strike him.
"See here, father," he said, very quietly, "you are stronger than I am. You have a right to whip me, and I perhaps deserve it; that isn't saying much, but it's enough. Now I want to tell you that if you strike me I'll leave you this very night, and either join the Green Mountain Boys, or I'll get the reward and go to York and never see you again."
"What has come over you?"
"Nothing, only I see a way to make some money for you, or myself, and I'll give it to you if you swear never to strike me again."
"It's a bargain."
"Honor bright?"
"Yes, honor bright."
"All right, father. Pull down your sleeves and come with me where no one can hear what I have to say."
To the great surprise of the family, no sounds of crying or sobbing came from the kitchen, and when Zeb's mother—a little, frail woman, who had never had her own way since she had been married to Zeke, opened the door an hour later and peeped in, she screamed out:
"It's all over! I felt he would do it some day."
"Do what, mother?" asked a girl of twelve.
"Your father has killed Zeb. He said he would, and now he has done it, and he has gone to bury him."
Then there was a scene of shrieking and weeping and sobbing.
All the children joined in, and the mother was heart-broken.
In the midst of it all father and son walked in, radiant and smiling.
If Zeb had been really dead and made himself visible to his astonished family, they could not have been more alarmed.
"Mistress Garvan, stop your blubbering. We shall have visitors this night; sha'n't we, Zeb?"
"Yes, dad."
"Friends of mine. Oh, it will be a great time. Mistress, I'll buy the childer new clothes, ay, that I will, and I'll have a new ox for the farm. It is good, I tell you, to have friends."
Mistress Garvan wondered what had come over her stern husband.
She knew he had not been drinking, for he would not allow even as much as a drop of dry cider to come into the house.
"What have you been doing, Zeke?" she asked him.
"Nothing; it's only a little surprise we have. Isn't it so, Zeb?"
But Zeb had disappeared, and so no answer was forthcoming from him.
Zeb had seen more than he had heard, and he knew of the encampment on Lake Dunmore.
He had watched the men, and found out that they drilled at night. He had become suspicious, but had no means of verifying his suspicions until that conversation with Eben.
When Eben had incautiously mentioned his name, Zeb remembered that he had heard a man tell his father that Allen was accompanied by a young scout whose name was Pike.
Zeke was getting very fidgety.
He kept looking at the tall clock, which his father had brought from England many years before, and wondered whether his plot had failed. But his face brightened when a knock at the door betokened the presence of visitors.
He opened the door himself, and Ethan Allen and Remember Baker stepped in.
"Welcome, most welcome! I would rather see you here than the king of England."
Allen placed his finger on his lip as a hint not to speak too loudly.
Zeke laughed.
"I respect your caution; a day will come when your name will be shouted from the housetops."
"You are too flattering, farmer."
"Not so; but come to supper. My good wife knows how to tickle the palate of my friends, and you are my friends. Where's Zeb, mother?"
"He went out."
"He is a bad fellow; I am sure I shall never tame him. I would he were old enough to join the——"
"Yes; what age is he?"
"Only sixteen."
"He is old enough if he has inclination——"
"A truce to such talk; let us get some supper. By my father's memory, I smell pig's head and cabbage. Good thing, even if it is late at night. Come, friends, and we will talk after."
Zeke led the way into the kitchen and bade his guest be seated.
Scarcely had they commenced eating when a knock at the back door caused the farmer to drop his knife.
The door opened and a man's voice was heard:
"In the king's name surrender, Ethan Allen, and you, Remember Baker!"
"Treason!" exclaimed Allen.
"Trapped!" added Baker.
"Yes, rebels, and the reward will be mine!" shouted the farmer in a joyous voice.
"Scoundrel!" shouted Baker.
Allen was dignified even under such trying circumstances. He calmly waited the pleasure of the soldiers, knowing that resistance was useless; but Remember Baker was impetuous, and would have fought even against such odds if he had not been overpowered.
"Have you any cords?" asked the young officer.
"Ay, faith I'll get the strongest cords that ye ever saw," exclaimed Zeb.
"You young imp, it was you who betrayed us," Baker said, bitterly.
"Yes, you are right. You see, I bear you no ill will," said the young scoundrel, "but money is useful, and they perhaps won't hang you, and if they do—well, you've got to die sometime, and you might as well make us comfortable by your death——"
Zeke was a little ashamed of his part in the transaction, though he had been ready enough to adopt his son's suggestion. But now that the deed was done, he would not allow the prisoners to be insulted by Zeb, and the boy's unfeeling remarks were cut short by a vigorous kick on his nether part which completely lifted him off the floor.
"You said you'd never—hit—me," he blubbered.
"I never said I'd never kick you, and I'll kick all I want to, you young rascal!"
"No, you won't," the young hopeful retorted.
"Yes, I will, and if you don't get those cords in a brace of shakes I'll make you so you won't sit down for a month."
Zeb knew enough of his father to be sure that he meant what he said, so he hurried to the barn, and soon returned with some strong rope, with which the two prisoners were securely bound.
The boy was a shrewd fellow, and as bad as any that lived in those parts. His father had not half the quick wit possessed by Zeb.
"Dad, get the reward," he whispered.
"Ay, who will pay me the reward?" he asked the officer.
"I will certify that you are entitled to it, and you can get it from Albany any time."
"Ay, so I must needs trudge to Albany. Must I go with the prisoners?"
"No, you have nothing to do with them now; they are in my care."
"So if they get away——"
"But they cannot get away."
"But if they did?" Zeb persisted.
"That would be my loss. You and your father have earned the reward."
"Where shall you keep them to-night?" asked Zeke.
"I shall take them to—— Well, never mind where; it will make no difference to you."
"No, I suppose not."
Zeb overheard this conversation and determined to profit by it.
He felt sore, both physically and mentally.
He felt that his father had not kept to the meaning of his oath, and had evaded it by kicking instead of striking, which to Zeb was just as bad.
"I might just as well have let him hit me," he soliloquized; "he laughs now; perhaps he will not when I am through."
He ran, and none could go faster when he liked to exert himself, and did not rest until he was in sight of the Mountain Boys' camp.
Then he halted.
He needed to be cool.
"Zebedee, my boy, now you can make or mar your life. Which are you going to do?"
He thought for a moment and chuckled to himself as he defined, mentally, his plan of action.
Peleg Sunderland was in command in the absence of the colonel and Capt. Baker, and to him Zeb asked to be conducted.
But the sentinel refused.
"You haven't got the word, and I will not let anyone pass; no, not even the colonel himself without it."
"But I have important news."
"Of course you have."
"You do not believe me?"
"Yes, I do. I know all you can tell me, so there!"
"Have you anyone here called Eben Pike?"
"Perhaps we have, perhaps we haven't."
"Do not be sassy or——"
"You'll march away from this or I'll shoot; them's my orders."
Zeb saw that the man would not allow him to pass, and he was at his wits' end to know what to do.
As good fortune would have it, who should pass but Eben.
"Eben, I want you."
"Is that you, Zeb?"
"It is."
"What do you want?"
"You."
"What for?"
"Come here and I will tell you."
The sentry warned Eben not to pass out of the lines, but the young scout took no notice.
"Well, what is it?"
"Come a little farther away and I will tell you."
Eben knew not what fear was, though that was saying a great deal. One of the kings of Spain once sent for a man who was heard to say that he did not know the meaning of fear.
"My good man," said the king, "they tell me that you were never afraid."
"That is true, your majesty."
"And you do not know what fear is?"
"That also was true."
"Did you ever put your hand into a wasps' nest?"
"No, your majesty."
"Then never again say you do not know what fear is."
Eben might find something of which he would be afraid, but he had not done so up to that time.
When the two boys had got some distance away, Eben asked:
"Well, what have you to tell me?"
"Where is Col. Ethan Allen?"
"I do not know."
"Where is Capt. Baker?"
"I do not know."
"I do."
"Well, what of that?"
"When I last saw them they had some good strong cords bound round their limbs, and a Yorker was holding a gun at their heads."
"Prisoners?"
"It looked very like it."
"Where are they? Tell me all you know."
"Not much; the news is worth something."
"How much do you want?"
"How much what?"
"Did you not say you wanted to sell the news?"
"No; but, now you mention it, I might do so. Take me to the fellow who commands the boys."
"Will you tell him?"
"I came to do so, only that fellow with the gun would not let me pass."
"I will take you to Lieut. Sunderland."
"Lead on; I am ready."
Eben conducted the boy to Sunderland, and to him Zeb told a most wonderful yarn.
It was so plausible that he was complimented on his patriotism, and rewarded by the faithful lieutenant as well as his purse would permit.
Zeb trusted to the inspiration of the moment for most of his narrative. He told how his father was a loyal Vermonter, and in the fullness of his heart had invited Allen and Baker to a late supper, and in their honor had prepared boiled pig's head and cabbage, and that while they were eating supper some soldiers burst open the door and took all prisoners. Zeb said his father was released on condition that he would find ropes to bind Allen and Baker. Thinking that he could be of service to the colonel by remaining at liberty, he consented, and then sent Zeb to the Mountain Boys' camp.
Zeb embellished the story in many ways, but he was so good a story-teller that every word he uttered was believed.
Ethan Allen could see no possible chance of escape.
He was not afraid to meet the punishment, but he felt it galling to be trapped in such a way.
If he had not been a bitter opponent of New York before, that treachery would have made him one.
For greater security the two mountaineers had been bound together, so that they could be more easily guarded.
Nearly an hour passed before the officer determined to march.
He had sent out scouts to ascertain if the Mountain Boys were in the vicinity, and the men had returned to report all quiet.
Then the small company, with its valuable captives, set out to cross into York at the nearest point.
For about an hour the march was continued in silence, and the men were fatigued, for they had to carry the prisoners, both Allen and Baker refusing to walk one step.
A halt was called, and the soldiers were told they could rest for one hour.
They were delighted at the prospect, and laid themselves down on the grass.
So secure did they feel that they relaxed their watchfulness and allowed the prisoners to lie down by themselves a little distance away, yet not so far that they had any chance of escape.
Allen was singing a song of freedom; it was an old French ditty he had learned and often sung.
He sang, not because his spirits were light, but simply to prevent a feeling of melancholy overmastering him.
The singing satisfied his captors that he was resigned, and was not meditating any plan of escape.
In the midst of his song he heard a soft, low voice say:
"Do not speak, but listen."
Baker had fallen asleep, and Allen knew that it was Eben who spoke; but how the boy got there, or, in fact, where he was, Allen could not conjecture.
"Here is a knife," said Eben; "I am going to cut the cords which bind your hands; you can then liberate Baker. When you are both free, keep still until you hear the cry of the catbird, and then leap to your feet and run, taking a course direct to the left; the boys are there in ambush, and you will be safe."
While Eben was speaking he succeeded in cutting the cords, and Allen's hands were free.
Eben glided away as noiselessly as he came, and Allen woke Baker as quickly as possible.
"Heigho! Have we to continue our journey?"
"Hush! do not utter a word! We have a chance to escape, if you will listen and not speak."
Allen told him all that had been done, and then quietly cut the other's cords.
Both men were free.
They lay as still as though the cords still bound their bodies.
Allen sang another song in a low, tremulous voice.
Again it had the effect of disarming suspicion.
A bird warbled in a tree, rather strangely for so late at night, but as one of the men remarked that it was the bird's lookout and not his, no notice was taken of it.
And then the warbling ceased and the peculiar call of the catbird was heard.
Instantly the two prisoners were on their feet and making for the wood.
They had got some yards before their movement was noticed.
At once the soldiers seized their guns, and a volley was fired after the fugitives.
The shots did not reach the mark, and pursuit was commenced.
Allen heard the catbird again and again, and by its sound guided his footsteps.
The soldiers were close behind and were gaining every minute, but the Mountain Boys ran pluckily, for it was a race for life in reality.
They rushed into the dense wood and followed the narrow path, which was really a deer run.
Some of the soldiers fired again, and a ball struck a tree and ricochetted, injuring the leader of the little band of pursuers.
The accident made the men more furious, and they ran so fast that it seemed Allen and Baker must certainly fall into their hands.
Suddenly the scene changed.
From behind every tree there leaped out a Mountain Boy, and with one voice a shout went up:
"Surrender!"
It was no use resisting.
The Yorkers were outnumbered.
They were blown with the long run, while their enemies were fresh and their muskets loaded.
"To whom are we to surrender?" asked the officer.
"To Col. Allen and his Green Mountain Boys," was the answer.
"On what terms?"
"The same you gave us," answered Baker.
"Yes, you are invaders of another colony, and must be treated as marauders," added Allen.
"We are prisoners of war."
"Not any more than we were, but you bound us with cords, and you must submit to the same treatment."
"It is an outrage."
"Very likely you think so, but you should do to others as you would they should do to you. The example was set by you, not me."
Turning to his men, Allen ordered them to convey the prisoners to the camp by the lake, and added:
"Shoot anyone who attempts to escape."
The order was unnecessary, for the Yorkers were too much frightened to think of escaping.
When the camp was reached Ethan Allen gave orders for the Garvans, father and son, to be arrested and brought to the camp.
Peleg Sunderland told how the rescue had been accomplished, but when he gave Zeb's version of the affair Allen shook his head and told his friends of the arch treachery of the elder Garvan, whatever his son might say to the contrary.
Before morning Zeke Garvan and his hopeful son, Zeb, were prisoners at the camp of the Mountain Boys.
Zeke expected to be shot, and whimpered like a child.
His son, Zeb, was brave, and showed that death had no terrors for him.
There was a sort of bulldog courage about him which won the admiration of even his enemies. He faced the Mountain Boys with a defiance which seemed to mean:
"What are you going to do about it?"
When Allen asked him why he had been so treacherous, he laughed as though the question was a good joke.
"I worsted the enemy, didn't I?"
"What do you mean?"
Zeb screwed up his mouth as though about to whistle, then suddenly changed and burst into another laugh.
"Come, my boy, we do not make war on boys, so tell me your motive."
"Shall I?"
"It will be for your advantage, and your father——"
"Don't mention him. Let every tub stand on its own bottom, my father always taught me. Talk about me, if you like, but leave dad alone."
"Then, for your own sake, tell me why you did it. Did others prompt you?"
"I don't know what you mean by prompt, but if you mean did anyone tell me to do it, I say no. I thought of it all by myself, and I made a bargain with father, which he didn't keep; but he was a long time before he saw it as I did."
"Tell all your story, and leave the rest to me."
"Well, you see, father wanted money——"
"Ah! so money stands before country?"
"Let me tell my story."
"Go on, I will not interrupt you again."
"You had better not if you want to hear what I have to say. I said father wanted money, and as the Yorkers wanted you, and offered a big sum of good money for your capture, why, I suggested to father that he get the reward. Now, don't wince; wait until you have heard all. So I got father to agree, and then you were invited to supper. I had gone for the soldiers, and there you were trapped as nicely as any bear in the mountains. Well, when you were secured I put up dad to ask when he would get the reward, and he was told he would have to go to Albany for it, and I found that he could get the reward even if you were rescued, so I wanted to make myself solid with the boys, and I came and told them which way you would be taken, and how to rescue you. So if you will let us go we shall get the reward, but the Yorkers won't get you."
Zeb spoke with such a feeling of exultation that Allen had to laugh.
"So you tried to please both parties?"
"Well, yes; but if ye don't get the money we shan't be pleased with the result."
"Have you told me the truth?"
"Of course I have, and I am itching to get the reward so that I may laugh at the enemy."
"And try to play the same prank again."
"No, I want to join you; I am tired of home. My, won't the Yorkers be mad at having to pay the money and not get you anyway?"
"They will not pay the reward."
"Then I'll fight until they do."
Allen called a council of the boys and asked what should be done with the prisoners.
"Hang them all, every one of them," was the advice of Peleg Sunderland.
"I say, keep them as hostages, and if any of our men are caught, deal with the Yorkers as they deal with our men," said Baker.
"And I think," remarked Allen, slowly and with great deliberation, "that we ought to liberate the soldiers, who only did as they were ordered, and punish Farmer Garvan."
"Let us leave the whole matter to the colonel."
"Good! he is always right."
This course was adopted, and Allen accepted the trust.
He ordered the soldiers to be brought before him, and then addressed them, telling them how some had counseled hanging, but as they were fellow-Americans it was resolved to liberate them, because they had only obeyed orders.
He expressed a wish that they would go back to their own colony and tell the Yorkers that the men of the mountains would never give up their lands while one of them remained alive.
The officer in charge spoke for his men.
He thanked Allen for his merciful conduct, and declared that the duty had been distasteful, but that as soldiers they must act without question.
After the Yorkers left the camp, Allen ordered the farmer to be brought before him.
"Farmer Garvan," he said, "you have been guilty of the greatest crime it is possible for a man to commit. You offered hospitality, and then, like Judas, you betrayed those who trusted you. Your offense is worse, seeing that you are a grantee of New Hampshire. By all the laws of war you ought to be hanged——"
"Spare me!" whined the farmer.
"You did not spare me, but for the sake of a little money would have condemned me to death. You are a coward, or you would meet your fate boldly. A man who risks so much should not cry out for mercy when his rascality fails. I will not hang you——"
"Thank you. Heaven——"
"Stay! Do not call Heaven into a defense of treachery. I order that you be stripped and receive one hundred lashes on the bare back, such punishment to be meted out to you in accordance with the laws laid down by the convention at Bennington."
Garvan fell on his knees and with uplifted hands prayed for mercy.
"It will kill me, I know it will. Oh, spare me, and I will serve you, I——"
"Each of my men will give you a stroke with a good, strong oaken or beechen stick, and may the punishment teach you that treachery never pays."
In vain the man cried for mercy.
Allen could never forgive treachery.
The Green Mountain Boys hurried to cut sticks from the trees which grew by the lake, and each submitted his stick to Allen, who rejected quite a number because they were too large.
Zeke was stripped and tied to a tree, his hands above his head. The first man was called to administer his stroke, when Zeb, who had been standing, listening to the decision, rushed forward, and placing himself between his father and the mountaineer, said:
"Strike, but not father. Let me bear the punishment, for it was all my fault, it was all my doing."
"Stand aside."
"I will not."
"Drag him away," commanded Baker.
Two of the mountaineers stepped up to the boy, who had clasped his arms around his father's waist.
He held on so tightly that to drag him away they must hurt him.
Baker ordered the men to whip him until he loosed his grasp, but Allen stopped the execution of this order.
"Stop! Boy, you have won. I thought you were bad at heart, but I see you love your father, and for your sake I remit the punishment."
Zeb fell on his knees and clasped Allen's legs.
"Bless you! If anyone ever says a word against you in my hearing he shall die, that he shall."
"Release the prisoner."
When Zeke was free Allen ordered him to give up the paper signed by the soldiers.
"And lose my reward?"
"Yes; I will not allow you to be rewarded for treachery."
Garvan had no option in the matter, and so he gave up the document, which certified that he was entitled to the reward for the capture of Ethan Allen and Remember Baker.
Zeb pleaded hard to be allowed to join the Mountain Boys, and Allen consented provisionally that he should stay in the camp and hold no conversation with his old companions.
"I am afraid you acted foolishly," said Baker. "Others will follow the farmer's example."
"I think not. Mercy never yet failed; sternness often leads to disaster. I am satisfied with what has been done."
In this, as in many other instances, Ethan Allen, rebel though he was called, outlaw as he was decreed to be, showed the largeness of his heart.
"We shall have to break camp. It is possible others besides those who have been liberated will know of our nearness and profit by it."
"Where shall we go, colonel?"
"To Middlebury. We will not secrete ourselves, but openly show that we are in the field to oppose New York in its pretensions."
The people of Middlebury welcomed Allen and his Green Mountain Boys with enthusiasm.
They knew that their only chance of maintaining their lands—lands which they had reclaimed and made valuable—was by assisting Allen in his crusade against the pretensions of New York.
Success perched upon his banner, and not only was he able to hold the lands for the people, but he drove the New York settlers out of the district.
He had drafted a petition to the English king, asking that Vermont should be a separate colony, having its own governor and its legislature.
But before that petition reached England the revolution had broken out.
The Boston Port bill had been passed, which enacted that no kind of merchandise should any longer be shipped or landed at the wharves of Boston.
The custom house was removed to Salem, but the people of that town refused the honor conferred on them by the tyrant who ruled the destinies of England and the colonies.
The inhabitants of Marblehead offered the free use of their warehouses to the merchants of Boston. The Colonial Assembly stood by the people.
Then England passed an act of parliament annuling the charter of Massachusetts. The people were declared rebels, and the governor was ordered to send to England for trial all persons who should resist the royal officers.
A colonial congress was called to assemble at Philadelphia. Eleven colonies were represented, and it was unanimously agreed to sustain Massachusetts in her conflict with parliament.
An address was sent to King George, another to the English nation, and a third to the people of Canada.
As soon as England received the addresses an order was made by which the governor was directed to reduce the colonists by force.
So we see that England took the initiative in the war which was to deprive her of her richest colonies.
A fleet and an army of ten thousand men were sent to America to aid in the work of subjugation.
Gov. Gage seized Boston Neck and fortified it. The military stores in the arsenals of Cambridge and Charlestown were conveyed to Boston, and the general assembly was ordered to disband.
Instead of accepting their dismissal, the members resolved themselves into a provincial congress, and voted to equip an army of twelve thousand men to defend the colony.
As soon as the people of Boston learned the intentions of the governor, they concealed their ammunition in carts of rubbish and conveyed it to Concord, sixteen miles away.
The wrath of the governor was especially directed against Samuel Adams and John Hancock, who were looked upon as the leaders of the rebellion.
An expedition was sent against Concord, and eight hundred men marched toward the town.
But the people of Boston were not to be taken by surprise.
Bells were rung and cannon fired, and the citizens were informed of the expedition.
Joseph Warren—all honor to him—had dispatched Paul Revere and William Dawes to ride with all speed to Concord and Lexington and rouse the whole country to resistance.
A company of one hundred and thirty Minute Men assembled on Lexington Common and awaited the approach of the enemy, but after staying some hours they dispersed.
At five o'clock in the morning the English appeared, led by the notorious Pitcairn.
The Minute Men had gone back to their homes, tired of waiting; but seventy, led by Capt. Parker, were roused and reached the common before the enemy.
Pitcairn rode up to them and exclaimed:
"Disperse, you villains! Throw down your arms, ye rebels, and disperse!"
The Minute Men stood defiant and still.
Pitcairn discharged his pistol at them and shouted to his men:
"Fire!"
The first volley whistled through the air, and sixteen of the Minute Men fell, dead or wounded.
The rest fired a few random shots and dispersed.
The English pressed on to Concord.
The people had quietly removed most of the ammunition, and the English found but little worth taking. They started to sack the town.
While they were doing this the Minute Men had rallied and began to assemble from all quarters.
A company of English guarded the bridge over Concord River. They were attacked by the Minute Men and two English soldiers were killed. The Minute Men captured the bridge, and the enemy began a retreat into the town, and then on the road to Lexington.
On every side the patriots assembled. For six miles the battle waged.
Every tree, every house and barn sheltered the patriots, who poured a murderous fire into the ranks of the retreating English.
Had it not been for the arrival of reinforcements under Lord Percy, the English army would have been completely routed.
The fight continued right up to Charlestown, and only ceased because the people feared the fleet would burn the city.
The first battle had been fought.
The English had suffered a loss of two hundred and seventy-three, while the patriots lost only eighty-three in dead and wounded.
The battle of Lexington fired the country.
Within a few days an army of twenty thousand men had gathered round Boston.
New Hampshire sent its militia, with John Stark at its head; Rhode Island sent her quota under the leadership of Nathaniel Greene.
New Haven was not behind, for a regiment was dispatched from that city with Benedict Arnold as leader.
All this news was conveyed to Ethan Allen by Eben Pike, who had been dispatched on the dangerous mission to Boston to find out what the Provincials meant to do. No more trusty messenger could have been found than the young scout of the Green Mountains.
"What shall we do?" asked Baker.
"Fight!" was Allen's curt reply.
"Shall we join the patriots at Boston?"
"No; Connecticut has offered a thousand dollars toward the expenses of capturing Ticonderoga, and that reward we will win."
To capture the fort with its treasures would be to strike a blow at England's supremacy which would tell more than any concerted action at Boston.
"Call the roll," ordered Allen.
Two hundred and seventy men answered the call, and Allen shouted for joy.
"Men of the Great Mountains, we are strong, because a mountain boy is worth ten men of the valleys. We shall capture Ticonderoga. I cannot offer you life; many may be killed, more wounded; but remember we have fought for our homes, we must now fight for our country. We have driven the Yorkers out of the Green Mountains, we must now drive the English out of America, or compel them to recognize our right to govern ourselves. Will you follow me?"
A tremendous shout in the affirmative went up from those brave patriots, and Ethan Allen was so overcome with emotion that for a few moments he could not speak.
Then, raising his sword above his head, he shouted:
"On to Ticonderoga! Victory and freedom, or death, for every man who hears my voice!"
And the Green Mountain Boys took up the cry:
"On to Ticonderoga! Victory or death!"