Roger Davis, Loyalist Part 5

I left the garden and re-entered the house. At the foot of the stairs I met my sister Caroline.

'You will come with us to church, Roger,' she said. 'Doctor Canfield will be delighted to see you back.'

My mind ran back a little. Would I not be in danger of arrest? The whole country, I knew, was swarming with spies. I thought of the part I had played in saving Duncan Hale, also of my imprisonment and escape.

I had not thought of openly showing myself, at least for a little while.

But Caroline was of quite a different mind. 'You will be in no more danger in church than at home,' she argued. 'I have seen many at church lately who I am sure are in favour of the King. Since you left, things have gone on quite as usual; n.o.body has been molested, and Doctor Canfield has said nothing of the war. Then Roger'--she came nearer to me, and put her hand upon my arm--'should we not go to church to-day, at least, and pray that G.o.d might guide us to do what may be best?'

I felt once more rebuked by my sister.

In less than half an hour I was seated, with my mother and two sisters, in the handsome church that had been for years the pride of the town of Cambridge. Not even Boston could boast a finer church building, or a more cultured congregation. Boston was a centre of trade; its narrow and crooked streets; its wharves and many s.h.i.+ps; its mixed population; its noise and taverns; its large and busy crowds, had for years stood out in sharp contrast with the quiet and delightful country culture of Cambridge. The educated and the wealthy, particularly those in whom the English instincts were strongest, had, like my father, chosen to live in the country rather than in the city. Thus it was that, when Doctor Canfield entered his pulpit that Sabbath morning, he faced representatives of all that was best and most intellectual in the life of the colony.

On glancing about I noticed that the church was very full. Doctor Canfield's church was not the only one in Cambridge, but as a rule to it came not only all the Episcopalians, but most of the Scottish Presbyterians, who had not, at that time, a church of their own in the town. They had been, mainly, silent people, who had lived quietly, without doing or saying anything that betrayed sympathy with either side. Were these friends of the King? Did the circulating of the papers calling for a declaration of sympathy explain their presence in such large numbers this morning at Doctor Canfield's church?

My mother had told me previously that many of them had been attending our church for some weeks. Had the great sifting and selecting process begun? Had persecution here, as in the country, been making friends for the King? At any rate, as I looked about, I was led to hope that religious differences were likely to be obliterated, or sunk, in loyal zeal for the King's cause.

I was interrupted at this point in my thinking by Doctor Canfield announcing his text. It was, 'Love the brotherhood; fear G.o.d; honour the king.'

He repeated the words twice with much deliberation.

A great, strained silence fell upon the vast congregation. I was startled; for a time my breath came short and uncertainly. Had the reserved, hitherto-silent man, made up his mind to declare himself?

One great question--the question raised and forced home to each of his hearers by the papers such as my mother had received--filled every mind. But great and pressing as this question was, could it be discussed? I felt sure I knew what Doctor Canfield would say; he was an honest man, and would honestly speak his mind. But was he sure of the temper and sympathies of his hearers that day? Had he counted the cost?

I glanced at my mother, and saw that she was plainly agitated. Even Elizabeth, my sister of but twelve, seemed to realise that a crisis was at hand. Caroline's face was serenely calm. On every countenance that I could see there sat an expression of profound, even painful interest.

The silence deepened, and the interest grew, as the minister proceeded.

He first briefly discussed the part of his text bearing on love of the brotherhood; then touched briefly, but with earnestness, on the necessity for fearing G.o.d, and pa.s.sed to the third and last part of his subject.

As he approached this, I noticed that a note of emotion had crept into his voice, and some of the colour had slipped down from his face; but he was still very calm, and spoke unbrokenly as he finished his second heading, and then twice repeated the words,

'Honour the King!'

At this point he suddenly stopped. The silence that fell was painfully intense. People leaned forward; here and there heads went down on the pews in front. I felt my heart beat quick and unevenly. But the apparent calmness of Doctor Canfield rea.s.sured me.

He did not proceed with his sermon; but, picking up a paper that lay beside the Bible, he slowly opened it, then brought it before the gaze of the people. I recognised the paper at once as being similar to the one received by my mother.

'It is not necessary,' he began, 'that I should read to you, my brethren, the contents of this paper. With what is here written, you are no doubt familiar. This paper has brought before us all a matter of the supremest importance. I have given it the most earnest and careful consideration. In regard to you, my brethren, as to the course you should pursue in this great and lamentable crisis that is now facing our beautiful but unhappy country--concerning you, I have neither suggestions to offer, nor advice to give; but for myself, I feel now constrained, in the presence of G.o.d and of this congregation, to say that in the past my sympathies have been, at the present they are, and in the future they shall be, always and only with my true and rightful sovereign, the King of England.'

He said no more. The people before him sat stunned and dumb. Many had known his mind before; many were aware that when he spoke he would speak as he had spoken; and yet, to even these, the declaration came with a shock. Hitherto, he had proclaimed only the gospel; he had stood apart from politics; he had considered himself the pastor of all, not of part, of his people. But there is a time when to be silent is to be false--when to be true one must speak. Doctor Canfield had evidently felt that such a time had come in the New England Colonies of King George, and he had spoken in words that could not be misunderstood.

Slowly the people recovered from the shock. Those who had leaned forward leaned back. All through the church there was a swaying movement as when a harvest field is wind swept. I noticed evidences of relief and joy steal into the faces of many; but on the countenances of others there were unmistakable signs of disappointment and anger. I saw at a glance that a majority--but not all--were for the King.

Doctor Canfield stood as still as a statue. His face had gone very white. Soon through the sound of swaying people, there came to my ears the noise of footsteps. Then a moment later, all over the church, men and women rose and pressed toward the door. A few of the leaders of the church went, old and true Episcopalians, some also of the non-Episcopalians. The faces of many who remained showed signs of struggle and indecision. A few rose and sat down again. Some looked questions at those beside them. In the seat directly in front of us a husband was leaving the seat when his wife drew him back. Not a few in the church wept audibly.

And thus it was throughout all New England, during that Sunday and the days following, that men, many of them in the house of G.o.d, silently, suddenly, prayerfully committed themselves to the cause of King or people. They saw themselves under two masters, and painful though the decision was, they felt that they must, for the future, hold to the one, even though it was difficult for them to find it in their hearts to despise the other.

When all had gone who had resolved to go, when quiet had fallen again in the church, the minister, without a word of further comment, announced the National Anthem. The pent-up feelings of the people--and there was yet a large congregation, for fully three-fourths of the wors.h.i.+ppers had remained--found freedom and relief in the old familiar words.

Shortly after we reached home that day, through the green of the trees, waving high in front of the rectory, I caught a glimpse of the Union Jack.

Chapter VIII

Off to Nova Scotia

It was several weeks later. My mother, Dr. Canfield, Duncan Hale, and I were sitting in a room in Boston, awaiting our turn for a promised interview with Lord Percy, who was still with the army. The battle of Bunker Hill had been won by the British; but, in spite of this success, General Was.h.i.+ngton, who arrived in July to take command of the army, had succeeded in drawing his lines uncomfortably close about the city.

We, with thousands of others, had been forcibly driven from our beautiful homes in the country, to make quarters for Was.h.i.+ngton's soldiers. We had been allowed to take nothing away. From all that was most dear to us--from the luxury of a quiet life of culture; from rooms where hung portraits of hero ancestors; from walks and gardens that had become part of our life; from broad, rich fields and firm-set old mansions, with their wide halls and fine Corinthian architecture;--from all these, one day in late June, my sisters, my mother, and myself, had been driven by a mob-like body of rough, jeering men who called themselves patriot soldiers.

True, we might have remained. Indeed, as we pa.s.sed down the path from our home, my mother was presented with a second paper, the signing of which would have restored to us all that from which we were being driven. She read a few lines, then, tearing the paper into bits, she threw these in the face of the soldier who stood before her. After this, without a single look backward upon our home--on foot, under the blazing June sun--we had hurried away toward the besieged city of Boston. None hindered us; but many jeered as we pa.s.sed. We had lost much--much upon which we never again looked--but we felt we had gained in this: we were under the flag of the King.

But that was the past. What of the future? This was the question in the mind of each of us that day in Lord Percy's waiting-room, when a servant appeared, and asked us to follow him.

After receiving us all very graciously, his lords.h.i.+p asked us to be seated. I thought I had seldom seen a handsomer man. He was tall, graceful and youthful; his manners were polished, and his language bore all the marks of the utmost culture. He first addressed himself to my mother. After making some kindly references to my late father, and his services in the King's cause, he pa.s.sed at once to a discussion of what was to be in the future.

'You cannot be unaware, madame,' he said, 'of the deep and sympathetic interest I take in the welfare of yourself and your family. The n.o.ble spirit of self-sacrifice manifested by you in voluntarily giving up your lands and home, I consider quite beyond praise; and it is with feelings of the profoundest regret that I feel myself obliged to say that it is quite beyond my power to offer compensation to you in any degree commensurate with your loss. As to the future of the rebellion, nothing definite can be said; for myself, I believe that the arms of the King will finally triumph; but this cannot be hoped for in the immediate future. You cannot remain here; the danger grows daily.

What think you of Canada, madame? Or of Nova Scotia, of those wide, peaceful, loyal provinces of His Majesty to the north of us? Many of our people, as you know, have sailed for England--too many, I fear; others have asked to be sent to Canada.'

My mother did not answer for a time. Finally, she said: 'I like America; I was born here; I have now few friends in England, and I am without means.'

At the mention of Canada, I had seen Duncan Hale's face brighten; but he did not speak. A little later, Lord Percy turned to him.

'Tell us,' he said, 'what is said of Nova Scotia in the geographies?

Is it really a habitable land?'

Duncan bowed very low.

'Yes, my lord,' he said, 'it is a country in no degree less fruitful than that in which we live. In addition to what is writ in our books of it, I have learned from traders that the soil is rich, that it is a land of delightful summers, of mighty rivers, and of boundless forests.

The wealth of its fisheries and mines cannot be estimated; and best of all, your lords.h.i.+p, it is a land undefiled by the feet of traitors.'

The closing words were spoken in such a manner as to show that Duncan Hale was not one of those who had found it difficult to choose between King and people.

Doctor Canfield, who had so far said little, rose and walked to a large map of America that hung upon the wall.

'This is Nova Scotia,' he said, pointing to a large, irregular peninsula. 'Canada is further west, is it not?'

[Ill.u.s.tration: 'THIS IS NOVA SCOTIA.' HE SAID, POINTING TO THE MAP.]

We gathered about the map, a new and peculiar interest attaching to it, owing to the situation in which we were placed.

Duncan Hale explained fully and clearly that all the land on both sides of the water marked Bay of Fundy was called Nova Scotia. This was a single province, which had a Governor who lived in Halifax. 'Canada,'

Lord Percy explained later to my mother, 'is known as the Province of Quebec. There are many French there,' he said; 'but in Nova Scotia most of the people are English or Scotch. In Halifax they have had a Parliament for some years now, and from all we have been able to learn the people here'--he swept his hand all over the peninsula and around the Bay of Fundy--'are happy and prosperous in the enjoyment of the liberties of all British subjects.'

After touching on the question of sailing for England, we discussed with Lord Percy more fully the relative merits of Canada and Nova Scotia. Then we went out.

As we pa.s.sed along, we noticed that the streets were crowded. There were many soldiers in their bright red uniforms, but the great majority of the people were like ourselves--refugees who had come in from the surrounding towns and country for protection from the rebels who were daily becoming more insolent and offensive. We had come almost to the quarters kindly put at our disposal by Lord Percy, when in a crowd of plain countrymen I caught sight of a face which I was quite sure I had seen before. Doctor Canfield went on with my mother and sisters, while Duncan Hale and I turned aside.

A moment later, hearing the voice of the man who had attracted my attention, I was fully convinced that I had hit upon my old fellow-prisoner of the mine at Lexington, David Elton. He shook my hand warmly, told me briefly of his escape, and of his return to his home.