With Ethan Allen at Ticonderoga

Enoch and Bryce cleared a piece of woodland that year and late in the fall there was another stump-burning. ’Siah Bolderwood came down from his “farm” near Old Ti to join in the festivities; but several of the young people who had attended the stump-burning three years before were not present. Robbie Baker was up north with his father, and Lot Breckenridge had moved away from the vicinity of Bennington; Crow Wing did not come to try his skill at wrestling with Enoch, so the latter sat by with ’Siah as one of the judges, for he was older than the other contestants. Lot’s mother had married a man named Lewis who owned and worked a farm much nearer the Connecticut River, in the town of Westminster, and after his return from their winter’s trapping the spring before, Lot had gone across the mountains to work for his stepfather.

Lot had always been his dearest friend and Enoch missed him sorely, and as he could not go trapping with him this winter, he agreed to visit Westminster for a fortnight or so, some time during the idle months. It was March when he started to cross the range and although the roads were still full of snow, he went horseback. A sleigh was a luxury that few Bennington people owned, although Nuck might have hitched the old wood-sled to Dobbin. He spent one night at a farmer’s on the road, and was welcomed at supper time the next evening at the Lewis house.

“Zuckers!” exclaimed Lot, running out to drag his friend off his horse, “I tell ye, I’m glad to see ye! And so’ll marm be–if the young uns don’t bother her too much. There’s three Lewis young uns, too, besides the baby, and I tell ye, they’re a wild lot. I’d rayther tackle them wolves that you’n Crow Wing got mixed up with last winter. Seen the Injin since?”

“Not since I sent him home with more money than he had ever seen before in his life,” replied Enoch.

“Very foolish of you! We might have had some of his pelts just as well’s not.”

“You don’t mean that, Lot,” said Enoch, who knew that young Breckenridge talked a deal more recklessly than he really felt.

“Well, never mind all that,” said Lot. “Tell me the news. What’s goin’ on ’tother side the mountings? Did ye know that lots more red-coats had come to Boston? And they say–leastways, a pedlar that come through here told us so last week–that the Boston folks have got a lot of guns and ammunition stored in the country towns and the minute men are drilling day and night. Do you s’pose there’ll be war there, Nuck?”

“If the Massachusetts people feel like we do here in the Grants, there’ll be fighting,” said Enoch, his eyes flashing. “What d’you suppose would happen if troops were quartered on us?”

“I’m goin’ to Boston if there’s a fight,” declared his friend. “Mr. Lewis says I can. He’s a nice man–marm’s second husband–and he’s strong for the Grants, too. He’s got a Hampshire title. But there’s lots of Tories around here. The court’s goin’ to sit next week an’ there’ll be trouble then, mark my word. Lots of the cases these Tories have hatched up against our people are goin’ to be tried, an’ the Whigs ain’t goin’ to stand it. Judge Chandler ain’t so bad a man; but Judge Sabin and the others are dead set ag’in all our folks. They say the sheriff has sworn in a big lot of deperties. Mebbe you’ll see some fun before you go back to Bennington, Nuck.”

As Lot’s idea of “fun” was pretty sure to be a scrimmage of some kind, it can be easily seen how strained the relations were then between the Whigs and the Tory court of the district. Whereas Tories and Whigs had lived at peace before, now they became bitter in controversy and even families were divided upon the questions of the hour.

Enoch found Lot’s stepfather to be a very quiet, pleasant man, who made it a point to be at harmony with all his neighbors, yet whose personal feelings and opinions as a Whig were well known. Lot delighted in being where the older men of the community discussed the trend of public affairs and it was due to him that Enoch, the second night after his arrival, gained some little notoriety in Westminster by an encounter he had at the Royal Inn, kept by one John Norton.

The tap-room and parlors of the inn were occupied every evening at this time by the men of Westminster, and by certain visitors who had, for some days, been gathering for the meeting of the General Court. And all these visitors were not attorneys, or plaintiffs and defendants in the several cases which would come up for hearing before their Worships the justices. The sheriff was already at Westminster and there were more armed men about the town than had ever been seen there before at one time. Until the closing hour earnest discussions were carried on in the inn, for although the Royal, or “Norton’s house” as it was called, was the headquarters of the Tories, many Whigs frequented it, too. Naturally, the young men and half-grown boys wished to listen on the outskirts of these groups, and Lot Breckenridge was desirous of hearing all that went on. Enoch went with him to the inn rather against his will. Mistress Harding did not approve of such places for youths and Enoch had not grown so old or so big as to wish to disobey his mother, or even to believe that she was less able to guide him than she had formerly been.

The inn was well filled, indeed, that night and Master Norton was bustling about from group to group, dropping a word here and another there, determined to keep all his guests pleased as maybe; for despite his Tory principles, the innkeeper was first for his own pocket and would not antagonize any man knowingly. Mine Host was particularly attentive to a party of ten or a dozen gentlemen who, having eaten, now sat grouped before one of the fires engaged in earnest, and somewhat noisy, conversation. The figure of the sheriff was the centre of this group.

Lot and Enoch stood with other young men within ear-shot and heard many remarks which plainly showed the affiliation of the sheriff and his friends to the Tory cause; and the party had dined so well that they were not particularly careful to modulate their voices so that others in the vicinity who might be of a different mind, should not overhear them. The sheriff was a pompous man who, when he spoke, commanded the attention of all about him. The dignity of his office rode him hard and his companions deferred to him almost servilely, for at that day such an officer was held in great reverence, especially by the King’s adherents.

“These malcontents who would question the right of the King to govern them, should be punished, every man Jack of them!” the sheriff declared, looking about fiercely at his auditors. “I care not who they are, nor how high they stand. That Dr. Warren and Mr. Otis of Boston are gentlemen of education and position I grant ye; but they should feel the heavy hand of the law nevertheless–yes, sir! And some of these fellows who have gone to Philadelphia and are making such a rumpus there–they should be taught their place!”

“That they should, Master Sheriff!” cried one of his supporters.

“The King’s men treated that Otis just right some months back,” growled another–a man who sat back in the shadow of the high mantel and wore a cloak, the high collar of which half muffled his face. At the speech of this one Enoch, who had been dragging at the sleeve of his companion to get him away, ceased this and pushed forward himself. Something in the tone of the last speaker’s voice had attracted his attention and he strove to see his features.

“They should be whipped–every man Jack of them!” cried the sheriff, repeating his favorite expression.

“Better let Ethan Allen and his boys beech-seal them, eh, Sir Sheriff?” cried some Whig on the outskirts of the group, and a laugh was raised among those of like feeling.

“We shall settle that villain Allen–we shall settle him, sir!” declared the sheriff, angrily. “The Honorable Court will punish these fellows who retain their lands without proper authority from the King and our Governor. There will be an overturn in these Grants ere long–mark my word, sir!”

“The dogs should be driven back to Massachusetts and Connecticut–where they came from,” growled the man with the cloak.

“That’s true!” exclaimed several of the group.

“Aye, and the time approaches when it may be done,” cried the sheriff.

“But what think you Ethan Allen, Seth Warner, ’Member, and the rest of the boys will be doing, Sir Sheriff?” demanded the same Whig who had before spoken.

“They’ll be clapped into Albany jail–that’s what will become of them!” declared the sheriff.

“And a right good place for them,” said he of the cloak. Enoch was still maneuvring to get a sight of this man, but the shadow of the high mantel was cast across his face. All the boy could see was the gleam of his eyes as he turned with an angry gesture toward the audience. “The boldness of these outlaws is astonishing.”

“That Allen appears to have many followers,” suggested a mild mannered man beside the sheriff.

“He is a bully; they fear him!” declared the former speaker, vigorously.

“How is that, John Norton?” cried the Whig, who evidently was a bold man to so flout the sheriff and his friends. “You know Colonel Allen personally. Should you call him a bully and say that he governs men by fear?”

“Not I!” exclaimed the innkeeper. “And saving your presence, sheriff, it would be a man of some stomach who would dare say that to Ethan Allen’s face. As for these same Green Mountain Boys, it is not fear that keeps them together.”

“I tell you they are a set of masterless villains!” cried the dark man, turning angrily about so that at last the collar of his cloak fell back. “They should be driven out of the colony and their houses burned to the ground – ”

Suddenly he stopped. His harsh voice died to a whisper and his astonished companions looked at him in amazement. For a moment he seemed to have been frozen in his chair, and their eyes following his glance fell upon the white and angry face of Enoch Harding who had pushed through the ring of listeners. “And it is you who would set the torch to their homes!” exclaimed the youth, his voice shaking. “You already have one count of the kind against you, and if you ever come to Bennington again there’ll be more than a beech-sealing awaiting you–you villain!”

Some of the crew sprang up in astonishment, and some in anger. “Who is that bold rascal, landlord?” demanded the sheriff. “Bring him here.”

But Lot had fairly dragged the angry Enoch to the door and now pushed him out of the inn. “What’s the matter with you, Nuck?” he demanded. “D’you want to get us all into trouble?”

“That’s Simon Halpen!” exclaimed Enoch, panting with excitement. “I’d have flown at his throat in another moment.”

“Zuckers!” exclaimed Lot. “The feller that burned down your marm’s house? Don’t blame ye for bein’ mad. But ye don’t wanter stir up a fuss here. Our game is ter lay low and let the Tories start the row if they’re minded to. You’ll see. Mr. Lewis an’ some others is goin’ to see the judges to-morrow an’ try to keep the court from sittin’. They’ll sure be trouble if the Tories bring our people before the court. We can’t git no fair trial, so we won’t be tried at all.”

Enoch was very silent on the way back to Lot’s house. The shock of seeing Simon Halpen again after all this time, had stirred the youth greatly. Despite the fact that the villain was so far away from the Walloomscoik, and would probably not dare go near Bennington, Enoch could not help feeling troubled by the circumstance of his presence within the borders of the Grants. And he was glad that ’Siah Bolderwood had promised to remain at or near the Hardings’ home while he, Enoch, was at Westminster.

Under Lot’s advice the two boys said nothing of the little scene at the inn and the next morning Mr. Lewis went with other stable men of the town to call upon the justices who would preside at the court when it met. The feeling between Whigs and Tories was so strong that all peace-loving men feared bloodshed. At the first blow a terrible civil war might begin–a war in which neighbor would engage with neighbor and the community be utterly ruined. And if the court sat and tried the cases against those settlers who refused to purchase New York titles to their lands, or to leave their homes at the order of the sheriff and his deputies, the battle would begin. Nobody could doubt that.

Despite the fact that the offices were held by the Tories, the Whigs were greatly in the majority. And this majority declared the will of the people should be upheld, and that will was that no court should sit until matters quieted down and the heat had gone out of the political veins of the community. They presented this matter strongly to the judges and warned them of what might be expected if the court undertook to sit at Westminster. Although staunch Tories, the judges were impressed by what was told them by the committee; Justice Chandler, indeed, gave his word that nothing should be done toward convening the court until time had been given the people to cool down. It was promised, too, that the sheriff and his men should not be given a free hand in the town.

With these assurances from Judge Chandler the committee of Whigs returned. To make sure that the sheriff, who with his men were spending every day and night at the Royal Inn, did not seize the court-house in defiance of the people’s will, the Whigs sent a guard to that building on the evening of the 13th–the day before that set for the convening of the court. This guard, however, was armed only with clubs, and was set to keep the troublesome factions of both parties in order, and was recruited from among the better affected families of the town. Lot Breckenridge and Enoch were allowed by Mr. Lewis to join these volunteers.

CHAPTER XVI

THE WESTMINSTER MASSACRE

What March 5, 1770, had been to the people of Boston and the Colony of Massachusetts, March 14, 1775, was destined to become to the patriot citizens of Vermont. That date reminds them to-day of the first blood shed in the great struggle within the borders of the Grants–the first pitched battle between American yeomanry and the minions of a cruel and tyrannical king. Before the martyrs were shot down at Lexington was the Westminster Massacre–an incident which set the torch to the passions of the Whigs throughout the Grants.

Despite the efforts of Judge Chandler, who really was honestly bent on peace, the associate Judge Sabin and the fire-eating sheriff brought about that clash of arms, the stain of which was to be wiped out by nearly eight years of bitter war. The Tory officials and their henchmen gathered about the court-house when it was known that the Whigs had seized it, and threatened an attack early in the evening of the 13th; but apparently willing to abide by the decision of the chief justice, they dispersed after that worthy had promised the Whigs that nothing should be done to oust them from the premises until the following day. Chandler doubtless went to his repose, believing that his partisans would uphold him in his promise.

But the sheriff had other views. He had gathered a noble army at John Norton’s inn. There were no Whigs there that night. They sought other houses of entertainment, or their own homes, for their leaders had counseled moderation. But the wily sheriff finally gave his orders, and those orders were inspired by Judge Sabin and other rank Tories. Separating as they issued from the inn into three bodies, the sheriff’s men approached the guarded court-house from as many directions and were thundering at the doors before the Whigs were aware that such treachery was intended. There was not a fire-arm in the court-house, but when called upon to surrender the guard refused and strove to barricade the entrance.

Although the young men had expected nothing like this, they had not taken their duty lightly. They were of the best Whig families of the neighborhood and had not accepted the responsibility as a lark. Enoch became acquainted with one of his companions early in the evening who, because of his open face, free and gentle manner, and earnest conversation impressed the Bennington boy as being a youth of better parts than were most of the backwoods people. Lot told his guest that this individual was William French, the son of a Mr. Nathaniel French, a man well known and respected highly by his neighbors. Like Lot, young French was deeply interested in the affairs of the colonies, especially in what was occurring in and about Boston. He had planned to go to the Massachusetts colony and offer his services to the Committee of Safety there if war really became imminent, though he would go, Enoch saw, in a much different spirit from Lot’s. Lot was eager for a fight for the fight’s sake; but French realized the root of the trouble and espoused the cause of the persecuted colonists from principle.

It was eleven o’clock at night when the sheriff and his men attacked the Whig guards, and many of the latter were asleep. The uproar was great as the besieged tried to keep the Tories out of the building; but the latter were reckless and knew that they had to do with a practically helpless enemy. They forced an entrance, though the Whigs rallied well and delivered some telling blows with their clubs. These blows doubtless had much to do with what followed, for the sheriff’s men became greatly incensed. All the lights in the house were put out and for several moments the antagonists fought in the dark. Enoch was not behind in the battle and was one of those in the front rank which strove to beat the sheriff’s men back to the door. William French fought next him, while he could hear his friend Lot shouting encouragement not far away.

The Tories were under a disadvantage in the dark and some of those still without ran with torches and thrust them in, that the battleground might be illumined. At that the sheriff, spurred by rage and the smart of a blow he had received, cried to his men: “Fire! Fire at the rascals who defy the law’s authority!”

Some of his men took him at his word and putting their pieces to their shoulders, they had been using them as clubs, shot blank-point into the group of opposing Whigs!

It was a terrible scene that followed. Several men fell about Enoch, and groans and cries rose from the wounded. A bullet had sent Enoch’s cap spinning into the air, but he did not notice that. Young William French had fallen beside him and the Bennington boy stooped and caught the young man’s head and shoulders from the floor that he might not be trampled upon.

Shouts and imprecations deafened him. The Whigs still fought, but some had already tried to escape by a side passage and were being brought back by the sheriff’s men. That wicked man was calling upon the Whigs to surrender, and more than one shot was fired after that first volley.

Enoch, with the head of the bleeding youth in his arms, cried to those about him to move aside and bring a light. All were too much inflamed by passion to heed him for a time; but suddenly one man sprang forward and thrust a huge, brass-locked pistol into his own face. The boy was frightened, and strove to throw himself backward out of range; but the pistol snapped!

Providentially the weapon was either unloaded, or the powder was damp. Otherwise that moment would have ended Enoch Harding’s earthly career. And in the flash of torchlight which was an instant later cast upon the scene, the startled boy recognized the dark features and hawk nose of Simon Halpen. The villain had sought him out and had striven to pay off old scores in that moment of confusion and uproar.

But the confusion helped Enoch to escape, too. Lot seized his shoulder and dragged him up from his knees. “Let him alone, poor chap!” he whispered hoarsely in his friend’s ear, and Enoch saw that he was crying, “Let him alone. He is dead. Oh, these villains shall be punished for this–they shall be punished! War has begun, Nuck–and we have seen its beginning!” In his horror and despair Lot Breckenridge was prophetic. War had begun; the first blood of the revolution–antedating in its sacrifice the Battle of Lexington–had been shed.

Indeed, Lot and Enoch were fortunate to escape from the building, for ten of the Whigs had been wounded beside poor French, and seven of the remaining were taken prisoner. The town was roused and a great concourse of people gathered in the streets. The sheriff and his men were loudly execrated, and even some of the Tories expressed their indignation. The men who had done the deed were forced to remain under cover for the rest of the night while the alarm went into all the countryside and by daybreak the patriot farmers were pouring into Westminster–a horde of indignant citizens before whom the Tory officials trembled.

The very judges themselves were taken into custody and had not the better counsel of the staid and solid men prevailed, the sheriff and those who aided him might have been hung to a gibbet erected in the court-house yard. On the fifteenth Captain Cochran and forty Green Mountain Boys, who had been apprised of the terrible affair, marched over the mountain to arraign themselves upon the side of the Whigs if the matter should come to real warfare. But fortunately further bloodshed was averted, and never again did a Tory judiciary hold court in Eastern Vermont.

Enoch went back to Bennington with some of Robert Cochran’s company. News of the Westminster affair had preceded him and the Catamount Inn was thronged with earnest men discussing the matter and various other news-packets which had lately come from other colonies. War with the mother country seemed inevitable and Ethan Allen and men of his stamp looked forward to it not without some eagerness. It was not that they were reckless and irresponsible, or did not understand the terrible situation in which the colonies might find themselves should the mother country send across the sea a great army. But in the coming struggle they beheld the salvation of their own people and of the Hampshire Grants.

Therefore, perhaps even previous to this time, immediately following the Westminster Massacre, these leaders had earnestly discussed the possibilities of war and what the Green Mountain Boys could do to further the cause of the colonies. On the shores of the beautiful lake which was the colonists’ boast, were two of the strongest fortresses–or two which had been and could be made again the strongest–of the New World, Ticonderoga and Crown Point. At Old Ti were many stores and munitions of war and the place was held by a comparatively small guard of red-coats who had a great contempt for, and therefore small appreciation of, the valor of the colonials.

With these circumstances in mind Old Ti was already an object of the conferences of Vermont’s leading men. Possessing that fortress, Crown Point, and Skenesboro, the lake would be free of British and the way to Canada open; and at that early date it was strongly believed by the patriots that the French descendants of the early settlers of Canada would join the Colonies in their fight for freedom.

Young Enoch Harding did not see the leaders as he passed through Bennington; but he was waylaid there a dozen times, and upon his road home, to satisfy the curiosity and interest of his neighbors in the Westminster trouble. Letters from Boston had roused them to the highest pitch, too. Nor were his mother and Bryce any less anxious to hear and discuss the news. Mistress Harding had lived within a few miles of Boston and felt a deep interest still in the people and the affairs of the Massachusetts Colony. That a foreign soldiery should have been landed on her shores fired even this good and gentle woman with anger, and when Bryce said he’d go to Boston, too, along with Lot Breckenridge, if there was war, she did not say him nay.

But the Hardings had little time to waste upon politics. The boys had to drop the drilling soon, too, for it came ploughing and seed time. ’Siah Bolderwood remained about the settlement rather later than usual that year; and mainly for the reason that public affairs were so strained. He said his own crop of corn which he intended putting into the lot near Old Ti upon which he “had let the light of day” could wait a bit, under the circumstances, for there might be occasion to “beat his ploughshare into a sword” before corn-planting time.

Therefore he was still with the Hardings that day late in April when Ethan Allen, riding out of Bennington into the north to carry a torch which should fire every farm and hamlet with patriotic fervor, reined in his steed at the door of the farmhouse. The children saw the great man coming and ran from the fields with Bolderwood, while the widow appeared at her door and welcomed Colonel Allen.