On June 11, 1775, the first naval battle of American Revolutionary War took place in Machias, Maine. The following story puts you in the shoes of a fictional young witness to that battle. It’s patched together from pieces of a longer story titled Little Maid Of Old Maine by Alice Turner Curtis (1920)
Chapters: A Traitor’s Deed | Rebecca’s Visit | An Uninvited Guest | Rebby & Lucia | Rebby Decides | A Perilous Journey | Triumph
A TRAITOR’S DEED
t was one of those May evenings that promise that summer is close at hand. The air was soft and warm; there was no wind, and in the clear starlight Rebecca could see the shadows of the tall elm tree near the blacksmith shop, and the silvery line of the softly flowing river. As she stood waiting for Lucia she looked up into the clear skies and traced the stars forming the Big Dipper, nearly over her head. Low down in the west Jupiter shone brightly, and the broad band of shimmering stars that formed the Milky Way stretched like a jeweled necklace across the heavens. The little village slept peacefully along the river’s bank; not a light was to be seen in any of the shadowy houses. A chorus of frogs from the marshes sounded shrilly through the quiet. In years to come, when Rebecca heard the first frogs sounding their call to spring, she was to recall that beautiful night when she stole out to try and save the town, as she believed, from being fired on by a British gunboat.
She had made so early a start that she had to wait what seemed a very long time for Lucia, who approached so quietly that not until she touched Rebby’s arm did Rebby know of her coming.
“I am late, and I nearly had to give up coming because Mother did not get to sleep,” Lucia explained, as the two girls hurried down to the river. “She is so worried about Father,” continued Lucia; “she says that since the Americans defeated the English at Lexington they may drive them out of Boston as well.”
“Of course they will,” declared Rebecca, surprised that anyone could imagine the righteous cause of America defeated. “And if the English gunboat comes in here the Machias men will capture it,” she added.
“Well, I don’t know,” responded Lucia despondently. “But if it destroyed the town there wouldn’t be anyone left to capture it; and that is why we must push that liberty tree offshore.”
The girls were both strong, and Lucia had brought a sharp knife with which to cut the rope holding the tree to a stake on the bank, so it did not take them long to push the tree clear of the shore. They found a long pole near by, and with this they were able to swing the liberty tree out until the current of the river came to their aid and carried it slowly along.
“How slowly it moves,” said Rebecca impatiently, as they stood watching it move steadily downstream.
“But it will be well down the bay before morning,” said Lucia, “and we must get home as quickly as we can. I wish my father could know that there will not be a liberty pole set up in Machias.”
Rebecca stopped short. “No liberty pole, Lucia Horton? Indeed there will be. Why, my father says that all the loyal settlements along the Maine coast are setting up one; and as soon as the old British gunboat is out of sight Machias will put up a liberty tree. Perhaps ’twill even be set up while the gunboat lies in this harbor.”
“Well, come on! We have tried to do what we could to save the town, anyway,” responded Lucia, who began to be sadly puzzled. If a liberty tree was so fine a thing why should her father not wish Machias to have one, she wondered. Lucia did not know that her father was even then bargaining with the British in Boston to bring them a cargo of lumber on his next trip from Machias, in return for permission to load the Polly with provisions to sell to the people of the settlement, and that, exactly as Lucia had heard him predict, an armed British gunboat would accompany the sloops Polly and Unity when they should appear in Machias harbor.
The two friends whispered a hasty “good-night,” and each ran in the direction of home. Rebby pushed the big door open noiselessly, but she did not try to replace the bar. As she crept up the stairs she could hear the even breathing of her father and mother, and she slid into bed without waking Anna, and was too sleepy herself to lie long awake.
The unfastened door puzzled Mr. Weston when he came down-stairs at daybreak the next morning. “I was sure I put the bar up,” he thought, but he had no time to think much about trifles that morning, for, as he stood for a moment in the doorway, he saw Paul Foster running toward the house.
“Mr. Weston, sir, the liberty pole is gone,” gasped the boy, out of breath. “The rope that held it to the stake was cut,” he continued. “Father says ’tis some Tory’s work.”
Mr. Weston did not stop for breakfast. He told Mrs. Weston that he would come up later on, as soon as he had found out more about the missing liberty tree; and with Paul beside him, now talking eagerly of how his father had gone with him to take a look at the pine sapling and found no trace of it, Mr. Weston hurried toward the shore where a number of men were now gathered.
Anna had hard work to awaken Rebby that morning, and when she came slowly down-stairs she felt cross and tired; but her mother’s first words made her forget everything else.
“We will eat our porridge without your father,” Mrs. Weston said gravely. “A terrible thing has happened. Some traitor has made way with the liberty tree that your father and Paul selected yesterday.”
“Traitor?” gasped Rebby, who knew well that such a word meant the lowest and most to be despised person on earth, and could hardly believe that what she had supposed to be a fine and brave action could be a traitor’s deed.
“Who else but a traitor would make way with our liberty pole?” responded Mrs. Weston. “But do not look so frightened, Rebby. Sit up to the table; when your father comes home he will tell us who did the base act. And we may be sure Machias men will deal with him as he deserves.”
But Rebecca could not eat the excellent porridge; and when her mother questioned her anxiously she owned that her head ached, and that she did not feel well.
“I’ll steep up some thoroughwort; a good cup of herb tea will soon send off your headache,” said Mrs. Weston, “and you had best go back to bed. Maybe ’tis because of the birthday cake.”
Rebecca made no response; she was glad to go back to her room, where she buried her face in the pillow, hardly daring to think what would become of her. Supposing Lucia should tell, she thought despairingly, saying over and over to herself, “Traitor! Traitor!” So that when Anna came softly into the room a little later she found her sister with flushed face and tear-stained eyes, and ran back to the kitchen to tell her mother that Rebby was very ill.
It was an anxious and unhappy morning for Rebby and for her mother, for Mrs. Weston became worried at the sight of her daughter’s flushed cheeks and frightened eyes. She decided that it was best for Rebecca to remain in bed; and, had it not been for the frequent doses of bitter herb tea which her mother insisted on her drinking, Rebby would have been well satisfied to hide herself away from everyone.
REBECCA’S VISIT
ebecca had decided that she must see Lucia Horton as soon as possible; for she began to fear that Lucia in some way might betray their secret; but Rebecca knew that her mother would not consent to her going out until she appeared more like her usual self than she had at breakfast time. So she brushed her hair neatly, bathed her face, and just before Anna’s return home, came into the kitchen.
“My head does not ache at all, Mother,” she announced, “and I feel as well as ever.”
Mrs. Weston looked at Rebby in astonishment. “I declare!” she exclaimed, “if thoroughwort tea doesn’t beat all! But I never knew it to act as quickly before. Well, I must take time and go to the swamp for a good supply of it before this month goes. ’Tis best when gathered in May.”
“May I not walk over and see Lucia?” Rebby asked a little fearfully, wondering what she could do if her mother refused.
“Why, yes; it will very likely do you good. But walk slowly, dear child,” responded Mrs. Weston, taking Rebecca’s sunbonnet from its peg behind the door and tying the strings under Rebby’s round chin.
“When the Polly comes into harbor you will have the gold beads from your Grandmother Weston, in Boston; but how Danna guessed it is more than I can imagine,” she said, and Rebecca started down the path. Mrs. Weston stood for a moment in the doorway looking after her. She was more disturbed by Rebecca’s sudden illness than she wished to acknowledge.
“I wish indeed that the Polly and Unity would come; perchance it is the lack of proper food that ails the children: too much Indian meal, and no sweets or rice or dried fruits,” she thought anxiously. “And to think ’tis England, our own kinsfolk, who can so forget that we learned what justice and loyalty mean from England herself,” she said aloud, as she returned to her household duties. For Mrs. Weston, like so many of the American colonists, had been born in an English village, and knew that the trouble between England and her American colonies was caused by the injustice of England’s king, and his refusal to listen to wise advisers.
Lucia Horton’s home lay in an opposite direction from the blacksmith shop. It stood very near the shore, and from its upper windows there was a good view of the harbor. It had no yard or garden in front, as did so many of the simple houses of the settlement, and the front door opened directly on the rough road which led along the shore.
Rebecca rapped on the door a little timidly, and when Mrs. Horton opened it and said smilingly: “Why, here is the very girl I have been wanting to see. Come right in, Rebecca Flora,” she was rather startled.
“Lucia is not very well,” Mrs. Horton continued, “and she has been saying that she must, must see Rebecca Flora; so it is most fortunate that you have arrived. Some great secret, I suppose,” and Mrs. Horton smiled pleasantly, little imagining how important the girls’ secret was. Her two elder sons, boys of fifteen and seventeen, were on the Polly with their father, and she and Lucia were often alone.
Rebecca had but stepped into the house when she heard her name called from the stairway. “Oh, Rebecca, come right up-stairs,” called Lucia, and Mrs. Horton nodded her approval. “Yes, run along. ’Twill do Lucia good to see you. I cannot imagine what ails her to-day. I saw one of the O’Brien boys passing just now, and he tells me their liberty tree has been found and brought to shore!”
“Oh!” exclaimed Rebecca in so surprised a tone that Mrs. Horton laughed. “’Twould have been full as well if the tree had been allowed to drift out to sea,” she added in a lower tone.
Rebecca went up-stairs so slowly that Lucia called twice before her friend entered the chamber where Lucia, bolstered up in bed, and with flushed cheeks and looking very much as Rebby herself had looked an hour earlier, was waiting for her.
“Shut the door tightly,” whispered Lucia, and Rebecca carefully obeyed, and then tiptoed toward the bed.
For a moment the two girls looked at each other, and then Lucia whispered: “What will become of us, Rebecca? Mr. O’Brien told Mother that the men were determined to find out who pushed the liberty tree afloat, and that no mercy would be shown the guilty. That’s just what he said, Rebby, for I heard him,” and Lucia began to cry.
“But the tree is found and brought back,” said Rebecca, “and how can anyone ever find out that we did it? No one will know unless we tell; and you wouldn’t tell, would you, Lucia?”
Lucia listened eagerly, and gradually Rebecca grew more courageous, and declared that she was not at all afraid; that is, if Lucia would solemnly promise never to tell of their creeping down to the shore and cutting the rope that held the tree to the stake.
“Of course I never would tell,” said Lucia, who was now out of bed and dressing as rapidly as possible. “I wasn’t ill; but I stayed up-stairs because I was afraid you might tell,” she confessed; and then Rebecca owned that she had felt much the same. “But I had to take a big bowlful of bitter thoroughwort tea,” she added, making a little face at the remembrance.
“Well, you are a better medicine than thoroughwort tea,” said Lucia; and Mrs. Horton opened the door just in time to hear this.
“Why, it is indeed so,” she said, looking in surprise at her little daughter, who seemed quite as well as usual. “Your father has just passed, Rebecca, and I asked his permission for you to stay to dinner with us, and he kindly agreed. I think now I must have a little celebration that Lucia has recovered so quickly,” and with a smiling nod she left the two girls.
“I know what that means,” declared Lucia, for the moment forgetting the danger of discovery. “It means that we shall have rice cooked with raisins, and perhaps guava jelly or sugared nuts.”
Rebecca looked at her friend as if she could hardly believe her own ears; for the dainties that Lucia named so carelessly were seldom enjoyed in the remote settlement; and although Captain Horton took care that his own pantry was well supplied it was not generally known among his neighbors how many luxuries his family enjoyed.
“Surely you are but making believe,” said Rebecca.
“No, truly, Rebby; we will likely have all those things to-day, since Mother said ’twould be a celebration; and I am glad indeed that you are here. You do not have things like that at your house, do you?” said Lucia.
Rebecca could feel her cheeks flush, but she did not know why she felt angry at what Lucia had said. It was true that the Westons, like most of their neighbors, had only the plainest food, but she wished herself at home to share the corn bread and baked fish that would be her mother’s noonday meal. She was silent so long that Lucia looked at her questioningly; and when Mrs. Horton called them to dinner they went down-stairs very quietly.
The table was set with plates of shining pewter. There was a loaf of white bread, now but seldom seen in the settlement, and a fine omelet; and, even as Lucia had said, there was boiled rice with raisins in it, and guava jelly.
Rebecca was hungry, and here was a treat spread before her such, as Lucia had truly said, she never had at home; but to Mrs. Horton’s surprise and Lucia’s dismay, Rebecca declared that she must go home; and taking her sunbonnet, with some stammering words of excuse she hastened away.
“A very ill-bred child,” declared Mrs. Horton, “and I shall be well pleased if your father can take us away from this forsaken spot on his next trip.”
Lucia sat puzzled and half frightened at Rebecca’s sudden departure. Lucia did not for a moment imagine that anything she had said could have sent Rebecca flying from the house.
Mr. and Mrs. Weston and Anna were nearly through dinner when Rebecca appeared, and Mrs. Weston declared herself well pleased that Rebby had come home; there were no questions asked, and it seemed to Rebby that nothing had ever tasted better than the corn bread and the boiled fish; she had not a regretful thought for the Hortons’ dainties.
The day that the tree of liberty was planted was declared a holiday, and the inhabitants of the town gathered on the bluff where it was to be set. Melvina and Anna and Luretta were together, and the other children of the neighborhood were scattered about.
“Where is Rebby, Mother?” Anna asked, looking about for her sister.
“To be sure! She started off with Lucia Horton, but I do not see them,” responded Mrs. Weston, smiling happily to think that her own little Danna would no longer be absent from home.
There was great rejoicing among the people as the tree was raised, and citizen after citizen stepped forward and made solemn pledges to resist England’s injustice to the American colonies. Then, amid the shouts of the assembled inhabitants, the discharge of musketry, and the sound of fife and drum, Machias took its rightful place among the defenders of American liberty.
But Rebecca Weston and Lucia Horton, sitting in an upper window of the Horton house, looked out at the inspiring scene without wishing to be any nearer. Rebecca was ashamed when she remembered her own part in trying to prevent the erection of a liberty pole, for now she realized all it stood for; and she was no longer afraid of an attack upon the town by an English gunboat. To Rebecca it seemed that such an attack would bring its own punishment. Her thoughts were now filled by a great desire to do something, something difficult and even dangerous to her own safety, in order to make up for that evening when she had crept out in the darkness and helped Lucia send the tree adrift.
But Lucia’s mind was filled with entirely different thoughts. She was ready to cry with disappointment and fear in seeing the liberty pole set up. She could not forget that her father had said that such a thing would mean trouble.
“If we had not set it adrift, Lucia, we could be on the bluff now with the others,” Rebby whispered, as they heard the gay notes of the fife.
“Bosh! Who wants to be any nearer? My mother says ’tis a silly and foolish performance,” replied Lucia. “But perhaps ’twill be cut down before the Polly comes into harbor.”
Rebecca jumped up from the window-seat, her face flushed and her eyes shining.
“No one would dare, Lucia Horton. And if it is cut down I’ll know you, or someone in this house, planned it; and I will tell my father just what you told me and what we did,” she exclaimed, starting toward the door.
“You can’t tell, ever, Rebecca Weston! You promised not to,” Lucia called after her, and Rebecca stopped suddenly. Lucia was right. No matter what happened she could never reveal what Lucia had told her, because of her promise; and a promise was a sacred thing.
Without a word of good-bye Rebecca went slowly down the stairs. This was the second time she had left the Horton house in anger. “I won’t come here again,” she thought, a little sadly, for she and Lucia had been “best friends” ever since Captain Horton had brought his family to the remote settlement.
AN UNINVITED GUEST
et’s have a honey party,” suggested Anna. “Could we not, Mother?”
“Why, that is a splendid idea!” declared Mrs. Weston. “’Twill cheer up the whole settlement to be asked to a party. To be sure I can offer them only honey; but perhaps ’twill take their minds from the Polly, and from England’s injustice toward us. Rebecca, you and Anna shall start out at once and ask the neighbors as far as Mr. Lyon’s house. That will bring as many as twenty people. And tell each one to bring a cup and spoon, as I have no extra dishes.”
Mrs. Foster thought the plan for a honey party an excellent idea, and promised to come in good season; and Luretta was greatly pleased to go with her friends to invite the neighbors.
“Will not Lucia Horton be pleased when we tell her about the honey?” said Anna.
Rebecca stopped suddenly. “We are not to ask the Hortons,” she announced.
“Not ask Lucia! Why not?” questioned Anna, while Luretta looked at Rebby with wondering eyes.
“No,” Rebecca declared firmly. “The Hortons have a cupboard filled with jellies, and candied fruits, and jars of syrups, and fine things from the West Indies and from far places, and ’tis not fair. We have only the wild bees’ honey, a taste for each neighbor.” Rebecca stopped with a little sigh. She had not thought about not asking Lucia until Anna spoke, but now she realized that, if she could help it, she would never again go to the Hortons’ house. Rebecca was old enough to realize the difference between loyalty and selfish indecision, and she was sure that the Hortons were thinking more of their own comfort than of the good of America.
“But Lucia is your best friend,” said Anna; “she gave you those beautiful silk mitts on your birthday.”
Rebecca’s face colored. She made no answer. The silk mitts, she resolved, must be given back. Probably she would never have another pair; but never mind, if she gave up Lucia’s friendship she must give up the mitts.
For a few minutes the little girls walked on in silence, but Luretta was eager to talk about Trit, and very soon she and Anna were talking happily of plans to teach the captured rabbit, and were no longer troubled by Rebecca’s decision not to ask the Hortons to the honey party. If they thought of it at all it was to agree with Rebby: that people with a cupboard full of dainties, when their neighbors had only the coarsest fare, ought not to be asked to share the wild honey.
Mrs. Lyon welcomed the little girls in a most friendly manner, and Anna was made happy when the minister’s wife said that she really believed that Anna’s stitches were as tiny and as neatly set as those of Melvina herself.
“Melvina is out-of-doors,” she continued; “I have decided that she is much stronger to be in the open air a portion of each day, and London has made her a playhouse under the pines behind the house.”
Both Anna and Luretta hoped that Mrs. Lyon would ask them to go and see Melvina’s playhouse, but as she did not they said their polite “Good-day, Mrs. Lyon,” curtsied, and followed Rebecca down the path.
The invitations had now all been given and accepted, and Luretta was eager to get home, urging Anna to stop and see Trit, who was safe in the same box that had been made for the other rabbits.
“You may both run ahead if you wish,” said Rebby with quite a grown-up manner, for she really felt a great deal older than her little sister, “and I will go straight home and tell Mother that everybody is coming.”
“Everybody except the Hortons,” Luretta reminded her.
“Yes; I meant everyone whom we had asked,” Rebby rejoined.
Off ran the two younger girls, and Rebecca followed more slowly. Although she had intended to go directly home she now decided to take the path along the bluff and see for herself that the liberty tree stood safe, defiant of all enemies. Rebby’s thoughts were filled with a certain fear that Lucia Horton might contrive some new plan to make away with this emblem161 of freedom; and she gave an exclamation of satisfaction as she saw the handsome young pine, well braced with rocks and timber supports, standing on the bluff.
“The Polly will see it first thing when she comes into harbor,” thought Rebby, “and nobody will dare fire on it,” and vaguely comforted by this thought she started on toward home.
Mr. Weston and Paul were just landing their load of honey, and Rebecca went down to the shore to tell them of the plan for the honey party, of which they both approved. The tubs and buckets were all carried to the Westons’ and safely stored away in the big pantry.
Mrs. Foster and Mrs. Weston were talking over arrangements for the next day. Mrs. Foster had suggested that they should each bake a quantity of “spider-cakes.” “They are thin and crispy, and will relish well with the honey,” she said, and Mrs. Weston agreed, although both the women realized that by making these cakes they would diminish their household stores of Indian meal almost to the danger point. But the Polly, with her cargo of wheat flour, sugar, and other necessities, was long overdue; she must soon come to their relief, they thought hopefully; and if she failed to arrive why then they must do their best.
“The neighbors need something cheerful to think of,” declared Mrs. Foster, “and I am sure a taste of honey will cheer us all.”
The next day was clear and warm with a pleasant southerly wind. Mr. Weston decided to put up some seats under the tall elms, so that the guests could enjoy the spring air. Paul was quite ready to help him; they brought planks from the lumber yard, and long before the first visitor arrived the low comfortable seats were ready.
Anna and Rebby were busy all the morning making small plates of birch-bark, which they stripped from the big logs. These little plates would each hold a square of “spider-cake” and a helping of honey; and as the guests would bring their own cups, to be filled with clear spring water, and their own spoons, the Westons felt that all was ready.
Rebby and Anna both wore their Sunday best, but their dresses were carefully covered by their long pinafores. For they would serve each guest, and it would not do that any careless movement should send a stream of honey over their best gowns. Luretta and Melvina would also help, and had been warned to bring pinafores to wear.
There was a pleasant air of excitement all through the little settlement as the people, dressed in their simple best, walked along the path leading to the Westons’. The minister and his wife, each holding Melvina by the hand, were among the first comers.
“It was a friendly thought to ask your neighbors to share your good fortune,” said Mr. Lyon as he greeted Mrs. Weston.
“To tell the truth, ’twas Anna who first thought of it,” she responded, and was well pleased when Mrs. Lyon declared that she was not surprised to hear it, as she considered Anna a very thoughtful and generous child.
Rebecca had forgotten for the time her own sense of unworthiness, and was smiling happily as friend after friend arrived, when suddenly her smile vanished. For coming up the path in a fine dress of pale yellow muslin and wearing a flower-trimmed hat was Lucia Horton. No one but Rebecca, of course, was surprised to see Lucia. It was to be expected that she would be a guest at Rebecca’s house. Anna and Luretta did not see Lucia’s arrival, but Rebby stood quite still, pale and angry, and watched Lucia smiling and speaking to the neighbors. Then Lucia came straight toward Rebecca, and, making an ugly face at her, exclaimed:
“Who is afraid of you, anyway, Rebecca Flora Weston?”
REBBY AND LUCIA
ebby was too astonished at Lucia’s unexpected appearance to make any response to this rude salutation; and, with another scornful glance, Lucia went on her way to where Mrs. Lyon and Mrs. Weston were talking together, and took a seat beside them, and was cordially welcomed by Rebecca’s mother, who, of course, knew nothing of the trouble between the two girls.
“Lucia has forgotten her cup and spoon, Rebby; bring her your lustre mug,” called Mrs. Weston.
For a moment Rebby pretended not to hear. She was filling the cups with cool spring water, and not until her mother called the second time did she start toward the house for her cherished lustre mug. She was ready to cry at the thought of Lucia’s insulting words, and now she must carry the pretty mug to her, and serve her as though she were a welcome guest.
“I won’t let her know that I care; and I must be polite because she is a guest, even if she wasn’t invited,” thought Rebby, as carrying the lustre mug and a birch-bark plate with a square of honeycomb and a brownish crisp “spider-cake” she went toward Lucia.
Neither of the little girls spoke, and Rebby did not look at her former friend who had led her into such sad mischief. Then suddenly there was a crash, a loud cry from Lucia and from Rebby as the lustre mug fell to the ground, and the contents of the frail plate streamed over the delicate yellow muslin of Lucia’s fine dress.
“Oh! She has spoiled my dress! She did it on purpose! She did! She did!” wailed Lucia, while Rebecca stood looking at the pieces of her cherished mug that had been brought from Boston when the Westons moved to Machias.
“She dropped it on purpose,” Rebby said, but no one seemed to think of her mug. Mrs. Lyon and Mrs. Weston were both endeavoring to comfort Lucia, and to repair the harm done to the yellow muslin. But the honey and water were not easily removed from the delicate fabric.
“I am going home. It’s a cheap, foolish party anyway. Honey and water, and corn-bread!” sobbed Lucia angrily, pulling away from the friendly women, and running down the path.
Mrs. Lyon and Mrs. Weston looked after her in amazed disapproval.
“I begin to think there is something in the rumors that Captain Horton and his wife are not trustworthy,” Mrs. Lyon said. “The child is so ill-bred she can be but indulged and spoiled at home,” and Mrs. Weston agreed. But neither of them imagined that Lucia’s mother and father were disloyal to the American cause, and only waiting a profitable opportunity to betray the little settlement to its enemies.
Lucia’s angry words cast but a brief shadow over the gathering, and no one noticed that Rebecca had disappeared. At the moment Lucia started for home Rebby had run toward the house. She hurried up the stairs to the little room under the roof where she and Anna slept, and from the closet she drew out the square wooden box that her father had made for her. Her initials R. F. W. were carved inside a small square on the cover, and it had a lock and key. Rebby was very proud of this box, and in it she kept her most treasured possessions: a handkerchief of fine lawn with a lace edge, a pin made from a silver sixpence, and the prayer-book her Grandmother Weston had given her. When Lucia gave her the silk mitts for a birthday present Rebby had put them carefully away with these other treasures. Now she pulled them out hurriedly, and, without waiting to close the box, she ran down the stairs through the kitchen, keeping carefully out of sight of the group under the elm trees, until she could not be seen from the house. Then she caught a glimpse of Lucia’s yellow dress, and ran faster than before. But she did not call Lucia’s name. She said to herself that she would never speak to Lucia again.
Hearing the hurrying steps behind her Lucia looked over her shoulder, and seeing Rebby she became frightened and ran faster than ever. Lucia did not know why she was afraid, but she remembered that she had not been asked to the party, that she had spoken insultingly to Rebby, and—she had dropped the mug purposely. So it was small wonder that her guilty conscience accused her, and that she was eager to reach home before Rebby could overtake her.
On raced the two girls along the narrow path. A few men at the wharves watched the flying figures, but no one imagined it more than a game. Very soon the Horton house was in sight. Its front door opening on the street stood open to admit the pleasant spring air. In a moment Lucia was in the house and had slammed and fastened the door behind her.
Rebby stood on the step breathless, the silk mitts clasped in her hand. After a moment she rapped loudly on the door. There was no response. But in a moment an upper window opened, and Mrs. Horton looked down at Rebby.
“Why, Rebecca Flora!” she exclaimed in her pleasant voice. “Lucia has gone to your party.”
“If you please, Mrs. Horton, I have brought back the mitts Lucia gave me for a birthday present,” responded Rebby, her voice faltering a little.
“Oh! Don’t they fit? Why, that is a shame. Well, lay them on the step,” said Mrs. Horton, wondering why Rebby should look so flushed and warm, and why she had not given the mitts to Lucia. Later on, when she heard Lucia’s account of Rebby’s turning honey and water over the pretty yellow muslin, she decided that Rebecca was ashamed to keep a gift after treating Lucia so badly.
Rebby went slowly toward home tired and unhappy. All the pleasure of the party, she said to herself, was spoiled. She was not sorry to give up the mitts, for everything that reminded her of Lucia made her think of the night when they had pushed the liberty tree from its moorings.
When she was nearly home she heard Mr. Foster’s whistle and in a moment they were face to face.
“Well, Rebecca Flora, ’twas a fine party,” he said smilingly, for Mr. Foster had not seen the accident to the mug. “The neighbors are all smiling and cheerful, and we are all the better for meeting in this neighborly fashion,” and Mr. Foster ended his sentence with a whistle like a bird’s note. “You must come with the others to the liberty pole on Sabbath morning,” he added. “Parson Lyon is to preach to us there, and ’twill be a great occasion.”
“Yes, sir,” Rebby responded, and went slowly on up the slope. It began to seem to her that she would never escape from the liberty pole. And now she met Mr. and Mrs. Lyon, with Melvina dancing along in front of them. “More like Danna than Danna is like herself,” thought Rebby, smiling, as she remembered how sedately and quietly Melvina had walked before Danna and Luretta had played their mischievous pranks on the day of the tempest.
The neighbors had all gone when Rebecca reached home, and Mrs. Weston and Anna were in the house, while Mr. Weston and Paul were taking up the seats under the elm trees. The pieces of the broken lustre mug lay on the kitchen table, and Rebby’s face clouded as she stood looking at them.
“Lucia Horton dropped it on purpose!” she said. “I know she did.”
“And nobody asked her to come to our party,” added Anna; “’twas rude of her to come.”
Mrs. Weston looked in astonishment at her two little daughters.
“Not ask Lucia?” she questioned, and listened to Rebby’s explanation: that, because of the Hortons’ store of dainties, and their scorn of the simple fare of their neighbors, Rebby had decided not to ask Lucia to her party.
But when the little girl had finished her story, Mrs. Weston shook her head disapprovingly.
“I am not pleased with you, Rebecca,” she said. “’Twas not a kind thought to sit in judgment and decide to punish a friend for something that is no fault of hers. Lucia did right to come. Of course she thought you would welcome her.”
“She didn’t! She didn’t!” exclaimed Rebby. “She made up faces at me, and said—”
“Never mind, Rebecca. You see what comes from quarreling. Your mug is broken, Lucia’s dress is spoiled, and you had no pleasure from the afternoon. Now, there is something for you to do to put this straight. You must take off your pinafore, put on your sunbonnet, and go straight to Mrs. Horton’s and ask Lucia’s pardon.”
“Oh, Mother!” wailed Rebby. “It isn’t fair. It isn’t my fault.”
But Mrs. Weston was firm. From Rebby’s own story her mother decided that she had been unfair to Lucia; she did not ask if Rebby had purposely spilled the honey on Lucia’s muslin dress, but she felt it was not the time to allow any ill feeling among the families of the settlement, and that Rebecca’s failure to ask the Hortons to come with the other neighbors to taste the wild honey could easily offend them.
Anna stood looking first at Rebby and then at her mother. It was so seldom that Rebby cried, that it seemed a very dreadful thing to her younger sister.
“I’ll go, Mother, let me go!” she asked eagerly.
“Do not be so foolish, Anna,” responded Mrs. Weston. “This is your sister’s duty. It has nothing to do with you. Take off your pinafore, Rebecca, and do as I bid you.”
Rebecca was sobbing bitterly. She could not believe that her mother really meant that she should go and ask Lucia Horton’s forgiveness.
“If you knew——” she began, tempted to tell her mother all that Lucia had said about the liberty pole, and even what they had done to prevent its erection. But the memory of her promise held her. She knew that her mother expected obedience, and she took off her pinafore, took her sunbonnet, and, still sobbing, went slowly from the room. Anna started to follow her, but Mrs. Weston called her back sharply.
“Anna, you are not to go with your sister,” she said, and the little girl came slowly back.
“Oh, dear,” she sighed, “I wish Lucia Horton would go sailing off to far lands. To—to Egypt,” she concluded. For Anna had never heard much that was pleasant about Egypt, and was sure that all this trouble was Lucia’s fault.
Rebecca had never been so unhappy in her life as when she realized that her mother expected her to go to the Hortons’ and ask Lucia’s pardon for not inviting Mrs. Horton and Lucia to the honey party. There were robins singing in the trees, bluebirds flitting about with gay little notes, and the spring day was full of beauty, but Rebby was not conscious of it as she went slowly along the path.
Very soon she was again standing in front of the Hortons’ door, and summoning all her courage she rapped loudly. There was no response, and after a few moments she rapped again; but the house seemed silent and deserted, and no one came to open the door.
And now Rebecca did not know what to do. If she went home she knew that her mother would say that she must return at a later hour to fulfil her errand. So the little girl decided to sit down on the steps and wait for a time.
Twilight was near at hand. The sun was low in the western sky, and a cool little breeze crept up from the river and stirred the tree-tops. Shadows gathered about the house, and still there was no sign or sound of the Hortons, and Rebby was about to start for home when a man came around the corner of the house and spoke to her.
He was evidently a sailor, and in a great hurry. He asked no questions but began speaking as if he had no time to lose.
“Tell your mother that the Polly and Unity will come into harbor to-morrow, and that Captain Jones is on board the Unity. There’s a British gunboat along with them, and your father says there may be trouble, and for you and your mother to keep close indoors until he comes.”
The sailor started to move off, but Rebby found courage to ask:
“Where—where are the sloops now?”
“Anchored below Round Island; but we’ll be sailing in with morning tide. The Captain bade me keep well out of sight and come straight back to the sloop. Be sure you tell your mother,” responded the man, speaking in such low tones that Rebby had to listen sharply to understand.
“Yes, I’ll tell my mother,” she replied, and without a moment’s hesitation she started for home as fast as her feet could carry her. She had entirely forgotten her anger toward Lucia, or her mother’s reproof. All she could think of was the news this sailor, evidently a member of the Polly’s crew, had told her, believing that he was speaking to Lucia Horton.
And now Rebecca recalled all that Lucia had told her of what might befall the little village if a British gunboat sailed into harbor and saw a liberty tree flaunting its courageous defiance to injustice. But now she could tell her father, not Lucia’s secret, but what the sailor had told her.
“And Father will know what to do. Father and Mr. Lyon,” she thought breathlessly, as she ran swiftly up the path and burst into the kitchen, where her father and mother and Anna were waiting her return.
She told her story quickly, and without any mention of what Lucia had confided in her weeks before. “The sailor thought I was Captain Horton’s little girl,” she concluded.
Mr. Weston questioned Rebby carefully, and then said:
“I’ll take this news to Captain O’Brien and to Parson Lyon; but say nothing about it to anyone until we see what news the Polly brings.” And he hurried away to prepare his neighbors for possible danger.
“You see, Rebby, your obedience may have saved the settlement,” said Mrs. Weston, putting her arm about Rebecca.
“But I had not seen Lucia, Mother. I was waiting for her,” said Rebecca.
Mrs. Weston made no answer; her thoughts were too full of the possible dangers to the settlement from the British gunboat to think much of the postponed apology; nor was the matter ever again mentioned.
“Now, Rebby, you really have done something for America,” declared Anna, as the sisters went up to their room that night. But Rebby shook her head.
“No, Danna, I haven’t. But perhaps I can sometime, and you too,” she replied. For some reason, that Rebby could not explain even to herself, her thoughts centered around what her father had said on their trip to the Falls of the store of powder and shot at Chandler’s River settlement. She had heard her father say that Machias was but ill provided with munitions; and with a British gunboat coming into harbor the next day who could tell how quickly powder and shot might be needed?
REBBY DECIDES
he next morning dawned bright and tranquil. The fragrance of pine woods and broad meadows filled the air, and practically all the inhabitants of Machias gathered about the wharves to watch for the Polly and Unity to come sailing into harbor.
The provisions the sloops were bringing were greatly needed; but when Mr. Weston had told the men of the settlement that the sloops were being convoyed by a British war vessel their alarm and consternation can be imagined. Mrs. Horton and Lucia were about the only ones absent from the wharf when, silently and without a cheer of welcome, the Polly and Unity, and the boat flying the hated English flag came to anchor.
Captain Jones came ashore, greeting his old-time friends cordially, and explaining that the presence of the gunboat was only to protect him from attacks by British cruisers. But his explanation was received in silence. The memory of the recent battle in Lexington was fresh in the people’s hearts, and much as they needed the provisions on the sloops they were ready to do without them unless Captains Horton and Jones could assure their fellow-townsmen of their loyalty and send the British gunboat from the harbor.
Finally he received consent to land his goods, and commenced trading with the people as usual, while the Margaretta, the British gunboat, lay at anchor off White’s Point, some distance below the town.
Mrs. Lyon received many packages from her Boston relatives, and there were two dolls for Melvina, the ones of which Luretta had spoken on the day when she and Anna had led Melvina to the shore to show her a “clam’s nest.”
Rebecca’s gold beads, intended for her birthday, were safely delivered; and beside the beads was a pair of silk mitts for both Rebby and Anna. To Rebby this seemed a very wonderful thing, and she felt it almost a reward for carrying back those Lucia had given her.
Mrs. Horton now kept Lucia closely at home. Anna and Luretta were invited to spend an afternoon with Melvina, and become acquainted with the new dolls, and Melvina urged Luretta to bring Trit, resolving to dress up the rabbit as she and Anna had done before.
Rebecca was more aware of the troubled condition of the settlement than were these younger girls. Paul Foster told her that his Uncle Benjamin, a bold and energetic man who had served in the old French War, said that the Machias men ought to capture the British gunboat, and take the sloops, making their captains and crews prisoners. Rebby listened eagerly.
“But we couldn’t capture them, Paul; I heard Father say there was but little powder and shot in the settlement,” she said.
“We’d get ’em,” declared Paul. “If Jones and Horton think they are going to load up their sloops with lumber for British barracks in Boston they’ll see trouble.”
“And Parson Lyon is not to preach at the liberty pole,” said Rebby a little thoughtfully.
Paul made no response to this. He had come up to the Westons’ on an errand for his mother, and was now eager to get back to the wharves where the sloops were being unloaded.
“If the Britisher fires on our liberty pole they’ll hear a sermon all right,” he called back as he ran down the path.
It was difficult for Rebby to attend to the simple duties that her mother required of her. Whenever her father entered the house she watched his face anxiously, half-expecting him to say that the Machias men were ready to capture the gunboat before it could attack the town. When Anna came home eager to describe Melvina’s new dolls, and to tell of dressing up Trit, and that London Atus, coming into the room where the little girls were playing and seeing the rabbit wearing a white skirt and bonnet, had turned and run out muttering something about “witches,” Rebby listened, but with little interest.
“Danna,” she said, as soon as the sisters were alone, “do you suppose you and I could find the way to Chandler’s River?”
“Of course we could,” Anna declared. “Don’t you remember that Father showed us where the trail began, marked by ‘spotted’ trees?”
“Yes, I remember. Listen, Anna; there is hardly any powder or shot in Machias; if there were the men could protect the liberty pole.”
“Yes, yes,” Anna responded quickly. “I heard Parson Lyon telling Captain O’Brien that all the men ought to be ready to defend the settlement.”
“Oh, Anna! There are quantities of powder stored at Chandler’s Mills. Why couldn’t we go after it?” Rebby whispered. “Then indeed we would be helping, and perhaps ’twould save the liberty pole.”
“Would Father let us?” Anna asked doubtfully.
“Don’t you see? We must go after it without telling anyone; then when we bring it back the men can drive off or capture the gunboat,” Rebecca explained.
“I think Father ought to know,” persisted Anna, so that at last Rebby said no more, after Anna had promised not to repeat Rebby’s plan to anyone.
But Rebby slept but little that night. If the gunboat fired on the town she felt it would be her fault for having kept Lucia’s secret to herself; and yet she dared not break a promise. In some way Rebby felt that she must do something to make right her foolish act in helping Lucia set the liberty tree adrift.
The next day Captain Jones began his preparations to load the sloops with lumber for Boston, and the Machias men, doubtful of the Captain’s loyalty, determined that the sloops should not return to Boston. Rebby and Anna were in the lumber yard filling a basket with chips, when a number of men talking of this decision passed them.
“If we only had more powder and shot,” said one; “but we cannot spare a single man to go to Chandler’s River after supplies.”
“There, Anna!” exclaimed Rebby. “Did you hear what those men said? Do you not see that we can help as much as a real soldier? We can go to Chandler’s River. We must.”
“Perhaps Father would give us permission if we asked him,” Anna persisted. But Rebecca shook her head at this suggestion; she dared not risk the chance of a refusal.
“We ought to go at once,” she said earnestly. “’Twill be a long tramp, and the gunboat may come up the harbor and threaten the settlement any day. Do say you will go, Anna.”
Rebby knew that Anna’s knowledge of the forest, her strength and courage, would be all that could enable her to undertake the task. Without Anna she feared that she might fail in finding her way, and never reach Chandler’s River.
“Think, Danna! The gunboat will shoot down our liberty pole! Perhaps burn the church and our houses, and they may carry off our father a prisoner! ’Tis what they try to do whenever Americans resist; and if the Machias men have powder and shot they’ll not let the gunboat come near. And we can get the powder and save the settlement. Oh, Danna——”
Rebby’s petition ended in a wail.
And now Anna was as eager to start as Rebby herself. The thought of her father being taken a prisoner and that she and Rebby could prevent so great a misfortune made her no longer hesitate.
“We will start to-morrow morning, early,” she said. “We must make sure that our moccasins are in good shape, Rebby; and we must take some corn-bread, for ’twill be a good journey. How early can we start, Rebby?”
“Before sunrise, surely,” responded Rebby, “and I will write on a strip of birch-bark what we are going to do, and pin it to Father’s hat. Then they will not worry about us.”
“Worry! Why, Father will think it a brave deed,” declared Anna. “I wish we had started this morning.”
That day seemed very long to the sisters. They made their preparations carefully for the next day’s journey, and at an early hour went to bed, so that they might awaken in good season.
The next morning dawned clear. Before the sun was up Anna was wide awake, and at her whispered “Rebby,” her sister’s eyes opened quickly, and they slipped quietly out of bed. In a few moments they were fully dressed for their tramp through the forest. Very cautiously they made their way down the stairs. The house was silent. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Weston heard the faintest sound to disturb their slumbers.
On the piece of smooth birch-bark that Rebby had made ready on the previous day, with a bit of charcoal from the fireplace she wrote:
“Dear Mother and dear Father: Anna and I are going to Chandler’s River to bring home powder and shot for Machias men to use to save the settlement. We will be home to-morrow. Your loving Rebby and Danna.”
They slipped this under the deerskin thong that was twisted about Mr. Weston’s hat, opened the kitchen door gently, and moved noiselessly along in the shadow of the house, then ran swiftly up the path, and in a short time were out of sight of the houses of the settlement.
“Now we must walk slowly for a time,” cautioned Anna, remembering her father’s warnings against hurrying at the beginning of a tramp. “We must go on steadily for a time, and rest before we begin to feel tired. That is the way Indians do, and Father says it is why they can travel day after day and not be exhausted.”
Rebby looked at her little sister admiringly. In woodland lore she realized that Danna was much wiser than herself, and she was quite ready to be guided by her.
When Mrs. Weston called the girls the next morning and received no response she was not greatly surprised, as they often slept a little later than their parents. “The extra sleep will do them no harm,” she said smilingly, as she and Mr. Weston sat down to the breakfast table; therefore Rebby and Danna were well on their way before their father took his hat from its accustomed place and discovered the strip of birch-bark with its surprising message.
Mr. Weston read the note, and stood for a moment silent, thinking what could be done. His first impulse was to hasten after his girls and bring them safely home. Then came the thought of the peril of the settlement. At any moment he might be called upon to help in its defense. Every man would be needed. He recalled Danna’s strength and fearlessness, and her knowledge of the forest, and Rebby’s quiet good judgment. If there were dangers he believed his girls could meet them fearlessly. Then, too, what a blessing it would be to have them bring home a store of powder and shot. It would mean the salvation of the settlement. Mr. Weston began to feel very proud of his little daughters and to feel sure they would return safely.
“What is the trouble with your hat, Father?” questioned his wife. “You stand looking at it as if it had some message for you.”
“Indeed it has,” Mr. Weston replied smilingly. “It tells me that we have two of the bravest girls in America. Listen,” and he read Rebby’s note aloud.
“’Tis a deed to make us proud,” he said, “and ’twill give new courage to every man in the settlement to know that a supply of powder will be here to-morrow.”
But it was a long and anxious day for Mrs. Weston. She knew the perils of the forest, and her thoughts centered about lurking bears that might spring out upon Rebby and Danna as they went through the wilderness. She endeavored to find comfort by remembering that their errand was for the cause of justice and freedom, and that a love stronger than her own was about them.
A PERILOUS JOURNEY
ot until the girls reached the beginning of the forest trail, where their father had pointed out the dim path leading toward Chandler’s River, did they feel really sure that their father would not follow them. But as they stopped for a brief rest under the shadow of a wide-spreading beach tree Rebby said:
“Father could have overtaken us by this time, Danna, if he did not think it was right for us to go.”
Danna agreed cheerfully, and now both the girls felt a new courage for this perilous undertaking that was sure to tax their strength to the utmost. The fact that their father had not hastened after them made them both realize how important it was that powder and shot should reach the Machias settlement as soon as possible.
The faint path soon disappeared entirely, and had Rebby been alone she would not have known which way to turn. But Anna went on confidently, keeping a sharp outlook for the “blazed” trees of which her father had told her as marking the way toward Chandler’s River.
They forced their way through dense masses of tangled underbrush, over fallen trees, and through the shadowy stretches of thickly growing pine. Now and then they came to some marshy stretch, which Anna would carefully avoid, for she remembered how often her father had warned her of the dangers of such places, with their unmarked quicksands that would quickly swallow the heedless person who ventured upon them.
Notwithstanding Anna’s caution in regard to resting frequently they pushed on steadily, with but one stop until the sound of water as it dashed over a rocky bed warned them that they were near Whitneyville Falls, and half-way to their destination.
The sun was now directly overhead, and as they came out from the shade of the forest to the open space along the river’s bank Rebby sank down on the grass with a long breath of relief.
“I never was so tired in all my life,” she declared.
“We will take a good rest and eat our corn-bread,” responded Anna. “I am sure the remainder of the way will not be so hard, because we can follow the river up to the settlement.”
Rebby was too tired to reply. She stretched herself out on the warm grass and closed her eyes.
“Poor Rebby,” thought Danna, looking down at her elder sister and remembering that Rebecca had never enjoyed woodland tramps, and realizing that this undertaking was much harder for her sister than for herself.
“She’s asleep,” Anna whispered to herself, with a little smile of satisfaction. “Now I will have a fine surprise for her when she awakes,” and the little girl tiptoed noiselessly back to the edge of the woods, where she had noticed a quantity of checkerberry leaves. There were many crimson berries still clinging to the vines, and Anna picked these carefully, using her cap for a basket, and gathering a quantity of the young checkerberry leaves. “Rebby is sure to like these,” she thought happily.
Anna’s sharp glance moved about quickly and finally rested near an old stump.
“Partridge eggs!” she exclaimed joyfully, and in a moment she was beside the stump peering down at a circle of small brownish eggs. She counted them, and before she had whispered “twenty!” a whirring, scrambling noise close at hand told her that the partridge to whom the eggs belonged was close at hand.
“You won’t miss a few eggs, Mistress Partridge,” said Anna soberly, carefully selecting four from the outer edge of the circle, and then going softly away, that she might not unnecessarily frighten the woodland bird.
She now carried the cap with great care, as she looked about hoping to discover some sign of a woodland spring. She kept along at the edge of the woods, and very soon she heard the sound of a noisy little brook hurrying along to the river. It was not far up the river from the place where Rebby was so comfortably asleep, and Anna decided that it would be just the place for their noonday luncheon.
She set the cap, with all its treasures, carefully under the shade of a tiny fir tree near the side of the brook and then ran back to awaken Rebby.
“Dinner is ready!” she called gaily as she ran; and the sound of her voice made Rebecca sit up quickly, and exclaim:
“The British will shoot down our liberty pole!” For her dreams had been of soldiers in red coats firing at the liberty pole, while Mr. Worden Foster, with a big pitchfork, tried to drive them away.
“It is a truly dinner, with eggs,” declared Anna happily, as she led the way back to the noisy little brook.
The raw eggs tasted good to the hungry girls, and the good corn-bread and spicy berries and tender checkerberry leaves, with cool water to drink, made them both feel refreshed and rested, and ready for the remaining distance to Chandler’s River settlement.
They crossed the little brook and went sturdily on. Now and then a partridge flew in front of them. Squirrels scolded and chattered among the tree tops, and once or twice a rabbit leaped out from behind some stump and ran ahead of them as if daring them to capture him.
Both the girls well knew that there were larger and more dangerous animals in the forests. There were bears prowling somewhere in those dim shadowy woods, eating the young buds and leaves, and capturing such defenseless birds and rabbits as they could. Once or twice they heard some heavy creature crashing through the underbrush, and looked at each other with startled eyes; but no harm came near them, and by the middle of the afternoon they reached the first house of the settlement, and had told their errand.
“Every man in the settlement is on his way to Machias this very hour,” declared the friendly woman who had welcomed the girls with amazed admiration; and, when they told of the scarcity of powder and shot in Machias, had said that the men of Chandler’s River settlement had believed Machias well supplied with powder, and had taken but a small quantity with them.
“One of our fishermen brought news of the British gunboat, and our men started at once. They went by the lower trail,” explained the woman, as she stirred the hot porridge she was cooking for the girls’ supper.
“’Tis well your parents had courage to let you come, and you must rest, and get early to bed. I will go to the powder-house and bring back as much as you can carry, and I will go with you a part of the way to-morrow,” she added, and Rebecca and Danna thanked her gratefully. After they had eaten their porridge they were quite195 ready to bathe their tired feet in the hot water their hostess had ready, and go to bed, although the sun was yet an hour above the horizon.
While the girls slept Mrs. Getchell hurried to the other houses of the settlement, telling the story of the two courageous girls who had come through the forest on their patriotic errand.
“’Tis hardly to be believed,” she declared. “These little maids are brave as soldiers, and they will carry the powder and shot back in good time to be of use. General Washington shall hear of them, and the Province of Maine will not forget their names.”
The women and children listened eagerly, and all were anxious for a sight of the little maids who had shown such courage and hardihood. But Mrs. Getchell declared that they must not be disturbed, or they would not be equal to the return journey on the next day.
“But you can all come in the morning and see them start for Machias,” she said, and with the powder and shot, ten pounds of each, safely packed, she returned home.
It was broad daylight when Rebecca and Anna awoke. Mrs. Getchell had breakfast ready for them, and they enjoyed the hot batter cakes and maple syrup and the rich milk. They had not finished eating when a murmur of voices outside the door made them look up in surprise.
“’Tis the women and children,” explained Mrs. Getchell smilingly. “They have come to wish you good fortune.”
Rebecca and Anna hardly knew what to say as the women of the settlement entered the big kitchen, and with friendly smiles praised the two girls for their courage and loyalty. Boys and girls of their own age gathered about the doorway and looked at them admiringly; and when Mrs. Getchell said it was time to start, and with Rebby and Anna led the way toward the river, young and old followed them. One of the older women slipped a slender gold chain around Anna’s neck, saying: “Wear it, dear little maid, to remind you that there is no sacrifice too great to make for America’s freedom.” And a little girl of about Rebecca’s age shyly pressed a little purse into her hand. “’Tis a golden sovereign that my mother bade me give you,” she said, “and my mother says that always the children of Maine will remember what you have done for America’s cause.”
Rebby hardly knew what to reply. “If they197 knew that I set the liberty tree afloat they would not praise me,” she thought unhappily.
A short distance beyond the settlement the women and children bade the girls good-bye, with many good wishes for their safe return to Machias. But Mrs. Getchell was to go on with them for a part of their journey.
As Rebby and Anna turned to wave their hands to these new friends a loud cheer went up, the boys waving their caps and the girls calling: “Good luck to the brave little maids from Machias.”
Mrs. Getchell went on with them for several miles, carrying the powder and shot, and a flat package containing food for their journey. She told them to follow the river down, as that trail was more traveled and over smoother ground, although farther to travel than the forest trail; and kissing the girls good-bye, after they had promised to visit her “as soon as the English had been sent home,” she turned back toward the settlement.
Rebby and Danna watched Mrs. Getchell’s stout figure until it was hidden by the forest, and then, more serious and anxious than at any time during their perilous undertaking, they picked up the heavy packages that Mrs. Getchell had placed on the trunk of a fallen tree, and prepared to continue their journey.
The shot was in two strong bags, while the powder, in order that it might be kept perfectly dry and safe, was in two tin canisters, each one carefully sewn up in stout sailcloth. Mrs. Getchell had fastened a stout strap to each bag of powder and a bag of shot. These straps went over the girls’ shoulders, and made them easier to carry than in any other way. It was of course a tough job for each girl to carry ten pounds for the long distance that lay before them, but they pushed on valiantly.
At first the river trail was fairly smooth, and they made good progress, but after a few miles they encountered a long stretch of rocky ground. Here they had to clamber over high ledges, or else go a long distance out of their way. Before noonday Rebby declared that she could not go another step, and sat down at the foot of a high mass of rocks over which they must climb.
“You will have to go on and leave me, Danna,” she said. “My feet won’t go, they are so tired: and my shoulders ache.”
The day had grown very warm; there was not a breath of air, and Anna owned that she had never seen so difficult a trail. Mrs. Getchell had warned them to be sure and keep in sight of the river and it would lead them straight to Machias. As Anna looked at her sister she began to fear that they might not be able to reach home before night, and she knew all the danger and peril that a night spent in that lonely spot would mean.
They had not found a spring or brook since leaving Mrs. Getchell, and they were both very thirsty as well as tired and hungry.
“We will take a good rest, Rebby, and eat our luncheon. I saw Mrs. Getchell stirring up a molasses cake while we ate breakfast,” said Anna, encouragingly, “and she put a tin dipper with the luncheon. See!” and Anna held up the small cup-shaped dish. “I’ll fetch you a drink from the river,” she added, and putting her burden of powder and shot on the ground beside Rebby, she made her way down the steep bank of the river.
The bank was covered by a thick growth of alders, with here and there a small spruce tree. Anna wondered how she would ever manage to bring a cup filled with water up that bank; but she kept on, and was soon at the river’s edge. The rushing water was clear and cool, and Anna drank thirstily. Then she bathed her face and hands, slipped off her moccasins and stockings and dipped her feet in the cool stream. She felt rested and refreshed, as with the tin cup filled with water, and covered with a broad leaf of a water-lily, she made her careful way back to where she had left her sister.
Rebby had taken off her hat and moccasins. She drank the water eagerly before saying a word.
“I feel better already,” she said, “and by the time we have eaten our lunch I know we can start. We must,” she added soberly, “for if we do not get home before dark Father will surely start after us.”
Danna was opening the package of food and made no response, but she was wondering if Rebby could really hold out until they reached the settlement. “I couldn’t leave her alone,” the little girl thought a little fearfully, wondering if their long journey was, after all, to end in failure. For she knew that if they did not reach Machias by the early evening their attempt to aid the settlement would have been in vain.
“Look, Rebby! White bread, spread with butter,” she said, as she unfastened the package, “and here are slices of chicken, and big squares of molasses cake,” and Rebby smiled at her little sister’s evident delight. The two girls thoroughly enjoyed the excellent food, and when the last crumb had been eaten Rebecca declared herself rested, and ready to start on.
As she picked up her moccasins she exclaimed: “Oh, Danna!” in so tragic a tone that her sister looked at her with frightened eyes.
“What is it, Rebby?” she whispered.
“A hole in my moccasin. Look!” and Rebby held up the moccasin, showing a long narrow slit on the sole. “These awful rocks! I can never walk without cutting my foot, and then I can’t walk at all.”
“I can fix it,” Danna declared instantly. “Give it to me, Rebby; quick!” and the elder sister obeyed.
Danna reached into the pocket of her doeskin skirt and drew out her sharp clasp-knife; very carefully she cut a broad strip from the top of Rebby’s moccasin, and skilfully fitted it inside over the sole.
“I saw Father do this very thing once,” she said. “It will surely last until we reach home.”
“I knew I could never make this trip without you, Danna,” Rebby said gratefully. “You are as wise as a real little Indian girl.”
They went on now at a slower pace, for both girls realized that if Rebby was again overcome by heat and fatigue that it might be impossible for her to continue. Even Danna owned to herself that she had never been so tired. The strap across her shoulders, supporting the heavy load, pressed heavily and at times became almost unbearable; but not for a moment did it occur to Danna to relinquish the burden.
They had left the rocky stretch behind them and come out to a comparatively smooth pasture. The deep forest lay on their right; to the left was the sloping bank leading to the river. Suddenly Anna stopped short and grasped Rebby’s arm; a second later a deer leaped directly across their path and plunged down the bank, followed by a leaping, panting creature that hardly seemed to touch the ground.
“A bear!” whispered Rebby with frightened eyes.
“Hurry, Rebby,” responded Danna, and the girls, forgetting their tired feet and lame shoulders, sped silently over the open pasture land.
Danna was the first to speak, but it was in a whisper: “We need not fear, Rebby. He was after the deer.”
Rebby made no response. More fully than ever the elder girl realized the peril into which she had led her younger sister. But nevertheless she whispered to herself that it was the only way: the powder and shot were all that could save the settlement from the hands of the enemy.
The girls did not stop again to rest, nor did they speak until they reached the top of a rise of ground from which they could see the first houses of the settlement. The sun was dropping behind the tall pines on the western side of the river, and they could see the Polly and Unity as they lay at anchor in the harbor.
“We are safe now, Danna,” said Rebby thankfully, and the sisters smiled at each other happily.
“Can’t we leave the powder and shot here?” pleaded Danna, twisting the uncomfortable strap into an easier position. “Father would come and get it, and it’s so heavy.”
But Rebby shook her head. “It would not be safe. We must carry it straight home,” she said; so, with a sigh of endurance, Danna started on.
They were now in the broad trail that led straight to the little settlement, and before they reached the first house they saw a tall figure striding toward them. It was Mr. Weston, and in a moment their load of powder and shot was swung over his shoulders, Rebby was clasping one hand and Anna the other, and they were both talking at once, trying to tell him the story of their journey.
Their mother came running down the path to meet them, and clasped them in her thankful embrace. The Westons had not told their neighbors of the girls’ undertaking, thinking it wiser to await their return; but as soon as Rebby and Anna were safely indoors their father hastened away to tell the men of the settlement that a supply of powder and shot had been brought to Machias by his courageous daughters.
TRIUMPH
he day following the return of Rebecca and Anna Weston from their perilous and difficult undertaking to bring the much needed powder and shot to Machias was Sunday, the eleventh of June, 1775.
Very early that morning there was an air of unusual excitement about the little settlement. It was known that the English officers from the gunboat would attend service in the meeting-house that morning; and the Machias men had decided, with the approval of Parson Lyon, to surround the church and capture them before they had time to carry out their plans against the settlement.
Rebby and Danna were eating their breakfast when Captain Benjamin Foster appeared at the kitchen door, saying that he had come to thank them for their courageous effort to aid the men in defending their rights. As he entered the room the girls jumped up from their seats at the table and curtseyed; and as he went on to praise their loyalty and valor, the two little girls, hand in hand, stood before him with downcast eyes, flushed and happy at his approving words.
In spite of anxious thoughts as to the result of the conflict between the men of Machias and the English soldiers, Mrs. Weston was very proud and happy that morning as she walked to church with Rebecca and Anna beside her. Many neighbors stopped them to praise the little girls, and all declared that the people of the settlement would always remember what they had done.
Even Parson Lyon and his wife were waiting at the church door to speak to the two little heroines; and Melvina and Luretta felt as if they shared in their friends’ honors as they walked up the aisle of the church beside them.
Before the English officers had landed from their boat a number of the Machias men had quietly hidden their guns in the building; while Captain Benjamin Foster, with men armed and ready for action, were concealed among the tall pines close at hand, ready to surround the church and seize the English officers; and had they taken London Atus into their confidence this well-prepared scheme might have succeeded.
But London was entirely innocent of any trouble near at hand. From his place in a side pew he kept a watchful eye upon Melvina, and perhaps wondered a little at all the attention lavished on the little Weston girls.
Rebby saw Captain and Mrs. Horton and Lucia, with Captain Jones, enter the church. Lucia did not look toward the group of girls seated in the Westons’ pew. The Hortons were no longer trusted by their neighbors, and after that morning in church they vanished from the community and never returned.
Rebby’s glance now rested on London. How queerly he looked, she thought wonderingly. He was leaning sideways peering out of an open window. As Rebecca watched him he rose to his feet with a loud cry, and before any restraining word could reach him he had leaped through the open window.
In a moment all was confusion. There were loud cries of “Stop him!” Men rushed from the church, but the English officers, followed by Captain Jones and the Hortons, had scrambled through the open windows and were well on their flight toward their boats, which they reached in safety, although numerous shots were fired after them. The gunboat at once turned her guns on the town. Shot after shot echoed across the quiet waters of the harbor, but the range was too long, and no harm was done.
The women and children huddled in the pews of the church, until Parson Lyon, musket in hand, came up from the shore to tell them that all was quiet and to return to their homes.
Melvina and Anna left the church together, and Luretta and Rebby followed with Mrs. Weston. Melvina said good-bye to her friends very soberly, and clasped her father’s hand very closely as they walked toward home.
“Will the English soldiers shoot down our liberty pole, Father?” she asked.
“The English captain has sent us word that we are to take it down before sunset, so that he may be saved that trouble,” replied Parson Lyon, his tone indicating that he considered the English captain’s remark as an amusing utterance, not to be seriously considered.
“But it will not be taken down,” said Melvina confidently.
“Indeed it will not. And had that scamp London but held his peace instead of mistaking Captain Foster’s men for an armed enemy marching upon us, the English would be our prisoners at this moment,” declared her father. “But that is but postponed,” he added quietly, “and to-morrow morning Machias men will give the English captain a lesson.”
There were many anxious hearts in the settlement that night, for it had been determined that in the early dawn of the following morning the men should seize the sloop Unity, and make the attempt to capture the English gunboat. Neither Rebecca nor Anna knew of this plan; and, still tired from their journey, as well as by the excitement that morning at the church, they were glad to go early to bed and were soon sound asleep. Mrs. Weston, unable to sleep, waited in the kitchen for her husband’s return. For Mr. Weston and his neighbors were busy with their preparations for the coming battle. It was decided that Captain O’Brien should take command of the sloop, and before the sun rose the next morning forty Machias men were on board the Unity. Half this number were armed with broad-axes and pitchforks; the remainder had muskets.
It was just at sunrise when a warning shot from the gunboat reverberated along the harbor, and Rebecca awakened suddenly. She realized at once that the conflict had begun. In an instant she was out of bed, slipped quickly into her clothing, and leaving Danna sound asleep, she sped down the path and along the trail to the high bluff that commanded a view of the harbor.
There was a favoring wind and the Unity, with her crew of untrained men, was now in full chase of a vessel well-armed and equipped. On swept the sloop, and a sudden volley of musketry from her deck astonished and confused the enemy. The gunboat swerved, and the bowsprit of the Unity plunged into her mainsail, holding the two vessels together for a brief moment.
Rebecca, standing on the bluff, shouted aloud. She was sure that the moment of triumph for the Machias men was close at hand. But victory was not so easily achieved; the vessels suddenly parted, and now a storm of bullets rained upon the Unity.
Captain O’Brien swung the sloop alongside the Margaretta and twenty of his men armed with pitchforks sprang to the enemy’s deck. A hand-to-hand conflict ensued. Surprised by the dauntless valor of the Machias men the English were forced to yield. The English flag was pulled down amid triumphant shouts of the Americans; the wounded were cared for, and English officers and crew made prisoners of war.
When Rebecca saw the English flag vanish from the gunboat’s mast and heard the resounding cheers, she knew that the Americans had conquered their enemy, and that the liberty tree would stand unchallenged. But she did not realize that she had been a witness to the first naval exploit in America after the battle of Lexington.
All the women and children and such men as had been left behind, were now hurrying toward the wharves. Cheer after cheer rang out across the harbor as the Unity and the captured gunboat came slowly to their anchorage.
Mrs. Weston and Anna came hurrying down the path and Rebby ran to meet them.
“I saw the battle, Mother!” she exclaimed eagerly. “I was on the bluff and saw it all.” But before Mrs. Weston could respond to this astonishing statement a boat-load of men from the Unity had landed.
“Your father is safe,” whispered Mrs. Weston, “and now let me see of what use I can be to the wounded men. Rebby, take Anna back to the house and stay there until I come.”
The two little girls walked silently back to the house. The battle that had been so feared was over; the enemy was conquered, and Rebecca and Anna knew that by their bringing the powder from Chandler’s River they had helped to win the conflict. But just then they did not think of that. They could think only of the wounded men, who had been so carefully brought on shore by their companions.
On the following day the inhabitants, such as were not caring for the wounded English and American soldiers, gathered at the liberty pole. It was a quiet and reverent gathering. Several men of the settlement had been wounded, and two had given their lives for America’s cause. Parson Lyon gave loving tribute to these heroes, as he offered thanks for the triumph of loyalty.
And then, before all the people, he praised Rebecca and Anna Weston for their courage in undertaking the difficult and dangerous journey through the wilderness to bring aid to the settlement.
“Step forward, Rebecca and Anna Weston,” he said smilingly; and, a little fearfully, the sisters, hand in hand, left their mother’s side and approached the liberty pole. Taking each by the hand Parson Lyon smiled down upon them.
There was a little murmur of approval among the people, and one by one the older members of the congregation came forward and praised the little girls.
“It is Rebby who should be praised, not me,” Anna insisted. “It is not fair for me to be praised.” While Rebecca, in her turn, declared eagerly that she could never have brought home the powder without Anna’s help.
There were many hard and troublous days ahead for the little settlement, but their courage did not falter. The valor of the Machias men was speedily recognized by the Provincial Congress of Massachusetts, who, on June 26, 1775, passed a resolution extending to them the thanks of the Congress for their courageous conduct. The news of the brilliant victory was heralded throughout the land, stimulating the colonists everywhere to emulate the example of the courageous settlers of Machias.
Rebecca often thought of her former friend, Lucia Horton; but she never told the story of the night when, misled by Lucia’s plausible story, she had tried to defeat the loyalty of the settlers by setting their liberty tree adrift. As she looked up at the tall sapling, the emblem of the loyalty of the settlement, she was proud indeed that she had been of use in its protection.
Anna’s gold chain was her greatest treasure. It was shown to every little girl in the settlement, and each one knew its story. The golden sovereign given to Rebecca was no less highly prized.
“That sovereign has a value beyond money. It is a medal for valor,” her father said; and on the year when peace was firmly established between England and America Rebecca’s golden sovereign was smoothed, and upon it these words were engraved:
“Presented
to
A Brave Little
Maid of Maine,
For Loyalty,
June, 1775.”
This text is public domain & free for distribution in the United States
