CHAPTER VII

It was the dining-room of the house wherein the four men sat in earnest

consultation; and now that they were alone, their faces were grave to

solemnity.

The oak-ceiled and wainscoted room was filled with lurking shadows in

the far corners, where the light from the candles did not penetrate;

and the inside shutters of stout oak were closed and bolted over the

one great window, along which ran a deep cushioned seat.

Joseph Devereux sat by the mahogany table, whose black polish reflected

the lights, mirror-like, and--but more dully--the yellow brass of the

candlesticks. His elbow was resting upon the smooth wood, his hand

supporting his head; and in the light of the candle burning near, his

face looked unusually stern.

His son sat opposite, his face mostly in shadow, as he lay back in his

chair and thrummed the table with his slender brown fingers.

At either side sat Nicholson Broughton and Hugh Knollys, the former

looking stern and troubled as he smoked his long pipe, while the

younger man's face held but little of its usual light-hearted

expression. His hands were thrust deep in his breeches' pockets, and

he whistled softly now and then in an absent-minded way.

"Aye, 't is a grave state of affairs, Broughton," Joseph Devereux was

saying. "I love not oppression, nor tyrannical dealing. And yet,

think you that ever was a petty tyrant overthrown, and the instruments

of his punishment could always escape a pricking o' the conscience,

that made it not easy for them to look back upon their own share in his

downfall? Shall the time come, I wonder, when we must question the

truth o' this inspiration we are now acting under as a town and as a

country?"

"Nay, say I,--never!" exclaimed Broughton, with fiery ardor. "Being

human, we must all feel sympathy for suffering, be it in enemy or

friend. But our land is lost, and we nothing better than slaves, did

we longer submit to the tyranny of the mother country. As God bade

Moses of old lead the children of Israel from the bondage and cruel

injustice of Pharaoh, so we should feel that He now bids us, as men

with a country, and as fathers with families to cherish and protect, to

rise up and assert our manhood, and to assure our freedom, even though

it be by as fierce a war as ever was waged."

"And war there's bound to be!" It was Hugh Knollys who said this, and

he seemed to look more cheery at the thought.

Joseph Devereux glanced at him sharply, and then turned to his son.

"You say, Jack," he asked, "that Strings said the Governor was to order

a body o' soldiers down to the Neck?"

"Yes, sir--and that right away."

At this, Nicholson Broughton spoke up, looking at his host.

"As I was saying to you awhile back, neighbor Devereux, the committee

ordered to Boston, to decide upon delegates, must get a start from town

before the redcoats get into quarters upon the Neck, or there may be

trouble which it were as well to avoid. This was decided upon when we

met at the Fountain Inn, this afternoon; and 't was agreed that all who

go from here should take the road to Boston before to-morrow's dawn.

John and Hugh, here, reckon on going along with us, to meet Brattle in

Boston, for he has sent word that he is to sail the day after to-morrow

with a shipload of supplies ordered down by the Governor for the

soldiery at Salem. This will be a fine opportunity for smuggling down

the firearms and powder which have been hid so long in Boston, waiting

the chance for safe conveyance here."

Before Joseph Devereux could speak, his son broke in eagerly: "Hugh and

I will come down with Brattle, and we'll lie off at anchor, as near our

own shore as may be. Some one must be ready to give us the signal from

the land; and if all is safe, we can put the guns and powder ashore and

hide them. This will be the safest plan, for about Great Bay the

soldiers will be on the lookout for anything unwonted; and in Little

Harbor it will be as bad, for they will have their eyes wide open to

keep a sharp watch upon the Fountain Inn, and all about it--be it on

land or water."

"You say truly, Jack," his father assented, "But whom can we trust to

give the signal? Ah," with a sigh, "if only I had back a few of my own

lost years, or was not so lame!"

"Brains can serve one's land, friend Devereux, as well, oftentimes

better, than arms," said Broughton, looking at his host's massive head

and intelligent features. "We all have our appointed work to do, and

no man is more capable than you of doing his share."

"I pray it maybe so," was the reply. "But, be it much or little, all I

have and am are at the service of our cause."

"Why not let Dorothy be the one to give the signal?" asked Hugh

Knollys, as from a sudden inspiration.

"Just the one," said John Devereux, looking over at his father. "She

fears nothing, and can be relied upon in such a matter."

The old gentleman seemed a bit reluctant, and sat silent for a few

moments. Then speaking to his son, he said: "Call the child in. This

is no time to hold back one's hand from the doing of aught that be

needful to help the cause of our land."

It was not many minutes before Dorothy came into the room behind her

brother; and her eyes opened wider than ever as their quick glance took

in the solemn conclave about the table.

Her father stretched out an inviting hand. "Come here, Dot," he said

smilingly. "Do not look so frightened, my baby." And he patted her

small hand in a loving way as he drew her close beside him.

"No," added Hugh mischievously, his face having now regained its usual

jollity, "we are not going to eat you, Dorothy."

She deigned him no reply, not even a glance, but stood silently beside

her father, while she looked questioningly into her brother's face.

He explained in a few words the matter in hand; and the flash of her

eyes, together with the smile that touched the upturned corners of her

mouth, told how greatly to her liking was the duty to which she had

been assigned.

Jack had scarce finished speaking, when there was an interruption, in

the person of Aunt Penine, who entered bearing a tray, upon which were

tumblers and a bowl of steaming punch.

She shot a glance of marked disapproval at Dorothy; then, as she placed

the tray upon the table in front of her brother-in-law, she said in a

tone of acidity, "Were it not better, think you, Joseph, that the girl

went into the other room and stopped with Lettice and Mary Broughton?"

Dorothy turned her eyes defiantly upon the elder woman, her soft brows

suggesting the frown that came to her father's face as he said with

grave severity: "The child is here, Penine, because I sent for her.

Let the punch be as it is--and leave us, please."

She tossed her head belligerently, and without speaking took her

departure, casting a far from friendly look at the others.

"I strongly suspect, father," said John, as he rose and crossed the

room to close the door his aunt, either by accident or intent, had left

ajar, "that we'd best have a care how we let Aunt Penine hear aught of

our affairs. Her sympathies are very sure to be with the other side,

if the struggle comes to blows."

"I will see to Penine," his father answered quietly. "Do you go on

instructing Dot as to what she is to do."

His son bowed, and turned once more to the girl.

"And so, Dot, as I've said already, you must reckon surely upon the

vessel lying off the beach in a straight line with the Sachem's Cave,

on Friday night, at about eleven o'clock. And this being Monday, will

give four days, which will be time enough to allow for all that's to be

done. But you must watch, child, even if it prove later in the night,

or even in the morning, before we arrive. And when you see a light

showing, then disappearing, then two lights, and then three, you must

answer from the shore if all be well, and 't is safe to land, by

showing two lights, and then letting them burn for us to steer by.

Mount as high as you can to the uppermost level above the cave, so that

we may get a good view of your signal. Can you keep all this in that

small head of yours?" And he smiled at her, as though some happy

outing were being planned.

She nodded quickly, but with a grave face; then, after a moment's

hesitation, she asked, "May I tell Mary?"

Her brother's eyes dropped, as Hugh Knollys flashed a laughing glance

upon him. But her father replied at once: "Aye, it were best to do so.

And if neighbor Broughton has no objections, it were more prudent that

she should be your companion."

"Not I!" responded Broughton heartily, raising to his lips the glass of

punch his host had been dispensing from the bowl in front of him. "But

be over-careful, Dorothy, as to who may be about to overhear what you

say to her. And"--his voice growing very grave--"may God keep you

both, for two brave, right-hearted girls."

"Amen!" said Joseph Devereux. And he lifted his glass to the others,

as though pledging them and the great cause they all had so devoutly at

heart.