Roger Davis, Loyalist

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to my mother in making our future plans. The invasion of our home by the soldiers and the sudden and dramatic disappearance of my friend and schoolmaster, Duncan Hale, to whom I had intended to look for advice, threw me quite upon my own resources. As to Dr. Canfield, much as he might wi

yesterday I had seen for years almost daily go in towards Boston with produce. I was sure that these could not in a day have become strong and violent partizans for either side. Then, there were those who were opposed to war, be

had urged upon him the necessity of a more cautious attitude. The events of the previous night led me to think that Duncan had not fully taken t

m and garden; then having dressed myself to look like one of the many

on learned that I had been quite successful in disguising myse

enlist?'

rn the truth about what happened th

edcoat, one o' them fancy soldiers the King sent to Boston two years ago to enforce his laws. I'll sho

e the siege will last?'

' I said, '

ultin' folks. How much better is a soldier than a farmer, I'd like to know? Then think uv them laws. Go 'way back to the very first-back over a hundred years, when the trouble began by the surveyors puttin' the King's mark on all the pine-trees over two feet in diameter. Supposin' the King did want masts for his ships, w

taxes on tea an' other things we 'ad to buy. Were we to go on for ever payin' an' payin', an' have nothin' to say about spendin' the money we paid in? No, sir; I'm glad war's come. Now we've a chance to get even with the King an' these saucy insultin' soldiers an' stuck-up officers, who've always been pokin' fun at our militia. Jus

s your

at once, for I had det

hen he looked at me yet more cri

rew to the left, and they thundered past, going in the direction of Boston. My companion turned his horse, and prepared to join the troops. As he galloped off with them, I heard him shouting

e regarding laws and taxes was not really news; I had heard the rebel side of the case many times from Duncan Hale; but there was quite a different note in

. I wished to do right. Consulting my feelings alone, recalling the words of Duncan Hale, and remembering that my father had been slain, I felt that perhaps I had done wrong in not openly, even before the troop of soldiers, declaring myself a sympathiser with the King and his cause. But second thought showed

was a fugitive, if not already a captive. My brother was somewhere in the King's service, but, following his usual policy, my father had revealed nothing. Then if we were able to find him, how could he help us? He could not look for a discharge at suc

a ploughman followed his team in a distant field. But it became more and more evide

. Here blood had been shed. A momentary shudder ran through me, but I urged him on. A few miles further along the way I noticed that the fence had been torn with bul

e graves?

he one who wasn't a sodger was a person o' consequence-a man o' valuable property that may be useful during the siege as well as after. There was a lank old villain-a schoolmaster of Cambridge, I think our

probability venture out, even in the face of danger, to learn, if possible, where my father fell. If I was right in my conjecture, and the old man spoke truly, the faithful fellow's love had got him into strange difficulties. I resolved to go on, hoping to pick up some further sc

here. Barns and buildings on every side were riddled with bullets. Fences were thrown down, and th

deserted. One of the only moving objects was a farmer far up a hill slope who, with a large white grain basket by h

the village. The church bell was slowly tolling and there

an Hale flashed upon my mind. For a moment my heart stood still. Was the crow

my horse rapidly on toward the village that lay in the valley b