Roger Davis, Loyalist

or Pe

d keep the course, which I knew was easterly, and tramp home by way of the low, timber-crowned ridge of mountains. I set down the danger of getting lost as light c

dotted along the ridge, all well up toward the top of the wooded slope. I

pon the first clearing. It afforded a view of the whole valley for miles. H

ng, vigorous life of the New England spring was everywhere; and my three weeks' enforced stay in the cold, damp mine threw all the beauty of the bursti

to be miles away; the woods walled in the place on every side; and yet the soil had been freshly cultivat

ck earth among the charred stumps, I saw the stooped figure of a woman. As I looked she stood the hoe by the side of a stump, stepped a little to one si

error come into her face, but before I could speak to quiet her fears, she sprang like a wild thing, uttering a piercing shriek as she did so, toward the green hollow that had served for a cradle, and, snatching up a crying infant, she fled away in the direction of the small log house at the nort

days since a lot of men, who said they were sent by some committee, came to the fiel' an' took away my husband. He to

four others trooped into the little room, and tak

ll the neighbours 'bout here were poor, peaceable folk, an' wanted to go on with their croppin'. Some say the King's wrong, that the laws are hard, an' all that, but we never had any reason to complain. An' even if the laws weren't right, wouldn't it ha

r husband's n

n name was Merton. We're mar

peated; 'is David E

you ever h

I told her many things, to w

merge from the little log house, and cross the clearing to the spot where she had been when I first saw her. She placed the child in the green hollow again, took up the basket and scattered so

rience of almost four weeks had told remarkably upon me; still I felt I had obtained valuable information, which might be of service to the King's cause. I had learned and could tell of what was g

and, as the words left my lips, I felt a great fear about my heart pulling the blood from my cheeks. The last time I had seen him

he is, has come to us as regularly as possible from Boston.

nspeakable relief; I fe

pening in Boston l

from England, and the fortific

as much disappointed at my inability to secure definite information regarding my father's death and resting-plac

a little silence that fell, my mother, turning to Caroline, said,

my mother. It opened with a review of supposed grievances, referred to the causes that had led up to the war, and ended with the statement that the house and entire estate would

e paper. I had seen that events were shaping directly toward this end. But the paper brought the crisis near, and

to this,' I

e give up all and fly, or else declare ourselve

clear. Our property is a valuable one, and, being situated a

lace-won't they?' It was my youngest sis

shall be forced to work for our living-that is, if we declare for the King.' As she spoke her last words, my mother turned from Elizabeth to me. There was a searching, ap

in any branch of trade upon which duties had been imposed, the naturally discontented and revolution-loving people, as well as many others, ranged themselves

ain; and there were the more humble, but not less loyal people-many of them among the farmer and working classes-who loved British institutions with a love as strong as the love of life itself. Some

uld not so easily and so hastily settle the question of sides in the contest. Many of the more thoughtful did not kn

training and interests; our sense of what was right; our love of England for England's sake, and of the King for the King's sake; all said, and said to each of us, 'Rise and flee, let all go.' But how were we to live? Ou

arge for us. I rose and was leaving the library for my room. It was t

my seat. 'I have found you the prayer for the day,'

mercies, almost mastered me as I took the book of prayers from my sister's hand. Had God not been good in

feeling of strange relief. Before I slept, in words of my own, I thanked God tha