Peter Loon (31 page)

“You had better get down,” said the first man, and Peter unhappily obeyed. He eased off the horse, as if any sudden move might be mistaken. He remembered how deftly Parson Leach had dismounted at the bridge last night and disarmed the man who had challenged him.

There was something of a hubbub about Peter and Beam, and the horse shied again and was taken from him to the periphery of the crowd. Everyone wondered aloud what the parson was up to, and a second fellow arrived to say that he had followed Mr. Leach in the fog and the man had indeed crossed Great Meadow in the direction of Newcastle. Interest was so great among the crowd that several shivering wet men stopped in its midst to discover what was about, and finally Nathan Barrow himself came dripping up the bank and pawed his way through the ranks of men.

It was about this time to Peter's great relief that Mr. Pelligue and Manasseh Cutts rode across the road, and Crispin Moss came walking not too distant behind them. The fog had mostly burned away.

“It is not too much to ask,” said Mr. Pelligue, when he heard the controversy, “where Mr. Leach has gone.”

“He left the Gray's farm, before I woke,” said Peter. “I only thought to find him here.”

“He's gone back to his friends in Newcastle to raise the alarm,” declared Nathan Barrow, who had pushed himself to the fore.

Mr. Pelligue raised a hand to stifle the commotion that this statement provoked. From the back of his horse, he was an impressive old fellow. “We know nothing of the sort,” he said. “But Mr. Leach has not considered the appearance of things, by leaving as he did.”

“He would just as soon our fellows rot in jail,” said someone.

“He never said anything like,” countered another. “He only counseled moderate behavior, is what he did.”

Other voices were raised, scoffing at the thought of Parson Leach turning coat, while others declaimed the punishment for betraying Liberty Men; Peter recognized some in both camps from the debate in the tavern the night before.

“He didn't appear to me to have the cause at heart,” said Mr. Briner.

“It's no sin for a man of God to point toward peaceable means,” said Mr. Kendall.

Peter said, “He wouldn't have come past the tavern and over the bridge if he'd had reason to be sneaking away,” and Manasseh Cutts, and one or two others made sounds of agreement.

“Here is one that knows what it takes to sneak,” said Barrow.

“I can only guess,” returned Peter, “that a turncoat would hesitate to let men know what direction he was taking their secrets.” He had surprised himself more than anyone by his quick reply, and he gaped to find himself standing there, as in court, before these men.

“He said it himself!” shouted Barrow. “He's admitted Leach was raising the alarm against us!”

Peter was astounded, for others in the crowd joined the lay preacher in this absurdity.

“Come now!” said Mr. Pelligue. “Nothing of the sort has been said, and if you insist on willfully misinterpreting any man's words, Mr. Barrow, I will do my utmost to have you thrown from this assembly.” This promise was greeted by some low exclamations; the elderly fellow may have been pressing the limits of his jurisdiction, but he offered no one the time to debate the point, returning immediately to Peter, saying, “Did Zachariah say anything to you, Mr. Loon, that might indicate his destination this morning.”

Peter was momentarily speechless, his blood running cold with the knowledge that there were men ready to surrender their understanding to someone like Nathan Barrow–that some could hear what he had said and yet accept Barrow's complete and purposeful corruption of it.

“Mr. Leach is of his own mind, Mr. Pelligue,” said Peter finally. “I have only known him for three days, myself, but I consider him a man of great fairness and honesty. If he weren't honest, then he certainly wouldn't have disagreed so openly with Mr. Barrow yesterday.”

“The pup has all but accused me of dishonesty!” shouted Barrow again, which is how Peter's statement might have been construed.

Peter realized that he had misspoken. “I only mean that, if he had intended to make you confide in him with your plans so that he
could
raise the alarm, he would have done his best to agree with them. He would not have argued, and left himself exposed to such an accusation as this.”

“The lad has sense,” said Mr. Kendall.

“It's what he wants us to think,” said one of Barrow's allies, though Peter couldn't say if the statement was referring to the parson or himself. There was such dissension between men throughout the crowd on this point that Peter wondered they didn't fight among themselves and leave the sheriff and the town of Wiscasset in peace.

Mr. Pelligue, however, made himself heard among the angry talk. “A man's deeds must be understood by what is known of him,” he pronounced, “and I know nothing untoward about Mr. Leach, nor do I believe any of us have ever heard anything to suggest that he is other than direct in his opinion.”

“Will you be accompanying us to Wiscasset, Mr. Loon?” asked Nathan Barrow, with an ugly sort of smile on his face.

Manasseh Cutts then broke in before Peter could reply. “Mr. Leach has told me to keep the lad from harm's way. I'll be going myself, but he wished Peter to stay behind.”

Another commotion greeted this intelligence, but Peter shouted above the hubbub, “I'm going,” and when they quieted for a moment, just to understand what he meant exactly, he said, “I'll go with you.”

“What do you intend?” wondered Barrow. “To follow us south till you can steal away in the night and assist Leach in raising the country?”

Peter did not respond, except with a meaningful look.

“Perhaps you would like to accompany those of us who are going straight to the jail,” continued Barrow.

“He isn't to do any such thing,” said Manasseh.

But Peter took a deep breath and said, “I will be the first through the door.”

“It isn't necessary, lad,” said the woodsman.

“We'll not have this boy's blood on the head of the assembly, Mr. Barrow,” said Mr. Briner.

“I will be the first through the door,” said Peter again. “And
there
to your saying Mr. Leach is turncoat!”

“Bah!” said someone. “It means nothing!”

“It's no place for you, lad,” said Mr. Pelligue.

“You mustn't concern yourself, Mr. Pelligue,” said Nathan Barrow. He gazed about himself with a smile. The fog was gone, the day was upon them; the sun had spotted its first rays upon the tops of trees across the river. “I will be right behind the boy,” said Barrow.

“Very good,” said Manasseh Cutts, “and I will be right behind
you
, Mr. Barrow.”

“I am anxious, myself, to be there,” said Crispin Moss (whether this meant at the jail or behind Nathan Barrow) and no one could say that his smile was not good natured.

THERE WERE THOSE WHO THOUGHT PETER SHOULD BE DENIED HIS
horse, for fear he would make good an escape and help Parson Leach warn the people in Wiscasset, but Manasseh did not let the young man linger to answer this.

“I can't take her with me,” Peter said as he was led away from the shore and Nathan Barrow. “Captain Clayden gave her to my safe-keeping.”

“We'll put her above the tavern,” said Manasseh. “The landlord has a pasture fenced off.” As they walked, they met with the stares and greetings of men recently arrived, and the woodsmen recognized two or three. “That was a hasty business back there, lad,” the older woodsman said to Peter. “The parson will not be pleased I didn't keep you safe.”

Peter thought he hadn't had much choice in his decision, but felt it an act of faith against the parson's accusers, and refused to regret his promise, though he was a little fearful.

Elspeth had already driven her horse into the pasture and she watched beneath the nearly barren branches of an old apple tree as Peter and the woodsmen approached. Peter realized she had not wanted to be discovered for a woman by speaking out, though he still felt she had abandoned him. He said nothing to her, and left her, when they went off, to her own solitary devices. She stayed by the fence or at the margin of the crowd the most of the day.

When they returned to the common, Peter was amazed that more drink had been found–he would have believed the entire settlement had been dried up by the previous night's revels–but tankards and bowls were out and barrels were being dipped. More men arrived as the morning wore on and Mr. Pelligue led a meeting before the Star and Sturgeon, where they planned a raid upon Wiscasset, and more specifically upon the county jail, to be conducted that very night.

A good deal of martial speech was heard, and White Indian garb and paint was employed again and those with bestial masks raised them in place of human faces; but as the plan was hammered out, the men in charge, and those who would put themselves the closest to harm's way seemed of moderate inclinations.

“We go together as an indication of our strength,” Mr. Pelligue avouched when the plan had been expounded. “We go to protect one another, and in numbers to prevent the loss of life and property rather than to prompt it. We will cordon off the roads to the town and release our fellows, and leave with no more than we came with.” Even Joshua Cargin, who had spoken of “inflicting more harm” upon the denizens of Wiscasset, seemed less warlike as the consequences of their intentions drew near.

The sun was brilliant on the common and the surface of the water beyond, but the wind was out of the northwest and the day had come off cold, so that the shadows of trees and houses felt like the breath of winter rising out of the ground.

Manasseh, by dint of having said little (and that with quiet conviction) had been given the leadership of some thirty or forty men. Barrow had not waited to be allotted a command, but gathered his own men about him; they numbered sixty or more. Before the afternoon was done more than two hundred men had gathered in New Milford, and they had come from every back-country settlement within a three day tramp.

“How far is Wiscasset?” asked Peter, who had not thought about this till they were being fed by the remainder of their kits on the common.

“It'll be four or five miles down river,” said Manasseh.

“Where do you think Parson Leach has gone?” asked Peter. He had had little else on his mind since the morning, unless it were Nora Tillage, or Emily Clayden, or Elspeth Gray.

“He had reason to leave without us,” said Manasseh. “
And
reason to say nothing, I warrant.”

Crispin Moss lent his good-natured concentration to this thought, but could not imagine the parson's motives and looked it.

“I wish he were here,” said Peter without shame, though he thought he might cry when he said it.

“If I know the man,” said Manasseh, “and I guess I know him right well for having met him just the other day . . . but if I know him, he's put himself between more danger than you or I will know tonight.”