Peter Loon (26 page)

PETER HAD OCCASION TO THINK OF NORA TILLAGE DURING HIS AND
Parson Leach's night journey, but never more than now.

Peter had seen wild behavior before. The severe, drudging life of the backcountry would, on occasion, uncinch–often with astounding, even frightening portions of rum and evangelical fire and brimstone (these two passions not always appearing in mutually exclusive seasons). Peter's mother Rosemund Loon had, on the whole, exercised but a single prerogative over her children by keeping them from the sphere of preachers and Liberty Men, but even an outlying farm will know its neighbors. By mere connection with the community of Sheepscott Great Pond, Peter had experienced a little religion
and
a smattering of squatter's politics. Now, however, riding toward the riotous crowd in the midst of New Milford's central hamlet, Peter thought most on the intemperate Nathan Barrow, and so was sharply reminded of Nora Tillage.

So far, Peter had experienced the events of the night as in a reverie, and particularly the confrontation at the bridge over Benjamin Brook in a troubled daze. While listening to the masked and charcoal painted Liberty Men, he was reminded of the angry visitors and the angry words in Captain Clayden's den; then he understood the Captain's apprehension that Parson Leach was putting himself between reckless adversaries.

Adding to Peter's discomfort was the recognition that he was clothed in a manner that separated him from these men of field and hamlet. He was indeed dressed as a gentleman, and if he had felt ill at ease in those clothes among the Claydens, the clothes suddenly felt ill at ease on him among folk of his own sort. Yet, for all his own trepidation, Peter would not have been anywhere else at that moment.

The bonfire in the middle of the village was being fed, even as they approached. A great cry had risen and Peter blinked to see someone's furniture–chairs and a table–added to the flaming heap. Beam tensed beneath him when they drew near the heat and light; Mars snorted indignantly as the prevailing breeze carried a gout of smoke past them.

The hamlet of New Milford was made up of several houses, barns, and a blocky tavern, ranked on either side of the road along the northeastern shore of the Sheepscott River. The tavern was a door or two beyond the bonfire, and it was in the direction of this establishment that Parson Leach led them.

Peter believed, then, that there were a good
many
people in the world. A throng of drunken men, dressed in mock Indian garb with charcoal-darkened faces, or masked as animals, leaped and rioted between the horsemen and their destination. One group, on the other side of the flames, carried on with song–bellowing a tune, more or less, that Peter recognized, but utilizing verses that had been composed to fit their circumstance and disposition.

No, my son!Independence isn't won!

No, my girl! The Revolution isn't done!

For Great Men sure are wanting killing
,

And Liberty Men are very willing
,

To wield the Sword and fire the Gun!

Some of their words were couched in symbols that Peter hardly understood, but the tenor was clear, and those voices gave off a heat to rival the flames.

The Bells of Liberty will be pealing!

The Ghost of Freedom soon be stealing!

The Lord returns one day to lead us
,

And he'll see Great Men rob and bleed us
,

And send them, writ and summons, reeling!

Dancing before the fire, filled with rum and the madness of crowds, otherwise terse and toughened farmers and tradesmen had cast aside constraint to howl like wolves and cavort like hysterical children. Peter had heard such carrying on from a distance, watching the light of other bonfires from behind his family home in Sheepscott Great Pond, but he could never have guessed at the immediate noise and confusion.

The parson did not appear to be shocked by what he saw, nor did he seem very amused. Peter had never seen such a lack of expression on Parson Leach, and it made him wary of what this man, who could snatch a gun from another's hand as quickly as the hawk grabs the sparrow, might plan and what he might do. More than one reveler approached them, jug raised or musket lifted to the sky, but they were inevitably brushed back by the peculiar force of the parson's expressionless eye.

Peter kept Beam's neck by Mars's flank as they skirted the bonfire. It was natural to turn his head away from the heat, and doing so, Peter caught sight of several men coming out of the house opposite. One had a jug, and another carried a piece of furniture which he hoisted into the air; the third Peter recognized as one of the men who had been riding with Nathan Barrow.

Peter's first thought was to wonder where Barrow himself might be. He and the parson, meanwhile, did not pass unnoticed, and though Peter averted his own gaze, he could be sure that his own back, and that of the parson's, were drilled by this fellow's scrutiny.

They came to a clapboarded two-story building where a sign hung that bore the likeness of a strange, snout-nosed fish, and a single star. Peter knew the creature was a sturgeon, though he had never seen one before. Tales of sturgeon abounded in the backcountry, fabulous stories of monstrous fish that were first learned at the campfires of Indians. Peter read the sign as meaning “The Star and the Sturgeon.”

Some men stood in the doorway to the tavern and one of them shouted something that was answered by the appearance of a boy on the stoop. This small person pressed his way through the crowd and scurried to meet the horsemen. Parson Leach and Peter dismounted and Peter followed the clergyman's lead by handing his reins over to the boy.

“I heard it said you were coming, Mr. Leach,” said the boy, who gave Peter–or Peter's clothes, perhaps–a close inspection. “Not an hour ago.”

“How are you, Robert?” said the parson. “And who's house is suffering over there?”

“Charles Trall led the sheriff and his men over to Donnell's farm,” was the boy's reply, “and they arrested Mr. Donnell and his brother there. Then he led them up to Gray farm so they could take Sam, and Sam hadn't so much as spoken stern to John Trueman, so they say.”

Parson Leach stood by Mars and considered the commotion before Charles Trall's house. “He should have foreseen
that
result,” he muttered with a shake of his head. There was a renewed howl from the crowd as another bit of the Tralls' furnishings was added to the fire. The men in the tavern doorway made room for the travelers.

The scene inside was several degrees less wild than without; the main room of the tavern was crowded, but many of those making up the crowd were in the latter stages of intoxication, while some talked quietly if earnestly with one another over the dark tables and pints of rum or ale or cider. A fire burned cheerily enough in the great hearth at the midst of the room, but the air was dimmed by the smoke from a score of pipes. Some fellows in less cognizant states still wore their animal masks, and their furred heads, snouts, and long ears seen through the thick atmosphere added to the scene's already dream-like quality.

The identity of the newcomers had run ahead of them, it seemed, for there was little surprise on conscious men's faces when Parson Leach and Peter entered, though there were guarded expressions from those who had been with Nathan Barrow at the lake shore.

One of these stood at the door to the kitchen, and when Parson Leach led Peter to the back of the tavern, this man straightened his bearing and effectively indicated that he intended to bar the way. He looked less certain of his office, as the parson approached, however, and when the welcome (to Peter's eyes) figure of Crispin Moss separated itself from a darkened corner and met them at the door, the watchman left his post with the look of a man who suddenly remembers more important duties.

“Mr. Moss,” said Parson Leach, both in greeting and appreciation.

“Mr. Leach, Mr. Loon,” said the big man. He had obviously indulged his thirst, as evidenced by the tankard he gripped, but perhaps had done so with less zeal than had some of his fellows. He could, in fact, stand pretty steadily, and his words were clear upon his tongue. “Mr. Cutts and I were in hopes of seeing you before cockcrow. Some pretty wild notions have been thrown about, and the supply of clear heads is lacking.” This was said with great indulgence displayed in his expression toward those who proved less temperate than himself.

“I wonder if Mr. Cutts isn't in the kitchen,” said the parson.

“Indeed, he is.”

“We shall be glad of one moderate soul, at least,” said Parson Leach. “Come ahead,” he said to Peter, and he brooked no discussion on the subject, but opened the door and stood aside for the younger man.

The revel in the road continued to supply a steady roar behind the quieter environs of the tavern. To Peter, he and the parson were entering decreasing stages of noise and confusion as they progressed, and the room beyond was poised, to a man, in that attitude of interrupted dialogue that is part curiosity and part irritation. Almost a score of sober-faced individuals stood or sat in the kitchen of the Star and Sturgeon, gathered about a long board where many a meal had been prepared, and crock and tankard had been filled. Some gripped crocks and tankards now, but they all seemed respectable enough, at first look, and sober, though in some cases this was a relative business to what carried on outside. Peter thought several of them would have looked the proper guests in Captain Clayden's den.

His attention was quickly drawn to one man, who sat at the further end of the table; Nathan Barrow's hands were on the board, as if he waited for his plate and bowl; his face was dark with barely suppressed animosity. There were those in the room who cast quick glances in the direction of the lay preacher, wanting to be prepared, should there be some sort of explosion. Manasseh Cutts stood leaning against a cupboard and appeared unconcerned; he nodded to Peter and allowed quietly how he admired the young man's boots.

Barrow's head was down slightly, but his eyes were peering up past his brows to glare at Parson Leach and Peter Loon. “I see we have more proprietary agents among us by the minute.”

“Those are hard charges, Mr. Barrow,” said someone.

“This
Leach”
said Barrow with special emphasis, “has recently absconded with a daughter of the cause, and has been reported to have left her in the care of Captain Clayden himself, who must be as congenial an ally as the enemy can boast of.” Barrow hardly stirred, and Peter was struck–and rather unpleasantly–that the man possessed a latent energy, and perhaps a hidden swiftness, akin to that of Parson Leach.

Several men in the room turned to Parson Leach for a defense against these charges, but among the majority of them, Zachariah Leach was not unknown, or disrespected. “I am sure this was a simple misunderstanding,” said an elder among these.