Boston (Mass.) -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Juvenile fiction
“All linen and woolen goods have to be turned over to Crean Brush, the
Tory,” whispered Don--for Snell was up-stairs. “Old Howe knows there’s
stuff hidden in the town that our men can use. That’s why he wants it.”
Aunt Martha glanced involuntarily at the door to the cellar. “We’d best
give it up, Donald,” she said. “I’d hoped we could keep it, but I see
now that we can’t. Oh, what a foolish woman I was!”
“No, Aunt Martha--no!” Don’s voice trembled in spite of himself.
“Nobody knows we have the stuff, and the Redcoats can’t possibly search
every cellar.”
“Don is right, Aunt Martha,” whispered Jud. “Don’t you turn it over to
them!”
“But if they come and search----” Aunt Martha checked herself
suddenly, for Snell was coming down the stairs.
Without looking to right or left, the Redcoat crossed the room and went
out on the street.
“Did he hear us?” asked Don’s aunt.
“Not likely,” replied Jud. “Now don’t you say one word about that stuff
in the cellar.”
Aunt Martha shook her head in uncertainty, but she finally decided to
do as the boys had advised.
The next day Crean Brush began his work of searching for hidden
supplies. Stores were broken into, and goods of all sorts were carried
off in violation of strict orders that Howe had issued. Lawless bands
of soldiers, sailors, marines and Tories went from house to house and
took what pleased them. And while they were doing that, the army was
transporting its equipment to the water-front to be shipped aboard the
vessels.
All day Don and his aunt remained in the house, anxiously expecting
every minute to hear the sound of Crean Brush’s men outside. Jud did
not put in an appearance until after dark, and then he remained only
for a few moments to say that a searching party had come to his house
but had found nothing. “If they had,” he added, “Ma and I would have
been as surprised as they, I guess.”
Don and his aunt laughed. Before Jud went away he got Don to one side.
“Say, Don,” he whispered, “you’ve got powder in the cellar along with
that other stuff, haven’t you?”
“Yes, a little,” Don replied.
“Well,” said Jud, “if I were you I’d move it somewhere else.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Well, at the rate Crean Brush and his gangs are going they’re pretty
sure to reach your house sooner or later; and if they search it and
find that powder--well, I don’t know what they won’t do.”
“I guess they’ll do enough even if they just find the cloth and stuff,”
said Don. “So it seems to me I might as well leave it all together.”
“No, Don; do as I tell you!” Jud’s voice was low and excited.
Don laughed. “I never knew you to be so cautious before, Jud.”
But Jud seized his friend’s arm. “Take my advice for once and do it,”
he urged. “I’ll help you move it now if you like.”
“No, not now,” replied Don. “Maybe later.”
“All right, then.” And Jud hurried out into the night.
CHAPTER XVI
CREAN BRUSH’S MEN
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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