"So you are the son of Josh Walden, eh? Well, you have your father's eyes, nose, and mouth. If you have got the grit he had at Ti, I'll bet on you." Many times Robert had heard his father tell the story of the Rifle Rangers, the service they performed, the hardships they endured, and the bravery and coolness of John Stark in battle. Through the afternoon the mare trotted on, halting at sunset at Jacob Abbott's stable in Andover. It was noon the next day when Robert reached Cambridge. He had heard about Harvard College; now he saw the buildings. The students were having a game of football after dinner. The houses along the streets were larger than any he had ever seen before,--stately mansions with porticoes, pillars, pilasters, carved cornices, and verandas. The gardens were still bright with the flowers of autumn. Reaching Roxbury, he came across a man slowly making his way along the road with a cane. "Let me give you a lift, sir," Robert said. "Thank you. I have been down with the rheumatiz, and can't skip round quite as lively as I could once," said the man as he climbed into the wagon. "'Spect you are from the country and on your way to market, eh?" Robert replied that he was from New Hampshire. "Ever been this way before?" "No, this is my first trip." "Well, then, perhaps I can p'int out some things that may interest ye." Robert thanked him. "This little strip of land we are on is the 'Neck.' This water on our left is Charles River,--this on our right is Gallows Bay. Ye see that thing out there, don't ye?" The man pointed with his cane. "Well, that's the gallows, where pirates and murderers are hung. Lots of 'em have been swung off there, with thousands of people looking to see 'em have their necks stretched. 'Tain't a pretty sight, though." The man took a chew of tobacco, and renewed the conversation. "My name is Peter Bushwick, and yours may be--?" "Robert Walden." "Thank ye, Mr. Walden. So ye took the road through Cambridge instead of Charlestown." "I let Jenny pick the road. That through Charlestown would have been nearer, but I should have to cross the ferry. My father usually comes this way."[2] [Footnote 2: No bridge from Charlestown had been constructed across Charles Rivers (1769), and the only avenue leading into Boston was from Roxbury.] "Mighty fine mare, Mr. Walden; ye can see she's a knowing critter. She's got the right kind of an ear; she knows what she's about." They were at the narrowest part of the peninsula, and Mr. Bushwick told about the barricade built by the first settlers at that point to protect the town from the Indians, and pointed to a large elm-tree which they could see quite a distance ahead. "That is the Liberty Tree,"[3] he said.