Colonel Butler, of Butler’s Rangers, and his acts were most frequently recalled; words failed to express the abhorrence of this marauder and his acts. Roger Conant had tarried in New York State when on his way to Canada, and knew something of the horrors of the civil war. He had met Butler and readily listened to tales told him in later years by a man who had been one of Butler’s Rangers. This man lived with Roger Conant as his hired servant. He told him that he and others, with Butler in command, had many times entered defenceless houses and murdered at the first instance the man and wife. Next the children were brought before the great gaping open wood fireplaces of those days and bayoneted, the bayonet passing quite through their little bodies, and were held over the flames that the soldiers might “watch them squirm,” as he expressed it. The man would also frequently call out in his troubled dreams when asleep, such words as, “There they are! Don’t you see them squirm? Bayonet that big boy!” acting over again the murderous scenes. These stories were told the author by his ancestors many times as no fanciful picture. On another occasion Butler captured a small garrison of Continentals in New York State, who marched out and surrendered their arms. One among them, a former neighbor of Butler’s, came to the gate and bade the major “Good day.” During the early period of the war this man had been enrolled among King George’s levies, but had never served. “Stand out by that tree,” said Butler, and the man obeyed. On the last man emerging from the garrison and surrendering his arms, Butler ordered half a dozen of his Rangers to “Right about face--present arms--fire!” and his neighbor never breathed again. During the early months of the war and its continuance the brothers Conant met of an evening behind blinded windows and closed doors. On canvassing matters thoroughly they came to the conclusion that the colonies would never succeed, and that Great Britain would in the end wreak terrible vengeance on those in rebellion. Britain’s name carried with it a sense of power and unlimited resources, and Roger Conant could not make himself believe that she would ever let the colonies go. As time went on, too, his position in Massachusetts became a difficult one, so he resolved to leave all and flee to Canada.