Chapter II: Shows How Ezra Met with Gilbert Scarlett, Soldier of Fortune

“I sincerely trust,” mused Ezra Prentiss as he rode along on his way, “that there are not many men like those in the colonies. If there are, the cause is sure to be defeated. They are too cowardly and selfish to do anything but clutch what they have and cry out in fear of its being taken away from them.”

For a moment a shadow rested upon his face. Then the picture flashed across his mind of the heroic line at Lexington, of the desperate rush at Concord Bridge, the long, running fight into Boston town. These had happened only a few weeks before; and a smile banished the shadow instantly.

“The men who did those things were neither selfish nor cowardly,” he told himself. “They are as brave as any upon the earth, and would give all they possessed in the cause of freedom. They drove Earl Percy before them when they were merely a gathering of half-armed farmers; and when drilled and properly equipped, they will prove their worth to General Gage, his army and the hostile King.”

Several times he left the road and crossed some fields at sight of chimney-stacks or shingled roofs; and each time he talked earnestly with the householders and left one or more of the circulars printed by the Committee of Safety. But each time he returned to the wagon road.

“It’s not because I expect to come upon any great number of people,” he said, as the question as to why he did this presented itself to him. “And it is not because it is an easy road to travel.” He paused for a moment and then added: “I wonder just how much this stranger, who lives so oddly and in such a queer place, has to do with it?”

He laughed as the tall bay took a fence and landed once more in the much-cut road.

“That’s it,” he continued. “It’s curiosity. I want to see the man who has made those two, back there, fear him so.”

He had perhaps gone a mile and a half in a straight course, when the fences began to thin; trees lined the roadside and grew in thick clumps upon every hand; the ground looked rough and stony; apparently no plow had ever broken it, no axe had ever been leveled against the timber.

Heavy boughs, showing the first green of spring, hung so low that Ezra was forced to bend low in his saddle in order to avoid them. He was riding in this fashion when he was suddenly startled by a voice, apparently only a few yards away, calling to him.

“Hullo, you, sir!”

Ezra drew in the bay and turned in his saddle. A tall, strongly-built young man in long leather boots, and wearing a hat with a plume in it, was standing beside a fallen horse.

“A moment of your time, if you please,” commanded this personage, in a voice that was not to be denied.

“You have met with an accident, I see,” remarked Ezra, with a glance at the prostrate beast. “Is he badly hurt?”

“I think he is all but finished,” replied the young man in the long boots. “He was recommended to me as a nag of perfect quality; but I have found none such in this sadly deserted corner of the earth.”

The speaker wore moustaches, something seldom or never seen in those days. They were black, with spiky points, and he twisted at them savagely.

“But I have found in my journeys through the world that good horses are only grown where there are fine up-standing men to see to them,” continued the stranger. He drew up his soft leather boots and shifted his heavy sword belt, which bore a huge brass buckle. Then he devoted his attention to the moustaches once more.

“You are not of the colonies, then?” inquired Ezra.

The other drew himself up haughtily and stared at the speaker.

“I trust, sir,” spoke he in a measured voice, “that I do not convey that impression. I am Gilbert Scarlett, late of the Spanish service and once of those of Hanover, Wurtemberg, Portugal and the Swiss. Also two campaigns have I served with the Turks in Egypt, and once I bore a commission from the Czar of Muscovy.”

Ezra regarded the other with wonderment. That so young a man could have had so wide a military experience seemed extraordinary indeed. But, in spite of the boastful tone and exaggerated manner, there was that about the stranger that might make a doubter pause.

“I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Scarlett,” said Ezra Prentiss, politely. “And I must say that I am rather astonished to see a man of your parts in so unusual a place.”

“You might well be,” returned the other, slapping his boot-leg with his riding-whip. “And truth to tell, I am a trifle astonished myself. But matters between the Spanish and the French grew very monotonous toward the last, below there in the Floridas and on the Gulf. They made war very politely and saw to it that there was plenty of breathing time between cannon-shots. So I took ship and came north. They told me that the clouds were gathering here and that there would be much credit for a man of my inches to gain, in one way and another.”

“If you look for fighting,” said Ezra, soberly, “I fancy you’ll get your fill of it before many days.”

The other laughed and leaned gracefully against a tree. He had thick black brows, and he bent them at the young New Englander jeeringly.

“Fighting!” mocked he. “Where is it to come from? Gage has an army of veterans and dare not come out. This other man——”

“General Ward?” suggested Ezra, as the other hesitated.

“Yes—thanks. General Ward has gathered a rabble of peasants which would tear off like sheep at the first sound of a heavy gun.”

“You are wrong,” cried Ezra warmly. “I saw them under fire. They acted the part of men.”

“I’ve heard of that fight,” said the young man. “Pshaw! Such a thing is not a test. Wait until they are forced to sleep out under the stars, to mount guard in the wet, to obey popinjay officers, to keep hungry bellies for days on end, to be sick without physic, to be cold without clothing, to be beaten and asked to fight again. That will show the color of their courage, sir. Your General Ward may be satisfied with less; but nothing short of all I’ve mentioned would answer the needs of an old campaigner.”

To hear him with his youthful face, and sprouting moustaches, calling himself by such a name, caused Ezra to smile. Instantly the face of Gilbert Scarlett changed.

“But it seems that I am wasting good time speaking with you,” said he, coldly. “I find that men of experience are not understood by colonials.” His hard, black eyes ran over the lines of the tall bay horse which Ezra bestrode, and he proceeded, “That is a fair-looking charger. Anyhow, it’s the best to be had at this time, I suppose. So do me the favor to get down.”

Ezra looked at the speaker in some surprise.

“Perhaps you will explain,” said he.

“The situation is so plain,” proclaimed Gilbert Scarlett, “that I can scarcely see the need of an explanation. But, since you ask for one, here it is. My horse can go no farther. Yours can. So, as I have urgent affairs to transact, I propose that we make an exchange.”

“It would seem that your military schooling has taught you to expect the better of a bargain, if nothing else,” said Ezra quietly.

The other laughed.

“It would have been of very little value if it hadn’t,” said he. He once more hitched at his sword belt, and this time the movement held the elements of a threat. “But,” he went on, “that is neither here nor there. We will come to the exchange at once, if you please.”

“I am glad that you mentioned that last,” smiled Ezra. “Suppose I don’t please?”

The points of the spiky moustache went up and the heavy black brows came down.

“In that event,” said Gilbert Scarlett, “I shall be forced to alter your mind.”

A little earlier, Ezra had had before him a youthful, careless face, had listened to boastful, empty speech and had smiled. But in an instant all was altered. The face was now hard and lined; the careless mouth was tight shut and cruel looking, the voice was sharp and peremptory.

“Once more—and for the last time, mark you—I invite you to get down.”

“I think your contempt for colonials has led you astray,” said Ezra, still with a smile. “We do not give up our belongings so easily in this part of the world.”

The man took a step forward, his breath seeming to hiss between his teeth; then his sword flashed out of its scabbard. But at the same instant Ezra’s long holster pistol came into play. The afternoon light gleamed dully upon the steel barrel, as he supported it in the hollow of his left arm.

“Before you display any of your deftness with the sword blade,” spoke the young New Englander, coolly, “listen to a few words of disinterested advice. I say disinterested, because it makes no difference to me how you take it. But it would, perhaps, be a great deal better for you if you reconsidered this matter. A gentleman of your confessed military experience can no doubt play the sword with accuracy. But don’t forget that a bullet travels faster—and don’t compel me to start this one on its travels.”

The young stranger listened to this quietly-spoken warning with varying expressions of face. At first it seemed that he would defy the pistol; indeed he drew back his arm for a blow. Then he paused, baffled; at last a comical look came upon his face, his point touched the ground and he stepped back with a ringing laugh.

“For your advice I offer many thanks.” He took off his hat as he spoke and its plume swept the earth. “And I will take it,” driving his blade back in its sheath. “I have made a grave military blunder. In what you call my contempt for colonials I overlooked the possibility of your being armed. I admit defeat and pray you mercy.”

The situation was so quaint a one that Ezra also laughed. But he did not take his eyes from the other, neither did his pistol go back to its place in the holster.

“The situation remains as it was when I came up,” said the boy. “Here you stand beside your fallen horse and off I go on my way to Chelmsford.”

He touched the bay with the spur; but it had only taken a few steps when Gilbert Scarlett once more lifted his voice. Ezra drew rein and the man advanced.

“You are going toward Chelmsford?” inquired he.

“Yes,” returned Ezra.

“By this road?”

“If I can.”

“It always shows good quality in a soldier to be generous to a defeated foe,” smiled the young man. He paused a moment and studied Ezra carefully; and as he did so the latter noted an odd light dancing in his eyes. “As I have said,” Scarlett resumed, “I have urgent affairs that under other circumstances would require me to press on. And as I can’t do this, I would ask you to grant me a favor.”

“What is it?” asked Ezra.

“At Cambridge I was entrusted with a mission of more or less importance,” spoke Scarlett easily. “And as the gentleman who so entrusted me was most genial and generous, though to speak the truth I did not know him from Adam’s elder brother, I would like to see the matter carried through as contracted.”

He drew from his belt a packet of papers sealed with black wax.

“I was required to take this way and ride until I came to a certain bridge,” said Scarlett. “Not far from this I was to come upon a house where I was to stop and ask for a man by the name of Abdallah. When I saw him I was to hand over these,” and the speaker held up the packet.

At sight of the packet and Scarlett’s announcement that he had been bidden to come that way, Ezra’s attention became fixed. The two farmers had spoken of unknown riders who came and went to their mysterious neighbor’s. But when the other mentioned the bridge and the house not far from it, the boy’s eyes snapped with expectation. However, when he spoke his voice was unconcerned enough.

“And now, I suppose, you want me to undertake to finish what you have begun?” said he.

“If you will be so kind,” replied Scarlett, with a little bow. “It will not take you out of your way, since you are going by this road, and it will greatly relieve my mind.”

Ezra bent forward and took the papers in his left hand. Thrusting them into the breast of his coat, he said with a laugh:

“It would show a sad lack of charity on my part to leave you in a disturbed state of mind. A disabled horse and a long road are calamities enough for any man.”

“I thank you,” said Scarlett. He tugged at his moustache with one hand; the thumb of the other was stuck in his sword belt, his legs were very wide apart, and the plumed hat was set well back upon his head. “You are a ready youth and a generous one. Perhaps your wit is not all that it will be in the years to come. Nevertheless, I say that you are a ready youth. And further, I will add that you have the makings in you of a most excellent soldier.”

Once more the long plume swept the ground as Ezra, with a wave of the hand, rode away; and the last the boy saw of him he was stripping the saddle from the fallen horse and apparently railing against his ill luck in a most hearty fashion.