fax in England, in regard to the deplorable commencement of hostilities at Lexington, "to reflect, that a brother's sword has been sheathed in a brother's breast; and that the once happy and peaceful plains of America are to be either drenched with blood or inhabited by slaves. Sad alternative! But can a virtuous man hesitate in his choice? "
The Massachusetts Congress was in session at the time, and immediately took measures for sending depositions to England, to prove—as was no doubt the case— the British troops were the aggressors. They also, while professing undiminished loyalty to the king, "appealed to heaven for the justice of their cause, and determined to die or be free." The forts, magazines, and arsenals, were speedily seized upon by the people in all directions Troops were raised, and a new issue of paper money made. Boston was soon besieged by a force of twenty thousand men, who formed a line of encampment from Roxbury to the River Mystic. Artemas Ward was appointed captain-general of the troops thus brought together from the neighboring colonies, who promptly determined to sustain Massachusetts in the impending conflict.
Some bold spirits, perceiving clearly that war was at hand, had conceived a plan for capturing Ticonderoga and Crown Point, Ethan Allen[1] with his Green Mountain Boys, less than three hundred in number, assembled at Castleton, May 2d, and were there joined by Benedict Arnold, who had also set out on the same errand. Arnold has a
- ↑ A good story is told of the Vermont hero at a later date, when he was a prisoner on parole in New York. Rivington, the king's printer, had said some very severe and offensive things of the whigs, in his Gazette, and Allen had declared with an oath that "he would lick him the very first opportunity be had." We quote Rivington himself for the rest of the story. "I was sitting," says he, "after a good dinner, alone, with my bottle of madeira before me, when I heard an unusual noise in the street, and a huzza from the boys. I was in the second story, and stepping to the window, saw a tall figure in tarnished regimentals, with a large cocked hat and an enormous long sword, followed by a crowd of boys, who occasionally cheered him with huzzas, of which he seemed insensible. He came up to my door and stopped. I could see no more. My heart told me it was Ethan Allen. I shut down my window, and retired behind my table and bottle. I was certain the hour of reckoning had come. There was no retreat. Mr. Staples, my clerk, came in paler than ever, and clasping his hands, said, 'Master, he is come!' 'I know it' 'He entered the store and asked, if James Rivington lived there.' I answered, 'Yes, sir.' 'Is he at home?' 'I will go and see, sir,' I said. 'And now, master, what is to be done? There he is in the store, and the boys peeping at him from the street.' I had made up my mind. I looked at the bottle of madeira—possibly took a glass. 'Show him up,' said I; 'and if such madeira cannot mollify him, he must be harder than adamant.' There was a fearful moment of suspense. I heard him on the stairs, his long sword clanking at every step. In he stalked. 'Is your name James Rivington?' 'It is, sir, and no man could be more happy than I am to see Colonel Ethan Allen.' 'Sir, I have come—' 'Not another word, my dear colonel, until you have taken a seat and a glass of old madeira.' 'But, sir, I don't think it proper—' 'Not another word, colonel. Taste this wine; I have had it in glass for ten years. Old wine, you know, unless it is originally sound, never improves by age.' He took the glass, swallowed the wine, smacked his lips, and shook his head approvingly. 'Sir, I come—' 'Not another word until you have taken another glass, and then, my dear colonel, we will talk of old affairs, and I have some droll events to detail.' In short, we finished two bottles of madeira, and parted as good friends as if we had never had cause to be otherwise."—De Puy's "Ethan Allen and the Green Mountain Heroes of '76," p. 262.
