What March 5, 1770, had been to the people of Boston and the Colony of Massachusetts, March 14, 1775, was destined to become to the patriot citizens of Vermont. That date reminds them to-day of the first blood shed in the great struggle within the borders of the Grants–the first pitched battle between American yeomanry and the minions of a cruel and tyrannical king. Before the martyrs were shot down at Lexington was the Westminster Massacre–an incident which set the torch to the passions of the Whigs throughout the Grants.

Despite the efforts of Judge Chandler, who really was honestly bent on peace, the associate Judge Sabin and the fire-eating sheriff brought about that clash of arms, the stain of which was to be wiped out by nearly eight years of bitter war. The Tory officials and their henchmen gathered about the court-house when it was known that the Whigs had seized it, and threatened an attack early in the evening of the 13th; but apparently willing to abide by the decision of the chief justice, they dispersed after that worthy had promised the Whigs that nothing should be done to oust them from the premises until the following day. Chandler doubtless went to his repose, believing that his partisans would uphold him in his promise.

But the sheriff had other views. He had gathered a noble army at John Norton’s inn. There were no Whigs there that night. They sought other houses of entertainment, or their own homes, for their leaders had counseled moderation. But the wily sheriff finally gave his orders, and those orders were inspired by Judge Sabin and other rank Tories. Separating as they issued from the inn into three bodies, the sheriff’s men approached the guarded court-house from as many directions and were thundering at the doors before the Whigs were aware that such treachery was intended. There was not a fire-arm in the court-house, but when called upon to surrender the guard refused and strove to barricade the entrance.

Although the young men had expected nothing like this, they had not taken their duty lightly. They were of the best Whig families of the neighborhood and had not accepted the responsibility as a lark. Enoch became acquainted with one of his companions early in the evening who, because of his open face, free and gentle manner, and earnest conversation impressed the Bennington boy as being a youth of better parts than were most of the backwoods people. Lot told his guest that this individual was William French, the son of a Mr. Nathaniel French, a man well known and respected highly by his neighbors. Like Lot, young French was deeply interested in the affairs of the colonies, especially in what was occurring in and about Boston. He had planned to go to the Massachusetts colony and offer his services to the Committee of Safety there if war really became imminent, though he would go, Enoch saw, in a much different spirit from Lot’s. Lot was eager for a fight for the fight’s sake; but French realized the root of the trouble and espoused the cause of the persecuted colonists from principle.

It was eleven o’clock at night when the sheriff and his men attacked the Whig guards, and many of the latter were asleep. The uproar was great as the besieged tried to keep the Tories out of the building; but the latter were reckless and knew that they had to do with a practically helpless enemy. They forced an entrance, though the Whigs rallied well and delivered some telling blows with their clubs. These blows doubtless had much to do with what followed, for the sheriff’s men became greatly incensed. All the lights in the house were put out and for several moments the antagonists fought in the dark. Enoch was not behind in the battle and was one of those in the front rank which strove to beat the sheriff’s men back to the door. William French fought next him, while he could hear his friend Lot shouting encouragement not far away.

The Tories were under a disadvantage in the dark and some of those still without ran with torches and thrust them in, that the battleground might be illumined. At that the sheriff, spurred by rage and the smart of a blow he had received, cried to his men: “Fire! Fire at the rascals who defy the law’s authority!”

Some of his men took him at his word and putting their pieces to their shoulders, they had been using them as clubs, shot blank-point into the group of opposing Whigs!

It was a terrible scene that followed. Several men fell about Enoch, and groans and cries rose from the wounded. A bullet had sent Enoch’s cap spinning into the air, but he did not notice that. Young William French had fallen beside him and the Bennington boy stooped and caught the young man’s head and shoulders from the floor that he might not be trampled upon.

Shouts and imprecations deafened him. The Whigs still fought, but some had already tried to escape by a side passage and were being brought back by the sheriff’s men. That wicked man was calling upon the Whigs to surrender, and more than one shot was fired after that first volley.

Enoch, with the head of the bleeding youth in his arms, cried to those about him to move aside and bring a light. All were too much inflamed by passion to heed him for a time; but suddenly one man sprang forward and thrust a huge, brass-locked pistol into his own face. The boy was frightened, and strove to throw himself backward out of range; but the pistol snapped!

Providentially the weapon was either unloaded, or the powder was damp. Otherwise that moment would have ended Enoch Harding’s earthly career. And in the flash of torchlight which was an instant later cast upon the scene, the startled boy recognized the dark features and hawk nose of Simon Halpen. The villain had sought him out and had striven to pay off old scores in that moment of confusion and uproar.

But the confusion helped Enoch to escape, too. Lot seized his shoulder and dragged him up from his knees. “Let him alone, poor chap!” he whispered hoarsely in his friend’s ear, and Enoch saw that he was crying, “Let him alone. He is dead. Oh, these villains shall be punished for this–they shall be punished! War has begun, Nuck–and we have seen its beginning!” In his horror and despair Lot Breckenridge was prophetic. War had begun; the first blood of the revolution–antedating in its sacrifice the Battle of Lexington–had been shed.

Indeed, Lot and Enoch were fortunate to escape from the building, for ten of the Whigs had been wounded beside poor French, and seven of the remaining were taken prisoner. The town was roused and a great concourse of people gathered in the streets. The sheriff and his men were loudly execrated, and even some of the Tories expressed their indignation. The men who had done the deed were forced to remain under cover for the rest of the night while the alarm went into all the countryside and by daybreak the patriot farmers were pouring into Westminster–a horde of indignant citizens before whom the Tory officials trembled.

The very judges themselves were taken into custody and had not the better counsel of the staid and solid men prevailed, the sheriff and those who aided him might have been hung to a gibbet erected in the court-house yard. On the fifteenth Captain Cochran and forty Green Mountain Boys, who had been apprised of the terrible affair, marched over the mountain to arraign themselves upon the side of the Whigs if the matter should come to real warfare. But fortunately further bloodshed was averted, and never again did a Tory judiciary hold court in Eastern Vermont.

Enoch went back to Bennington with some of Robert Cochran’s company. News of the Westminster affair had preceded him and the Catamount Inn was thronged with earnest men discussing the matter and various other news-packets which had lately come from other colonies. War with the mother country seemed inevitable and Ethan Allen and men of his stamp looked forward to it not without some eagerness. It was not that they were reckless and irresponsible, or did not understand the terrible situation in which the colonies might find themselves should the mother country send across the sea a great army. But in the coming struggle they beheld the salvation of their own people and of the Hampshire Grants.

Therefore, perhaps even previous to this time, immediately following the Westminster Massacre, these leaders had earnestly discussed the possibilities of war and what the Green Mountain Boys could do to further the cause of the colonies. On the shores of the beautiful lake which was the colonists’ boast, were two of the strongest fortresses–or two which had been and could be made again the strongest–of the New World, Ticonderoga and Crown Point. At Old Ti were many stores and munitions of war and the place was held by a comparatively small guard of red-coats who had a great contempt for, and therefore small appreciation of, the valor of the colonials.

With these circumstances in mind Old Ti was already an object of the conferences of Vermont’s leading men. Possessing that fortress, Crown Point, and Skenesboro, the lake would be free of British and the way to Canada open; and at that early date it was strongly believed by the patriots that the French descendants of the early settlers of Canada would join the Colonies in their fight for freedom.

Young Enoch Harding did not see the leaders as he passed through Bennington; but he was waylaid there a dozen times, and upon his road home, to satisfy the curiosity and interest of his neighbors in the Westminster trouble. Letters from Boston had roused them to the highest pitch, too. Nor were his mother and Bryce any less anxious to hear and discuss the news. Mistress Harding had lived within a few miles of Boston and felt a deep interest still in the people and the affairs of the Massachusetts Colony. That a foreign soldiery should have been landed on her shores fired even this good and gentle woman with anger, and when Bryce said he’d go to Boston, too, along with Lot Breckenridge, if there was war, she did not say him nay.

But the Hardings had little time to waste upon politics. The boys had to drop the drilling soon, too, for it came ploughing and seed time. ’Siah Bolderwood remained about the settlement rather later than usual that year; and mainly for the reason that public affairs were so strained. He said his own crop of corn which he intended putting into the lot near Old Ti upon which he “had let the light of day” could wait a bit, under the circumstances, for there might be occasion to “beat his ploughshare into a sword” before corn-planting time.

Therefore he was still with the Hardings that day late in April when Ethan Allen, riding out of Bennington into the north to carry a torch which should fire every farm and hamlet with patriotic fervor, reined in his steed at the door of the farmhouse. The children saw the great man coming and ran from the fields with Bolderwood, while the widow appeared at her door and welcomed Colonel Allen.

“Will you ’light, sir?” she asked him. “It has been long since you favored us with a visit.”

“And long will it be ere I come again, perhaps, Mistress Harding. I am like Sampson–I have taken an oath. And mine is not to rest, nor to give this critter rest, until I have spoken to as many true men in these Grants as may be seen in a week. The time has come to act!”

“Reckon I’d better be joggin’ erlong toward Old Ti, heh, Colonel?” remarked the ranger, leaning an elbow on the pommel of the saddle.

“You had, ’Siah, you had. We can depend upon you, and those red-coated rascals there must be kept unsuspicious and their fears–if they have any–lulled to sleep. I have one man already who proposes to put his head in the Lion’s mouth and return–providing the jaws do not close on him–to tell us in what state the old pile of stone is kept.”

“But what has started you out so suddenly, Colonel Allen?” demanded the widow.

“What! have ye not heard? There was a packet came from Boston yesterday.”

“We have seen nobody this week,” declared Enoch.

“There has been blood shed, friends,” said the giant, earnestly, his eyes flashing and the color in his cheek deepening. “American freemen have been shot down like sheep in the slaughter!”

“Where? Who were killed? What was the cause? Who did it?” were some of the queries hurled at their informant by the little group.

“Fifty men, they say, were murdered. At Lexington, in Massachusetts. There were munitions stored there belonging to the militia. The British got word of it and marched from Boston to destroy the goods. They fired on our people at the bridge and when the poor fellows broke and ran they followed and potted them like rabbits! War has begun, friends. Nothing under the blue canopy can stop it now. American blood has been shed and I tell you it is but the beginning of the flood which must pour from our veins until these colonies are free!”

“Oh, Colonel! you do not believe that?” cried the widow. “Surely this trouble can be averted. Calmer and more honest men will gain control and prevail. War is an awful thing.”

“True, Widow Harding. And well may you say it who have two sons to give for freedom. But mark my words, madam! Those two boys of yours will be needed, and if the Almighty spares them they will be some years older before either side in this controversy gives in.... Now friends, I must away. You know what is expected of you, ’Siah. Young Nuck, you’ll be wanted at Bennington to-morrow.”

“Oh, shall our people really attack Ticonderoga?” cried Kate. “The schoolmaster says that is the strongest fortress in the Colonies.”

“Your schoolmaster is a bit of a Tory, I fear, miss,” said Allen, smiling down upon her. “We shall have to ‘view’ him if he tells such tales in school,” and waving his gauntleted hand he rode swiftly away from the homestead.

“I am off at once, folks,” said ’Siah, beginning to make his pack for the journey. “I’ll see you up near Old Ti, Nuck, for the Colonel means business sure! We may have some such doin’s up there as your father and I had under Rogers and Old Put years ago.”

He went away shortly and there was little the Hardings could do that day but talk over the wonderful news and let their fancy run upon the future. The widow saw that coming which she had feared for months, but she was cheerful. Nuck must go on this expedition to Lake Champlain, and she said it with unshaken voice. Bryce was to remain to guard the home, for there was no knowing what the result of the attack on Old Ti might be.

The alarming intelligence brought by Colonel Allen had its effect upon the younger members of the family as well as on the older, for late in the afternoon Harry came running to his mother with the information that there was a man lurking in the forest across the creek. The child had seen the stranger twice and being fearful that the man was there for no good purpose was much troubled. The older boys were in the field at work, but when the widow blew the horn Enoch came up to learn the cause, for it was not yet supper time. Hearing Harry’s report he seized his rifle and went to the creek bank, approaching the spot very carefully, for he feared at once that their enemy, Simon Halpen, might have dared follow him from Westminster.

He had scarcely reached the creek, however, when he was apprised of the identity of the visitor. A head, in the black locks of which a tuft of eagle feathers was fastened, appeared above the bushes, and the next moment the person thus betrayed came out into full view and beckoned him. It was Crow Wing who had approached the Harding place through the forest. Enoch leaped into his own boat and paddled across, remembering the Indian’s promise the year before to visit him at some time for the purpose of examining the vicinity of the spot where Jonas Harding had been slain.