(Pennsylvania, 1706)

I

Jack Felton, coming back to his home from the woods that lay north of the town of Philadelphia, on a day in May, 1706, stopped at his friend's, Gregory Diggs, the shoemaker, to ask for a bit of leather for a sling he was making. There was an amusing stranger there, a round, red-faced man, lolling back in his chair, one knee crossed over the other. Small, sharp-featured Gregory was driving pegs into the sole of a boot while he listened to the other's talk. The stranger nodded to Jack. "Howdy-do, my fine young Quaker lad," said he. "Do your boots need mending?"

"I want a piece of leather for my sling," said Jack.

"Oho, so you're playing David, are you? Well, I tell you what, this settlement of Penn's is going to need all the Davids it can muster one of these fine days. And that day's not so far off, my friends."

"What do you mean?" asked Jack, sitting down in the doorway.

"I mean," said the stranger, "that you simple folk along the Delaware are like fat sheep that the wolves have sighted. Sea-wolves, they are." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his plump knees. "Have you ever heard of a Frenchman named De Castris?"

"I have," said Gregory.

"I haven't," said Jack.

"Well, the Frenchman has four fast frigates, and he's been cruising up and down the coast between Long Island and the Chesapeake capes, looking for English prey. He chased two small English corvettes up the Delaware almost to Newcastle. He's captured over a score of merchant ships, and a week ago he landed at Lewes for water and provisions, and carried off the pick of the live stock there."

"And what would you have us do, Mr. Hackett?" asked Gregory, picking up another boot. "Arm, and march up and down the river bank? We're peaceable people. We try not to make any enemies, and so we don't expect any enemies to come against us. See how friendly we've lived with the Indians, while the Virginians have been fighting them all the time."

The other man smiled, that superior, much-amused smile of the wise man arguing with the ignoramus. "And the sheep don't make enemies of the wolves either," said he. "The sheep are peaceable beasts, tending to their own concerns. But that doesn't keep the wolves from preying on them, does it? Not by a long chalk, my friend Diggs. As for the Indians, it's only your good fortune that you haven't stirred them up to attack you. You don't think they care any more for you because you make treaties with them, and give them beads and trinkets for their land, and smoke their pipe of peace?"

"We've been thinking that," answered Gregory. "We thought we'd been treating them as good Christians should."

"Oh, you foolish Quakers!" said Hackett. "You're worse than sheep; you're like the ostriches that stick their heads in the sand. Look here. Suppose the Indians should drink too much fire-water some day and make a raid on your farms; where would your treaties be then? Or suppose,—what's much more likely,—that this French privateer captain should take it into his head to sail up the Delaware and levy a ransom on your prosperous people, and maybe carry off some of your fine Quaker gentlemen as prisoners. What would you do then?"

Gregory scratched his head. "I suppose we'd try to fight them off," he concluded.

"But you wouldn't be ready. You wouldn't have enough guns, and powder and shot. And you wouldn't know what to do with the guns if you had them."

"Well," the shoemaker repeated patiently, "what would you have us do, Mr. Hackett?"

"I want you to prepare, Diggs, I want you to prepare. That's what His Majesty's other colonies have done. I want you to make sure you have enough guns and ammunition on hand, and know how to use the muskets. I want you to set sentries along the river and outposts through the country to give you warning of any possible attack. And above all I want you to get rid of this Quaker notion that you can go on getting rich and prosperous without rousing envy in your neighbors."

"You don't see much riches right here," said Gregory, glancing round at his simple, meagrely-furnished shop.

"No, not here, my honest old friend," agreed Hackett, and he got up and slapped the shoemaker on the shoulder in a friendly fashion. "But most of the Philadelphia people aren't like you. They're fat and easy-going, and they wear good clothes and live in fine houses. They like their comfort, these people of William Penn."

"They look more like you than like me," said Gregory, smiling.

The stout man laughed. "Why, so they do, so they do. But don't put me down for one of them! I'm no Quaker, Diggs. I'm a good Church of England man, and I believe in musket and powder-horn." He picked up his walking-stick, which leaned against his chair, and flourishing it round his head shot it forward toward Jack Felton as if it had been a dueling-sword. "There, my young friend," said he, "how would you parry that? But I forget, Quaker lads aren't taught how to fence."

Jack laughed at the attitude the stout man had struck. "I know how to shoot with a bow, even if I can't fence," he retorted.

"Shoot with a bow—faugh, that's Indian warfare. Sword and musket's what we want, Master—I don't know your name."

"Jack Felton," said Gregory. "And he's the son of one of those very prosperous Quakers you were speaking of, Mr. Hackett."

"So?" said Hackett. "Well, I trust, Master Felton, that you see the common sense of my argument, and will persuade your father that it's not unlikely this French buccaneer De Castris may take it into his head to visit Philadelphia some day." He put on his hat and picked up his cloak. "I'm on my way to visit my old friend Governor John Evans, and tell him of the reports I bring from Chesapeake Bay."

Jack stood up to let Mr. Hackett pass him, and then stepped into the shop. "Is what he says about Philadelphia and the Quakers true?" he asked the shoemaker.

"I hardly know, Jack. The Friends don't believe in fighting, and maybe we're not as well prepared for defense as most of our neighbors. We've kept peace with the Indians by treating them fairly. Charles Hackett comes from Maryland, where they've had lots of trouble with Indians and every man goes armed."

"Suppose that French captain came up the Delaware and did what Mr. Hackett thought he might?" suggested Jack.

Gregory shook his head. "I don't know what we'd do. I take it I'm like most of the others; I don't like to borrow trouble, Jack."

Jack got the leather for his sling and started home. The stranger's words stuck in his mind, however. He didn't like to think an enemy might come up the Delaware and do as he pleased with Philadelphia. It seemed to him that Mr. Hackett might be right, that the people ought to be prepared to defend themselves.

Mr. Felton lived in a big house at the corner of Second and Pine Streets. He was a well-to-do Quaker and a friend of John Evans, the Deputy Governor who represented William Penn in the province. After supper Jack told his father what he had heard at the shoemaker's. "That's idle talk," said his father. "The Frenchman wouldn't think of coming to Philadelphia, and if he did we've plenty of men here to protect the town."

"But how do you know they'd do it?" Jack asked. "Friends don't believe in fighting, the stranger said."

"We don't unless we have to," agreed Mr. Felton. "Don't you bother about such things, Jack. Leave it to Governor Evans."

Mr. Felton, however, thinking the matter over, decided that perhaps the governor ought to know that people were talking about a possible attack by the French privateers, and so he wrote a note and sent it over by Jack that evening to the governor's house.

Jack thought he would like to speak to the governor himself, so he gave the servant his name, but not his father's note. The servant reported that Governor Evans would be glad to see Master Felton in his private office.

In the office sat the governor and Mr. Charles Hackett. The governor read Mr. Felton's note. When he looked up he saw that Hackett was smiling at Jack. "So you've met before, have you?" he said. "It's odd that this note should be on the very matter we were discussing, Charles." He handed it to his guest, who read it rapidly.

"So you told your father of our little chat at the shoemaker's, did you?" said Hackett. "What did he say to it?"

"He didn't say very much," Jack answered. "He told me not to bother about it."

"You see," said Hackett, looking at the governor. "He said not to bother. That's what all your good Quaker folks will say, I dare venture."

Governor Evans looked very thoughtful. He stroked his smooth-shaven cheek with his hand. "You may be right," he said finally. "They are a hard people to rouse, beyond question. I think we'd better try the plan you and I were talking of, the messenger from New Castle arriving in the morning with news of what happened there."

"Make the message strong," advised Hackett. "Burning, plundering, and pillage."

Governor Evans nodded his head. "To-morrow will be weekly meeting-day," he said thoughtfully. "That'll be as good a time as any to try the plan." He turned to Jack. "Thank your father for his message, and tell him that I've already heard the news of the French frigates he speaks of. Good-night."

Jack bowed to the governor and to Mr. Hackett, who beamed at him and waved his hand in friendly salute.

Mystified at the governor's words about a messenger from New Castle and at Mr. Hackett's mention of burning, plundering, and pillage, Jack went home, and gave his father the governor's answer to his note. He went to bed, wondering if it was possible that this quiet little town of Philadelphia, so peaceably settled on the shore of the Delaware, could possibly be the object of an enemy's attack.

Next day was meeting-day, and as Jack, his father and mother, his younger brother and sister, went to the red brick meeting-house, Philadelphia was calmly basking in the sunshine of a bright May morning. As Mr. Hackett had said, most of the people looked prosperous. William Penn, the proprietor of the province of Pennsylvania, had been generous in his dealings with the settlers. Land was plentiful, and farms, with average care and cultivation, produced splendid crops. The houses in the section near the Delaware, which was the central part of town, stood in their own gardens, with carefully kept lawns and flower-beds. People gave each other friendly greetings in passing. It would have been hard to find a more peaceful-looking community.

Jack sat quietly through the meeting, and then hurried out of the meeting-house to join some other boys. A change had come over the street outside. People were hurrying along it; some were talking excitedly on the corners. Two stout men, who looked as if they rarely took any exercise, were going at a double-quick pace toward Chestnut Street.

"What are they hurrying for?" Jack asked the two other boys who had come from the meeting-house.

"I don't know," answered George Logan.

"Let's go see," said Peter Black.

The three started for Chestnut Street, a couple of squares away. As they ran along other boys and men joined them, people who were talking stopped and headed after the crowd, almost all those who had been to Meeting showed their curiosity by walking in the same direction. The quiet street was filled with bustle and noise.

There were many people at the crossing of Third and Chestnut Streets; indeed it looked as if most of Philadelphia was there. Jack caught snatches of sentences. "A messenger from down the river." ... "Word from New Castle." ... "Going to attack us." ... "The French ships":—such were some of the words.

The boys made their way through the crowd until they looked up Chestnut Street. People were flocking down there too. Jack didn't know there were so many people in the town as he saw in the streets. Then out from Fourth Street rode three men on horseback and came down Chestnut toward the thickest of the crowd. The riders were Governor Evans, his secretary, and Charles Hackett.

The governor reined up and held out his gloved hand to silence the babel of voices. "I have news for you!" he cried. The crowd quieted. "A messenger has come from New Castle with word that a French squadron is sailing up the Delaware! They have chased two English ships up the bay! Their crews landed at Lewes, burned the town, plundered and pillaged, and carried off prisoners and cattle! To arms, lest we share the same fate! To arms, to defend our homes and families! Get your arms and make ready to obey the orders I shall issue later!" He drew his sword and pointed it toward the Delaware. "Let us show the enemy we are ready for him!"

There was a moment's silence, then a few shouts, then the crowd began to make away by the side-streets, talking excitedly, gesticulating, very much startled at the governor's news. They knew that the English and Dutch settlements along the Atlantic Ocean had often had to defend themselves against enemies, both white and red, but here in Pennsylvania there had practically been no need of defense; they had always been on good terms with their Indian neighbors, and no other enemies had appeared. Now the French privateers meant to treat their town as they had already treated Lewes. Burn, plunder, and pillage! There was no good reason for such an attack. They had done nothing to harm the French. They couldn't understand why any one should wish to make war on them when they were such peaceable people, always strictly minding their own business. Yet there were the governor's words that the French frigates were sailing up the Delaware, and word had already reached the town through other channels telling of the attack on Lewes, though the other reports hadn't made the matter out as bad as had the governor's messenger. Well, it looked as though, Quakers or not, they would have to do as Governor Evans bade.

Jack ran all the way home. Everywhere people were telling each other the news. Even in front of the meeting-house there was an excited group. Philadelphia was no longer peaceful; there was an entirely new thrill in the air.

Jack's family had not yet returned. He hurried into the house, and up to the attic where his father's musket hung on the wall. He took it down, he found a powder-horn in a chest, he pulled out a sword from behind some boxes in a corner. With musket and sword and powder-horn in his arms he went down-stairs. The family were just coming in from the street. He held out sword and musket. "Here are our arms, father!" he exclaimed.

Mr. Felton could not help smiling at the excited face of his son. "You don't intend to be caught napping, do you, Jack?" said he. "Well, I don't think the French will attack us before dinner. You'd better put the weapons away for a while."

II

There were not many people in Philadelphia who took the governor's call to arms as lightly as did Mr. Felton. Most of them were scared half out of their wits, and pictured to themselves the French raiders marching into their houses and carrying off all their valuables, to say nothing of ill-treating themselves. They did not stop to consider that the men of Philadelphia must greatly outnumber the raiders, and that, properly armed, they ought to have little trouble in keeping the enemy at bay. All they appeared to think of was that the enemy were fierce, fighting men, and that they must hand over their precious household goods at the pirates' demand.

Many households had no firearms at all, for the province had had small need of them. But even where there were muskets the men seemed very little disposed to make them ready for use. The Quakers didn't want to fight, that was the long and short of it. Wherever men did get out their muskets and prepare to obey the governor's summons to defense they were in almost all cases men who were not Quakers. But the Quakers did not intend to hand over their valuables if they could possibly help it.

Some bundled their silver and other prized possessions into carriages and wagons and drove their families out into the country, far from the Delaware. They took shelter in farmhouses and even in barns, intending to stay there until the French frigates should have come and gone. Others simply took their possessions out of town and hid them in the woods, returning to their homes in town. Every one seemed to be busy hiding whatever they could; much more concerned about that than about preparing for defense, as Governor Evans wanted.

Though his father was inclined to go slowly both in arming and in hiding their valuables, Jack Felton was not. The boy who lived in the next house, Peter Black, had a talk with Jack right after dinner. Peter Black's mother was a widow, and Peter felt that it was his duty to save the family heirlooms, as he saw the neighbors planning to save theirs. So Peter and Jack hurried out into the country north of Philadelphia. Since the French ships would come from the south they thought the northern country would be the safer. Their road took them by Gregory Diggs' shop, on the outskirts of town, and they stopped there for a few minutes.

The little shoemaker had his gun lying on the table. "Well, Master Jack," he said, grinning, "I hear the governor's given the alarm. I got out my gun so as not to disappoint Mr. Hackett if he comes along."

"We're going to look for a good place to hide things," said Jack. "What are you going to do with the things in your house?"

Gregory looked round his shop, at the unplastered walls, the plain, home-made furniture, the few pots and pans that stood near his hearth. "I don't think there's much here for me to hide," said he. "The French can take all my goods if they want to. I could make boots out under a tree if they care to burn my house. You see that's one of the advantages of being poor, you don't lose any sleep thinking about robbers."

"Peter's mother has a lot of things the raiders might take," explained Jack. "Do you know a good hiding-place?"

"There's a place up in the woods, along a creek, that ought to be pretty safe," said Gregory. "I'll go along to show you."

Shouldering his musket, which seemed to be his one valuable possession, the shoemaker led the two boys along the road to the woods. There he took a path that presently brought them to a little stream. The banks were covered with violets right down to the water's edge. "There's a cave in the bank a little farther up-stream," he said. "I'll show you some stepping-stones."

They crossed by the stones and found the place where the bank revealed an opening. It was quite large enough to hold all that Peter wanted to stow away. "I'll make a door so no one will suspect it's there," said Gregory.

He took out his knife, and hunting among the trees found several where the bark was covered with gray-green lichens. Stripping off these pieces of bark he brought them back to the cave. Then he took some narrow strips of leather from his pocket, such strips as shoemakers use for lacing, and making eyelets near the edges of the bark, he fastened them together with the lacings. This made a bark cover more than big enough to close the opening in the bank. Gregory set it in place, then trimmed the edges so that it fitted neatly. He dug up some of the clumps of violets and replanted them at the base of the bark door. "Now I'll defy any one to find that cave," he said. "It's the safest hiding-place in the province of Pennsylvania."

"I'll mark a couple of trees so I can find it again," said Peter. With his knife he cut some notches in a couple of willows that bordered the stream. As they went back through the woods both boys noted the trail carefully, so that they might readily find it another time.

On the road wagons and carriages passed them, people flying out of town through fear of the enemy. The shoemaker, his musket perched on his shoulder, in spite of his small size was the most martial figure to be seen. "I'm afraid our good folk are more bent on hiding than on fighting," Gregory said with a chuckle. "Well, perhaps I'd be the same if I had something to hide."

"Do you think Mr. Hackett was right about our people not being ready to fight?" Jack asked.

"I think it looks very much that way," said Gregory. "I've seen a lot of people on this road to-day, but not one with a gun."

Leaving Gregory at his house, Jack and Peter walked east to the river and followed the foot-path along the Delaware. Skiffs, filled with household goods, were being rowed up-stream. Families were seeking refuge in the country north of town. Men and boys along the shore were calling words of advice or derision to the rivercraft. At one place a man was shouting, "There's the French frigates coming up on the Jersey side!" The rowers paddled faster, glancing back over their shoulders to see if the alarm was true. The man who had shouted and the others within hearing on the bank laughed at the rowers. The only boats on the Delaware appeared to be those manned by frightened householders.

"Nobody's doing anything to build defenses in case the French frigates do come," said Jack. And indeed there was not a sign of defense anywhere along the shore. If the frigates came they could fire at Philadelphia without an answering shot.

When they reached the center of the town the boys found the same confusion. People were talking on street-corners; some were reading the notices that Governor Evans had posted, calling on the men to meet him next day with arms and ammunition. He stated that he wanted to organize a well-equipped militia in case there should be any need of defense. But the boys heard none speak with enthusiasm of the governor's plan.

When he got home Jack told his father what he and Peter had done. "Would you like me to take some of our things there too?" he asked. "I'm sure no one could possibly find the place."

"No," said Mr. Felton, "I think we'll keep our things in our own house. I'm not going to be driven into hiding just because of a rumor." Even Mr. Felton, intelligent man though he was, did not seem inclined to look with favor on the notion of armed defense.

After supper Jack saw the man who lived across the street putting some boxes into a cart before his door. Jack watched him cord and strap the boxes in the cart. "I'm taking my wife and baby into the country for a few days," the neighbor explained.

"And you're coming back yourself?" Jack asked.

"I don't think so." The neighbor shook his head. "I'm not a fighting man; I don't believe in shedding blood. I'm sure no good Quaker could approve of warfare. I'll stay away till the town's quiet again."

"But suppose the French take the town and hold on to it," said Jack. "Perhaps you couldn't get your house again."

"Well, there's plenty of country for us all," answered the other.

"I suppose you're right," said Jack. "Most people seem to think as you do. But somehow I can't understand how so many people are willing to give in to so few. Aren't our men in Philadelphia as big and strong as the Frenchmen?"

"Why yes, of course they are, Jack. But the French come with firearms, and we don't approve of firearms. We'd be glad to reason with them, if they'd listen to us. But men with guns don't generally want to listen to reason."

"And because they won't listen we run away," said Jack. "I can't understand that."

"You will when you're older," said the man, and went indoors for another box.

Jack went to Peter Black's, and helped him put his mother's silverware and valuables, securely tied in a sack, into a small hand-cart. Together the boys pushed the cart through the town and in the direction of the hiding-place. They secreted the sack in the cave beside the brook, and trundled the cart back to Gregory's shop. The night was fair and warm, and the shoemaker was sitting outside his house. "The town must be pretty empty by now," he said. "I've seen so many people hurrying away. Soon there'll be nothing left there but the governor and some stray cats and dogs. All our good citizens seem to prefer to spend the spring in the country."

"Come down to the Delaware with us, Mr. Diggs," urged Jack. "We wanted to leave Peter's cart here and go back by the river. It's fine at night."

"I know what you want," said Gregory, nodding very wisely. "You want to catch the first sight of the French frigates. Very well, I'll go along with you. Only you must let me get my pistol. I'm not going to be caught unarmed by the enemy."

The shoemaker, his pistol stuck in his belt, and the two boys struck across for the river. The sky was full of stars, and when they reached the bank they could easily make out the low-lying Jersey shore across the Delaware. All shipping, except a few small skiffs, had disappeared. "The big boats have run before the storm," said Gregory, "and the little ones are ready to make for the creeks at the first alarm. The French won't find any shipping here at any rate."

They went along the shore until they came to the southern end of the town. Even on the wharves there were very few men. "I think we'll have to be the lookouts," said Gregory, with a chuckle. "Here's a pile of logs. Let's sit here and watch for the frigates."

Down the three sat, the little shoemaker in the middle. "I think," said Jack thoughtfully, "that you're the only person in town who'd want to fight the enemy, unless perhaps Governor Evans would. I think I'd hate to run away as soon as we saw his ships. Wouldn't you hate to, Peter?"

"Now we've hid those things," said Peter, "I'd like to stay and see the fun."

"Of course you would," agreed Gregory. "I'll tell you how it is, my lads. There aren't many adventurers in this sober town of ours, only a few boys and an old shoemaker."

Jack glanced at the little man, and caught the glint of starlight on the barrel of his pistol. "I shouldn't think you'd care for adventures as much as some other people would,—well, as my father would or the man who lives across the street from us."

Gregory clapped his hand on Jack's knee. "That's just the puzzle of it," he said. "You never can tell who are the real adventurers. Most boys are; but when they grow up they forget the taste and smell of adventure. They don't want to think of any pirates stealing up the Delaware. They don't want to have any pirates anywhere."

"I like pirates," announced Peter.

"Of course you do," said Gregory, clapping his free hand on Peter's knee. "So do I. I like to think there's a chance of those frigates pointing up the river any minute. But most of the people in town would say I was mad if I told them that. They'd say it was because I hadn't anything to lose. It's riches that make folks cautious."

"I see a light down there!" exclaimed Peter, pointing down the shore.

All three jumped up and peered through the darkness. The light proved to be a lantern in the bow of a small skiff skirting the bank. "That's not the frigates," said Gregory. "I almost hoped it was. Well, I don't suppose the safety of Philadelphia depends on our keeping watch any longer to-night. It's getting late. Come on, my brave adventurers."

Back to town they went, and said good-night to Gregory. As Jack passed the governor's house he saw a familiar figure standing at the front gate. The stout Mr. Hackett likewise recognized Jack. "So you've not fled from town like the rest?" said the man from Maryland. "The governor's called the men to meet him to-morrow in the field on Locust Street; but I misdoubt if there'll be many left to join him."

"There's one who will be there," answered Jack, pointing down the street after Gregory.

"Who's that?" inquired Mr. Hackett.

"Gregory Diggs, the shoemaker. He's got a gun and a pistol, and he won't run away."

"The little shoemaker?" said Mr. Hackett. "So he's a fighting man, is he? I've always liked him, but I didn't know he had so much spirit."

"He's a real adventurer," declared Jack. "He thinks it may be because he's poor and hasn't any family; but I don't think that's it. I think he couldn't help being that way anyhow. I want to be like him when I grow up."

"Good for you!" exclaimed Mr. Hackett. "Then I suppose we may count on having you at the governor's muster to-morrow."

"I'll be there," said Jack. "I'm big enough to handle a gun."

"I'll be there too," put in Peter, who had been listening to the talk with the greatest interest.

"Good enough," said Mr. Hackett. "Gregory and you boys ought to put some of these smug people to shame. I'll look for you at the meeting in the morning."

III

Jack and Peter were at the meeting-place on Locust Street next morning, although each only brought a heavy stick as his weapon of defense. Jack's father had refused to let his son have the musket, saying that he would be much more apt to harm himself with it than to injure an enemy. Mrs. Black had not only forbidden Peter to handle anything that would shoot, but had intimated that she thought Governor Evans and all the people who went to his militia meeting were behaving much more like savages than like good Christians. So the boys had to put up with the hickory sticks for weapons, though each carried a sling and a pocketful of pebbles, which might be useful for long-distance fighting.

Gregory was there with his gun, and the three friends stood under the shade of a maple and waited for the rest of the volunteer army to appear. A few men and boys were lounging out in the road, apparently more interested in watching what was going to happen than in taking part in it. "Where are our gallant soldiers?" said Gregory, with a grin.

Jack counted the men who had come, with their muskets, into the field. "Six besides us," he announced.

"That'll make a good-sized army," said Gregory, a twinkle in his eye.

There were only the six others at the meeting-place when Governor Evans, his secretary, and Mr. Hackett arrived. The governor looked disgusted. He muttered to his two companions. Then he beckoned the seven men and the two boys toward him. "So this is Philadelphia's volunteer militia, is it?" he said. "These are the troops I could count on to defend our homes from an enemy?" Then his angry brow softened. "I don't blame you, my good friends. You are doing your best. But I shouldn't like to express my opinion of your fellow-townsfolk."

The governor turned to Hackett "I might as well disband the militia, eh? The night-watchmen of the town will furnish as good defense."

"Unless you choose to keep your army of seven men and two boys to shame the worthy citizens," suggested Hackett.

"You can't shame them!" snorted Governor Evans. "Their heads are made of pillow-slips stuffed with feathers; and goose-feathers at that!" He looked again at the volunteer soldiers. "My secretary will take your names," he said, "and I'll know who to call on if I need help. Many thanks to you all."

As they were leaving the field Hackett came over to Gregory and the two boys. "I suspected your good people would act like this," said he. "Though I'd no idea that only seven men would put in an appearance. I'll have to wash my hands of your Quaker colony. I never saw anything to equal it. The Saints keep you from trouble! I doubt if you'll be able to keep yourselves out of it."

Now Gregory was a little nettled at the other's superior manner. "We've been able to keep out of it so far," he retorted, "and I don't see but what charity toward others mayn't keep us out of it in the future. William Penn is a just man, and has bade us act justly toward all others. We hoped to leave fighting and all warlike things behind us when we left Europe. Because there's been fighting in Massachusetts and Virginia is no reason why there should be such matters here."

"So you think Penn's colony is different from the others, do you?" asked Hackett.

"I think you and your Cavalier friends in Maryland are more eager to draw your swords than we are here," said the shrewd shoemaker.

"Now, by Jupiter, I think you're right!" agreed Hackett, with a laugh. "Every man to his own kind. I much prefer Lord Baltimore to your good William Penn. I've seen enough of your worthy Quaker tradesmen. I must get back to Chesapeake Bay."

Jack and Peter, sitting on the steps of Mr. Felton's house that afternoon, saw a number of men who worked on the river-front go past in the street, guns in their hands. There were five or six in the first group, then a few more, then a larger number. There were small farmers from the southern side of the town, there were servants, there were negroes. None of those who went by appeared to be of the wealthy, Quaker class. "Where are they going?" Jack asked presently.

"Let's go find out," suggested Peter.

The boys followed the groups, which grew in size as men from other streets joined in the current. They went to Society Hill on the outskirts of the town. There a crowd had already gathered, some with firearms, some without. The boys pushed their way through the crowd until they reached the front edge. There they heard one speaker after another addressing the throng. The speakers all declared that they would go to the governor, ask for weapons, and tell him they were ready to march against the enemy whenever he should give the order.

Nearly seven hundred men met on Society Hill that day and volunteered for military service. Perhaps the word had gone around that the leading men of the colony had failed to meet the governor, and these men meant to show that there were some at least he could rely on. However that was, this gathering shamed the other meeting, and when it broke up it sent its delegates to report to Governor Evans.

The boys stopped to tell Gregory Diggs what they had seen.

"Aye," said Gregory, when he had heard the type of men who made up this second meeting, "wealth and position make men timid. And then Quakers are over-cautious folk. I know how it is. I found it hard enough to shoulder my gun and make up my mind to join the militia. Like as not I wouldn't have volunteered at all if you two boys hadn't seemed to shame me into it. But that's the way it is, our good, respectable folk won't fight, and the only ones the governor can rely on are the poor and the down-at-heels, and a penniless shoemaker and two boys. Master Hackett was right about Penn's province."

At his home Jack told his father of the day's happenings. "And I'm very much surprised our friends and neighbors didn't help Governor Evans better," he concluded.

"Only seven at one meeting, and a great many at the other?" said Mr. Felton. "Well, that shows our friends aren't very warlike, doesn't it, Jack?"

"But I think they ought to be," protested the boy.

"So does Governor Evans," agreed Mr. Felton. "And it's my opinion that he and that truculent friend of his, Charles Hackett, planned this whole scare just to see how warlike the people of Philadelphia are. I think he arranged to have that messenger arrive from Maryland with that story about the French frigates. It's true enough they landed at Lewes, but they did little harm there beyond taking a few cattle and some wood and water they needed. I don't believe they had the slightest intention of coming up the river to Philadelphia. But it gave the governor a good chance to see what the people would do if the French had been coming."

"Most of the people believed it, or they wouldn't have hidden their valuables, and so many of them run away," said Jack.

"Oh, yes, they believed it," assented Mr. Felton. "And I guess the governor is thoroughly out of temper with most of us. But as a matter of fact he didn't need any militia to protect us from a raid."

That was the truth of the situation, as Philadelphia found out a few days later. The governor had laid a plot to find out what the people would do if their town were threatened with attack by an enemy. He thought that the Delaware River was insufficiently protected. He wanted to form a strong militia. His ruse had worked; but to his disgust he found that the more respectable and wealthy part of the community, the Quaker portion, had no wish either to strengthen the defenses of the Delaware or to enroll in a militia. His stratagem had at least taught him that much about them.

The Quakers brought the goods they had hidden back to town; those who had gone into the country returned to their homes as soon as it was known that the French frigates had sailed down the Delaware to the sea instead of up it to Philadelphia. They did not like Governor Evans for the trick he had played on them. As the governor himself said, "For weeks afterward they would stand on the other side of the street and make faces at me as I passed by."

As a result of the governor's stratagem most of the Quakers in Philadelphia signed a petition to William Penn, who was then in England, urging him to remove Evans from the governorship. William Penn did not like to do this. He had appointed Evans at the suggestion of some very powerful men at the English Court, and he did not want to antagonize them, or Evans himself for that matter, for so slight a cause. He wrote a letter to Evans, however, mildly reproving him for the trick he had played, and making it clear that he himself was no more in favor of warlike measures than were the Quakers in his colony. Governor Evans held his office for almost three years after this event, and was finally called back to England for very different reasons.

Penn's province did have less warfare than the neighboring colonies, partly because of the just way in which Penn and his settlers dealt with the Indians, partly by good fortune. No enemy attacked Philadelphia. But as men pushed out into the country west of the Delaware they began to come into conflict with the Indians. Often these settlers were able to protect themselves, but sometimes they felt that the men living securely in Philadelphia ought to help them in their effort to enlarge the province. After the defeat of the English General Braddock by French and Indians in western Pennsylvania the settlers found the Indians more difficult to handle. So the men of the frontier formed independent companies of riflemen and fought in their own fashion. They demanded, however, that the governor and General Assembly at Philadelphia should aid them with supplies, if they were unwilling to furnish soldiers.

The Assembly in Philadelphia refused to send the supplies. The news spread along the border, and the settlers, the mountaineers and trappers, set out for the Quaker city on the Delaware. Four or five hundred of them marched into town, men clad in buckskin, their hair worn long, armed with rifles, powder-horns, bullet-pouches, hunting-knives, and even tomahawks they had taken from Indians. Philadelphia was used to seeing a few of such hunters on her streets, but the good people grew uneasy at the appearance of so many of them at one time. The mountaineers swaggered and blustered as they passed the quiet Quakers. They let it be known that if the Assembly refused to vote them the supplies they wanted they would take supplies wherever they could find them.

Pressed by the frontiersmen, the Assembly finally voted the supplies. Then the men in buckskin went back to hold the borders against the Indians.

Later, however, Philadelphia received another visit from much more unruly mountaineers. A large number of these men, known as the Paxton boys, met a battalion of British regulars at Lancaster, demanded the latter's horses and ammunition wagons, and told them that "if they fired so much as one shot their scalps would ornament every cabin from the Susquehanna to the Ohio."

The regulars didn't fire, and the mountaineers helped themselves to everything they wanted and set out for Philadelphia. Some Indians were being held as prisoners in the town, and the Paxton boys, growing insolent with power as they saw British regulars and Quaker farmers yielding to their orders, determined to make the people of Philadelphia give the Indians to them. The mountaineers marched to the high ground of Germantown, north of the town, nearly a thousand in number, and sent their envoys to the town officers. The officers knew, quite as well as Governor Evans had known before, that there was no militia sufficient to take the field against the frontiersmen, and that the citizens would never arm against them. The leading people of the town went to talk with the Paxton boys, trying to persuade them to leave peacefully. Finally by agreeing to give the mountaineers everything they asked, except only the opportunity to massacre the captive Indians, the townspeople succeeded in persuading their unwelcome visitors to leave. For long, however, the men of the frontiers and the mountains looked on the people who dwelt along the Delaware as a cowardly race, who had to be bullied before they would do their share in protecting the province.

The governors of Pennsylvania were not always as fair in dealing with their neighbors as the people were. When John Penn, grandson of William Penn, held the office of governor he sent a gang of rascals to attack men from Connecticut who had settled in the Wyoming Valley, which was claimed by Penn as part of his province. The settlers had built homes and planted crops in the Wyoming Valley, and they had no intention of letting John Penn's mercenary troopers despoil them without a fight. They built a fort, and defied the governor's soldiers. John Penn's men had finally to retreat before their stubborn resistance.

The attack on the Wyoming settlers was in 1770, and only five years later the men of Lexington and Concord fired the shots that were to echo from New Hampshire to Georgia. In the war that followed Pennsylvania did her part. Philadelphia, then the leading city of the colonies, became the home of the new government. In the very street where Governor Evans had urged the townsfolk to organize a militia to fight a few French frigates, men went to Independence Hall to proclaim a Declaration of Independence against the king of England. No one could have accused Philadelphia in July, 1776, of a lack of patriotic spirit. The Liberty Bell rang out its message to all, to the Quaker descendants of William Penn's first settlers as well as to those of other faiths who had come to his province since, and all alike responded to its appeal to proclaim liberty throughout the world.