The Winter Hero Read online

  “I’m not joking,” he said. “I fought one war, I can fight another.”

  “Stop it,” she said. “You’ll scare the little ones.”

  He looked at the children. “You’re not scared, are you?”

  They shook their heads. I could see that they were scared, though. “Peter,” I said, “I don’t see how we can run the farm without the oxen.”

  “I know,” he said. “We’re going to get them back.”

  “How?”

  “We’re going over to see Daniel Shays,” he said. “Maybe he and I’ll shoot somebody together.”

  Chapter Two

  I GUESS DANIEL SHAYS WAS THE MOST important man around Pelham. People knew about him from other towns, too. He’d fought in the Revolution at Lexington and Concord and Bunker Hill. He was at Stony Point with Peter, and because of his bravery at some other battles, General Lafayette gave him a fancy sword. But, smart and brave as he was, he was just as poor as any farmer around town—he’d even had to sell the Lafayette sword to pay his taxes.

  Everybody called him Captain Shays, because he was captain of our militia. Every town had its militia. They drilled once a month on a Saturday afternoon. They were supposed to be ready to fight in case the British attacked again or there was an Indian uprising, which wasn’t too likely in Massachusetts but happened farther west. The Massachusetts government could call up the militia whenever it wanted, and the men would have to go. Captain Shays’ farm was next over from Uncle Billy’s tavern. That was why we knew him so well. I was proud of knowing him, and when I used to work at the tavern I loved to watch him up on his horse, drilling the men and shouting out orders.

  Peter and I rode over after supper. It was only about two miles over to where Captain Shays’ house and the tavern was. It didn’t take us long to get there. Captain Shays’ house wasn’t much bigger than ours. He was a plain farmer like the rest of us, except, of course, he was important. When we came in, he was sitting in his kitchen in front of the fire with his eyeglasses on, reading the Hampshire Gazette.

  He put down the paper and got up. “Hello, Peter,” he said. “Hello, Justin.”

  “Daniel, Porter took my oxen.”

  “I know,” Captain Shays said quietly. “I heard he was coming after them. I hope you didn’t make trouble.”

  “I pretty near did. Molly stopped me.”

  “That was sensible.”

  “Sensible,” Peter said. “How am I going to do my plowing? I can’t hook Justin to the plow, can I?”

  “Sit down, Peter,” Captain Shays said. “We’ll have a mug of ale and talk it over calmly.”

  He got three wooden mugs and a pitcher of ale, and we sat down at the kitchen table before the fire. It was cozy sitting there drinking the ale, and it made me feel proud to be in on the men’s conversation.

  “I’m not feeling very calm,” Peter said.

  Captain Shays stared at Peter over his eyeglasses. “Peter, I’ve never seen you when you felt calm.”

  “That’s so,” Peter said. “But this time I have reason.”

  “You’re not alone. There are thousands around this whole part of the state who are in your position. There’s absolutely no good in your threatening to punch Sheriff Porter. It’s time for concerted action.”

  I knew it wasn’t my place to interrupt, but Captain Shays always seemed so friendly that I did it anyway. “Sir, what I don’t understand is how everybody could be poor all at once. I mean, you could understand if some people were poor, but not everybody at the same time.”

  Peter scowled at me. “It’s complicated, Just.”

  “No, no,” Captain Shays said. “He should understand. He’ll be a man shortly. The more the plain people understand what’s happening to them, the better they’ll be able to rectify the situation.”

  “Umph,” Peter said, and took a drink of ale.

  “Justin, it’s true that it’s complicated,” Captain Shays said. “I’ll try to make it simple. During the War for Independence, the government just didn’t have enough money to buy supplies and pay the soldiers—not the Continental Congress, not the Massachusetts General Court. So they printed up paper money and tried to get rich Patriots to lend them specie.”

  “What’s specie?” I asked. I could see this was going to be complicated all right.

  “It’s gold and silver coin,” Peter said. “There’s no reason you should know—there’s never been any around our place.” Just talking about it made Peter angry.

  “Anyway,” Captain Shays went on, “with all that paper money around and all the states just cranking it out as fast as the printing presses would turn, pretty soon it just wasn’t worth anything so it got discounted.” This time I didn’t have to ask. Peter knew I wouldn’t understand that.

  “That means that a ten-dollar bill might pass for only five dollars—or two dollars—or like the hundred-dollar Continental bills I got for risking my neck at Stony Point—they’re only worth about two dollars each now. I was lucky. I got seven each.” And then he laughed a sort of hollow make-believe laugh.

  “You mean you got only twenty-one dollars instead of three hundred.” I added fast.

  “Yes, Justin,” Captain Shays broke in, “and then Mattoon—”

  “Mattoon,” I gasped, “how’d he get them?”

  “Mattoon was tax collector,” Captain Shays said. “He paid the taxes himself in specie—just a few shillings—and kept the Continental dollars which he turned in for Massachusetts consolidated notes. Now those notes carry interest—six dollars on the hundred. And that’s what the General Court is taxing us to pay.”

  “Yes, by God!” shouted Peter. “And a couple of years ago when I didn’t have the money to pay my taxes so that the government could give Mattoon and the other high-and-mighties interest on my own money that Mattoon’s got—that snake paid them for me. And now he’s got my oxen.” He banged his fist down on the table top so hard that it made the mugs jump.

  “But that’s so unfair,” I shouted. “Doesn’t the government see how unfair it is?”

  The men were silent. Finally Captain Shays said, “I don’t know if they see it. The government isn’t a thing—it’s people. And just now it’s mostly Mattoon’s kind of people. Anyway, they’re way off in Boston. I don’t think they have much idea of how people around here are suffering. Peter isn’t the only one in trouble.”

  “It’s the same everywhere, Justin,” Peter said. “Everywhere people are being taxed to death, everywhere people are losing their oxen, their cattle, their flax, sometimes even their farms. And if they haven’t got anything left to take, then the government puts them in debtors’ prison until somebody pays their debts for them. And on top of it there’s the lawyers.”

  “That’s almost the worst of it,” Captain Shays said. “The court fees are so high that even if a plain man wins his case, it’ll leave him in debt to the lawyers. The lawyers aren’t plain men like us. The lawyers are in cahoots with the speculators, the rich. The lawyers and the speculators are the ones who run the government these days. The lawyers get to be the judges. They don’t have much idea of lowering court fees.”

  “I thought we could vote in whoever we wanted. Why do we have to have only the rich folks running the government?”

  Peter didn’t say anything. Captain Shays took off his eyeglasses and began swinging them around by the earpiece. “Unfortunately, Justin, a lot of towns in this part of the state didn’t send representatives to our legislature, the General Court.”

  “But why not?”

  “Too expensive. The people would have to tax themselves to pay the salaries and expenses of their representatives. They didn’t think it was worth it. A lot of people figured that the government was way over in Boston and it didn’t have any interest in us, anyway. It was a mistake, we know that now. But it’s too late to change that until the next election, in April.”

  Peter smacked his fist down on the table again. “But meanwhile what are we going to do? How can
we safeguard our little bits of property?”

  “We have to work together, Peter. That’s why there’s no point in your going off half-cocked. There are some ideas going around. People are beginning to talk about this plan or that plan. I think things will happen.”

  “What?”

  “Closing the courts, for one. The judges travel from one town to the next, hearing cases. They may get to this part of the state every two or three months.”

  “Yes?” Peter said.

  “Well, look, Peter, let’s say for the sake of argument you owed Major Mattoon forty shillings. And let’s say he decided to take your oxen to settle the debt. After all, a good team of oxen is worth about six times that. He can take your oxen because he’s a justice of the peace, but he can’t auction them off without an order from a higher court. So he waits until the court comes to Northampton the next time, and gets ready to go in with his papers. But then suppose the night before the court was to meet, a body of armed men came down into Northampton. And suppose that the next morning when the judges came to the courthouse they found it surrounded by these men. And suppose these men then politely suggest to the judges that they go away without holding court.”

  Peter was grinning. “Then Mattoon couldn’t get his court order. He couldn’t sell my oxen.”

  “Now, Peter, let me say—” He stopped and looked at me. “Justin, you must swear never to mention to anybody what I’m saying.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “I swear it.”

  “It’s important. Lives may depend on it.”

  “I swear, sir.”

  He nodded. “All right. Now, Peter, there is a court meeting in Northampton next week. That is where all the creditors will get their writs to take our property. Mattoon is a justice of the peace, and you can bet he’ll give writs to anyone who asks, because he’s going to issue plenty of his own—he’ll be both plaintiff and judge in his own case. But it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if there were a party of armed men there at the same time to see that they don’t meet. I was hoping you might be one of them.”

  Peter smacked his hand down on the table and gave a big laugh. “By God, Daniel, I’ll be there.”

  “I kind of thought you would.”

  “I’m going, too,” I said suddenly.

  Peter stared at me. “No, you’re not,” he said. “There might be fighting.”

  It was a chance to do something brave and glorious. Maybe my last chance. “I want to go, too, Peter.”

  “No. That’s that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there might be fighting. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “If you can take a chance on getting hurt, why can’t I?”

  His hand smacked down on the table one more time and the mugs jumped. “No. That’s final.”

  I knew better than to say anything.

  Suddenly Peter frowned. “But what about my oxen? Stopping the courts won’t help any. Mattoon’s already got his court order and taken them.”

  Captain Shays started swinging his eyeglasses again, looking up at the ceiling. “Well, Peter, I had a thought about that,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “It occurred to me that Justin might go into service with Major Mattoon to earn the oxen back.”

  “Never,” Peter said. “I’m not having any member of my family becoming a servant. We’re free men.”

  “Hold on a little, Peter. How much was the debt? Forty shillings?”

  “I won’t have Justin in Mattoon’s house.”

  “Forty shillings, Peter?”

  Peter nodded. “Forty shillings.”

  “Figure three shillings a week and board as wages for a boy. He’d have it paid up before Christmas. In exchange for his services he’d let you have your oxen back now, in time for fall plowing.”

  Peter frowned, considering. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t want Justin to be anybody’s servant. Especially Mattoon’s.”

  “Peter,” Captain Shays said. “Listen to me, Peter. I’m not just thinking about your oxen. I’m also thinking about how useful it would be for us to have somebody in Major Mattoon’s household who was on our side. A smart young fellow like Justin might overhear things. He might see people coming and going. He might find a scrap of paper with some useful information on it. He might even put his ear to a wall, his eye to a keyhole.”

  They were both staring at me. My heart was pounding in my chest. It was my chance to do something glorious.

  “I think you get the idea, Peter,” Captain Shays said.

  Chapter Three

  MAJOR MATTOON WAS RICH. HE’D BEEN TO Dartmouth College and I guess he knew a lot of things that most people didn’t. One thing he knew was how to make money. And he was always busy. He bought things like cheese and cider brandy and oats and corn from the farmers around. Sometimes he sent what he bought to Boston by wagon to be sold there, sometimes he shipped things down the Connecticut River to Hartford or even New York. He bought a lot of flax, too, which was made into linen. Some of the flax he bought was shipped as far as Ireland, to be made into fine Irish linen. We grew flax like a lot of the farmers. Molly spun it into yarn and sold it to Major Mattoon.

  He was also in the land speculation business. He would buy land from people cheap and sell it when the price went up. Because so many people in our part of Massachusetts were in debt, he could often pick up land cheap. Or maybe there would be some new land opened up someplace farther west from us, like New York State. Such land always sold very cheap, and Major Mattoon would buy some of it and hold onto it until they got the Indians out of the area and it got more settled, which would make the price of the land go up. He wasn’t the only rich man around. There were others, mostly along the Connecticut River where the best soil was. Everybody called them the River Gods.

  Most of the plain farmers lived in wooden houses, but Major Mattoon had a big brick house with a wall around it. To get to it you went through a gate and down a long lane lined with maple trees. There was grass all around the house, and off to one side a big barn, storehouses, and such. From a hill back of the barn you could see the Connecticut River, and beyond the barn, his fields of corn and wheat and oats.

  Peter and I rode down Major Mattoon’s lane on Peter’s horse, Brother. Peter was mighty proud of that horse because it had a very steady gait. He said that Brother could carry a glass of water on his back without spilling a drop. We rode around to the back of the house. Plain people like Peter and me wouldn’t come in the front door, but through the back, where the kitchen and washrooms were. We went into the kitchen. There was a cook there kneading dough, and a man polishing silver. The man looked at us when we came in. “Yes,” he said sharply.

  “I’m Peter McColloch. I want to see Major Mattoon.”

  “He’s busy. What do you want to see him about?”

  Peter stared at the man. “What business is it of yours?”

  “I’m Major Mattoon’s groom. He doesn’t see everybody who walks in the back door.”

  “Then I’ll go around to the front door,” Peter said.

  The cook had stopped kneading the dough to watch the argument. “Peter,” I said, “don’t lose your temper.”

  He took a deep breath. “I have business with Major Mattoon.”

  “What kind of business? He doesn’t see every—”

  “Damn.” Peter smacked a fist into the palm of his other hand. “Just tell him Peter McColloch is here.”

  The groom was looking nervous. “It’d better be something worth bothering the major for,” he said. He went out of the room, and came back in five minutes. “You can see him,” he said. We followed the groom out of the kitchen, through the dining room, and down a hall. There was a lot of curved furniture everywhere, and on the wall big paintings of river scenes and portraits of people in fancy clothes.

  At the end of the hall was a door. The groom pushed it open, and then gestured for us to go in. Major Mattoon was sitting at a large desk. There were b
ooks around the walls and behind him a cabinet of narrow drawers where he kept his papers. He was reading something, and we stood in front of the desk waiting until he had finished. Finally he dropped the paper onto a stack of others and looked up. For a moment he stared at us, first Peter, then me, and then Peter again. I was surprised at how young he looked. He wasn’t much older than Peter, around thirty-two, I’d judge. I figured he must be pretty smart to get rich that young.

  “McColloch,” he said. “Peter McColloch. It’s the oxen, I suppose.”

  “Yes, sir,” Peter said. I knew he was going to try to be polite. “It’s a great loss to us.”

  “I expect it must be,” Major Mattoon said. “I’m sorry to have to take them. You know, I work just as hard at my business as you do at yours. I’d much rather have had my money.”

  “I would rather you had it, too, sir. We can’t plow without oxen. If you gave us another few weeks, maybe I could find the money some way.”

  “McColloch, you know and I know that there isn’t any way you can raise forty shillings in a few months, much less a few weeks. I’m sorry, but as you no doubt remember, I extended the loan twice.”

  “I know that, sir. I was hoping you’d give me one more chance.”

  He leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “McColloch, let me give you a little lesson in finance, which nobody around this part of the state seems to understand. Every time a farmer around here gets into trouble, the first thing he thinks of is Major Mattoon. Surely kind-hearted Major Mattoon, with his vast holdings, will be able to spare the small matter of forty shillings. Why for a man of his great wealth, he wouldn’t even notice the loss of forty shillings. So down he comes, all humble and smiling, telling me what a kind gentleman I am and how much I am admired through the countryside.”

  “Sir—” Peter said. I doubted that he’d ever told Major Mattoon what a kind gentleman he was.

  Major Mattoon held up his hand. “One moment, McColloch. So where am I left? I turn the man down, I am a cold, unfeeling brute. If I out and out make him a present of the money, which I am willing to admit I could easily afford to do, by the end of the day there will be twenty more at my doorstep and by the end of the week a hundred, all with their hands out, and a year later my house and my lands would be sold up and I would be in debtors’ prison myself. So what do l do? I lend him the money. And then he can’t repay. So I give him six months. And still he can’t repay. So I give him three months more, and then another three months. But in the end, I must have something for my money. And I take the oxen.”