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“What for, and who wants the men?” asked his father.

“I don’t know. He didn’t stop to tell. He said: ‘Get out the militia! Don’t lose a minute!’ and then rode on.”

“Father, I know,” said Polly. “He told me. The British ships, more than forty of them, are landing soldiers at New Haven. President Stiles saw them at daybreak from the college tower with his spy-glass.”

Before Polly had ceased to speak, Ethel was off. Within the next ten minutes six horses had set forth from the Porter house–each rider for a special destination.

“I’ll give the alarm to the Hopkinses,” cried back Polly from her pony, as she disappeared in the direction of Hopkins Hill.

“And I’ll stir up Deacon Gideon and all the Hotchkisses from the Captain over and down,” said ten-year-old Stephen, as he mounted.

“You’d better make sure that Sergeant Calkins and Roswell hear the news. Tell Captain Terrell to get out his Ring-bone company, and don’t forget Captain John and Abraham Lewis, Lieutenant Beebe, and all the rest. It isn’t much use to go over the river–not much help we’d get, however much the British might, on that side,” advised Mr. Porter, as the fourth messenger departed.

When the last courier had set forth, leaving only Mr. and Mrs. Porter, Sybil and two servants in the house, Mr. Porter said to his wife: “I believe, mother, that I’ll go up town and see what I can do for Colonel Baldwin and Phineas.” Major Phineas Porter was his brother, who six months earlier had married Melicent, daughter of Colonel Baldwin and widow of Isaac Booth Lewis (the lady whose name has been chosen for the Waterbury, Connecticut, Chapter of Daughters of the American Revolution).

After Mr. Porter’s departure Mrs. Porter said to Sybil, “You remember how it was two years ago at the Danbury alarm, how we were left without a crumb in the house and fairly went hungry to bed. I think I’d better stir up a few extra loaves of rye bread and make some more cake. You’d better call up Phyllis and Nancy and tell them to let the washing go and help me.”

Phyllis and Nancy were filled with astonishment and awe at the command to leave the washing and bake, for, during their twenty years’ service in the house, nothing had ever been allowed to stay the progress of Monday’s washing.

Before mid-day another messenger came tearing up the New Haven road and demanded a fresh horse in order to continue the journey to arouse help and demand haste. He brought the half-past nine news from New Haven that fifteen hundred men were marching from West Haven Green to the bridge, that women and children were escaping to the northward and westward with all the treasure that they could carry, or bury on the way, because every horse in the town had been taken for the defence.

He had not finished his story, when from the northward the hastily equipped militia came hurrying down the road. It was reported that messengers had been posted from Waterbury Centre to Westbury and to Northbury; to West Farms and to Farmingbury–all parts of ancient Waterbury–and soon The City, as it was called in 1779, now Union City, would be filled with militiamen.

The messenger from New Haven grew impatient for the fresh horse he had asked for. While he waited on the porch, Cato, son of Phyllis, whose duty it was to make ready his steed, sought Mrs. Porter in the kitchen.

“Where that New Haven fellow,” he asked, “get Massa’s horse. He say he come from New Haven, and he got the horse Ethel went away on.”

“Are you sure, Cato?”

“Sure’s I know Cato,” said the boy, “and the horse he knew me–be a fool if he didn’t.”

Mrs. Porter immediately summoned the rider to her presence and learned from him that about four miles down the road his pony had given out under haste and heat; that he had met a boy who, pitying its condition, had offered an exchange of animals, provided the courier would promise to leave his pony at the Porter Inn and get a fresh horse there.