“They got close to home when they came after Adam McCulloch,” my father interrupted. All of us knew Adam McCulloch. He was another shipbuilder who lived almost within spitting distance of us. “Adam thought we could never whip such a powerful nation as England, and he said so. So the mob came down here and stood in front of his house.”

My mother held Nathaniel’s hand against her breast. “We could see them from the window,” she whispered.

“What did they do?” Nathaniel asked.

“Not much,” my father said. “They stood there and made a noise like a gale growling in the rigging of a ship. Then the leaders pounded on the front door and talked to Adam. He had to crawl. He had to crawl in writing. He had to apologize to all friends of America. He had to ask humbly for forgiveness—promise never to do it again—generally squirm around on his belly.”

“But,” Nathaniel protested, “you used to think there was nothing so foolish as for us to try to fight England.”

My father ignored him. “Dr. Alden over in Biddeford sent lumber to Boston to be sold to the British troops for barracks. Cap’n John Stackpole carried it down. A mob from Biddeford, Saco and Arundel called on ’em. Alden and Stackpole had to get down on their knees and ask the mob’s pardon. Down on their knees!”

“But—–” Nathaniel said.

“There’s no ‘but’ about it, son! You remember Dr. Ebenezer Rice, who lived in the village? He thought the rebellion could never succeed. He thought everyone who took part in it would be hung. Well, he’s gone.”

“Gone where?” I asked.

My father shook his head. “Nobody knows. Some say he went to live in the woods, where he can’t hear about the war. Some say he was—–” My father stopped; then cleared his throat and repeated, “Nobody knows. It’s considered dangerous to talk about it, even.”

Nathaniel raised his eyebrows. “You said somebody opened one of my letters. Who did it? How could anyone open a letter?”

“You’ve been away a long time,” my father said. “Too long. When you’re away too long, you lose the feel of your own people, just as you lose the feel of a ship when you’re too long ashore.