Only those who have nothing to lose can afford to resist lawful authority—­back into the fold they went, penitent and under their breath cursing the bull-headed men who insisted on plunging the country into red war.

Out in the cold world stood John Hancock, alone, save for Bowdoin, among the aristocrats of New England.  The British would confiscate his property, his splendid house—­all would be gone!

“It will all be gone, anyway,” calmly suggested Samuel Adams.  “You know those suits against you in the Admiralty Court?”

“Yes, yes!”

“And if we can unite these thirteen Colonies an army can be raised, and we can separate ourselves entire, in which case there will be glory for somebody.”

John Hancock, the rich, the ambitious, the pleasure-loving, had burned his bridges.  He was in the hands of Samuel Adams, and his infamy was one with this man who was a professional agitator, and who had nothing to lose.

General Gage had made an offer of pardon to all—­all, save two men:  Samuel Adams and John Hancock.  Back into the fold tumbled the Tories, but against John Hancock the gates were barred.  John Adams, Attorney of the Hancock estate, rubbed his chin, and decided to stand by the ship—­sink or swim, survive or perish.

Down in his heart Samuel Adams grimly smiled, but on his cold, pale face there was no sign.

The British held Boston secure, and in the splendid mansion of Hancock lived the rebel, Lord Percy, England’s pet.  The furniture, plate and keeping of the place were quite to his liking.

Hancock’s ambitions grew as the days went by.  The fight was on.  His property was in the hands of the British, and a price was upon his head.  He, too, now had nothing to lose.  If England could be whipped he would get his property back, and the honors of victory would be his, beside.

Ambition grew apace; he studied the Manual of Arms as never before, and made himself familiar with the lives of Caesar and Alexander.  At Harvard, he had read the Anabasis on compulsion, but now he read it with zest.

The Second Congress was a Congress of action; the first had been one merely of conference.  A presiding officer was required, and Samuel Adams quietly pushed his man to the front.  He let it be known that Hancock was the richest man in New England, perhaps in America, and a power in every emergency.

John Hancock was given the office of presiding officer, the place of honor.

The thought never occurred to him that the man on the floor is the man who acts, and the individual in the chair is only a referee, an onlooker of the contest.  When a man is chosen to preside he is safely out of the way, and no one knew this better than that clear-headed man, wise as a serpent, Samuel Adams.

Hancock was intent on being chosen Commander of the Continental Army.  The war was in Massachusetts, her principal port closed, all business at a standstill.  Hancock was a soldier, and was, moreover, the chief citizen of Massachusetts—­the command should go to him.  Samuel Adams knew this could never be.