 | CHAPTER VI. Lionel Lincoln, or, The leaguer of Boston |  |
6. CHAPTER VI.
“Seldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort,
“As if he mocked himself, and scorned his spirit
“That could be moved to smile at any thing.”
Julius Caesar.
In the course of the succeeding week Lionel
acquired a knowledge of many minor circumstances
relating to the condition of the colonies,
which may be easily imagined as incidental to
the times, but which would greatly exceed our
limits to relate. He was received by his brethren
in arms with that sort of cordiality that a rich,
high-spirited, and free, if not a jovial comrade, was
certain of meeting among men who lived chiefly
for pleasure and appearance. Certain indications
of more than usually important movements were
discovered among the troops, the first day of the
week, and his own condition in the army was in
some measure affected by the changes. Instead
of joining his particular regiment, he was ordered
to hold himself in readiness to take a command
in the light corps which had begun its
drill for the service that was peculiar to such
troops. As it was well known that Boston was
Major Lincoln's place of nativity, the commander-in-chief,
with the indulgence and kindness
of his character, granted to him, however,
he might indulge in the feelings natural to his
situation. It was soon generally understood, that
major Lincoln, though intending to serve with the
army in America, should the sad alternative of an
appeal to arms become necessary, had permission
to amuse himself in such a manner as he
saw fit, for two months from the date of his arrival.
Those who affected to be more wise than
common, saw, or thought they saw, in this arrangement,
a deep laid plan on the part of Gage,
to use the influence and address of the young provincial
among his connexions and natural friends,
to draw them back to those sentiments of loyalty
which it was feared so many among them had forgotten
to entertain. But it was the characteristic
of the times to attach importance to trifling incidents,
and to suspect a concealed policy in movements
which emanated only in inclination.
There was nothing, however, in the deportment,
or manner of life adopted by Lionel, to
justify any of these conjectures. He continued
to dwell in the house of Mrs. Lechmere, in person,
though, unwilling to burthen the hospitality
of his aunt too heavily, he had taken lodgings
in a dwelling at no great distance, where his servants
resided, and where, it was generally understood,
that his visits of ceremony and friendship
were to be received. Captain Polwarth did not
fail to complain loudly of this arrangement, as
paralyzing at once all the advantages he had
anticipated from enjoying the entré to the dwelling
of his mistress, in the right of his friend. But
as the establishment of Lionel was supported with
much of that liberality which was becoming in a
youth of his large fortune, the exuberant light-infantry
officer found many sources of consolation
in the change, which could not have existed,
domestic department. Lionel and Polwarth had
been boys together at the same school, members of
the same college at Oxford, and subsequently for
many years, comrades in the same corps. Though,
perhaps, no two men in their regiment were more
essentially different, in mental as well as physical
constitution, yet, by that unaccountable caprice
which causes us to like our opposites, it is certain
that no two gentlemen in the service were known
to be on better terms, or to maintain a more close
and unreserved intimacy. It is unnecessary to
dilate here on this singular friendship; it occurs
every day, between men still more discordant,
the result of accident and habit, and is often,
as in the present instance, cemented by unconquerable
good nature in one of the parties. For
this latter qualification, captain Polwarth was
eminent, if for no other. It contributed quite as
much as his science in the art of living, to the
thriving condition of the corporeal moiety of the
man, and it rendered a communion with the less
material part at all times inoffensive, if not agreeable.
On the present occasion, the captain took
charge of the internal economy of Lionel's lodgings,
with a zeal which he did not even pretend
was disinterested. By the rules of the regiment he
was compelled to live nominally with the mess,
where he found his talents and his wishes fettered
by divers indispensable regulations, and economical
practices, that could not be easily over-leaped;
but with Lionel, just such an opportunity
offered for establishing rules of his own,
and disregarding expenditure, as he had been
long pining for in secret. Though the poor of
the town were, in the absence of employment, necessarily
supported by large contributions of money,
clothing, and food, which were transmitted to
the markets were not yet wanting in all the
necessaries of life, to those who enjoyed the means
of purchasing. With this disposition of things,
therefore, he became well content, and within the
first fortnight after the arrival of Lionel, it became
known to the mess, that captain Polwarth
took his dinners regularly with his old friend, major
Lincoln; though in truth the latter was enjoying,
more than half the time, the hospitality of the
respective tables of the officers of the staff.
In the mean time Lionel cultivated his acquaintance
in Tremont-street, where he still slept,
with an interest and assiduity that the awkwardness
of his first interview would not have taught us to
expect. With Mrs. Lechmere, it is true, he made
but little progress in intimacy; for, equally formal,
though polite, she was at all times enshrouded
in a cloud of artificial, but cold management,
that gave him little opportunity, had he possessed
the desire, to break through the reserve of her
calculating temperament. With his more youthful
kinswomen, the case was, however, in a very
few days, entirely reversed. Agnes Danforth, who
had nothing to conceal, began insensibly to yield
to the manliness and grace of his manner, and before
the end of the first week, she maintained the
rights of the colonists, laughed at the follies of the
officers, and then acknowledged her own prejudices,
with a familiarity and good-humour that soon
made her, in her turn, a favourite with her English
cousin, as she termed Lionel. But he found
the demeanor of Cecil Dynevor much more embarrassing,
if not inexplicable. For days she
would be distant, silent, and haughty, and then
again, as it were by sudden impulses, she became
easy and natural; her whole soul beaming
in her speaking eyes, or her innocent and
her restraint, and rendering not only herself, but
all around her, happy and delighted. Full many
an hour did Lionel ponder on this unaccountable
difference in the manner of this young lady,
at different moments. There was a secret excitement
in the very caprices of her humours, that
had a piquant interest in his eyes, and which,
aided by her exquisite form and intelligent face,
gradually induced him to become a more close
observer of their waywardness, and consequently
a more assiduous attendant on her movements.
In consequence of this assiduity, the manner of
Cecil grew, almost imperceptibly, less variable,
and more uniformly fascinating, while Lionel, by
some unaccountable oversight, soon forgot to note
its changes, or even to miss the excitement.
In a mixed society, where pleasure, company,
and a multitude of objects conspired to distract
the attention, such alterations would be the result
of an intercourse for months, if they ever
occurred; but in a town like Boston, from which
most of those with whom Cecil had once mingled
were already fled, and where, consequently, those
who remained behind, lived chiefly for themselves
and by themselves, it was no more than the obvious
effect of very apparent causes. In this manner
something like good-will, if not a deeper
interest in each other, was happily effected within
that memorable fortnight, which was teeming
with events vastly more important in their results
than any that can appertain to the fortunes of
a single family.
The winter of 1774-5 had been as remarkable
for its mildness, as the spring was cold and lingering.
Like every season in our changeable climate,
however, the chilling days of March and April
were intermingled with some, when a genial sun
turn, were succeeded by others, when the torrents
of cold rain that drove before the easterly gales,
would seem to repel every advance toward a
milder temperature. Many of those stormy days
occurred in the middle of April, and during their
continuance Lionel was necessarily compelled to
keep himself housed.
He had retired from the parlour of Mrs. Lechmere,
one evening, when the rain was beating
against the windows of the house, in nearly horizontal
lines, to complete some letters which,
before dining, he had commenced to the agent
of his family, in England. On entering his
own apartment, he was startled to find the
room which he had left vacant, and which he
expected to find in the same state, occupied in a
manner that he could not anticipate. The light
of a strong wood fire was blazing on the hearth,
and throwing about, in playful changes, the flickering
shadows of the furniture, and magnifying
each object into some strange and fantastical figure.
As he stepped within the door his eye fell upon one
of these shadows, which extended along the wall,
and bending against the cieling, exhibited the gigantic
but certain outlines of the human form. Recollecting
that he had left his letters open, and a
little distrusting the discretion of Meriton, Lionel
advanced lightly, for a few feet, so far as to be
able to look round the drapery of his bed, and to
his amazement, perceived that the intruder was
not his valet, but the aged stranger. The old man
sat holding in his hand the open letter which
Lionel had been writing, and continued so deeply
absorbed in its contents, that the footsteps of the
other were still disregarded. A large, coarse
over-coat, dripping with water, concealed most of
his person, though the white hairs that strayed
countenance could not be mistaken.
“I was ignorant of this unexpected visit,” said
Lionel, advancing quickly into the centre of the
room, “or I should not have been so tardy in returning
to my apartment, where, sir, I fear you
must have found your time irksome, with nothing
but that scrawl to amuse you.”
The old man dropped the paper from before
his features, and betrayed, by the action, the large
drops that followed each other down his hollow
cheeks, until they fell even to the floor. The
haughty and displeased look disappeared from
the countenance of Lionel at this sight, and he
was on the point of speaking in a more conciliating
manner, when the stranger, whose eye
had not quailed before the angry frown it encountered,
anticipated his intention.
“I comprehend you, major Lincoln,” he said,
calmly; “but there can exist justifiable reasons
for a greater breach of faith than this, of which
you accuse me. Accident, and not intention,
has put me in possession, here, of your most
secret thoughts on a subject that has deep interest
for me. You have urged me often, during
our voyage, to make you acquainted with all
that you most desire to know, to which request,
as you may remember I have ever been silent.”
“You have said, sir, that you were master of a
secret in which my feelings, I will acknowledge,
are deeply interested, and I have urged you to remove
my doubts by declaring the truth; but I do
not perceive”—
“How a desire to possess my secret, gives
me a claim to inquire into yours, you would
say,” interrupted the stranger; “nor does it. But
an interest in your affairs, that you cannot yet
understand, and which is vouched for by these
from a fountain that I had thought dried, should,
and must satisfy you.”
“It does,” said Lionel, deeply affected by the
melancholy tones of his voice, “it does, it does,
and I will listen to no further explanation on the
unpleasant subject. You see nothing there, I am
sure, of which a son can have reason to be
ashamed.”
“I see much here, Lionel Lincoln, of which a
father would have reason to be proud,” returned
the old man. “It was the filial love which you have
displayed in this paper which has drawn these
drops from my eyes; for he who has lived as
I have done, beyond the age of man, without
knowing the love that the parent feels for its
offspring, or which the child bears to the author
of its being, must have outlived his natural
sympathies, not to be conscious of his misfortune,
when chance makes him sensible of
affections like these.”
“You have never been a father, then?” said
Lionel, drawing a chair nigh to his aged companion,
and seating himself with an air of powerful
interest that he could not control.
“Have I not told you that I am alone?” returned
the old man, with a solemn manner. After
an impressive pause, he continued, though his
tones were husky and low—“I have been both
husband and parent, in my day, but 'tis so long
since, that no selfish tie remains to bind me to
earth. Old age is the neighbour of death, and the
chill of the grave is to be found in its warmest
breathings.”
“Say not so,” interrupted Lionel, “for you do
injustice to your own warm nature—you forget
your zeal in behalf of what you deem these
oppressed colonies.”
“'Tis no more than the flickering of the dying
lamp, which flares and dazzles most, when
its source of heat is nighest to extinction. But
though I may not infuse into your bosom a
warmth that I do not possess myself, I can point
out the dangers with which life abounds, and
serve as a beacon, when no longer useful as a
pilot. It is for such a purpose, Major Lincoln,
that I have braved the tempest of to-night.”
“Has any thing occurred, which, by rendering
danger pressing, can make such an exposure necessary?”
“Look at me,” said the old man earnestly—
“I have seen most of this flourishing country a
wilderness; my recollection goes back into those
periods when the savage, and the beast of the
forèst, contended with our fathers for much of that
soil which now supports its hundreds of thousands
in plenty; and my time is to be numbered,
not by years, but by ages. For such a being,
think you there can yet be many months, or
weeks, or even days in store?”
Lionel dropped his eyes, in embarrassment, to
the floor, as he answered—
“You cannot have very many years, surely, to
hope for; but with the activity and temperance
you possess, days and months confine you, I trust,
in limits much too small.”
“What!” exclaimed the other, stretching forth
a colourless hand, in which even the prominent
veins partook in the appearance of a general decay
of nature; “with these wasted limbs, these
gray hairs, and this sunken and sepulchral cheek,
would you talk to me of years! to me, who have
not the effrontery to petition for even minutes,
were they worth the prayer—so long already has
been my probation!”
“It is certainly time to think of the change,
when it approaches so very near.”
“Well, then, Lionel Lincoln, old, feeble, and
on the threshold of eternity as I stand, yet am I
not nearer to my grave than that country to
which you have pledged your blood is to a
mighty convulsion, which will shake her institutions
to their foundations.”
“I cannot admit the signs of the times to be quite
so portentous as your fears would make them,”
said Lionel, smiling a little proudly. “Though the
worst that is apprehended should arrive, England
will feel the shock but as the earth bears an
eruption of one of its volcanoes! But we talk in
idle figures, Sir; know you any thing to justify
the apprehension of immediate danger?”
The face of the stranger lighted with a sudden
and startling gleam of intelligence, and a sarcastic
smile passed across his wan features, as he answered
slowly—
“They only have cause to fear who will be the
losers by the change! A youth who casts off the
trammels of his guardians is not apt to doubt his
ability to govern himself. England has held these
colonies so long in leading-strings, that she forgets
her offspring is able to go alone.”
“Now, Sir, you exceed even the wild projects
of the most daring among those who call themselves
the `Sons of Liberty'—as if liberty existed
in any place more favoured or more nurtured than
under the blessed constitution of England! The
utmost required is what they term a redress
of grievances, many of which, I must think, exist
only in imagination.”
“Was a stone ever known to roll upward! Let
there be but one drop of American blood spilt
in anger, and its stain will become indelible.”
“Unhappily, the experiment has been already
tried; and yet years have rolled by, while England
keeps her footing and authority good.”
“Her authority!” repeated the old man; “see
you not, Major Lincoln, in the forbearance of this
people, when they felt themselves in the wrong,
the existence of the very principles that will render
them invincible and unyielding when right?
But we waste our time—I came to conduct you
to a place where, with your own ears, and with
your own eyes, you may hear and see a little of
that spirit which pervades the land—You will
follow?”
“Not surely in such a tempest!”
“This tempest is but a trifle to that which is
about to break upon you, unless you retrace your
steps; but follow, I repeat; if a man of my years
disregards the night, ought an English soldier to
hesitate!”
The pride of Lionel was touched; and remembering
an engagement he had previously made
with his aged friend to accompany him to a scene
like this, he made such changes in his dress
as would serve to conceal his profession, threw
on a large cloak to protect his person, and
was about to lead the way himself, when he was
aroused by the voice of the other.
“You mistake the route,” he said; “this is to
be a secret, and I hope a profitable visit—none
must know of your presence; and if you are a
worthy son of your honourable father, I need
hardly add that my faith is pledged for your discretion.”
“The pledge will be respected, Sir,” said Lionel,
haughtily; “but in order to see what you
wish, we are not to remain here?”
“Follow, then, and be silent,” said the old
a little apartment lighted by one of those smaller
windows, already mentioned in describing the
exterior of the building. The passage was dark
and narrow, but, observing the warnings of his
companion, Lionel succeeded in descending, in
safety, a flight of steps which formed a private
communication between the offices of the dwelling
and its upper apartments. They paused an instant
at the bottom of the stairs, where the youth
expressed his amazement that a stranger should
be so much more familiar with the building than
he who had for so many days made it his home.
“Have I not often told you,” returned the old
man, with a severity in his voice which was even
apparent in its suppressed tones, “that I have
known Boston for near an hundred years! how
many edifices like this does it contain, that I
should not have noted its erection! But follow in
silence, and be prudent.”
He now opened a door which conducted them
through one end of the building, into the courtyard
in which it was situated. As they emerged
into the open air, Lionel perceived the figure of a
man, crouching under the walls, as if seeking a
shelter from the driving rain. The moment they
appeared, this person arose, and followed as they
moved towards the street.
“Are we not watched?” said Lionel, stopping
to face the unknown; “whom have we skulking in
our footsteps?”
“'Tis the boy,” said the old man, for whom we
must adopt the name of Ralph, which it would
appear was the usual term used by Job when addressing
his mother's guest—“'tis the boy, and
he can do us no harm. God has granted to him
a knowledge between much of what is good and
is, at times, sadly weakened by his bodily ailings.
His heart, however, is with his country, at a
moment when she needs all hearts to maintain
her rights.”
The young British officer bowed his head to
meet the tempest, and smiled scornfully within the
folds of his cloak, which he drew more closely
around his form, as they met the gale in the
open streets of the town. They had passed
swiftly through many narrow and crooked ways,
before another word was uttered between the adventurers.
Lionel mused on the singular and indefinable
interest that he took in the movements
of his companion, which could draw him at a time
like this from the shelter of Mrs. Lechmere's
roof, to wander he knew not whither, and on an
errand which might even be dangerous to his person.
Still he followed, unhesitatingly, for with
these passing thoughts were blended the recollection
of the many recent and interesting communications
he had held with the old man during
their long and close association in the ship; nor
was he wanting in a natural interest for all that
involved the safety and happiness of the place of
his birth. He kept the form of his aged guide in
his eye, as the other moved before him, careless
of the tempest which beat on his withered frame,
and he heard the heavy footsteps of Job in his
rear who had closed so near his own person as to
share, in some measure, in the shelter of his ample
cloak. But no other living being seemed to
have ventured abroad; and even the few sentinels
they passed, instead of pacing in front of those
doors which it was their duty to guard, were concealed
behind the angles of walls, or sought shelter
under the projections of some favouring roof.
At moments the wind rushed into the narrow
a noise not unlike the hollow roaring of the sea,
and with a violence which was nearly irresistible.
At such times Lionel was compelled to pause, and
even frequently to recede a little from his path,
while his guide, supported by his high purpose,
and but little obstructed by his garments, seemed,
to the bewildered imagination of his follower, to
glide through the night with a facility that was
supernatural. At length the old man, who had
got some distance ahead of his followers, suddenly
paused, and allowed Lionel to approach to his
side. The latter observed with surprise, that
he had stopped before the root and stump of
a tree which had once grown on the borders of
the street, and which appeared to have been recently
felled.
“Do you see this remnant of the Elm?” said
Ralph, when the others had stopped also; “their
axes have succeeded in destroying the mother-plant,
but her scions are flourishing throughout a
continent!”
“I do not comprehend you!” returned Lionel;
“I see here nothing but the stump of some tree;
surely the ministers of the king are not answerable
that it stands no longer?”
“The ministers of the king are answerable to
their master that it has ever become what it
is—but speak to the boy at your side, he will
tell you of its virtues.”
Lionel turned to wards Job, and perceived, by
the obscure light of the moon, to his surprise,
that the changeling stood with his head bared
to the storm, regarding the root with an extraordinary
degree of reverence.
“This is all a mystery to me!” he said; “what
do you know about this stump to stand in awe of,
boy?”
“'Tis the root of `Liberty-tree,”' said Job,
“and 'tis wicked to pass it without making your
manners!”
“And what has this tree done for liberty, that it
has merited so much respect?”
“What! why did you ever see a tree afore this
that could write and give notices of town meetinda's,
or that could tell the people what the king
meant to do with the tea and his stamps!”
“And could this marvellous tree work such
miracles?”
“To be sure it could, and it did too—you let
stingy Tommy think to get above the people
with any of his cunning over night, and you might
come here next morning and read a warning on
the bark of this tree, that would tell all about it,
and how to put down his deviltries, written out
fair, in a hand as good as master Lowell himself
could put on paper, the best day of his grand
scholarship.”
“And who put the paper there?”
“Who!” exclaimed Job, a little positively;
“why Liberty came in the night, and pasted it
up herself. When Nab couldn't get a house to
live in, Job used to sleep under the tree, sometimes,
and many a night has he seen Liberty with
his own eyes come and put up the paper.”
“And was it a woman?”
“Do you think Liberty was such a fool as to
come every time in woman's clothes, to be followed
by the rake-helly soldiers about the streets!”
said Job, with great contempt in his manner.
“Sometimes she did, though, and sometimes she
didn't; just as it happened. And Job was in the
tree when old Noll had to give up his ungodly
stamps; though he didn't do it till the `Sons of
Liberty' had chucked his stamp-shop in the dock,
and hung him and Lord Boot together, on the
branches of the old Elm!”
“Hung!” said Lionel, unconsciously drawing
back from the spot; “was it ever a gallows!”
“Yes, for iffigies,” said Job, laughing; “I
wish you could have been here to see how the
old boot, with Satan sticking out on't, whirled
about when they swung it off! they give the old
boy a big shoe to put his cloven huff in!”
“Lionel, who was familiar with the peculiar
sound that his townsmen gave to the letter
u, now comprehended the allusion to the Earl
of Bute, and beginning to understand more clearly
the nature of the transactions, and the uses to
which that memorable tree had been applied, he
expressed his desire to proceed.
The old man had suffered Job to make his
own explanations, though not without a curious
interest in the effect they would produce on Lionel;
but the instant the request was made to advance,
he turned, and once more led the way.
Their course was now directed more towards the
wharves; nor was it long before their conductor
turned into a narrow court, and entered a house
of rather mean appearance, without even observing
the formality of announcing his visit by the
ordinary summons of rapping at its door. A long,
narrow, and dimly-lighted passage, conducted
them to a spacious apartment far in the court,
which appeared to have been fitted as a place for
the reception of large assemblages of people. In
this room were collected at least a hundred men,
seemingly intent on some object of more than usual
interest, by the gravity and seriousness of demeanor
apparent in every countenance.
As it was Sunday, the first impression of Lionel,
on entering the room, was that his old friend, who
often betrayed a keen sensibility on subjects of
religion, had brought him there with a design to
listen to some favourite exhorter of his own peculiar
the usual ordinances of that holy day, of which
the conscience of the young man suddenly accused
him, on finding himself unexpectedly mingled
in such a throng. But after he had forced his
person among a dense body of men, who stood at
the lower end of the apartment, and became a silent
observer of the scene, he was soon made to
perceive his error. The weather had induced all
present to appear in such garments as were best
adapted to protect them from its fury; and their
exteriors were rough, and perhaps a little forbidding;
but there was a composure and decency in
the air common to the whole assembly, which denoted
that they were men who possessed in a high
degree the commanding quality of self-respect.
A very few minutes sufficed to teach Lionel that
he was in the midst of a meeting collected to discuss
questions connected with the political movements
of the times, though he felt himself a little
at a loss to discover the precise results it was intended
to produce. To every question, there were
one or two speakers, men who expressed their
ideas in a familiar manner, and with the peculiar
tones and pronunciation of the province, that
left no room to believe them to be orators of a
higher character than the mechanics and tradesmen
of the town. Most, if not all of them, wore
an air of deliberation and coldness that would
have rendered their sincerity in the cause they
had apparently espoused, a little equivocal, but
for occasional expressions of coarse, and sometimes
biting invective that they expended on
the ministers of the crown, and for the perfect
and firm unanimity that was manifested, as
each expression of the common feeling was taken
after the manner of deliberative bodies. Certain
resolutions, in which the most respectful remonstrances
assertions of constitutional principles, were read,
and passed without a dissenting voice, though
with a calmness that indicated no very strong excitement.
Lionel was peculiarly struck with the
language of these written opinions, which were expressed
with a purity, and sometimes with an elegance
of style, which plainly showed that the acquaintance
of the sober artisan with the instrument
through whose periods he was blundering,
was quite recent, and far from being very intimate.
The eyes of the young soldier wandered
from face to face, with a strong desire to detect
the secret movers of the scene he was witnessing;
nor was he long without selecting one
individual as an object peculiarly deserving of his
suspicions. It was a man apparently but just
entering into middle age, of an appearance, both
in person, and in such parts of his dress as escaped
from beneath his over-coat, that denoted him
to be of a class altogether superior to the mass of
the assembly. A deep but manly respect was evidently
paid to this gentleman, by those who stood
nearest to his person; and once or twice there
were close and earnest communications passing
between him and the more ostensible leaders of
the meeting, which roused the suspicions of Lionel
in the manner related. Notwithstanding the
secret dislike that the English officer suddenly conceived
against a man that he fancied was thus abusing
his powers, by urging others to acts of insubordination,
he could not conceal from himself the
favourable impression made by the open, fearless,
and engaging countenance of the stranger. Lionel
was so situated as to be able to keep his person,
which was partly concealed by the taller forms
that surrounded him, in constant view; nor was
it long before his earnest and curious gaze caught
meaning were exchanged between them during
the remainder of the evening, until the chairman
announced that the objects of the convocation
were accomplished, and dissolved the meeting.
Lionel raised himself from his reclining attitude
against the wall, and submitted to be carried
by the current of human bodies into the dark
passage through which he had entered the room.
Here he lingered a moment, with a view to recover
his lost companion, and with a secret wish
to scan more narrowly the proceedings of the
man whose air and manner had so long chained
his attention. The crowd had sensibly diminished
before he was aware that few remained beside
himself, nor would he then have discovered
that he was likely to become an object of suspicion
to those few, had not a voice at his elbow
recalled his recollection.
“Does Major Lincoln meet his countrymen tonight
as one who sympathizes in their wrongs, or
as the favoured and prosperous officer of the
crown?” asked the very man for whose person he
had so long been looking in vain.
“Is sympathy with the oppressed incompatible
with loyalty to my Prince?” demanded Lionel.
“That it is not,” said the stranger, in a
friendly accent, “is apparent from the conduct
of many gallant Englishmen among us, who
espouse our cause—but we claim Major Lincoln
as a countryman.”
“Perhaps, sir, it would be indiscreet just now
to disavow that title, let my dispositions be as
they may,” returned Lionel, smiling a little
haughtily; “this may not be as secure a spot in
which to avow one's sentiments, as the town-common,
or the palace of St. James.”
“Had the king been present to-night, Major
Lincoln, would he have heard a single sentence
opposed to that constitution which has declared
him a member too sacred to be offended?”
“Whatever may have been the legality of your
sentiments, sir, they surely have not been expressed
in language altogether fit for a royal ear.”
“It may not have been adulation, or even flattery,
but it is truth—a quality no less sacred than the
rights of kings.”
“This is neither a place nor an occasion, sir,”
said the young soldier, quickly, “to discuss the
rights of our common master; but if, as from
your manner and your language, I think not improbable,
we should meet hereafter in a higher
sphere, you will not find me at a loss to vindicate
his claims.”
The stranger smiled with meaning, and as he
bowed before he fell back and was lost in the
darkness of the passage, he replied—
“Our fathers have often met in such society,
I believe; God forbid that their sons should ever
encounter in a less friendly manner.”
Lionel now finding himself alone, groped his
way into the street, where he perceived Ralph
and the changeling in waiting for his appearance.
Without demanding the cause of the other's delay,
the old man proceeded by the side of his
companions, with the same indifference to the
tempest as before, towards the residence of Mrs.
Lechmere.
“You have now had some evidence of the spirit
that pervades this people,” said Ralph, after a
few moments of silence; “think you still there is
no danger that the volcano will explode?”
“Surely every thing I have heard and seen tonight,
confirms such an opinion,” returned Lionel.
“Men on the threshold of rebellion seldom
Why, the very fuel for the combustion, the rabble
themselves, discuss their constitutional principles,
and keep under the mantle of law, as though they
were a club of learned Templars.”
“Think you that the fire will burn less steadily,
because what you call the fuel has been prepared
by the seasoning of time,” returned Ralph. “But
this comes from sending a youth into a foreign
land for his education! The boy rates his sober
and earnest countrymen on a level with the peasants
of Europe.”
So much Lionel was able to comprehend, but
notwithstanding the old man muttered vehemently
to himself for some time longer, it was in a tone too
indistinct for his ear to understand his meaning.
When they arrived in a part of the town with
which Lionel was familiar, his aged guide pointed
out his way, and took his leave, saying—
“I see that nothing but the last, and dreadful
argument of force, will convince you of the
purpose of the Americans to resist their oppressors.
God avert the evil hour! but when it shall
come, as come it must, you will learn your error,
young man, and, I trust, will not disregard the
natural ties of country and kindred.”
Lionel would have spoken in reply, but the rapid
steps of Ralph rendered his wishes vain, for
before he had time to utter, his emaciated form
was seen gliding, like an immaterial being,
through the sheets of driving rain, and was soon
lost to the eye, as it vanished in the dim shades
of night, followed by the more substantial frame
of the ideot.
| CHAPTER VI. Lionel Lincoln, or, The leaguer of Boston | |