 | CHAPTER IX. Lionel Lincoln, or, The leaguer of Boston |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
“The cry is still, They come.”
Macbeth.
Lionel had walked from the dwelling of Mrs.
Lechmere to the foot of Beacon-Hill, and had
even toiled up some part of the steep ascent, before
he recollected why he was thus wandering
by himself at that unusual hour. Hearing, however,
no sounds that denoted an immediate movement
of the troops, he then yielded, unconsciously,
to the nature of his sensations, which just at that
moment rendered his feelings jealous of communication
with others, and continued to ascend until
he gained the summit of the eminence. From
this elevated stand he paused to contemplate the
scene which lay in the obscurity of night at his
feet, while his thoughts returned from the flattering
anticipations in which he had been indulging, to
consider the more pressing business of the hour.
There arose from the town itself a distant
buzzing, like the hum of suppressed agitation, and
lights were seen to glide along the streets, or flit
across the windows, in a manner which denoted
that a knowledge of the expedition had become
head toward the common, and listened long and
anxiously, but in vain, to detect a single sound
that could betray any unusual stir among the soldiery.
Towards the interior, the darkness of night
had fallen heavily, dimming the amphitheatre of
hills that encircled the place, and enshrouding
the vales and lowlands between them and the water
with an impenetrable veil of gloom. There
were moments, indeed, when he imagined he overheard
some indications among the people of the
opposite shore that they were apprised of the impending
descent, but on listening more attentively,
the utmost of which his ear could assure him,
was the faint lowing of cattle from the meadows,
or the plash of oars from a line of boats, which, by
stretching far along the shores, told both the nature
and the extent of the watchfulness that was
deemed necessary for the occasion.
While Lionel stood thus, on the margin of the
little platform of earth that had been formed by
levelling the apex of the natural cone, musing on
the probable results of the measure his superiors
had been resolving to undertake, a dim light shed
itself along the grass, and glancing upward, danced
upon the beacon with strong and playful rays.
“Scoundrel!” exclaimed a man, springing from
his place of concealment, at the foot of the post,
and encountering him face to face, “do you dare
to fire the beacon?”
“I would answer by asking how you dare to
apply so rude an epithet to me, did I not see the
cause of your error,” said Lionel. “The light is
from yonder moon, which is just emerging from
the ocean.”
“Ah! I see my error,” returned his rough assailant—“by
heavens, I would have sworn at first,
'twas the beacon.”
“You must then believe in the traditional
witchcraft of this country, for nothing short of necromancy
could have enabled me to light those
combustibles at this distance.”
“I don't know; 'tis a strange people we have
got amongst—they stole the cannon from the gunhouse
here, a short time since, when I would have
said the thing was impossible. It was before your
arrival, sir; for I now believe I address myself to
Major Lincoln, of the 27th.”
“You are nearer the truth, this time, than in
your first conjecture as to my character,” said
Lionel; “but have I met one of the gentlemen of
our mess?”
The stranger now explained that he was a subaltern
in a different regiment, but that he well
knew the person of the other. He added that he
had been ordered to watch on the hill to prevent
any of the inhabitants lighting the beacon, or
making any other signal which might convey into
the country a knowledge of the contemplated inroad.
“This matter wears a more serious aspect than
I had supposed,” returned Lionel, when the young
man had ended his apologies and explanation;
“the commander-in-chief must intend more than
we are aware of, by employing officers in this
manner, to do the duties of privates.”
“We poor subs know but little, and care less
what he means,” cried the ensign; “though I will
acknowledge that I can see no sufficient reason
why British troops should put on coats of darkness
to march against a parcel of guessing, canting,
countrymen, who would run at the sight of their
uniforms under a bright sun. Had I my will,
the tar above us, there, should blaze a mile high,
to bring down the heroes from Connecticut river;
the dogs would cow before two full companies of
the pride of our army! I know them by their
heavy tread.”
Lionel did listen attentively, and plainly distinguished
the measured step of a body of disciplined
men, moving rapidly across the common, as if
marching towards the water-side. Hastily bidding
his companion good-night, he threw himself over
the brow of the hill, and taking the direction of
the sounds, he arrived at the shore at the same instant
with the troops. Two dark masses of human
bodies were halted in order, and as Lionel
skirted the columns, his experienced eye judged
that the force collected before him, could be but
little short of a thousand men. A group of officers
was clustered on the beach, and he approached
it, rightly supposing that it was gathered about
the leader of the party. This officer proved to
be the Lieutenant-Colonel of the 10th, who was
in close conversation with the old Major of Marines,
alluded to by the sentinel who stood before
the gates of Province-house. To the former of
these the young soldier addressed himself, demanding
leave to accompany the detachment as a
volunteer. After a few words of explanation, his
request was granted, though each forbore to touch
in the slightest manner on the secret objects of the
expedition.
Lionel now found his groom, who had followed
the troops with his master's horses, and after giving
his orders to the man, he proceeded in quest
of his friend Polwarth, who he soon discovered,
posted in all the stiffness of military exactness, at
the head of the leading platoon of the column of
light-infantry. As it was apparent, both from the
position they occupied, as well as by the boats that
had been collected at the point, that the detachment
was not to leave the peninsula by its ordinary
channel of communication with the country, there
order to embark. The delay was but short, and,
as the most perfect order was observed, the troops
were soon seated, and the boats pulled heavily
from the land, just as the rays of the moon, which
had been sometime playing among the hills, and
gilding the spires of the town, diffused themselves
softly over the bay, and lighted the busy
scene, with an effect not unlike the sudden rising
of the curtain at the opening of some interesting
drama. Polwarth had established himself by the
side of Lionel, much to the ease of his limbs, and
as they moved slowly into the light, all those misgivings
which had so naturally accompanied his
musings on the difficulties of a partisan irruption,
vanished before the loveliness of the time, and
possibly before the quietude of the action.
“There are moments when I could fancy the
life of a sailor,” he said, leaning indolently back,
and playing with one hand in the water—“this
pulling about in boats is easy work, and must be
capital assistance for a heavy digestion, inasmuch
as it furnishes air with as little violent exercise as
may-be—your marine should lead a merry life
of it!”
“They are said to murmur at the clashing of
their duties with those of the sea-officers,” said
Lionel; “and I have often heard them complain of
a want of room to make use of their legs.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Polwarth; “the leg is
a part of a man for which I see less actual necessity
than for any other portion of his frame. I
often think there has been a sad mistake in the
formation of the animal; as, for instance, one
can be a very good waterman, as you see, without
legs—a good fiddler, a first-rate tailor, a lawyer,
a doctor, a parson, a very tolerable cook, and
in short, any thing but a dancing master. I see
any rate, a leg of twelve inches is as good as one
a mile long, and the saving might be appropriated
to the nobler parts of the animal; such as the brain
and the stomach.”
“You forget the officer of light-infantry,” said
Lionel, laughing.
“You might give him a couple of inches more;
though, as every thing in this wicked world, is excellent
only by comparison, it would amount to the
same thing, and on my system a man would be
just as fit for the light-infantry without, as with
legs; and he would get rid of a good deal of troublesome
manœuvring, especially of this new exercise.
It would then become a delightful service,
Leo; for it may be said to monopolize all the
poetry of military life, as you may see. Neither
the imagination nor the body can require more
than we enjoy at this moment, and of what use, I
would ask, are our legs? if any thing, they are incumbrances
in this boat. Here we have a soft
moon, and softer seats—smooth water, and a stimulating
air—on one side a fine country, which,
though but faintly seen, is known to be fertile,
and rich to abundance; and on the other a picturesque
town, stored with the condiments of
every climate—even those rascally privates look
mellowed by the moon-beams, with their scarlet
coats and glittering arms! Did you meet Miss
Danforth in your visit to Tremont-street, Major
Lincoln?”
“That pleasure was not denied me.”
“Knew she of these martial proceedings?”
“There was something exceedingly belligerent
in her humour.”
“Spoke she of the light-infantry, or of any who
serve in the light corps?”
“Your name was certainly mentioned,” returned
hen-roosts were in danger.”
“Ah! she is a girl of a million! her very
acids are sweet! the spices were not forgotten
when the dough of her composition was mixed;
would that she were here—five minutes of moon-shine
to a man in love is worth a whole summer
of a broiling sun—'twould be a master-stroke to
entice her into one of our picturesque marches;
your partisan is the man to take every thing by
surprise—women and fortifications! Where now
are your companies of the line; your artillery
and dragoons; your engineers and staff! night-capped
and snoring to a man, while we enjoy here
the very dessert of existence—I wish I could hear
a nightingale!”
“You have a solitary whip-poor-will whistling
his notes, as if in lamentation at our approach.”
“Too dolorous, and by far too monotonous;
'tis like eating pig for a month. But why are our
fifes asleep?”
“The precautions of a whole day should hardly
be defeated by the tell-tale notes of our music,”
said Lionel; “your spirits get the better of your
discretion. I should think the prospect of a fatiguing
march would have lowered your vein.”
“A fico for fatigue!” exclaimed Polwarth—
“we only go out to take a position at the colleges
to cover our supplies—we are for school, Leo—
only fancy the knapsacks of the men to be satchels,
humour my folly, and you may believe yourself
once more a boy.”
The spirits of Polwarth had indeed undergone
a sudden change, when he found the sad anticipations
which crossed his mind on first hearing of a
night inroad, so agreeably disappointed by the
comfortable situation he occupied; and he continued
conversing in the manner described, until
projected a little way into that part of the Bay
which washed the western side of the peninsula of
Boston. Here the troops landed, and were again
formed with all possible despatch. The company
of Polwarth was posted, as before, at the head of
the column of light-infantry, and an officer of the
staff riding a short distance in front, it was directed
to follow his movements. Lionel ordered his
groom to take the route of the troops with the
horses, and placing himself once more by the side
of the captain, they proceeded at the appointed
signal.
“Now for the shades of old Harvard!” said
Polwarth, pointing towards the humble buildings
of the university; “you shall feast this night on
reason, while I will make a more sub—ha! what
can that blind quarter-master mean by taking this
direction! Does he not see that the meadows are
half covered with water!”
“Move on, move on with the light-infantry,”
cried the stern voice of the old major of marines,
who rode but a short distance in their rear. “Do
you falter at the sight of water!”
“We are not wharf-rats,” said Polwarth.
Lionel seized him by the arm, and before the
disconcerted captain had time to recollect himself,
he was borne through a wide pool of stagnant
water, mid-leg deep.
“Do not let your romance cost your commission,”
said the major, as Polwarth floundered
out of his difficulties; “here is an incident at
once for your private narrative of the campaign.”
“Ah! Leo,” said the captain, with a sort of
comical sorrow, “I fear we are not to court the
muses by this hallowed moon to-night!”
“You can assure yourself of that, by observing
that we leave the academical roofs on our left—
our leaders take the high-way.”
They had by this time extricated themselves
from the meadows, and were moving on a road
which led into the interior.
“You had better order up your groom, and
mount, Major Lincoln,” said Polwarth, sullenly;
“a man need husband his strength, I see.”
“'Twould be folly now; I am wet, and must
walk for safety.”
With the departure of Polwarth's spirits the
conversation began to flag, and the gentlemen
continued their march with only such occasional
communications as arose from the passing incidents
of their situation. It very soon became apparent,
both by the direction given to the columns,
as well as by the hurried steps of their guide, that
the march was to be forced, as well as of some
length. But as the air was getting cool, even Polwarth
was not reluctant to warm his chilled blood
by more than ordinary exertion. The columns
opened for the sake of ease, and each man was
permitted to consult his own convenience, provided
he preserved his appointed situation, and kept
even pace with his comrades. In this manner the
detachment advanced swiftly, a general silence
pervading the whole, as the spirits of the men
settled into that deep sobriety which denotes
much earnestness of purpose. At first the whole
country appeared buried in a general sleep, but
as they proceeded, the barking of the dogs, and
the tread of the soldiery, drew the inhabitants of
the farm-houses to their windows, who gazed in
mute wonder at the passing spectacle, across
which the mellow light of the moon cast a glow
of brilliancy. Lionel had turned his head from
studying the surprise depicted in the faces of
the members of one of these disturbed families,
when the deep tones of a distant church-bell
came sweeping down the valley in which they
sounds of an alarm. The men raised
their heads in wondering attention, as they advanced;
but it was not long before the reports of
fire-arms were heard echoing among the hills, and
bell began to answer bell in every direction, until
the sounds blended with the murmurs of the night-air,
or were lost in distance. The whole country
was now filled with every organ of sound that the
means of the people furnished, or their ingenuity
could devise, to call the population to arms. Fires
blazed along the heights, the bellowing of the
conchs and horns, mingled with the rattling of the
muskets and the varied tones of the bells, while
the swift clattering of horses' hoofs began to be
heard, as if their riders were dashing furiously
along the flanks of the party.
“Push on, gentlemen, push on,” shouted the
old veteran of marines, amid the din. “The
Yankees have awoke, and are stirring—we have
yet a long road to journey—push on, light-infantry,
the grenadiers are on your heels!”
The advance quickened their steps, and the
whole body pushed for their unknown object with
as much rapidity as the steadiness of military
array would admit. In this manner the detachment
continued to proceed for some hours, without
halting, and Lionel imagined that they had
advanced several leagues into the country. The
sounds of the alarm had now passed away, having
swept far inland, until the faintest evidence of its
existence was lost to the ear, though the noise of
horsemen, riding furiously along the by-ways,
yet denoted that men were still hurrying past
them, to the scene of the expected strife. As the
deceitful light of the moon was blending with
the truer colours of day, the welcome sound
of `halt!' was passed from the rear up to the
head of the column of light-infantry.
“Halt!” repeated Polwarth, with instinctive
readiness, and with a voice that sent the order
through the whole length of their extended line;
“halt, and let the rear close; if my judgment in
walking be worth so much as an anchovy, they
are some miles behind us, by this time! a man
needs to have crossed his race with the blood of
Flying Childers for this sort of work! The next
command should be to break our fasts—Tom,
you brought the trifles I sent you from Major
Lincoln's quarters?”
“Yes, Sir,” returned his man; “they are on
the Major's horses, in the rear, as—”
“The Major's horses in the rear, you ass, when
food is in such request in the front! I wonder,
Leo, if a mouthful couldn't be picked up in yon
farm-house?”
“Pick yourself off that stone, and make the
men dress; here is Pitcairn closing to the front
with the whole battalion.”
Lionel had hardly spoken before an order was
passed to the light-infantry to look to their arms,
and for the grenadiers to prime and load. The
presence of the veteran who rode in front of
the column, and the hurry of the moment, suppressed
the complaints of Polwarth, who was in
truth an excellent officer as it respected what he
himself termed the `quiescent details of service.'
Three or four companies of the light-corps were
detached from the main body, and formed in
the open marching order of their exercise, when
the old marine, placing himself at their head, gave
forth the order to advance again at a quick step.
The road now led into a vale, and at some distance
a small hamlet of houses was dimly seen
through the morning haze, clustered around one
of the humble, but decent temples, so common
in Massachusetts. The halt, and the brief preparations
interest in the whole of the detachment, who
pushed earnestly forward, keeping on the heels
of the charger of their veteran leader, as he passed
over the ground at a small trot. The air
partook of the scent of morning, and the eye
was enabled to dwell distinctly on surrounding
objects, quickening, aided by the excitement of
the action, the blood of the men who had been
toiling throughout the night in uncertain obscurity
along an unknown, and, apparently, interminable
road. Their object now seemed before them
and attainable, and they pressed forward to
achieve it in animated but silent earnestness.
The plain architecture of the church and of its
humble companions had just become distinct,
when three or four armed horsemen were seen
attempting to anticipate their arrival, by crossing
the head of the column, from a by-path.
“Come in,” cried an officer of the staff in front,
“come in, or quit the place.”
The men turned, and rode briskly off, one of
their party flashing his piece in a vain attempt to
give the alarm. A low mandate was now passed
through the ranks to push on, and in a few moments
they entered on a full view of the hamlet,
the church, and the little green on which it stood.
The forms of men were seen moving swiftly across
the latter, as a roll of a drum broke from the spot;
and there were glimpses of a small body of countrymen,
drawn up in the affectation of military
parade.
“Push on, light-infantry!” cried their leader,
spurring his horse, and advancing with the staff
at so brisk a trot, as to disappear round an angle
of the church.
Lionel pressed forward with a beating heart
for a crowd of horrors rushed across his imagination
major of marines was again heard, shouting—
“Disperse, ye rebels, disperse!—throw down
your arms, and disperse!”
These memorable words were instantly followed
by the reports of pistols, and the fatal mandate
of `fire!' when a loud shout arose from the
whole body of the soldiery, who rushed upon the
open green, and threw in a close discharge on all
before them.
“Great God!” exclaimed Lionel, “what is it
you do? ye fire at unoffending men! is there no
law but force! beat up their pieces, Polwarth—
stop their fire.”
“Halt!” cried Polwarth, brandishing his sword
fiercely among his men; “come to an order, or
I'll fell ye to the earth.”
But the excitement which had been gathering
to a head for so many hours, and the animosity
which had so long been growing between the
troops and the people, were not to be repressed at
a word. It was only when Pitcairn himself rode
in among the soldiers, and, aided by his officers,
beat down their arms, that the uproar was gradually
quelled, and something like order was
again restored. Before this was effected, however,
a few scattering shot were thrown back
from their flying adversaries, though without material
injury to the British.
When the firing had ceased, officers and men
stood gazing at each other for a few moments, as
if even they could foresee some of the mighty
events which were to follow the deeds of that hour.
The smoke slowly arose, like a lifted veil from
the green, and mingling with the fogs of morning,
drove heavily across the country, as if to communicate
the fatal intelligence that the final appeal
to arms had been made. Every eye was bent
with a feeling allied to anguish, a few men at a distance,
writhing and struggling in their wounds,
while some five or six bodies lay stretched upon
the grass, in the appalling quiet of death. Sickening
at the sight, he turned, and walked away by
himself, while the remainder of the troops, alarmed
by the reports of the arms, were eagerly pressing
up from the rear to join their comrades. Unwittingly
he approached the church, nor did he
awake from the deep abstraction into which he
had fallen, until he was aroused by the extraordinary
spectacle of Job Pray, issuing from the edifice
with an air in which menace was singularly
blended with resentment and fear. The
changeling pointed earnestly to the body of a man,
who, having been wounded, had crept for refuge
near to the door of the temple in which he had so
often worshipped that being to whom he had been
thus hurriedly sent to render his last and great
account, and said solemnly—
“You have killed one of God's creatures; and
he'll remember it!”
“I would it were one only,” said Lionel;
“but they are many, and none can tell where the
carnage is to cease.”
“Do you think,” said Job, looking furtively
around to assure himself that no other overheard
him, “that the king can kill men in the
Bay-colony as he can in London? They'll take
this up in old Funnel, and 'twill ring again, from
the north-end to the Neck.”
“What can they do, boy, after all,” said Lionel,
forgetting at the moment that he whom he addressed
had been denied the reason of his kind—
“the power of Britain is too mighty for these
scattered and unprepared colonies to cope with
resistance while yet they may.”
“Does the king believe there is more prudence
in London than there is in Boston?” returned
the simpleton; “he needn't think, because the
people were quiet at the massacre, there'll be no
stir about this—you have killed one of God's
creatures,” added the lad, “and he'll remember
it!”
“How came you here, sirrah?” demanded Lionel,
suddenly recollecting himself; “did you not
tell me that you were going out to fish for your
mother.”
“And if I did,” returned the other, sullenly,
“an't there fish in the ponds as well as in the
bay, and can't Nab have a fresh taste?—Job don't
know there is any act of Parliament ag'in taking
brook trout.”
“Fellow, you are attempting to deceive me!
Some one is practising on your ignorance, and
knowing you to be a fool, is employing you on
errands that may one day cost your life.”
“The king can't send Job on a'r'nds,” said
the lad proudly; “for there is no law for it, and
Job wont go.”
“Your knowledge will undo you, simpleton—
who should teach you these niceties of the law?”
“Why, do you think the Boston people so
dumb as not to know the law!” asked Job, with
unfeigned astonishment—“and Ralph, too—he
knows as much law as the king—he told me
it was ag'in all law to shoot at the minute-men,
unless they fired first, because the colony has
a right to train whenever it pleases.”
“Ralph!” said Lionel, eagerly—“can Ralph
be with you, then! 'tis impossible; I left him ill,
and at home—neither would he mingle in such
a business as this, at his years.”
“I expect Ralph has seen bigger armies than
the light-infantry, and grannies, and all the soldiers
left in town put together,” said Job, evasively.
Lionel was far too generous to practise on the
simplicity of his companion, with a view to extract
any secret which might endanger his liberty, but
he felt a deep concern in the welfare of a young
man who had been thrown in his way in the manner
already related. He therefore pursued the
subject, with the double design to advise Job
against any dangerous connexions, and to relieve
his own anxiety on the subject of the aged stranger.
But to all his interrogatories the lad answered
guardedly, and with a discretion which denoted
that he possessed no small share of cunning,
though a higher order of intellect had been denied
him.
“I repeat to you,” said Lionel, losing his
patience, “that it is important for me to meet
the man you call Ralph in the country, and I
wish to know if he is to be seen near here.”
“Ralph scorns a lie,” returned Job—“go
where he promised to meet you, and see if he
don't come.”
“But no place was named—and this unhappy
event may embarrass him, or frighten him—”
“Frighten him!” repeated Job, shaking his
head with solemn earnestness; “you can't frighten
Ralph!”
“His daring may prove his misfortune. Boy,
I ask you for the last time whether the old
man—”
Perceiving Job to shrink back timidly, and
lower in his looks, Lionel paused, and casting a
glance behind him, beheld the captain of grenadiers
standing with folded arms, silently contemplating
the body of the American.
“Will you have the goodness to explain to me,
Major Lincoln,” said the captain, when he perceived
himself observed, “why this man lies here
dead?”
“You see the wound in his breast?”
“It is a palpable and baistly truth that he has
been shot—but why, or with what design?”
“I must leave that question to be answered by
our superiors, captain M`Fuse,” returned Lionel.
“It is, however, rumoured that the expedition is
out to seize certain magazines of provisions and
arms, which the colonists have been collecting, it
is feared, with hostile intentions.”
“I had my own sagacious thoughts that we
were bent on some such glorious errand!” said
M`Fuse, with strong contempt expressed in his
hard features. “Tell me, Major Lincoln—you
are certainly but a young soldier, though, being of
the staff, you should know—does Gage think we
can have a war with the arms and ammunition
all on one side? We have had a long p'ace, Major
Lincoln, and now when there is a small prospect
of some of the peculiarities of our profession
arising, we are commanded to do the very thing
which is most likely to def'ate the object of war.”
“I do not know that I rightly understand you,
sir,” said Lionel; “there can be but little glory
gained by such troops as we possess, in a contest
with the unarmed and undisciplined inhabitants of
any country.”
“Exactly my maining, sir; it is quite obvious
that we understand each other thoroughly, without
a world of circumlocution. The lads are doing
very well at present, and if left to themselves
a few months longer, it may become a creditable
affair. You know, as well as I do, Major Lincoln,
that time is necessary to make a soldier,
and if they are hurried into the business, you
for the honour you will gain. A discrate officer
would nurse this little matter, instead of resorting
to such precipitation. To my id'a'a's, sir, the
man before us has been butchered, and not slain
in honourable battle!”
“There is much reason to fear that others may
use the same term in speaking of the affair,” returned
Lionel; “God knows how much cause
we may have to lament the death of the poor
man!”
“On that topic, the man may be said to have
gone through a business that was to be done, and is
not to be done over again,” said the captain very
coolly, “and therefore his death can be no very
great calamity to himself, whatever it may be to
us. If these minute-men, and as they stand but
minute they 'arn their name like worthy fellows—
if these minute-men, sir, stood in your way,
you should have whipped them from the green
with your ramrods.”
“Here is one who may tell you that they are
not to be treated like children either,” said Lionel,
turning to the place which had been so recently
occupied by Job Pray, but which, to his
surprise, he now found vacant. While he was
yet looking around him, wondering whither the
lad could so suddenly have withdrawn, the drums
beat the signal to form, and a general bustle
among the soldiery, showed them to be on the
eve of further movements. The two gentlemen
instantly rejoined their companions, walking
thoughtfully towards the troops, though influenced
by such totally different views of the recent
transactions.
During the short halt of the advance, the whole
detachment was again united, and a hasty meal
had been taken. The astonishment which succeeded
the officers, to a military pride, capable of sustaining
them in much more arduous circumstances.
Even the ardent looks of professional excitement
were to be seen in most of their countenances,
as with glittering arms, waving banners, and
timing their march to the enlivening music of their
band, they wheeled from the fatal spot, and advanced
again, with proud and measured steps, along
the highway. If such was the result of the first
encounter on the lofty and tempered spirits of the
gentlemen of the detachment, its effect on the
common hirelings in the ranks, was still more palpable
and revolting. Their coarse jests, and taunting
looks, as they moved by the despised victims
of their disciplined skill, together with the fierce
and boastful expression of brutal triumph, which
so many among them betrayed, exhibited the infallible
evidence, that having tasted of blood, they
were now ready, like tigers, to feed on it till they
were glutted.
| CHAPTER IX. Lionel Lincoln, or, The leaguer of Boston | |