 | CHAPTER X. Lionel Lincoln, or, The leaguer of Boston |  |
10. CHAPTER X.
“Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;
“There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lea.—”
Marmion.
The pomp of military parade with which the
troops marched from the village of Lexington,
as the little hamlet was called, where the foregoing
events occurred, soon settled again into the
sober and business-like air of men earnestly bent
on the achievement of their object. It was no
longer a secret that they were to proceed two
leagues further into the interior, to destroy the
stores already mentioned, and which were now
known to be collected at Concord, the town where
the Congress of Provincial Delegates, who were
substituted by the colonists for the ancient legislatures
of the Province, held their meetings. As the
march could not now be concealed, it became necessary
to resort to expedition, in order to ensure
its successful termination. The veteran officer of
marines, so often mentioned, resumed his post in
front, and at the head of the same companies of
the light corps which he had before led, pushed
in advance of the heavier column of the grenadiers.
Polwarth, by this arrangement, perceived himself
foot so much depended. When Lionel rejoined
his friend he found him at the head of his men,
marching with so grave an air, as at once induced
the Major to give him credit for regrets much
more commendable than such as were connected
with his physical distress. The files were once
more opened for room, as well as for air, which
was becoming necessary, as a hot sun began to
dissipate the mists of the morning, and shed that
enervating influence on the men so peculiar to the
first warmth of an American Spring.
“This has been a hasty business altogether,
Major Lincoln,” said Polwarth, as Lionel took
his wonted station at the side of the other, and
dropped mechanically into the regular step of
the party—“I know not that it is quite as lawful
to knock a man in the head as a bullock.”
“You then agree with me in thinking our attack
hasty, if not cruel?”
“Hasty! most unequivocally. Haste may be
called the distinctive property of the expedition;
and whatever destroys the appetite of an honest
man, may be set down as cruel. I have not been
able to swallow a mouthful of breakfast, Leo. A
man must have the cravings of a hyena, and the
stomach of an ostrich, to eat and digest with such
work as this of ours before his eyes.”
“And yet the men regard their acts with
triumph!”
“The dogs are drilled into it. But you saw
how sober the Provincials looked in the matter;
we must endeavour to sooth their feelings in the
best manner we can.”
“Will they not despise our consolation and apologies,
and look rather to themselves for redress
and vengeance?”
Polwarth smiled contemptuously, and there was
an air of pride about him that gave an appearance
of elasticity even to his heavy tread, as he answered—
“The thing is a bad thing, Major Lincoln, and,
if you will, a wicked thing—but take the assurance
of a man who knows the country well, there will
be no attempts at vengeance; and as for redress,
in a military way, the thing is impossible.”
“You speak with a confidence, sir, that should
find its warranty in an intimate acquaintance with
the weakness of the people.”
“I have dwelt two years, Major Lincoln, in
the very heart of the country,” said Polwarth,
without turning his eyes from the steady gaze he
maintained on the long road which lay before
him, “even three hundred miles beyond the inhabited
districts; and I should know the character
of the nation, as well as its resources. In respect
to the latter, there is no esculent thing
within its borders, from a humming-bird to a
buffalo, or from an artichoke to a water-melon,
that I have not, on some occasion or other,
had tossed up, in a certain way—therefore, I can
speak with confidence, and do not hesitate to say,
that the colonists will never fight; nor, if they
had the disposition, do they possess the means to
maintain a war.”
“Perhaps, sir,” returned Lionel sharply, “you
have consulted the animals of the country too
closely to be acquainted with its spirits?”
“The relation between them is intimate—tell
me what food a man diets on, and I will furnish
you with his character. 'Tis morally impossible
that a people who eat their pudding before the
meats, after the fashion of these colonists, can
ever make good soldiers, because the appetite is
nutriment of the flesh, into—”
“Enough! spare me the remainder,” interrupted
Lionel—“too much has been said already to
prove the inferiority of the American to the European
animal, and your reasoning is conclusive.”
“Parliament must do something for the families
of the sufferers.”
“Parliament!” echoed Lionel, with bitter emphasis;
“yes, we shall be called on to pass resolutions
to commend the decision of the General,
and the courage of the troops; and then, after
we have added every possible insult to the injury,
under the conviction of our imaginary supremacy,
we may hear of some paltry sum to the widows and
orphans, cited as an evidence of the unbounded
generosity of the nation!”
“The feeding of six or seven broods of young
Yankees is no such trifle, Major Lincoln,” returned
Polwarth; “and there I trust the unhappy
affair will end. We are now marching on
Concord, a place with a most auspicious name,
where we shall find repose under its shadow, as
well as the food of this home-made parliament,
which they have gotten together. These considerations
alone support me under the fatigue of
this direful trot with which old Pitcairn goes
over the ground—does the man think he is hunting
with a pack of beagles at his heels!”
The opinion expressed by his companion, concerning
the martial propensities of the Americans,
was one too common among the troops to excite
any surprise in Lionel, but disgusted with the illiberality
of the sentiment, and secretly offended at
the supercilious manner with which the other expressed
these injurious opinions of his countrymen,
he continued his route in silence, while Polwarth
of the fatigue that assailed every muscle and
joint in his body.
That severe training of the corps, concerning
which the captain vented such frequent complaints,
now stood the advance in good service.
It was apparent that the whole country was in a
state of high alarm, and small bodies of armed
men were occasionally seen on the heights that
flanked their route, though no attempts were
made to revenge the deaths of those who fell at
Lexington. The march of the troops was accelerated
rather with a belief that the colonists
might remove, or otherwise secrete the stores,
than from any apprehension that they would
dare to oppose the progress of the chosen troops
of the army. The slight resistance of the Americans
in the rencontre of that morning, was already
a jest among the soldiers, who sneeringly
remarked, that the term of “minute-men,” was
deservedly applied to warriors who had proved
themselves so dexterous at flight. In short, every
opprobrious and disrespectful epithet that contempt
and ignorance could invent, were freely
lavished on the forbearing mildness of the suffering
colonists. In this temper the troops reached
a point whence the modest spire and roofs of
Concord became visible. A small body of the
colonists retired through the place as the English
advanced, and the detachment entered the town
without the least resistance, and with the appearance
of conquerors. Lionel was not long in discovering
from such of the inhabitants as remained,
that, notwithstanding their approach had been
known for some time, the events of that morning
were yet a secret from the people of the village.
Detachments from the light corps were
immediately sent in various directions; some to
some to guard the approaches to the place. One,
in particular, followed the retreating footsteps
of the Americans, and took post at a bridge,
at some little distance, which cut off the communication
with the country to the northward.
In the meantime, the work of destruction was
commenced in the town, chiefly under the superintendance
of the veteran officer of the marines.
The few male inhabitants who remained
in their dwellings, were of necessity peaceable,
though Lionel could read in their flushed cheeks
and gleaming eyes, the secret indignation of men,
who, accustomed to the protection of the law,
now found themselves subjected to the insults and
wanton abuses of a military inroad. Every door
was flung open, and no place was held sacred
from the rude scrutiny of the licentious soldiery.
Taunts and execrations soon mingled with the
seeming moderation with which the search had
commenced, and loud exultation was betrayed,
even among the officers, as the scanty provisions
of the colonists were gradually brought to light.
It was not a moment to respect private rights,
and the freedom and ribaldry of the men were on
the point of becoming something more serious,
when the report of fire-arms was heard suddenly
to issue from the post held by the light-infantry,
at the bridge. A few scattering shot were
succeeded by a volley, which was answered by
another, with the quickness of lightning, and then
the air became filled with the incessant rattling of
a sharp conflict. Every arm was suspended, and
each tongue became mute with astonishment,
and the men abandoned their occupations as these
unexpected sounds of war broke on their ears.
The chiefs of the party were seen in consultation,
and horsemen rode furiously into the place, to
rank of Major Lincoln soon obtained for him a
knowledge that it was thought impolitic to communicate
to the whole detachment. Notwithstanding
it was apparent that they who brought the intelligence
were anxious to give it the most favourable
aspect, he soon discovered that the
same body of Americans which had retired at
their approach, having attempted to return to
their homes in the town, had been fired on at the
bridge, and in the skirmish which succeeded, the
troops had been compelled to give way with
loss. The effect of this prompt and spirited
conduct on the part of the provincials produced
a sudden alteration, not only in the aspect, but
also in the proceedings of the troops. The detachments
were recalled, the drums beat to arms,
and, for the first time, both officers and men
seemed to recollect that they had six leagues
to march through a country that hardly contained
a friend. Still few or no enemies were visible,
with the exception of those men of Concord,
who had already drawn blood freely from the
invaders of their domestic sanctuaries. The dead,
and all the common wounded, were left where
they had fallen, and it was thought an unfavourable
omen among the observant of the detachment,
that a wounded young subaltern, of rank and
fortune, was also abandoned to the mercy of the
exasperated Americans. The privates caught the
infection from their officers, and Lionel saw, that
in place of the high and insulting confidence
with which the troops had wheeled into the
streets of Concord, that they left them, when
the order was given to march, with faces bent
anxiously on the surrounding heights, and with
looks that bespoke a consciousness of the dangers
that were likely to beset the long road which
lay before them.
Their apprehensions were not groundless. The
troops had hardly commenced their march before
a volley was fired upon them from the protection
of a barn, and as they advanced, volley
succeeded volley, and musket answered musket
from behind every cover that offered to their
assailants. At first these desultory and feeble
attacks were but little regarded; a brisk charge,
and a smart fire of a few moments never failing
to disperse their enemies, when the troops
again proceeded for a short distance unmolested.
But the alarm of the preceding night had gathered
the people over an immense extent of country;
and, having waited for information, those nearest
to the scene of action were already pressing
forward to the assistance of their friends. There
was but little order, and no concert among the
Americans; but each party, as it arrived, pushed
into the fray, hanging on the skirts of their enemies,
or making spirited though ineffectual efforts
to stop their progress. While the men from the
towns behind them, pressed upon their rear, the
population in their front accumulated in bodies,
like a rolling ball of snow, and before half the
distance between Concord and Lexington was
accomplished, Lionel perceived that the safety
of their boasted power was in extreme jeopardy.
During the first hour of these attacks, while they
were yet distant, desultory, and feeble, the young
soldier had marched by the side of M`Fuse,
who shook his head disdainfully whenever a shot
whistled near him, and did not fail to comment
freely on the folly of commencing a war thus prematurely,
which, if properly nursed, might, to use
his own words, “be in time brought to something
pretty and interesting.”
“You perceive, Major Lincoln,” he added,
“that these Provincials have got the first elements
accuracy, when the distance is considered;
and six months or a year of close drilling would
make them good for something in a regular
charge. They have got a smart crack to their
p'aces, and a pretty whiz to their lead already;
if they could but learn to deliver their fire in platoons,
the lads might make some impression on
the light-infantry even now; and in a year or two,
sir, they would not be unworthy of the favours of
the grenadiers.”
Lionel listened to this, and much other similar
discourse, with a vacant ear; but as the combat
thickened, the blood of the young man began
to course more swiftly through his veins; and
at length, excited by the noise and the danger
which was pressing more closely around them,
he mounted, and riding to the commander of
the detachment, tendered his assistance as a volunteer
aid, having lost every other sensation in
youthful blood, and the pride of arms. He
was immediately charged with orders for the
advance, and driving his spurs into his steed,
he dashed through the scattered line of fighting
and jaded troops, and galloped to its head.
Here he found several companies, diligently
employed in clearing the way for their comrades,
as new foes appeared at every few rods
that they advanced. Even as Lionel approached,
a heavy sheet of fire flashed from a close
barn-yard, full in the faces of the leading files,
sending the swift engines of death into the very
centre of the party.
“Wheel a company of the light-infantry, captain
Polwarth,” cried the old major of marines,
who battled stoutly in the van, “and drive the
skulking scoundrels from their ambush.”
“Oh! by the sweets of ease, and the hopes of
a halt! but here is another tribe of these white
savages!” responded the unfortunate captain—
“Look out, my brave men! blaze away over the
walls on your left—give no quarter to the annoying
rascals—get the first shot—give them a
foot of your steel.”
While venting such terrible denunciations and
commands, which were drawn from the peaceable
captain by the force of circumstances, Lionel
beheld his friend disappear amid the buildings
of the farm-yard in a cloud of smoke, followed
by his troops. In a few minutes afterwards, as
the line toiled its way up the hill on which this
scene occurred, Polwarth re-appeared, issuing
from the fray with his face blackened and grimed
with powder, while a sheet of flame arose from
the spot which soon laid the devoted buildings of
the unfortunate husbandman in ruins.
“Ha! Major Lincoln,” he cried, as he approached
the other, “do you call these light-infantry
movements! to me they are the torments
of the damned!—Go, you who have influence,
and what is better, a horse, go to Smith, and tell
him if he will call a halt, I will engage, with
my single company, to seat ourselves in any field
he may select, and keep these blood-suckers at
bay for an hour, while the detachment can rest
and satisfy their hunger—trusting that he will
then allow time for his defenders to perform the
same necessary operations. A night-march, no
breakfast—a burning sun—mile after mile—no
halt, and nothing but fire—fire—'tis opposed to
every principle in physics, and even to the anatomy
of man to think he can endure it!”
Lionel endeavoured to encourage his friend to
new exertions, and turning away from their
to his troops. The men cheered as they passed,
and dashed forward to new encounters; the Americans
yielding sullenly, but necessarily, to the
constant charges of the bayonet, to which the regulars
resorted to dislodge them. As the advance
moved on again, Lionel turned to contemplate
the scene in the rear. They had now been marching
and fighting for two hours, with little or no
cessation, and it was but too evident that the
force of the assailants was increasing, both in numbers
and in daring, at each step they took. On
either side of the highway, along the skirts of every
wood or orchard, in the open fields, and from
every house, barn, or cover in sight, the flash of fire-arms
was to be seen, while the shouts of the English
grew, at each instant, feebler and less inspiriting.
Heavy clouds of smoke rose above the valley,
into which he looked, and mingled with the
dust of the march, drawing an impenetrable
veil before the view; but as the wind, at moments,
shoved it aside, he caught glimpses of the worried
and faltering platoons of the party, sometimes
breasting and repulsing an attack with spirit,
and at others shrinking from the contest, with
an ill-concealed desire to urge their retreat to the
verge of an absolute flight. Young as he was,
Major Lincoln knew enough of his profession
to understand that nothing but the want of concert,
and of a unity of command among the
Americans, saved the detachment from total
destruction. The attacks were growing extremely
spirited, and not unfrequently close and bloody,
though the discipline of the troops enabled them
still to bear up against this desultory and divided
warfare, when Lionel heard, with a pleasure he
could not conceal, the loud shouts that arose from
the van, as the cheering intelligence was proclaimed
their front was raised by a chosen brigade of
their comrades, which had come most timely to
their succour, with the Heir of Northumberland
at its head. The Americans gave way as the
two detachments joined, and the artillery of the
succours opened upon their flying parties, giving
a few minutes of stolen rest to those who needed
it so much. Polwarth threw himself flat on the
earth, as Lionel dismounted at his side, and his
example was followed by the whole party, who
lay panting, under the heat and fatigue, like worried
deer, that had succeeded in throwing the
hounds from their scent.
“As I am a gentleman of simple habits, and a
man innocent of all this bloodshed, Major Lincoln,”
said the captain, “I pronounce this march to
be a most unjust draft on the resources of human
nature. I have journeyed at least five leagues
between this spot and that place of discord that
they falsely call Concord, within two hours,
amidst dust, smoke, groans, and other infernal
cries, that would cause the best trained racer in
England to bolt; and breathing an air, all the
time, that would boil an egg in two minutes and
a quarter, if fairly exposed to it.”
“You overrate the distance—'tis but two
leagues by the stones—”
“Stones!” interrupted Polwarth—“I scorn
their lies—I have a leg here that is a better index
for miles, feet, or even inches, than was ever
chiseled in stone.”
“We must not contest this idle point,” returned
Lionel, “for I see the troops are about to dine;
and we have need of every moment to reach Boston
before the night closes around us.
“Eat! Boston! night!” slowly repeated Polwarth,
raising himself on one arm, and staring
is so mad as to talk of moving from this spot
short of a week—it would take half that time
to receive the internal refreshment necessary to
our systems, and the remainder to restore us healthy
appetites.”
“Such, however, are the orders of the Earl
Percy, from whom I learn that the whole country
is rising in our front.”
“Ay, but they are fellows who slept peacefully
in their beds the past night; and I dare
say that every dog among them ate his half-pound
of pork, together with additions suitable for a
breakfast, before he crossed his threshold this
morning. But with us the case is different.
It is incumbent on two thousand British troops
to move with deliberation, if it should be only
for the credit of his majesty's arms. No, no—
the gallant Percy too highly respects his princely
lineage and name to assume the appearance of
flight before a mob of base-born hinds!”
The intelligence of Lionel was nevertheless
true; for after a short halt, allowing barely time
enough to the troops to eat a hasty meal, the
drums again beat the signal to march, and Polwarth,
as well as many hundred others, was reluctantly
compelled to resume his feet, under the
penalty of being abandoned to the fury of the
exasperated Americans. While the troops were
in a state of rest, the field-pieces of the reinforcement
kept their foes at a distance, but the instant
the guns were limbered, and the files had
once more opened for room, the attacks were
renewed from every quarter, with redoubled fury.
The excesses of the troops, who had begun to
vent their anger by plundering and firing the
dwellings that they passed, added to the bitterness
of the attacks, and the march had not
conflict raged along its skirts than had been before
witnessed on that day.
“Would to God that the great Northumbrian
would form us in order of battle, and make a fair
field with the Yankees,” groaned Polwarth, as
he toiled his way once more with the advance—
“half an hour would settle the matter, and a
man would then possess the gratification of seeing
himself a victor, or at least of knowing that
he was comfortably and quietly dead.”
“Few of us would ever arrive in the morning,
if we left the Americans a night to gather
in; and a halt of an hour would lose us the advantages
of the whole march,” returned Lionel—
“Cheer up, my old comrade, and you will establish
your reputation for activity for ever—here
comes a party of the Provincials over the crest
of the hill to keep you in employment.”
Polwarth cast a look of despair at Lionel, as
he muttered in reply—
“Employment! God knows that there has not
been a single muscle, sinew, or joint in my body
in a state of wholesome rest for four-and-twenty
hours!” Then turning to his men, he cried, with
tones so cheerful and animated, that they seemed
to proceed from a final and closing exertion, as
he led them gallantly into the approaching fray—
“Scatter the dogs, my brave friends—away with
them like gnats, like moschettos, like leeches, as
they are—give it them—lead and steel by handsful”—
“On—push on with the advance!” shouted the
old major of marines, who observed the leading
platoons to stagger.
The voice of Polwarth was once more heard in
the din, and their irregular assailants sullenly
yielded before the charge.
“On—on with the advance!” cried fifty voices
out of a cloud of smoke and dust that was moving
up the hill, on whose side this encounter occurred.
In this manner the war continued to roll slowly
onward, following the weary and heavy foot-steps
of the soldiery, who had now toiled for
many miles, surrounded by the din of battle, and
leaving in their path the bloody impressions of
their footsteps. Lionel was enabled to trace their
route, far towards the north, by the bright red
spots, which lay scattered in alarming numbers
along the highway, and in the fields through
which the troops occasionally moved. He even
found time, in the intervals of rest, to note the
difference in the characters of the combatants.
Whenever the ground or the circumstances admitted
of a regular attack, the dying confidence
of the troops would seem restored, and they
moved up to the charge with the bold carriage
which high discipline inspires, rending the air
with shouts, while their enemies melted before
their power in sullen silence, never ceasing to
use their weapons however, with an expertness
that rendered them doubly dangerous. The direction
of the columns frequently brought the
troops over ground that had been sharply contested
in front, and the victims of these short struggles
came under the eyes of the detachment. It was
necessary to turn a deaf ear to the cries and
prayers of many wounded soldiers, who, with horror
and abject fear written on every feature of
their countenances, were the helpless witnesses
of the retreating files of their comrades. On the
other hand, the American lay in his blood, regarding
the passing detachment with a stern and
indignant eye, that appeared to look far beyond
his individual suffering. Over one body, Lionel
pulled the reins of his horse, and he paused a
lifeless form of a man, whose white locks, hollow
cheeks, and emaciated frame, denoted that the
bullet which had stricken him to the earth had
anticipated the irresistible decrees of time but
a very few days. He had fallen on his back,
and his glazed eye expressed, even in death, the
honest resentment he had felt while living; and
his palsied hand continued to grasp the fire-lock,
old and time-worn, like its owner, with which he
had taken the field in behalf of his country.
“Where can a contest end which calls such
champions to its aid!” exclaimed Lionel, observing
that the shadow of another spectator fell
across the wan features of the dead—“who can
tell where this torrent of blood can be stayed, or
how many are to be its victims!”
Receiving no answer, he raised his eyes, and discovered
that he had unwittingly put this searching
question to the very man whose rashness had
precipitated the war. It was the major of marines,
who sat looking at the sight, for a minute, with an
eye as vacant as the one that seemed to throw
back his wild gaze, and then rousing from his
trance, he buried his rowels in the flanks of his
horse, and disappeared in the smoke that enveloped
a body of the grenadiers, waving his sword
on high, and shouting—
“On—push on with the advance!”
Major Lincoln slowly followed, musing on the
scene he had witnessed, when, to his surprise, he
encountered Polwarth, seated on a rock by the
roadside, looking with a listless and dull eye at
the retreating columns. Checking his charger,
he inquired of his friend if he were hurt.
“Only melted,” returned the captain; “I have
outdone the speed of man this day, Major Lincoln,
and can do no more. If you see any of
my fate as a soldier should, stationary; though I
am actually melting away in rivulets, like the
snows of April.”
“Good God! you will not remain here to be
slain by the Provincials, by whom you see we are
completely enveloped?”
“I am preparing a speech for the first Yankee
who may approach. If he be a true man he will
melt into tears at my sufferings this day—if a
savage, my heirs will be spared the charges of
my funeral.”
Lionel would have continued his remonstrances,
but a fierce encounter between a flanking party of
the troops and a body of Americans, drove the
former close upon him, and leaping the wall he
rallied his comrades, and turned the tide of battle
in their favour. He was drawn far from the spot
by the vicissitudes of the combat, and there was
a moment, while passing from one body of the
troops to another, that he found himself unexpectedly
alone, in a most dangerous vicinity to a small
wood. The hurried call of “pick off that officer,”
first aroused him to his extreme danger, and he
had mechanically bowed himself on the neck of
his charger, in expectation of the fatal messengers,
when a voice was heard among the Americans,
crying, in tones that caused every nerve in
his body to thrill—
“Spare him! for the love of that God you
worship, spare him!”
The overwhelming sensations of the moment
prevented flight, and the young man beheld Ralph,
running with frantic gestures, along the skirts of
the cover, beating up the fire-arms of twenty
Americans, and repeating his cries in a voice
that did not seem to belong to a human being—
then, in the confusion which whirled through his
brain, Lionel thought himself a prisoner, as a
wood, and laid his hand on the rein of his
bridle, saying earnestly—
“'Tis a bloody day, and God will remember
it; but if Major Lincoln will ride straight down
the hill, the people wont fire for fear of hitting
Job—and when Job fires, he'll shoot that granny
who's getting over the wall, and there'll never be
a stir about it in Funnel-Hall.”
Lionel wheeled away quicker than thought,
and as his charger took long and desperate leaps
down the slight declivity, he heard the shouts of
the Americans behind him, the crack of Job's
rifle, and the whizzing of the bullet which the
changeling sent, as he had promised, in a direction
to do him no harm. On gaining a place
of comparative safety, he found Pitcairn in the
act of abandoning his bleeding horse, the close
and bitter attacks of the Provincials rendering it
no longer safe for an officer to be seen riding on
the flanks of the detachment. Lionel, though he
valued his steed highly, had also received so many
intimations of the dangerous notice he had attracted,
that he was soon obliged to follow this
example, and he saw, with deep regret, the noble
animal scouring across the fields with a loose rein,
snorting and snuffing the tainted air. He now
joined a party of the combatants on foot, and
continued to animate them to new exertions during
the remainder of the tedious way.
From the moment the spires of Boston met
the view of the troops, the struggle became intensely
interesting. New vigour was imparted to
their weary frames by the cheering sight, and
assuming once more the air of high martial
training, they bore up against the assaults of
their enemies with renewed spirit. On the other
hand, the Americans seemed aware that the moments
of vengeance were passing swiftly away,
the active, crowded around their invaders, as if
eager to obtain a parting blow. Even the peaceful
ministers of God were known to take the field
on that memorable occasion, and, mingling with
their parishioners, to brave every danger in a
cause which they believed in consonance with
their holy calling. The sun was sinking over the
land, and the situation of the detachment had become
nearly desperate, when Percy abandoned
the idea of reaching the Neck, across which he
had proudly marched that morning from Boston,
and strained every nerve to get the remainder of
his command within the peninsula of Charlestown.
THe crests and the sides of the heights were alive
with men, and as the shades of evening closed
about the combatants, the bosoms of the Americans
beat high with hope, while they witnessed
the faltering steps and slackened fire of the
troops. But high discipline, finally so far prevailed
as to snatch the English from the very
grasp of destruction, and enabled them to gain
the narrow entrance to the desired shelter, just as
night had come apparently to seal their doom.
Lionel stood leaning against a fence, as this
fine body of men, which a few hours before had
thought themselves equal to a march through the
colonies, defiled slowly and heavily by him,
dragging their weary and exhausted limbs up the
toilsome ascent of Bunker-Hill. The haughty
eyes of most of the officers were bent to the
earth in shame; and the common herd, even
in that place of security, cast many an anxious
glance behind them, to assure themselves that the
despised inhabitants of the Province were no
longer pressing on their footsteps. Platoon after
platoon passed, each man compelled to depend on
his own wearied limbs for support, until Lionel at
among the crowd. To his utter amazement
and great joy, as this officer approached, he
beheld Polwarth, mounted on his own steed,
riding towards him, with a face of the utmost
complacency and composure. The dress of the
captain was torn in many places, and the housings
of the saddle were cut into ribands, while
here and there a spot of clotted blood, on
the sides of the beast, served to announce the
particular notice the rider had received from the
Americans. The truth was soon extorted from
the honest soldier. The love of life had returned
with the sight of the abandoned charger. He acknowledged
it had cost him his watch to have the
beast caught; but once established in the saddle,
no danger, nor any remonstrances, could induce
him to relinquish a seat which he found so consoling
after all the fatigue and motion of that evil
day, in which he had been compelled to share in
the calamities of those who fought on the side of
the crown, in the memorable battle of Lexington.
| CHAPTER X. Lionel Lincoln, or, The leaguer of Boston | |