 | CHAPTER XV. Lionel Lincoln, or, The leaguer of Boston |  |
15. CHAPTER XV.
“We are finer gentlemen, no doubt, than the plain farmers
“we are about to encounter. Our hats carry a smarter cock,
“our swords hang more gracefully by our sides, and we make
“an easier figure in a ball-room; but let it be remembered,
“that the most finished maccaroni amongst us, would pass for
“an arrant clown at Pekin.”
Letter from a Veteran Officer, &c.
When the heavy sleep of morning fell upon his
senses, visions of the past and future mingled with
wild confusion in the dreams of the youthful soldier.
The form of his father stood before him, as
he had known it in his childhood, fair in the
proportions and vigour of manhood, regarding
him with those eyes of benignant, but melancholy
affection, which characterized their expression
after he had become the sole joy of his widowed
parent. While his heart was warming at the sight,
the figure melted away, and was succeeded by
fantastic phantoms, which appeared to dance
among the graves on Copp's, led along in those
gambols, which partook of the ghastly horrors of
the dead, by Job Pray, who glided among the
tombs like a being of another world. Sudden and
loud thunder then burst upon them, and the shadows
fled into their secret places, from whence
he could see, ever and anon, some glassy eyes
conscious of the power they possessed to chill the
blood of the living. His visions now became
painfully distinct, and his sleep was oppressed
with their vividness, when his senses burst their
unnatural bonds, and he awoke. The air of morning
was breathing through his open curtains, and
the light of day had already shed itself upon the
dusky roofs of the town. Lionel arose from his
bed, and had paced his chamber several times, in
a vain effort to shake off the images that had
haunted his slumbers, when the sounds which
broke upon the stillness of the air, became too
plain to be longer mistaken by a practised ear.
“Ha!” he muttered to himself, “I have been
dreaming but by halves—these are the sounds of
no fancied tempest, but cannon, speaking most
plainly to the soldier!”
He opened his window, and looked out upon
the surrounding scene. The roar of artillery
was now quick and heavy, and Lionel bent his
eyes about him to discover the cause of this unusual
occurrence. It had been the policy of Gage
to await the arrival of his reinforcements, before
he struck a blow which was intended to be decisive;
and the Americans were well known to
be too scantily supplied with the munitions of
war, to waste a single charge of powder in any of
the vain attacks of modern sieges. A knowledge
of these facts gave an additional interest to the
curiosity with which Major Lincoln endeavoured
to penetrate the mystery of so singular a disturbance.
Window after window in the adjacent
buildings soon exhibited, like his own, its wondering
and alarmed spectator. Here and there a
half-dressed soldier, or a busy townsman, was seen
hurrying along the silent streets, with steps that
denoted the eagerness of his curiosity. Women
then, as the sounds broke on their ears with
ten-fold heaviness in the open air, they shrunk
back into their habitations in pallid dismay. Lionel
called to three or four of the men as they
hurried by, but turning their eyes wildly towards
his window, they passed on without answering,
as if the emergency were too pressing
to admit of speech. Finding his repeated inquiries
fruitless, he hastily dressed himself, and descended
to the street. As he left his own door,
a half-clad artillerist hurried past him, adjusting
his garments with one hand, and bearing in the
other some of the lesser implements of the particular
corps in which he served.
“What means the firing, sergeant,” demanded
Lionel, “and whither do you hasten with those
fuses?”
“The rebels, your honour, the rebels!” returned
the soldier, looking back to speak, without
ceasing his speed; “and I go to my guns!”
“The rebels!” repeated Lionel—“what can
we have to fear, from a mob of countrymen, in
such a position—that fellow has slept from his
post, and apprehensions for himself mingle with
this zeal for his king!”
The towns-people now began to pour from
their dwellings in scores; and Lionel imitated
their example, and took his course towards the
adjacent height of Beacon-hill. He toiled his
way up the steep ascent, in company with twenty
more, without exchanging a syllable with men
who appeared as much astonished as himself at
this early interruption of their slumbers, and in
a few minutes he stood on the little grassy platform,
surrounded by a hundred interested gazers.
The sun had just lifted the thin veil of mist from
the bosom of the waters, and the eye was permitted
vapour. Several vessels were moored in the
channels of the Charles and Mystick, to cover the
northern approaches to the place; and as he beheld
the column of white smoke that was wreathing
about the masts of a frigate among them, Lionel
was no longer at a loss to comprehend whence
the firing proceeded. While he was yet gazing,
uncertain of the reasons which demanded this
show of war, immense fields of smoke burst from
the side of a ship of the line, who also opened
her deep-mouthed cannon, and presently her example
was followed by several floating batteries,
and lighter vessels, until the wide amphitheatre
of hills that encircled Boston were filled with the
echoes of a hundred pieces of artillery.
“What can it mean, sir!” exclaimed a young
officer of his own regiment, addressing Major
Lincoln—“the sailors are in downright earnest,
and they scale their guns with shot, I know, by
the rattling of the reports!”
“I can boast of a vision no better than your
own,” returned Lionel; “for no enemy can I
see. As the guns seem pointed at the opposite
peninsula, it is probable a party of the Americans
are attempting to destroy the grass which lies
newly mown in the meadows.”
The young officer was in the act of assenting
to this conjecture, when a voice was heard above
their heads, shouting—
“There goes a gun from Copp's! They
needn't think to frighten the people with their
rake-helly noises; let them blaze away till the
dead get out of their graves—the Bay-men will
keep the hill!
Every eye was immediately turned upward,
and the wondering and amused spectators discovered
Job Pray, seated in the grate of the Beacon,
with exultation, while he continued waving
his hat high in air, as gun after gun was added to
the uproar of the cannonade.
“How now, fellow!” exclaimed Lionel; “what
see you? and where are the Bay-men of whom
you speak?”
“Where,” returned the simpleton, clapping his
hands with childish delight—“why, where they
came at dark midnight, and where theyll stand
at open noon-day! The Bay-men can look
into the windows of old Funnel at last, and now
let the reg'lars come on, and they'll teach the
godless murderers the law!”
Lionel, a little irritated with the bold language
of Job, called to him in an angry voice—
“Come down from that perch, fellow, and explain
yourself, or this grenadier shall lift you
from your seat, and transfer you to the post for
a little of that wholesome correction which you
need.”
“You promised that the grannies should never
flog Job ag'in,” said the changeling, crouching
down in the grate, whence he looked out at his
threatened chastiser with a lowering and sullen
eye—“and Job agreed to run your a'r'nds,
and not take any of the king's crowns in pay.”
“Come down, then, this instant, and I will remember
the compact.”
Comforted by this assurance, which was made
in a more friendly tone, Job threw himself carelessly
from his iron seat, and clinging to the post,
he slid swiftly to the earth, where Major Lincoln
immediately arrested him by the arm, and demanded—
“Where are those Bay-men, I once more
ask?”
“There!” repeated Job, pointing over the
peninsula. “They dug their cellar on
Breeds, and now they are fixing the underpinnin',
and next you'll see what a raising they'll invite
the people to!”
The instant the spot was named, all those eyes
which had hitherto gazed at the vessels themselves,
instead of searching for the object of
their hostility, were turned on the green eminence
which rose a little to the right of the village of
Charlestown, and every doubt was at once removed
by the discovery. The high, conical summit
of Bunker-hill lay naked, and unoccupied, as on
the preceding day; but on the extremity of a more
humble ridge, which extended within a short
distance of the water, a low bank of earth had
been thrown up, for purposes which no military
eye could mistake. This redoubt, small and inartificial
as it was, commanded by its position
the whole of the inner harbour of Boston, and
even endangered, in some measure, the occupants
of the town itself. It was the sudden appearance
of this magical mound, as the mists of the morning
had dispersed, which roused the slumbering
seamen; and it had already become the target
of all the guns of the shipping in the bay. Amazement
at the temerity of their countrymen, held
the townsmen silent, while Major Lincoln,
and the few officers who stood nigh him, saw at a
glance, that this step on the part of their adversaries
would bring the affairs of the leaguer to an
instant crisis. In vain they turned their wondering
looks on the neighbouring eminence, and
around the different points of the peninsula, in
quest of those places of support with which soldiers
generally entrench their defences. The
husbandmen opposed to them, had seized upon
the point best calculated to annoy their foes,
short hours, favoured by the mantle of night, had
thrown up their work with a dexterity that was
only exceeded by their boldness. The truth
flashed across the brain of Major Lincoln with his
first glance, and he felt his cheeks glow as he remembered
the low and indistinct murmurs which
the night air had wafted to his ears, and those inexplicable
fancies, which had even continued to
haunt him till dispersed by truth and the light
of day. Motioning to Job to follow, he left
the hill with a hurried step, and when they gained
the common, he turned, and said, sternly, to
his companion—
“Fellow, you have been privy to this midnight
work!”
“Job has enough to do in the day, without
labouring in the night, when none but the dead
are out of their places of rest,” returned the lad,
with a look of mental imbecility, which immediately
disarmed the resentment of the other.
Lionel smiled as he again remembered his own
weakness, and repeated to himself—
“The dead! ay, these are the works of the
living, and bold men are they who have dared to
do the deed. But tell me, Job, for 'tis in vain
to attempt deceiving me any longer, what number
of Americans did you leave on the hill when
you crossed the Charles to visit the graves on
Copp's, the past night?”
“Both hills were crowded,” returned the
other—“Breeds with the people, and Copp's with
the ghosts—Job believes the dead rose to see
their children digging so nigh them!”
“'Tis probable,” said Lionel, who believed it
wisest to humour the wild conceits of the lad, in
order to disarm his cunning; “but though the
dead are invisible, the living may be counted.”
“Job did count five hundred men, marching
over the nose of Bunker, by star-light, with their
picks and spades; and then he stopped, for he
forgot whether seven or eight hundred came
next.”
“And after you ceased to count, did many
others pass?”
“The Bay-colony isn't so poorly off for men,
that it can't muster a thousand at a raising.”
“But you had a master workman on the occasion;
was it the wolf-hunter of Connecticut?”
“There is no occasion to go from the province
to find a workman to lay out a cellar!—
Dicky Gridley is a Boston boy!”
“Ah! he is the chief! we can have nothing to
fear then, since the Connecticut woodsman is not
at their head?”
“Do you think old Prescott, of Pepperel, will
quit the hill while he has a kernel of powder to
burn!—no, no, Major Lincoln, Ralph himself
an't a stouter warrior; and you can't frighten
Ralph!”
“But if they fire their cannon often, their
small stock of ammunition will be soon consumed,
and then they must unavoidably run.”
Job laughed tauntingly, and with an appearance
of high scorn, before he answered—
“Yes, if the Bay-men were as dumb as the
king's troops, and used such big guns! but the
cannon of the colony want but little brimstone,
and there's but few of them—let the rake-hellies
go up to Breeds; the people will teach
them the law!”
Lionel had now obtained all he expected to
learn from the simpleton concerning the force
and condition of the Americans; and as the moments
were too precious to be wasted in vain discourse,
night, and left him. On entering his own lodgings,
Major Lincoln shut himself up in his private
apartment, and passed several hours in writing,
and examining important papers. One letter, in
particular, was written, read, torn, and rewritten
five or six times, until at length he placed his
seal, and directed the important paper with a sort
of carelessness that denoted his patience was exhausted
by repeated trials. These documents
were entrusted to Meriton, with orders to deliver
them to their several addresses, unless countermanded
before the following day, and the young
man hastily swallowed a late and light breakfast.
While shut up in his closet, Lionel had several
times thrown aside his pen to listen, as the hum of
the place penetrated to his retirement, and announced
the excitement and bustle which pervaded
the streets of the town. Having at length
completed the task he had assigned himself, he
caught up his hat, and took his way, with hasty
steps, into the centre of the place.
Cannon were rattling over the rough pavements,
followed by ammunition wagons, and officers
and men of the artillery were seen in swift
pursuit of their pieces. Aide-de-camps were
riding furiously through the streets, charged with
important messages; and here and there an officer
might be seen issuing from his quarters, with a
countenance in which manly pride struggled
powerfully with inward dejection, as he caught
the last glance of anguish which followed his
retiring form, from eyes that had been used to
meet his own with looks of confidence and love.
There was, however, but little time to dwell on
these flitting glimpses of domestic wo, amid the
general bustle and glitter of the scene. Now and
then the strains of martial broke up through
of the troops wheeled by on their way to
the appointed place of embarkation. While Lionel
stood a moment at the corner of a street, admiring
the firm movement of a body of grenadiers,
his eye fell on the powerful frame and
rigid features of M Fuse, marching at the head of
his company with that gravity which regarded
the accuracy of the step amongst the important
incidents of life. At a short distance from him
was Job Pray, timing his paces to the tread of
the soldiers, and regarding the gallant show with
stupid admiration, while his ear unconsciously
drank the inspiriting music of their band. As
this fine body of men passed on, it was immediately
succeeded by a battalion in which Lionel
instantly recognised the facings of his own regiment.
The warm-hearted Polwarth led its forward
files, and waving his hand, he cried—
“God bless you, Leo, God bless you—we shall
make a fair stand up fight of this; there is an end
of all stag-hunting.”
The notes of the horns rose above his voice,
and Lionel could do no more than return his
cordial salute; when, recalled to his purpose by
the sight of his comrades, he turned, and pursued
his way to the quarters of the commander-in-chief.
The gate of Province-house was thronged with
military men; some waiting for admittance, and
others entering and departing with the air of
those who were charged with the execution of
matters of the deepest moment. The name of
Major Lincoln was hardly announced before an
aid appeared to conduct him into the presence
of the governor, with a politeness and haste that
several gentlemen, who had been in waiting for
hours, deemed in a trifling degree unjust.
Lionel, however, having little to do with
murmurs which he did not hear, followed his conductor,
and was immediately ushered into the
apartment, where a council of war had just closed
its deliberations. On the threshold of its door
he was compelled to give way to an officer who
was departing in haste, and whose powerful frame
seemed bent a little in the intensity of thought,
as his dark, military countenance lighted for an
instant with the salutation he returned to the low
bow of the young soldier. Around this chief
a group of younger men immediately clustered,
and as they departed in company, Lionel was enabled
to gather from their conversation that they
took their way for the field of battle. The room
was filled with officers of high rank, though here
and there was to be seen a man in civil attire,
whose disappointed and bitter looks announced
him to be one of those mandamus counsellors,
whose evil advice had hastened the mischief their
wisdom could never repair. From out a small circle
of these mortified civilians, the unpretending
person of Gage advanced to meet Lionel, forming
a marked contrast by the simplicity of its
dress, to the military splendour that was glittering
around him.
“In what can I oblige Major Lincoln?” he
said, taking the young man by the hand cordially,
as if glad to be rid of the troublesome counsellors
he had so unceremoniously quitted.
“ `Wolfe's own' has just passed me on its way
to the boats, and I have ventured to intrude on
your excellency to inquire if it were not time its
Major had resumed his duty?”
A shade of thought was seated for a moment on
the placid features of the general, and he then answered
with a friendly smile—
“'Twill be no more than an affair of out-posts,
and must be quickly ended. But should I grant
the request of every brave young man whose
spirit is up to-day, it might cost his majesty's service
the life of some officer that would make the
purchase of the pile of earth too dear.”
“But may I not be permitted to say, that the
family of Lincoln is of the Province, and its
example should not be lost on such an occasion?”
“The loyalty of the colonies is too well represented
here to need the sacrifice,” said Gage,
glancing his eyes carelessly at the expecting group
behind him.—“My council have decided on the
officers to be employed, and I regret that Major
Lincoln's name was omitted, since I know it will
give him pain; but valuable lives are not to be
lightly and unnecessarily exposed.”
Lionel bowed in submission, and after communicating
the little he had gatltered from Job Pray,
he turned away, and found himself near another
officer of high rank, who smiled as he observed his
disappointed countenance, and taking him by the
arm, led him from the room, with a freedom suited
to his fine figure and easy air.
“Then, like myself, Lincoln, you are not to
battle for the king to-day,” he said, on gaining
the anti-chamber. “Howe has the luck of the
occasion, if there can be luck in so vulgar an
affair. But allons; accompany me to Copp's, as
a spectator, since they deny us parts in the drama;
and perhaps we may pick up materials for a pasquinade,
though not for an epic.”
“Pardon me, General Burgoyne,” said Lionel,
“if I view the matter with more serious eyes
than yourself.”
“Ah! I had forgot that you were a follower
of Percy in the hunt of Lexington!” interrupted
the other; “we will call it a tragedy, then, if
I weary of these crooked streets and gloomy
houses, and having some taste for the poetry of
nature, would have long since looked out upon
the deserted fields of these husbandmen, had the
authority, as well as the inclination, rested with
me. But Clinton is joining us: he, too, is for
Copp's, where we can all take a lesson in arms, by
studying the manner in which Howe wields his
battalions.”
A soldier of middle age now joined them, whose
stout frame, while it wanted the grace and ease
of the gentleman who still held Lionel by the arm,
bore a martial character to which the look of the
quiet and domestic Gage was a stranger; and followed
by their several attendants, the whole party
immediately left the government-house to take
their destined position on the eminence so often
mentioned.
As they entered the street, Burgoyne relinquished
the arm of his companion, and moved
with becoming dignity by the side of his brother
General. Lionel gladly availed himself of this
alteration to withdraw a little from the group,
whose steps he followed at such a distance as permitted
him to observe those exhibitions of feeling
on the part of the inhabitants, which the pride of
the others induced them to overlook. Pallid and
anxious female faces were gleaming out upon
them from every window, while the roofs of the
houses, and the steeples of the churches, were beginning
to throng with more daring, and equally
interested spectators. The drums no longer rolled
along the narrow streets, though, occasionally,
the shrill strain of a fife was heard from the water,
announcing the movements of the troops to
the opposite peninsula. Over all was heard the
incessant roaring of the artillery, which, untired,
had not ceased to rumble in the air since the appearance
presence, had learnt to distinguish the lesser
sounds we have recorded.
As the party descended into the lower passages
of the town, it appeared deserted by every thing
having life, the open windows and neglected doors
betraying the urgency of the feelings which had
called the population to situations more favourable
for observing the approaching contest. This
appearance of intense curiosity excited the sympathies
of even the old and practised soldiers;
and quickening their paces, the whole soon
rose from among the gloomy edifices to the open
and unobstructed view from the hill.
The whole scene now lay before them. Nearly
in their front was the village of Charlestown,
with its deserted streets, and silent roofs, looking
like a place of the dead; or, if the signs of life
were visible within its open avenues, 'twas merely
some figure moving swiftly in the solitude, like
one who hastened to quit the devoted spot. On
the opposite point of the south-eastern face of
the peninsula, and at the distance of a thousand
yards, the ground was already covered by masses
of human beings, in scarlet, with their arms glittering
in a noon-day sun. Between the two, though
in the more immediate vicinity of the silent town,
the rounded ridge already described, rose abruptly
from a flat that was bounded by the water,
until, having attained an elevation of some fifty or
sixty feet, it swelled gradually to the little crest,
where was planted the humble object that had
occasioned all this commotion. The meadows, on
the right, were still peaceful and smiling as in the
most quiet days of the province, though the excited
fancy of Lionel imagined that a sullen stillness
lingered about the neglected kilns in their
gloomy consonance with the approaching scene.
Far on the left, across the waters of the Charles,
the American camp had poured forth its thousands
to the hills; and the whole population of the
country for many miles inland, had gathered to a
point, to witness a struggle charged with the fate
of their nation. Beacon-hill rose from out the appalling
silence of the town of Boston, like a pyramid
of living faces, with every eye fixed on the
fatal point, and men hung along the yards of the
shipping, or were suspended on cornices, cupolas,
and steeples, in thoughtless security, while every
other sense was lost in the absorbing interest of
the sight. The vessels of war had hauled deep
into the rivers, or more properly, those narrow
arms of the sea which formed the peninsula, and
sent their iron missiles with unwearied industry
across the low passage which alone opened the
means of communication between the self-devoted
yeomen on the hill, and their distant country men.
While battalion landed after battalion on the
point, cannon-balls from the battery of Copp's,
and the vessels of war, were glancing up the natural
glacis that surrounded the redoubt, burying
themselves in its earthen parapet, or plunging
with violence into the deserted sides of the loftier
height which lay a few hundred yards in its rear;
and the black and smoking bombs appeared to
hover above the spot, as if pausing to select the
places in which to plant their deadly combustibles.
Notwithstanding these appalling preparations,
and ceaseless annoyances, throughout that long
and anxious morning, the stout husbandmen
on the hill had never ceased their steady efforts
to maintain, to the uttermost extremity, the post
they had so daringly assumed. In vain the English
stubborn foes; the pick, the shovel, and the spade
continued to perform their offices, and mound rose
after mound, amidst the din and danger of the
cannonade, steadily, and as well as if the fanciful
conceits of Job Pray embraced their real objects,
and the labourers were employed in the peaceful
pursuits of their ordinary lives. This firmness,
however, was not like the proud front which high
training can impart to the most common mind;
for ignorant of the glare of military show; in the
simple and rude vestments of their calling; armed
with such weapons as they had seized from the
hooks above their own mantels; and without
even a banner to wave its cheering folds above
their heads, they stood, sustained only by the
righteousness of their cause, and those deep
moral principles which they had received from
their fathers, and which they intended this day
should show, were to be transmitted untarnished
to their children. It was afterwards known
that they endured their labours and their dangers
even in want of that sustenance which is so essential
to support animal spirits in moments of
calmness and ease; while their enemies, on the
point, awaiting the arrival of their latest bands,
were securely devouring a meal, which to hundreds
amongst them proved to be their last. The
fatal instant now seemed approaching. A general
movement was seen among the battalions
of the British, who began to spread along the
shore, under cover of the brow of the hill—
the lingering boats having arrived with the rear
of their detachments—and officers hurried from
regiment to regiment with the final mandates
of their chief. At this moment a body of Americans
appeared on the crown of Bunker-hill,
and descending swiftly by the road, disappeared
redoubt. This band was followed by others,
who, like themselves, had broken through the
dangers of the narrow pass, by braving the
fire of the shipping, and who also hurried to
join their comrades on the low land. The British
General determined at once to anticipate the
arrival of further reinforcements, and gave forth
the long-expected order to prepare for the attack.
| CHAPTER XV. Lionel Lincoln, or, The leaguer of Boston | |