 | CHAP. XVI. Lionel Lincoln, or, The leaguer of Boston |  |
16. CHAP. XVI.
“No cause for joy, or wanton triumph found,
“But saw, with grief, their dreams of conquest vain,
“Felt the deep wounds, and mourn'd their vet'rans slain.”
Humphreys.
The Americans had made a show, in the
course of that fearful morning, of returning the
fire of their enemies, by throwing a few shot from
their light field-pieces, as if in mockery of the
tremendous cannonade which they sustained.
But as the moment of severest trial approached,
the same awful stillness which had settled upon
the deserted streets of Charlestown, hovered
around the redoubt. On the meadows, to its
left, the recently arrived bands hastily threw
the rails of two fences into one, and covering
the whole with the mown grass that surrounded
them, they posted themselves along the frail
defence, which answered no better purpose than
to conceal their weakness from their adversaries.
Behind this characteristic rampart, several bodies
of husbandmen from the neighbouring provinces
of New-Hampshire and Connecticut, lay on their
arms, in sullen expectation. Their line extended
from the shore to the base of the ridge, where it
works; leaving a wide opening in a diagonal direction,
between the fence and an earthen breast-work,
which ran a short distance down the declivity
of the hill, from the north-eastern angle
of the redoubt. A few hundred yards in the
rear of this rude disposition, the naked crest
of Bunker-hill rose unoccupied and undefended,
and the streams of the Charles and Mystick
sweeping around its base, approached so near
each other as to blend the sounds of their rippling.
It was across this low and narrow isthmus,
that the royal frigates poured a stream of fire,
that never ceased, while around it hovered the
numerous parties of the undisciplined Americans,
hesitating to attempt the dangerous passage.
In this manner Gage had, in a great degree,
surrounded the devoted peninsula with his power;
and the bold men who had so daringly planted
themselves under the muzzles of his cannon,
were left, as already stated, unsupported, without
nourishment, and with weapons from their own
gun-hooks, singly to maintain the honour of their
nation. Including men of all ages and conditions,
there might have been two thousand of them;
but as the day advanced, small bodies of their
countrymen, taking counsel of their feelings, and
animated by the example of the old Partisan of
the Woods, who crossed and recrossed the neck,
loudly scoffing at the danger, broke through the
fire of the shipping in time to join in the closing
and bloody business of the hour.
On the other hand, Howe led more than an
equal number of the chosen troops of his Prince;
and as boats continued to ply between the two
peninsulas throughout the afternoon, the relative
disparity continued undiminished to the end of
that, deeming himself sufficiently strong to force
the defences of his despised foes, the arrangements
immediately preparatory to such an undertaking
were made in full view of the excited
spectators. Notwithstanding the security
with which the English General marshalled his
warriors, he felt that the approaching contest
would be a battle of no common incidents. The
eyes of teus of thousands were fastened on his
movements, and the occasion demanded the richest
display of the pageantry of war.
The troops formed with beautiful accuracy,
and the columns moved steadily along the shore,
and took their assigned stations under cover of
the brow of the eminence. Their force was in
some measure divided; one moiety attempting
the toilsome ascent of the hill, and the other moving
along the beach, or in the orchards of the
more level ground, towards the husbandmen on
the meadows. The latter soon disappeared behind
some fruit-trees and the brick-kilns just
mentioned. The advance of the royal columns
up the ascent was slow and measured, giving
time to their field-guns to add their efforts to
the uproar of the cannonade, which broke out
with new fury as the battalions prepared to
march. When each column arrived at the allotted
point, it spread the gallant array of its glittering
warriors under a bright sun.
“It is a glorious spectacle,” murmured the
graceful chieftain by the side of Lionel, keenly
alive to all the poetry of his alluring profession;
“how exceeding soldier-like! and with what
accuracy his `first-arm ascends the hill,' towards
his enemy!”
The intensity of his feelings prevented Major
Lincoln from replying, and the other soon forgot
of the moment. The advance of the British
line, so beautiful and slow, resembled rather
the ordered steadiness of a drill than an approach
to a deadly struggle. Their standards fluttered
proudly above them, and there were moments
when the wild music of their bands was heard
rising on the air, and tempering the ruder sounds
of the artillery. The young and thoughtless in their
ranks turned their faces backward, and smiled
exultingly, as they beheld steeples, roofs, masts,
and heights, teeming with their thousands of eyes,
bent on the show of their bright array. As the British
lines moved in open view of the little redoubt,
and began slowly to gather around its different
faces, gun after gun became silent, and the
curious artillerist, or tired seaman, lay extended
on his heated piece, gazing in mute wonder at
the spectacle. There was just then a minute
when the roar of the cannonade seemed passing
away like the rumbling of distant thunder.
“They will not fight, Lincoln,” said the animated
leader at the side of Lionel—“the military
front of Howe has chilled the hearts of the knaves,
and our victory will be bloodless!”
“We shall see, sir—we shall see!”
These words were barely uttered, when platoon
after platoon, among the British, delivered its
fire, the blaze of musketry flashing swiftly around
the brow of the hill, and was immediately followed
by heavy volleys that ascended from the
orchard. Still no answering sound was heard
from the Americans, and the royal troops were
soon lost to the eye as they slowly marched into
the white cloud which their own fire had alone
created.
“They are cowed, by heavens—the dogs are
cowed!” once more cried the gay companion of
them, unharmed!”
At that instant a sheet of flame glanced through
the smoke, like lightning playing in a cloud,
while at one report a thousand muskets were
added to the uproar. It was not altogether fancy
which led Lionel to imagine that he saw the
smoky canopy of the hill to wave as if the trained
warriors it enveloped faltered before this close
and appalling discharge; but in another instant,
the stimulating war-cry, and the loud shouts of
the combatants were borne across the strait to
his ears, even amid the horrid din of the combat.
Ten breathless minutes flew by like a moment of
time, and the bewildered spectators on Copp's
were still gazing intently on the scene, when a
voice was raised among them, shouting—
“Hurrah! let the rake-hellies go up to Breed's;
the people will teach'em the law!”
“Throw the rebel scoundrel from the hill!
Blow him from the muzzle of a gun!” cried
twenty soldiers in a breath.
“Hold!” exclaimed Lionel—“'tis a simpleton,
an idiot, a fool!”
But the angry and savage murmurs as quickly
subsided, and were lost in other feelings, as the
bright red lines of the royal troops were seen
issuing from the smoke, waving and recoiling
before the still vivid fire of their enemies.
“Ha!” said Burgoyne—“'tis some feint to
draw the rebels from their hold!”
“'Tis a palpable and disgraceful retreat!”
muttered the stern warrior nigh him, whose truer
eye detected at a glance the discomfiture of the
assailants—“'Tis another base retreat before the
rebels!”
“Hurrah!” shouted the reckless changeling
again; “there come the reg'lars out of the
the kilns! Let them go on to Breed's, the people
will teach'em the law!”
No cry of vengeance preceded the act this
time, but fifty of the soldiery rushed, as by a common
impulse, on their prey. Lionel had not time
to utter a word of remonstrance, before Job appeared
in the air, borne on the uplifted arms of
a dozen men, and at the next instant he was
seen rolling down the steep declivity, with a velocity
that carried him to the water's edge.
Springing to his feet, the undaunted changeling
once more waved his hat in triumph, and shouted
forth again his offensive challenge. Then
turning, he launched his canoe from its hiding
place among the adjacent lumber, amid a shower
of stones, and glided across the strait; his little
bark escaping unnoticed in the crowd of boats
that were rowing in all directions. But his progress
was watched by the uneasy eye of Lionel,
who saw him land and disappear, with hasty steps,
in the silent streets of the town.
While this trifling by-play was enacted, the
great drama of the day was not at a stand. The
smoky veil which clung around the brow of the
eminence, was lifted by the air, and sailed heavily
away to the south-west, leaving the scene of
the bloody struggle again open to the view. Lionel
witnessed the grave and meaning glances
which the two lieutenants of the king exchanged
as they simultaneously turned their glasses from
the fatal spot, and taking the one proffered by
Burgoyne, he read their explanation in the numbers
of the dead that lay profusely scattered in
front of the redoubt. At this instant, an officer
from the field held an earnest communication
with the two leaders, when, having delivered his
orders, he hastened back to his boat, like one
death.
“It shall be done, sir,” repeated Clinton, as
the other departed, his own honest brow sternly
knit under high martial excitement.—“The artillery
have their orders, and the work will be accomplished
without delay.”
“This, Major Lincoln!” cried his more sophisticated
companion, “this is one of the trying
duties of the soldier! To fight, to bleed, or
even to die, for his prince, is his happy privilege;
but it is sometimes his unfortunate lot to become
the instrument of vengeance.”
Lionel waited but a moment for an explanation—the
flaming balls were soon seen taking
their wide circuit in the air, and carrying their
desolation among the close and inflammable
roofs of the opposite town. In a very few minutes
a dense, black smoke arose from the deserted
buildings, and forked flames played actively along
the heated shingles, as though rioting in their
unmolested possession of the place. He regarded
the gathering destruction in painful silence;
and on bending his looks towards his companions,
he fancied, notwithstanding the language of the
other, that he read the deepest regret in the averted
eye of him who had so unhesitatingly uttered
the fatal mandate to destroy.
In scenes like these we are attempting to describe,
hours appear to be minutes, and time flies
as imperceptibly as life slides from beneath the
feet of age. The disordered ranks of the British
had been arrested at the base of the hill, and
were again forming under the eyes of their leaders,
with admirable discipline, and extraordinary
care. Fresh battalions, from Boston, marched
with high military pride into the line, and every
thing betokened that a second assault was at hand.
succeeded the retreat of the royal troops had
passed, the troops and batteries poured out their
wrath with tenfold fury on their enemies. Shot
were incessantly glancing up the gentle acclivity,
madly ploughing across its grassy surface, while
black and threatening shells appeared to hover
above the work like the monsters of the air, about
to stoop upon their prey.
Still all lay quiet and immoveable within the
low mounds of earth, as if none there had a stake
in the issue of the bloody day. For a few moments
only, the tall figure of an aged man was
seen slowly moving along the summit of the
rampart, calmly regarding the dispositions of the
English general in the more distant part of his
line, and after exchanging a few words with a
gentleman who joined him in his dangerous lookout,
they disappeared together behind the grassy
banks. Lionel soon detected the name of Prescott
of Pepperell, passing through the crowd in
low murmurs, and his glass did not deceive him
when he thought, in the smaller of the two, he
had himself descried the graceful person of the
unknown leader of the `caucus.'
All eyes were now watching the advance of the
battalions, which once more drew'nigh the point of
contest. The heads of the columns were already
in view of their enemies, when a man was seen
swiftly ascending the hill from the burning town:
he paused amid the peril, on the natural glacis,
and swung his hat triumphantly, and Lionel even
fancied he heard the exulting cry, as he recognised
the ungainly form of the simpleton, before
it plunged into the work.
The right of the British once more disappeared
in the orchard, and the columns in front of the
redoubt again opened with all the imposing exactness
already glittering in a line with the green faces of
the mound, and Lionel heard the experienced
warrior at his side, murmuring to himself—
“Let him hold his fire, and he will go in at
the point of the bayonet!”
But the trial was too great for even the practised
courage of the royal troops. Volley succeeded
volley, and in a few moments they had
again curtained their ranks behind the misty
skreen produced by their own fire. Then came the
terrible flash from the redoubt, and the eddying
volumes from the adverse hosts rolled into one
cloud, enveloping the combatants in its folds,
as if to conceal their bloody work from the spectators.
Twenty times in the short space of as
many minutes, Major Lincoln fancied he heard
the incessant roll of the American musketry die
away before the heavy and regular volleys of the
troops, and then he thought the sounds of the latter
grew more faint, and were given at longer
intervals.
The result, however, was soon known. The
heavy bank of smoke which now even clung along
the ground, was broken in fifty places, and the disordered
masses of the British were seen driven
before their deliberate foes, in wild confusion.
The flashing swords of the officers in vain attempted
to arrest the torrent, nor did the flight
cease with many of the regiments until they had
even reached their boats. At this moment a hum
was heard in Boston like the sudden rush of wind,
and men gazed in each other's faces with undisguised
amazement. Here and there a low sound
of exultation escaped some unguarded lip, and
many an eye gleamed with a triumph that could
no longer be suppressed. Until this moment the
feelings of Lionel had vacillated between the
Iosing all other feelings in the latter sensation,
he now looked fiercely about him, as if he would
seek the man who dare exult in the repulse of
his comrades. The poetic chieftain was still at
his side, biting his nether lip in vexation; but his
more tried companion had suddenly disappeared.
Another quick glance fell upon his missing form
in the act of entering a boat at the foot of the hill.
Quicker than thought, Lionel was on the shore,
crying as he flew to the water's edge—
“Hold! for God's sake, hold! remember the
47th is in the field, and that I am its Major!”
“Receive him,” said Clinton, with that grim
satisfaction with which men acknowledge a valued
friend in moments of great trial; “and then
row for your lives, or what is of more value, for
the honour of the British name.”
The brain of Lionel whirled as the boat shot
along its watery bed, but before it had gained the
middle of the stream he had time to consider the
whole of the appalling scene. The fire had spread
from house to house, and the whole village of
Charlestown, with its four hundred buildings,
was just bursting into flames. The air seemed
filled with whistling balls, as they hurtled above
his head, and the black sides of the vessels of war
were vomiting their sheets of flame with unwearied
industry. Amid this tumult the English
General and his companions sprung to land.
The former rushed into the disordered ranks, and
by his presence and voice recalled the men of one
regiment to their duty. But long and loud appeals
to their spirit and their ancient fame were
necessary to restore a moiety of their former confidence
to men who had been thus rudely repulsed,
and who now looked along their thinned and
exhausted ranks, missing in many instances more
fellows. In the midst of the faltering troops
stood their stern and unbending chief; but of all
those gay and gallant youths who followed in his
train as he had departed from Province-house
that morning, not one remained, but in his blood.
He alone seemed undisturbed in that disordered
crowd; and his mandates went forth as usual,
calm and determined. At length the panic, in
some degree, subsided, and order was once more
restored as the high-spirited and mortified gentlemen
of the detachment regained their lost authority.
The leaders consulted together, apart, and the
dispositions were immediately renewed for the
assault. Military show was no longer affected,
but the soldiers laid down all the useless implements
of their trade, and many even cast aside
their outer garments, under the warmth of a broiling
sun, added to the heat of the conflagration
which began to diffuse itself along the extremity
of the peninsula. Fresh companies were placed
in the columns, and most of the troops were withdrawn
from the meadows, leaving merely a few
skirmishers to amuse the Americans who lay behind
the fence. When each disposition was completed,
the final signal was given to advance.
Lionel had taken post in his regiment, but
marching on the skirt of the column, he commanded
a view of most of the scene of battle.
In his front moved a battalion, reduced to a
handful of men in the previous assaults. Behind
these came a party of the marine guards, from
the shipping, led by their own veteran Major;
and next followed the dejected Nesbitt and his
corps, amongst whom Lionel looked in vain for
the features of the good-natured Polwarth. Similar
columns marched on their right and left, encircling
three sides of the redoubt by their battalions.
A few minutes brought him in full view of that
humble and unfinished mound of earth, for the
possession of which so much blood had that day
been spilt in vain. It lay, as before, still as if none
breathed within its bosom, though a terrific row
of dark tubes were arrayed along its top, following
the movements of the approaching columns,
as the eyes of the imaginary charmers of our own
wilderness are said to watch their victims. As
the uproar of the artillery again grew fainter, the
crash of falling streets, and the appalling sounds
of the conflagration, on their left, became more
audible. Immense volumes of black smoke issued
from the smouldering ruins, and bellying outward,
fold beyond fold, it overhung the work in a hideous
cloud, casting its gloomy shadow across the
place of blood.
A strong column was now seen ascending, as if
from out the burning town, and the advance of the
whole became quick and spirited. A low call ran
through the platoons, to note the naked weapons
of their adversaries, and it was followed by the
cry of “to the bayonet! to the bayonet!”
“Hurrah! for the Royal Irish!” shouted
M'Fuse, at the head of the dark column from the
conflagration.
“Hurrah!” echoed a well-known voice from
the silent mound; “let them come on to Breed's;
the people will teach'em the law!”
Men think at such moments with the rapidity
of lightning, and Lionel had even fancied his
comrades in possession of the work, when the terrible
stream of fire flashed in the faces of the men
in front.
“Push on with the —th,” cried the veteran
Major of Marines—“push on, or the 18th will get
the honour of the day!”
“We cannot,” murmured the soldiers of the
—th; “their fire is too heavy!”
“Then break, and let the marines pass through
you!”
The feeble battalion melted away, and the
warriors of the deep, trained to conflicts of hand
to hand, sprang forward, with a loud shout, in
their places. The Americans, exhausted of their
ammunition, now sunk sullenly back, a few hurling
stones at their foes, in desperate indignation.
The cannon of the British had been brought to
enfilade their short breast-work, which was no
longer tenable; and as the columns approached
closer to the low rampart, it became a mutual
protection to the adverse parties.
“Hurrah! for the Royal Irish!” again shouted
M`Fuse, rushing up the trifling ascent, which
was but of little more than his own height.
“Hurrah!” repeated Pitcairn, waving his
sword on another angle of the work—“the day's
our own!”
One more sheet of flame issued out of the bosom
of the work, and all those brave men, who
had emulated the examples of their officers, were
swept away, as though a whirlwind had passed
along. The grenadier gave his war-cry once more
before he pitched headlong among his enemies;
while Pitcairn fell back into the arms of his own
child. The cry of `forward, 47th,' rung through
their ranks, and in their turn this veteran battalion
gallantly mounted the ramparts. In the shallow
ditch Lionel passed the dying marine, and
caught the dying and despairing look from his
eyes, and in another instant he found himself in
the presence of his foes. As company followed
company into the defenceless redoubt, the Americans
sullenly retired by its rear, keeping the
bayonets of the soldiers at bay with clubbed muskets
and sinewy arms. When the whole issued
upon the open ground, the husbandmen received
were now gathering around them on three sides.
A scene of wild and savage confusion then succeeded
to the order of the fight, and many fatal
blows were given and taken, the mêlée rendering
the use of fire-arms nearly impossible for several
minutes.
Lionel continued in advance, pressing on the
footsteps of the retiring foe, stepping over many
a lifeless body in his difficult progress. Notwithstanding
the hurry, and vast disorder of the
fray, his eye fell on the form of the graceful stranger,
stretched lifeless on the parched grass, which
had greedily drank his blood. Amid the ferocious
cries, and fiercer passions of the moment,
the young man paused, and glanced his eyes
around him with an expression that said, he
thought the work of death should cease. At this
instant the trappings of his attire caught the glaring
eye-balls of a dying yeoman, who exerted his
wasting strength to sacrifice one more worthy
victim to the manes of his countrymen. The
whole of the tumultuous scene vanished from the
senses of Lionel at the flash of the musket of this
man, and he sunk beneath the feet of the combatants,
insensible of further triumph, and of every
danger.
The fall of à single officer, in such a contest,
was a circumstance not to be regarded, and regiments
passed over him, without a single man
stooping to inquire into his fate. When the Americans
had disengaged themselves from the troops,
they descended into the little hollow between the
two hills, swiftly, and like a disordered crowd,
bearing off most of their wounded, and leaving
but few prisoners in the hands of their foes. The
formation of the ground favoured their retreat, as
hundreds of bullets whistled harmlessly above
acclivity of Bunker's, distance was added to their
security. Finding the field lost, the men at the
fence broke away in a body from their position,
and abandoned the meadows; the whole moving
in confused masses behind the crest of the adjacent
height. The shouting soldiery followed in
their footsteps, pouring in fruitless and distant
volleys; but on the summit of Bunker their tired
platoons were halted, and they beheld the throng
move fearlessly through the tremendous fire that
enfiladed the low pass, as little injured as though
most of them bore charmed lives.
The day was now drawing to a close. With the
disappearance of their enemies, the ships and
batteries ceased their cannonade, and presently
not a musket was heard in that place where so
fierce a contest had so long raged. The troops
commenced fortifying the outward eminence on
which they rested, in order to maintain their barren
conquest, and nothing further remained for
the achievement of the royal lieutenants but to
go and mourn over their victory.
| CHAP. XVI. Lionel Lincoln, or, The leaguer of Boston | |