 | CHAPTER XIV. Lionel Lincoln, or, The leaguer of Boston |  |
14. CHAPTER XIV.
“With rebel trees surrounded,
“The distant woods, the hills and floods,
“With rebel echoes sounded.”
The Battle of the Kegs.
The enormous white cockade that covered
nearly one side of the little hat of her present
conductor, was the only symbol that told Cecil
she was now commited to the care of one who
held the rank of captain among those who battled
for the rights of the colonies. No other part
of his attire was military, though a cut-and-thrust
was buckled to his form, which, from its silver
guard, and formidable dimensions, had probably
been borne by some of his ancestors, in the former
wars of the colonies. The disposition of its present
wearer was, however, far from that belligerent
nature that his weapon might be thought
to indicate, for he tendered the nicest care and
assiduity to the movements of his prisoner.
At the foot of the hill, a wagon, returning
from the field, was put in requisition by this
semi-military gallant; and after a little suitable
preparation, Cecil found herself seated on a rude
bench by his side, in the vehicle; while her own
attendants, and the two private men, occupied its
progress was slow and difficult, return carts, literally
by hundreds, impeding the way; but when they
had once passed the heavy-footed beasts who drew
them, they proceeded in the direction of Roxbury,
with greater rapidity. During the first mile,
while they were extricating themselves from the
apparently interminable line of carts, the officer
directed his whole attention to this important and
difficult manœuvre; but when their uneasy vessel
might be said to be fairly sailing before the
wind, he did not choose to neglect those services,
which, from time immemorial, beautiful
women in distress have had a right to claim
of men in his profession.
“Now do not spare the whip,” he said to
the driver, at the moment of their deliverance;
“but push on, for the credit of horse-flesh, and to
the disgrace of all horned cattle. This near beast
of yours should be a tory, by his gait and his
reluctance to pull in the traces for the common-good—treat
him as such, friend, and, in
turn, you shall receive the treatment of a sound
whig, when we make a halt. You have spent
the winter in Boston, Madam?”
Cecil bent her head, in silent assent.
“The royal army will, doubtless, make a
better figure in the eyes of a lady, than the
troops of the colonies; though there are some
among us who are thought not wholly wanting
in military knowledge, and the certain air of a
soldier,” he continued; extricating the silver-headed
legacy of his grandfather from its concealment
under a fold of his companion's mantle—“you
have balls and entertainments without
number, I fancy, Ma'am, from the gentlemen in
the king's service.”
“I believe that few hearts are to be found
amongst the females in Boston, so light as to
mingle in their amusements!”
“God bless them for it!” exclaimed her escort;
“I am sure every shot we throw into the
town, is like drawing blood from our own veins.
I suppose the king's officers don't hold the colonists
so cheap, since the small affair on Charlestown
neck, as they did formerly?”
“None who had any interest at stake, in the
events of that fatal day, will easily forget the
impression it has made!”
The young American was too much struck by
the melancholy pathos in the voice of Cecil, not to
fancy he had, in his own honest triumph, unwittingly
probed a wound which time had not yet
healed. They rode many minutes after this unsuccessful
effort on his part, to converse, in profound
silence, nor did he again speak until the
trampling of horses hoofs was borne along by
the evening air, unaccompanied by the lumbering
sounds of wheels. At the next turn of
the road they met a small cavalcade of officers,
riding at a rapid rate in the direction of the place
they had so recently quitted. The leader of this
party drew up when he saw the wagon, which
was also stopped in deference to his obvious wish
to speak with them.
There was something in the haughty, and
yet easy air of the gentleman who addressed
her companion, that induced Cecil to attend to
his remarks with more than the interest that is
usually excited by the common-place dialogues
of the road. His dress was neither civil, nor
wholly military, though his bearing had much of
a soldier's manner. As he drew up, three or
four dogs fawned upon him, or passed with indulged
impunity between the legs of his high-blooded
repulses that were freely bestowed on their
troublesome familiarities.
“High discipline, by —!” exclaimed this
singular specimen of the colonial chieftains—“I
dare presume, gentlemen, you are from the heights
of Dorchester; and having walked the whole distance
thither from camp, are disposed to try the
virtues of a four-wheeled conveyance over the
same ground, in a retreat!”
The young man rose in his place, and lifted his
hat, with marked respect, as he answered—
“We are returning from the hills, sir, it is
true; but we must see our enemy before we retreat!”
“A white cockade! As you hold such rank,
sir, I presume you have authority for your movements!
Down, Juno—down, slut.”
“This lady was landed an hour since, on the
point, from the town, by a boat from a king's
ship, sir, and I am ordered to see her in safety
to the general of the right wing.”
“A lady!” repeated the other, with singular
emphasis, slowly passing his hand over his remarkably
aquiline and prominent features, “if
there be a lady in the case, ease must be indulged.
Will you down, Juno!” Turning his head a little
aside, to his nearest aid, he added, in a voice that
was suppressed only by the action; “some trull
of Howe's, sent out as the newest specimen
of loyal modesty! In such a case, sir, you are
quite right to use horses—I only marvel that
you did not take six instead of two. But how
come we on in the trenches?—Down, you hussy,
down! Thou shouldst go to court, Juno, and
fawn upon his majesty's ministers, where thy
sycophancy might purchase thee a riband! How
come we on in the trenches?”
“We have broken ground, sir, and as the
eyes of the royal troops are drawn upon the
batteries, we shall make a work of it before the
day shows them our occupation.”
“Ah! we are certainly good at digging, if at
no other part of our exercises! Miss Juno, thou
puttest thy precious life in jeopardy!—you will;
then take thy fate!” As he spoke, the impatient
chief drew a pistol from his holster, and
snapped it twice at the head of the dog, that still
fawned upon him in unwitting fondness. Angry
with himself, his weapon, and the animal at the
same moment, he turned to his attendants, and
added, with bitter deliberation—“gentlemen, if
one of you will exterminate that quadruped, I
promise him an honourable place in my first despatches
to congress, for the service!”
A groom in attendance whistled to the spaniel,
and probably saved the life of the disgraced
favourite.
The officer now addressed himself to the party
he had detained, with a collected and dignified
air, that showed he had recovered his self-possession,
by saying—
“I beg pardon, sir, for this trouble—let me
not prevent you from proceeding; there may
be serious work on the heights before morning,
and you will doubtless wish to be there.”—
He bowed with perfect ease and politeness, and
the two parties were slowly passing each other,
when, as if repenting of his condescension, he
turned himself in his saddle, adding, with those
sarcastic tones so peculiarly his own—“Captain,
I beseech thee have an especial care of
the lady!”
With these words in his mouth, he clapped
spurs to his horse, and galloped onward, followed
by all his train, at the same impetuous rate.
Cecil had heard each syllable that fell from the
lips of both in this short dialogue, and she felt
a chill of disappointment gathering about her
heart, as it proceeded. When they had parted,
drawing a long, tremulous breath, she asked, in
tones that betrayed all her feelings—
“And is this Washington?”
“That!” exclaimed her companion—“No,
no, Madam, he is a very different sort of man!
That is the great English officer, whom congress
has made a general in our army. He is thought
to be as great in the field, as he is uncouth in the
drawing-room—yes, I will acknowledge that much
in his favour, though I never know how to understand
him; he is so proud—so supercilious—and
yet he is a great friend of liberty!”
Cecil permitted the officer to reconcile the
seeming contradictions in the character of his
superior, in his own way, feeling perfectly relieved
when she understood it was not the man
who could have any influence on her own destiny.
The driver now appeared anxious to recover the
lost time, and he urged his horses over the ground
with increased rapidity. The remainder of their
short drive to the vicinity of Roxbury, passed in
silence. As the cannonading was still maintained
with equal warmth by both parties, it was hazarding
too much to place themselves in the line
of the enemy's fire. The young man, therefore,
after finding a secure spot among the uneven
ground of the vicinity, where he might leave
his charge in safety, proceeded by himself to
the point where he had reason to believe he
should find the officer he was ordered to seek.
During his short absence, Cecil remained in the
wagon, an appalled listener, and a partial spectator
of the neighbouring contest.
The Americans had burst their only mortar
of size, the preceding night, but they applied their
cannon with unwearied diligence, not only in the
face of the British entrenchments, but on the low
land, across the estuary of the Charles; and still farther
to the north, in front of the position which their
enemies held on the well-known heights of Charlestown.
In retaliation for this attack, the batteries
along the western side of the town were in a constant
blaze of fire, while those of the eastern continued
to slumber, in total unconsciousness of the
coming danger.
When the officer returned, he reported that his
search had been successful, and that he had been
commanded to conduct his charge into the presence
of the American commander-in-chief. This
new arrangement imposed the necessity of driving
a few miles farther, and as the youth began
to regard his new duty with some impatience,
he was in no humour for delay. The route was
circuitous and safe; the roads good; and the driver
diligent. In consequence, within the hour, they
passed the river, and Cecil found herself, after so
long an absence, once more approaching the ancient
provincial seat of learning.
The little village, though in the hands of friends,
exhibited the infallible evidences of the presence
of an irregular army. The buildings of the University
were filled with troops, and the doors of the
different inns were thronged with noisy soldiers,
who were assembled for the inseparable purposes
of revelry and folly. The officer drove to one
of the most private of these haunts of the unthinking
and idle, and declared his intentions
to deposit his charge under its roof, until he
could learn the pleasure of the American leader.
Cecil heard his arrangements with little satisfaction,
but yielding to the necessity of the case, when
With her two attendants in her train,
and preceded by the officer, she passed through
the noisy crowd, not only without insult, but without
molestation. The different declaimers in the
throng, and they were many, even lowered their
clamorous voices as she approached, the men
giving way, in deference for her sex, and she
entered the building without hearing but one remark
applied to herself, though a low and curious
buzz of voices followed her footsteps to its very
threshold. That solitary remark was a sudden
exclamation, in admiration of the grace of her
movements; and singular as it may seem, her
companion thought it necessary to apologize for
its rudeness, by whispering that it had proceeded
from the lips of “one of the southern riflemen; a
corps as distinguished for its skill and bravery
as for its want of breeding!”
The inside of this inn presented a very different
aspect from its exterior. The decent tradesman
who kept it, had so far yielded to the emergency
of the times, and perhaps, also, to a certain
propensity towards gain, as temporarily to adopt
the profession he followed; but by a sort of implied
compact with the crowd without, while he
administered to their appetite for liquor, he
preserved most of the privacy of his domestic
arrangements. He had, however, been compelled
to relinquish one apartment entirely to the
service of the public, into which Cecil and her
companions were shown, as a matter of course,
without the smallest apology for its condition.
There might have been a dozen people in the
common room; some of whom were quietly
seated before its large fire, among whom were one
or two females; some walking; and others distributed
on chairs, as accident or inclination had
the entrance of Cecil, but it soon subsided;
though her rich mantle of fine cloth, and silken
calash, did not fail to draw the eyes of the
women upon her, with a ruder gaze than she
had yet encountered from the other sex during
the hazardous adventures of the night. She
took an offered seat near the bright and cheerful
blaze on the hearth, which imparted all the
light the room contained, and disposed herself to
wait in patience the return of her conductor, who
immediately took his departure for the neighbouring
quarters of the American chief.
“'Tis an awful time for women bodies to journey
in!” said a middle-aged woman near her, who
was busily engaged in knitting, though she also
bore the marks of a traveller in her dress—“I'm
sure if I had thought there'd ha' been such contentions,
I would never have crossed the Connecticut;
though I have an only child in camp!”
“To a mother, the distress must be great, indeed,”
said Cecil, “when she hears the report
of a contest in which she knows her children are
engaged.”
“Yes, Royal is engaged as a six-month's-man,
and he is partly agreed to stay 'till the king's
troops conclude to give up the town.”
“It seems to me,” said a grave looking yeoman,
who occupied the opposite corner of the fire-place,
“your child has an unfitting name for one
who fights against the crown!”
“Ah, he was so called before the king wore
his Scottish Boot! and what has once been solemnly
named, in holy baptism, is not to be
changed with the shift of the times! They were
twins, and I called one Prince and the other
Royal; for they were born the day his present majesty
came to man's estate. That, you know, was
of the Bay loved him little less than they did
their own flesh and blood.”
“Why, Goody,” said the yeoman, smiling good-humouredly,
and rising to offer her a pinch of his
real Scotch, in token of amity, while he made so
free with her domestic matters—“you had then an
heir to the throne in your own family! The Prince
Royal they say comes next to the king, and by
your tell, one of them, at least, is a worthy fellow,
who is not likely to sell his heritage for a mess of
pottage! If I understand you, Royal is here
in service.”
“He's at this blessed moment in one of the battering
rams in front of Boston neck,” returned the
woman, “and the Lord, he knows, 'tis an awful
calling, to be beating down the housen of people
of the same religion and blood with ourselves!
but so it must be, to prevail over the wicked designs
of such as would live in pomp and idleness,
by the sweat and labour of their fellow-creatures.”
The honest yeoman, who was somewhat more
familiar with the terms of modern warfare, than
the woman, smiled at her mistake, while he pursued
the conversation with a peculiar gravity,
which rendered his humour doubly droll.
“'Tis to be hoped the boy will not weary at the
weapon before the morning cometh. But why
does Prince linger behind, in such a moment! Tarries
he with his father on the homestead, in safety,
being the younger born?”
“No, no,” said the woman,” shaking her head,
in sorrow, “he dwells, I trust, with our common
Father, in heaven! Neither are you right in
calling him the home-child. He was my first-born,
and a comely youth he grew to be! When
the cry that the reg'lars were out at Lexington,
to kill and destroy, passed through the country, he
shouldered his musket, and came down with the
with American blood. He was young, and full of
ambition, to be foremost among them who were
willing to fight for their birth-rights; and the last
I ever heard of him was in the midst of the
king's troops on Breed's. No, no; his body never
came off the hill! The neighbours sent me up
the clothes he left in camp, and 'tis one of his
socks that I'm now footing for his twin-brother.”
The woman delivered this simple explanation
with perfect calmness, though, as she advanced
in the subject, large tears started from her eyes,
and following each other down her cheeks, fell
unheeded upon the humble garment of her dead
son.
“This is the way our bravest striplings are
cut off, fighting with the scum of Europe!” exclaimed
the yeoman, with a warmth that showed
how powerfully his feelings were touched—“I
hope the boy who lives, may find occasion to revenge
his brother's death.”
“God forbid! God forbid!” exclaimed the
weeping mother—“revenge is an evil passion;
and least of all would I wish a child of mine to
go into the field of blood with so foul a breast.
God has given us this land to dwell in, and to rear
up temples and worshippers of his holy name,
and in giving it, he bestowed the right to defend
it against all earthly oppression. If 'twas right for
Prince to come, 'twas right for Royal to follow!”
“I believe I am reproved in justice,” returned
the man, looking around at the spectators,
with an eye that no longer teemed with a hidden
meaning—“God bless you, my good woman; and
deliver you, with your remaining boy, and all of
us, from the scourge which has been inflicted
on the country for our sins. I go west, into the
mountains, with the sun, and if I can carry any
word of comfort from you to the good man at
it.”
“The same thanks to you for the offer, as if
you did it, friend; my man would be right glad
to see you at his settlement, but I sicken
already with the noises and awful sights of
warfare, and shall not tarry long after my son
comes forth from the battle. I shall go down to
Cragie's-house in the morning, and look upon
the blessed man whom the people have chosen
from among themselves as a leader, and hurry
back again; for I plainly see that this is not
an abiding place for such as I!”
“You will then have to follow him into the
line of danger, for I saw him, within the hour,
riding with all his followers, towards the water-side;
and I doubt not that this unusual waste
of ammunition is intended for more than we
of little wit can guess.”
“Of whom speak you?” Cecil involuntarily
asked.
“Of whom should he speak, but of Washington?”
returned a deep, low voice at her
elbow, whose remarkable sounds instantly recalled
the tones of the aged messenger of death,
who had appeared at the bed-side of her grandmother.
Cecil started from her chair, and recoiled
several paces from the person of Ralph, who
stood regarding her with a steady and searching
look, heedless of the observation they attracted,
as well as of the number and quality of the
spectators.
“We are not strangers, young lady,” continued
the old man; “and you will excuse me,
if I add, that the face of an acquaintance must
be grateful to one of your gentle sex, in a place
so unsettled and disorderly as this.”
“An acquaintance!” repeated the unprotected
bride.
“I said an acquaintance; we know each other,
surely,” returned Ralph, with marked emphasis;
“you will believe me when I add, that I have
seen the two men in the guard-room, which
is at hand.”
Cecil cast a furtive glance behind her, and,
with some alarm, perceived that she was separated
from Meriton and the stranger. Before
time was allowed for recollection, the old man
approached her with a courtly breeding that
was rendered more striking by the coarseness,
as well as negligence of his attire.
“This is not a place for the niece of an English
peer,” he said; “but I have long been at
home in this warlike village, and will conduct
you to another residence more suited to your sex
and condition.
For an instant Cecil hesitated, but observing
the wondering faces about her, and the intense
curiosity with which all in the room suspended
their several pursuits, to listen to each syllable,
she timidly accepted his offered hand, suffering
him to lead her, not only from the room, but the
house, in profound silence. The door through
which they left the building, was opposite to
that by which she had entered, and when they
found themselves in the open air, it was in a different
street, and a short distance removed from the
crowd of revellers already mentioned.
“I have left two attendants behind me,” she
said, “without whom 'tis impossible to proceed.”
“As they are watched by armed men, you
have no choice but to share their confinement,
or to submit to the temporary separation,” returned
the other, calmly. “Should his keepers
discover the character of him who led you
hither, his fate would be certain!”
“His character!” repeated Cecil, again shrinking
from the touch of the old man.
“Surely my words are plain! I said his character.
Is he not the deadly, obstinate enemy
of liberty? And think you these countrymen
of ours so dull as to suffer one like him, to go
at large in their very camp!—No, no,” he muttered,
with a low, but exulting laugh; “like
a fool has he tempted his fate, and like a dog
shall he meet it! Let us proceed; the house
is but a step from this, and you may summon
him to your presence if you will.”
Cecil was rather impelled by her companion,
than induced to proceed, when, as he had said,
they soon stopped before the door of a humble and
retired building. An armed man paced along its
front, while the lengthened shadow of another
sentinel in the rear was every half-minute thrown
far into the street, in confirmation of the watchfulness
that was kept over those who dwelt within.
“Proceed,” said Ralph, throwing open the
outer-door, without hesitation. Cecil complied,
but started at encountering another man, trailing
a musket, as he paced to and fro in the
narrow passage that received her. Between this
sentinel and Ralph, there seemed to exist a good
understanding, for the latter addressed him with
perfect freedom—
“Has no order been yet received from Washington?”
he asked.
“None; and I rather conclude by the delay,
that nothing very favourable is to be expected.”
The old man muttered to himself, but passed
an, and throwing open another door, said
“Enter.”
Again Cecil complied, the door closing on her
at the instant; but before she had time to express
either her wonder or her alarm, she was
folded in the arms of her husband.
| CHAPTER XIV. Lionel Lincoln, or, The leaguer of Boston | |