 | CHAPTER XVIII. Lionel Lincoln, or, The leaguer of Boston |  |
18. CHAPTER XVIII.
“His hair was thin and white, and on his brow
“A record of the cares of many a year;
“Cares that were ended and forgotten now.
“And there was sadness round, and faces bow'd,
“And woman's tears fell fast, and children wail'd aloud.
Bryant
As the day advanced, the garrison of Boston
was put in motion. The same bustle, the same
activity, the same gallant bearing in some, and
dread reluctance in others, were exhibited, as on
the morning of the fight of the preceding summer.
The haughty temper of the royal commander
could ill brook the bold enterprise of the
colonists; and, at an early hour, orders were issued
to prepare to dislodge them. Every gun that
could be brought to bear upon the hills was employed
to molest the Americans, who calmly continued
their labours, while shot were whistling
around them on every side. Towards evening a
large force was embarked, and conveyed to the
castle. Washington appeared on the heights, in
person, and every military evidence of the intention
of a resolute attack on one part, and of a
stout resistance on the other, became apparent.
But the fatal experience of Breed's had taught
a lesson that was still remembered. The same
leaders were to be the principal actors in the
coming scene, and it was necessary to use the
remnants of many of the very regiments which
had bled so freely on the former occasion. The
half-trained husbandmen of the colonies were no
longer despised; and the bold operations of the
past winter, had taught the English generals that,
as subordination increased among their foes, their
movements were conducted with a more vigorous
direction of their numbers. The day was accordingly
wasted in preparations. Thousands of men
slept on their arms that night, in either army,
in the expectation of rising, on the following
morning, to be led to the field of slaughter.
It is not improbable, from the tardiness of their
movements, that a large majority of the royal
forces did not regret the providential interposition,
which certainly saved them torrents of blood, and
not improbably, the ignominy of a defeat. One
of the sudden tempests of the climate arose in the
darkness, driving before it men and beasts, to
seek protection, in their imbecility, from the more
powerful warring of the elements. The golden
moments were lost; and, after enduring so many
privations, and expending so many lives, in
vain, Howe sullenly commenced his arrangements
to abandon a town, on which the English
ministry had, for years, lavished their indignation,
with all the acrimony, and, as it now seemed,
with the impotency of a blind revenge.
To carry into effect this sudden and necessary
determination, was not the work of an hour. As
it was the desire of the Americans, however, to
receive their town back again as little injured as
possible, they forbore to push the advantage they
possessed, by occupying those heights, which, in a
as a new and vulnerable face of the defences of
the king's army. While the semblance of hostilities
was maintained by an irregular and impotent
cannonade, conducted with so little spirit as
to wear the appearance of being intended only to
amuse, one side was diligently occupied in preparing
to depart, and the other was passively awaiting
the moment when they might peaceably repossess
their own. It is unnecessary to remind
the reader, that the entire command of the sea, by
the British, would have rendered any serious attempt
to arrest their movements, perfectly futile.
In this manner a week was passed, after the tempest
had abated—the place exhibiting throughout
this period, all the hurry and bustle, the joy
and distress that such an unlooked-for event was
likely to create.
Toward the close of one of those busy and
stirring days, a short funeral train was seen
issuing from a building which had long been
known as the residence of one of the proudest
families in the province. Above the outer-door
of the mansion was suspended a gloomy
hatchment, charged with the `courant' deer of
Lincoln, encircled by the usnal mementos of
mortality, and bearing the rare symbol of the
“bloody-hand.”—This emblem of heraldic grief,
which was never adopted in the provinces, except
at the death of one of high importance, a custom
that has long since disappeared with the usages
of the monarchy, had caught the eyes of a few idle
boys, who alone were sufficiently unoccupied, at
that pressing moment, to note its exhibition. With
the addition of these truant urchins, the melancholy
procession took its way toward the neighbouring
church-yard of the king's chapel.
The large bier was covered by a pall so ample
entering into the body of the church. Here it
was met by the divine we have had occasion to
mention more than once, who gazed, with a look
of strange interest, at the solitary and youthful
mourner, that closely followed in his dark weeds.
The ceremony, however, proceeded with the
usual solemuity, and the attendants slowly moved
deeper into the sacred edifice. Next to the
young man, came the well-known persons of the
British commander-in-chief, and of his quickwitted
and favourite lieutenant. Between them,
walked an officer of inferior rank, who, notwithstanding
his maimed condition, had been able, by
the deliberation of the march, to beguile the ears
of his companions, to the very moment of meeting
the clergyman, with some tale of no little
interest, and great apparent mystery. The remainder
of the train, which consisted only of the
family of the two generals, and a few menials,
came last, if we except the idlers, who stole euriously
in their footsteps.
When the service was ended, the same private
communication was resumed between the two
chieftains, and their companion, and continued
until they arrived at the open vault, in a distant
corner of the enclosure. Here the low conversation
ended, and the eye of Howe, which had
hitherto been riveted in deep attention on the
speaker, began to wander in the direction of the
dangerous hills occupied by his enemies. The
interruption seemed to have broken the charm of
the secret conversation, and the anxious countenances
of both the leaders betrayed how soon
their thoughts had wandered from a tale of great
private distress, to their own heavier cares and
duties.
The bier was placed before the opening, and
their office. When the pall was removed, to the
evident amazement of most of the spectators, two
coffins were exposed to view. One was clothed
in black-velvet, studded with silver nails, and
ornamented after the richest fashions of human
pride, while the other lay in the simple nakedness
of the clouded wood. On the breast of the first,
rose a heavy silver plate, bearing a long inscription,
and decorated with the usual devices of heraldry;
and on the latter, were simply carved on
the lid, the two initial letters J. P.
The impatient looks of the English generals
intimated to Dr. Liturgy the value of every
moment, and in less time than we consume in
relating it, the bodies of the high-descended man
of wealth, and of his nameless companion, were
lowered into the vault, and left to decay, in silent
contact, with that of the woman who, in
life, had been so severe a scourge to both.
After a besitation of a single moment, in deference
to the young mourner, the gentlemen present,
perceiving that he manifested a wish to remain,
quitted the place in a body, with the exception
of the maimed officer, already mentioned,
whom the reader has at once recognised to be
Polwarth. When the men had replaced the stone
above the mouth of the vault, securing it by a
stout bar of iron and a beavy lock, they delivered
the key to the principal actor in the scene.
He received it in silence, and dropping gold into
their hands, motioned to them to depart.
In another instant a careless observer would
have thought that Lionel and his friend were
the only living possessors of the church-yard.
But under the adjoining wall, partly hid from
observation by the numerous head-stones, was the
form of a woman, bowed to the earth, while her
sbapelessly about her. As soon as the gentlemen
perceived they were alone, they slowly advanced
to the side of this desolate being.
Their approaching footsteps were not unheeded,
though, instead of facing those who so evidently
wished to address her, she turned to the wall,
and began to trace, with unconscious fingers, the
letters of a tablet in slate, which was let into the
brick-work, to mark the position of the tomb of
the Lechmeres.
“We can do no more,” said the young mourner—“all
now rests with a mightier hand than any
of earth.”
The squalid limb that was thrust from beneath
the red garment, trembled, but it still continued
its unmeaning employment.
“Sir Lionel Lincoln speaks to you,” said Polwarth,
on whose arm the youthful baronet leaned.
“Who!” shrieked Abigail Pray, casting aside
her covering, and baring those sunken features,
on which misery had made terrible additional
inroads, within a few days—“I had forgotten—I
had forgotten! the son succeeds the father; but the
mother must follow her child to the grave!”
“He is honourably interred with those of his
blood, and by the side of one who loved his simple
integrity!”
“Yes, he is better lodged in death, than he
was in life! Thank God! he can never know
cold nor hunger more!”
“You will find that I have made a provision
for your future comfort; and I trust, that the
close of your life will be happier than its prime.”
“I am alone,” said the woman, hoarsely.
“The old will avoid me, and the young will look
upon me in scorn! Perjury and revenge lie
heavy on my soul!”
The young baronet was silent, but Polwarth
assumed the right to reply—
“I will not pretend to assert,” said the worthy
captain, “that these are not both wicked companions;
but I have no doubt you will find somewhere
in the Bible, a suitable consolation for each
particular offence. Let me recommend to you a
hearty diet, and I'll answer for an easy conscience.
I never knew the prescription fail. Look about
you in the world—does your well-fed villain
feel remorse! No; ít's only when his stomach is
empty that he begins to think of his errors! I
would also suggest the expediency of commencing
soon, with something substantial, as you show,
altogether, too much bone, at present, for a thriving
condition. I would not wish to say any
thing distressing, but we both of us may remember
a case, where the nourishment came too
late.”
“Yes, yes, it came too late!” murmured the
conscience-stricken woman—“all comes too late!
even the penitence, I fear!”
“Say not so,” observed Lionel; “you do outrage
to the promises of one who never spoke
false.”
Abigail stole a fearful glance at him, which expressed
all the secret terror of her soul, as she
half whispered—
“Who witnessed the end of Madam Lechmere!
did her spirit pass in peace?”
Sir Lionel, again, remained profoundly silent.
“I thought it,” she continued—“'tis not a sin
to be forgotten on a death-bed! To plot evil, and
call on God, aloud, to look upon it! Ay! and to
madden a brain, and strip a soul like his to nakedness!
Go,” she added, beckoning them away with
earnestness—“ye are young and happy; why
should ye linger near the grave! Leave me,
oan smooth the bitter moment, it is prayer.”
Lionel dropped the key he held in his hand
at her feet, and said, before he left her—
“Yon vault is closed for ever, unless, at your
request, it should be opened at some future time,
to place you by the side of your son. The children
of those who built it, are already gathered
there, with the exception of two, who go to the
other hemisphere to leave their bones. Take it,
and may heaven forgive you, as I do.”
He let fall a heavy purse by the side of the
key, and, without uttering more, he again took
the arm of Polwarth, and together they left
the place. As they turned through the gate-way,
into the street, each stole a glance at the distant
woman. She had risen to her knees; her hands
had grasped a head-stone, and her face was bowed
nearly to the earth, while by the writhing of
her form, and the humility of her attitude, it was
apparent that her spirit struggled powerfully with
the Lord for mercy.
Three days afterwards, the Americans entered,
triumphantly, on the retiring footsteps of the
royal army. The first among them, who hastened
to visit the graves of their fathers, found
the body of a woman, who had, seemingly, died
under the severity of the season. She had unlocked
the vault, in a vain effort to reach her child,
and there her strength had failed her. Her
limbs were decently stretched on the faded grass,
while her features were composed, exhibiting in
death the bland traces of that remarkable beauty
which had distinguished and betrayed her youth.
The gold still lay neglected, where it had fallen.
The amazed townsmen avoided this spectacle
with horror, rushing into other places to gaze at
the changes and the destruction of their beloved
had lingered to plunder, and who had witnessed
the interview between the officers and Abigail,
shortly succeeded them. He lifted the flag, and
lowering the body, closed the vault; then hurling
away the key, he seized the money, and departed.
The slate has long since mouldered from the
wall; the sod has covered the stone, and few are
left who can designate the spot where the proud
families of Lechmere and Lincoln were wont to
inter their dead.
Sir Lionel and Polwarth proceeded, in the
deepest silence, to the long-wharf, where a boat
received them. They were rowed to the much-admired
frigate, that was standing off-and-on, under
easy sail, waiting their arrival. On her decks
they met Agnes Danforth, with her eyes softened
by tears, though a rich flush mantled on
her cheeks, at witnessing the compelled departure
of those invaders she had never loved.
“I have only remained to give you a parting-kiss,
cousin Lionel,” said the frank girl, affectionately
saluting him, “and now shall take my
leave, without repeating those wishes that you
know are so often conveyed in my prayers.”
“You will then leave us?” said the young
baronet, smiling for the first time in many-a-day.
“You know that this cruelty”—
He was interrupted by a loud hem from Polwarth,
who advanced, and taking the hand of the
lady, repeated his wish to retain it for ever, for at
least the fiftieth time. She heard him, in silence,
and with much apparent respect, though an arch
smile stole upon her gravity, before he had ended.
She then thanked him with suitable grace, and gave
a final and decided refusal. The captain sustained
the repulse like one who had seen much similar
service, and politely lent his assistance to help the
by a young man who was apparelled like
an American officer. Sir Lionel thought the
bloom on her cheek deepened, as her companion,
assiduously, drew a cloak around her form to
protect her from the chill of the water. Instead of
returning to the town, the boat, which hore a flag,
pulled directly for the shore occupied by the
Americans. The following week Agnes was
united to this gentleman, in the bosom of her own
family. They soon after took quiet possession
of the house in Tremont-street, and of all the
large real estate left by Mrs. Lechmere, which
had been previously bestowed on her, by Cecil,
as a dowry.
As soon as his passengers appeared, the captain
of the frigate communicated with his admiral, by
signal, and received, in return, the expected order
to proceed in the execution of his trust. In
a few minutes the swift vessel was gliding by the
heights of Dorchester, training her guns on the
adverse hills, and hurriedly spreading her canvass
as she passed. The Americans, however,
looked on in sullen silence, and she was suffered
to gain the open ocean, unmolested, when she
made the best of her way to England, with the
important intelligence of the intended evacuation.
She was speedily followed by the fleet, since
which period the long-oppressed and devoted
town of Boston has never been visited by an armed
enemy.
During their passage to England, sufficient
time was allowed Lionel, and his gentle companion,
to reflect on all that had occurred. Together,
and in the fullest confidence, they traced
the wanderings of intellect which had so closely
and mysteriously connected the deranged father
with his impotent child; and as they reasoned,
impulses, they were easily enabled to divest
the incidents we have endeavoured to relate,
of all their obscurity and doubt.
The keeper who had been sent in quest of
the fugitive madman, never returned to his native
land. No offers of forgiveness could induce
the unwilling agent in the death of the Baronet,
to trust his person, again, within the influence
of the British laws. Perhaps he was conscious
of a motive that none but an inward monitor
might detect. Lionel, tired at length with importuning
without success, commissioned the
husband of Agnes to place him in a situation,
where, by industry, his future comfort was amply
secured.
Polwarth died quite lately. Notwithstanding
his maimed limb, he contrived, by the assistance
of his friend, to ascend the ladder of promotion,
by regular gradations, nearly to its summit.
At the close of his long life, he wrote Gen.,
Bart. and M. P. after his name. When England
was threatened with the French invasion, the garrison
he commanded was distinguished for being
better provisioned than any other in the realm,
and no doubt it would have made a resistance
equal to its resources. In Parliament, where he
sat for one of the Lincoln boroughs, he was chiefly
distinguished for the patience with which he
listened to the debates, and for the remarkable
cordiality of the `ay' that he pronounced
on every vote for supplies. To the day of his
death, he was a strenuous advocate for the virtues
of a rich diet, in all cases of physical suffering,
“especially,” as he would add, with an obstinacy
that fed itself, “in instances of debility
from febrile symptoms.”
Within a year of their arrival, the uncle of Cecil
to the grave. By this unlooked-for event, Lady
Lincoln became the possessor of his large estates,
as well as of an ancient Barony, that descended
to the heirs general. From this time, until
the eruption of the French revolution, Sir Lionel
Lincoln, and Lady Cardonnell, as Cecil was
now styled, lived together in sweetest concord,
the gentle influence of her affection moulding
and bending the feverish temperament of her
husband, at will. The heir-loom of the family,
that distempered feeling so often mentioned, was
forgotten, in the even tenor of their happiness.
When the heaviest pressure on the British constitution
was apprehended, and it became the
policy of the minister to enlist the wealth and
talent of his nation in its support, by propping the
existing administration, the rich Baronet received
a peerage in his own person. Before the end
of the century he was further advanced to a dormant
Earldom, that had, in former ages, been
one of the honours of an elder branch of his
family.
Of all the principal actors in the foregoing
tale, not one is now living. Even the roses of Cecil
and Agnes have long since ceased to bloom,
and Death has gathered them, in peace and innocence,
with all that had gone before. The historical
facts of our legend are beginning to be
obscured by time; and it is more than probable,
that the prosperous and affluent English
peer, who now enjoys the honours of the house
of Lincoln, never knew the secret history of his
family, while it sojourned in a remote province
of the British empire.
| CHAPTER XVIII. Lionel Lincoln, or, The leaguer of Boston | |