University of Virginia Library

1. LIONEL LINCOLN;
or,
THE LEAGUER OF BOSTON., VOL. II.

CHAPTER I.

Romeo.

Although the battle of Bunker-hill was fought
while the grass yet lay on the meadows, the heats
of summer had been followed by the nipping frosts
of November; the leaf had fallen in its hour, and
the tempests and biting colds of February had
succeeded, before Major Lincoln left that couch
where he had been laid, when carried, in total
helplessness, from the fatal heights of the
peninsula. Throughout the whole of that long
period, the hidden bullet had defied the utmost
skill of the British surgeons; nor could all their
science and experience embolden them to risk
cutting certain arteries and tendons in the body
of the heir of Lincoln, which were thought
to obstruct the passage to that obstinate lead,
which, all agreed, alone impeded the recovery of
the unfortunate sufferer. This indecision was

one of the penalties that poor Lionel paid for
his greatness; for had it been Meriton who lingered,
instead of his master, it is quite probable
the case would have been determined at a
much earlier hour. At length a young and enterprising
leech, with the world before him, arrived
from Europe, who, possessing greater skill or more
effrontery (the effects are sometimes the same) than
his fellows, did not hesitate to decide at once on
the expediency of an operation. The medical staff
of the army sneered at this bold innovator, and
at first were content with such silent testimonials
of their contempt. But when the friends of the
patient, listening, as usual, to the whisperings of
hope, consented that the confident man of probes
should use his instruments, the voices of his contemporaries
became not only loud, but clamorous.
There was a day or two when even the watch-worn
and jaded subalterns of the army forgot
the dangers and hardships of the siege, to attend
with demure and instructed countenances to the
unintelligible jargon of the “Medici” of their
camp; and men grew pale, as they listened, who
had never been known to exhibit any symptoms
of the disgraceful passion before their more
acknowledged enemies. But when it became
known that the ball was safely extracted, and
the patient was pronounced convalescent, a calm
succeeded that was much more portentous to the
human race than the preceding tempest; and in
a short time the daring practitioner was universally
acknowledged to be the founder of a new
theory. The degrees of M. D. were showered
upon his honoured head from half the learned
bodies in Christendom, while many of his enthusiastic
admirers and imitators became justly entitled
to the use of the same magical symbols, as annexments
to their patrony micks, with the addition
of the first letter in the alphabet. The ancient
reasoning was altered to suit the modern facts, and
before the war was ended, some thousands of the
servants of the crown, and not a few of the patriotic
colonists, were thought to have died, scientifically,
under the favour of this important discovery.

We might devote a chapter to the minute promulgation
of such an event, had not more recent
philosophers long since upset the practice, (in
which case the theory seems to fall, as a matter of
course,) by a renewal of those bold adventures,
which teach us, occasionally, something new in the
anatomy of man; as in the science of geography,
the sealers of New-England have been able to discover
Terra Australis, where Cook saw nothing
but water; or Parry finds veins and arteries in that
part of the American continent which had so long
been thought to consist of worthless cartilage.

Whatever may have been the effects of the
operation on the surgical science, it was healthful,
in the first degree, to its subject. For seven
weary months Lionel lay in a state in which
he might be said to exist, instead of live, but
little conscious of surrounding occurrences; and
happily for himself, nearly insensible to pain and
anxiety. At moments the flame of life would
apparently glimmer like the dying lamp, and
then both the fears and hopes of his attendants
were disappointed, as the patient dropped again
into that state of apathy in which so much of
his time was wasted. From an erroneous opinion
of his master's sufferings, Meriton had been
induced to make a free use of soporifics, and no
small part of Lionel's insensibility was produced
by an excessive use of that laudanum for
which he was indebted to the mistaken humanity
of his valet. At the moment of the operation the

adventurous surgeon had availed himself of the
same stupifying drug, and many days of dull,
heavy, and alarming apathy succeeded, before
his system, finding itself relieved from its unnatural
inmate, resumed its healthful functions, and
began to renew its powers. By a singular good-fortune
his leech was too much occupied by
his own novel honours, to follow up his success,
secundem artem, as a great general pushes a victory
to the utmost; and that matchless doctor,
Nature, was permitted to complete the cure.

When the effects of the anodynes had subsided,
the patient found himself entirely free from
uneasiness, and dropped into a sweet and refreshing
sleep that lasted for many hours without
interruption. He awoke a new man; with
his body renovated, his head clear, and his recollections,
though a little confused and wandering,
certainly better than they had been since
the moment when he fell in the mêlée on Breeds.
This restoration to all the nobler properties of
life occurred about the tenth hour of the day;
and as Lionel opened his eyes, with understanding
in their expression, they fell upon the cheerfulness
which a bright sun, assisted by the dazzling
light of the masses of snow without, had lent
to every object in his apartment. The curtains
of the windows had been opened, and every
article of the furniture was arranged with a neatness
that manifested the studied care which presided
over his illness. In one corner, it is true,
Meriton had established himself in an easy-chair,
with an arrangement of attitude which spoke
more in favour of his consideration for the valet
than the master, while he was comforting his faculties
for a night of watchfulness, by the sweet,
because stolen, slumbers of the morning.

A flood of recollections broke into the mind
of Lionel together, and it was some little time before
he could so far separate the true from the
imaginary, as to attain a tolerably clear comprehension
of what had occurred in the little
age he had been dozing. Raising himself on
one elbow, without difficulty, he passed his hand
once or twice slowly over his face, and then
trusted his voice in a summons to his man. Meriton
started at the well-known sounds, and after
diligently rubbing his eyes, like one who awakes
by surprise, he arose and gave the customary
reply.

“How now, Meriton!” exclaimed Major Lincoln;
“you sleep as sound as a recruit on post,
and I suppose you have been stationed like one,
with twice-told orders to be vigilant.”

The valet stood with open mouth, as if ready to
devour his master's words with more senses than
one, and then, as Lionel concluded, passed his
hands in quick succession over his eyes, as before,
though with a very different object, ere he answered—

“Thank God, sir, thank God! you look
like yourself once more, and we shall live again
as we used to. Yes, yes, sir—you'll do now—
you'll do this time. That's a miracle of a man,
is the great Lon'non surgeon! and now we shall
go back to Soho, and live like civilizers. Thank
God, sir, thank God! you smile again, and I hope
if any thing should go wrong you'll soon be able
to give me one of those awful looks that I am so
used to, and which makes my heart jump into my
mouth, when I know I've been forgetful!”

The poor fellow, in whom long service had created
a deep attachment to his master, which had
been greatly increased by the solicitude of a nurse,
was compelied to cease his unconnected expressions
of joy, while he actually wept. Lionel was

too much affected by this evidence of feeling, to
continue the dialogue, for several minutes; during
which time he employed himself in putting on
part of his attire, assisted by the gulping valet,
when, drawing his robe-de-chambre around his
person, he leaned on the shoulder of his man, and
took the seat which the other had so recently
quitted.

“Well, well, Meriton, that will do,” said Lionel,
giving a deep hem, as though his breathing
was obstructed; “that will do, silly fellow;
I trust I shall live to give you many a frown, and
some few guineas, yet.—I have been shot, I
know”—

“Shot, sir!” interrupted the valet—“you
have been downright and unlawfully murdered!
you were first shot, and then baggoneted, and after
that a troop of horse rode over you.—I had it
from one of the royal Irish, who lay by your side
the whole time, and who now lives to tell of it—
a good honest fellow is Terence, and if such a
thing was possible that your honour was poor
enough to need a pension, he would cheerfully
swear to your hurts at the King's Bench, or
War-office; Bridewell, or St. James', its all one
to the like of him.”

“I dare say, I dare say,” said Lionel, smiling,
though he mechanically passed his hand over his
body, as his valet spoke of the bayonet—“but the
poor fellow must have transferred some of his
own wounds to my person—I own the bullet, but
object to the cavalry and the steel.”

“No, sir, I own the bullet, and it shall be buried
with me in my dressing-box, at the head of
my grave,” said Meriton, exhibiting the flattened
bit of lead, exultingly, in the palm of his hand—
“it has been in my pocket these thirteen days,
after tormenting your honour for six long months,

hid in the what d'ye call 'em muscles, away behind
the thingumy artery. But snug as it was, we got
it out! he is a miracle is the great Lon'non surgeon!”

Lionel reached over to his purse, which Meriton
had placed regularly on the table, each morning,
in order to remove again at night, and dropping
several guineas in the hand of his valet, said—

“So much lead must need some gold to sweeten
it. Put up the unseemly thing, and never let
me see it again!”

Meriton coolly took the opposing metals, and
after glancing his eyes at the guineas, with a readiness
that embraced their amount in a single
look, he dropped them carelessly into one pocket,
while he restored the lead to the other with an
exceeding attention to its preservation. He then
turned his hand to the customary duties of his
station.

“I remember well to have been in a fight on
the heights of Charlestown, even to the instant
when I got my hurt,” continued his master—“and
I even recollect many things that have occurred
since; a period which appears like a whole life to
me. But after all, Meriton, I believe my ideas
have not been remarkable for their clearness.”

“Lord, sir, you have talked to me, and scolded
me, and praised me a hundred and a hundred
times over again; but you have never scolded as
sharp like as you can, nor have you ever spoken
and looked as bright as you do this morning!”

“I am in the house of Mrs. Lechmere, again,”
continued Lionel, examining the room—“I know
this apartment, and those private doors too well
to be mistaken.”

“To be sure you are, sir; Madam Lechmere
had you brought here from the field to her own
house, and one of the best it is in Boston, too: and
I expect that Madam would some how lose her

title to it, if any thing serious should happen to
us?”

“Such as a bayonet, or a troop of horse! but
why do you fancy any such thing?”

“Because, sir, when Madam comes here of an
afternoon, which she did daily, before she sickened,
I heard her very often say to herself, if you
should be so unfortunate as to die, there would
be an end to all her hopes of her house.”

“Then it is Mrs. Lechmere who visits me daily,”
said Lionel, thoughtfully; “I have recollections
of a female form hovering around my bed,
though I had supposed it more youthful and active
than that of my aunt.”

“And you are quite right, sir—you have had
such a nurse the whole time as is seldom to be
met with. For making a posset or a gruel, I'll
match her with the oldest woman in the wards of
Guy's; and, to my taste, the best bar-keeper at
the Lon'non is a fool to her at a negus.”

“These are high accomplishments, indeed!
and who may be their mistress?”

“Miss Agnus, sir; a rare good nurse is Miss
Agnus Danforth! though in point of regard to the
troops, I shouldn't presume to call her at all distinguishable.”

“Miss Danforth,” repeated Lionel, dropping
his expecting eyes in disappointment, from the
face of Meriton to the floor—“I hope she has
not sustained all this trouble on my account
alone. There are women enough in the establishment—one
would think such offices might be
borne by the domestics—in short, Meriton, was
she without an assistant in all these little kindnesses?”

“I helped her, you know, sir, all I could;
though my neguses never touch the right spot,
like Miss Agnus's.”

“One would think, by your account, that I
have done little else than guzzle port wine, for
six months,” said Lionel, pettishly.

“Lord, sir, you wouldn't drink a thimblefull
from a glass, often; which I always took for a bad
symptom; for I'm certain 'twas no fault of the
liquor, if it wasn't drunk.”

“Well, enough of your favourite beverage! I
sicken at the name already—but, Meriton, have
not others of my friends called to inquire after
my fate?”

“Certainly, sir—the commander-in-chief sends
an aid or a servant every day; and Lord Percy
left his card more than”—

“Poh! these are calls of courtesy; but I have
relatives in Boston—Miss Dynevor, has she left
the town?”

“No, sir,” said the valet, very coolly resuming
the duty of arranging the phials on the night-table;
“she is not much of a moving body, is
that Miss Cecil.”

“She is not ill, I trust?” demanded Lionel.

“Lord, it goes through me, part joy and part
fear, to hear you speak again so quick and brisk,
sir! No, she isn't downright ailing, but she hasn't
the life and knowledge of things, as her cousin,
Miss Agnus.”

“Why do you think so, fellow?”

“Because, sir, she is mopy, and don't turn her
hand to any of the light lady's work in the family.
I have seen her sit in that very chair, where
you are now, sir, for hours together, without
moving; unless it was some nervous start when
you groaned, or breathed a little upward through
your honour's nose—I have taken it into my consideration,
sir, that she poetizes; at all events,
she likes what I calls quietude!”

“Indeed!” said Lionel, pursuing the conversation
with an interest that would have struck
a more observant man as remarkable—“what
reason have you for suspecting Miss Dynevor of
manufacturing rhymes?”

“Because, sir, she has often a bit of paper in
her hand; and I have seen her read the same
thing over and over again, till I'm sure she must
know it by heart; which your poetizers always do
with what they writes.”

“Perhaps it was a letter?” cried Lionel, with
a quickness that caused Meriton to drop a phial
he was dusting, at the expense of its contents.

“Bless me, master Lionel, how strong, and
like old times you speak!”

“I believe I am amazed to find you know so
much of the divine art, Meriton.”

“Practice makes perfect, you know, sir,” said
the simpering valet—“I can't say I ever did
much in that way, though I wrote some verses on
a pet pig, as died down at Ravenscliffe, the last
time we was there; and I got considerable eclaw
for a few lines on a vase which lady Bab's woman
broke one day, in a scuffle when the foolish creature
said as I wanted to kiss her; though all that
knows me, knows that I needn't break vases to
get kisses from the like of her!”

“Very well,” said Lionel; “some day when I
am stronger, I may like to be indulged with a perusal—go
now, Meriton, to the larder, and look
about you; I feel the symptoms of returning
health grow strong upon me.”

The gratified valet instantly departed, leaving
his master to the musings of his own busy fancy.
Several minutes passed away before the
young man raised his head from the hand that
supported it, and then it was only done when he
thought he heard a light footstep near him. His

ear had not deceived him, for Cecil Dynevor
herself, stood within a few feet of the chair, which
concealed, in a great measure, his person from
her view. It was apparent, by her attitude and
her tread, that she expected to find the sick
where she had seen him last, and where, for so
many dreary months, his listless form had been
stretched in apathy. Lionel followed her graceful
movements with his eyes, and as the airy band
of her morning cap waved aside at her own breathing,
he discovered the unnatural paleness that was
seated on her speaking features. But when she
drew the folds of the bed curtains, and missed the
invalid, thought is not quicker than the motion
with which she turned her light person towards
the chair. Here she encountered the eyes of the
young man, beaming on her with delight, and
expressing all that animation and intelligence
to which they had so long been strangers.
Yielding to the surprise and the gush of her
feelings, Cecil flew to his feet, and clasping
one of his extended hands in both her own, she
cried—

“Lionel, dear Lionel, you are better! God be
praised, you look well again!”

Lionel gently extricated his hand from the
warm and unguarded pressure of her soft fingers,
and drew forth a paper which she had
unconsciously committed to his keeping.

“This, dearest Cecil,” he whispered to the
blushing maiden, “this is my own letter, written
when I knew my life to be at imminent hazard,
and speaking the purest thoughts of my heart—
tell me, then, it has not been thus kept for nothing?”

Cecil dropped her face between her hands for
a moment, in burning shame, and then, as all the
emotions of the moment crowded around her
heart, she yielded to them as a woman, and burst

into a paroxysm of tears. It is needless to dwell
on those consoling and seducing speeches of the
young man, which soon succeeded in luring his
companion not only from her sobs, but even from
her confusion, and permitted her to raise her
beautiful countenance to his ardent gaze, bright and
confiding as his fondest wishes could have made it.

The letter of Lionel was too direct, not to save
her pride, and it had been too often perused for
a single sentence to be soon forgotten. Besides,
Cecil had watched over his couch too fondly and
too long to indulge in any of those little coquetries
which are sometimes met with in similar
scenes. She said all that an affectionate, generous,
and modest female would say on such
an occasion; and it is certain, that well as Lionel
looked on waking, the little she uttered
had the effect to improve his appearance ten-fold.

“And you received my letter on the morning
after the battle?” said Lionel, leaning fondly
over her, as she still, unconsciously, kneeled by
his side.

“Yes—yes—it was your order that it should
be sent to me only in case of your death; but
for more than a month you were numbered as
among the dead by us all.—Oh! what a month
was that!”

“Tis past, my sweet friend, and, God be praised,
I may now look forward to health and happiness.”

“God be praised, indeed,” murmured Cecil,
the tears again rushing to her eyes—“I would
not live that month over again, Lionel, for all
that this world can offer!”

“Dearest Cecil,” he replied, “I can only
repay this kindness and suffering on my account,
by shielding you from the rude contact of the
world, even as your father would protect you,
were he again in being.”

She looked up in his face with all the soul of
a woman's confidence beaming in her eyes, as she
answered—

“You will, Lincoln, I know you will—you
have sworn it, and I should be a wretch to doubt
you.”

He drew her unresisting form into his arms, and
folded her to his bosom. In another moment a
noise, like one ascending the stairs, was heard
through the open door of the room, when all the
feelings of her sex rushed to the breast of Cecil.
She sprung on her feet, and hardly allowing time
to the delighted Lionel to note the burning tints
that suffused her whole face, she darted from the
room with the rapidity and lightness of an antelope.