 | CHAPTER III. Lionel Lincoln, or, The leaguer of Boston |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
“God never meant that man should scale the heavens
“By strides of human wisdom.”
Cowper.
A VERY few days of gentle exercise in the
bracing air of the season, were sufficient to restore
the strength of the invalid, whose wounds
had healed while he lay slumbering under the
influence of the anodynes prescribed by his leech.
Polwarth, in consideration of the dilapidated
state of his own limbs, together with the debility
of Lionel, had so far braved the ridicule
of the army, as to set up one of those comfortable
and easy conveyances, which, in the good
old times of colonial humility, were known by
the quaint and unpretending title of tom-pungs.
To equip this establishment, he had been compelled
to impress one of the fine hunters of
his friend. The animal had been taught, by
virtue of much training from his groom, aided a
little, perhaps, by the low state of the garners of
the place, to amble through the snow as quietly
as if he were conscious of the altered condition
of his master's health. In this safe vehicle the
two gentlemen might be seen daily gliding along
the upper streets of the town, and moving through
the winding paths of the common, receiving the
visiting others, who, like themselves, had been
wounded in the murderous battle of the preceding
summer, but who, less fortunate than they,
were still compelled to submit to the lingering
confinement of their quarters.
It was not difficult to persuade Cecil and Agnes
to join in many of their short excursions,
though no temptation could induce the latter
to still the frown that habitually settled on her
beautiful brow, whenever chance or intention
brought them in contact with any of the gentlemen
of the army. Miss Dynevor was, however,
much more conciliating in her deportment,
and even at times, so gracious as to incur the private
reproaches of her friend.
“Surely, Cecil, you forget how much our poor
country men are suffering in their miserable lodgings
without the town, or you would be less prodigal
of your condescension to these butterflies
of the army,” cried Agnes, pettishly, while they
were uncloaking after one of these rides, during
which the latter thought her cousin had lost
sight of that tacit compact, by which most of the
women of the colonies deemed themselves bound
to exhibit their feminine resentments to their
invaders—“were a chief from our own army
presented to you, he could not have been received
in a sweeter manner than you bestowed
your smile to-day on that sir Digby Dent!”
“I can say nothing in favour of its sweetness,
my acid cousin, but that sir Digby Dent is a gentleman—”
“A gentleman! yes—so is every Englishman
who wears a scarlet coat, and knows how to play
off his airs in the colonies!”
“And as I hope I have some claims to be called
a lady,” continued Cecil, quietly, “I do not know
be rude to him.”
“Cecil Dynevor!” exclaimed Agnes, with a
sparkling eye, and with a woman's intuitive perception
of the other's motives, “all Englishmen
are not Lionel Lincolns.”
“Nor is Major Lincoln an Englishman,”
returned Cecil, laughing, while she blushed;
“though I have reason to think that captain Polwarth
may be.”
“Silly, child, silly; the poor man has paid the
penalty of his offence, and is to be regarded with
pity.”
“Have a care, my coz.—Pity is one of a large
connexion of gentle feelings; when you once
admit the first-born, you may leave open your
doors to the whole family.”
“Now that is exactly the point in question,
Cecil—because you esteem Major Lincoln, you
are willing to admire Howe and all his myrmidons;
but I can pity, and still be firm.”
“Le bon temps viendra!”
“Never,” interrupted Agnes, with a warmth
that prevented her perceiving how much she
admitted—“Never, at least, under the guise of a
scarlet coat.”
Cecil smiled, but having completed her toilet,
she withdrew without making any reply.
Such little discussions, enlivened more or less
by the peculiar spirit of Agnes, were of frequent
occurrence, though the eye of her cousin became
daily more thoughtful, and the indifference with
which she listened, was more apparent in each
succeeding dialogue.
In the meantime, the affairs of the siege, though
conducted with extreme caution, amounted only
to a vigilant blockade.
The Americans lay by thousands in the surrounding
villages, or were hutted in strong bands
to the place. Notwithstanding, their
means had been greatly increased, by the capture
of several vessels, loaded with warlike stores,
as well as by the reduction of two important fortresses
towards the Canadian frontiers, they were
still too scanty to admit of that wasteful expenditure
which is the usual accompaniment of
war. In addition to their necessities, as a reason
for forbearance, might also be mentioned
the feelings of the colonists, who were anxious, in
mercy to themselves, to regain their town as little
injured as possible. On the other hand, the impression
made by the battle of Bunker-hill was
still so vivid as to curb the enterprise of the royal
commanders, and Washington had been permitted
to hold their powerful forces in check, by
an untrained and half-armed multitude, that was,
at times, absolutely destitute of the means of
maintaining even a momentary contest.
As, however, a show of hostilities was maintained,
the reports of cannon were frequently
heard, and there were days when skirmishes
between the advanced parties of the two hosts,
brought on more heavy firings, which continued
for longer periods. The ears of the ladies
had been long accustomed to these rude sounds,
and as the trifling loss which followed was altogether
confined to the outworks, they were listened
to with but little or no terror.
In this manner a fortnight flew swiftly away,
without an incident to be related. One fine morning,
at the end of that period, Polwarth drove into
the little court-yard of Mrs. Lechmere's residence,
with all those knowing flourishes he could command,
and which in the year 1775 were thought
to indicate the greatest familiarity with the properties
of a tom-pung. In another minute his
wooden member was heard in the passage, timing
rest of the party were waiting his appearance.
The two cousins stood wrapped in furs, with
their smiling faces blooming beneath double rows
of lace to soften the pictures, while Major Lincoln
was in the act of taking his cloak from
Meriton as the door opened for the admission of
the captain.
“What, already dished!” exclaimed the good-natured
Polwarth, glancing his eyes from one
to the other—“so much the better; punctuality
is the true leaven of life—a good watch is as
necessary to the guest as the host, and to the host
as his cook. Miss Agnes, you are amazingly murderous
to-day! If Howe expects his subalterns
to do their duty, he should not suffer you to go
at large in his camp.”
The fine eye of Miss Danforth sparkled as he
proceeded, but happening to fall on his mutilated
person, its expression softened, and she was content
with answering with a smile—
“Let your general look to himself; I seldom
go abroad but to espy his weakness!”
The captain gave an expressive shrug of his
shoulder, and turning aside to his friend, said
in an under tone—
“You see how it is, Major Lincoln; ever
since I have been compelled to serve myself
up, like a turkey from yesterday's dinner, with a
single leg, I have not been able to get a sharp
reply from the young woman—she has grown an
even-tempered, tasteless morsel! and I am like a
two-prong fork; only fit for carving! well, I care
not how soon they cut me up entirely, since she
has lost her piquancy—but shall we to the
church?”
Lionel looked a little embarrassed, and fingered
a paper he held in his hand, for a moment, before
he handed it to the other for his perusal.
“What have we here?” continued Polwarth—
“Two officers wounded in the late battle, desire
to return thanks for their recovery”—hum
—hum—hum—two?—yourself, and who is the
other?”
“I had hoped it would be my old companion
and school-fellow?”
“Ha! what, me!” exclaimed the captain, unconsciously
elevating his wooden-leg, and examining
it with a rueful eye—“umph! Leo, do
you think a man has a particular reason to be
grateful for the loss of a leg?”
“It might have been worse.”
“I don't know,” interrupted Polwarth, a little
obstinately—“there would have been more
symmetry in it, if it had been both.”
“You forget your mother,” continued Lionel,
as though the other had not spoken; “I am very
sure it will give her heartfelt pleasure.”
Polwarth gave a loud hem, rubbed his hand
over his face once or twice, gave another furtive
glance at his solitary limb, and then answered,
with a little tremour in his voice—
“Yes, yes—I believe you are quite right—a
mother can love her child, though he should be
chopped into mince-meat! The sex get that
generous feeling after they are turned of forty—
it's your young woman that is particular about
proportions and correspondents.”
“You consent, then, that Meriton shall hand
in the request as it reads?”
Polwarth hesitated a single instant longer, and
then, as he remembered his distant mother, for
Lionel had touched the right chord, his heart
melted within him.
“Certainly, certainly—it might have been
worse, as it was with poor Dennis—ay, let
it pass for two; it shall go hard but I find
when a certain young lady sees I can have
a `te deum' for my adventure, she may cease to
think me such an object of pity as at present?”
Lionel bowed in silence, and the captain, turning
to Agnes, conducted her to the sleigh with a
particularly lofty air, that he intended should indicate
his perfect superiority to the casualties of
war. Cecil took the arm of Major Lincoln, and
the whole party were soon seated in the vehicle
that was in waiting.
Until this day, which was the second Sunday
since his reappearance, and the first on which
the weather permitted him to go abroad, Lionel
had no opportunity to observe the altered population
of the town. The inhabitants had gradually
left the place, some clandestinely, and others
under favour of passes from the royal general,
until those who remained were actually outnumbered
by the army and its dependents. As the
party approached the “King's Chapel,” the street
was crowded by military men, collected in groups,
who indulged in thoughtless merriment, reckless
of the wounds their light conversation inflicted
on the few townsmen who might be seen moving
towards the church, with deportments suited to the
solemnity of their purpose, and countenances
severely chastened by a remembrance of the day,
and its serious duties. Indeed, so completely had
Boston lost that distinctive appearance of sobriety,
which had ever been the care and pride of
its people, in the levity of a garrison, that even
the immediate precincts of the temple were not
protected from the passing jest or rude mirth
of the gay and unreflecting, at an hour when a
quiet was wont to settle on the whole province,
as deep as if Nature had ceased her ordinary
functions to unite in the worship of man. Lionel
did it escape his uneasy glances, that his
two female companions concealed their faces in
their muffs, as if to exclude a view that brought
still more painful recollections to minds early
trained in the reflecting habits of the country.
When the sleigh drew up before the edifice, a
dozen hands were extended to assist the ladies
in their short but difficult passage into the heavy
portico. Agnes coldly bowed her acknowledgments,
observing, with an extremely equivocal
smile, to one of the most assiduous of the
young men—
“We, who are accustomed to the climate, find
no difficulty in walking on ice, though to you
foreigners it may seem so hazardous.”—She then
bowed, and walked gravely into the bosom of the
church, without deigning to bestow another
glance to her right hand or her left.
The manner of Cecil, though more chastened
and feminine, and consequently more impressive,
was equally reserved. Like her cousin, she proceeded
directly to her pew, repulsing the attempts
of those who wished to detain her a moment in
idle discourse, by a lady-like propriety that
checked the advance of all who approached her.
In consequence of the rapid movement of their
companions, Lionel and Polwarth were left among
the crowd of officers who thronged the entrance
of the church. The former moved up within the
colonnade, and passed from group to group, answering
and making the customary inquiries of
men engaged in the business of war. Here, three
or four veterans were clustered about one of those
heavy columns, that were arranged in formidable
show on three faces of the building, discussing,
with becoming gravity, the political signs
of the times, or the military condition of their respective
boys, tricked in all the vain emblems of their
profession, impeded the entrance of the few women
who appeared, under the pretence of admiration
for the sex, while they secretly dwelt on
the glitter of their own ornaments. Scattered along
the whole extent of the entrance were other little
knots; some listening to the idle tale of a professed
jester, some abusing the land in which
it was their fate to serve, and others recounting
the marvels they had witnessed in distant climes,
and in scenes of peril which beggared their utmost
powers of description.
Among such a collection it was not difficult,
however, to find a few whose views were more
elevated, and whose deportment might be termed
less offensive, either to breeding or principles.
With one of the gentlemen of the latter class
Lionel was held for some time in discourse, in
a distant part of the portico. At length the sounds
of the organ were heard issuing from the church,
and the gay parties began to separate, like men
suddenly reminded why they were collected in that
unusual place. The companion of Major Lincoln
had left him, and he was himself following along
the colonnade, which was now but thinly peopled,
when his ear was saluted by a low voice, singing
in a sort of nasal chant at his very elbow—
“Wo unto you, Pharisees! for ye love the uppermost
seats in the Synagogues, and greetings
in the market!”
Though Lionel had not heard the voice since
the echoing cry had issued out of the fatal redoubt,
he knew its first tones on the instant.
Turning at this singular denunciation, he beheld
Job Pray, erect and immovable as a statue,
in one of the niches, in front of the building,
oracle speaking to its devotees.
“Fellow, will no peril teach you wisdom!”
demanded Lionel—“how dare you brave our resentment
so wantonly?”
But his questions were unheeded. The young
man, whose features looked pale and emaciated,
as if he had endured recent bodily disease, whose
eye was glazed and vacant, and whose whole appearance
was more squalid and miserable than
usual, appeared perfectly indifferent to all around
him. Without even altering the riveted gaze of
his unmeaning eye, he continued—
“Wo unto you! for ye neither go in yourselves;
neither suffer ye them that are entering to go in!”
“Art deaf, fool!” demanded Lionel.
In an instant the eye of the other was turned
on his interrogator, and Major Lincoln felt a
thrill pass through him, when he met the wild
gleam of intelligence that lighted the countenance
of the changeling, as he continued in the
same ominous tones—
“Whosoever shall say to his brother, Raca,
shall be in danger of the council; but whosoever
shall say, Thou fool, is in danger of hell-fire.”
For a moment Lionel stood as if spell-bound, by
the manner of Job, while he uttered this dreadful
anathema. But the instant the secret influence
ceased, he tapped the lad lightly with his cane,
and bid him descend from the niche.
“Job's a prophet,” returned the other, dishonouring
his declaration at the same time, by losing
the singular air of momentary intelligence, in
his usual appearance of mental imbecility—“it's
wicked to strike a prophet. The Jews stoned
the prophets, and beat them too.”
“Do then as I bid you—would you stay here
to be beaten by the soldiers? Go now, away;
you with a better coat than the garment you
wear.”
“Did you never read the good book,” said Job,
“where it tells how you mus'n't take heed for
food nor raiment? Nab says when Job dies he'll
go to heaven, for he gets nothing to wear, and but
little to eat. Kings wear their di'mond crowns
and golden flauntiness; and kings always go
to the dark place.”
The lad suddenly ceased, and crouching into
the very bottom of his niche, he began to play
with his fingers, like an infant amused with the
power of exercising its own members. At the same
moment Lionel turned from him, attracted by the
rattling of side arms, and the tread of many feet
behind him. A large party of officers belonging
to the staff of the army had paused to listen
to what was passing. Amongst them Lionel
recognised, at the first glance, two of the
chieftains, who, a little in advance of their attendants,
were keenly eyeing the singular being that
was squatted in the niche. Notwithstanding his
surprise, Major Lincoln detected the scowl that
impended over the dark brow of the commander-in-chief,
while he bowed low, in deference to his
rank.
“Who is this fellow, that dare condemn the
mighty of the earth to such sweeping perdition?”
demanded Howe—“his own sovereign
amongst the number!”
“'Tis an unfortunate being, wanting in intellect,
with whom accident has made me acquainted,”
returned Major Lincoln; “who hardly knows
what he utters, and least of all, in whose presence
he has been speaking.”
“It is to such idle opinions, which are conceived
by the designing, and circulated by the
of the colonies,” said the British General.
“I hope you can answer for the loyalty of your
singular acquaintance, Major Lincoln?”
Lionel was about to reply with some little spirit,
when the companion of the frowning chief
suddenly exclaimed—
“By the feats of the feathered Hermes, but this
is the identical Merry Andrew who took the flying
leap from Copp's, of which I have already
spoken to you.—Am I in error, Lincoln? Is not
this the shouting philosopher, whose feelings were
so elevated on the day of Breeds, that he could
not refrain from flying, but who, less fortunate
than Icarus, made his descent on terra firma?”
“I believe your memory is faithful, sir,” said
Lionel, answering the smile of the other—“the
lad is often brought to trouble by his simplicity?”
Burgoyne gave a gentle impulse to the arm
he held, as if he thought the wretched being before
them unworthy of further consideration;
though secretly with a view to prevent an impolitic
exhibition of the well-known propensity of his
senior to push his notions of military ascendency
to the extreme. Perceiving, by the still darkening
look of the other, that he hesitated, his ready
lieutenant observed—
“Poor fellow! his treason was doubly punished,
by a flight of some fifty feet down the declivity
of Copp's, and the mortification of witnessing
the glorious triumph of his majesty's
troops.—To such a wretch we may well afford
forgiveness.”
Howe insensibly yielded to the continued
pressure of the other, and his hard features even
relaxed into a scowling smile, as he said, while
turning away—
“Look to your acquaintance, Major Lincoln,
or bad as his present condition seems, he may
make it worse. Such language cannot be tolerated
in a place besieged. That is the word, I believe—the
rebels call their mob a besieging army,
do they not?”
“They do gather round our winter-quarters,
and claim some such distinction”—
“It must be acknowledged they did well on
Breeds too! The shabby rascals fought like true
men.”
“Desperately, and with some discretion,” answered
Burgoyne; “but it was their fortune to
meet those who fought better, and with greater
skill—shall we enter?”
The frown was now entirely chased from the
brow of the chief, who said complacently—
“Come, gentlemen, we are tardy; unless more
industrious we shall not be in season to pray for
the king, much less ourselves.”
The whole party advanced a step, when a bustle
in the rear announced the approach of another
officer of high rank, and the second in command
entered into the colonnade, followed also by the
gentlemen of his family. The instant he appeared
the self-contented look vanished from the features
of Howe, who returned his salute with cold
civility, and immediately entered the church.
The quick-witted Burgoyne again interposed,
and as he made way in his turn, he found means
to whisper into the ear of Clinton some well-imagined
allusion to the events of that very field
which had given birth to the heart-burnings between
his brother generals, and had caused
the feelings of Howe to be estranged from
the man to whose assistance he owed so much.
Clinton yielded to the subtle influence of the
flattery, and followed his commander into the
probably mistook for a feeling much better suited
to the place and the occasion. As the whole
group of spectators, consisting of aids, secretaries,
and idlers, without, immediately imitated the example
of the generals, Lionel found himself alone
with the changeling.
From the moment that Job discovered the vicinity
of the English leader, to that of his disappearance,
the lad remained literally immovable. His
eye was fastened on vacancy, his jaw had fallen in
a manner to give a look of utter mental alienation
to his countenance; and, in short, he exhibited
the degraded lineaments and figure of a
man, without his animation or intelligence. But
as the last footsteps of the retiring party became
inaudible, the fear which had put to flight the
feeble intellects of the simpleton, slowly left him,
and raising his face, he said, in a low, growling
voice—
“Let him go out to Prospect; the people will
teach him the law!”
“Perverse and obstinate simpleton!” cried
Lionel, dragging him, without further ceremony,
from the niche—“will you persevere in that foolish
cry until you are whipped from regiment to
regiment for your pains!”
“You promised Job the grannies shouldn't
beat him any more, and Job promised to run
your ar'n'ds.”
“Ay! but unless you learn to keep silence,
boy, I shall forget my promise, and give you up to
the anger of all the grannies in town.”
“Well,” said Job, brightening in his look, like a
fool in his exultation, “they are half of them dead,
at any rate; Job heard the biggest man among 'em
roar like a ravenous lion, `hurrah for the royal
Irish,' but he never spoke ag'in; though there
man's shoulder!”
“Wretch!” cried Lionel, recoiling from him
in horror, “are your hands then stained with the
blood of M`Fuse!”
“Job didn't touch him with his hands,” returned
the undisturbed simpleton—“for he died like a
dog, where he fell!”
Lionel stood a moment in utter confusion
of thought; but hearing the infallible evidence
of the near approach of Polwarth in his tread,
he said, in a hurried manner, and in a voice half
choked by his emotions—
“Go, fellow, go to Mrs. Lechmere's, as I bid
you—tell—tell Meriton to look to my fire.”
The lad made a motion towards obeying, but
checking himself, he looked up into the face of
the other with a piteous and suffering look, and
said—
“See, Job's numb with cold! Nab and Job
can't get wood now; the king keeps men to fight
for it—let Job warm his flesh a little; his body is
cold as the dead!”
Touched to the heart by the request, and the
helpless aspect of the lad, Lionel made a silent
signal of assent, and turned quickly to meet his
friend. It was not necessary for Polwarth to
speak, in order to apprise Major Lincoln that he
had overheard part of the dialogue between him
and Job. His countenance and attitude sufficiently
betrayed his knowledge, as well as the
effect it had produced on his feelings. He kept
his eyes on the form of the simpleton, as the lad
shuffled his way along the icy street, with an expression
that could not easily be mistaken.
“Did I not hear the name of poor Dennis?”
at length he asked.
“'Twas some of the idle boasting of the fool.
But why are you not in the pew?”
“The fellow is a protégé of yours, Major Lincoln;
but you may carry forbearance too far,”
returned Polwarth, gravely. “I come for you, at
the request of a pair of beautiful blue eyes, that
have inquired of each one that has entered the
church, this half-hour, where and why Major
Lincoln has tarried.”
Lionel bowed his thanks, and affected to laugh
at the humour of his friend, while they proceeded
together to the pew of Mrs. Lechmere without
further delay.
The painful reflections excited by this interview
with Job, gradually vanished from the mind
of Lionel, as he yielded to the influence of the solemn
service of the church. He heard the difficult
and suppressed breathing of the fair being
who kneeled by his side, while the minister read
those thanksgivings which personally concerned
himself, and no little of earthly gratitude mingled
with the loftier aspirations of the youth, as he
listened. He caught the timid glance of the soft
eye from behind the folds of Cecil's veil, as they
rose, and he took his seat as happy as an ardent
young man might well be fancied, under the consciousness
of possessing the best affections of a
female so youthful, so lovely, and so pure.
Perhaps the service was not altogether so consoling
to the feelings of Polwarth. As he recovered
his solitary foot again, with some little difficulty,
he cast a very equivocal glance at his
dismembered person, hemmed aloud, and finished
with a rattling of his wooden-leg about the
pew, that attracted the eyes of the whole congregation,
as if he intended the ears of all present
should bear testimony in whose behalf their owners
had uttered their extraordinary thanksgivings.
The officiating minister was far too discreet to
vex the attention of his superiors with any prolix
and unwelcome exhibitions of the Christian's duty.
The impressive delivery of his text required
one minute. Four were consumed in the
exordium. The argument was ingeniously condensed
into ten more; and the peroration of his
essay was happily concluded in four minutes and
a half; leaving him the satisfaction of knowing,
as he was assured by fifty watches, and twice that
number of contented faces, that he had accomplished
his task by half a minute within the orthodox
period.
For this exactitude he doubtless had his reward.
Among other testimonials in his favour,
when Polwarth shook his hand to thank him for
his kind offices in his own behalf, he found room
for a high compliment to the discourse, concluding
by assuring the flattered divine, “that in addition
to its other great merits, it was done in beautiful
time!”
| CHAPTER III. Lionel Lincoln, or, The leaguer of Boston | |