Chapter XXIV: In the Old Home 374 (9)

With no fresh provisions in the market, the dinners given by Mr. Newville to the generals Howe, Clinton, and Burgoyne was not so elaborate as that to Lord Upperton, but more appetizing than those on shipboard while crossing the Atlantic. It was a pleasure to General Howe to escort Miss Newville to the dining-room, sit by her side, and listen to a voice that charmed him by its purity and sweetness. A lady so highly endowed, and with such grace of manner, would adorn any home,--even the drawing-room of her majesty the queen.

The home of Mrs. Martha Duncan, with its shrubbery and garden neatly kept, was selected by General Howe as a residence. He hoped it would not greatly inconvenience her; he would gladly remunerate her for any trouble he might make. It would be a pleasure to have her for a hostess. His own servant would attend to his personal wants.

"Of course, mother," said Abraham, "we cannot prevent him from taking possession of our home; we may as well make the best of it, accept the inevitable, and spoil the Egyptians if we can. He seems to be a gentleman, a man of honor, and will, doubtless, pay us well. Besides, possibly we may learn something that can be turned to good account, if we keep our eyes and ears open, and our wits about us."

"It will be only a plain table, my lord, I can provide. Since the provincials have closed around us, the market has been bare of provisions," said Mrs. Duncan.

"I am aware of it, madam, but I doubt not you will be able to furnish appetizing food, possibly a joint of roast mutton from the flocks of sheep accessible to us on the islands in the harbor, a fresh mackerel or cod. We are not yet shut in from the sea, and possibly we may soon have free access to the surrounding country, for I hear there is much discontent among the provincials, and their numbers are rapidly melting away, now that the first excitement is over," responded Lord Howe.

"Possibly I may be able to provide early vegetables,--lettuce, dandelions, greens, asparagus, and water-cresses, my lord, if you will allow my negro servant, Cato, to pass the patrol to Charlestown," said Mrs. Duncan.

"I will give him such permission," he replied, writing a pass, directing the sentinels along the wharves, and the marine patrol in the harbor, to pass the negro servant, Cato.

Not only Cato, but Mrs. Duncan and her son, Abraham, ship-carver and artist, were attentive to the wants of General Howe, receiving shining guineas in return. It was a pleasure to the British commander, just arrived from England, to talk with a young gentleman so well informed and of such attainments as the son of his hostess.

"I dare say, Mr. Duncan, you are quite well acquainted with the country around Boston?" said his lordship.

"I have been up the Charles and Mystic by boat many times, my lord, and visited Cambridge to enjoy the festivities of Class Day, and the orations of graduates at Commencement. I have rambled the Roxbury fields and pastures for strawberries, and am pretty well acquainted with the various localities."

General Howe spread out a map and asked many questions in regard to the surrounding hills, valleys, woods, and cleared lands. He was surprised to see how well Mr. Duncan could sketch them in with his pencil upon the map which Ensign De Berniere had drawn. Lord Howe introduced him to Generals Pigot and Clinton, who were pleased with the intelligent replies to their questions.

There came a day in June when Abraham heard General Howe say to the other commanders that the Charlestown Hills ought to be occupied at once, for fear the rebels might seize them. Were they to do so, Boston might be bombarded, and the ships driven from their anchorage.

"Doctor Warren and General Ward ought to know that," Abraham said to himself.

There were only a few words in the letter which Abraham Duncan tucked under the cuff of Cato's coat-sleeve the next morning, when he stepped into his boat to cross the river and gather young asparagus and water-cresses for General Howe's dinner. Cato was directed to hand the slip of paper to Deacon Larkin's negro, Jim, who would know what to do with it.

Faithful and true to their kind-hearted masters were Cato and Jim, passing the letter from hand to hand, till it reached Doctor Joseph Warren in consultation with General Artemus Ward and the committee of safety in Cambridge.

"Bunker's Hill is to be occupied at once."[67]

[Footnote 67: The two eminences in Charlestown were named Breed's and Bunker's Hill respectively,--that upon which the redoubt was constructed was Breed's Hill; the rail fence behind which the troops from New Hampshire fought was on the slope of Bunker's Hill.]

That was all, except an ink blot.

"It is authentic,--from a trustworthy Son of Liberty," said Doctor Warren.

"It has no signature," said General Ward.

"Therefore is not treasonable. Besides, it does not state who is to occupy Bunker's Hill,--the British or ourselves," the doctor replied.

"How do you know it is genuine--from the writing?"

"No; the hand is disguised. Nevertheless, I know the writer. He informs me that the British intend to take possession of Charlestown Heights."[68]

[Footnote 68: General Gage at the outset saw the value of Charlestown Heights from the military standpoint, but was not able to make any movement to take possession of the ground till the arrival of his reinforcements.]

"Are you sure it is authentic information?"

"I have no doubt of it. The writer is in position to learn what they intend to do. He is a very quiet man, but has his eyes and ears open. It is not the first time he has shown his devotion to our cause. You say he has not signed it; true he has not written his name, not even the initials, yet his signature is upon the sheet,--the insignificant ink-blot. It would not be accepted as testimony in a court-martial, but it is sufficient for me," said Doctor Warren.

With the letter came a copy of a proclamation issued by General Gage. No longer were the selectmen of any towns in the Province of Massachusetts to have anything to say. Martial law was to supersede civil authority. The provincial soldiers were rebels and traitors who must lay down their arms at once and go home, if they would hope for pardon; but there was no pardon for Samuel Adams and John Hancock, who must pay the extreme penalty of the law for inciting the people to rebel against their kind and lenient king.

"We ask no favor of King George; he began the war, we will end it," said the soldiers as they read the proclamation.

XIX.

BUNKER HILL.

If the British regarded Charlestown Heights of such importance, why should not the provincials seize them? It must be done. Twilight was still lingering on the western horizon when the troops selected for the expedition paraded on Cambridge Common. Colonel William Prescott was to command them. He had fought at Louisburg, and was cool and brave. With uncovered heads the regiments stood in front of the meetinghouse while Reverend Mr. Langdon, president of the college, offered prayer. Lieutenant Walden, having been upon Bunker Hill, led the way, followed by soldiers from Connecticut and Massachusetts, and two carts loaded with picks and shovels. They marched in silence. Lieutenant Walden conducted them across the Neck and up the slope of the Hill. It was nearly midnight before it was decided just where Colonel Gridley should mark out the contemplated fortifications.[69] Lieutenant Walden conducted Captain Nutting and ten sentinels to the ferry landing. They were but a little distance from the frigate Somerset at anchor in the stream. Farther up, towards Lechmere's Point, were the Glasgow, Cerberus, and Symetry. Down the river, off Moulton's Point, lay the Lively and Falcon.

[Footnote 69: The orders to Prescott contained no definite instructions in regard to which of the hills should be fortified, and the veteran engineer, Gridley, doubted whether it would be best to begin the works on the highest eminence or the lower one, nearer the shipping. It seems probable his intention was to construct works on both hills, but a lack of picks and shovels compelled him to confine his work to the single redoubt on Breed's Hill.]

Leaving the sentinels to guard the shore, he rode to the summit of the hill, where the men were hard at work, delving in silence with pick and spade. There were not sufficient implements for all, but when one was out of breath, another took his place, and before the first glimmer of dawn appeared, the trench had been made breast deep.

"Four o'clock and all's well!" came from the sentinel on the Somerset, but a moment later a sheet of flame and a white cloud burst from the side of the Lively, and the roar of a gun broke the stillness of the morning.

The thunder rolled far away, arousing the British army, the people of Boston, General Gage, and Lord Howe from their slumbers. Berinthia Brandon, from her chamber window, beheld the warship Lively shrouded in smoke. Upon the green hill, where, the day before, the farmers had been swinging their scythes, and where the partially cured hay was lying in windrows, she could see a bank of yellow earth. Again the thunder of the guns jarred her window, but at a signal from the Somerset the firing ceased.

Before sunrise all Boston was astir, moving towards Copp's Hill, gazing from windows and roofs upon the growing fortifications. Generals Gage and Howe ascended the steeple of Christ Church and looked at the embankment with their telescopes.[70] A little later officers were hurrying along the streets with orders to the several regiments to be ready to march at a moment's notice. Drums were beating; battalions moving towards Long Wharf, the selected rendezvous, from whence the troops were to be transported in boats to Moulton's Point, ascend the hill, and send the provincials flying from their chosen position.

[Footnote 70: The headquarters of General Gage were in the house of Mr. Galloup, on Hull Street, a stone's-throw from Christ Church. The house, a two-story wooden building with a gambrel roof, is still standing (1895).]

Such was the information brought to the Brandon home by Abraham Duncan.

"You will have a splendid chance to see the battle from the housetop," he said to Captain Brandon.

Cannon carriages were rumbling through the street, passing the Brandon home, wheeling into the burial ground, and coming into position. The gunners loaded the pieces and lighted their port fires, waved their lint-stocks, and touched them to the priming. Flames and smoke belched from the muzzle of the guns with deafening roar, sending the missiles upon the fortification.

While the cannoneers were reloading the guns, Berinthia, upon the housetop with a telescope, saw a man leap up from the intrenchment and stand in full view upon the bank of earth, swinging his hat and shaking his fist.

"Oh father! mother! it is Tom! He's swinging his hat! Just see him!" she cried.

Again the cannon flamed, but with the flashing Tom leaped back into the trench and was safe from the shot.

"I'm glad he's there. He's got the true stuff in him," said Mr. Brandon.

"I'm afraid he'll be killed!" exclaimed Mrs. Brandon, manifesting the mother's solicitude and love.

"I glory in his pluck," said Berinthia.

People came from other sections of the town to behold the impending battle.

"May we presume to trespass upon your hospitality, Captain Brandon," asked Mr. Newville, "and, if you have room, see this approaching contest from your housetop?"

"Certainly. We give you and your family hearty welcome. We doubtless shall see it from different political standpoints; you are truly loyal to the king; my sympathies, as you know, are with the provincials, but that shall not diminish our personal friendship or my hospitality," Captain Brandon replied, escorting Mr. and Mrs. Newville and Miss Newville to the top of the house and providing them seats.

The forenoon wore away; Mrs. Brandon was busy preparing a lunch, and Chloe soon had the table elaborately supplied with ham, tongue, the whitest bread, appetizing cheese, doughnuts, and crumpets. The company partook of the collation, drank each a glass of wine, and then ascended to the roof again.

Berinthia informed Ruth that Tom was in the redoubt. She had seen him through the telescope, standing on the embankment and waving his hat.

Lieutenant Robert Walden, at the moment, was five miles away, in Medford town, delivering a message to Colonel John Stark to hasten with his regiment to Bunker Hill.

The meetinghouse bell was ringing the hour of noon when the drummer beat the long roll for the parading of the regiment. The men filed past the quarter-master's tent and each received a gill of powder in his horn. And then with quickened step they crossed the Mystic and hastened along the road.

With the shot from the Symetry screeching around them, tossing the gravel in their faces, the men from New Hampshire crossed the neck of land, ascended the hill, and came into position by a low stone wall surmounted by rails. Lieutenant Walden's company was nearest the Mystic River. Captain Daniel Moore's came next in line. The regiment with Colonel Reed's New Hampshire regiment extended to the foot of the hill, in the direction of the redoubt.

"You will inform Colonel Prescott that I have arrived with my regiment and am in position," said Colonel Stark.

Riding towards the redoubt, Robert saluted General Putnam, who, mounted on a white horse, was going along the lines, telling the men to keep cool, save their powder, and aim at the cross-belts of the British.

It was a pleasure once more to meet Doctor Warren, who had been appointed general, but who had come as a volunteer to take part in the battle.

Colonel Prescott thanked Lieutenant Walden for the information sent by Colonel Stark. He did not doubt the men from New Hampshire would be as true as they were in the battles of Louisburg and Ticonderoga.[71]

[Footnote 71: There is no evidence that Colonel Stark was directed to report to Colonel Prescott or any one else; neither is there any evidence to show that Putnam was in command. We only know that Prescott was directed to occupy Charlestown Heights. Later in the war Putnam, by virtue of his rank, would have been in command, or possibly Warren, but Warren was there only as a volunteer, having been appointed general the day before the battle. It seems probable that no one exercised supreme command, but Prescott, Putnam, Stark, and Reed acted individually with their separate commands, as the exigencies of the moment demanded.]

Dismounting from his horse and giving it in charge of a soldier, Lieutenant Walden walked along the trench, looked over the embankment upon the British troops landing at Moulton's Point and forming in two columns, one of which, he concluded, was intending to march along the Mystic to gain the rear of the redoubt and cut off the retreat of those within it. If such were the contemplated movement it would be mainly against the regiments of Stark and Reed. The other body of troops seemed to be forming to advance directly upon the redoubt.

While he was thus gazing, a hand clasped his arm; turning, he beheld Tom Brandon.

"I've been wondering if you wouldn't be round here somewhere," said Tom.

"And I have been wondering where you would be," Robert replied.

"And so you are a lieutenant?" queried Tom, looking at the epaulet on his shoulder. "I congratulate you.

"The whole family are on the roof to see the battle," he continued.

"Perhaps you can bring them a little nearer with my telescope," said Robert, handing him the instrument.

Tom rested it on the embankment and looked towards the house.

"There's a crowd of 'em on the roof," he said, "father, mother, and Berinthia. There's a man with a white wig,--Mr. Newville, I guess; and there's a girl talking with Berinthia--Ruth Newville."

With quickened pulse Robert adjusted the glass to his vision. Others than those mentioned by Tom were upon the roof, but one figure alone engaged his attention. Oh, if he could but know how she regarded the impending battle! Possibly since the events on Lexington Green and at Concord bridge her sympathies had been with the king. No, he could not think it. The instincts of one so noble, good, and large-hearted must ever be opposed to tyranny and oppression. Whether favoring or opposing the course of the Colonies, what matter to him? What probability of their ever meeting again? If meeting, would she ever be other than an old acquaintance? Never had he opened his heart to her; never by word or deed informed her that she was all the world to him. To her he would be only a friend of other days.

He could see a tall man in a general's uniform walking along the British lines. He halted, took off his cocked hat, stood erect, and said something to the soldiers. He concluded it was General Howe, telling them they were a noble body of men, and he did not doubt they would show themselves valiant soldiers. He should not ask them to go any farther than he himself was willing to go. Robert and Tom could hear the cheer which the soldiers gave him.

The columns began to march,--that commanded by General Howe along the bank of the Mystic; that by General Pigot straight up the hill towards the redoubt.

Robert ran to the spot where he had left his horse, but it was not there. He hastened down the slope, past the Connecticut troops under Colonel Knowlton, and reported to Colonel Stark, who was directing his soldiers to take up a rail fence in front of his line and reset it by the low stone wall, and fill the space between the fences with hay from the windrows.

"It will serve as a screen," he said.

Stepping in front a short distance, he drove a stake in the ground.

"Don't fire till the redcoats are up to it," was his order.

The sun was shining from a cloudless sky. They upon the roof of the Brandon home saw the scarlet columns of the British moving along the Mystic and towards the redoubt, the sunlight gleaming from their muskets and bayonets, the flags waving above them, the men keeping step to the drumbeat; the great guns of the fleet and those on Copp's Hill flaming and thundering; white powder-clouds floating away and dissolving in thin air. They saw puffs of smoke burst from the heads of the advancing columns and heard the rattle of muskets. Cannon-shot plowed the ground and tossed up the gravel around the redoubt. Only the six cannon of the provincials were replying. Nearer moved the scarlet line. Again a rattling volley, with no answering musket shot from fence or embankment. What the meaning of such silence? Suddenly a line of light streamed from the river to the foot of the hill, and like the lightning's flash ran along the embankment and round the redoubt. A rattle and roar like the waves of the sea upon a rocky shore came to their ears across the shining waters. Men were reeling to the ground, whole ranks going down before the pitiless storm. The front ranks had melted away. For a few moments there was a rattling like scattered raindrops, and then another lightning flash, and the British were fleeing in confusion.

Mr. Newville clenched his hands.

"I fear the king's troops are discomfited," he said.

Mrs. Newville with a long-drawn sigh covered her face with her handkerchief as if to shut out the unwelcome spectacle.

"The redcoats are beaten!" Berinthia exclaimed.

"It is too soon to say that, daughter. The battle is not yet over; the king's troops would be cowardly were they to give up with only one attempt."

Like a statue, her hands tightly grasping the balustrade, her bosom heaving with suppressed emotion, Ruth gazed upon the spectacle, uttering no exclamation. Taking the telescope, she turned it upon the scene, beholding the prostrate forms dotting the newly mown fields. It was not difficult to distinguish Lord Howe, the centre of a group of officers. He was evidently issuing orders to re-form the broken lines. Colonels, majors, and captains were rallying the disheartened men. In the intervals of the cannonade from the fleet a confused hum of voices could be heard, officers shouting their orders. Beyond the prostrate forms, behind the low stone wall and screen of hay were the provincials, biding their time. Officers were walking to and fro,--one middle-aged, with a colonel's epaulets, evidently commanding the troops nearest the Mystic River. A subordinate officer of manly form was receiving orders and transmitting them to others. Where had she seen one like him? Long she gazed with unwonted bloom upon her cheeks.

Again the scarlet lines advanced,--the foremost platoons halting, firing, filing right and left, that those in the rear might reach the front. Unmindful of the bullets pattering around him, the young officer walked composedly along the provincial line, from which came no answering shot. Seemingly he was telling the men to wait. Suddenly, as before, the screen of hay became a sheet of flame, and the scarlet ranks again dissolved like a straw in a candle's flame, whole ranks reeling and falling, or fleeing to the place of landing.

Mr. Newville groaned aloud. Again Mrs. Newville covered her face. Captain Brandon, Mrs. Brandon, and Berinthia, out of respect to their guests, gave no sign of exultation; but from windows, roofs, doorways, and steeples, like the voice of many waters, came the joyful murmur of the multitude, revealing to General Gage, up in the tower of Christ Church, the sympathy of the people with the provincials.

No exclamation of satisfaction or disappointment fell from the lips of Ruth, still looking with the telescope towards the provincial line by the Mystic, and the manly figure of the officer receiving instructions from his superior.

There was a commotion among the troops in the burial ground before them.

"Fall in! Fall in!" General Clinton shouted. They hastily formed in column and marched down the steep descent to the ferry landing. From the tower of Christ Church, together with General Gage, Clinton had seen the discomfiture of Lord Howe and General Pigot, and, with three hundred men, was hastening to reinforce them, stepping into boats and crossing the river.

The people on the housetops needed no telescopes to see what was going on across the stream. Slowly the lines re-formed, the men reluctantly taking their places. They who had fought at Ticonderoga, who had won the victory on the Plains of Abraham at Quebec, never had faced so pitiless a storm.

"It is downright murder," said the men.

They upon the housetops could see the British officers flourishing their swords, gesticulating, and even striking the disheartened soldiers, compelling them to stand once more in the ranks. Twice they had advanced, encumbered with their knapsacks, in accordance with strict military rule; now they were laying them aside. There were fewer men in the ranks than at the beginning of the battle, but the honor of England was at stake. The rabble of undisciplined country bumpkins must be driven from their position, or the troops of England would be forever disgraced. General Howe had learned wisdom. He had thought to sweep aside the line of provincials behind the low stone wall, gain the rear, cut off the retreat of those in the redoubt, capture them, and win a notable victory. He had not expected such resistance, such a destructive fire as had greeted the light infantry along the banks of the stream. In the two attempts, he had discovered the weak place in the provincial line,--the space between the redoubt and the low stone wall. In planning the third movement, he resolved to make a feint of advancing once more towards the wall, but would concentrate his attack upon the redoubt, and especially upon that portion of the line least defended.

The summer sun, shining from a cloudless sky, was declining towards the western horizon. It was past four o'clock before the lines were ready. Once more the guns of the fleet hurled solid shot and shells upon the redoubt. Captain Brandon, looking from his housetop down upon the guns almost beneath him, saw a gunner ramming an inflammable shell into the cannon. The shell, with smoking torch, screamed across the river, aimed not at the bank of yellow earth on Bunker Hill, but at the houses in Charlestown.

"They intend to burn the village," he said.

Soon flames were bursting from window, doorway, and roof. The wind, blowing from the south, carried sparks and cinders to the adjoining houses, glowing in the summer heat. A wail of horror from the people rent the air.

"That is mean, cruel, wicked, dastardly!" exclaimed Ruth, with flashing eyes. "It's inhuman. I shall hate the man who has ordered it."[72]

[Footnote 72: The only defense of the British for the destruction of Charlestown is the assertion that the advancing troops were fired upon by provincials secreted in one of the houses on the outskirts of the town.]

Through the previous stages of the conflict no word of approval or disapproval had escaped her lips.

"Ruth! Ruth! Don't say that!" Mr. Newville cried, astonished by such an outburst of indignation.

"If General Gage were here I would say it to his face. What have those people done that their homes should be destroyed? They are not fighting the battle. Does he think that by burning the town he will frighten those men in the redoubt into submission? Were I one of them, I would die before I would surrender."

Her eyes were flashing. In her earnestness she had removed her hat. The gentle breeze was fanning her heated brow. She stood erect, a queen in her dignity and beauty. Never had Mr. and Mrs. Newville dreamed that there was such pent-up fire in her soul, such energy, fearlessness, and instinctive comprehension of justice and right. Captain and Mrs. Brandon, Berinthia, and all around gazed upon her wonderingly and with admiration.

The fire was sweeping on,--leaping from building to building, licking up houses, stables, and workshop, reaching the meetinghouse, kindling the shingles on its roof, the clapboards upon its walls, bursting from doors and windows, climbing the spire to the gilded vane, burning till beams and timbers gave way; then came the crash,--a single stroke of the bell tolling as it were a requiem.

Under the cloud from the burning town the scarlet lines once more advanced,--not towards the screen of hay, but in the direction of the redoubt. With the glass Ruth saw the manly figure she had seen before, seemingly receiving instructions from his superior officer, and running towards the threatened point of attack. The scarlet lines were mounting the breastwork. Men were firing in each other's faces; thrusting with the bayonet. She could see a stalwart provincial in his shirt-sleeves beat out the brains of a Britisher with the butt of his musket, and the next moment go down with a bayonet through his heart. The manly figure was in the thick of the mêlée,--a half dozen redcoats rushing upon him. His sword was flashing in the sunlight as he parried their bayonets, keeping them at bay. Guns flashed, and the white powder-cloud shut out the scene. When it cleared, he had gone down, and the redcoats were swinging their hats. Their shout of victory came across the waters. Those around saw Ruth clasp her hand upon her heart.

"They are beaten, and he is shot!" she cried, sinking into Berinthia's arms.

"Who's shot?" her mother asked. There was no answer from the quivering lips.

"The excitement is too much for her," said Mrs. Newville, as they bore her to Berinthia's chamber.

XX.

WHEN THE TIDE WAS GOING OUT.

Tom Brandon, lying upon the green grass where the provincials had halted after the retreat, recalled the events of the day with his fellow soldiers, especially the last struggle. He had fired away his powder, as had many others. He had no bayonet, and could only defend himself with the butt of his gun. He remembered how bravely Doctor Warren behaved, telling the men to keep cool; how he took bandages from his pockets, and bound up the wounds of those disabled at the beginning; how a Britisher shot him down and stabbed him with a bayonet. As for himself, he hardly knew what he did, except to fight till almost the last of his comrades left the redoubt, when he leaped over the breastwork, and walked towards the British, approaching the western side as if to give himself up, then turned and ran as fast as he could, with the bullets whizzing past him.[73] He wondered if Lieutenant Walden had escaped unharmed. He walked a little way to Colonel Stark's regiment to inquire.

[Footnote 73: The experience of Tom Brandon was that of Eliakim Walker of Tewksbury, Mass., as narrated by him to the author:--

"I had fired away nearly all my powder before the last attack. I fired and was reloading my gun, when I heard a hurrah behind me. I looked round and saw the redcoats leaping over the breastwork. I saw a man beat out the brains of a Britisher with the butt of his gun; the next moment they stabbed him. Seeing I couldn't get out that way, I jumped over the breastwork and ran towards Pigot's men, a rod or two, then turned and ran as fast as I could the other way. The bullets whizzed past me, or struck the ground around me. I reached a rail fence, and pitched over it. A bullet struck a rail at the moment. I fell on the other side, laid still till I got my breath, then up and legged it again, and got away."]

"I fear," said Captain Daniel Moore, "that Lieutenant Walden has been killed. During the day he took a conspicuous part. He was sent by General Ward to summon us from Medford. He carried several messages from Colonel Stark to Prescott and Putnam, and was with the men of his company at times. He was with us just before the last assault, and hastened towards the redoubt a moment before the redcoats swarmed over it. I fear the worst, for he was very brave."

The people of Boston never had beheld such a scene as that of the day following the battle. The sun shone from a cloudless sky, but its rays fell upon the smouldering ruins of once happy homes; upon dying and dead soldiers; upon men groaning in agony as they were transported across the Charles to houses taken for hospitals. The wounded rebels--thirty-six in number--were laid upon the bare floor of the jail. They were to be treated as felons, and given prison fare.

Although the genial rays of the sun shone into the spacious apartments of the Province House, they gave no comfort to Thomas Gage, commander-in-chief of his majesty's forces in the Colonies. He was chagrined over the outcome of the battle, the losses sustained. His own officers were criticising the plan of attack. The soldiers said he had slaughtered their comrades. The people were condemning him for having burned Charlestown. He was conscious that he had gone down in the estimation of those who had given him loyal support. He knew that his military reputation had suffered an eclipse. Women were denouncing him as cruel and inhuman. The conviction came to General Gage that he was shut up in Boston, and that any attempt upon the position of the rebels at that point, or upon the hills beyond Charlestown, would result in disaster.

It was cheering news to Tom Brandon and all the soldiers of the provincial army, a few days later, to learn that Congress, sitting in Philadelphia, had selected George Washington of Virginia to command them. His coming was evidence that all the Colonies had united to resist the aggressions of the king. He fought bravely to drive the French from the valley of the Ohio, and saved the army in the battle near Fort Du Quesne. General Gage had been with him in that engagement, but now they would command opposing armies.

It was a beautiful summer morning, the 3d of July, when the regiments in Cambridge and some of the troops from Roxbury assembled on the Common at Cambridge to receive General Washington. Tom Brandon saw a tall, broad-shouldered man, sitting erect on a white horse, wearing a blue uniform trimmed with buff, accompanied by General Putnam, General Ward, and a large number of officers, ride out from General Ward's headquarters and take position under a great elm-tree.

"Attention, the army!" shouted General Ward.

The officers repeated it, and every soldier stood erect.

"Salute your commander, Major-General George Washington!"

The soldiers presented arms, the fifes began to play, the drums to rattle. General Washington lifted his hat, bowed right and left, drew his sword from its scabbard, and rode along the line. The soldiers saw dignity, decision, and energy, yet calmness, in all his movements. They knew he had a great plantation on the bank of the Potomac River in Virginia; that he could live at ease and enjoy life in hunting and fishing at his own pleasure, but he had left all at the call of Congress to take command of the army. His coming gave them confidence and made them more than ever determined to drive the redcoats out of Boston. They kept such a strict guard that the British could not obtain fresh provisions, neither could the inhabitants of the town. In the home of Captain Brandon, the only meat to be had was the salt pork and beef in the cellar, or the flounders caught by Mark Antony, fishing from the wharves.

Even General Gage could have no great variety of food. In contrast to this, Tom Brandon and his fellow soldiers were living luxuriously, having fresh beef three times a week, with flour, peas, beans, rice, potatoes, onions, cabbages, turnips, beets, spruce beer, and grog, and plenty of tobacco.

Tom took his turn standing guard, and found pleasure in chaffing the lobsters on picket, telling them what he had for dinner. A thought came to him,--to write a letter and hire a redcoat to take it to his father. He wrote about the battle; how he saw the family on the roof of the house, from the redoubt, just before it began; how he escaped; how Robert Walden went down in the thick of the fight and probably had been buried with the others somewhere on Bunker Hill. The Britisher gladly agreed to take the letter to Copp's Hill for the plug of tobacco which Tom gave him.

Mark Antony, the following afternoon, wondered what the soldier who was rattling the knocker on the front door might want.

"Here's a letter for your master, Captain Brandon. One of the rebs gave it to me. Maybe it's from his son," said the soldier.

"A letter from Massa Tom," shouted the negro, dancing into the sitting-room.

Captain Brandon thanked the soldier, and told Mark Antony to mix a toddy for him.

It was gratifying to know that Tom was safe, but sad the information that Lieutenant Walden was numbered among the killed.

* * * * *

The fair brow of Ruth Newville through the summer months had been growing whiter day by day.

"I fear she is not well," said Mr. Newville.

"The battle, the burning of Charlestown,--the terrible spectacle was too much for her nerves," Mrs. Newville replied.

"Ought we not to call in the doctor?"

"No, she is not sick; you know how sympathetic she is. Don't you remember what she said when she saw the town in flames,--even speaking disrespectfully of General Gage, and swooning when the king's troops won the victory. The burning of so many houses has unstrung her nerves. I trust she will soon get over it. Since the battle she has spent most of her time in her chamber and has pleaded indisposition when gentlemen, especially officers, have called."

"Miss Ruth wants you to come up de stairs to her chamber," said Pompey, when Berinthia called at the Newville home to show her the letter Tom had written.

"So you have heard from Tom?"

"Yes, and he says that Robert Walden was killed at the very last of the battle."

"It is as I said. I saw him go down and their feet trample him in the dust!"

"Was it Robert you saw?"

"Yes. With the telescope I had seen him all through the battle, walking unharmed where the bullets were flying thickest."

"You did not tell us you saw him."

"No. I did not want to alarm you."

"And you saw him when he was killed?"

"I saw his sword flashing in the sunlight as the men in scarlet closed around him. A half dozen were thrusting with their bayonets, and yet he kept them at bay till they shot him."

Tears had wet her pillow, but none glistened on her eyelids now. Through the sleepless hours she had seen the stars go down beneath the western horizon; in like manner something bright and shining had gone out of her life. The stars would reappear; but that which had made it beautiful to live never would return. The words "I love you" would never be spoken by a voice forever silent.

Berinthia kissed the tremulous lips.

"I see it now, Ruth, dear; you loved him."

"Yes, I loved him. He was so noble and true, how could I help it? He never said he loved me, and yet I think down deep in his heart he had a place for me. I never have confessed it before, not even to myself. I say it to you, because I should die if I could not have some one to whom I could tell my sorrow. Let it be our secret, ours alone."

Through the sultry days of August the streets were silent, except the beating of drums as other regiments arrived, or as soldiers dying from wounds or disease were borne to their burial. The distress of the people could but increase. The provincials wounded in the battle were still held as felons in the jail. They were dying very fast. It was a spirited letter which the British commander received from General Washington, informing him that unless the prisoners were treated more humanely, British prisoners would be dealt with accordingly.[74]

[Footnote 74: Reverend Andrew Eliot, minister of the New North Church, remained in Boston. The following is from a letter to Samuel Eliot under date of September 6, 1776: "I am at length allowed to visit the prisoners. They are only eleven out of thirty." _Proceedings Mass. Hist. Soc._ vol. xvi.]

Many times Abraham Duncan asked permission to see the prisoners confined in the jail, that he might minister to their needs and do something for their comfort and welfare, but as often had he been refused by the gruff red-coated sergeant in charge. Once more, after learning what General Washington had done, he asked permission, received a pass from the provost-marshal, and was admitted. He saw the floor was covered with prostrate forms, men with sunken eyes, emaciated hands, a few with old quilts beneath them, others upon the bare planks. There were festering wounds and cheeks hot with the flush of fever. Some of the sufferers gazed upon him wonderingly, others heeded not his coming. One, whose uniform was still soiled with the dust of the battlefield, lay with closed eyes, minding not his presence.

"His wound has about healed, but he is going with fever. He was fine-looking when brought here the day after the battle, but he is about done for. After to-morrow we shall have one less to exchange with Mr. Washington," said the sergeant.

Abraham stooped and parted the matted beard from the fevered lips, and laid back the tangled hair from the brow. The eyes wearily opened, gazed languidly, then wonderingly.

"Do you know me?"

The words were faintly spoken.

"Know you! What, Robert Walden!"

There was not strength in the arm sufficient to lift the weary hand. Abraham grasped it, looked one moment at the closing eyes, and hastened from the room. Breathless with running, he reached the Brandon home, telling the story.

"We must have him brought here instantly; he must not die there," said Mr. Brandon, who accompanied Abraham to the jail, only to find that the sergeant in charge could not permit the removal. Sadly they returned.

"I must tell Ruth about it," said Berinthia, putting on her bonnet and hastening from the house.

Ruth was sitting in her chamber. A strange, yet sweet peace had come into her soul. The heart that had struggled so sorely was at rest. She was repeating to herself the words spoken by the world's best friend, "My peace I leave you; not as the world giveth, give I unto you."

The summer birds were no longer singing; the swallows had gone. The melocotoons were no longer upon the trees, neither the early pears and ripening apples; the soldiers had plucked them. Her father's face was growing grave; her mother's step less elastic. There was sorrow and desolation around her, and yet she was happy. She saw Berinthia walking up the path.

"Come right up," the cheerful invitation from the chamber window.

"Oh, Ruth, I've something to tell you. He's alive!"

"Who?"

"Robert--a prisoner in the jail."

She told the story; he was still breathing, but dying. Her father had been to get him, but no prisoner could be removed without an order from General Gage.

"We will go to the Province House," said Ruth quietly, rising and putting on her bonnet.

Her calmness, the manifest quiet, the business-like procedure of Ruth, amazed Berinthia. They hastened to the governor's home. General Gage received them courteously. He was pleased to welcome Miss Newville to the Province House, and recalled with pleasure the evening when he had the honor to escort her to her father's hospitable table.

"I have a favor to ask," said Ruth, "which I am sure your excellency will be pleased to grant. One of your prisoners, Lieutenant Robert Walden, in the jail, is a cousin of my friend Miss Brandon. I learn that he is far gone with fever and seemingly has not many hours to live, and I have come to ask if you will kindly permit his removal to her home?"

"Most certainly, my dear Miss Newville; it gives me pleasure to do this little office for you and your friend," he replied.

General Gage touched a bell and a sergeant entered the apartment.

"Sergeant, take two men of the guard, with a bier, and accompany these ladies to the jail to remove one of the sick prisoners, as they shall direct. See to it that the man is gently handled. Here is the order of delivery for the officer in charge."

"You are very kind, General, and I thank you not only for Miss Brandon, but for myself," said Ruth.

Never before had the people living along Hanover Street seen such a spectacle as that a few minutes later,--a sergeant in advance, two soldiers bearing a rebel officer, worn and wasted by disease, his life ebbing away, and two ladies looking anxiously to see if the flickering life would last a little longer.

In Tom's chamber the soiled uniform was removed, the matted hair laid back, the parched lips moistened, the unconscious invalid clothed in linen white and clean. A doctor came, bowed his ear to Robert's breast to catch the beating of the heart, and moistened the parched lips.

"Fever has burned him up. The tide is nearly out. It is only a question of a few hours," he said.

Through the night, Ruth, sitting by his bedside, in the calm and stillness, heard the clock strike the passing hours. At times she heard, through the open windows, the faint ripple of the surf rolling in from the restless sea. Soon for him the waves of life would break upon a shoreless ocean. It was her hand that fanned him; that wiped the death-damp from his forehead; dropped the refreshing cordial on his tongue; held the mirror to his nostrils to ascertain if still, perchance, he breathed. The tides of the ocean had reached their farthest ebb and were setting towards the flood once more, bringing sweet and refreshing odors from the ever-heaving sea. The night winds were drying the dampness from the marble brow. Day was dawning, its amber light flowing along the horizon. The fluttering heart was beating more strongly; more deep the breathing.

"Oh, 'Rinthia! He isn't going; he's coming back. God has heard my prayer," said Ruth.

The sun was rising, and its rays streaming into the chamber. The closed eyes slowly opened and gazed wonderingly. Where was he? What the meaning of this flood of light? No longer straggling beams through iron-grated windows, no longer the bare floor and earth-polluted garments, but linen white and clean. Was it an angel bending over him,--whose eyes of love and infinite tenderness looked into his own? Was it one of the seraphim that pressed her lips to his, that dropped tears upon his cheeks? Were there tears in Heaven? Surely this must be Paradise! The eyes closed, the vision faded, but the angel still was fanning the fevered cheeks.

As shone the face of Moses, the lawgiver of Israel, when he descended from the Mount of God, so the countenance of Ruth Newville was illuminated by a divine radiance when once more she entered her home. During the night she had been transfigured.

"What has happened, daughter?" her father asked.

"Where have you been? what is it?" the exclamation of the mother, gazing with wonder and amazement upon the face of her child.

"Sit down, please, and I will tell you. I must go back to the beginning. Do you remember a day, six years ago, one September afternoon, when I came into the house greatly agitated? and when you asked, as you have now, what had happened, I would not make reply?"

"Yes, Ruth, and you have been a mystery to me ever since that afternoon," said Mrs. Newville.

"I would not tell you then that I had been insulted by ruffian soldiers, that a stranger had rescued me from their clutches, for I knew it would trouble you. Who the gentleman was I did not know. I only saw he was noble and manly. I thanked him and hastened away. Right after that we had our last garden party, to which 'Rinthia brought her cousin, Mr. Walden, when I discovered it was he who rescued me."

"Mr. Walden!" Mrs. Newville exclaimed.

"A noble young man! I always liked his appearance," said Mr. Newville.

"Why didn't you tell us about it, Ruth, so we could have shown him some attention?" Mrs. Newville asked.

"It is not too late to do it now, mother."

She told the story, that he was a lieutenant, a prisoner, wounded, hovering between life and death; how she had brought about his removal from the jail to the Brandon home, watched over him during the night, wondering if the next moment would not be the last; that just before sunrise the tide had turned and he was going to live.

"You saving him! Wonderful!" Mrs. Newville exclaimed.

"It is just like you, daughter," said the father, clasping his arms around her and kissing her lips.

"I will go and help care for him, even if he is a rebel," said Mrs. Newville.

"Ruth, daughter," said the father, when they were alone, "did you keep that to yourself because you thought it would trouble us to hear that the soldiers of King George were vile ruffians?"

"Yes, father; I knew your loyalty to the king, and I would not disturb it. I did not want to pain you. And do you wonder I have hated the sight of a redcoat ever since? But, father dear, it was not the assault of the villains that led me to sympathize with the provincials, as you know I have done, but the conviction that they were in the right and the king and his ministers in the wrong. I can understand why you and mother do not see the conflict as I see it. Your high sense of honor, your oath of allegiance to the king, your position as an official, have made you loyal and true to King George, and you cannot see the side espoused by the people. This attempt of the ministry and king to subdue them by force of arms, by burning their houses, by treating them as felons, as they have Robert Walden, thrusting them into jail, allowing them to die uncared for, will fail; justice and right are on their side. I know it pains you, father dear, to have me say this, but I could not, even for the sake of pleasing you, be false to myself."

"I would not have you be false to yourself, my child, but always true to your convictions, no matter what may happen." He drew her to him and tenderly caressed her.

"I see it now, daughter. For a long while I have not been able to comprehend you, but it is plain at last."

They sat in silence, her head pillowed on his breast, his arm around her.

"Ruth, daughter, I suspect you have not told me all; you need not unfold anything you may choose to keep to yourself, but I can understand that a very tender feeling may have sprung up between Mr. Walden and yourself."

"He never has said that he loved me. You would not have me ask him if he does, would you, father dear?" she said playfully, patting his lips with her fingers.

"I understand, daughter. Things of the heart are sacred and not to be talked about," he replied, kissing her once more and feeling as never before the greatness and richness of the treasure he had in her.

"Ah! I see," he said to himself as he paced the room. "It is all clear, now, why Lord Upperton and the rest of them have had no chance."

XXI.

THE ESCAPE.

The October days were bright and clear, but the sun shone upon a home invaded by sickness. In the Brandon home, Lieutenant Walden was slowly recovering. Mrs. Brandon was an invalid, worn down with care and anxiety. Life upon the sea, hardship, and exposure had brought rheumatism to the joints of Captain Brandon, who was only able to hobble with his cane. One countenance in the home was always bright and cheerful; there was ever a smile upon 'Rinthia's face. Abraham Duncan was the ever helpful friend, not only ministering to their wants but giving information of what was going on,--that General Gage had been called to England, and General Howe was to succeed him as commander.

"The British soldiers," said Abraham, "are not sorry to have Gage go; they are ready to throw up their caps for General Howe, who showed his bravery at Bunker Hill, while Gage looked on with his spy-glass from the steeple of Christ Church. The soldiers think Gage has been too kind-hearted in permitting you to have charge of Lieutenant Walden. Rebels are not entitled to mercy."

There came a night in October when the people were awakened by the thunder of cannon and the rattle of muskets. In the morning Abraham said that a party of Americans came down Charles River in flatboats and on rafts, and opened fire upon the troops encamped on the Common. Only one or two were injured, but it gave the British a great fright.

The sound of the strife stirred Robert's blood. He wanted to be there,--to take part in driving the redcoats into the sea. The thought nerved him; but when the uproar died away, he found himself weak, with his tongue parched and his blood at fever heat. Would strength ever come? Would he ever be able to take part again in the struggle for freedom?