III
Tim was on his return from that trip to Boston when the British occupied Castine. He heard at Lincolnville the news that an enemy fleet was making up the eastern Bay; he was at Belfast next afternoon when the Burhante frigate with two transports full of soldiers came to occupy Belfast town; and he reached Hampden late the following day to find several hundred militiamen already there. Captain Charles Morris of the Adams corvette, and General Blake commanding the militia, had called together the leading citizens of Hampden to consider what should be done; and Tim invited himself to that meeting.
When he entered, Captain Morris was speaking. The Captain was a good commander and an able man. His ship, pierced for eighteen guns but actually carrying twenty-four, and with a crew of two hundred and fifty-eight men, had captured during her summer’s cruise a ship, two brigs and a schooner before she grounded on Isle au Haut in stormy weather and forced him to work up the river to make repairs. The news that the British were at Castine reached him in good season, and he immediately called on General Blake to muster the militia for an attempt to save his ship. Her guns had already been removed in preparation for hauling her out, and before Tim arrived in Hampden some of them had been dragged up to the hilltop by the meeting house whence they could deliver a raking fire at any force seeking to ascend the river, while the rest were mounted on the wharf.
Captain Morris was desperately anxious to save his ship and he used his utmost eloquence to persuade the doubtful folk of Hampden to join him in resistance now.
‘We’re well placed to meet any force they bring against us,’ he assured the gathering, as Tim elbowed his way through the crowd at the door. ‘Our guns can smash them out of water if they try to come up the river, and General Blake’s men can stand them off and protect my flank if they come by land.’ Some heads wagged doubtfully, and he cried earnestly: ‘Why, gentlemen, the position couldn’t be better, if we’re resolute and bold!’
Tim wagged his head in firm approval, anxious to play in this hour the part which he thought men would expect of him; but an old man with a half-circle of whiskers under his chin rose and said doubtfully: ‘Trouble is, Cap’n, half the milishy haven’t got guns—and wouldn’t know what to do with them if they had.’
‘I can supply muskets enough,’ Captain Morris promised. ‘My own men won’t need them. They’ll be busy serving the guns. And as for not knowing what to do with them—’ His voice thickened in a sudden passion. ‘Why, God Almighty, men, you’re all Americans, used to hunting, used to range the forest! You mean to tell me there’s an American anywhere who doesn’t know how to aim a gun and fire it? What’s happened to us since Bunker Hill?’
Tim Hager, standing head and shoulders above the group at the door, called in that rousing great voice of his: ‘We’ll handle ‘em, Cap’ll! We’ll roll ’em down-river fast’s they come up!’
But the old man came to his feet again. ‘Well now, I’ll tell you how it is, Cap’n Morris,’ he confessed. ‘’Course, you’re naturally anxious to save your ship, but dad burn it, we’re worried about the town! If we fight ’em and get licked, what they’ll do to us’ll be a-plenty! And if we fight ’em and lick ’em, they’ll just fetch some more men and ships up from Castine till they do us, and that’ll be worse for us than getting licked the first time. Now, what I say—’ His eyes swung around the crowded room. ‘What I say is, we treat ’em right and they’ll treat us right!’
There was a murmur of approval, but Tim Hager shouted in loud scorn: ‘Don’t let Old Whiskers down you, Cap’n! We’ll back you. Give it to ’em!’
Captain Morris looked at him in a dry approval. ‘You’re big enough to whip them without our help, my friend,’ he remarked. ‘I wish we had more like you!’ Then he gravely faced the others again. ‘But, gentlemen, it’s a mistake to trust to British courtesy—and we’ll not! Our batteries will keep their ships from coming up to the town and the militia must drive back their soldiers.’
Tim, encouragcd by the Captain’s word, came crowding forward and he clapped Captain Morris on the shoulder.
‘We’ll do it, Cap’nl’ he cried again, and he faced the crowd. The sound of his own voice could always comfort him, and he was suddenly drunk with it now. A man like him, big enough to lick a bull moose in fair fight, had to set an example to lesser men.
‘What did your fathers and grandfathers do to ’em at Concord?’ he demanded, challenging the listeners. ‘Eh? What did they? Why, they sent ’em tumbling back to Boston. Well, we’ll do the same! We’ll make ’em wish they’d never left Castine. We’ll show ’em, by God, that one good free American can lick ten hired soldiers of any damned King! Bring ’em on!’
His bellow filled the room and rang through the village. ‘Why, I was to Belfast when I see them heading up the river,’ he declared. ‘I didn’t have to come on here and get into it, but I came a-running! Says I to myself, “There they go,’ I says. “Well, their mothers’d better kiss ’em good-bye, because there’s half of them never will get home again. But I’ll have to hurry,” I says to myself, “or the folks up at Hampden will have kickcd the dog water out of ’em before I get there!” So I came loping through the woods like a God damned moose, to have a piece of the fun!’
His voice was a booming roar. ‘Come on!’ he cried. ‘Give me a musket, Cap’n. We’ll show the lousy bastards, if I have to lick the lot of them alone!’
By sheer noise, he overpowered all objection. The townsfolk came to their feet in bloodthirsty zeal, and there was some shouting tumult for a while, till the crowd emptied into the street to look for rum which would fortify their sudden martial resolution.
IV
When the mob had gone, Captain Morris kept General Blake behind; and Tim, proud of having swayed the crowd by his eloquence, and full of a sense of leadership, stayed to hear what they would say.
‘Do you think you can hold your militia?’ Captain Morris asked the General. ‘Will they stand?’ He was a good commander, and he could trust his trained men, but he was too well seasoned as a fighter to expect soldierly virtues from the militia. General Blake was an older man. He had served in the Revolution, and was the hero of one legendary exploit on which his nickname hung. With a squad of men he had surrounded a farmhouse where four British officers were playing whist, and he crept up to an open window just as one of them asked what were trumps. The General, then a sergeant, shouted: ‘Black Jack, by God!’ and bounded through the window, making them all his prisoners. He was Black Jack to his men—and to his friends—from that day on.
But that was long ago, and the General was an old man at Hampden here today. He echoed Captain Morris’ question in an indignant tone, shouting down his own misgivings.
‘Can I hold them? Damme, man, they’ll not need any holding! They’ll stand their ground, yes and die in their tracks, like good Americans.’
Tim echoed this assurance. ‘Leave it to me, Cap’n,’ he said strongly. ‘Any man that tries to crab it, I’ll give him a boot in the backside. With me behind them, they’ll eat the Britishers for breakfast. I’ll make ’em more scared of me than they are of the King’s men.’
Captain Morris smiled faintly. ‘Well, those are fair words,’ he admitted. ‘But—have you ever heard bullets spatting all around you?’
Tim laughed. ‘Why, I’ll catch ’em in my teeth!’ he cried. ‘I can spit a lead ball farther and harder than most guns will shoot it.’
The Captain nodded. ‘If you fight as well as you talk, we’ll do fine,’ he said crisply. He looked at General Blake, splendid in epaulettes and braid. ‘A suggestion, General,’ he remarked. ‘Your uniform will attract the enemy fire. It might be wiser to remove your insignia before the fighting starts.’
The old man reared his head and snorted scornfully. ‘Captain,’ he retorted, ‘I have never gone upon the field of battle in disguise!’
The Captain bowed. ‘My apologies, sir,’ he said, and Tim cried:
‘Why, Godamighty, Captain, what’d the men thin
k if they saw the General afraid of being shot at!’
‘To be sure,’ the Captain assented. He added in a slow amusement: ‘You yourself will make a mark they’ll find hard to miss, my friend.’ He turned to the General again. ‘Now, let us consider our dispositions. I’ll put Lieutenant Lewis to command the guns on the hill by the meeting house, and Lieutenant Wadsworth on Crosby’s Wharf.’
‘Colonel Grant and Major Chamberlain command my militia companies,’ the General assured him. ‘Lieutenant Brown will direct the Bangor Light Artillery. You’ll find we’ll do all that men may.’
‘I’m sure of it,’ the Captain agreed, and he added: ‘I don’t think they’ll come on tonight, but I’ll send picket boats down the river, and your videttes will give us ample warning if they come by land.’ He turned toward the door. ‘Now I’ll serve out muskets to those of your men who have no weapons, and we’ll see what we will see.’
V
Tim Hager, flushed with his oratorical triumph and fortified with half a dozen noggins of rum, presently attached himself to Major Chamberlain. His secret doubts of his own courage were long ago forgotten, and he was loudly confident of the event, reassuring the Major.
‘We’ll stand like rocks, Major,’ he promised. ‘We’ll lay them down as easy as laying popple shoots with a brush hook! But Major, there’ll be lead and iron flying like ice in a sleet storm. We’ve got to put the womenfolks out of harm’s way.’
‘That’s done, Hager.’ Major Chamberlain assured him. ‘They’re all gone to Mr. Lane’s house, back about a mile on Sowadabscook Stream. They’re safe enough there.’
‘You’ve done well,’ Tim acknowledged. ‘I’ve the prettiest wife in Bangor town waiting for me, and a baby besides. I’m a family man, Major; and I’ll fight like a lion to protect my family; but if I knew they were in a bullet’s way, I’d have no stomach for battle at all—and you’ll find other men feel the same. Where did you say they are? At Josh Lane’s?’
‘Yes, about a mile up the Stream.’
‘Good!’ Tim repeated. A sailor from the Adams handed him a musket, a handful of balls, powder flask and spare flints. Tim laughed. ‘I’ll not need this if I can get my hands on them,’ he boasted. Nevertheless he proceeded to charge the gun. ‘You’ve done well, Major,’ he said again. ‘Now I’ll just go talk to the boys, see to’t their dander’s up so they’ll be ready for anything. If I can get these men mad, they’ll fight like the devil himself!’
Through the early evening hours he busied himself in this fashion, going along the waiting lines and clapping men on the back so vociferously that they staggered and coughed for minutes afterward. ’Lias Browning from Brewer, handling his musket dubiously, confessed that he was not used to firearms. ‘I don’t even know how to load the danged thing!’ he admitted.
Tim laughed at his ignorance. ‘Watch me, man!’ he commanded. ‘Do what I do.’ He loaded his piece as an example to ’Lias, and moved on. Rain had begun to fall, and he found a group of men huddling in the open door of Mr. Godfrey’s barn and damned them for a pack of shivering cowards, afraid of a little water; but the rain was chill, and he stayed there with them. A nervous skirmisher down beyond Pitcher’s Brook saw a cow moving through the night and let off his gun, and the report, muffled and remote, silenced the shivering men. The distant shot prompted Tim to load his musket, and he rammed home the bullet with an excessive violence to prove his courage to himself.
Then he realized that his mouth was dry as dust, so he slipped away and went foraging. The jug he found in the cellar of a deserted house in the village was no more than a quarter full when it came into his hands, and a little dab of rum like that wouldn’t be any good at all for even two men. It wasn’t really enough for Tim. He finished it within the hour, staying in the cellar till the jug was drained.
He was reluctant to leave his refuge even then. If there was going to be any shooting, the cellar was a mighty safe, comfortable place. But those trembling cowards out in the rain wouldn’t be worth a whistle in the morning unless someone kept their spirits up, and Tim knew himself the man to do it. Before leaving the cellar he poured a charge of powder into his musket and rammed a ball well home and checked his flint and filled the pan, to be ready for action when the time for action came.
He marched out in the rain and struck up a roaring song.
‘I often have been told that the British seamen bold
Could beat the tars of France so neat and handy, O;
But they never found their match till the Yankees did them catch
For the Yankee tars for fighting are the dandy, O.’
He swaggered toward the meeting house, and his singing was a brazen outrage in the night and rain.
‘Oh, the Guerriere so bold on the foaming ocean rolled,
Commanded by Daeres the grandee, O,
With as fine a British crew . . .’
Someone shouted from the lee of the meeting house: ‘Hush up that God damned noise! You’ll have them turning loose on us!’ Tim was abashed, and he hoped no one knew it was he who had been singing. He found the men of Major Chamberlain’s company, and went from one group to the next, and discovered a youngster of seventeen or eighteen, huddled against the foot of a great oak and shaking with nervous tears. Tim pounced on him.
‘Hey, what’s this? What’s this?’ he demanded. ‘Crying like a woman! I’ll give you something to cry about!’ He hauled the boy across his knee and paddled him roundly, the youngster struggling to be free and swearing with a sobbing violence; and Major Chamberlain came to investigate the disturbance, and Tim freed his victim and the boy squalled through tears of rage:
‘You big ox, you lay a hand on me again and I’ll blow you in two!’
‘That’s more like it, sonny!’ Tim told him in grave approval, and he appealed to the officer: ‘See what I mean, Major? I was just trying to get him mad. Get ’em mad and they’ll fight like good ones.’
Major Chamberlain said quietly: ‘You look out for yourself, Hager, and the men will do the same.’ He moved away, and Tim, loading his musket against the time of need, spoke indignantly to the group of men who had gathered around him.
‘That’s the thanks a man gets, trying to help! The Major’s had a drop too much, boys, if you ask me; but we can handle the God damned British without him!’
They answered only with mutters, and Tim moved on, a little unsteady on his feet, stumbling in the darkness. He climbed the hill, following the line marked by clustering huddles of men in every spot that offered shelter from the rain; and the ghostly murmur of voices as he passed made him shy like a nervous horse, and once he tripped over a boulder which projected through the sod and fell his length, heavily, his musket flying. He salvaged it and moved on at random till he came to the road and the meeting house and found a number of men and officers there with the guns, an eighteen-pounder off the Adams, and the four-pounders of the Bangor Artillery Company. He laid his hand on the great gun, and the cold wet iron was clammy and chilling so that he shivered. He wished someone would make a noise, and hoping other voices would join his, he sang in low tones:
‘ “Oh,” cries Hall unto his crew, “we will try what we can do,
If we beat these boasting Britons we’re the dandy, O.”
The first broadside——’
But a voice with the accents of command called: ‘Silence, you there by the gun!’ So Tim stopped singing and drifted away down the hill again. His teeth were chattering together—perhaps with cold—and every shadow moving in the night made his heart pound. He descended toward the river with no purpose in his mind; and he came to a cart shed not far from the water and groped his way into it and found it half full of men. He stumbled in among them, and around him in the darkness low voices murmured, telling bloody tales heard from fathers and grandfathers of battles during the Revolution and in the older Indian days; and Tim listened and licked his dry lips and dreaded coming dawn. Then the rum in him and the snug warmth of the shed and the heat generated i
n his steaming clothing lulled him to snoring slumber.
VI
When he woke, Tim knew instantly and instinctively that he was alone; and to find himself thus deserted in the face of the enemy was frightening. It was still dark, yet there was a hint of brightness in the sky. The wind had come southerly, warm and bland. In his first alarm at finding himself abandoned, he hurriedly loaded his musket and then with an elaborate stealth crept out of the shed.
There was light enough so that he could see the shape of near-by things, black in the morning fog. He found with a vast relief that the men were still here, the line extending up the hill from the river to the meeting house. He located Major Chamberlain’s company and took his stand with them. Dawn came gray through the fog, and a foggy dawn after a rainy night is a bad time to wait for soldiers to come and shoot at you. Tim’s teeth began to chatter again, and he wondered what a man could do about breakfast, and then suddenly he was violently sick. As though he had given a signal, he heard another man retching, up the line; and a moment later another; and there were sneezings and coughings and the rattle of equipment from men invisible in the fog; and someone spat and elaborately cleared his throat and spat again. Major Chamberlain came along the line with two men carrying heaps of cornbread on a hand barrow, and everyone took a handful, but Tim’s stomach turned over at sight of the bread soggy with rain and he did not touch it.
It was still dim and misty when a little after seven a spatter of shots sounded from beyond Pitcher’s Brook. Tim in haste began to load his gun. He had some trouble with it. There seemed to be an obstruction in the barrel so that the ramrod would not go in as far as it should. While he was still bewildered by this, Major Chamberlain moved along the line of men to steady them, and Tim appealed to him.
The Strange Woman Page 4