“You must then believe in the traditional witchcraft of this country, for nothing short of necromancy could have enabled me to light those combustibles at this distance.”
“I don’t know; ’tis a strange people we have got amongst—they stole the cannon from the gun-house here, a short time since, when I would have said the thing was impossible. It was before your arrival, sir; for I now believe I address myself to Major Lincoln, of the 47th.”
“You are nearer the truth, this time, than in your first conjecture as to my character,” said Lionel; “but have I met one of the gentlemen of our mess?”
The stranger explained that he was a subaltern in a different regiment, but that he well knew the person of the other. He added that he had been ordered to watch on the hill to prevent any of the inhabitants lighting the beacon, or making any other signal which might convey into the country a knowledge of the contemplated inroad.
“This matter wears a more serious aspect than I had supposed,” returned Lionel, when the young man had ended his explanation; “the commander-in-chief must intend more than we are aware of, by employing officers in this manner, to do the duties of privates.”
“We poor subs know but little, and care less what he means,” cried the ensign; “though I will acknowledge that I can see no sufficient reason why British troops should put on coats of darkness to march against a parcel of guessing, canting, countrymen, who would run at the sight of their uniforms under a bright sun. Had I my will, the tar above us, there, should blaze a mile high, to bring down the heroes from Connecticut river; the dogs would cower before two full companies of grenadiers—ha! listen, sir; there they go, now, the pride of our army! I know them by their heavy tread.”
Lionel did listen attentively, and plainly distinguished the measured step of a body of disciplined men, moving across the common, as if marching towards the water-side. Hastily bidding his companion good-night, he threw himself over the brow of the hill, and taking the direction of the sounds, he arrived at the shore at the same instant with the troops. Two dark masses of human bodies were halted in order, and as Lionel skirted the columns, his experienced eye judged that the force collected before him, could be but little short of a thousand men. A group of officers was clustered on the beach, and he approached it, rightly supposing that it was gathered about the leader of the party. This officer proved to be the Lieutenant-Colonel of the 10th, who was in close conversation with the old Major of Marines, alluded to by the sentinel who stood before the gates of Province-house. To the former of these the young soldier addressed himself, demanding leave to accompany the detachment as a volunteer. After a few words of explanation, his request was granted, though each forbore to touch in the slightest manner on the secret objects of the expedition.
Lionel now found his groom, who had followed the troops with his master’s horses, and after giving his orders to the man, he proceeded in quest of his friend Polwarth, whom he soon discovered, posted in the stiffness of military exactness, at the head of the leading platoon of the column of light-infantry. As it was apparent, both from the position they occupied, as well as by the boats that had been collected at the point, that the detachment was not to leave the peninsula by its ordinary channel of communication with the country, there remained no alternative but to await patiently the order to embark. The delay was but short, and, as the most perfect order was observed, the troops were soon seated, and the boats pulled heavily from the land, just as the rays of the moon, which had been sometime playing among the hills, and gilding the spires of the town, diffused themselves softly over the bay, and lighted the busy scene, with an effect not unlike the sudden rising of the curtain at the opening of some interesting drama. Polwarth had established himself by the side of Lionel, much to the ease of his limbs, and as they moved slowly into the light, all those misgivings which had so naturally accompanied his musings on the difficulties of a partisan irruption, vanished before the loveliness of the time, and possibly before the quietude of the action.
“There are moments when I could fancy the life of a sailor,” he said, leaning indolently back, and playing with one hand in the water—“this pulling about in boats is easy work, and must be capital assistance for a heavy digestion, inasmuch as it furnishes air with as little violent exercise as may-be—your marine should lead a merry life of it!”
“They are said to murmur at the clashing of their duties with those of the sea-officers,” said Lionel; “and I have often heard them complain of a want of room to make use of their legs.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Polwarth; “the leg is a part of a man for which I see less actual necessity than for any other portion of his frame. I often think there has been a sad mistake in the formation of the animal; as, for instance, one can be a very good waterman, as you see, without legs—a good fiddler, a first-rate tailor, a lawyer, a doctor, a parson, a very tolerable cook, and in short, any thing but a dancing master. I see no use in a leg unless it be to have the gout—at any rate, a leg of twelve inches is as good as one a mile long, and the saving might be appropriated to the nobler parts of the animal; such as the brain and the stomach.”
“You forget the officer of light-infantry,” said Lionel, laughing.
“You might give him a couple of inches more; though, as every thing in this wicked world, is excellent only by comparison, it would amount to the same thing, and on my system a man would be just as fit for the light-infantry without, as with legs; and he would get rid of a good deal of troublesome manoeuvring, especially of this new exercise. It would then become a delightful service, Leo; for it may be said to monopolize all the poetry of military life, as you may see. Neither the imagination nor the body can require more than we enjoy at this moment, and of what use, I would ask, are our legs? if any thing, they are incumbrances in this boat. Here we have a soft moon, and softer seats—smooth water, and a stimulating air—on one side a fine country, which, though but faintly seen, is known to be fertile, and rich to abundance; and on the other a picturesque town, stored with the condiments of every climate—even those rascally privates look mellowed by the moon-beams, with their scarlet coats and glittering arms! Did you meet Miss Danforth in your visit to Tremont-street, Major Lincoln?”
“That pleasure was not denied me.”
“Knew she of these martial proceedings?”
“There was something exceedingly belligerent in her humour.”
“Spoke she of the light-infantry, or of any who serve in the light corps?”
“Your name was certainly mentioned,” returned Lionel, a little dryly—“she intimated that the hen-roosts were in danger.”
“Ah! she is a girl of a million! her very acids are sweet! the spices were not forgotten when the dough of her composition was mixed; would that she were here—five minutes of moonshine to a man in love is worth a whole summer of a broiling sun—’twould be a master-stroke to entice her into one of our picturesque marches; your partisan is the man to take every thing by surprise—women and fortifications! Where now are your companies of the line; your artillery and dragoons; your engineers and staff! night-capped and snoring to a man, while we enjoy here the very dessert of existence—I wish I could hear a nightingale!”
“You have a solitary whip-poor-will whistling his notes, as if in lamentation at our approach.”
“Too dolorous, and by far too monotonous; ’tis like eating pig for a month. But why are our fifes asleep?”
“The precautions of a whole day should hardly be defeated by the tell-tale notes of our music,” said Lionel; “your spirits get the better of your discretion. I should think the prospect of a fatiguing march would have lowered your vein.”
“A fico for fatigue!” exclaimed Polwarth—“we only go out to take a position at the colleges to cover our supplies—we are for school, Leo—fancy the knapsacks of the men to be satchels, humour my folly, and you may believe yourself once more a boy.”
The spirits of Polwarth had indeed undergone a sudden change, when he found the sad anticipations which crossed his mind on first hearing of a night inroad, so agreeably disappointed by the comfortable situation he occupied; and he continued conversing in the manner described, until the boats reached an unfrequented point that projected a little way into that part of the Bay which washed the western side of the peninsula of Boston. Here the troops landed, and were again formed with all despatch. The company of Polwarth was posted, as before, at the head of the column of light-infantry, and an officer of the staff riding a short distance in front, it was directed to follow his movements. Lionel ordered his groom to take the route of the troops with the horses, and placing himself once more by the side of the captain, they proceeded at the appointed signal.
“Now for the shades of old Harvard!” said Polwarth, pointing towards the humble buildings of the university; “you shall feast this night on reason, while I will make a more sub—ha! what can that blind quarter-master mean by taking this direction! Does he not see that the meadows are half covered with water!”
“Move on, move on with the light-infantry,” cried the stern voice of the old major of marines, who rode but a short distance in their rear. “Do you falter at the sight of water!”
“We are not wharf-rats,” said Polwarth.
Lionel seized him by the arm, and before the disconcerted captain had time to recollect himself, he was borne through a wide pool of stagnant water, mid-leg deep.
“Do not let your romance cost your commission,” said the major, as Polwarth floundered out of his difficulties; “here is an incident at once for your private narrative of the campaign.”
“Ah! Leo,” said the captain, with a sort of comical sorrow, “I fear we are not to court the muses by this hallowed moon!”
“You can assure yourself of that, by observing that we leave the academical roofs on our left—our leaders take the high-way.”
They had by this time extricated themselves from the meadows, and were moving on a road which led into the interior.
“You had better order up your groom, and mount, Major Lincoln,” said Polwarth, sullenly; “a man need husband his strength, I see.”
“’Twould be folly now; I am wet, and must walk for safety.”
With the departure of Polwarth’s spirits the conversation began to flag, and the gentlemen continued their march with only such occasional communications as arose from the passing incidents of their situation. It very soon became apparent, both by the direction given to the columns, as well as by the hurried steps of their guide, that the march was to be forced, as well as of length. But as the air was getting cool, even Polwarth was not reluctant to warm his chilled blood by more than ordinary exertion. The columns opened for the sake of ease, and each man was permitted to consult his own convenience, provided he preserved his appointed situation, and kept even pace with his comrades. In this manner the detachment advanced swiftly, a general silence pervading the whole, as the spirits of the men settled into that deep sobriety which denotes much earnestness of purpose. At first the whole country appeared buried in a general sleep, but as they proceeded, the barking of the dogs, and the tread of the soldiery, drew the inhabitants of the farm-houses to their windows, who gazed in mute wonder at the passing spectacle, across which the mellow light of the moon cast a glow of brilliancy. Lionel had turned his head from studying the surprise depicted in the faces of the members of one of these disturbed families, when the deep tones of a distant church-bell came sweeping down the valley in which they marched, ringing peel on peel, in the quick, spirit-stirring sounds of an alarm. The men raised their heads in wondering attention, as they advanced; but it was not long before the reports of fire-arms were heard echoing among the hills, and bell began to answer bell in every direction, until the sounds blended with the murmurs of the night-air, or were lost in distance. The whole country was now filled with every organ of sound that the means of the people furnished, or their ingenuity could devise, to call the population to arms. Fires blazed along the heights, the bellowing of the conchs and horns, mingled with the rattling of the muskets and the varied tones of the bells, while the swift clattering of horses’ hoofs began to be heard, as if the riders were dashing furiously along the flanks of the party.
“Push on, gentlemen, push on,” shouted the old veteran of marines, amid the din. “The Yankees are stirring—we have yet a long road to journey—push on, light-infantry, the grenadiers are on your heels!”
The advance quickened their steps, and the whole body pushed for their unknown object with as much rapidity as the steadiness of military array would admit. In this manner the detachment continued to proceed for some hours, without halting, and Lionel imagined that they had advanced several leagues into the country. The sounds of the alarm had passed away, having swept far inland, until the faintest evidence of its existence was lost to the ear, though the noise of horsemen, riding furiously along the by-ways, denoted that men were still hurrying past them, to the scene of the expected strife. As the deceitful light of the moon was blending with the truer colours of day, the welcome sound of ‘halt!’ was passed from the rear up to the head of the column of light-infantry.
“Halt!” repeated Polwarth, with instinctive readiness, and with a voice that sent the order through the whole length of the extended line; “halt, and let the rear close; if my judgment in walking be worth so much as an anchovy, they are some miles behind us, by this time! a man needs to have crossed his race with the blood of Flying Childers for this sort of work! The next command should be to break our fasts—Tom, you brought the trifles I sent you from Major Lincoln’s quarters?”
“Yes, Sir,” returned his man; “they are on the Major’s horses, in the rear, as—”
“The Major’s horses in the rear, ass, when food is in such request in front! I wonder, Leo, if a mouthful couldn’t be picked up in yon farm-house?”
“Pick yourself off that stone, and make the men dress; here is Pitcairn closing to the front with the whole battalion.”
Lionel had hardly spoken before an order was passed to the light-infantry to look to their arms, and for the grenadiers to prime and load. The presence of the veteran who rode in front of the column, and the hurry of the moment, suppressed the complaints of Polwarth, who was in truth an excellent officer as it respected what he himself termed the ‘quiescent details of service.’ Three or four companies of the light-corps were detached from the main body, and formed in the open marching order of their exercise, when the old marine, placing himself at their head, gave the order to advance again at a quick step. The road now led into a vale, and at some distance a small hamlet of houses was dimly seen through the morning haze, clustered around one of the humble, but decent temples, so common in Massachusetts. The halt, and the brief preparations that succeeded, had excited a powerful interest in the whole of the detachment, who pushed earnestly forward, keeping on the heels of the charger of their veteran leader, as he passed over the ground at a small trot. The air partook of the scent of morning, and the eye was enabled to dwell distinctly on surrounding objects, quickening, aided by the excitement of the action, the blood of the men who had been toiling throughout the night in uncertain obscurity along an unknown, and, apparently, interminable road. Their object now seemed before them and attainable, and they pressed forward to achieve it in animated but silent earnestness. The plain architecture of the church and of its humble companions had just become distinct, when three or four armed horsemen were seen attempting to anticipate their arrival, by crossing the head of the column, from a by-path.
“Come in,” cried an officer of the staff in front, “come in, or quit the place.”
The men turned, and rode briskly off, one of their party flashing his piece in a vain attempt to give the alarm. A low mandate was now passed through the ranks to push on, and in a few moments they entered on a full view of the hamlet, the church, and the little gre
en on which it stood. The forms of men were seen moving swiftly across the latter, as a roll of a drum broke from the spot; and there were glimpses of a small body of countrymen, drawn up in the affectation of military parade.
“Push on, light-infantry!” cried their leader, spurring his horse, and advancing with the staff at so brisk a trot, as to disappear round an angle of the church.
Lionel pressed forward with a beating heart, for a crowd of horrors rushed across his imagination at the moment, when the stern voice of the major of marines was again heard, shouting—
“Disperse, ye rebels, disperse!—throw down your arms, and disperse!”
These memorable words were instantly followed by the reports of pistols, and the fatal mandate of ‘fire!’ A loud shout arose from the whole body of the soldiery, who rushed upon the open green, and threw in a close discharge on all before them.
“Great God!” exclaimed Lionel, “what is it you do? ye fire at unoffending men! is there no law but force! beat up their pieces, Polwarth—stop their fire.”
“Halt!” cried Polwarth, brandishing his sword fiercely among his men; “come to an order, or I’ll fell ye to the earth.”
But the excitement which had been gathering to a head for so many hours, and the animosity which had so long been growing between the troops and the people, were not to be repressed at a word. It was only when Pitcairn himself rode in among the soldiers, and, aided by his officers, beat down their arms, that the uproar was gradually quelled, and something like order was restored. Before this was effected, however, a few scattering shot were thrown back from their flying adversaries, though without material injury to the British.
When the firing had ceased, officers and men stood gazing at each other for a few moments, as if even they could foresee some of the mighty events which were to follow the deeds of that hour. The smoke slowly arose, like a lifted veil from the green, and mingling with the fogs of morning, drove heavily across the country, as if to communicate the fatal intelligence that the final appeal to arms had been made. Every eye was bent inquiringly on the fatal green, and Lionel beheld, with a feeling allied to anguish, a few men at a distance, writhing and struggling in their wounds, while some five or six bodies lay stretched upon the grass, in the appalling quiet of death. Sickening at the sight, he turned, and walked away by himself, while the remainder of the troops, alarmed by the reports of the arms, were eagerly pressing up from the rear to join their comrades. Unwittingly he approached the church, nor did he awake from the deep abstraction into which he had fallen, until he was aroused by the extraordinary spectacle of Job Pray, issuing from the edifice with an air in which menace was singularly blended with resentment and fear. The idiot pointed earnestly to the body of a man, who, having been wounded, had crept for refuge near the door of the temple in which he had so often worshipped that being to whom he had been thus hurriedly sent to render his last and great account, and said solemnly—
The Spy & Lionel Lincoln Page 62