“And as I hope I have some claims to be called a lady,” continued Cecil, quietly, “I do not know why in the little intercourse we have, I should 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 even 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, coz.—Pity is one of a large connexion of gentle feelings; when you once admit the first-born, you may 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 a 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 nigh the batteries which commanded the approaches 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 firing, 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 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 the 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 his steps as he approached the room where the rest of the party were waiting his appearance. The two cousins stood wrapped in furs, their smiling faces blooming beneath double rows of lace, 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 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 eye of Miss Danforth sparkled, 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, 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—shall we to 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 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 if 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—
“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 a knee to bend on the occasion. Perhaps, Leo, 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.
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 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 observed the change with mortification, nor 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 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 corps. There, three or four unfledged boys, tricked in the 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. 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, 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 issued out of the fatal redoubt, he knew its 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, whence he gave forth his warning voice, like some 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, 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 gleam of intelligence that lighted the countenance of the idiot, 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 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 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 as I bid you—would you stay here to be beaten by the soldiers? Go now, away; after service come to me, and I will furnish 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 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. 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 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 so sweeping a 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 these idle opinions, which are conceived by the designing, and circulated by the ignorant, that we may ascribe the wavering allegiance 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 dark 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 relaxed into a scowling smile, as he said, 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 entirely chased from the brow of the chief.
“Come, gentlemen, we are tardy!” he said; “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 house of God, with a bland contentment that he 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 idiot.
From the moment that Job discovered the vicinity of the English leader, to that of his disappearance, he 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 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—
The Spy & Lionel Lincoln Page 76