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?
Day after day there came one to see him, the sound of whose footsteps
was more inspiring than the roll of the drums, the touch of whose hand
gave him strength, whose presence was a benediction. She sat by his
side and read to him from the poets; told him pleasant stories; laid
her soft hand upon his brow. When he was a little stronger, she and
'Rinthia supported his faltering steps up the stairway to the roof of
the mansion, where he could sit in the sunshine, gaze upon the
beautiful panorama, inhale the life-giving air from the hills, and the
odors wafted from the sea. Across the Charles was the line of yellow
earth behind which he went down in the melee. Upon the higher hill
were the new and stronger fortifications constructed by the British.
The fields, where so many of the redcoats were cut down by the fire of
the New Hampshire men, were dotted with white tents. At the base of
the hill were the blackened ruins of Charlestown. On Prospect Hill
were the earthworks of the provincials. He could not discover any
fortifications on Dorchester Heights, and wondered why either General
Washington or the British commander had not taken possession of such a
commanding position. The Americans ought to seize it; for, with cannon
planted there, they could drive the warships from the harbor. He
doubted if General Washington knew the value of the position. He was
able now to go up and down the stairs without assistance; a few more
days, and he would be strong and vigorous. Then what? He was a
prisoner, and had not been paroled. If the British were to learn he
was getting well, would they not be likely to send him on board one of
the ships and pack him off to Halifax? Even if they did not take such
a course, how could he remain there doing nothing. Oh, if he could
only be with the army again! But were he to go, he must say good-by to
her who had saved his life. Why not remain and enjoy the blessedness
of her presence? But would she not think him wanting in manliness? On
the other hand, if he were to make his escape and go back to the army,
would he not in a sense be lifting his hand against her father and
mother in his efforts to drive the British from Boston? More than
that, was it not becoming plain, that were the British to go, the
Tories must also go? for the bitterness between those who stood for
the king and those who supported Congress was deepening. Mr. Newville
sided with the king; he was holding an office under the crown. If the
British were driven out, he would be compelled to leave, and in all
probability his estate would be confiscated. If he himself were to
make his escape to the army, would he ever again behold the face of
Ruth Newville, ever again see the love beaming from her eyes, or feel
the touch of her hand? How could he go and leave her with such
uncertainty before him? And yet, would it not be ignoble to remain? If
he could get away, was it not his duty to do so? Was not his country
calling him?
Captain Brandon learned that General Howe had issued a proclamation
threatening with death any one who might attempt to escape without a
permit from himself. "More than this," said Mr. Brandon, "he has
issued another proclamation for us to organize ourselves into
companies to preserve order. He will furnish us with arms and supply
us with provisions the same as the troops receive. We are commanded to
report to Peter Oliver within four days. Being stiff in the joints, I
shall not comply. Besides, I don't intend to leave such fare as you
give me, Berinthia, for the salt junk and tainted pork doled out to
the soldiers."
Once more there was a familiar step in the hall, and Ruth entered the
room. The rich bloom of other days was once more on her cheeks, the
old-time smile illumining her countenance. Her quick perception
detected a mind disturbed. They sat down by the fire. She laid her
hand in his, and leaned her head upon his shoulder.
"What is it?" she asked, smoothing the troubled brow.
"I have been thinking that I am still a prisoner, liable to be seized
at any moment and sent far away or put in confinement. What ought I to
do? Shall I attempt to escape, run the chance of being shot, or
captured and executed, as threatened by the proclamation? If I make
the attempt and succeed, possibly we may never meet again," he said
with faltering voice.
"Never meet again! Why not?"
[Illustration: Planning the Escape.]
"I may be captured and hanged. If I reach the army, I shall do what I
can to drive the British from Boston. If we do, the probabilities are
that your father, holding office under the crown, will be obliged to
leave the Colony: and his daughter"--
He could say no more. His lips were quivering, and tears coursing his
cheeks. Her hand wiped them away; and her arm pillowed his bowed head.
"You are all the world to me. It is for you to say. Shall I go, or
shall I stay?" he said.
The words were faintly spoken.
"Go, and God be with you. If it be his will, we shall meet again."
Oh brave heart! The world's redemption rests with such as you!
The busy brain of Berinthia planned the way. The British had seized
all the boats along the wharves, and sentinels were guarding them, but
there was an Indian canoe in the loft of the shipyard. Abraham Duncan
would put it in trim and render all possible assistance.
No tears dimmed Ruth Newville's eyes when she bade him good-by and
gave him a parting kiss. Not till she was in the seclusion of her own
chamber were the fountains unsealed. Alone, she gave way to grief, to
be comforted by her faith in One Unseen.
Many soldiers had deserted, so every night, at sundown, sentinels
patroled the wharves, and boats manned by sailors and marines kept
vigilant watch in Charles River and far down the harbor. Robert must
go to the shipyard before sundown and remain secreted till well into
the night. The new moon would go down at nine o'clock; the tide then
would be half flood. What route should he take? Were he to go directly
up the Charles River to join the army at Cambridge, he must run the
gauntlet, not only of three or four of the warships, but of the marine
patrol in the river and the sentinels on both banks. If he were to
strike eastward toward the Mystic, he would encounter the guard in
that direction and the warship Scarborough anchored in the channel.
The route up the Charles was most direct and inviting, though beset
with greatest danger.
During the day Abraham placed the canoe beneath the wharf of the
shipyard. Bidding his friends good-by, with an overcoat to protect him
from the cold, Robert made his way to the shipyard, secreting himself
in one of the buildings just before the hour for placing the
sentinels. The young tide was already setting up the bay, and a gentle
wind blowing from the east, alike favorable for the execution of his
plan; but with the sea-breeze came the fog, thick and dense, shrouding
ship and shore. He rejoiced in the thought that it would cover all his
movements and hide him from observation. But upon reflection there was
another serious and disquieting aspect; how should he make his way and
by what objects could he mark out his course? Would he not run upon
the boats of the marine patrol and be hailed by the sentinels on the
Boyne, Somerset, and other vessels of the fleet? He must run the
chances and do the best he could.
The sentinels had been set along the wharves. The soldier guarding the
shipyard was pacing his beat immediately in front of Robert's
hiding-place. A thought came; why not seize his musket and have a
weapon of defense? Noiselessly Robert opened the door: stealthy his
step; one wrench, and the weapon was his, greatly to the astonishment
of the surprised and frightened soldier, who saw his own bayonet
pointed at his breast and heard the click of the gun-lock.
"Don't fire! Don't fire!" stammered the soldier.
"Take off that belt and cartridge box!"
The soldier obeyed the peremptory order.
"About face!"
Accustomed to obey orders, he faced as directed.
"March!"
Again he obeyed, taking the regulation step as if at drill, Robert
following a short distance, then halting while the soldier continued
the march. With the musket and cartridge box well filled, Robert
seated himself in the canoe. He knew the Boyne with seventy guns,
Preston with fifty, Phoenix, Lively, Scarborough, Empress of Russia,
and several other smaller vessels of the fleet were anchored at
different points. He had noted their positions during the day, but in
the darkness and fog could make no calculations in regard to them. The
flowing tide would be his only guide. By drifting with it, he would be
borne to the Cambridge shore of the Charles, to General Washington's
army, providing he could dodge the ships, floating batteries, and
picket boats. Using the paddle, he struck out from the wharf, peering
into the mist, his ears open to catch the faintest sound.
"Boat ahoy!"
The startling shout seemed to come from the sky. Looking up he saw the
great black hull of the Boyne, recognizing the vessel by her triple
tier of guns. He was almost beneath the bowsprit.
"Round to under the stern or I'll fire," said the voice.
"Aye, aye, sir!" Robert replied.
While drifting past the ship, so near that he could touch the hull
with his hands, he was deciding what to do. Reaching the stern, with a
stroke of the paddle the canoe whirled under it, then shot up the
other side of the ship into the teeth of the tide, back once more to
the stern, and while the puzzled sentinels on the deck were wondering
what had become of the canoe he was disappearing in the fog, the
success of his strategy giving zest to his enterprise. He had kept his
bearings as best he could, but was not quite certain of his position,
as he drifted once more.
"Boat ahoy! Who goes there?"
The challenge came, not from overhead, but from the fog before him. A
backward stroke arrested his movement. Again the hail and no reply.
"Up with the anchor! Out with your oars!"
Evidently he had drifted upon one of the boats anchored in the
ferry-way. Paddling away, he suddenly heard the swash of waves, and
found himself approaching a wharf, but on which side the river he
could not say.
"Boat ahoy! Halt, or I'll fire," the hail that came to him.
Peering into the mist, he saw the dim outline of a soldier raising his
musket.
"Hold on. Don't fire. Please point me in the direction of the Boyne,"
said Robert.
The sentinel lowered his musket as if saying to himself, "This must be
one of the officers of the frigate who has been on shore having a good
time."
"The Boyne is right out in that direction," said the sentinel,
pointing with his musket, "but my orders are not to let any one pass
along the wharf after ten o'clock without they give the countersign."
"All right; always obey orders. I'll come to the wharf."
Robert could hear the dip of oars in the fog, and knew it must be the
patrol boat pursuing him. He paddled towards the wharf as if to give
the countersign, but the next moment shot under it as the other boat
approached.
"Boat ahoy!" he heard the sentinel shout.
"Ahoy yourself! We are the patrol. Have you seen a canoe?"
"Yes, and the man inquired where the Boyne was lying, and disappeared
quicker than greased lightning when he heard you coming."
Robert was making his way, the while, amid the piles of the wharf. He
knew the tide must be near its full flood, for he had to crouch low in
the canoe, and the barnacles upon the piles were nearly covered with
the water. He doubted if the patrol could follow him. Should he remain
secreted? No. They might light a torch and discover him. Noiselessly
he paddled amid the piles to the farther side of the wharf, and then
glided from its shelter along the shore, screened from the patrol by
the projecting timbers, and was once more in the stream. He could no
longer be guided by the tide or drift with it. The wind had died away.
It was blowing from the east when he started, but now only by waving
his hand could he ascertain its direction. Whether it had changed he
could not know. It was a welcome sound that came to his ears--the
clock on the Old Brick Meetinghouse striking the hour. He thought of
Ruth, asleep in her white-curtained chamber so near the bell, and of
her goodness, her brave heart, that bade him go. The tones came to him
over his right shoulder, when they ought to be over the left. He must
be headed in the wrong direction. It was not easy for him to reason it
out; yet, if he would reach Cambridge, he must turn squarely round. It
was plain that he had not made much progress. He knew that several
warships and floating batteries and picket boats must be lying between
his position and the Americans, but he must go on. Suddenly a dark
object loomed before him, and a hail as before came from the deck of a
ship.
"Come alongside, or I'll fire."
What should he do? He saw a blinding flash. A bullet whizzed over his
head, and the report of the musket awoke the echoes along the shore.
It was from the stern of the ship. Again, a flash from the bow, and a
bullet pattered into the water. Suddenly the light of a torch brought
into full view a marine holding it over the side of the vessel.
Another marine by his side was reloading his musket. A thought
came--they had opened fire upon him; why not pay them in the same
coin. Dropping the paddle, he raised the musket he had wrenched from
the sentinel. The torch revealed the form of him who held it,--a man
with weather-beaten features, hard and cold. He was so near that it
would be easy to send a bullet through his heart. Should he do it? Why
not? Had he not been down to death's door through brutal treatment
from the redcoats? Why not take revenge? No, he could not quench life
forever, bring sorrow, perchance, to some household far away; but he
would put out that torch. He ran his eye along the gun-barrel, pulled
the trigger, and sent the bullet through the upraised arm. The torch
fell into the water, and all was dark.
"We are attacked! Beat to quarters," was the shout on the ship.
He heard the roll of drums. Men leaped from their hammocks. There was
hurrying of feet, rattling of ropes, and shouting of orders. Again a
musket flashed and a bullet pierced the canoe, reminding him he was
near enough to the ship to be seen. A few strokes of the paddle and he
was beyond their aim. Suddenly he discovered the canoe was filling
with water through the hole made by the bullet. Several minutes passed
before he could find it, in the darkness; the canoe gradually sinking
the while. When found, at last, he thrust in his finger and reflected
what next to do. It was plain that the leak must be stopped, but how?
He could not sit with his finger in the hole and drift wherever the
tide might take him. Removing his finger, he would soon be sinking.
"Ah! I have it," he said to himself. It was but the work of a moment
to cut a bit of rope from the coil at his feet and thrust it into the
opening, stopping the leak.
But the canoe was water-logged; how should he get rid of it? To scoop
out with the paddle would attract attention and bring the whole patrol
to the spot; there was a better way.
"I'll use my hat for a bucket," he said to himself.
He bailed the canoe and reloaded the musket, drifting the while. Where
he was he could not determine. Suddenly a musket flashed, high up in
the air, and a bullet fell into the water by his side. He could see
the faint outline of topmasts and yard-arms, and the figure of a man
upon the shrouds. He aimed as best he could and pulled the trigger.
"I'm shot!" were the words that came to him through the mist.
"Give 'em the six-pounder with grape," said a voice, followed by a
blinding flash, a swish in the water, the roar of a cannon. It had
been fired at random, and he was unharmed. Once more he used the
paddle, wondering what next would happen.
What the meaning of that flash in the distance? What that plunge in
the water not far away? What that deep, heavy roar reverberating along
the shore? Surely it must be a shot from General Washington's cannon.
And now all around he heard voices, and boatswains' whistles. Soon the
great guns of the warships were flashing; shot were plunging into the
water, and shells bursting in the air.
"I have kicked up a big racket," said Robert to himself as he listened
to the uproar.
What should he do? The tide was beginning to ebb. Why not go with it
down the harbor, reach one of the islands, wait till daylight, and
then shape his course, instead of attempting to pass the pickets
patrolling the river with everybody on the alert. While the cannon
were flashing he drifted with the ebbing tide. Another dark object
suddenly loomed before him, but no hail came from its deck. Plainly
it was one of the transports. Another, and still no hail. The
cannonade was dying away; suddenly, bells all around him were
striking. He must be in the midst of the fleet of transports; it was
four o'clock, the hour to change the watch. He heard once more the
bell of the Old Brick,--he could tell it by its pitch. Wind, tide, and
the meetinghouse bell enabled him to calculate his position: he could
not be far from the Castle; he resolved to make for Dorchester
Heights.
Day was breaking and the fog lifting. In the dawning light he shaped
his course. No patrol challenged him. Through the rising mist he
discerned the outline of the shore and heard the gentle ripple of
waves upon the beach. To leave the canoe was like bidding good-by to a
faithful friend, but with cartridge-box and musket he stepped ashore
and soon found himself upon the spot which he had scanned with the
telescope from the Brandon home.
It was plain that he had not miscalculated its value as a military
position,--that cannon planted there could plunge their balls upon the
great fleet of transports, or upon a vessel attempting to enter or
depart from the harbor. He descended the western slope of the hill,
reached a narrow path leading across the marsh land, and made his way
to Roxbury, to be warmly welcomed by General Nathanael Greene.
"You must tell General Washington about Dorchester Heights. I am going
to dine with him to-day, and you must go with me," said General
Greene, who informed Robert that Lieutenant Robert Walden was supposed
to have been killed about the same time that Doctor Warren fell.
"But I am here and ready to give an account of myself," Robert
replied.
It was a pleasure to be in the saddle once more,--to ride with General
Greene along the works which his troops had constructed. They
dismounted at the house of Mr. Vassall in Cambridge, where General
Washington had established his headquarters. The commander-in-chief
was pleased to welcome him and listen to his story.
[Illustration: Washington's Headquarters.]
"I think, General Washington, that if cannon could be planted there
the British fleet could be driven from the harbor. It is a high hill
and very commanding. Troops ascending it would do so in the face of a
plunging fire from those on the summit. It occurred to me while
standing there, that if hogsheads were to be filled with stones and
sent rolling upon an assaulting force, it would be an effective means
of defense."
"You must dine with me to-day, Lieutenant Walden. I want Colonel Knox,
who commands the artillery, and who is to be here with his estimable
wife, to hear what you have to say."
It was a pleasure to meet Colonel Henry Knox and Mrs. Knox.
"We all thought you went down in the melee at Bunker Hill, and yet
here you are," said Colonel Knox.
"Yes, and ready to do what I can to drive the redcoats into the sea."
Mrs. Knox was delighted to hear from her old-time associate, Berinthia
Brandon. She said that Tom was giving a good account of himself. There
were tears in the eyes of all when he told them how Miss Ruth Newville
had used her influence, she the daughter of a Tory, to save him.
"That is the noblest type of womanhood," said General Washington.
"Perhaps," he added, "you may wish to visit your parents for a few
days, but a little later I shall desire you to assist Colonel Knox in
executing an important trust."
"I am ready to do what I can in any capacity for which I am fitted,"
Robert replied.
* * * * *
A flag of truce went out from the headquarters; among the letters to
people in Boston was one directed to Miss Ruth Newville. The
red-coated officer who inspected the letters read but one word.
"Safe."
To her who received it the one syllable was more than a page of
foolscap.
XXII.
BRAVE OF HEART.
The king's plan to punish Boston because the East India Company's tea
had been destroyed was not working very satisfactorily. Ten thousand
troops were cooped up in the town with little to eat. They could
obtain no fresh provisions. Lord North was sending many ships, and the
ship-owners were asking high prices for the use of their vessels; for
the Yankee skippers of Marblehead, Captain Manly and Captain Mugford,
were darting out from that port in swift-sailing schooners, with long
eighteen-pounders amidships, and the decks swarming with men who had
braved the storms of the Atlantic and knew no fear, capturing the
ships dispatched from England with food and supplies for the army. The
ministers had paid twenty-two thousand pounds for cabbages, potatoes,
and turnips; as much more for hay, oats, and beans; half a million
pounds for flour, beef, and pork. They purchased five thousand oxen,
fourteen thousand sheep, and thousands of pigs, that the army three
thousand miles away might have something to eat. There were plenty of
cattle, sheep, and pigs within fifty miles of Boston, but General Howe
could not lay his hand on one of them. The winter storms were on, and
the ships sailing down the Thames or from Bristol Channel had a hard
time of it before losing sight of the hills of Devon. The people along
the Cornwall shores beheld the seashore strewn with carcasses of
cattle, sheep, and pigs, tossed overboard from the decks of foundering
vessels. The few cattle that survived the six weeks' tossing on the
sea were but skin and bones when the ships dropped anchor by Castle
William.
In contrast, Tom Brandon and the soldiers under General Washington had
plenty of good food. It was a tantalizing handbill which Benjamin Edes
printed on his press at Watertown.
Tom Brandon, on picket at Charlestown Neck, hailed the Britisher a few
rods distant.
"How are you, redcoat?"
"How are you, rebel?"
"Say, redcoat, if you won't pop at me, I won't at you."
"Agreed."
"Wouldn't ye like a chaw of tobacco, redcoat?"
"I wouldn't mind."
"All right. Here's a plug with my compliments; 'tain't poisoned. Ye
needn't be afraid of it," said Tom, tossing it to him.