SHOWS HOW EZRA RODE WITH PRESCOTT TOWARD BUNKER HILL
As the six dashed along the morning roads toward Roxbury, Ezra noted
much improvement in the American position; and those works that were in
view had grown stronger and much more formidable than heretofore.
“It is right cleverly laid out,” commented Gilbert Scarlett, whose keen,
dark eyes missed nothing. “I am more struck with admiration of your
farmer and mechanic soldiery the more I see of them.”
“I can see,” said Nat Brewster, who rode with him, “that you have been
harkening to the stories that the British have to tell about us. They
call us impudent peasants who, in ignorance of what we are about, dare
to face the army of the King. But that is mere bluster and affectation.
Those officers among the British who have any experience in the warfare
of the colonies, know that we have leaders who are perhaps their
superiors.”
Scarlett smiled.
“Almost,” said he, “do you surpass our young friend Prentiss in
attachment to the cause.”
“It is the cause of my country,” said Nat, simply.
A look of something like sadness came into the adventurer’s face.
“It must be a fine thing, indeed, to feel like that,” said he moodily.
“As I have mentioned, I have served many causes—but never that of my own
country, because I have no country.”
Nat looked at him inquiringly.
“I was born in Lisbon, of an English mother and an Italian father,” said
Scarlett, “and in my childhood, you might say the world was my cradle.
My father followed the wars and my mother followed him. And when they
died, I took up their task of wandering. This sword,” and his hand
rested upon the heavy hilt, “was my father’s, and I have carried it from
Muscovy to the Floridas; and it has profited me no more than the cloth
you see upon my back.”
“You have lived and fought in old countries, or among old peoples,”
spoke Nat, eagerly. “But here is a new land, a new people. In the years
to come, by the righteousness of our cause and the strength of our arms,
we’ll stand free and alone. Make this your country. Draw your blade for
it. And when all is done, it will not forget you.”
Scarlett’s eyes sparkled; he looked at Nat with admiration.
“That’s well spoken,” said he, “and you all but persuade me. But,” and
he shook his head, “I have seen uprisings of people before. I have seen
them suffer under burdens imposed upon them by their masters until they
could bear it no more; then they threw it off and struck out madly,
blindly at their tormentors. But always they were beaten down. They were
untaught in war; they had no skilled leaders to show them the way to
point out the foe’s weaknesses, to direct their strength. If I expect to
see this repeated now it will not surprise you, surely.”
“When you come to know us,” smiled Nat, “you’ll know us better.”
As they entered Cambridge they encountered Colonel Stark, with his
powerful face and fearless bearing. Ezra saluted and stopped him, and as
they conversed at some distance, Scarlett said:
“Who is that?”
“It is Colonel Stark, of New Hampshire. He has fought the French and
Indians all his life and is a sample of our leaders.”
“He has the front of a man who’d face terrible odds and never flinch,”
commented the adventurer as he regarded Stark narrowly. “Yes, I like
your Colonel Stark; but I will require to see the others before I change
my mind.”
Ezra saluted the New Hampshire warrior, who then rode on. The boy
returned to his comrades.
“We are again fortunate,” said he. “Colonel Stark has just left General
Ward and tells me that Colonel Prescott and General Putnam were then
with him. If we make haste we might find them there still.”
The hasty clatter of hoofs awoke no surprise in the town. Cambridge had
grown accustomed to such long since. As they approached the house which
the commander had made his headquarters, they saw a few sentries leaning
upon their rifles, conversing carelessly.
A broad window, which faced an open sweep of green, stood open; and
within, three men in blue uniforms faced with white were gathered about
a table in earnest discussion.
The boys halted and dismounted; after a moment’s discussion it was
decided that Ezra should seek admittance to the officers’ presence
alone, as he could best tell of what had happened. So the others seated
themselves upon the grass in full view of the window, while the young
New Englander approached the sentries and announced himself. After some
hesitation one of them went into the house as though to seek the
commands of a superior.
Scarlett’s searching eyes watched the three about the table; every
movement, every lineament, so it seemed, came under his observation.
“And so these are more of your leaders,” said he to Nat. “Tell me now,
which of them is General Ward?”
“The one directly facing us,” replied Nat, pointing to the general in
command. “He is a safe leader, and that’s saying the least of him. The
only fault that could be charged against him is that his health is bad,
which might affect his enterprise. He was once a justice of the peace;
also he served with the British commander, Abercrombie, against the
French and Indians. He was a lieutenant.”
Scarlett plainly had no exalted opinion of General Ward as an officer;
but he made no comment.
“This other, now,” he said, “this thick-set man with the full red face
and the whitening hair. Which is he?”
“That,” said Nat, “is General Putnam. He is considered to be, and I
think justly, one of the most remarkable military characters of this
time. For years he led the quiet life of a country gentleman on a
beautiful farm at Brooklyn in Connecticut. He was noted but for one
exploit; and that was the killing of a she-wolf which had become the
terror of the countryside. As no one had been able to destroy the beast,
Putnam had himself lowered into its den, and shot it to death as it
sprang at his throat.
“When the French invaded northern New York, he took up arms and, with
the provincial army, marched to repulse them. Ten years of his life were
spent in that and Indian warfare. Once he was taken at Wood Creek by the
Indians, who determined to burn him, and were about applying the torch
at his feet when a French captain of the name of Molang arrived and
saved his life. He won the rank of colonel in the provincial army and
was with General Lyman in the West Indies, serving at the fall of
Havana. After that he went back to his estate, where he remained until
the alarm went out to the Sons of Liberty some two months ago.”
“A right experienced officer,” said Scarlett, “and like the man from New
Hampshire, he has the look of one that would not be easily beaten.”
At this juncture they saw Ezra admitted to the house; a moment later
they saw him enter the room where the three officers sat.
“Your Colonel Prescott is the other one, of course,” said the
adventurer, as he regarded the stalwart, soldier-like figure of that
gallant gentleman. “For what is he remarkable?”
“He, too, has seen honorable service in the provincial army. He was a
captain under General Winslow. At the first call for defenders he left
his estates at Pepperell and gave his service and influence to the
general good. I have the opinion,” continued Nat, “that this officer
will conduct himself with distinction in whatever place his lot be
cast.”
“If we are to go by appearances, yes. However,” and the soldier of
fortune twirled his moustache points, “the future will raise up leaders
for your country if the war continues.”
While they were speaking, they had been closely watching the scene
within the headquarters of the colonial commander. George, Ben and the
Porcupine were also likewise engrossed.
They saw Ezra greeted with rather surprised reserve. This was to be
expected, as the three officers were apparently deep in some problem
that required their undivided attention. Ezra saluted, and then the
watchers saw Colonel Prescott speak to him. What he said must have been
kindly and encouraging, for a look of gratitude came into the boy’s
face.
He stood at the foot of the table. General Ward was at its head, while
the other officers sat upon either side. Then the lad began to speak,
and from the first sentence those outside noted a look of anticipation
settle upon the listeners’ faces.
[Illustration: PUTNAM STRUCK THE TABLE]
This grew deeper and deeper; now and then General Putnam struck the
table a smart blow with his right hand, his red face growing still
redder. But toward the end of Ezra’s story, he grew as grave as the
others; and when the finish came, all arose quickly. General Ward was
seen to speak, the others gestured their accord with him. Then all shook
Ezra’s hand warmly, after which Putnam and Prescott, followed by the
lad, strode out of the room.
The horses belonging to the general and colonel were at hand when they
emerged. A sentry brought them forward, and as this was being done, Ezra
beckoned Gilbert Scarlett to the door of headquarters.
“This,” said the boy, “is Mr. Scarlett, who was of such great assistance
to me.”
Both soldiers greeted the adventurer warmly.
“Sir,” said General Putnam, in his bluff, honest way, “I am glad to see
you in Cambridge at such a time. For a man so ready of hand and brain as
you have proved yourself, there are deeds to be done.”
“If you will accept a commission with our forces,” said Colonel
Prescott, after examining the young man steadily, “I feel sure that Dr.
Warren and his fellow committeemen will see to it with pleasure.”
“Gentlemen,” responded Scarlett with a flourish, “you are kind. I will
not forget you. And if it should come about that I should at last take a
side in this bickering that is now begun, I will give what you say
serious consideration.”
As Putnam and Prescott mounted, both Scarlett and Ezra stood at salute;
the officers replied to this and rode hastily off, after the manner of
men who had urgent matters that required their attention.
“Well?” inquired Nat Brewster, as Ezra and the adventurer approached
once more.
“As it happened,” said Ezra, cheerily, “General Ward was just outlining
a plan to fortify one of the hills above or below the city, when I
arrived. The matter has been under consideration in the council for some
days, but some of the commanders have felt doubtful.”
“And what will now be done?” asked George, anxiously.
“A force will be sent to throw up works on Bunker Hill.”
“But,” protested Ben Cooper, “how do they know that it is Bunker Hill
that the British mean to attack?”
“They don’t. But General Putnam says that they will attack any
commanding place that our force seizes.”
Scarlett slapped his thigh.
“A sound military judgment,” declared he. “He is most undoubtedly right.
If Bunker Hill is taken possession of, Bunker Hill will be the object of
Gage’s assault. Look here.”
Then in the shadow of General Ward’s headquarters, the lads, together
with the Porcupine, held consultation over a rough map which the
adventurer had drawn before entering Boston.
“There will be riding to-day,” said Ezra, at length, “and the bearing of
dispatches. It would be as well that we should report to Dr. Warren for
any service that we can render.”
As Scarlett was not open to perform any such service until he had
committed himself finally to the cause, the dwarf was sent with him to
find a comfortable inn; then the four comrades rode to Dr. Warren’s
house.
The patriot doctor had just received a hasty line from Prescott, more
than likely written in the saddle, and was delighted at the arrival of
these four active, enterprising young spirits.
“This,” said he, as he sat down to plan the work which he desired them
to do, “will be a day of days. Let us hope that Providence will be kind
to us and guide us to victory.”
All day the four rode up and down the countryside. And wherever they
went all became activity. Arms were seen to, ammunition was gotten
ready, men were set to drilling outside their camps. Volunteers, at the
prospect of immediate action, flocked into the towns; mattocks, spades
and other entrenching tools were sent forward in wagon-loads to
Cambridge.
Orders were issued in the evening for Prescott’s, Frye’s and Bridge’s
regiments, also a party of two hundred Connecticut troops to parade in
the Cambridge camp, furnished with packs and blankets and with
provisions for twenty-four hours. Also Captain Gridley’s company of
artillery of forty-nine men and two field-pieces was commanded to
parade.
However, in all the dispatch-bearing and all the activity, not a word as
to what was going forward had leaked out. Captains assembled their
companies and saw them equipped as directed without the faintest notion
as to what was about to be attempted.
The brigade named was to make an immediate advance upon Bunker Hill
under command of Colonel Prescott. Colonel Richard Gridley, the American
engineer, was to bear him company with the plans of the proposed works.
Gilbert Scarlett sat his borrowed horse by the side of Ezra Prentiss and
watched Prescott’s brigade mass upon Cambridge common.
“It’s true,” said he, with a hitch at his sword belt and a flush upon
his face, “that I have taken no side yet in this quarrel. But I never
could resist a good fight. So I’ll strike a blow for the sheer pleasure
of it, even if I have no feeling in the matter.”
“I expected that,” laughed Ezra. “And when you have struck one I am sure
that the second will follow.”
Dusk was beginning to settle upon that sixteenth day of June but there
was light enough to play upon the rifle barrels and upon naked bayonets
thrust into wide leather belts. The men were earnest-faced and
determined; they bore themselves not after the style of regulated
troops, but rather after that of men who were about to face the power of
tyranny and attempt to break it once and for all. As he looked at them,
admiration came into the face of the adventurer.
“Here,” said he to Ezra, “we have fellows that have the power and the
will to fight. The King’s troops will have no rabble to disperse, as
I’ve more than once heard they’ve expected.”
With the officers at their heads, the brigade stood with heads bowed,
resting upon their grounded rifles. A white-haired man, venerable and
dignified, advanced before them, his hand upraised.
“Who is that?” whispered Ben Cooper, much impressed.
“It is President Langdon of Harvard College,” replied Ezra Prentiss.
“Hush-h-h!” as Ben was about to speak once more.
Amid dead silence the venerable scholar began a fervent and impressive
prayer. He prayed that heaven would watch over the little army and bring
it to victory over the forces of evil, that morning should dawn upon it,
strong for the fight and that it would hold out in the face of
discouragements and dangers.
When everything was ready it was about nine o’clock; the command was
formed into column and the advance began. Masked lights were borne in
front by Ezra Prentiss and his friends; the carts containing the
entrenching tools rumbled along in the rear.
At Charlestown Neck the detachment was halted, and the officers and men
were informed as to the nature of the venture. Captain Nutting and his
company, together with a party of Connecticut troops, were here ordered
by Prescott to proceed to the lower end of the town as a guard. Here,
also, General Putnam dashed up, accompanied by Major Brooks, and joined
the main body.
Once more the party was put into motion; but at the foot of Bunker Hill
it again came to a halt. Colonel Prescott called his officers about him
and they plunged into an earnest debate. The dim light of the lanterns
held by the boys lit up the earnest faces of the officers as they
talked.
“The orders for us to occupy Bunker Hill are most explicit,” said
Prescott after a time. “And yet it would seem to me——”
He paused and his bold gaze went toward the hill nearest Boston, which
bulked upward in a dense swell through the night.
“The nearer the enemy, the quicker we come to hard gripes with him,”
declared the rough and ready Putnam.
The other officers were for the most part silent; those who did speak
were non-committal. It was plain to be seen that they had no desire to
go contrary to General Ward’s orders unless some one else assumed the
responsibility.
“If we had a map of the section,” spoke Prescott, “I think I could show
you all the weak points in our orders.”
In a moment Ezra Prentiss stood forward and saluted. Prescott signed to
him to speak.
“Mr. Scarlett has such a map,” he said. “I saw it only to-day.”
Instantly the drawing was demanded.
[Illustration: GILBERT SCARLETT’S MAP, AS REVISED BY HIM AFTER THE BATTLE]
Scarlett stepped within the circle, coolly took it from his pocket, and
proceeded to explain its design. The officers listened with great
attention and examined the map closely.
“Orders to a soldier,” stated Scarlett wisely, “should be as the breath
to his nostrils. But,” and he elevated his brows, “plans made in the
camp are sometimes necessarily modified in the field.”
Putnam looked at Prescott and that gentleman smiled.
“That Breed’s Hill,” continued Scarlett pointing to his map, “is nearest
the enemy is the point of view of a fighting commander. Two more things
are to be considered in its favor. Occupy it and you face your foe as he
comes up the slope from the water; also by so doing you deprive him of a
point where he can plant his batteries.”
Putnam threw back his head and laughed.
“Could anything be better said?” demanded he. “The gentleman makes it
all point. There is nothing else to do that I can see,” with an
inquiring look at his fellows, “but to shift from Bunker to Breed’s and
make our fight there.”
Colonel Prescott and Colonel Gridley at once gave the same as their
opinions; and after a few minor objections, the remainder also gave
their consent.
Again the troops were put in motion; and this time they were not to halt
until they had reached a spot for the possession of which they were to
fight a battle, the story of which will live while the nation holds her
place among her sisters of the earth.