FROM BROADWAY TO BUNKER HILL.
Despite the circumstances, Dick had a brief feeling of mirth at the
ludicrous appearance of his comrade, who led the chase with such
well-simulated zeal and a face still circumscribed by the white cloth
used to keep in place the bandage on his cheek. Determined to resist
capture to the last, now that he had adopted the course of flight, Dick
plunged forward and on past Trinity Church. Broadway was not then a
business street, and the few people whom Dick passed or who emerged from
the residences or cross streets did not know what was the matter until
it was too late to head him off, so great a start he had of his
pursuers. Before he had reached St. Paul's Church, he looked back again,
whereupon Tom, with his hand before his body so that the pursuers behind
him could not see it, motioned to turn off into the next cross street.
Dick obeyed, and was thus for a time lost to the sight of the party in
chase. Presently the loud voice of Tom showed that he, too, had deviated
into the cross street. Dick turned his head and saw that Tom was the
only one who had yet done so. MacAlister now violently gesticulated to
the effect that Dick should turn into some yard or other hiding-place.
Dick immediately ran through the open gateway of what proved to be a
yard used as a repository for tan. He took refuge behind a high pile of
this article, and sank to the ground, breathless and half-exhausted.
There was no one else in the tan-yard. As he lay panting, he heard Tom
stride by, still hoarsely bawling, "Stop that man!" The direction taken
by the voice indicated that its owner had turned from this street into
another, and soon the sound of the crowd running by was evidence that
they had seen Tom make this last turn and had supposed he was still on
the trail of the hunted man. Their voices and footsteps died out
presently, and Dick was left to ponder on the situation.
He dared not venture out of the yard, lest he be seen by one of those
who had engaged in the chase. He knew that Tom, having led the hue and
cry on a false track, would at the proper time come back for him.
Therefore he could only wait. Meanwhile, as he was led to consider by
the approaching voices of some boys at play, what if he should be
discovered in the tan-yard? Swiftly choosing the remotest and highest
pile of tan, he crouched behind it, hastily scooped out a hole with both
hands, backed into this extemporized burrow, laid Blagdon's sword
beside him, and then, with his hollowed palms, drew in after him
sufficient of the previously removed tan to conceal himself from any but
the most minute observer. Thus buried in the tan, with barely enough
space open about his head to admit a little dim light and a small
quantity of dusty air, he made himself as comfortable as might be. By
and by his ears told him that the small boys had entered the tan-yard;
then that they were having a sham battle, playing that the tan-pile next
his own was Ticonderoga. History was soon reversed, and the English
drove the French from Ticonderoga, whereupon the French properly fell
back to Quebec, which was no other place than the tan-pile in which Dick
lay entombed. He felt the tan shift above him, and saw it slide down
before him and cut off more of his meagre supply of light and air, while
the shouts of Quebec's defenders came to him from overhead. Finally the
English charged Quebec and tumbled the French back from the heights, an
operation that resulted in Dick's having a series of heavy weights
alight on his head, a foot thrust into his eye, his opening entirely
closed up, and himself almost choked. Regardless of consequences, he
thrust his head out through the tan, and saw, to his unexpected joy,
that the last small warrior was scurrying away from behind Quebec. After
awhile the boys left the tan-yard, and Dick found some relief in a
change of position, though he did not emerge from his cave. Now and
then, as the day advanced, he could hear steps and voices of people
passing the tan-yard, and would lie close in fear that some of them
would turn in. He amused himself by imagining what would follow should
the tan in which he lay be loaded on some cart or wagon. So passed an
interminable day, beautiful outside with New York's incomparable
sunshine, but to Dick an age of numbness and pain, due to his long
retention of each cramped position he assumed; of hunger and thirst, of
alarms and conjectures, and of frequent thoughts of the man he had
felled, thoughts which he invariably put from him in his horror of
regarding himself as a slayer. At nightfall he came out of his hole, but
remained behind the tan-pile, listening for a familiar step. At last it
came, cautious but unmistakable. Dick rose, saw a gaunt form in the
gateway, and bounded towards him.
"Whist, lad!" said Tom, grasping Dick's offered hand. "Sure ye sprung up
like a ghaist. The coast is clear now, though eyes will be kept open for
ye in the city and about, for mony a day to come. Let us sit down and
wait a minute or two, till it do be just a wee bit darker. 'Twas a grand
chase I led them, mon, was it not, now?"
"'Twas the best trick I ever saw played. But where did you pass the
day?"
"Why," said Tom, as he sat on a tan-pile, "that's just it. If ony of
them had caught up wi' me, 'twould have come out sure what joke I'd
played them, for, ye see, they'd 'a' found out I was crying 'Stop' at
naething at all. So, for your ain skin's sake, I had to keep well ahead
until I had got out of the town, and then lose myself frae the ither
shouting devils, which I did by turning into the woods at a bend of the
road."
"You had the devil's own endurance to outrun them all," put in Dick.
"Why, ye see, when I got near blowed, I found ither legs than my ain to
help me out. In front of a tavern, ayont yonder, a horse was whinneying
as I came up. All I had to do was to jerk the knot of his halter and
jump on, and who could say me nay when it was chasing a law-breaker I
was, in the interests of justice? And that's how I got away frae the
chasing mob. What was there to do but spend the day in the woods, safe
out of sight and ken of man? For, d'ye mind, if I had come back into the
town, and gone to the tavern for my clothes, why, seeing that news and
descriptions must have been all about by then, as word of mouth goes
nowadays, I'd have been held for complicity in your escape, and then
who'd have come to let you out of your ain hole,--for I ken you maun hae
lodged in one of them tan-piles the day. Nay, nay, lad, never thrust
yourself in the way of forcible detention; that's a rule of mine! We'll
let our shirts and blankets and guns rot in the tavern, and gang on our
way rejoicing."
"But Blagdon,--do you think he is dead?"
"Devil a bit! He'll have come to before they were done chasing his
murderer, and the time he'll spend nursing a bloody head will enable him
to reflect on his sins. But, for a' that, we'll be ganging our way, for
murderous assault is nane sic a pleasant charge to face, however
innocent ye be, when the other side has money and great friends and
ye're a penniless stranger. Besides that, this Blagdon will have the
backing of the soldiery and the lieutenant-governor, and the tavern
people will naturally swear to onything on his side, even to attempted
robbery or the like. Come, Dickie boy, that sword ye retain, as your
proper spoils of war, is worth in money all we leave behind at the
tavern."
The two friends went from the tan-yard and by obscure streets to the
Bowery lane, and followed that till it became the Boston highroad, along
which they then proceeded northward through the country. When they had
passed a few suburban mansions, some fields and swamps and wooded hills,
Tom said, "Whist a bit!" and turned aside into a little copse. In a
moment he emerged, leading a large horse.
"This will save expense of transportation, lad," said he, as he came
into the road; "and moreover 'twill further compensate us for the loss
of our guns and baggage. Bedad, 'twas a lucky blow ye struck that there
lieutenant, to make me lead a chase in front of the tavern where the
good horse here called my attention by a loving whinney."
"What?" cried Dick. "You don't mean to say you are going to keep the
horse you found at the tavern!"
"And wha better should keep him? Do ye see what horse it is? Lad,
there's the hand of Providence in all this! Sure, your eyes ain't used
to starlight if ye couldn't make out auld Robin at the first glance."
Dick stood in joyful amazement. The horse was indeed the one that had
disappeared beneath the self-styled merchants with whom Dick and Tom had
agreed to ride and tie, on the road to Lancaster. The comrades now went
on in the darkness, taking turns at riding, but keeping together and
holding the horse to a slow pace. Dick felt in his pocket the miniature
whose restoration he had failed to effect. When, now, might he hope to
place it in the hands of the charming Canadian girl? He put the
question, but in other words, to his companion, as they rode by the dark
Murray mansion and began to descend towards Turtle Creek.
"If there is war," he added, "there's little chance of my getting to
Quebec for many a day to come."
"Don't presume to read the future, lad!" said MacAlister. "Wha kens what
turn of the wind of circumstance may blaw ye to Quebec? The older ye
grow in the ways of this precarious world, the less ye'll pretend to say
what to-morrow will bring forth. 'He started east and he landed west,'
as the auld song says."
It was near dawn when they passed the Blue Bell Tavern, but, hungry and
tired as both were, Tom advised that there be no stopping till they
should have left the island of Manhattan behind. "When ye're an auld
hand at the business of this warld," said he, "ye'll no tak' ae chance
in a hundred, of trusting yersel', e'en for the time being, in the arms
of justice. Law and justice, my son, are fearfu' things for an honest
man to have aught to do wi'. I'd rather trust my case to the decision of
auld Nick himsel', putting it to him in my ain way, man to man, and
perhaps over a good glass of spirits or two, than to ae judge or jury in
Christendom."
Giving Hyatt's Tavern also the go-by, they crossed the Harlem by the
Farmers' Bridge and continued on the Boston post-road; presently took
the left, where the road forked, and so arrived betimes at East Chester,
which stood invitingly in its pleasant valley, its church tower and
belfry rising among the locust-trees. At the tavern there Tom casually
threw off a brief story to account for having ridden all night, and the
two speedily possessed themselves of a stiff drink, a hot breakfast, and
a clean bed. In the afternoon, being anxious to get out of the province
of New York, lest some extraordinary effort might be made to detain
them, they again took horse, passed through the Huguenot village of New
Rochelle, stopped later at Mamaroneck to rest the horse, crossed the
Byram River to Connecticut at evening, and put up, before night was well
advanced, at Stamford, which wound irregularly along an undulating and
stony road. When they took the road for Norwalk the next morning, they
were thoroughly refreshed, and Dick, having got all the tan-dust out of
his ears, nostrils, and pores, was able to enjoy fully the beauty of
Long Island Sound where it was visible beyond the coves that here and
there indented to the road. That day and the next two days were
uneventful. Between Norwalk and Fairfield they met a courier from the
Massachusetts Committee of Safety to the Continental Congress. He
tarried no longer than to tell them the New England army was increasing
daily and holding the King's troops tight in Boston. At Stratford and
Milford the tavern talk was all of the war; of how the Connecticut
troops already started would acquit themselves, and how many more would
be needed; how this village farmer or that would behave when faced by a
British grenadier; of what steps the Continental Congress would take,
what dark plots the Tories might be weaving in New York, and what might
occur should the British war-vessels bombard the coast towns.
In New Haven, which they entered on a bright, sunny forenoon, a newly
formed company was awkwardly drilling on the green, in sight of the
churches and the college building. While the horse rested, Dick got into
conversation with a young gentleman who stood watching the crude
manoeuvres. Learning that he was Mr. Timothy Dwight, a tutor at the
college, Dick obtained the favor of a view of the college library, and
had the delightful sensation of handling copies of Newton's works and
Sir Richard Steele's, presented by those authors themselves. The scenes
of military preparation witnessed here and at Brentford increased Dick's
eagerness to be at the scene of action. Riding on Sunday through
Seabrooke and to New London, he and Tom had difficulty, by reason of the
strict observance of the day, in obtaining tavern accommodations. But,
as Tom remarked, the rule of not letting the left hand know what the
right one does may work both ways and concern the receiving as well as
the giving of money, and their coin at last found takers. At New London,
where the New York and Boston stage-coach was resting over Sunday, they
learned from its passengers that both the British and the provincials
had barriers on Boston Neck, that the provincials barred Charlestown
Neck as well, and that no one could come out of Boston without a pass
from General Gage, while the American army allowed no one to enter
Boston without a permit. The _Connecticut Gazette_ was full of war
tidings. All these signs of the times made Dick glow with delightful
anticipation. The two comrades crossed the Thames, by ferry, to Groton,
the next morning, and in the forenoon they passed by fair green slopes
and blossoming orchards to the village of Stonington, which lay drowsily
on a point of land that jutted out into a beautifully surrounded bay.
While they drank a pot of ale together at the tavern, they left the
horse Robin tied by the trough in the roadway, where he was viewed with
some admiration by two or three villagers and a well-dressed gentleman
who appeared to be a stranger in the place. Drinking rum and water, near
MacAlister and Dick, sat a sea-captain, who, after overhearing a part of
their talk, asked them why, inasmuch as they were in haste to reach
Cambridge, they did not take passage on his schooner, which was about to
sail that afternoon and would land at some port near Boston within the
territory under the provincials' control. Not waiting for their answer,
he asked them to drink with him, toasted the Continental Congress so
heartily, damned the King and Parliament so valiantly, and proved so
stout a patriot and jolly companion, that Dick, allured also by the
prospect of a sea-voyage, soon declared that for his part he would
prefer going by the schooner, and Tom offered no objection. When the
bargain had been made, a mild, pale-eyed old farmer came in, called Tom
and Dick aside, and asked if they would sell him their horse, or trade
it for another, as he was in need of just such an animal for his farm
work. He made so good an offer that Tom, foreseeing little use for the
horse on his joining the army, consented after very little haggling;
whereupon the farmer went home to get the coin from his strong-box.
"Whist!" said Tom to Dick, with sparkling eyes and a grim smile. "'Tis
the intervention of Providence again. No sooner do we plan to go by sea
than this honest farmer offers to take our horse off our hands, and
names a price I'd nae be sic a fool to ask, mysel'. 'Tis a sin and shame
to profit by sic innocence!"
They rejoined the sea-captain, whose convivial society made time so
rapid that the farmer was soon back with the money, which he emptied
from a stocking to the table. Tom rattled each piece and found it good,
then went out and untied the horse and placed the halter in the farmer's
hands,--saddle and bridle having gone into the bargain. Tom then
returned to the tavern, where he and Dick had dinner with the
sea-captain. When, after dinner, all three set forth to go aboard the
schooner, they saw the horse Robin being ridden up and down the road by
the well-dressed strange gentleman, who was apparently trying the
animal. The sea-captain saluted the rider as an acquaintance and asked
him when he was going back to Providence. In the short conversation that
ensued, it came out that the gentleman had just bought the horse from
the farmer who had owned him. "When I came here this morning, I had no
intention of buying a horse, though I really needed one," the gentleman
added. "I saw this beast in front of the tavern yonder, and said to the
farmer, who I didn't then know was the owner, that I would give so much
for it. I went about my business then, and when I got back, there was
the owner, offering me the horse at the price I had named."
"Begging your pardon," queried Tom MacAlister, with a queer look, "might
I inquire without offence what that price was?"
"Certainly," replied the Providence gentleman, and he mentioned an
amount once and a half as large as that for which the innocent farmer
had bought the horse from Tom.
Dick looked up at the sky, while MacAlister heaved a deep sigh, shook
his head dismally, and walked towards the schooner.
It was already laden, and the crew were busy with ropes and sails, under
the direction of the mate. The gentle lap of the waves, the creak of the
timbers, the straining of the ropes, and the flapping of canvas, had
their due effect on Dick in the lazy, sunny afternoon. When they had
cast off, and the little wharf and still town and green slopes swiftly
receded, while the creaking schooner sped under a light wind towards the
open ocean, Dick felt as in a kind of joyous dream. When that green
cape, the "Watch Hill" of the Indians, in fact and name, had been some
time passed, the wind changed both in quarter and force, and the mate
opined possible sudden bad weather from the east. Dick felt inward
threats of seasickness, but repressed them. Tom, the piper's son, showed
no sign of the slightest qualm. At nightfall, having feasted his stomach
with fresh-caught codfish, for he had promptly taken on a sea appetite,
and his eyes on the far-reaching billows, Dick retired with Tom to a
bunk beneath the hatches, and soon slept. When he awoke, he was in
pitchy darkness.
"Whist!" said a voice in his ear. "What do ye think, lad? For why did I
pinch ye then? Because, sticking my head out the hatchway for a taste of
air, I heard the rascal captain prattling with the scoundrel mate. This
vessel's bound straight for Boston, lad, and their cursed intention is
to hand us ower to General Gage for a pair of treasonable rebels! How
d'ye like that, now?"
"Let's scuttle his damned vessel first!" quoth Dick.
"Softly, Dickie boy! Aiblins it 'ull come to that, and aiblins we'll
find ither means. Devil a bit let him know we've spied their dirty
trick, mind! Providence is mostly our friend,--saving in the matter of
horses."
So the two kept their own counsel. Going on deck at dawn, they found the
captain so sharing the mate's fears of a bad blow,--that he had decided
to put back to Block Island. MacAlister sent Dick the faintest hint of a
wink. When the old harbor in the east side of that green rolling island
whose Indian name was Manisses was made, MacAlister said he and his
friend would like to go ashore to stretch their legs a bit. The captain,
doubtless deeming it not yet wise to arouse their suspicions, called a
fisherman's boat, which landed them from the schooner's place of
anchorage. They walked up from the landing to some fishermen's shingle
houses, well back from the beach, and speedily closed a bargain with a
sea-browned islander to take them to the mainland in his smack.
The fisherman, allured by the large price offered, and having less to
risk than the captain of the laden schooner, promptly embarked, under
the astonished eyes of the anchored captain, whom Tom gravely saluted
by placing thumb to nose and wiggling his fingers. The captain replied
by vociferously hoping to God the gale would blow the two travellers to
hell. The gale, however, continued to remain in abeyance, though the sky
was filled with clouds and the sea had an unaccountable choppy look and
feel. Tom, having questioned the fisherman regarding localities, now
proposed that the latter should take them to Newport, and doubled his
offer of pay. Induced by greed and by the confidence born of previous
good luck in all weathers at sea, the islander consented, regardless of
the capricious behavior of his sail and the sudden ominous quiverings of
his boat. Yet the storm held off.
Making clever use of the wind when it was brisk, the skipper had his
boat at evening off the precipitous southern coast of the island on
which Newport lies. As he was about to tack, in order to round the point
and so reach the town, which then occupied only a spot on the island's
western side, the storm came, almost without a moment's warning, and
bringing with it a pelting deluge of rain. Before the mariner could
regain any kind of mastery of his little craft, it had been dashed close
to the corrugated land. Dick and Tom escaped being thrown out of the
boat only by grasping its timbers and holding on with all strength. The
vessel was tossed about, for a time, like a cork. Once it seemed in the
act of hurling itself into a gaping chasm which rent the rough sea-wall
from the height of forty feet to unknown depths,--a cleft as wide as a
man is tall, and cut back into the land a hundred and fifty feet. But
the boat fell short of these grinning jaws and in another minute was far
away from them.
From the time when the storm first broke upon them to the time when, by
some strange freak of wind and sea, the smack was riding in a broad bay
east of the threatening sea-wall,--a direction therefrom exactly
opposite to that which the elements seemingly ought to have borne
it,--no one aboard spoke a word. But now the skipper, whose nasal voice
and distinct New England enunciation easily cut through the tumult of
wind and water, briefly expressed his intention of letting the sea carry
the boat straight towards the smooth beach ahead, there being one chance
of safety therein. Tom and Dick awaited the issue with more of curiosity
than of aught else, MacAlister looking exceedingly grim, as always in
times of peril, and Dick, as always in similar times, wearing a kind of
droll smile, as if the joke were on his courage for having got into such
a plight. Before either's senses had caught up to the passing
occurrence, there was a sudden tremendous shock underneath them, a
grinding through some gritty yielding substance, a rolling away of the
sea from the nearly overturned boat; and they found themselves high on
the beach, out of reach of the next wave, that rushed angrily in as if
to clutch them back again.
"'Twas the big brother did it," shouted the skipper, starting to draw
his craft farther up on the beach, and motioning for the aid of the
others.
"What's the big brother?" shouted Dick.
"The third wave. It be always the highest. We'll make the rest of the
voyage to Newport in these here craft," and he pointed down to his
boots.
They moved off through the rain accordingly, and, after a walk of a mile
and a half, arrived at the town, then a busy seaport with a goodly
commerce and a lively trade to the African coast. "For a cold wetting
outside, a hot wetting inside," said Tom, heading for the first tavern
sign; and the three rain-soaked voyagers promptly put his prescription
to the test, taking it in the shape of a steaming punch of kill-devil,
and looking the while through the tavern windows at the rain pouring
down upon the wharves and the vessels safe in harbor.
Next day's weather deterred the two travellers from taking the sloop
through Narragansett Bay for Providence, but they arrived at that town
on the 18th, and lodged in a tavern in the street that ran at the hill's
foot on the eastern side of the Cove, occupying a room that looked up
towards the street crossing the hillside and towards the college on the
summit beyond. Leaving Providence the next day, and going afoot with a
newly recruited body of troops bound for the provincial camp outside
Boston, they passed through Attleboro and other places where the signs
of war's proximity were increasingly plentiful, lodged for the night at
Walpole, and on the evening of May 20th reached the outskirts of the
camp of Rhode Island troops at Jamaica Plain.
Dick thrilled as his eyes ranged over the field dotted with tents, and
as they rested on the muskets and cannon,--for the Rhode Island men had
a train of artillery, and were well equipped, though as yet an
insubordinate lot. Wishing to be nearer the heart of affairs, Dick
hastened on to Roxbury, followed by the unobjecting MacAlister, and
there found several Massachusetts and Connecticut regiments quartered in
tents, log and earth huts, barns, taverns, and private houses. So well
did MacAlister know what steps to take, that on the following Monday the
two were accepted as volunteers, and quartered with Maxwell's company in
Prescott's regiment; were comfortably lodged in a dispossessed horse's
stall, and had traded off Dick's Irish officer's sword for a fiddle,
with two fowling-pieces thrown into the bargain.
On the previous day, Sunday, which was the day after that of the arrival
of Dick and Tom, a vessel had taken some British troops to Grape Island,
in Boston Harbor, to get the hay there stored. An alarm of bells and
guns had brought out the people of Weymouth, Hingham, and other towns,
and they had landed on the island with three companies sent by General
Thomas from Roxbury, driven the British away, burnt the hay, and taken
off a number of cattle. This un-Sabbath-like exploit was the talk of the
camp on Monday, and Dick deplored his not having heard of it in time to
have sought a part in it.
Captain Maxwell's men proved excellent hosts, and, though not on its
rolls, Dick and Tom shared the company's service and experiences in
every way. Colonel Prescott's regiment was soon ordered to Cambridge,
where was stationed the centre of the New England army, consisting of
fifteen Massachusetts and several Connecticut regiments, one of the
latter being General Putnam's. Here were the headquarters of General
Ward, the commander-in-chief, in a fine wooden residence near Harvard
College, and here was Colonel Gridley, the chief engineer, with most of
the artillery. Here were also most of the Yankees' fortifications, these
being yet in process of construction, and consisting mainly of
breastworks in Cambridge and on the road near the base of Prospect
Hill. Further north and northeast was the army's left wing, consisting
mainly of Colonels Stark's and Reed's New Hampshire regiments, and
stationed at Medford, Chelsea, and near Charlestown Neck.
It was the lot of Dick and MacAlister, as participants in the fortunes
of Maxwell's company, to occupy part of a log hut near Cambridge Common
and in sight of the college, and to have no share in the enterprises of
May 27th and 30th, in which American detachments went to Noddle's
Island, near Chelsea, and drove off sheep, cattle, and horses, on the
first occasion killing and wounding several British marines and
capturing twelve swivels and four four-pounders from a British schooner.
There was a skilful removal of sheep and cattle from Pettick's Island
also, on May 31st; and on the night of June 2d Major Greaton took from
Deer Island eight hundred sheep and a lot of cattle, and captured a
man-of-war's barge and four or five prisoners. Dick pined and chafed
that circumstance kept him out of all these interesting proceedings, but
Tom the Fiddler (a name promptly bestowed on him by Prescott's men)
consoled him with many a "Whist, man, bide a wee; there'll be bigger
business a-brewing!"
So Dick bided, with eager anticipations, although, in his inexperience,
heeding the grumbling of others, he thought the conviviality between
certain American and British officers on the man-of-war _Lively_, on
the occasion of an exchange of prisoners, June 6th, did not look much
like war. He was better pleased at the derision with which the raw
troops received General Gage's proclamation of June 12th, which somehow
promptly found its way into camp. In that document the British commander
pronounced those in arms and their abettors to be rebels and traitors,
and offered pardon to such as should lay down their arms, excepting
Samuel Adams and John Hancock. Continually there came exciting rumors
that the British intended to sally out of Boston to attack their
besiegers. But Dick did not know what the American commanders knew, on
June 13th,--that General Gage intended to take possession of Dorchester
Heights on the 18th; hence it was with surprise and a keen thrill that,
on Friday evening, the 16th, he obeyed the order to fall in, and marched
beside MacAlister with the company to Cambridge Common.
There he found that Maxwell's men were part of a detachment which
included other companies of Prescott's regiment, a part of Bridge's, a
part of Frye's, and a number of Connecticut troops under Captain
Knowlton, of Putnam's regiment. There was also some artillery, with
Colonel Gridley himself. And there stood the tall, powerful figure of
Colonel Prescott, wearing a long blue coat, his strong, stern face
shaded by the slightly turned up brim of a great round hat. The air was
charged with expectation, with a sense of great events at hand. The
force paraded on the Common, and then stood with heads bared and hands
resting on the guns, while a venerable-looking gentleman, whom a
whispering comrade named to Dick as President Langdon of Harvard
College, raised his hand heavenward and uttered a tremulous prayer for
the aid of the Lord of Hosts. There was a period of waiting, during
which the colonel consulted quietly with Gridley and the other officers,
while the suppressed excitement of the men made some appear moody and
abstracted, some nervous and sharp in their whispered speeches, others
extraordinarily calm in tone, others oddly jocular. Dick was one of the
last, in mood and countenance, but was so filled with emotion that he
dared not trust himself to speak. Tom was placidly grim and patient,
keeping his wits about him and exhibiting no change in tone or manner.
The fallen darkness gave the human figures, the distant trees and
scattered houses, the rolling landscape, a mysterious look. At last, at
nine o'clock, in low, quick tone, the order was given to march.
First went two sergeants, carrying dark lanterns; then strode Colonel
Prescott, at the head of the detachment. Behind the infantry and the
cannon, the shovels and other tools were borne, with which to make
entrenchments. Keeping strict silence, as they had been ordered, the
men trailed past Inman's Woods, Prospect Hill, and Cobble Hill, crossed
a level space (another common), and halted at Charlestown Neck. Here, in
the darkness, General Putnam rode up, and they were joined by other
officers also.
Presently Captain Nutting's company and a few Connecticut men separated
from the detachment and marched to the lower part of Charlestown, to act
there as a guard. The main force was soon on the march again, and
followed the road over a smooth round hill (the real Bunker's Hill), at
the base of which it halted again. Prescott gathered the officers around
him, and quietly made known the orders he had come to carry out.
Watching the group alertly, Dick saw the officers look or point, now at
the hill just crossed, now at the hill ahead, as if discussing which to
use for the purpose in hand. Finally the men were marched to the hill
ahead, from which Boston on its hills and hillsides could be seen
sleeping, across the wide mouth of the Charles River.
As soon as the men halted, Colonel Gridley began to move rapidly about
the summit of the hill, marking out lines and angles in the earth as he
did so. Guns were stacked by all but certain designated men, of whom
Dick and Tom were two, who remained under arms. Spades were distributed
to the others, who were soon turning up the earth along the lines
traced by Colonel Gridley. As General Putnam started to ride back over
the road they had followed, Captain Maxwell received an order from
Colonel Prescott, and in turn gave the word of march to a party of his
men, in which were numbered Dick and Tom.
This little force followed the captain down into Charlestown, whose
commodious houses among the trees were now deserted. When the party
neared the Old Ferry, which led to Boston, the men were assigned to
different posts along the shore, to watch the motions of the enemy, on
their men-of-war in the river and in Boston opposite, during the night.
With what delicious feelings did Dick pace the shore, to the sound of
the lapping water, in sight of the dark looming vessels of the foe, in
hearing of the British sentinel's voice who passed the "All's well" on
to his comrade! Twice during the night Colonel Prescott came down with
another officer to see what might be seen from the shore. It was almost
dawn when Tom and Dick were marched back to the hill, where the men had
been doing beaver work in the night.
A great change had been made in the appearance of the hill. Mounds of
earth six feet high now enclosed the crest on three sides and most of
the fourth. A rough breastwork had been thrown up as if in continuation
of one of the sides of this redoubt. On the inner side of these works
rough platforms of wood and earth were being made, and Dick and Tom were
now assigned to aid in this duty, the rule of the night having been that
men should dig and mount guard alternately. Dawn came, calm and clear,
while the men were working at the spades. As both mounted a pile of
earth, to level it, Dick took the opportunity to look down over the
parapet, towards Boston. At that instant there came a flash of fire and
a belch of smoke from the port-hole of a vessel in the river, a sullen
boom, and a spattering of earth and dust in the near hillside.
"Bedad," said old Tom, looking down towards the man-of-war, "that
vessel's called the _Lively_; and frae the way she says good morning I'm
thinking we're like to have a lively day of it!"