Daughters of the Revolution and Their Times

by Charles Carleton Coffin

  XX.

  WHEN THE TIDE WAS GOING OUT.

  Tom Brandon, lying upon the green grass where the provincials hadhalted after the retreat, recalled the events of the day with hisfellow soldiers, especially the last struggle. He had fired away hispowder, as had many others. He had no bayonet, and could only defendhimself with the butt of his gun. He remembered how bravely DoctorWarren behaved, telling the men to keep cool; how he took bandagesfrom his pockets, and bound up the wounds of those disabled at thebeginning; how a Britisher shot him down and stabbed him with abayonet. As for himself, he hardly knew what he did, except to fighttill almost the last of his comrades left the redoubt, when he leapedover the breastwork, and walked towards the British, approaching thewestern side as if to give himself up, then turned and ran as fast ashe could, with the bullets whizzing past him.[73] He wondered ifLieutenant Walden had escaped unharmed. He walked a little way toColonel Stark's regiment to inquire.

  [Footnote 73: The experience of Tom Brandon was that of Eliakim Walkerof Tewksbury, Mass., as narrated by him to the author:--

  "I had fired away nearly all my powder before the last attack. I firedand was reloading my gun, when I heard a hurrah behind me. I lookedround and saw the redcoats leaping over the breastwork. I saw a manbeat out the brains of a Britisher with the butt of his gun; the nextmoment they stabbed him. Seeing I couldn't get out that way, I jumpedover the breastwork and ran towards Pigot's men, a rod or two, thenturned and ran as fast as I could the other way. The bullets whizzedpast me, or struck the ground around me. I reached a rail fence, andpitched over it. A bullet struck a rail at the moment. I fell on theother side, laid still till I got my breath, then up and legged itagain, and got away."]

  "I fear," said Captain Daniel Moore, "that Lieutenant Walden has beenkilled. During the day he took a conspicuous part. He was sent byGeneral Ward to summon us from Medford. He carried several messagesfrom Colonel Stark to Prescott and Putnam, and was with the men of hiscompany at times. He was with us just before the last assault, andhastened towards the redoubt a moment before the redcoats swarmed overit. I fear the worst, for he was very brave."

  The people of Boston never had beheld such a scene as that of the dayfollowing the battle. The sun shone from a cloudless sky, but its raysfell upon the smouldering ruins of once happy homes; upon dying anddead soldiers; upon men groaning in agony as they were transportedacross the Charles to houses taken for hospitals. The woundedrebels--thirty-six in number--were laid upon the bare floor of thejail. They were to be treated as felons, and given prison fare.

  Although the genial rays of the sun shone into the spacious apartmentsof the Province House, they gave no comfort to Thomas Gage,commander-in-chief of his majesty's forces in the Colonies. He waschagrined over the outcome of the battle, the losses sustained. Hisown officers were criticising the plan of attack. The soldiers said hehad slaughtered their comrades. The people were condemning him forhaving burned Charlestown. He was conscious that he had gone down inthe estimation of those who had given him loyal support. He knew thathis military reputation had suffered an eclipse. Women were denouncinghim as cruel and inhuman. The conviction came to General Gage that hewas shut up in Boston, and that any attempt upon the position of therebels at that point, or upon the hills beyond Charlestown, wouldresult in disaster.

  It was cheering news to Tom Brandon and all the soldiers of theprovincial army, a few days later, to learn that Congress, sitting inPhiladelphia, had selected George Washington of Virginia to commandthem. His coming was evidence that all the Colonies had united toresist the aggressions of the king. He fought bravely to drive theFrench from the valley of the Ohio, and saved the army in the battlenear Fort Du Quesne. General Gage had been with him in thatengagement, but now they would command opposing armies.

  It was a beautiful summer morning, the 3d of July, when the regimentsin Cambridge and some of the troops from Roxbury assembled on theCommon at Cambridge to receive General Washington. Tom Brandon saw atall, broad-shouldered man, sitting erect on a white horse, wearing ablue uniform trimmed with buff, accompanied by General Putnam, GeneralWard, and a large number of officers, ride out from General Ward'sheadquarters and take position under a great elm-tree.

  "Attention, the army!" shouted General Ward.

  The officers repeated it, and every soldier stood erect.

  "Salute your commander, Major-General George Washington!"

  Where Washington assumed Command.]

  The soldiers presented arms, the fifes began to play, the drums torattle. General Washington lifted his hat, bowed right and left, drewhis sword from its scabbard, and rode along the line. The soldiers sawdignity, decision, and energy, yet calmness, in all his movements.They knew he had a great plantation on the bank of the Potomac Riverin Virginia; that he could live at ease and enjoy life in hunting andfishing at his own pleasure, but he had left all at the call ofCongress to take command of the army. His coming gave them confidenceand made them more than ever determined to drive the redcoats out ofBoston. They kept such a strict guard that the British could notobtain fresh provisions, neither could the inhabitants of the town. Inthe home of Captain Brandon, the only meat to be had was the salt porkand beef in the cellar, or the flounders caught by Mark Antony,fishing from the wharves.

  Even General Gage could have no great variety of food. In contrast tothis, Tom Brandon and his fellow soldiers were living luxuriously,having fresh beef three times a week, with flour, peas, beans, rice,potatoes, onions, cabbages, turnips, beets, spruce beer, and grog, andplenty of tobacco.

  Tom took his turn standing guard, and found pleasure in chaffing thelobsters on picket, telling them what he had for dinner. A thoughtcame to him,--to write a letter and hire a redcoat to take it to hisfather. He wrote about the battle; how he saw the family on the roofof the house, from the redoubt, just before it began; how he escaped;how Robert Walden went down in the thick of the fight and probably hadbeen buried with the others somewhere on Bunker Hill. The Britishergladly agreed to take the letter to Copp's Hill for the plug oftobacco which Tom gave him.

  Mark Antony, the following afternoon, wondered what the soldier whowas rattling the knocker on the front door might want.

  "Here's a letter for your master, Captain Brandon. One of the rebsgave it to me. Maybe it's from his son," said the soldier.

  "A letter from Massa Tom," shouted the negro, dancing into thesitting-room.

  Captain Brandon thanked the soldier, and told Mark Antony to mix atoddy for him.

  It was gratifying to know that Tom was safe, but sad the informationthat Lieutenant Walden was numbered among the killed.

  * * * * *

  The fair brow of Ruth Newville through the summer months had beengrowing whiter day by day.

  "I fear she is not well," said Mr. Newville.

  "The battle, the burning of Charlestown,--the terrible spectacle wastoo much for her nerves," Mrs. Newville replied.

  "Ought we not to call in the doctor?"

  "No, she is not sick; you know how sympathetic she is. Don't youremember what she said when she saw the town in flames,--even speakingdisrespectfully of General Gage, and swooning when the king's troopswon the victory. The burning of so many houses has unstrung hernerves. I trust she will soon get over it. Since the battle she hasspent most of her time in her chamber and has pleaded indispositionwhen gentlemen, especially officers, have called."

  "Miss Ruth wants you to come up de stairs to her chamber," saidPompey, when Berinthia called at the Newville home to show her theletter Tom had written.

  "So you have heard from Tom?"

  "Yes, and he says that Robert Walden was killed at the very last ofthe battle."

  "It is as I said. I saw him go down and their feet trample him in thedust!"

  "Was it Robert you saw?"

  "Yes. With the telescope I had seen him all through the battle,walking unharmed where the bullets were flying thickest."

  "You did not tell us you saw him." />
  "No. I did not want to alarm you."

  "And you saw him when he was killed?"

  "I saw his sword flashing in the sunlight as the men in scarlet closedaround him. A half dozen were thrusting with their bayonets, and yethe kept them at bay till they shot him."

  Tears had wet her pillow, but none glistened on her eyelids now.Through the sleepless hours she had seen the stars go down beneath thewestern horizon; in like manner something bright and shining had goneout of her life. The stars would reappear; but that which had made itbeautiful to live never would return. The words "I love you" wouldnever be spoken by a voice forever silent.

  Berinthia kissed the tremulous lips.

  "I see it now, Ruth, dear; you loved him."

  "Yes, I loved him. He was so noble and true, how could I help it? Henever said he loved me, and yet I think down deep in his heart he hada place for me. I never have confessed it before, not even to myself.I say it to you, because I should die if I could not have some one towhom I could tell my sorrow. Let it be our secret, ours alone."

  Through the sultry days of August the streets were silent, except thebeating of drums as other regiments arrived, or as soldiers dying fromwounds or disease were borne to their burial. The distress of thepeople could but increase. The provincials wounded in the battle werestill held as felons in the jail. They were dying very fast. It was aspirited letter which the British commander received from GeneralWashington, informing him that unless the prisoners were treated morehumanely, British prisoners would be dealt with accordingly.[74]

  [Footnote 74: Reverend Andrew Eliot, minister of the New North Church,remained in Boston. The following is from a letter to Samuel Eliotunder date of September 6, 1776: "I am at length allowed to visit theprisoners. They are only eleven out of thirty." _Proceedings Mass.Hist. Soc._ vol. xvi.]

  Many times Abraham Duncan asked permission to see the prisonersconfined in the jail, that he might minister to their needs and dosomething for their comfort and welfare, but as often had he beenrefused by the gruff red-coated sergeant in charge. Once more, afterlearning what General Washington had done, he asked permission,received a pass from the provost-marshal, and was admitted. He saw thefloor was covered with prostrate forms, men with sunken eyes,emaciated hands, a few with old quilts beneath them, others upon thebare planks. There were festering wounds and cheeks hot with the flushof fever. Some of the sufferers gazed upon him wonderingly, othersheeded not his coming. One, whose uniform was still soiled with thedust of the battlefield, lay with closed eyes, minding not hispresence.

  "His wound has about healed, but he is going with fever. He wasfine-looking when brought here the day after the battle, but he isabout done for. After to-morrow we shall have one less to exchangewith Mr. Washington," said the sergeant.

  Abraham stooped and parted the matted beard from the fevered lips, andlaid back the tangled hair from the brow. The eyes wearily opened,gazed languidly, then wonderingly.

  "Do you know me?"

  The words were faintly spoken.

  "Know you! What, Robert Walden!"

  There was not strength in the arm sufficient to lift the weary hand.Abraham grasped it, looked one moment at the closing eyes, andhastened from the room. Breathless with running, he reached theBrandon home, telling the story.

  "We must have him brought here instantly; he must not die there," saidMr. Brandon, who accompanied Abraham to the jail, only to find thatthe sergeant in charge could not permit the removal. Sadly theyreturned.

  "I must tell Ruth about it," said Berinthia, putting on her bonnet andhastening from the house.

  Ruth was sitting in her chamber. A strange, yet sweet peace had comeinto her soul. The heart that had struggled so sorely was at rest. Shewas repeating to herself the words spoken by the world's best friend,"My peace I leave you; not as the world giveth, give I unto you."

  The summer birds were no longer singing; the swallows had gone. Themelocotoons were no longer upon the trees, neither the early pears andripening apples; the soldiers had plucked them. Her father's face wasgrowing grave; her mother's step less elastic. There was sorrow anddesolation around her, and yet she was happy. She saw Berinthiawalking up the path.

  "Come right up," the cheerful invitation from the chamber window.

  "Oh, Ruth, I've something to tell you. He's alive!"

  "Who?"

  "Robert--a prisoner in the jail."

  She told the story; he was still breathing, but dying. Her father hadbeen to get him, but no prisoner could be removed without an orderfrom General Gage.

  "We will go to the Province House," said Ruth quietly, rising andputting on her bonnet.

  Her calmness, the manifest quiet, the business-like procedure of Ruth,amazed Berinthia. They hastened to the governor's home. General Gagereceived them courteously. He was pleased to welcome Miss Newville tothe Province House, and recalled with pleasure the evening when he hadthe honor to escort her to her father's hospitable table.

  "I have a favor to ask," said Ruth, "which I am sure your excellencywill be pleased to grant. One of your prisoners, Lieutenant RobertWalden, in the jail, is a cousin of my friend Miss Brandon. I learnthat he is far gone with fever and seemingly has not many hours tolive, and I have come to ask if you will kindly permit his removal toher home?"

  "Most certainly, my dear Miss Newville; it gives me pleasure to dothis little office for you and your friend," he replied.

  General Gage touched a bell and a sergeant entered the apartment.

  "Sergeant, take two men of the guard, with a bier, and accompany theseladies to the jail to remove one of the sick prisoners, as they shalldirect. See to it that the man is gently handled. Here is the order ofdelivery for the officer in charge."

  "You are very kind, General, and I thank you not only for MissBrandon, but for myself," said Ruth.

  Never before had the people living along Hanover Street seen such aspectacle as that a few minutes later,--a sergeant in advance, twosoldiers bearing a rebel officer, worn and wasted by disease, his lifeebbing away, and two ladies looking anxiously to see if the flickeringlife would last a little longer.

  In Tom's chamber the soiled uniform was removed, the matted hair laidback, the parched lips moistened, the unconscious invalid clothed inlinen white and clean. A doctor came, bowed his ear to Robert's breastto catch the beating of the heart, and moistened the parched lips.

  "Fever has burned him up. The tide is nearly out. It is only aquestion of a few hours," he said.

  Through the night, Ruth, sitting by his bedside, in the calm andstillness, heard the clock strike the passing hours. At times sheheard, through the open windows, the faint ripple of the surf rollingin from the restless sea. Soon for him the waves of life would breakupon a shoreless ocean. It was her hand that fanned him; that wipedthe death-damp from his forehead; dropped the refreshing cordial onhis tongue; held the mirror to his nostrils to ascertain if still,perchance, he breathed. The tides of the ocean had reached theirfarthest ebb and were setting towards the flood once more, bringingsweet and refreshing odors from the ever-heaving sea. The night windswere drying the dampness from the marble brow. Day was dawning, itsamber light flowing along the horizon. The fluttering heart wasbeating more strongly; more deep the breathing.

  "Oh, 'Rinthia! He isn't going; he's coming back. God has heard myprayer," said Ruth.

  The sun was rising, and its rays streaming into the chamber. Theclosed eyes slowly opened and gazed wonderingly. Where was he? Whatthe meaning of this flood of light? No longer straggling beams throughiron-grated windows, no longer the bare floor and earth-pollutedgarments, but linen white and clean. Was it an angel bending overhim,--whose eyes of love and infinite tenderness looked into his own?Was it one of the seraphim that pressed her lips to his, that droppedtears upon his cheeks? Were there tears in Heaven? Surely this must beParadise! The eyes closed, the vision faded, but the angel still wasfanning the fevered cheeks.

  As shone the face of Moses, the lawgiver of Israel, when he descend
edfrom the Mount of God, so the countenance of Ruth Newville wasilluminated by a divine radiance when once more she entered her home.During the night she had been transfigured.

  "What has happened, daughter?" her father asked.

  "Where have you been? what is it?" the exclamation of the mother,gazing with wonder and amazement upon the face of her child.

  "Sit down, please, and I will tell you. I must go back to thebeginning. Do you remember a day, six years ago, one Septemberafternoon, when I came into the house greatly agitated? and when youasked, as you have now, what had happened, I would not make reply?"

  "Yes, Ruth, and you have been a mystery to me ever since thatafternoon," said Mrs. Newville.

  "I would not tell you then that I had been insulted by ruffiansoldiers, that a stranger had rescued me from their clutches, for Iknew it would trouble you. Who the gentleman was I did not know. Ionly saw he was noble and manly. I thanked him and hastened away.Right after that we had our last garden party, to which 'Rinthiabrought her cousin, Mr. Walden, when I discovered it was he whorescued me."

  "Mr. Walden!" Mrs. Newville exclaimed.

  "A noble young man! I always liked his appearance," said Mr. Newville.

  "Why didn't you tell us about it, Ruth, so we could have shown himsome attention?" Mrs. Newville asked.

  "It is not too late to do it now, mother."

  She told the story, that he was a lieutenant, a prisoner, wounded,hovering between life and death; how she had brought about his removalfrom the jail to the Brandon home, watched over him during the night,wondering if the next moment would not be the last; that just beforesunrise the tide had turned and he was going to live.

  "You saving him! Wonderful!" Mrs. Newville exclaimed.

  "It is just like you, daughter," said the father, clasping his armsaround her and kissing her lips.

  "I will go and help care for him, even if he is a rebel," said Mrs.Newville.

  "Ruth, daughter," said the father, when they were alone, "did you keepthat to yourself because you thought it would trouble us to hear thatthe soldiers of King George were vile ruffians?"

  "Yes, father; I knew your loyalty to the king, and I would not disturbit. I did not want to pain you. And do you wonder I have hated thesight of a redcoat ever since? But, father dear, it was not theassault of the villains that led me to sympathize with theprovincials, as you know I have done, but the conviction that theywere in the right and the king and his ministers in the wrong. I canunderstand why you and mother do not see the conflict as I see it.Your high sense of honor, your oath of allegiance to the king, yourposition as an official, have made you loyal and true to King George,and you cannot see the side espoused by the people. This attempt ofthe ministry and king to subdue them by force of arms, by burningtheir houses, by treating them as felons, as they have Robert Walden,thrusting them into jail, allowing them to die uncared for, will fail;justice and right are on their side. I know it pains you, father dear,to have me say this, but I could not, even for the sake of pleasingyou, be false to myself."

  "I would not have you be false to yourself, my child, but always trueto your convictions, no matter what may happen." He drew her to himand tenderly caressed her.

  "I see it now, daughter. For a long while I have not been able tocomprehend you, but it is plain at last."

  They sat in silence, her head pillowed on his breast, his arm aroundher.

  "Ruth, daughter, I suspect you have not told me all; you need notunfold anything you may choose to keep to yourself, but I canunderstand that a very tender feeling may have sprung up between Mr.Walden and yourself."

  "He never has said that he loved me. You would not have me ask him ifhe does, would you, father dear?" she said playfully, patting his lipswith her fingers.

  "I understand, daughter. Things of the heart are sacred and not to betalked about," he replied, kissing her once more and feeling as neverbefore the greatness and richness of the treasure he had in her.

  "Ah! I see," he said to himself as he paced the room. "It is allclear, now, why Lord Upperton and the rest of them have had nochance."