Part 19 (1/2)

There was General Putnam, too, who was known all over New England by the name of Old Put.”

”Was it he who killed the wolf?” inquired Charley.

”The same,” said Grandfather; ”and he had done good service in the Old French War. His occupation was that of a farmer; but he left his plough in the furrow, at the news of Lexington battle. Then there was General Gates, who afterward gained great renown at Saratoga, and lost it again at Camden. General Greene, of Rhode Island, was likewise at the council.

Was.h.i.+ngton soon discovered him to be one of the best officers in the army.”

When the Generals were all a.s.sembled, Was.h.i.+ngton consulted them about a plan for storming the English batteries. But it was their unanimous opinion that so perilous an enterprise ought not to be attempted. The army, therefore, continued to besiege Boston, preventing the enemy from obtaining supplies of provisions, but without taking any immediate measures to get possession of the town. In this manner, the summer, autumn, and winter pa.s.sed away.

”Many a night, doubtless,” said Grandfather, ”after Was.h.i.+ngton had been all day on horseback, galloping from one post of the army to another, he used to sit in our great chair, wrapt in earnest thought. Had you seen him, you might have supposed that his whole mind was fixed on the blue china tiles, which adorned the old fas.h.i.+oned fire-place. But, in reality, he was meditating how to capture the British army, or drive it out of Boston. Once, when there was a hard frost, he formed a scheme to cross the Charles River on the ice. But the other Generals could not be persuaded that there was any prospect of success.”

”What were the British doing, all this time?” inquired Charley.

”They lay idle in the town,” replied Grandfather. ”General Gage had been recalled to England, and was succeeded by Sir William Howe. The British army, and the inhabitants of Boston, were now in great distress. Being shut up in the town so long, they had consumed almost all their provisions, and burnt up all their fuel. The soldiers tore down the Old North church, and used its rotten boards and timbers for fire-wood. To heighten their distress, the small pox broke out. They probably lost far more men by cold, hunger, and sickness, than had been slain at Lexington and Bunker Hill.”

”What a dismal time for the poor women and children!” exclaimed Clara.

”At length,” continued Grandfather, ”in March, 1776, General Was.h.i.+ngton, who had now a good supply of powder, began a terrible cannonade and bombardment from Dorchester heights. One of the cannon b.a.l.l.s which he fired into the town, struck the tower of the Brattle Street church, where it may still be seen. Sir William Howe made preparations to cross over in boats, and drive the Americans from their batteries, but was prevented by a violent gale and storm. General Was.h.i.+ngton next erected a battery on Nook's hill, so near the enemy, that it was impossible for them to remain in Boston any longer.”

”Hurra! Hurra!” cried Charley, clapping his hands triumphantly. ”I wish I had been there, to see how sheepish the Englishmen looked.”

And, as Grandfather thought that Boston had never witnessed a more interesting period than this, when the royal power was in its death agony, he determined to take a peep into the town, and imagine the feelings of those who were quitting it forever.

Chapter IX

”Alas! for the poor tories!” said Grandfather. ”Until the very last morning after Was.h.i.+ngton's troops had shown themselves on Nook's hill, these unfortunate persons could not believe that the audacious rebels, as they called the Americans, would ever prevail against King George's army.

But, when they saw the British soldiers preparing to embark on board of the s.h.i.+ps of war, then they knew that they had lost their country. Could the patriots have known how bitter were their regrets, they would have forgiven them all their evil deeds, and sent a blessing after them as they sailed away from their native sh.o.r.e.”

In order to make the children sensible of the pitiable condition of these men, Grandfather singled out Peter Oliver, chief justice of Ma.s.sachusetts under the crown, and imagined him walking through the streets of Boston, on the morning before he left it forever.

This effort of Grandfather's fancy may be called-

THE TORY'S FAREWELL

Old Chief Justice Oliver threw on his red cloak, and placed his three-cornered hat on the top of his white wig. In this garb he intended to go forth and take a parting look at objects that had been familiar to him from his youth. Accordingly, he began his walk in the north part of the town, and soon came to Faneuil Hall. This edifice, the cradle of liberty, had been used by the British officers as a play-house.

”Would that I could see its walls crumble to dust!” thought the chief justice; and, in the bitterness of his heart, he shook his fist at the famous hall. ”There began the mischief which now threatens to rend asunder the British empire. The seditious harangues of demagogues in Faneuil Hall, have made rebels of a loyal people, and deprived me of my country.”

He then pa.s.sed through a narrow avenue, and found himself in King Street, almost in the very spot which, six years before, had been reddened by the blood of the Boston Ma.s.sacre. The chief justice stept cautiously, and shuddered, as if he were afraid, that, even now, the gore of his slaughtered countrymen might stain his feet.

Before him rose the town house, on the front of which were still displayed the royal arms. Within that edifice he had dispensed justice to the people, in the days when his name was never mentioned without honor.

There, too, was the balcony whence the trumpet had been sounded, and the proclamation read to an a.s.sembled mult.i.tude, whenever a new king of England ascended the throne.

”I remember-I remember,” said Chief Justice Oliver to himself, ”when his present most sacred majesty was proclaimed. Then how the people shouted.

Each man would have poured out his life-blood to keep a hair of King George's head from harm. But now, there is scarcely a tongue in all New England that does not imprecate curses on his name. It is ruin and disgrace to love him. Can it be possible that a few fleeting years have wrought such a change!”

It did not occur to the chief justice, that nothing but the most grievous tyranny could so soon have changed the people's hearts. Hurrying from the spot, he entered Cornhill, as the lower part of Was.h.i.+ngton Street was then called. Opposite to the town house was the waste foundation of the Old North church. The sacrilegious hands of the British soldiers had torn it down, and kindled their barrack fires with the fragments.