True Stories of History and Biography Part 19

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.

Further on, he pa.s.sed beneath the tower of the Old South. The threshold of this sacred edifice was worn by the iron tramp of horse's feet: for the interior had been used as a riding-school and rendezvous, for a regiment of dragoons. As the chief justice lingered an instant at the door, a trumpet sounded within, and the regiment came clattering forth, and galloped down the street. They were proceeding to the place of embarkation.

"Let them go!" thought the chief justice, with somewhat of an old puritan feeling in his breast. "No good can come of men who desecrate the house of G.o.d."

He went on a few steps further, and paused before the Province House. No range of brick stores had then sprung up to hide the mansion of the royal governors from public view. It had a s.p.a.cious court-yard, bordered with trees, and enclosed with a wrought-iron fence. On the cupola, that surmounted the edifice, was the gilded figure of an Indian chief, ready to let fly an arrow from his bow. Over the wide front door was a balcony, in which the chief justice had often stood, when the governor and high officers of the province showed themselves to the people.

While Chief Justice Oliver gazed sadly at the Province House, before which a sentinel was pacing, the double leaves of the door were thrown open, and Sir William Howe made his appearance. Behind him came a throng of officers, whose steel scabbards clattered against the stones, as they hastened down the court-yard. Sir William Howe was a dark-complexioned man, stern and haughty in his deportment. He stepped as proudly, in that hour of defeat, as if he were going to receive the submission of the rebel general.

The chief justice bowed and accosted him.

"This is a grievous hour for both of us, Sir William," said he.

"Forward! gentlemen," said Sir William Howe to the officers who attended him: "we have no time to hear lamentations now!"

And, coldly bowing, he departed. Thus, the chief justice had a foretaste of the mortifications which the exiled New Englanders afterwards suffered from the haughty Britons. They were despised even by that country which they had served more faithfully than their own.

A still heavier trial awaited Chief Justice Oliver, as he pa.s.sed onward from the Province House. He was recognized by the people in the street.

They had long known him as the descendant of an ancient and honorable family. They had seen him sitting, in his scarlet robes, upon the judgment seat. All his life long, either for the sake of his ancestors, or on account of his own dignified station and unspotted character, he had been held in high respect. The old gentry of the province were looked upon almost as n.o.blemen, while Ma.s.sachusetts was under royal government.

But now, all hereditary reverence for birth and rank was gone. The inhabitants shouted in derision, when they saw the venerable form of the old chief justice. They laid the wrongs of the country, and their own sufferings during the siege-their hunger, cold, and sickness-partly to his charge, and to that of his brother Andrew, and his kinsman Hutchinson. It was by their advice that the king had acted, in all the colonial troubles.

But the day of recompense was come.

"See the old tory!" cried the people, with bitter laughter. "He is taking his last look at us. Let him show his white wig among us an hour hence, and we'll give him a coat of tar and feathers!"

The chief justice, however, knew that he need fear no violence, so long as the British troops were in possession of the town. But alas! it was a bitter thought, that he should leave no loving memory behind him. His forefathers, long after their spirits left the earth, had been honored in the affectionate remembrance of the people. But he, who would henceforth be dead to his native land, would have no epitaph save scornful and vindictive words. The old man wept.

"They curse me-they invoke all kinds of evil on my head!" thought he, in the midst of his tears. "But, if they could read my heart, they would know that I love New England well. Heaven bless her, and bring her again under the rule of our gracious king! A blessing, too, on these poor, misguided people!"

The chief justice flung out his hands with a gesture, as if he were bestowing a parting benediction on his countrymen. He had now reached the southern portion of the town, and was far within the range of cannon shot from the American batteries. Close beside him was the broad stump of a tree, which appeared to have been recently cut down. Being weary and heavy at heart, he was about to sit down upon the stump.

Suddenly, it flashed upon his recollection, that this was the stump of Liberty Tree! The British soldiers had cut it down, vainly boasting that they could as easily overthrow the liberties of America. Under its shadowy branches, ten years before, the brother of Chief Justice Oliver had been compelled to acknowledge the supremacy of the people, by taking the oath which they prescribed. This tree was connected with all the events that had severed America from England.

"Accursed tree!" cried the chief justice, gnas.h.i.+ng his teeth: for anger overcame his sorrow. "Would that thou hadst been left standing, till Hanc.o.c.k, Adams, and every other traitor, were hanged upon thy branches!

Then fitly mightest thou have been hewn down, and cast into the flames."

He turned back, hurried to Long Wharf without looking behind him, embarked with the British troops for Halifax, and never saw his country more.

Throughout the remainder of his days, Chief Justice Oliver was agitated with those same conflicting emotions, that had tortured him, while taking his farewell walk through the streets of Boston. Deep love and fierce resentment burned in one flame within his breast. Anathemas struggled with benedictions. He felt as if one breath of his native air would renew his life, yet would have died, rather than breathe the same air with rebels.

And such, likewise, were the feelings of the other exiles, a thousand in number, who departed with the British army. Were they not the most unfortunate of men?

"The misfortunes of these exiled tories," observed Laurence, "must have made them think of the poor exiles of Acadia."

"They had a sad time of it, I suppose," said Charley. "But I choose to rejoice with the patriots, rather than be sorrowful with the tories.