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Title: True to the Old Flag
       A Tale of the American War of Independence

Author: G. A. Henty

Release Date: September, 2005 [EBook #8859]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on August 15, 2003]

Edition: 10

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TRUE TO THE OLD FLAG ***




Produced by Distributed Proofreaders




TRUE TO THE OLD FLAG

A TALE OF THE AMERICAN WAR
OF INDEPENDENCE




By
G. A. HENTY

Author Of "With Clive In India," "The Dragon And The Raven,"
"With Lee In Virginia," "By England's Aid," "In The Reign Of Terror,"
"With Wolfe In Canada," "Captain Bayley's Heir," Etc.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER

I.      A FRONTIER FARM

II.     AN INDIAN RAID

III.    THE REDSKIN ATTACK

IV.     THE FIGHT AT LEXINGTON

V.      BUNKER'S HILL

VI.     SCOUTING

VII.    IN THE FOREST

VIII.   QUEBEC

IX.     THE SURPRISE OF TRENTON

X.      A TREACHEROUS PLANTER

XI.     THE CAPTURE OF PHILADELPHIA

XII.    THE SETTLER'S HUT

XIII.   SARATOGA

XIV.    RESCUED!

XV.     THE ISLAND REFUGE

XVI.    THE GREAT STORM

XVII.   THE SCOUT'S STORY

XVIII.  THE SIEGE OF SAVANNAH

XIX.    IN AN AMERICAN PRISON

XX.     THE WAR IN SOUTH CAROLINA

XXI.    THE END OF THE STRUGGLE




PREFACE.


MY DEAR LADS:

You have probably been accustomed to regard the war between England
and her colonies in America as one in which we were not only beaten
but, to some extent, humiliated. Owing to the war having been an
unsuccessful one for our arms, British writers have avoided the
subject, and it has been left for American historians to describe.
These, writing for their own countrymen, and drawing for their facts
upon gazettes, letters, and other documents emanating from one side
only, have, naturally, and no doubt insensibly, given a very strong
color to their own views of the events, and English writers have been
too much inclined to accept their account implicitly. There is,
however, another and very different side to the story, and this I
have endeavored to show you. The whole of the facts and details
connected with the war can be relied upon as accurate. They are drawn
from the valuable account of the struggle written by Major Steadman,
who served under Howe, Clinton, and Cornwallis, and from other
authentic contemporary sources. You will see that, although
unsuccessful,--and success was, under the circumstances, a sheer
impossibility,--the British troops fought with a bravery which was
never exceeded, and that their victories in actual conflict vastly
outnumbered their defeats. Indeed, it may be doubted whether in any
war in which this country has been engaged have our soldiers
exhibited the qualities of endurance and courage to a higher degree.

Yours very sincerely,

G. A. HENTY.






TRUE TO THE OLD FLAG.




CHAPTER I.


A FRONTIER FARM.


"Concord, March 1, 1774.

"MY DEAR COUSIN: I am leaving next week with my husband for England,
where we intend to pass some time visiting his friends. John and I
have determined to accept the invitation you gave us last summer for
Harold to come and spend a few months with you. His father thinks
that a great future will, ere many years, open in the West, and that
it is therefore well the boy should learn something of frontier life.
For myself, I would rather that he stayed quietly at home, for he is
at present over-fond of adventure; but as my husband is meditating
selling his estate here and moving West, it is perhaps better for him.

"Massachusetts is in a ferment, as indeed are all the Eastern States,
and the people talk openly of armed resistance against the
Government. My husband, being of English birth and having served in
the king's army, cannot brook what he calls the rebellious talk which
is common among his neighbors, and is already on bad terms with many
around us. I myself am, as it were, a neutral. As an American woman,
it seems to me that the colonists have been dealt with somewhat
hardly by the English Parliament, and that the measures of the latter
have been high-handed and arbitrary. Upon the other hand, I naturally
incline toward my husband's views. He maintains that, as the king's
army has driven out the French, and gives protection to the colony,
it is only fair that the colonists should contribute to its expenses.
The English ask for no contributions toward the expense of their own
country, but demand that, at least, the expenses of the protection of
the colony shall not be charged upon the heavily taxed people at
home. As to the law that the colony shall trade only with the mother
country, my husband says that this is the rule in the colonies of
Spain, France, Portugal, and the Netherlands, and that the people
here, who can obtain what land they choose and till it without rent,
should not grumble at paying this small tax to the mother country.
However it be, I fear that troubles will come, and, this place being
the head and focus of the party hostile to England, my husband,
feeling himself out of accord with all his neighbors, saying a few
loyal gentlemen like himself, is thinking much and seriously of
selling our estate here and of moving away into the new countries of
the West, where he will be free from all the disputation and
contentious talk which occupies men's time here.

"Indeed, cousin, times have sadly changed since you were staying here
with us five years ago. Then our life was a peaceful and quiet one;
now there is nothing but wrangling and strife. The dissenting clergy
are, as my husband says was the case in England before the great
civil war, the fomenters of this discontent. There are many
busybodies who pass their time in stirring up the people by violent
harangues and seditious writings; therefore everyone takes one side
or the other, and there is neither peace nor comfort in life.

"Accustomed as I have always been to living in ease and affluence, I
dread, somewhat, the thought of a life on the Indian frontier. One
has heard so many dreadful stories of Indian fights and massacres
that I tremble a little at the prospect; but I do not mention this to
John, for as other women are, like yourself, brave enough to support
these dangers, I would not appear a coward in his eyes. You will see,
cousin, that, as this prospect is before us, it is well that Harold
should learn the ways of a frontier life. Moreover, John does not
like the thought of leaving him here while we are in England; for, as
he says, the boy might learn to become a rebel in his absence;
therefore, my dear cousin, we have resolved to send him to you. An
opportunity offers, in the fact that a gentleman of our acquaintance
is, with his family, going this week West, with the intention of
settling there, and he will, he tells us, go first to Detroit, whence
he will be able to send Harold forward to your farm. The boy himself
is delighted at the thought, and promises to return an accomplished
backwoodsman. John joins me in kind love to yourself and your
husband, and believe me to remain,

"Your Affectionate Cousin,

"MARY WILSON."


Four months after the date of the above letter a lad some fifteen
years old was walking with a man of middle age on the shores of Lake
Huron. Behind them was a large clearing of about a hundred acres in
extent; a comfortable house, with buildings for cattle, stood at a
distance of some three hundred yards from the lake; broad fields of
yellow corn waved brightly in the sun; and from the edge of the
clearing came the sound of a woodsman's ax, showing that the
proprietor was still enlarging the limits of his farm. Surrounding
the house, at a distance of twenty yards, was a strong stockade some
seven feet in height, formed of young trees, pointed at the upper
end, squared, and fixed firmly in the ground. The house itself,
although far more spacious and comfortable than the majority of
backwood farmhouses, was built in the usual fashion, of solid logs,
and was evidently designed to resist attack.

William Welch had settled ten years before on this spot, which was
then far removed from the nearest habitation. It would have been a
very imprudent act, under ordinary circumstances, to have established
himself in so lonely a position, so far removed from the possibility
of assistance in case of attack. He settled there, however, just
after Pontiac, who was at the head of an alliance of all the Indian
tribes of those parts, had, after the long and desperate siege of
Fort Pitt, made peace with us upon finding that his friends, the
French, had given up all thought of further resistance to the
English, and had entirely abandoned the country. Mr. Welch thought,
therefore, that a permanent peace was likely to reign on the
frontier, and that he might safely establish himself in the charming
location he had pitched upon, far removed from the confines of
civilization.

The spot was a natural clearing of some forty acres in extent,
sloping down to the water's edge, and a more charming site could
hardly have been chosen. Mr. Welch had brought with him three farm
laborers from the East, and, as time went on, he extended the
clearing by cutting down the forest giants which bordered it.

But in spite of the beauty of the position, the fertility of the
soil, the abundance of his crops, and the advantages afforded by the
lake, both from its plentiful supply of fish and as a highway by
which he could convey his produce to market, he had more than once
regretted his choice of location. It was true that there had been no
Indian wars on a large scale, but the Indians had several times
broken out in sudden incursions. Three times he had been attacked,
but, fortunately, only by small parties, which he had been enabled to
beat off. Once, when a more serious danger threatened him, he had
been obliged to embark, with his wife and child and his more valuable
chattels, in the great scow in which he carried his produce to
market, and had to take refuge in the settlements, to find, on his
return, his buildings destroyed and his farm wasted. At that time he
had serious thoughts of abandoning his location altogether, but the
settlements were extending rapidly toward him, and, with the prospect
of having neighbors before long and the natural reluctance to give up
a place upon which he had expended so much toil, he decided to hold
on; hoping that more quiet times would prevail, until other settlers
would take up land around him.

The house had been rebuilt more strongly than before. He now employed
four men, and had been unmolested since his return to his farm, three
years before the date of this story. Already two or three locations
had been taken up on the shores of the lake beyond him, a village had
grown up thirty-five miles away, and several settlers had established
themselves between that place and his home.

"So you are going out fishing this morning, Harold?" Mr. Welch said.
"I hope you will bring back a good supply, for the larder is low. I
was looking at you yesterday, and I see that you are becoming a
first-rate hand at the management of a canoe."

"So I ought to be," the boy said, "considering that for nearly three
months I have done nothing but shoot and fish."

"You have a sharp eye, Harold, and will make a good backwoodsman one
of these days. You can shoot nearly as well as I can now. It is lucky
that I had a good stock of powder and lead on hand; firing away by
the hour together, as you do, consumes a large amount of ammunition.
See, there is a canoe on the lake; it is coming this way, too. There
is but one man in it; he is a white, by his clothes."

For a minute or two they stood watching the boat, and then, seeing
that its course was directed toward the shore, they walked down to
the edge of the lake to meet it.

"Ah, Pearson! is that you?" Mr. Welch asked. "I thought I knew your
long, sweeping stroke at a distance. You have been hunting, I see;
that is a fine stag you have got there. What is the news?"

"About as bad as can be, Master Welch," the hunter said. "The
Iroquois have dug up the tomahawk again and are out on the war-path.
They have massacred John Brent and his family. I heard a talk of it
among some hunters I met ten days since in the woods. They said that
the Iroquois were restless and that their chief, War Eagle, one of
the most troublesome varmints on the whole frontier, had been
stirring 'em up to war. He told 'em, I heard, that the pale-faces
were pushing further and further into the Injun woods, and that,
unless they drove 'em back, the redskin hunting grounds would be
gone. I hoped that nothing would come of it, but I might have known
better. When the redskins begin to stir there's sure to be mischief
before they're quiet again."

The color had somewhat left Mr. Welch's cheeks as the hunter spoke.

"This is bad news, indeed, Pearson," he said gravely. "Are you sure
about the attack on the Brents?"

"Sartin sure," the hunter said. "I met their herder; he had been down
to Johnson's to fetch a barrel of pork. Just when he got back he
heard the Injun yells and saw smoke rising in the clearing, so he
dropped the barrel and made tracks. I met him at Johnson's, where he
had just arrived. Johnson was packing up with all haste and was going
to leave, and so I said I would take my canoe and come down the lake,
giving you all warning on the way. I stopped at Burns' and Hooper's.
Burns said he should clear out at once, but Hooper talked about
seeing it through. He's got no wife to be skeary about, and reckoned
that, with his two hands, he could defend his log hut. I told him I
reckoned he would get his har raised if the Injuns came that way;
but, in course, that's his business."

"What do you advise, Pearson? I do not like abandoning this farm to
the mercy of the redskins."

"It would be a pity, Master Welch, that's as true as Gospel. It's the
likeliest clearing within fifty miles round, and you've fixed the
place up as snug and comfortable as if it were a farm in the old
provinces. In course the question is what this War Eagle intends to
do. His section of the tribe is pretty considerable strong, and
although at present I aint heard that any others have joined, these
Injuns are like barrels of gunpowder: when the spark is once struck
there's no saying how far the explosion may spread. When one band of
'em sees as how another is taking scalps and getting plunder and
honor, they all want to be at the same work. I reckon War Eagle has
got some two hundred braves who will follow him; but when the news
spreads that he has begun his work, all the Iroquois, to say nothing
of the Shawnees, Delawares, and other varmint, may dig up the
hatchet. The question is what War Eagle's intentions are. He may make
a clean sweep down, attacking all the outlying farms and waiting till
he is joined by a lot more of the red reptiles before attacking the
settlements. Then, on the other hand, he may think himself strong
enough to strike a blow at Gloucester and some other border villages
at once. In that case he might leave the outlying farms alone, as the
news of the burning of these would reach the settlements and put 'em
on their guard, and he knows, in course, that if he succeeds there he
can eat you all up at his leisure."

"The attack upon Brent's place looks as if he meant to make a clean
sweep down," Mr. Welch said.

"Well," the hunter continued thoughtfully, "I don't know as I sees it
in that light. Brent's place was a long way from any other. He might
have wished to give his band a taste of blood, and so raise their
spirits, and he might reasonably conclude that naught would be known
about it for days, perhaps weeks to come. Then, again, the attack
might have been made by some straggling party without orders. It's a
dubious question. You've got four hands here, I think, and yourself.
I have seen your wife shoot pretty straight with a rifle, so she can
count as one, and as this young un, here, has a good idea, too, with
his shooting-iron, that makes six guns. Your place is a strong one,
and you could beat off any straggling party. My idea is that War
Eagle, who knows pretty well that the place would make a stout fight,
won't waste his time by making a regular attack upon it. You might
hold out for twenty-four hours; the clearing is open and there aint
no shelter to be had. He would be safe to lose a sight of men, and
this would be a bad beginning, and would discourage his warriors
greatly. No, I reckon War Eagle will leave you alone for the present.
Maybe he will send a scout to see whether you are prepared; it's as
likely as not that one is spying at us somewhere among the trees now.
I should lose no time in driving in the animals and getting well in
shelter. When they see you are prepared they will leave you alone; at
least, for the present. Afterward there's no saying--that will depend
on how they get on at the settlements. If they succeed there and get
lots of booty and plenty of scalps, they may march back without
touching you; they will be in a hurry to get to their villages and
have their feasts and dancing. If they are beaten off at the
settlements I reckon they will pay you a visit for sure; they won't
go back without scalps. They will be savage like, and won't mind
losing some men for the sake of having something to brag about when
they get back. And now, Master Welch, I must be going on, for I want
to take the news down to the settlements before War Eagle gets there,
and he may be ahead of me now, for aught I know. I don't give you no
advice as to what you had best do; you can judge the circumstances as
well as I can. When I have been to the settlements and put them on
their guard, maybe I shall be coming back again, and, in that case,
you know Jack Pearson's rifle is at your disposal. You may as well
tote this stag up to the house. You won't be doing much hunting just
for the present, and the meat may come in handy."

The stag was landed, and a minute later the canoe shot away from
shore under the steady stroke of the hunter's powerful arms. Mr.
Welch at once threw the stag over his shoulders and, accompanied by
Harold, strode away toward the house. On reaching it he threw down
the stag at the door, seized a rope which hung against the wall, and
the sounds of a large bell, rung in quick, sharp strokes, summoned
the hands from the fields. The sound of the woodman's ax ceased at
once, and the shouts of the men, as they drove the cattle toward the
house, rose on the still air.

"What is the matter, William?" Mrs. Welch asked as she ran from the
house.

"I have bad news, my dear. The Indians are out again, and I fear we
may have trouble before us. We must hope that they will not come in
this direction, but must be prepared for the worst. Wait till I see
all the hands and beasts in the stockade, and then we can talk the
matter over quietly."

In a few minutes the hands arrived, driving before them the horses
and cattle.

"What is it, boss?" they asked. "Was that the alarm bell sure
enough?"

"The Indians are out again," Mr. Welch said, "and in force. They have
massacred the Brents and are making toward the settlements. They may
come this way or they may not; at any rate, we must be prepared for
them. Get the beasts into the sheds, and then do you all take scythes
and set to work to cut down that patch of corn, which is high enough
to give them shelter; there's nothing else which will cover them
within a hundred yards of the house. Of course you will take your
rifles with you and keep a sharp lookout; but they will have heard
the bell, if they are in the neighborhood, and will guess that we
are on the alert, so they are not likely to attempt a surprise. Shut
one of the gates and leave the other ajar, with the bar handy to put
up in case you have to make a run for it. Harold will go up to the
lookout while you are at work."

Having seen that all was attended to, Mr. Welch went into the house,
where his wife was going about her work as usual, pale, but quiet and
resolute.

"Now, Jane," he said, "sit down, and I will tell you exactly how
matters stand, as far as Pearson, who brought the news, has told me.
Then you shall decide as to the course we had better take."

After he had told her all that Pearson had said, and the reasons for
and against expecting an early attack, he went on:

"Now, it remains for you, my dear, to decide whether we shall stay
and defend the place till the last against any attack that may be
made, or whether we shall at once embark in the scow and make our way
down to the settlements."

"What do you think, William?" his wife asked.

"I scarcely know, myself," he answered; "but, if I had quite my own
way, I should send you and Nelly down to the settlements in the scow
and fight it out here with the hands."

"You certainly will not have your own way in that," his wife said.
"If you go of course I go; if you stay I stay. I would a thousand
times rather go through a siege here, and risk the worst, than go
down to Gloucester and have the frightful anxiety of not knowing what
was happening here. Besides, it is very possible, as you say, that
the Indians may attack the settlement itself. Many of the people
there have had no experience in Indian war, and the redskins are
likely to be far more successful in their surprise there than they
would be here. If we go we should have to leave our house, our barns,
our stacks, and our animals to the mercy of the savages. Your capital
is pretty nearly all embarked here now, and the loss of all this
would be ruin to us. At any rate, William, I am ready to stay here
and to risk what may come if you are. A life on the frontier is
necessarily a life of danger, and if we are to abandon everything and
to have to commence life afresh every time the Indians go on the
war-path, we had better give it up at once and return to
Massachusetts."

"Very well, my dear," her husband said gravely. "You are a true
frontiersman's wife; you have chosen as I should have done. It is a
choice of evils; but God has blessed and protected us since we came
out into the wilderness--we will trust and confide in him now. At any
rate," he went on more cheerfully, "there is no fear of the enemy
starving us out. We got in our store of provisions only a fortnight
since, and have enough of everything for a three-months' siege. There
is no fear of our well failing us; and as for ammunition, we have
abundance. Seeing how Harold was using powder and ball, I had an
extra supply when the stores came in the other day. There is plenty
of corn in the barn for the animals for months, and I will have the
corn which the men are cutting brought in as a supply of food for the
cows. It will be useful for another purpose, too; we will keep a heap
of it soaked with water and will cover the shingles with it in case
of attack. It will effectually quench their fire arrows."

The day passed off without the slightest alarm, and by nightfall the
patch of corn was cleared away and an uninterrupted view of the
ground for the distance of a hundred yards from the house was
afforded. When night fell two out of the four dogs belonging to the
farm were fastened out in the open, at a distance of from seventy to
eighty yards of the house, the others being retained within the
stockade. The garrison was divided into three watches, two men being
on the alert at a time, relieving each other every three hours. Mr.
Welch took Harold as his companion on the watch. The boy was greatly
excited at the prospect of a struggle. He had often read of the
desperate fights between the frontier settlers and the Indians, and
had longed to take a share in the adventurous work. He could scarcely
believe that the time had come and that he was really a sharer in
what might be a desperate struggle.

The first watch was set at nine, and at twelve Mr. Welch and Harold
came on duty. The men they relieved reported that all was silent in
the woods, and that they had heard no suspicious cries of any kind.
When the men had returned to their room Mr. Welch told Harold that he
should take a turn round the stockade and visit the dogs. Harold was
to keep watch at the gate, to close it after he went out, to put up
the bar, and to stand beside it ready to open it instantly if called
upon.

Then the farmer stepped out into the darkness and, treading
noiselessly, at once disappeared from Harold's sight. The latter
closed the gate, replaced the heavy bar, and stood with one hand on
this and the other holding his rifle, listening intently. Once he
thought he heard a low growling from one of the dogs, but this
presently ceased, and all was quiet again. The gate was a solid one,
formed of strong timbers placed at a few inches apart and bolted to
horizontal bars.

Presently he felt the gate upon which his hand rested quiver, as if
pressure was applied from without. His first impulse was to say, "Is
that you?" but Mr. Welch had told him that he would give a low
whistle as he approached the gate; he therefore stood quiet, with his
whole attention absorbed in listening. Without making the least stir
he peered through the bars and made out two dark figures behind them.
After once or twice shaking the gate, one took his place against it
and the other sprang upon his shoulders.

Harold looked up and saw a man's head appear against the sky. Dim as
was the light, he could see that it was no European head-gear, a long
feather or two projecting from it. In an instant he leveled his rifle
and fired. There was a heavy fall and then all was silent. Harold
again peered through the bars. The second figure had disappeared, and
a black mass lay at the foot of the gate.

In an instant the men came running from the house, rifles in hand.

"What is it?" they exclaimed. "Where is Mr. Welch?"

"He went out to scout round the house, leaving me at the gate,"
Harold said. "Two men, I think Indians, came up; one was getting over
the gate when I shot him. I think he is lying outside--the other has
disappeared."

"We must get the master in," one of the men said. "He is probably
keeping away, not knowing what has happened. Mr. Welch," he shouted,
"it is all safe here, so far as we know; we are all on the lookout to
cover you as you come up."

Immediately a whistle was heard close to the gate. This was
cautiously opened a few inches, and was closed and barred directly
Mr. Welch entered.

Harold told him what had happened.

"I thought it was something of the sort. I heard Wolf growl and felt
sure that it was not at me. I threw myself down and crept up to him
and found him shot through the heart with an Indian arrow. I was
crawling back to the house when I heard Harold's shot. Then I waited
to see if it was followed by the war-whoop, which the redskins would
have raised at once, on finding that they were discovered, had they
been about to attack in force. Seeing that all was quiet, I
conjectured that it was probably an attempt on the part of a spy to
discover if we were upon the alert. Then I heard your call and at
once came on. I do not expect any attack to-night now, as these
fellows must have been alone; but we will all keep watch till the
morning. You have done very well, Harold, and have shown yourself a
keen watchman. It is fortunate that you had the presence of mind
neither to stir nor to call out when you first heard them; for, had
you done so, you would probably have got an arrow between your ribs,
as poor Wolf has done."

When it was daylight, and the gate was opened, the body of an Indian
was seen lying without; a small mark on his forehead showed where
Harold's bullet had entered; death being instantaneous. His war-paint
and the embroidery of his leggings showed him at once to be an
Iroquois. Beside him lay his bow, with an arrow which had evidently
been fitted to the string for instant work. Harold shuddered when he
saw it and congratulated himself on having stood perfectly quiet. A
grave was dug a short distance away, the Indian was buried, and the
household proceeded about their work.

The day, as was usual in households in America, was begun with
prayer, and the supplications of Mr. Welch for the protection of God
over the household were warm and earnest. The men proceeded to feed
the animals; these were then turned out of the inclosure, one of the
party being always on watch in the little tower which they had
erected for that purpose some ten or twelve feet above the roof of
the house. From this spot a view was obtainable right over the
clearing to the forest which surrounded it on three sides. The other
hands proceeded to cut down more of the corn, so as to extend the
level space around the house.




CHAPTER II.


AN INDIAN RAID.

That day and the next passed quietly. The first night the man who was
on watch up to midnight remarked to Mr. Welch, when he relieved him,
that it seemed to him that there were noises in the air.

"What sort of noises, Jackson--calls of night-birds or animals? If
so, the Indians are probably around us."

"No," the man said; "all is still round here, but I seem to feel the
noise rather than hear it. I should say that it was firing, very many
miles off."

"The night is perfectly still, and the sound of a gun would be heard
a long way."

"I cannot say that I have heard a gun; it is rather a tremble in the
air than a sound."

When the man they had relieved had gone down and all was still again,
Mr. Welch and Harold stood listening intently.

"Jackson was right," the farmer said; "there is something in the air.
I can feel it rather than hear it. It is a sort of murmur no louder
than a whisper. Do you hear it, Harold?"

"I seem to hear something," Harold said. "It might be the sound of
the sea a very long way off, just as one can hear it many miles from
the coast, on a still night at home. What do you think it is?"

"If it is not fancy," Mr. Welch replied, "and I do not think that we
should all be deceived, it is an attack upon Gloucester."

"But Gloucester is thirty-five miles away," Harold answered.

"It is," Mr. Welch replied; "but on so still a night as this sounds
can be heard from an immense distance. If it is not this, I cannot
say what it is."

Upon the following night, just as Mr. Welch's watch was at an end, a
low whistle was heard near the gate.

"Who is there?" Mr. Welch at once challenged.

"Jack Pearson, and the sooner you open the gate the better. There's
no saying where these red devils may be lying round."

Harold and the farmer instantly ran down and opened the gate.

"I should advise you to stop down here," the hunter said as they
replaced the bars. "If you did not hear me you certainly would not
hear the redskins, and they'd all be over the palisade before you had
time to fire a shot. I'm glad to see you safe, for I was badly
skeared lest I should find nothing but a heap of ashes here."

The next two men now turned out, and Mr. Welch led his visitor into
the house and struck a light.

"Halloo, Pearson! you must have been in a skirmish," he said, seeing
that the hunter's head was bound up with a bloodstained bandage.

"It was all that," Pearson said, "and wuss. I went down to Gloucester
and told 'em what I had heard, but the darned fools tuk it as quiet
as if all King George's troops with fixed bayonets had been camped
round 'em. The council got together and palavered for an hour, and
concluded that there was no chance whatever of the Iroquois venturing
to attack such a powerful place as Gloucester. I told 'em that the
redskins would go over their stockade at a squirrel's jump, and that
as War Eagle alone had at least 150 braves, while there warn't more
than 50 able-bodied men in Gloucester and all the farms around it,
things would go bad with 'em if they didn't mind. But bless yer, they
knew more than I did about it. Most of 'em had moved from the East
and had never seen an Injun in his war-paint. Gloucester had never
been attacked since it was founded nigh ten years ago, and they
didn't see no reason why it should be attacked now. There was a few
old frontiersmen like myself among 'em who did their best to stir 'em
up, but it was no manner of good. When the council was over we put
our heads together, and just went through the township a-talking to
the women, and we hadn't much difficulty in getting up such a skear
among 'em that before nightfall every one of 'em in the farms around
made their husbands move into the stockade of the village.

"When the night passed off quietly most of the men were just as
savage with us as if it had been a false alarm altogether. I p'inted
out that it was not because War Eagle had left 'em alone that night
that he was bound to do so the next night or any night after. But in
spite of the women they would have started out to their farms the
fust thing in the morning, if a man hadn't come in with the news that
Carter's farm had been burned and the whole of the people killed and
scalped. As Carter's farm lay only about fifteen miles off this gave
'em a skear, and they were as ready now to believe in the Injuns as I
had tried to make 'em the night before. Then they asked us old hands
to take the lead and promised to do what we told 'em, but when it
came to it their promises were not worth the breath they had spent
upon 'em. There were eight or ten houses outside the stockade, and in
course we wanted these pulled down; but they wouldn't hear of it.
Howsomever, we got 'em to work to strengthen the stockades, to make
loop-holes in the houses near 'em, to put up barricades from house to
house, and to prepare generally for a fight. We divided into three
watches.

"Well, just as I expected, about eleven o'clock at night the Injuns
attacked. Our watch might just as well have been asleep for any good
they did, for it was not till the redskins had crept up to the
stockade all round and opened fire between the timbers on 'em that
they knew that they were near. I'll do 'em justice to say that they
fought stiff enough then, and for four hours they held the line of
houses; every redskin who climbed the stockade fell dead inside it.
Four fires had been lighted directly they attacked to enable us to
keep 'em from scaling the stockade, but they showed us to the enemy,
of course.

 "The redskins took possession of the houses which we had wanted to
pull down, and precious hot they made it for us. Then they shot such
showers of burning arrows into the village that half of the houses
were soon alight. We tried to get our men to sally out and to hold
the line of stockade, when we might have beaten 'em off if all the
village had been burned down; but it were no manner of good; each man
wanted to stick to his wife and family till the last. As the flames
went up every man who showed himself was shot down, and when at last
more than half our number had gone under the redskins brought up
fagots, piled 'em against the stockade outside, and then the hull
tribe came bounding over. Our rifles were emptied, for we couldn't
get the men to hold their fire, but some of us chaps as knew what was
coming gave the redskins a volley as they poured in.

"I don't know much as happened after that. Jack Robins and Bill
Shuter, who were old pals of mine, and me made up our minds what to
do, and we made a rush for a small gate that there was in the
stockade, just opposite where the Injuns came in. We got through safe
enough, but they had left men all round. Jack Robins he was shot
dead. Bill and I kept straight on. We had a grapple with some of the
redskins; two or three on 'em went down, and Bill and I got through
and had a race for it till we got fairly into the forest. Bill had a
ball in the shoulder, and I had a clip across the head with a
tomahawk. We had a council, and Bill went off to warn some of the
other settlements and I concluded to take to the water and paddle
back to you, not knowing whether I should find that the redskins had
been before me. I thought anyway that I might stop your going down to
Gloucester, and that if there was a fight you would be none the worse
for an extra rifle."

Mr. Welch told the hunter of the visit of the two Indian spies two
nights before.

"Waal," the hunter said, "I reckon for the present you are not likely
to be disturbed. The Injuns have taken a pile of booty and something
like two hundred scalps, counting the women and children, and they
moved off at daybreak this morning in the direction of Tottenham,
which I reckon they'll attack tonight. Howsomever, Bill has gone on
there to warn 'em, and after the sack of Gloucester the people of
Tottenham won't be caught napping, and there are two or three old
frontiersmen who have settled down there, and War Eagle will get a
hot reception if he tries it. As far as his band is concerned, you're
safe for some days. The only fear is that some others of the tribe,
hurrying up at hearing of his success, may take this place as they go
past. And now I guess I'll take a few hours' sleep. I haven't closed
an eye for the last two nights."

A week passed quietly. Pearson, after remaining two days, again went
down the lake to gather news, and returned a day later with the
intelligence that almost all the settlements had been deserted by
their inhabitants. The Indians were out in great strength and had
attacked the settlers at many points along the frontier, committing
frightful devastations.

Still another week passed, and Mr. Welch began to hope that his
little clearing had been overlooked and forgotten by the Indians. The
hands now went about their work as usual, but always carried arms
with them, while one was constantly stationed on the watch-tower.
Harold resumed his fishing; never, however, going out of sight of the
house. Sometimes he took with him little Nelly Welch; it being
considered that she was as safe in the canoe as she was in the house,
especially as the boat was always in sight, and the way up from the
landing to the house was under cover of the rifles of the defenders;
so that, even in case of an attack, they would probably be able to
make their way back.

One afternoon they had been out together for two or three hours;
everything looked as quiet and peaceable as usual; the hands were in
the fields near the house, a few of the cows grazing close to the
gate. Harold had been successful in his fishing and had obtained as
many fish as he could carry. He stepped out from the canoe, helped
Nelly to land, slung his rifle across his back, and picked up the
fish, which were strung on a withe passed through their gills.

He had made but a few steps when a yell arose, so loud and terrible
that for a moment his heart seemed to stop beating. Then from the
cornfields leaped up a hundred dark figures; then came the sharp
crack of rifles, and two of the hands dashed down at full speed
toward the house. One had fallen. The fourth man was in the
watch-tower. The surprise had been complete. The Indians had made
their way like snakes through the long corn, whose waving had been
unperceived by the sentinel, who was dozing at his post, half-asleep
in the heat of the sun. Harold saw in a moment that it was too late
for him to regain the house; the redskins were already nearer to it
than he was.

"Now, Nelly! into the boat again--quick!" he said. "We must keep out
of the way till it's all over."

Nelly was about twelve years old, and her life in the woods had given
her a courage and quickness beyond her years. Without wasting a
moment on cries or lamentations, she sprang back into the canoe.
Harold took his place beside her, and the light craft darted rapidly
out into the lake. Not until he was some three or four hundred yards
from the shore did Harold pause to look round. Then, when he felt he
was out of gunshot distance, he ceased paddling. The fight was raging
now around the house; from loop-holes and turret the white puffs of
smoke darted angrily out. The fire had not been ineffectual, for
several dark forms could be seen lying round the stockade, and the
bulk of the Indians, foiled in their attempt to carry the place at a
rush, had taken shelter in the corn and kept up a scattering fire
round the house, broken only on the side facing the lake, where there
was no growing crop to afford them shelter.

"They are all right now," Harold said cheerfully.

"Do not be anxious, Nelly; they will beat them off, Pearson is a host
in himself. I expect he must have been lying down when the attack was
made. I know he was scouting round the house all night. If he had
been on the watch, those fellows would never have succeeded in
creeping up so close unobserved."

"I wish we were inside," Nelly said, speaking for the first time. "If
I were only with them, I should not mind."

"I am sure I wish we were," Harold agreed. "It is too hard being
useless out here when such a splendid fight is going on. Ah! they
have their eyes on us!" he exclaimed as a puff of smoke burst out
from some bushes near the shore and a ball came skipping along on the
surface of the water, sinking, however, before it reached it.

"Those Indian muskets are no good," Harold said contemptuously, "and
the trade powder the Indians get is very poor stuff; but I think that
they are well within range of my rifle."

The weapon which Harold carried was an English rifle of very perfect
make and finish, which his father had given him on parting.

"Now," he said, "do you paddle the canoe a few strokes nearer the
shore, Nelly. We shall still be beyond the range of that fellow. He
will fire again and I shall see exactly where he is lying."

Nelly, who was efficient in the management of a canoe, took the
paddle, and dipping it in the water the boat moved slowly toward the
shore. Harold sat with his rifle across his knees, looking intently
over the bows of the boat toward the bush from which the shot had
come.

"That's near enough, Nelly," he said.

The girl stopped paddling, and the hidden foe, seeing that they did
not mean to come nearer the shore, again fired. Harold's rifle was in
an instant against his shoulder; he sat immovable for a moment and
then fired.

Instantly a dark figure sprang from the bush, staggered
a few steps up the slope, and then fell headlong.

"That was a pretty good shot," Harold said. "Your father told me,
when I saw a stag's horns above a bush, to fire about two feet behind
them and eighteen inches lower. I fired a foot below the flash, and I
expect I hit him through the body. I had the sight at three hundred
yards and fired a little above it. Now, Nelly, paddle out again.
See!" he said, "there is a shawl waving from the top of the tower.
Put your hat on the paddle and wave it."

"What are you thinking of doing, Harold?" the girl asked presently.

 "That is just what I have been asking myself for the last ten
minutes," Harold replied. "It is quite clear that as long as the
siege is kept up we cannot get back again, and there is no saying how
long it may last. The first thing is, what chance is there of their
pursuing us? Are there any other canoes on the lake within a short
distance?"

"They have one at Braithwaite's," the girl said, "four miles off; but
look, there is Pearson's canoe lying by the shore."

"So there is!" Harold exclaimed. "I never thought of that. I expect
the Indians have not noticed it. The bank is rather high where it is
lying. They are sure to find it, sooner or later. I think, Nelly, the
best plan would be to paddle back again so as to be within the range
of my rifle while still beyond the reach of theirs. I think I can
keep them from using the boat until it is dark."

"But after it is dark, Harold?"

"Well, then, we must paddle out into the lake so as to be well out of
sight. When it gets quite dark we can paddle in again and sleep
safely anywhere a mile or two from the house."

An hour passed without change. Then Nelly said: "There is a movement
in the bushes near the canoe." Presently an arm was extended and
proceeded to haul the canoe toward the shore by its head-rope. As it
touched the bank an Indian rose from the bushes and was about to step
in, while a number of puffs of smoke burst out along the shore and
the bullets skipped over the water toward the canoe, one of them
striking it with sufficient force to penetrate the thin bark a few
inches above the water's edge. Harold had not moved, but as the
savage stepped into the canoe he fired, and the Indian fell heavily
into the water, upsetting the canoe as he did so.

A yell of rage broke from his comrades.

"I don't think they will try that game again as long as it is
daylight," Harold said. "Paddle a little further out again, Nelly. If
that bullet had hit you it would have given you a nasty blow, though
I don't think it would have penetrated; still we may as well avoid
accidents."

After another hour passed the fire round the house ceased.

"Do you think the Indians have gone away?" Nelly asked.

"I am afraid there is no chance of that," Harold said. "I expect they
are going to wait till night and then try again. They are not fond of
losing men, and Pearson and your father are not likely to miss
anything that comes within their range as long as daylight lasts."

"But after dark, Harold?"

"Oh, they will try all sorts of tricks; but Pearson is up to them
all. Don't you worry about them, dear."

The hours passed slowly away until at last the sun sank and the
darkness came on rapidly. So long as he could see the canoe, which
just floated above the water's edge, Harold maintained his position;
then taking one paddle, while Nelly handled the other, he sent the
boat flying away from the shore out into the lake. For a quarter of
an hour they paddled straight out. By this time the outline of the
shore could be but dimly perceived. Harold doubted whether it would
be possible to see the boat from shore, but in order to throw the
Indians off the scent, should this be the case, he turned the boat's
head to the south and paddled swiftly until it was perfectly dark.

"I expect they saw us turn south," he said to Nelly. "The redskins
have wonderful eyes; so, if they pursue at all, they will do it in
that direction. No human being, unless he borrowed the eyes of an
owl, could see us now, so we will turn and paddle the other way."

For two hours they rowed in this direction.

"We can go in to shore now," Harold said at last. "We must be seven
or eight miles beyond the house."

The distance to the shore was longer than they expected, for they had
only the light of the stars to guide them and neither had any
experience in night traveling. They had made much further out into
the lake than they had intended. At length the dark line of trees
rose in front of them, and in a few minutes the canoe lay alongside
the bank and its late occupants were stretched on a soft layer of
moss and fallen leaves.

"What are we going to do to-morrow about eating?" Nelly asked.

"There are four or five good-sized fish in the bottom of the canoe,"
Harold replied. "Fortunately we caught more than I could carry, and I
intended to make a second trip from the house for these. I am afraid
we shall not be able to cook them, for the Indians can see smoke any
distance. If the worst comes to the worst we must eat them raw, but
we are sure to find some berries in the wood to-morrow. Now, dear,
you had better go to sleep as fast as you can; but first let us kneel
down and pray God to protect us and your father and mother."

 The boy and girl knelt in the darkness and said their simple
prayers. Then they lay down, and Harold was pleased to hear in a few
minutes the steady breathing which told him that his cousin was
asleep. It was a long time before he followed her example. During the
day he had kept up a brave front and had endeavored to make the best
of their position, but now that he was alone he felt the full weight
of the responsibility of guiding his companion through the extreme
danger which threatened them both. He felt sure that the Indians
would prolong the siege for some time, as they would be sure that no
re-enforcements could possibly arrive in aid of the garrison.
Moreover, he by no means felt so sure as he had pretended to his
companion of the power of the defenders of the house to maintain a
successful resistance to so large a number of their savage foes. In
the daylight he felt certain they could beat them off, but darkness
neutralizes the effect both of superior arms and better marksmanship.
It was nearly midnight before he lay down with the determination to
sleep, but scarcely had he done so when he was aroused by an outburst
of distant firing. Although six or seven miles from the scene of the
encounter, the sound of each discharge came distinct to the ear along
the smooth surface of the lake, and he could even hear, mingled with
the musketry fire, the faint yells of the Indians. For hours, as it
seemed to him, he sat listening to the distant contest, and then he,
unconsciously to himself, dozed off to sleep, and awoke with a start,
to find Nelly sitting up beside him and the sun streaming down
through the boughs. He started to his feet.

"Bless me!" he exclaimed, "I did not know that I had been asleep. It
seems but an instant ago that I was listening"--and here he checked
himself--"that is, that I was wide awake, and here we are in broad
daylight."

Harold's first care was to examine the position of the canoe, and he
found that fortunately it had touched the shore at a spot where the
boughs of the trees overhead drooped into the water beyond it, so
that it could not be seen by anyone passing along the lake. This was
the more fortunate as he saw, some three miles away, a canoe with
three figures on board. For a long distance on either side the boughs
of the trees drooped into the water, with only an opening here and
there such as that through which the boat had passed the night
before.

"We must be moving, Nelly. Here are the marks where we scrambled up
the bank last night. If the Indians take it into their heads to
search the shore both ways, as likely enough they may do, they will
be sure to see them. In the first place let us gather a stock of
berries, and then we will get into the boat again and paddle along
under this arcade of boughs till we get to some place where we can
land without leaving marks of our feet. If the Indians find the place
where we landed here, they will suppose that we went off again before
daylight."

For some time they rambled in the woods and succeeded in gathering a
store of berries and wild fruit. Upon these Nelly made her breakfast,
but Harold's appetite was sufficiently ravenous to enable him to fall
to upon the fish, which, he declared, were not so bad, after all.
Then they took their places in the canoe again and paddled on for
nearly a mile.

 "See, Harold!" Nelly exclaimed as she got a glimpse through the
boughs into the lake, "there is another canoe. They must have got the
Braithwaite boat. We passed their place coming here, you know. I
wonder what has happened there."

"What do you think is best to do, Nelly?" Harold asked. "Your opinion
is just as good as mine about it. Shall we leave our canoe behind,
land, and take to the woods, or shall we stop quietly in the canoe in
shelter here, or shall we take to the lake and trust to our speed to
get away? in which case, you know, if they should come up I could
pick them off with my gun before they got within reach.

"I don't think that would do," the girl said, shaking her head. "You
shoot very well, but it is not an easy thing to hit a moving object
if you are not accustomed to it, and they paddle so fast that if you
miss them once they would be close alongside--at any rate we should
be within reach of their guns--before you could load again. They
would be sure to catch us, for although we might paddle nearly as
fast for a time, they would certainly tire us out. Then, as to
waiting here in the canoe, if they came along on foot looking for us
we should be in their power. It is dreadful to think of taking to the
woods with Indians all about, but I really think that would be our
safest plan."

"I think so too, Nelly, if we can manage to do it without leaving a
track. We must not go much further, for the trees are getting thinner
ahead and we should be seen by the canoes."

Fifty yards further Harold stopped paddling.

"Here is just the place, Nelly."

At this point a little stream of three or four feet wide emerged into
the lake; Harold directed the boat's head toward it. The water in the
stream was but a few inches deep.

"Now, Nelly," he said, "we must step out into the water and walk up
it as far as we can go--it will puzzle even the sharpest redskin to
find our track then."

They stepped into the water, Harold taking the head-rope of the canoe
and towing the light boat--which, when empty, did not draw more than
two inches of water--behind him. He directed Nelly to be most careful
as she walked not to touch any of the bushes, which at times nearly
met across the stream.

"A broken twig or withered leaf would be quite enough to tell the
Indians that we came along this way," he said. "Where the bushes are
thick you must manage to crawl under them. Never mind about getting
wet--you will soon dry again."

Slowly and cautiously they made their way up the stream for nearly a
mile. It had for some distance been narrowing rapidly, being only fed
by little rills from the surrounding swamp land. Harold had so far
looked in vain for some spot where they could land without leaving
marks of their feet. Presently they came to a place where a great
tree had fallen across the stream.

"This will do, Nelly," Harold said. "Now, above all things you must
be careful not to break off any of the moss or bark. You had better
take your shoes off; then I will lift you on to the trunk and you can
walk along it without leaving a mark."

It was hard work for Nelly to take off her drenched boots, but she
managed at last. Harold lifted her on to the trunk and said:

"Walk along as far as you can and get down as lightly as possible on
to a firm piece of ground. It rises rapidly here and is, I expect, a
dry soil where the upper end of the tree lies."

"How are you going to get out, Harold?"

"I can swing myself up by that projecting root."

Before proceeding to do so Harold raised one end of the canoe and
placed it on the trunk of the tree; then, having previously taken off
his shoes, he swung himself on to the trunk; hauling up the light
bark canoe and taking especial pains that it did not grate upon the
trunk, he placed it on his head and followed Nelly along the tree. He
found, as he had expected, that the ground upon which the upper end
lay was firm and dry. He stepped down with great care, and was
pleased to see, as he walked forward, that no trace of a footmark was
left.

"Be careful, Nelly," he exclaimed when he joined her, "not to tread
on a stick or disturb a fallen leaf with your feet, and above all to
avoid breaking the smallest twig as you pass. Choose the most open
ground, as that is the hardest."

In about a hundred yards they came upon a large clump of bushes.

"Now, Nelly, raise those lower boughs as gently and as carefully as
you can. I will push the canoe under. I don't think the sharpest
Indian will be able to take up our track now."

Very carefully the canoe was stowed away, and when the boughs were
allowed to fall in their natural position it was completely hidden
from sight to every passer-by. Harold took up the fish, Nelly had
filled her apron with the berries, and carrying their shoes--for they
agreed that it would be safer not to put them on--they started on
their journey through the deep forest.




CHAPTER III.


THE REDSKIN ATTACK.

Mr. Welch was with the men, two or three hundred yards away from the
house, when the Indians suddenly sprang out and opened fire. One of
the men fell beside him; the farmer stooped to lift him, but saw that
he was shot through the head. Then he ran with full speed toward the
house, shouting to the hands to make straight for the gate,
disregarding the cattle. Several of these, however, alarmed at the
sudden outburst of fire and the yells of the Indians, made of their
own accord for the stables as their master rushed up at full speed.
The Indians were but fifty or sixty yards behind when Mr. Welch
reached his gate. They had all emptied their pieces, and after the
first volley no shots had been fired save one by the watchman on the
lookout. Then came the crack of Pearson's rifle just as Mr. Welch
shut the gate and laid the bar in its place. Several spare guns had
been placed in the upper chambers, and three reports rang out
together, for Mrs. Welch had run upstairs at the first alarm to take
her part in the defense.

In another minute the whole party, now six in all, were gathered in
the upper room.

"Where are Nelly and Harold?" Mr. Welch exclaimed. "I saw the canoe
close to the shore just before the Indians opened fire," the watchman
answered.

"You must have been asleep," Pearson said savagely. "Where were your
eyes to let them redskins crawl up through the corn without seeing
'em? With such a crowd of 'em the corn must have been a-waving as if
it was blowing a gale. You ought to have a bullet in yer ugly
carkidge, instead of its being in yer mate's out there."

While this conversation was going on no one had been idle. Each took
up his station at a loop-hole, and several shots were fired whenever
the movement of a blade of corn showed the lurking place of an
Indian.

The instant the gate had been closed War Eagle had called his men
back to shelter, for he saw that all chance of a surprise was now
over, and it was contrary to all redskin strategy to remain for one
moment unnecessarily exposed to the rifles of the whites. The farmer
and his wife had rushed at once up into the lookout as the Indians
drew off and, to their joy, saw the canoe darting away from shore.

"They are safe for the present, thank God!" Mr. Welch said. "It is
providential indeed that they had not come a little further from the
shore when the redskins broke out. Nothing could have saved them, had
they fairly started for the house."

"What will they do, William?" asked his wife anxiously.

"I cannot tell you, my dear. I do not know what I should do myself
under the circumstances. However, the boy has got a cool head on his
shoulders, and you need not be anxious for the present. Now let us
join the others. Our first duty is to take our share in the defense
of the house. The young ones are in the hands of God. We can do
nothing for them." "Well?" Pearson asked, looking round from his
loop-hole as the farmer and his wife descended into the room, which
was a low garret extending over the whole of the house. "Do you see
the canoe?"

"Yes, it has got safely away," William Welch said; "but what the lad
will do now is more than I can say."

Pearson placed his rifle against the wall. "Now keep your eyes
skinned," he said to the three farm hands.

"One of yer's done mischief enough this morning already, and you'll
get your har raised, as sure as you're born, unless you look out
sharp. Now," he went on, turning to the Welches, "let us go down and
talk this matter over. The Injuns may keep on firing, but I don't
think they'll show in the open again as long as it's light enough for
us to draw bead on 'em. Yes," he went on, as he looked through a
loop-hole in the lower story over the lake, "there they are, just out
of range."

"What do you think they will do?" Mrs. Welch asked.

The hunter was silent for a minute.

"It aint a easy thing to say what they ought to do, much less what
they will do; it aint a good outlook anyway, and I don't know what I
should do myself. The whole of the woods on this side of the lake are
full of the darned red critters. There's a hundred eyes on that canoe
now, and, go where they will, they'll be watched."

"But why should they not cross the lake and land on the other side?"
Mr. Welch said.

"If you and I were in that canoe," the hunter answered, "that's about
what we should do; but, not to say that it's a long row for 'em, they
two young uns would never get across; the Injuns would have 'em
before they had been gone an hour. There's my canoe lying under the
bushes; she'd carry four, and would go three feet to their two."

"I had forgotten about that," William Welch said, and then added,
after a pause: "The Indians may not find it."

"You needn't hope that," the hunter answered; "they have found it
long before this. I don't want to put you out of heart; but I tell ye
ye'll see them on the water before many minutes have passed."

"Then they are lost," Mrs. Welch said, sinking down in her chair and
bursting into tears.

"They air in God's hands, ma'am," the hunter said, "and it's no use
trying to deceive you."

"Would it be of any use," William Welch asked, after a pause, "for me
to offer the redskins that my wife and I will go out and put
ourselves in their hands if they will let the canoe go off without
pursuit?"

"Not it," the hunter replied decidedly. "You would be throwing away
your own lives without saving theirs, not to mention, although that
doesn't matter a straw, the lives of the rest of us here. It will be
as much as we can do, when they attack us in earnest, to hold this
place with six guns, and with only four the chance would be worth
nothing. But that's neither here nor there. You wouldn't save the
young ones if you gave yourselves up. You can't trust the word of an
Injun on the war-path, and if they went so far as not to kill 'em
they would carry 'em off; and, after all, I aint sure as death aint
better for 'em than to be brought up as Injuns. There," he said,
stopping suddenly as a report of a musket sounded at some little
distance off, "the Injuns are trying their range against 'em. Let's
go up to the lookout."

The little tower had a thick parapet of logs some three feet high,
and, crouching behind this, they watched the canoe. "He's coming
nearer in shore, and the girl has got the paddle," Pearson muttered.
"What's he doing now?" A puff of smoke was seen to rise near the
border of the lake; then came the sharp crack of Harold's rifle. They
saw an Indian spring from the bushes and fall dead.

"Well done, young un!" Pearson exclaimed. "I told yer he'd got his
head screwed on the right way. He's keeping just out of range of
their guns, and that piece of his can carry twice as far as theirs. I
reckon he's thought of the canoe, and means to keep 'em from using
it. I begins to think, Mr. Welch, that there's a chance for 'em yet.
Now let's talk a little to these red devils in the corn."

For some little time Pearson and William Welch turned their attention
to the Indians, while the mother sat with her eyes fixed upon the
canoe.

"He is coming closer again," she exclaimed presently.

"He's watching the canoe, sure enough," Pearson said. Then came the
volley along the bushes on the shore, and they saw an Indian rise to
his feet.

"That's just where she lies!" Pearson exclaimed; "he's getting into
it. There! well done, young un."

The sudden disappearance of the Indian and the vengeful yell of the
hidden foe told of the failure of the attempt.

"I think they're safe, now, till nightfall. The Injuns won't care
about putting themselves within range of that 'ere rifle again."

Gradually the fire of the Indians ceased, and the defenders were able
to leave the loop-holes. Two of the men went down and fastened up the
cattle, which were still standing loose in the yard inside the
stockade; the other set to to prepare a meal, for Mrs. Welch could
not take her eyes off the canoe.

The afternoon seemed of interminable length. Not a shot was fired.
The men, after taking their dinner, were occupied in bringing some
great tubs on to the upper story and filling them to the brim with
water from the well. This story projected two feet beyond the one
below it, having been so built in order that, in case of attack, the
defenders might be able to fire down upon any foe who might cross the
stockade and attack the house itself; the floor boards over the
projecting portion were all removable. The men also brought a
quantity of the newly cut corn to the top of the house, first
drenching it with water.

The sun sank, and as dusk was coming on the anxious watchers saw the
canoe paddle out far into the lake.

"An old frontiersman couldn't do better," Pearson exclaimed. "He's
kept them out of the canoe as long as daylight lasted; now he has
determined to paddle away and is making down the lake," he went on
presently. "It's a pity he turned so soon, as they can see the course
he's taking."

They watched until it was completely dark; but, before the light
quite faded, they saw another canoe put out from shore and start in
the direction taken by the fugitives.

"Will they catch them, do you think?" Mrs. Welch asked.

"No, ma'am," Pearson said confidently. "The boy's got sense enough to
have changed his course after it gets dark, though whether he'll make
for shore or go out toward the other side is more than I can say. You
see, they'll know that the Injuns are all along this side of the
lake; but then, on the other hand, they'll be anxious about us and
'll want to keep close at hand. Besides, the lad knows nothing of the
other side; there may be Injuns there, for aught he knows, and it's a
skeary thing for a young un to take to the forest, especially with a
gal in his charge. There aint no saying what he'll do. And now we've
got to look after ourselves; don't let us think about 'em at present.
The best thing as we can do for them, as well as for ourselves, is to
hold this here place. If they live they'll come back to it sooner or
later, and it 'll be better for 'em to find it standing, and you here
to welcome 'em, than to get back to a heap of ruins and some dead
bodies."

"When will the redskins attack, do you think?" the farmer asked.

"We may expect 'em any time, now," the hunter answered. "The Injuns'
time of attack is generally just before dawn, but they know well
enough they aint likely to ketch us asleep any time, and, as they
know exactly what they have got to do they'll gain nothing by
waiting. I wish we had a moon; if we had, we might keep 'em out of
the stockade. But there--it's just as well it's dark, after all; for,
if the moon was up, the young ones would have no chance of getting
away."

The garrison now all took their places at the loop-holes, having
first carried the wet fodder to the roof and spread it over the
shingles. There was nothing to do now but to wait. The night was so
dark that they could not see the outline of the stockade. Presently a
little spark shot through the air, followed by a score of others. Mr.
Welch had taken his post on the tower, and he saw the arrows whizzing
through the air, many of them falling on the roof. The dry grass
dipped in resin, which was tied round the arrow-heads, was instantly
extinguished as the arrows fell upon the wet corn, and a yell arose
from the Indians.

The farmer descended and told the others of the failure of the
Indians' first attempt.

"That 'ere dodge is a first-rate un," Pearson said. "We're safe from
fire, and that's the only thing we've got to be afeared on. You'll
see 'em up here in a few minutes."

Everything was perfectly quiet. Once or twice the watchers thought
that they could hear faint sounds, but could not distinguish their
direction. After half an hour's anxious waiting a terrible yell was
heard from below, and at the doors and windows of the lower rooms
came the crashing blows of tomahawks.

The boards had already been removed from the flooring above, and the
defenders opened a steady fire into the dark mass that they could
faintly make out clustered round the windows and doors. At Pearson's
suggestion the bullets had been removed from the guns and heavy
charges of buckshot had been substituted for them, and yells of pain
and surprise rose as they fired. A few shots were fired up from
below, but a second discharge from the spare guns completed the
effect from the first volley. The dark mass broke up and, in a few
seconds, all was as quiet as before.

Two hours passed, and then slight sounds were heard. "They've got the
gate opened, I expect," Pearson said. "Fire occasionally at that; if
we don't hit 'em the flashes may show us what they're doing."

It was as he had expected. The first discharge was followed by a cry,
and by the momentary light they saw a number of dark figures pouring
in through the gate. Seeing that concealment was no longer possible,
the Indians opened a heavy fire round the house; then came a crashing
sound near the door.

"Just as I thought," Pearson said. "They're going to try to burn us
out."

For some time the noise continued, as bundle after bundle of dried
wood was thrown down by the door. The garrison were silent; for, as
Pearson said, they could see nothing, and a stray bullet might enter
at the loop-holes if they placed themselves there, and the flashes of
the guns would serve as marks for the Indians.

Presently two or three faint lights were seen approaching.

"Now," Pearson said, "pick 'em off as they come up. You and I'll take
the first man, Welch. You fire just to the right of the light, I will
fire to the left; he may be carrying the brand in either hand."

They fired together, and the brand was seen to drop to the ground.
The same thing happened as the other two sparks of light approached;
then it was again quiet. Now a score of little lights flashed through
the air.

"They're going to light the pile with their flaming arrows," Pearson
said. "War Eagle is a good leader."

Three or four of the arrows fell on the pile of dry wood. A moment
later the flames crept up and the smoke of burning wood rolled up
into the room above. A yell of triumph burst from the Indians, but
this changed into one of wrath as those above emptied the contents of
one of the great tubs of water on to the pile of wood below them. The
flames were instantly extinguished.

"What will they do next?" Mrs. Welch asked.

"It's like enough," Pearson replied, "that they'll give the job up
altogether. They've got plenty of plunder and scalps at the
settlements, and their attacking us here in such force looks as if
the hull of 'em were on their way back to their villages. If they
could have tuk our scalps easy they would have done it; but War Eagle
aint likely to risk losing a lot of men when he aint sartin of
winning, after all. He has done good work as it is, and has quite
enough to boast about when he gets back. If he were to lose a heap of
his braves here it would spoil the success of his expedition. No, I
think as he will give it up now."

"He will be all the more anxious to catch the children," Mrs. Welch
said despondently.

"It can't be denied, ma'am, as he will do his best that way," Pearson
answered. "It all depends, though, on the boy. I wish I was with him
in that canoe. Howsomever, I can't help thinking as he will
sarcumvent 'em somehow."

The night passed without any further attack. By turns half the
garrison watched while the other lay down, but there was little sleep
taken by any. With the first gleam of daylight Mrs. Welch and her
husband were on the lookout.

"There's two canoes out on the lake," Pearson said. "They're paddling
quietly; which is which I can't say."

As the light became brighter Pearson pronounced, positively, that
there were three men in one canoe and four in the other.

"I think they're all Injuns," he said. "They must have got another
canoe somewhere along the lake. Waal, they've not caught the young
uns yet."

"The boats are closing up to each other," Mrs. Welch said. "They're
going to have a talk, I reckon. Yes, one of 'em's turning and going
down the lake, while the other's going up. I'd give a heap to know
where the young uns have got to."

The day passed quietly. An occasional shot toward the house showed
that the Indians remained in the vicinity and, indeed, dark forms
could be seen moving about in the distant parts of the clearing.

"Will it be possible," the farmer asked Pearson, when night again
fell, "to go out and see if we can discover any traces of them?"

"Worse than no use," Pearson said positively. "We should just lose
our har without doing no good whatever. If the Injuns in these
woods--and I reckon altogether there's a good many hundred of
'em--can't find 'em, ye may swear that we can't. That's just what
they're hoping, that we'll be fools enough to put ourselves outside
the stockade. They'll lie close round all night, and a weasel
wouldn't creep through 'em. Ef I thought there was jest a shadow of
chance of finding them young uns I'd risk it; but there's no
chance--not a bit of it."

A vigilant watch was again kept up all night, but all was still and
quiet. The next morning the Indians were still round them.

"Don't ye fret, ma'am!" Pearson said, as he saw how pale and wan Mrs.
Welch looked in the morning light. "You may bet your last shilling
that they're not caught 'em."

"Why are you so sure?" Mrs. Welch asked. "They may be dead by this
time."

"Not they, ma'am! I'm as sartin as they're living and free as I am
that I'm standing here. I know these Injuns' ways. Ef they had caught
'em they'd jest have brought 'em here and would have fixed up two
posts, jest out of rifle range, and would have tied them there and
offered you the choice of giving up this place and your scalps or of
seeing them tortured and burned under your eyes. That's their way.
No, they aint caught 'em alive, nor they aint caught 'em dead
neither; for, ef they had they'd have brought their scalps to have
shown yer. No, they've got away, though it beats me to say how. I've
only got one fear, and that is that they might come back before the
Injuns have gone. Now I tell ye what we had better do--we better keep
up a dropping fire all night and all day to-morrow, and so on, until
the redskins have gone. Ef the young uns come back across the lake at
night, and all is quiet, they'll think the Injuns have taken
themselves off; but, if they hear firing still going on, they'll know
well enough that they're still around the house."

William Welch at once agreed to this plan, and every quarter of an
hour or so all through the night a few shots were fired. The next
morning no Indians could be seen, and there was a cessation of the
dropping shots which had before been kept up at the house.

"They may be in hiding," Pearson said in the afternoon, "trying to
tempt us out; but I'm more inclined to think as how they've gone. I
don't see a blade of that corn move; I've had my eyes fixed on it for
the last two hours. It are possible, of course, that they're there,
but I reckon not. I expect they've been waiting, ever since they gave
up the attack, in hopes that the young uns would come back; but now,
as they see that we're keeping up a fire to tell them as how they're
still round us, they've given it up and gone. When it gets dark
to-night I'll go out and scout round."

At ten o'clock at night Pearson dropped lightly from the stockade on
the side opposite to the gate, as he knew that, if the Indians were
there, this would be the point that they would be watching; then,
crawling upon his stomach, he made his way slowly down to the lake.
Entering the water and stooping low, he waded along the edge of the
bushes for a distance of a mile; then he left the water and struck
into the forest. Every few minutes he could hear the discharge of the
rifles at the house; but, as before, no answering shots were heard.
Treading very cautiously, he made a wide _detour_ and then came down
again on the clearing at the end furthest from the lake, where the
Indians had been last seen moving about. All was still. Keeping among
the trees and moving with great caution, he made his way, for a
considerable distance, along the edge of the clearing; then he
dropped on his hands and knees and entered the cornfield, and for two
hours he crawled about, quartering the ground like a dog in search of
game. Everywhere he found lines where the Indians had crawled along
to the edge nearest to the house, but nowhere did he discover a sign
of life. Then, still taking great care, he moved down toward the
house and made a circuit of it a short distance outside the stockade;
then he rose to his feet.

"Yer may stop shooting," he shouted. "The pesky rascals are gone."
Then he walked openly up to the gate; it was opened at once by
William Welch.

"Are you sure they have gone?" he asked.

"Sure as gospel," he answered, "and they've been gone twenty-four
hours at least."

"How do you know that?"

"Easy enough. I found several of their cooking places in the woods;
the brands were out, and even under the ashes the ground was cold, so
they must have been out for a long time. I could have walked straight
on to the house, then, but I thought it safer to make quite sure by
searching everywhere, for they might have moved deeper into the
forest, and left a few men on guard here, in case the young uns
should come back. But it aint so; they've gone, and there aint a
living soul anywhere nigh the clearing. The young uns can come back
now, if they will, safely enough."

Before doing anything else the farmer assembled the party together in
the living room, and there solemnly offered up thanks to God for
their deliverance from danger, and implored his protection for the
absent ones. When this was over he said to his wife:

"Now, Jane; you had better lie down and get a few hours' sleep. It is
already two o'clock, and there is no chance whatever of their
returning tonight, but I shall go down to the lake and wait till
morning. Place candles in two of the upper windows. Should they be
out on the lake they will see them and know that the Indians have not
taken the house."

Morning came, without any signs of the absent ones. At daybreak
Pearson went out to scout in the woods, and returned late in the
afternoon with the news that the Indians had all departed, and that,
for a distance of ten miles at least, the woods were entirely free.

When it became dark the farmer again went down to the lake and
watched until two, when Pearson took his place. Mr. Welch was turning
to go back to the house when Pearson placed his hand on his shoulder.

"Listen!" he said; and for a minute the men stood immovable.

"What was it?" the farmer asked.

"I thought I heard the stroke of a paddle," Pearson said; "it might
have been the jump of a fish. There! there it is again!" He lay down
and put his ear close to the water. "There's a canoe in the lake to
the north'ard. I can hear the strokes of the paddle plainly."

Mr. Welch could hear nothing. Some minutes passed, then Pearson
exclaimed:

"There! I saw a break in the water over there! There it is!" he said,
straining his eyes in the darkness. "That's a canoe, sure enough,
although they have ceased paddling. It's not a mile away."

Then he rose to his feet and shouted "Halloo!" at the top of his
voice. An answering shout faintly came back across the water. He
again hailed loudly, and this time the answer came in a female voice.

"It's them, sure enough. I can swear to Nelly's voice."

William Welch uncovered his head and, putting his hand before his
face, returned fervent thanks to God for the recovery of his child.
Then he dashed off at full speed toward the house. Before he reached
it however, he met his wife running down to meet him, the shouts
having informed her that something was seen. Hand in hand they ran
down to the water's edge. The canoe was now swiftly approaching. The
mother screamed:

"Nelly! is that you?"

"Mamma! mamma!" came back in the girl's clear tones.

With a low cry of gladness Mrs. Welch fell senseless to the ground.
The strain which she had for four days endured had been terrible, and
even the assurances of Pearson had failed to awaken any strong
feeling of hope in her heart. She had kept up bravely and had gone
about her work in the house with a pale, set face, but the unexpected
relief was too much for her. Two minutes later the bow of the canoe
grated on the shore, and Nelly leaped into her father's arms.

"Where is mamma?" she exclaimed. "She is here, my dear, but she has
fainted. The joy of your return has been too much for her."

Nelly knelt beside her mother and raised her head, and the farmer
grasped Harold's hand.

"My brave boy," he said, "I have to thank you for saving my child's
life. God bless you!"

He dipped his hat in the lake and sprinkled water in his wife's face.
She soon recovered and, a few minutes afterward, the happy party
walked up to the house, Mrs. Welch being assisted by her husband and
Pearson. The two young ones were soon seated at a table, ravenously
devouring food, and, when their hunger was satisfied, they related
the story of their adventures, the whole of the garrison being
gathered round to listen. After relating what had taken place up to
the time of their hiding the canoe, Harold went on:

"We walked about a quarter of a mile until we came to a large clump
of underwood. We crept in there, taking great pains not to break a
twig or disturb a leaf. The ground was, fortunately, very dry, and I
could see that our footprints had not left the smallest marks. There
we have lain hid ever since. We had the fish and the berries, and,
fortunately, the fruit was ripe and juicy and quenched our thirst
well enough, and we could, sometimes, hear the firing by day, and
always at night. On the day we took refuge we heard the voices of the
Indians down toward the lake quite plainly, but we have heard nothing
of them since. Last night we heard the firing up to the middle of the
night, and then it suddenly stopped. To-day I crept out and went down
to the lake to listen; but it seemed that everything was still. Nelly
was in a terrible way, and was afraid that the house had been taken
by the Indians, but I told her that could not be, for that there
would certainly have been a tremendous lot of firing at last, whereas
it stopped, after a few shots, just as it had been going on so long.
Our provisions were all gone and Nelly was getting very bad for want
of water. I, of course, got a drink at the lake this morning. So we
agreed that, if everything was still again to-night, we would go back
to the place where we had hidden the canoe, launch it, and paddle
here. Everything was quiet, so we came along as we had arranged. When
I saw the lights in the windows I made sure all was right: still it
was a great relief when I heard the shout from the shore. I knew, of
course, that it wasn't a redskin's shout. Besides, Indians would have
kept quiet till we came alongside."

Very hearty were the commendations bestowed on the boy for his
courage and thoughtfulness.

"You behaved like an old frontiersman," Pearson said. "I couldn't
have done better myself. You only made one blunder from the time you
set out from shore."

"What was that?" Harold asked.

"You were wrong to pick the berries. The redskins, of course, would
find where you had landed, they'd see the marks where you lay down,
and would know that you had paddled away again. Had it not been for
their seeing the tracks you made in picking the berries they might
have, supposed you had started before daybreak, and had gone out of
sight across the lake; but them marks would have shown 'em that you
did not take to your canoe until long after the sun was up, and
therefore that you couldn't have made across the lake without their
seeing you, but must either have landed or be in your canoe under
shelter of the trees somewhere along the shore. It's a marvel to me
that they didn't find your traces, however careful you were to
conceal 'em. But that's the only error you made, and I tell you,
young un, you have a right to be proud of having outwitted a hull
tribe of redskins."




CHAPTER IV.


THE FIGHT AT LEXINGTON.

Harold remained for four months longer with his cousin. The Indians
had made several attacks upon settlements at other points of the
frontier, but they had not repeated their incursion in the
neighborhood of the lake. The farming operations had gone on
regularly, but the men always worked with their rifles ready to their
hand. Pearson had predicted that the Indians were not likely to
return to that neighborhood. Mr. Welch's farm was the only one along
the lake that had escaped, and the loss the Indians had sustained in
attacking it had been so heavy that they were not likely to make an
expedition in that quarter, where the chances of booty were so small
and the certainty of a desperate resistance so great.

Other matters occurred which rendered the renewal of the attack
improbable. The news was brought by a wandering hunter that a quarrel
had arisen between the Shawnees and the Iroquois, and that the latter
had recalled their braves from the frontier to defend their own
villages in case of hostilities breaking out between them and the
rival tribe.

There was no occasion for Harold to wait for news from home, for his
father had, before starting, definitely fixed the day for his return,
and when that time approached Harold started on his eastward journey,
in order to be at home about the date of their arrival. Pearson took
him in his canoe to the end of the lake and accompanied him to the
settlement, whence he was able to obtain a conveyance to Detroit.
Here he took a passage in a trading boat and made his way by water to
Montreal, thence down through Lake Champlain and the Hudson River to
New York, and thence to Boston.

The journey had occupied him longer than he expected, and Mr. and
Mrs. Wilson were already in their home at Concord when he arrived.
The meeting was a joyful one. His parents had upon their return home
found letters from Mr. Welch and his wife describing the events which
had happened at the farm, speaking in the highest terms of the
courage and coolness in danger which Harold had displayed, and giving
him full credit for the saving of their daughter's life.

Upon the day after Harold's return two gentlemen called upon Captain
Wilson and asked him to sign the agreement which a number of
colonists had entered into to resist the mother country to the last.
This Captain Wilson positively refused to do.

"I am an Englishman," he said, "and my sympathies are wholly with my
country. I do not say that the whole of the demands of England are
justifiable. I think that Parliament has been deceived as to the
spirit existing here. But I consider that it has done nothing
whatever to justify the attitude of the colonists. The soldiers of
England have fought for you against French and Indians and are still
stationed here to protect you. The colonists pay nothing for their
land; they pay nothing toward the expenses of the government of the
mother country; and it appears to me to be perfectly just that people
here, free as they are from all the burdens that bear so heavily on
those at home, should at least bear the expense of the army stationed
here. I grant that it would have been far better had the colonists
taxed themselves to pay the extra amount, instead of the mother
country taxing them; but this they would not do. Some of the
colonists paid their quota, others refused to do so, and this being
the case, it appears to me that England is perfectly justified in
laying on a tax. Nothing could have been fairer than the tax that she
proposed. The stamp-tax would in no way have affected the poorer
classes in the colonies. It would have been borne only by the rich
and by those engaged in such business transactions as required
stamped documents. I regard the present rebellion as the work of a
clique of ambitious men who have stirred up the people by incendiary
addresses and writings. There are, of course, among them a large
number of men--among them, gentlemen, I place you--who
conscientiously believe that they are justified in doing nothing
whatever for the land which gave them or their ancestors birth; who
would enjoy all the great natural wealth of this vast country without
contributing toward the expense of the troops to whom it is due that
they enjoy peace and tranquility. Such, gentlemen, are not my
sentiments. You consider it a gross hardship that the colonists are
compelled to trade only with the mother country. I grant that it
would be more profitable and better for us had we an open trade with
the whole world; but in this England only acts as do all other
countries toward their colonies. France, Spain, Portugal, and the
Netherlands all monopolize the trade of their colonies; all, far more
than does England, regard their colonies as sources of revenue. I
repeat, I do not think that the course that England has pursued
toward us has been always wise, but I am sure that nothing that she
has done justifies the spirit of disaffection and rebellion which is
ripe throughout these colonies."

"The time will come, sir," one of the gentlemen said, "when you will
have reason to regret the line which you have now taken."

"No, sir," Captain Wilson said haughtily. "The time may come when the
line that I have taken may cost me my fortune, and even my life, but
it will never cause me one moment's regret that I have chosen the
part of a loyal English gentleman."

When the deputation had departed Harold, who had been a wondering
listener to the conversation, asked his father to explain to him the
exact position in which matters stood.

It was indeed a serious one. The success of England, in her struggle
with France for the supremacy of North America had cost her a great
deal of money. At home the burdens of the people were extremely
heavy. The expense of the army and navy was great, and the ministry,
in striving to lighten the burdens of the people, turned their eyes
to the colonies. They saw in America a population of over two million
people, subjects of the king, like themselves, living free from rent
and taxes on their own land and paying nothing whatever to the
expenses of the country. They were, it is true, forced to trade with
England, but this obligation was set wholly at naught. A gigantic
system of smuggling was carried on. The custom-house officials had no
force at their disposal which would have enabled them to check these
operations, and the law enforcing a trade with England was virtually
a dead letter.

Their first step was to strengthen the naval force on the American
coast and by additional vigilance to put some sort of check on the
wholesale smuggling which prevailed. This step caused extreme
discontent among the trading classes of America, and these set to
work vigorously to stir up a strong feeling of disaffection against
England. The revenue officers were prevented, sometimes by force,
from carrying out their duties.

After great consideration the English government came to the
conclusion that a revenue sufficient to pay a considerable proportion
of the cost of the army in America might be raised by means of a
stamp-tax imposed upon all legal documents, receipts, agreements, and
licenses--a tax, in fact, resembling that on stamps now in use in
England. The colonists were furious at the imposition of this tax. A
Congress, composed of deputies from each State, met, and it was
unanimously resolved that the stamp-tax should not be paid. Meetings
were everywhere held, at which the strongest and most treasonable
language was uttered, and such violent threats were used against the
persons employed as stamp-collectors that these, in fear of their
lives, resigned their posts.

The stamp-tax remained uncollected and was treated by the colonists
as if it were not in existence.

The whole of the States now began to prepare for war. The Congress
was made permanent, the militia drilled and prepared for fighting,
and everywhere the position grew more and more strained.
Massachusetts was the headquarters of disaffection, and here a total
break with the mother country was openly spoken of. At times the more
moderate spirits attempted to bring about a reconciliation between
the two parties. Petitions were sent to the Houses of Parliament, and
even at this time had any spirit of wisdom prevailed in England the
final consequences might have been prevented. Unfortunately the
majority in Parliament were unable to recognize that the colonists
had any rights upon their side. Taxation was so heavy at home that
men felt indignant that they should be called upon to pay for the
keeping up of the army in America, to which the untaxed colonists,
with their free farms and houses, would contribute nothing. The plea
of the colonists that they were taxed by a chamber in which they were
unrepresented was answered by the statement that such was also the
case with Manchester, Leeds, and many other large towns which were
unrepresented in Parliament.

In England neither the spirit nor the strength of the colonists was
understood. Men could not bring themselves to believe that these
would fight rather than submit, still less that if they did fight it
would be successfully. They ignored the fact that the population of
the States was one-fourth as large as that of England; that by far
the greater proportion of that population were men trained, either in
border warfare or in the chase, to the use of the rifle; that the
enormous extent of country offered almost insuperable obstacles to
the most able army composed of regular troops, and that the vast
forests and thinly populated country were all in favor of a
population fighting as guerrillas against trained troops. Had they
perceived these things the English people would have hesitated before
embarking upon such a struggle, even if convinced, as assuredly the
great majority were convinced, of the fairness of their demands. It
is true that even had England at this point abandoned altogether her
determination to raise taxes in America the result would probably
have been the same. The spirit of disaffection in the colony had gone
so far that a retreat would have been considered as a confession of
weakness, and separation of the colonists from the mother country
would have happened ere many years had elapsed. As it was, Parliament
agreed to let the stamp-tax drop, and in its place established some
import duties on goods entering the American ports.

The colonists, however, were determined that they would submit to no
taxation whatever. The English government, in its desire for peace,
abandoned all the duties with the exception of that on tea; but even
this concession was not sufficient to satisfy the colonists. These
entered into a bond to use no English goods. A riot took place at
Boston, and the revenue officers were forced to withdraw from their
posts. Troops were dispatched from England and the House of Commons
declared Massachusetts to be in a state of rebellion.

It must not be supposed that the colonists were by any means
unanimous in their resistance to England. There were throughout the
country a large number of gentlemen, like Captain Wilson, wholly
opposed to the general feeling. New York refused to send members to
the Congress, and in many other provinces the adhesion given to the
disaffected movement was but lukewarm. It was in the New England
provinces that the spirit of rebellion was hottest. These States had
been peopled for the most part by Puritans--men who had left England
voluntarily, exiling themselves rather than submit to the laws and
religion of the country, and among them, as among a portion of the
Irish population of America at the present time, the feeling of
hatred against the government of England was, in a way, hereditary.

So far but few acts of violence had taken place. Nothing could be
more virulent than the language of the newspapers of both parties
against their opponents, but beyond a few isolated tumults the peace
had not been broken. It was the lull before the storm. The great
majority of the New England colonists were bent upon obtaining
nothing short of absolute independence; the loyalists and the English
were as determined to put down any revolt by force.

The Congress drilled, armed, and organized; the English brought over
fresh troops and prepared for the struggle. It was December when
Harold returned home to his parents, and for the next three months
the lull before the storm continued.

The disaffected of Massachusetts had collected a large quantity of
military stores at Concord. These General Gage, who commanded the
troops at Boston, determined to seize and destroy, seeing that they
could be collected only for use against the Government, and on the
night of April 19 the grenadier and light infantry companies of the
various regiments, 800 strong, under command of Lieutenant Colonel
Smith of the Tenth Regiment, and Major Pitcairne of the Marines,
embarked in boats and were conveyed up Charles River as far as a
place called Phipps' Farm. There they landed at midnight, having a
day's provisions in their haversacks, and started on their march to
Concord, twenty miles distant from Boston.

The design had been discovered by some of the revolutionary party in
the town, and two of their number were dispatched on horseback to
rouse the whole country on the way to Concord, where the news arrived
at two o'clock in the morning.

Captain Wilson and his household were startled from sleep by the
sudden ringing of the alarm-bells, and a negro servant, Pompey, who
had been for many years in their service, was sent down into the
town, which lay a quarter of a mile from the house, to find out what
was the news. He returned in half an hour.

"Me tink all de people gone mad, massa. Dey swarming out of deir
houses and filling de streets, all wid guns on deir shoulders, all de
while shouting and halloing 'Down wid de English! Down wid de
redcoats! dey shan't have our guns; dey shan't take de cannon and de
powder.' Dere were ole Massa Bill Emerson, the preacher, wid his gun
in his hands, shouting to de people to stand firm and to fight till
de last; dey all shout, 'We will!' Dey bery desperate; me fear great
fight come on."

"What are you going to do, father?" Harold asked.

"Nothing, my boy. If, as it is only too likely, this is the beginning
of a civil war, I have determined to offer my services to the
government. Great numbers of loyalists have sent in their names
offering to serve if necessary, and from my knowledge of drill I
shall, of course, be useful. To-day I can take no active part in the
fight, but I shall take my horse and ride forward to meet the troops
and warn the commanding officer that resistance will be attempted
here."

"May I go with you, father?"

"Yes, if you like, my boy. Pompey, saddle two horses at once. You are
not afraid of being left alone, Mary?" he said, turning to his wife.
"There is no chance of any disturbance here. Our house lies beyond
the town, and whatever takes place will be in Concord. When the
troops have captured the guns and stores they will return."

Mrs. Wilson said she was not frightened and had no fear whatever of
being left alone. The horses were soon brought round, and Captain
Wilson and his son mounted and rode off at full speed. They made a
_detour_ to avoid the town, and then, gaining the highroad, went
forward at full speed. The alarm had evidently been given all along
the line. At every village the bells were ringing, the people were
assembling in the streets, all carrying arms, while numbers were
flocking in from the farmhouses around. Once or twice Captain Wilson
was stopped and asked where he was going.

"I am going to tell the commander of the British force, now marching
hither, that if he advances there will be bloodshed--that it will be
the beginning of civil war. If he has orders to come at all hazards,
my words will not stop him; if it is left to his discretion, possibly
he may pause before he brings on so dire a calamity."

It was just dawn when Captain Wilson and Harold rode into Lexington,
where the militia, 130 strong, had assembled. Their guns were loaded
and they were ready to defend the place, which numbered about 700
inhabitants.

Just as Captain Wilson rode in a messenger ran up with the news that
the head of the British column was close at hand. Some of the militia
had dispersed to lie down until the English arrived. John Parker, who
commanded them, ordered the drums to beat and the alarm-guns to be
fired, and his men drew up in two ranks across the road.

"It is too late now, Harold," Captain Wilson said. "Let us get out of
the line of fire."

The British, hearing the drums and the alarm-guns, loaded, and the
advance company came on at the double. Major Pitcairne was at their
head and shouted to the militia to lay down their arms.

It is a matter of dispute, and will always remain one, as to who
fired the first shot. The Americans assert that it was the English;
the English say that as they advanced several shots were fired at
them from behind a stone wall and from some of the adjoining houses,
which wounded one man and hit Major Pitcairne's horse in two places.

The militia disregarded Major Pitcairne's orders to lay down their
arms. The English fired; several of the militia were killed, nine
wounded, and the rest dispersed. There was no further fighting and
the English marched on, unopposed, to Concord.

As they approached the town the militia retreated from it. The
English took possession of a bridge behind the place and held this
while the troops were engaged in destroying the ammunition and
gun-carriages. Most of the guns had been removed and only two
twenty-four pounders were taken. In destroying the stores by fire the
court-house took flames. At the sight of this fire the militia and
armed countrymen advanced down the hill toward the bridge. The
English tried to pull up the planks, but the Americans ran forward
rapidly. The English guard fired; the colonists returned the fire.
Some of the English were killed and wounded and the party fell back
into the town. Half an hour later Colonel Smith, having performed the
duty that he was sent to do, resumed the homeward march with the
whole of his troops.

Then the militiamen of Concord, with those from many villages around
and every man in the district capable of bearing arms, fell upon the
retiring English.

The road led through several defiles, and every tree, every rock,
every depression of ground was taken advantage of by the Americans.
Scarcely a man was to be seen, but their deadly fire rained thick
upon the tired troops. This they vainly attempted to return, but they
could do nothing against an invisible foe, every man of whom
possessed a skill with his rifle far beyond that of the British
soldier. Very many fell and the retreat was fast becoming a rout,
when, near Lexington, the column met a strong re-enforcement which
had been sent out from Boston. This was commanded by Lord Percy, who
formed his detachment into square, in which Colonel Smith's party,
now so utterly exhausted that they were obliged to lie down for some
time, took refuge. When they were rested the whole force moved
forward again toward Boston, harassed the whole way by the Americans,
who from behind stone walls and other places of shelter kept up an
incessant fire upon both flanks, as well as in the front and rear,
against which the troops could do nothing. At last the retreating
column safely arrived at Boston, spent and worn out with fatigue.
Their loss was 65 men killed, 136 wounded, 49 missing.

Such was the beginning of the war of independence. Many American
writers have declared that previous to that battle there was no
desire for independence on the part of the colonists, but this is
emphatically contradicted by the language used at the meetings and in
the newspapers which have come down to us. The leaders may not have
wished to go so far--may not have intended to gain more than an
entire immunity from taxation and an absolute power for the colonists
to manage their own affairs. But experience has shown that when the
spark of revolution is once lighted, when resistance to the law has
once commenced, things are carried to a point far beyond that dreamed
of by the first leaders.

Those who commenced the French Revolution were moderate men who
desired only that some slight check should be placed on the arbitrary
power of the king--that the people should be relieved in some slight
degree from the horrible tyranny of the nobles, from the misery and
wretchedness in which they lived. These just demands increased step
by step until they culminated in the Reign of Terror and the most
horrible scenes of bloodshed and massacre of modern times.

Men like Washington and Franklin and Adams may have desired only that
the colonists should be free from imperial taxation, but the popular
voice went far beyond this. Three years earlier wise counsels in the
British Parliament might have averted a catastrophe and delayed for
many years the separation of the colonies from their mother country.
At the time the march began from Boston to Concord the American
colonists stood virtually in armed rebellion. The militia throughout
New England were ready to fight. Arms, ammunition, and military
stores were collected in Rhode Island and New Hampshire. The cannon
and military stores belonging to the Crown had been carried off by
the people, forty cannon being seized in Rhode Island alone. Such
being the case, it is nonsense to speak of the fray at Lexington as
the cause of the Revolutionary War. It was but the spark in the
powder. The magazine was ready and primed, the explosion was
inevitable, and the fight at Lexington was the accidental incident
which set fire to it.

The efforts of American writers to conceal the real facts of the
case, to minimize the rebellious language, the violent acts of the
colonists, and to make England responsible for the war because a body
of troops were sent to seize cannon and military stores intended to
be used against them are so absurd, as well as so untrue, that it is
astonishing how wide a credence such statements have received.

From an eminence at some distance from the line of retreat Captain
Wilson and his son watched sorrowfully the attack upon the British
troops. When at last the combatants disappeared from sight through
one of the defiles Captain Wilson turned his horse's head homeward.

"The die is cast," he said to his wife as she met him at the door.
"The war has begun, and I fear it can have but one termination. The
colonists can place forces in the field twenty times as numerous as
any army that England can spare. They are inferior in drill and in
discipline, but these things, which are of such vast consequence in a
European battlefield, matter but little in such a country as this.
Skill with the rifle and knowledge of forest warfare are far more
important. In these points the colonists are as superior to the
English soldiers as they are in point of numbers. Nevertheless, my
dear, my duty is plain. I am an Englishman and have borne his
Majesty's commission, and I must fight for the king. Harold has
spoken to me as we rode home together, and he wishes to fight by my
side. I have pointed out to him that as he was born here he can
without dishonor remain neutral in the struggle. He, however, insists
that as a royal subject of the king he is entitled to fight for him.
He saw to-day many lads not older than himself in the rebel ranks,
and he has pleaded strongly for permission to go with me. To this I
have agreed. Which would you prefer, Mary--to stay quietly here,
where I imagine you would not be molested on account of the part I
take, or will you move into Boston and stop with your relations there
until the struggle has ended one way or the other?"

As Mrs. Wilson had frequently talked over with her husband the course
that he would take in the event of civil war actually breaking out,
the news that he would at once offer his services to the British
authorities did not come as a shock upon her. Even the question of
Harold accompanying his father had been talked over; and although her
heart bled at the thought of husband and son being both engaged in
such a struggle, she agreed to acquiesce in any decision that Harold
might arrive at. He was now nearly sixteen, and in the colonies a lad
of this age is, in point of independence and self-reliance, older
than an English boy. Harold, too, had already shown that he possessed
discretion and coolness as well as courage, and although now that the
moment had come Mrs. Wilson wept passionately at the thought of their
leaving her, she abstained from saying any word to dissuade them from
the course they had determined upon. When she recovered from her fit
of crying she said that she would accompany them at once to Boston,
as in the first place their duties might for some time lie in that
city, and that in any case she would obtain far more speedy news
there of what was going on throughout the country than she would at
Concord. She would, too, be living among her friends and would meet
with many of the same convictions and opinions as her husband's,
whereas in Concord the whole population would be hostile.

Captain Wilson said that there was no time to be lost, as the whole
town was in a tumult. He therefore advised her to pack up such
necessary articles as could be carried in the valises, on the horses'
backs.

Pompey and the other servants were to pack up the most valuable
effects and to forward them to a relation of Mrs. Wilson's who lived
about three miles from Boston. There they would be in safety and
could be brought into the town, if necessary. Pompey and two other
old servants were to remain in charge of the house and its contents.
Jake, an active young negro some twenty-three or twenty-four years
old, who was much attached to Harold, whose personal attendant and
companion he had always been, was to accompany them on horseback, as
was Judy, Mrs. Wilson's negro maid.

As evening fell the five horses were brought round, and the party
started by a long and circuitous route, by which, after riding for
nearly forty miles, they reached Boston at two o'clock next morning.




CHAPTER V.


BUNKER'S HILL.

The excitement caused by the news of the fight at Concord was intense
and, as it spread through the colonies, the men everywhere rushed to
arms. The fray at Lexington was represented as a wanton outrage, and
the fact wholly ignored that the colonists concerned in it were drawn
up in arms to oppose the passage of the king's troops, who were
marching on their legitimate duty of seizing arms and ammunition
collected for the purpose of warring against the king. The colonial
orators and newspaper writers affirmed then, as they have affirmed
since, that, up to the day of Lexington, no one had a thought of
firing a shot against the Government. A more barefaced misstatement
was never made. Men do not carry off cannon by scores, and accumulate
everywhere great stores of warlike ammunition, without a thought of
fighting. The colonists commenced the war by assembling in arms to
oppose the progress of British troops obeying the orders of the
Government. It matters not a whit on which side the first shot was
fired. American troops have, many times since that event, fired upon
rioters in the streets, under circumstances no stronger than those
which brought on the fight at Lexington.

From all parts of New England the militia and volunteers poured in,
and in three days after the fight, twenty thousand armed men were
encamped between the rivers Mystic and Roxburgh, thus besieging
Boston. They at once set to work throwing up formidable earthworks,
the English troops remaining within their intrenchments across the
neck of land joining Boston with the mainland.

The streets of Boston were crowded with an excited populace when
Captain Wilson and his party rode into it at two in the morning. No
one thought of going to bed, and all were excited to the last degree
at the news of the battle. All sorts of reports prevailed. On the
colonial side it was affirmed that the British, in their retreat, had
shot down women and children; while the soldiers affirmed that the
colonists had scalped many of their number who fell in the fight. The
latter statement was officially made by Lord Percy in his report of
the engagement.

Captain Wilson rode direct to the house of his wife's friends. They
were still up, and were delighted to see Mary Wilson, for such
exaggerated reports had been received of the fight that they were
alarmed for her safety. They belonged to the moderate party, who saw
that there were faults on both sides and regretted bitterly both the
obstinacy of the English Parliament in attempting to coerce the
colonists and the determination of the latter to oppose, by force of
arms, the legitimate rights of the mother country.

Until the morning the events of the preceding day were talked over; a
few hours' repose was then taken, after which Captain Wilson went to
the headquarters of General Gage and offered his services. Although
Boston was the headquarters of the disaffected party, no less than
two hundred men came forward as volunteers in the king's service, and
Captain Wilson was at once appointed to the command of a company of
fifty men. Before leaving the army he had taken part in several
expeditions against the Indians, and his knowledge of forest warfare
rendered him a valuable acquisition. Boston was but poorly
provisioned, and, as upon the day when the news of Lexington reached
New York two vessels laden with flour for the use of the troops at
Boston were seized by the colonists and many other supplies cut off,
the danger of the place being starved out was considerable. General
Gage, therefore, offered no opposition to the exit from the city of
those who wished to avoid the horror of a siege, and a considerable
portion of the population made their way through to the rebel lines.
Every day brought news of fresh risings throughout the country; the
governors of the various provinces were powerless; small garrisons of
English troops were disarmed and made prisoners; and the fortress of
Ticonderoga, held only by fifty men, was captured by the Americans
without resistance. In one month after the first shot was fired the
whole of the American colonies were in rebellion.

The news was received in England with astonishment and sorrow. Great
concessions had been made by Parliament, but the news had reached
America too late to avoid hostilities. Public opinion was divided;
many were in favor of granting at once all that the colonists
demanded, and many officers of rank and position resigned their
commissions rather than fight against the Americans. The division,
indeed, was almost as general and complete as it had been in the time
of our own civil war. In London the feeling in favor of the colonists
was strong, but in the country generally the determination to repress
the rising was in the ascendant. The colonists had, with great
shrewdness, dispatched a fast-sailing ship to Europe upon the day
following the battle of Lexington, giving their account of the
affair, and representing it as a massacre of defenseless colonists by
British troops; and the story thus told excited a sympathy which
would not, perhaps, have been extended to them had the real facts of
the case been known. Representatives from all the colonies met at
Philadelphia to organize the national resistance; but as yet,
although many of the bolder spirits spoke of altogether throwing off
allegiance to England, no resolution was proposed to that effect.

For the first six weeks after his arrival at Boston, Captain Wilson
was engaged in drilling his company. Harold was, of course, attached
to it, and entered with ardor upon his duties. Captain Wilson did not
attempt to form his men into a band of regular soldiers; accuracy of
movement and regularity of drill would be of little avail in the
warfare in which they were likely to be engaged. Accuracy in
shooting, quickness in taking cover, and steadiness in carrying out
any general orders were the principal objects to be attained. Most of
the men had already taken part in frontier warfare. The majority of
them were gentlemen--Englishmen who, like their captain, had come out
from home and purchased small estates in the country. The discipline,
therefore, was not strict, and, off duty, all were on terms of
equality.

Toward the end of May and beginning of June considerable
re-enforcements arrived from England, and, as a step preparatory to
offensive measures, General Gage, on June 12, issued a proclamation
offering, in his Majesty's name, a free pardon to all who should
forthwith lay down their arms, John Hancock and General Adams only
excepted, and threatening with punishment all who should delay to
avail themselves of the offer. This proclamation had no effect
whatever.

Near the peninsula of Boston, on the north, and separated from it by
the Charles River, which is navigable and about the breadth of the
Thames at London Bridge, is another neck of land called the Peninsula
of Charlestown. On the north bank, opposite Boston, lies the town of
Charlestown, behind which, in the center of the peninsula, rises an
eminence called Bunker's Hill. Bunker's Hill is sufficiently high to
overlook any part of Boston and near enough to be within cannon-shot.
This hill was unoccupied by either party, and about this time the
Americans, hearing that General Gage had come to a determination to
fortify it, resolved to defeat his resolution by being the first to
occupy it.

About nine in the evening of June 16 a detachment from the colonial
army, one thousand strong, under the command of Colonel Prescott,
moved along the Charlestown road and took up a position on a shoulder
of Bunker's Hill, which was known as Breed's Hill, just above the
town of Charlestown. They reached this position at midnight. Each man
carried a pick and shovel, and all night they worked vigorously in
intrenching the position. Not a word was spoken, and the watch on
board the men-of-war in the harbor were ignorant of what was going on
so near at hand. At daybreak the alarm was given, and the _Lively_
opened a cannonade upon the redoubt. A battery of guns was placed on
Copp's Hill, behind Boston, distant twelve hundred yards from the
works, and this, also, opened fire. The Americans continued their
work, throwing up fresh intrenchments; and, singularly, only one man
was killed by the fire from the ships and redoubt. A breastwork was
carried down the hill to the flat ground which, intersected by
fences, stretched away to the Mystic. By nine o'clock they had
completed their intrenchments.

Prescott sent off for re-enforcements, but there was little harmony
among the colonial troops. Disputes between the contingents of the
various provinces were common; there was no head of sufficient
authority to enforce his orders upon the whole; and a long delay took
place before the re-enforcements were sent forward.

In the meantime the English had been preparing to attack the
position. The Fifth, Thirty-eighth, Forty-third, and Fifty-second
regiments, with ten companies of the grenadiers and ten of the light
infantry, with a proportion of field artillery, embarked in boats,
and, crossing the harbor, landed on the outward side of the
peninsula, near the Mystic, with a view of outflanking the American
position and surrounding them. The force was under the command of
Major General Howe, under whom was Brigadier General Piggott.

Upon seeing the strength of the American position, General Howe
halted, and sent back for further re-enforcements. The Americans
improved the time thus given them by forming a breastwork in front of
an old ditch. Here there was a post-and-rail fence. They ran up
another by the side of this and filled the space between the two with
the new-mown hay, which, cut only the day before, lay thickly over
the meadows.

[Illustration: Plan of the Action at Bunkers Hill, on the 17th of
June 1775.]

Two battalions were sent across to re-enforce Howe, while large
re-enforcements, with six guns, arrived to the assistance of
Prescott. The English had now a force consisting, according to
different authorities, of between 2000 and 2500 men. The colonial
force is also variously estimated, and had the advantage both in
position and in the protection of their intrenchments, while the
British had to march across open ground. As individual shots the
colonists were immensely superior, but the British had the advantages
given by drill and discipline.

The English lines advanced in good order, steadily and slowly, the
artillery covering them by their fire. Presently the troops opened
fire, but the distance was too great and they did but little
execution. Encumbered with their knapsacks they ascended the steep
hill toward the redoubt with difficulty, covered, as it was, by grass
reaching to the knees. The colonists did not fire a shot until the
English line had reached a point about one hundred and fifty yards
from the intrenchments. Then Prescott gave the order, and from the
redoubt and the long line of intrenchments flanking it flashed a line
of fire. Each man had taken a steady aim with his rifle resting on
the earthwork before him, and so deadly was the fire that nearly the
whole front line of the British fell. For ten minutes the rest stood
with dogged courage, firing at the hidden foe, but these, sheltered
while they loaded and only exposing themselves momentarily while they
raised their heads above the parapets to fire, did such deadly
execution that the remnant of the British fell back to the foot of
the hill.

While this force, which was under the command of General Pigott, had
been engaged, another division under Howe himself moved against the
rail fence. The combat was a repetition of that which had taken place
on the hill. Here the Americans reserved their fire until the enemy
were close; then, with their muskets resting on the rails, they
poured in a deadly fire, and, after in vain trying to stand their
ground, the troops fell back to the shore.

Captain Wilson was standing with Harold on Copp's Hill watching the
engagement.

"What beautiful order they go in!" Harold said, looking admiringly at
the long lines of red-coated soldiers.

"It is very pretty," Captain Wilson said sadly, "and may do in
regular warfare; but I tell you, Harold, that sort of thing won't do
here. There is scarce a man carrying a gun behind those intrenchments
who cannot with certainty hit a bull's-eye at one hundred and fifty
yards. It is simply murder, taking the men up in regular order
against such a foe sheltered by earthworks."

At this moment the long line of fire darted out from the American
intrenchments.

"Look there!" Captain Wilson cried in a pained voice. "The front line
is nearly swept away! Do you see them lying almost in an unbroken
line on the hillside? I tell you, Harold, it is hopeless to look for
success if we fight in this way. The bravest men in the world could
not stand such a fire as that."

"What will be done now?" Harold asked as the men stood huddled upon
the shore.

"They will try again," Captain Wilson said. "Look at the officers
running about among them and getting them into order."

In a quarter of an hour the British again advanced both toward the
redoubt and the grass fence. As before the Americans withheld their
fire, and this time until the troops were far closer than before, and
the result was even more disastrous. Some of the grenadier and light
infantry companies who led lost three-fourths, others nine-tenths of
their men. Again the British troops recoiled from that terrible fire.
General Howe and his officers exerted themselves to the utmost to
restore order when the troops again reached the shore, and the men
gallantly replied to their exhortations. Almost impossible as the
task appeared, they prepared to undertake it for the third time. This
time a small force only was directed to move against the grass fence,
while the main body, under Howe, were to attack the redoubt on the
hill.

Knapsacks were taken off and thrown down, and each man nerved himself
to conquer or die. The ships in the harbor prepared the way by
opening a heavy cannonade. General Clinton, who was watching the
battle from Copp's Hill, ran down to the shore, rowed across the
harbor, and put himself at the head of two battalions. Then, with
loud cheers, the troops again sprang up the ascent. The American
ammunition was running short, many of the men not having more than
three or four rounds left, and this time they held their fire until
the British troops were within twenty yards. These had not fired a
shot, the order being that there was to be no pause, but that the
redoubt was to be carried with the bayonet. For a moment they wavered
when the deadly volley was poured in upon them. Then, with a cheer,
they rushed at the intrenchments. All those who first mounted were
shot down by the defenders, but the troops would not be denied, and,
pouring over the earthworks leaped down upon the enemy.

For a few minutes there was a hand-to-hand fight, the Americans using
the butt-ends of their muskets, the English their bayonets. The
soldiers were exhausted with the climb up the hill and their exertions
under a blazing sun, and the great majority of the defenders of the
redoubt were, therefore, enabled to retreat unharmed, as, fresh and
active, they were able to outrun their tired opponents, and as the
balls served out to the English field-pieces were too large, the
artillery were unable to come into action.

The colonists at the rail fence maintained their position against the
small force sent against them till the main body at the redoubt had
made their escape. The British were unable to continue the pursuit
beyond the isthmus.

In the whole history of the British army there is no record of a more
gallant feat than the capture of Bunker's Hill, and few troops in the
world would, after two bloody repulses, have moved up the third time
to assail such a position, defended by men so trained to the use of
the rifle. Ten hundred and fifty-four men, or nearly half their
number, were killed and wounded, among whom were 83 officers. In few
battles ever fought was the proportion of casualties to the number
engaged so great. The Americans fought bravely, but the extraordinary
praise bestowed upon them for their valor appears misplaced. Their
position was one of great strength, and the absence of drill was of
no consequence whatever in such an engagement. They were perfectly
sheltered from the enemy's fire while engaged in calmly shooting him
down, and their loss, up to the moment when the British rushed among
them, was altogether insignificant. Their casualties took place after
the position was stormed and on their retreat along the peninsula,
and amounted in all to 145 killed and captured and 304 wounded. It
may be said that both sides fought well; but, from the circumstances
under which they fought, the highest credit is due to the victors.

The battle, however, though won by the English, was a moral triumph
for the Americans, and the British Parliament should at once have
given up the contest. It was, from the first, absolutely certain that
the Americans, with their immense superiority in numbers, could, if
they were only willing to fight, hold their vast country against the
British troops, fighting with a base thousands of miles away. The
battle of Bunker's Hill showed that they were so willing--that they
could fight sternly and bravely: and this point once established, it
was littl