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Author of "Champions of Freedom," "Romance of American History," "Warriors of the West," &c.

CHAPTER IX.

Ir was in a strange apartment that our hero again opened his eyes. Finding his arm bandaged, and his hands covered with plasters, his first thought was that he had been wounded; but soon the truth burst upon him of the scene he had gone through, and turning to an old woman who was watching by his bedside, his first words

were:

"Is she alive?"

his means the lovely girl, who, as she lay helpless upon his breast, appeared to him the most beautiful being he ever beheld, was preserved from the terrible fate with which she was threatened.

He felt still faint and exhausted, but was too anxious to learn about what happened to keep silence, although the nurse told him that when the doctor bled him he said ho must not be allowed to talk much until his strength was restored.

"Have I been bled too?" he asked.

"Oh dear, yes, and for a long spell we thought you was dead, and Mr. Hunt tried to find out your name, that he might send to your friends, but he couldn't find out nothing about you, till a man in a red coat

"Bless my soul! he's come to at last!" exclaimed the nurse, dropping her knitting. "Well, if we didn't think you never would speak again, sir; and Miss Amy has been in a dreadful taking, and so has Mr. Hunt, and Mr. Charles." "Then she was not dead, as I feared at comed along and said you was the son of first ?"

"What, Amy? Oh dear, no sir. But she says she should have died if it hadn't been for you, sir; and Mr. Simpson and Mr. Charles brought you here, sir, and he and Miss Amy have taken turns in coming to see you, for you was dreadful burnt, and no wonder. But your hair will all grow out again, and the plasters can't help doing a sight of good, for I've tried it afore."

Douglas put his hand to his head, and found that it was bandaged, and his hair indeed gone;, but a thrill of joy ran through his frame when he thought that through

VOL. IV.

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Sir Robert Douglas, and told where your father lived; and so Mr. Charles took a swift horse and has gone to tell him, but he will be glad enough to find that you ain't dead, and poor Miss Amy has been crying for nothing."

"My father sent for! and without my knowledge; how unfortunate !"

"Why, who'd a thought that the young gentleman wouldn't a wanted to see his own father?" thought the nurse, as she arranged her spectacles; "well, to be sure, he might be worried."

"And how long has he been gone!"

17

asked Douglas, as he sank back again upon the universal sense here that the Massa

his pillow.

"He started yesterday, when you were at the worst, and they didn't think you'd get over it."

"Can I see this Mr. Hunt? for I suppose he is the old gentleman whose grandchild I saved."

"To be sure, sir. He told me to call him if you comed to. And shall I call Miss Amy too, sir? She may want to thank you."

"No, no," said Douglas; "not yet, until I am better." He felt himself unequal to enduring the agitation her presence might cause. "But if you will be so good as to let Mr. Hunt know that I wish to say a few words to him."

"How strange are the ways of Providence!" exclaimed the aged man, as this request was delivered. "To think that the son of Robert Douglas should be under my care, and the preserver of one of my family! Tell him I will come, Mrs. Ruth."

Let us leave Douglas and his interests for a while, and take notice of other characters connected with our story. Before the author of this tale lies a letter in the handwriting of the venerable John Adams, and as it illustrates the state of public feeling at that eventful period, she thinks best to give it entire.*

Philadelphia, September 26th, 1774. DEAR SIR-Yesterday I had the pleasure of receiving yours of the fourteenth instant, for which I am much obliged to you. I receive a greater pleasure from the letters of my friends than ever, and every line we receive is of use to us.

Before this reaches you, the sense of the Congress concerning your wisdom, fortitude and temperance, in the Massachusetts in general, and the county of Suffolk in particular, will be public in our country. It is

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chusetts acts, and murder act, ought not to be submitted to for a moment. But then, when you ask the question, What is to be done? they answer, Stand still; bear with patience; if you come to a rupture with the troops, all is lost.

Resuming the first charter, absolute independency, and our ideas will startle people here.

It seems to be the general opinion here, that it is practicable for us in the Massachusetts to live wholly without a legislature and courts of justice as long as will be necessary to obtain relief. If it is practicable, the general opinion is, that we ought to bear it. The commencement of hostilities is exceedingly dreaded here. It is thought that an attack upon the troops, even though it should prove successful and triumphant, would certainly involve the whole continent in a war. It is generally thought here that the ministry will rejoice at a rupture in Boston, because that would furnish him with an excuse to the people at home, and unite them with him in an opinion of the necessity of pushing hostilities against us.

On the contrary, the delegates and other persons from all parts are universally very sanguine, that if Boston and the Massachusetts can possibly steer a middle course between obedience to the acts and open hostilities with the troops, the exertions of the Colonies will procure a total change of measures and full redress for us.

However, my friend, I cannot at this distance pretend to judge. We must leave all to your superior wisdom.

What you propose, sir, of holding out some proposal which shall show our willingness to pay for our protection at sea, is a subject often mentioned in private conversation here. Many gentlemen have pursued the thought, and digested their plans. But what is to be the fate of them I can't say.

It is my opinion, sir, that we do our full proportion towards the protection of the empire, and towards the support of the naval power. To the support of the stand

ing army we ought never to contribute vol- the Point, in which the celebrated Kidd is untarily.

A gentleman put into my hands a plan a few days ago for offering to raise £200,000 annually, and to appropriate it to the maintenance of a ship of war! But is not this surrendering our liberty? I have not time, however, to discuss these questions at present. I hope to have the pleasure of considering these things in private conversation; meantime, I pray God to direct, assist and protect you, and all our friends, amidst the dangers that surround you.

Am glad to hear Mr. Cranch is about taking refuge in Braintree. I wish every living creature except the Tories was well provided for in the country. My respects to all your worthy family.

I remain, with great respect,

Your friend and humble servant,
JOHN ADAMS.

HONORABLE JOSEPH PALMER.

But while this letter was on its way to its destination, the battle of Bunker Hill had taken place, and, as Adams prophesied, the whole continent was indeed in a blaze. Washington had been appointed Commander-in-Chief of the forces, and the war had commenced in good earnest. Mr. Palmer, who was a wealthy and liberal man,, expended £5,000 towards furnishing the army. On the arrival of Washington at Cambridge, he had been appointed President of the Provincial Congress. The army lay around Boston, gradually increasing in numbers, and in the spring removed to New-York. During the winter the enemy's ships still lay off the harbor, and Washington exerted himself to the utmost to destroy them. A garrison was stationed at Point Shirly, which, although small in numbers, was composed of iron-hearted men, who thought little of the hardships they endured from the severe cold, and terrible gales which always prevail on that bleak spot, besides danger from a numerous horde of pirates.

said to have concealed himself under an assumed name, and there, as well as in other places, the earth has been turned up, floors raised, and every nook and corner searched for the supposed hidden treasure. After the battle of Bunker Hill, the British soldiers in Boston, closely besieged by the Americans, suffered dreadfully from famine. Provisions were smuggled in generally by the pirates, who made immense fortunes in this way. In the midst, that dreadful scourge, the small-pox, broke out. All who favored the patriot cause had fled from the city, after the first blow was struck for freedom, and their deserted houses were turned into hospitals for the sick-many of whom were left to die alone and uncared for, and their bodies left to rot and breed pestilence among the survivors. Neither physicians nor nurses could be procured, except at enormous prices, and of course the poor suffered the most.* But strange to say, amid all this terror, death, and desolation, the gay, reckless British officers turned the meeting-houses into theatres, and rioted. away the night in performing plays and singing songs, the burden of which was 1idicule of the intrepid enemy they pretended to despise, while kept in bondage by them. One day, giving vent to their spleen, and willing to let the soldiers enjoy some sport as well as themselves, they set them to cutting down the Liberty Tree, which they burned for fuel. Houses were also torn down for the same purpose. It was about this time that an English scribbler composed the famous song called "Yankee Doodle," which was sung nightly in the Old South Church, which they had turned into an amphitheatre, where they performed feats of horsemanship. Washington, disgusted with the news that daily reached him of these outrages, and impatient at

A large wooden building is still standing at the foot of Copp's hill, fronting Salem street, which, in the absence of the owner, was taken possession of for a hospital. The cellar of this house was taken up, and it was completely repaved with A house still stands near the extremity of grave-stones, which remain to this day.

being so inactive, determined to make a vigorous effort to gain possession of the town, and restore the banished inhabitants to their homes. It was one of the most severe winters ever felt in that part of the country, and the poor Americans, half clothed, famished with hunger, and without shelter, were becoming desperate. A council of war was called at Cambridge, but the views of Washington did not meet with general approbation and the plan was not allowed to be carried out. The people in the vicinity of Boston, harassed by the powerful British vessels which interfered with their efforts to obtain a livelihood by running down their fish-boats, and in other ways, now began to forsake their homes and families and join the army, which was by this means increased to fourteen thousand.

CHAPTER X.

AFTER the departure of Allan, a gloom seemed to hang over the family of Douglas, only relieved by the journal he sent occasionally to his sister Julia. He had now been confined for more than a week, and during this time his restless mind relieved itself by pouring out his feelings to his beloved sister. Little did he regret his situation, for his services were not called for, the army then being stationary, and there were new emotions gathering around his heart, dangerous to his patriotism as well as his peace. A lovely vision flitted daily around his couch, a sweet voice was employed in reading to cheer his solitary hours, and the most beautiful dark eyes, beaming with grateful feeling, haunted him day and night. There was something mysterious in the manner of his host towards him sometimes kind to extreme; then again, actuated by some hidden motive, his brow would contract, and his aged features settle into a severity of look which our hero had often observed, but could not account for. He satisfied all his inquiries about the events following the eventful bat

tle, but was extremely taciturn when he saw the least appearance of curiosity toward himself and his individual concerns. Once or twice, while Douglas lay apparently insensible, he thought he had heard the nurse address Mr. Hunt by another name, but it might be the effect of his disordered imagination; and although courteous and hospitable, there was that in the demeanor of the old man that prevented any attempt at confidence. Meantime he became very uneasy at not hearing from his sister. An express had been sent after Amy's brother, to relieve the minds of his family as to his danger, but, to their surprise, not a word had arrived in return.

The patient was now able to sit up, and the old nurse began gradually to resign her post to Amy, especially when she perceived that her visits always seemed to revive him and make him happy. Another day passed, and it brought to the anxious youth the long-expected letter. It ran thus:—

"DEAR ALLAN:-You cannot imagine with what alarm mother and I heard of your situation. Yet, although it distressed us, we could not blame you for what you had done, and even father could not help exclaiming, 'The true Douglas spirit!' and after that he spoke not a word, even when informed of your extreme illness. You must have overtasked yourself in this your first engagement, and then to exert yourself thus at a fire that frightened every one else. But if the young lady you saved is like her brother, nobody could blame you. We are all delighted with him, even to father; and as for black Cæsar, I believe he absolutely worships his boots, for he will not allow him to have them until they shine as bright as his own face. Mr. Hunt seems so contented here, that I should not wonder if he stays some days longer; for father tells him he has not seen half the beauties of the place, and proposes to-morrow to take him to Monument Mountain, which he has a great desire to see. I am very anxious to see the sweet Amy Hunt. Don't fall in love with her until I do, for though we like the

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