Chapter 12

Charlestown._

LORD BOSTON. Clouds of dust and smoke intercept my sight; I cannot see; I hear the noise of cannon--Percy's cannon--Grant him success!

OFFICER OF GUARD. Methinks, sir, I see British colours waving.

LORD BOSTON. Some ray of hope.--Have they got so near?--Captain, keep a good lookout; tell me every thing you see. My eyes are wondrous dim.

OFFICER. The two brigades have join'd--Now Admiral Tombstone bellows his lower tier on the Provincials. How does your Excellency?

LORD BOSTON. Right;--more hope still.--I'm bravely to what I was. Which way do our forces tend?

OFFICER. I can distinguish nothing for a certainty now; such smoke and dust!

LORD BOSTON. God grant Percy courage!

OFFICER. His ancestors were brave, sir.

LORD BOSTON. Aye, that's no rule--no rule, Captain; so were mine.--A heavy firing now.--The Rebels must be very numerous--

OFFICER. They're like caterpillars; as numerous as the locusts of Egypt.

LORD BOSTON. Look out, Captain, God help you, look out.

OFFICER. I do, sir.

LORD BOSTON. What do you see now? Hark! what dreadful noise!

ONE OF THE GUARD. [_Aside._] How damn'd afraid he is.

ANOTHER OF THE GUARD. [_Aside._] He's one of your chimney corner Generals--an old granny.

OFFICER. If I mistake not, our troops are fast retreating; their fire slackens; the noise increases.

LORD BOSTON. Oh, Captain, don't say so!

OFFICER. 'Tis true, sir, they're running--the enemy shout victory.

LORD BOSTON. Upon your honour?--say--

OFFICER. Upon my honour, sir, they're flying t'wards Charlestown. Percy's beat;--I'm afraid he's lost his artillery.

LORD BOSTON. Then 'tis all over--the day is lost--what more can we do?

OFFICER. We may, with the few troops left in Boston, yet afford them some succour, and cover their retreat across the water; 'tis impossible to do more.

LORD BOSTON. Go instantly; I'll wait your return. Try your utmost to prevent the Rebels from crossing. Success attend you, my dear Captain, God prosper you! [_Exit OFFICER._] Alas! alas! my glory's gone; my honour's stain'd. My dear guards, don't leave me, and you shall have plenty of porter and sour-crout.