The Old Stone House Part 15

There had, however, been great difficulty with the cows who were to represent General Putnam's oxen, for the horses' harness did not fit them very well, and they objected to dragging the plough as well-regulated oxen should have done; so at the last moment it was decided to give up the idea of a moving scene, and simply attempt a tableau; General Putnam at his plough in the field, reading the Declaration of Independence. A sheet could be held up until the cows were in position, then it was to be dropped and the tableau revealed to the audience. "The effect would be grand," Tom said.

At ten o'clock the actors were all in the vegetable garden, and the audience under cover of straw hats and parasols were slowly a.s.sembling on the benches above. The cannon was loaded at the top of an earthwork commanding the asparagus-bed, torpedo ammunition was stored in a box half way down the hill, and fire-crackers were everywhere, provided by the combatants who had clubbed their spending-money for the purpose.

A hole had been made in the roof of the underground shanty through which Putnam was to be let down by a rope, and Turk, as the wolf, had been imprisoned there since early morning, with Grip to keep him company. At last all was ready, and the orchestra opened the entertainment with "Hail Columbia" on the violin, by Tom, accompanied by the jews-harp, tambourine and triangle, and a flute which could only play two notes, but made up in power what it lacked in variety.

Tom had tried hard to learn "Hail Columbia" for this occasion. He thought he knew it, and the family thought so too, from the amount of practising they had heard. But the excitement confused the performer, and the violin, after careering around among "Independence be your boast," ended in the well-known "Nelly Bly," Tom's chef-d'oeuvre.

Fortunately the change made no difference to the rest of the orchestra, their accompaniment was the same to all tunes, and "Nelly Bly" was finished in triumph, and received with applause by the good-natured audience and calls for "first-violin."

But the orchestra had already dispersed to aid in the grand opening scene, the wolf-hunt, an "historical incident in the life of General Israel Putnam of glorious memory," as the written programme designated it. First appeared one of the B. B.'s attired as the "Cla.s.sic Muse,"

with a wreath of laurel around his brow. He recited the following lines taken from the "Putnam Memorial:--"

"Hail! Hero of Bunker's Hill.

Thy presence now my soul doth thrill!

This is a sacred and heavenly spot Where thou, Putnam, didst thy body drop; May future generations be blest With the patriotic spirit thou possessed!

Thy memory is like a sweet balm, That will bless and do no harm."

This remarkable ode concluded, the Muse retired, and Putnam himself appeared, dressed in full uniform with a sword by his side, and a majestic feather in his hat. The general made a bow to the audience and repeated the following verse, also extracted from the "Memorial."

"I am Israel Putnam the brave, Who in Pomfret shot the wolf in the cave; And by her ears did draw her out,-- I am no coward, but rash and stout!"

Having thus announced his character, General Putnam walked towards the shanty and brandished his sword. "Ha!" he said, snorting fiercely, "there is a wolf here! I shall descend and slay him!"

"Nay, nay!" shouted the B. B.'s in a chorus, as they rushed from the currant-bushes where they had remained hidden to give full effect to the scene. "Putnam, descend not; the wolf is wild!" cried one.

"Putnam, descend not; remember thy child!" said another. (This was considered highly poetical by the B. B.'s). But Putnam was not to be persuaded, and the rope was therefore carefully secured to his belt.

He took leave of all his friends, shaking them all by the hand, and then, feather and all, he was lowered into the cave, _i.e._ underground shanty. It was intended that there should be no delay in this part of the scene; Turk had been through his portion of the programme many times, and had allowed himself to be hauled up and down with his usual good-nature. As it was expected, therefore, that Putnam would vanquish the wolf in no time, no dialogue had been provided for the friends and neighbors waiting outside, and as time pa.s.sed and no signal to "draw up," came, they grew somewhat embarra.s.sed. Tom, urged by necessity, spoke impromptu: "He fighteth the wolf!" he cried; "he fighteth fiercely!" Then, in an undertone to his next neighbor, "say something, Will; anything will do." But Will could think of nothing but "He fighteth the wolf!" also; so he said it to d.i.c.k and kicked him on the s.h.i.+n as a signal to proceed. "Doth he?" said d.i.c.k after a long pause; then, at his wits' end as he received another and fiercer kick, he varied the phrase and stammered out, "Doth he?" in a despairing voice, at which all the audience laughed uproariously. Still there was no signal from below, and Tom grew desperate. Stooping down he called through the aperture, "I say, Putnam, why don't you jerk out that wolf?" But no answer came from the den. "Sing something," said Tom to the B. B.'s in an undertone, "'Battle Cry of Freedom' will do; while I run down and see what is the matter." So all the friends and neighbors joined in singing a song, probably to intimidate the wolf, while Tom hurried down to the door at the bottom of the hill.

"What _is_ the matter, Jim?" he cried, bursting in to the underground shanty; "you've almost spoilt the whole thing! Why don't you hurry up?"

"It's all very well to say 'hurry up,'" said General Putnam, indignantly, "but Turk won't let me come near him. He's worse than a wolf any day."

"I suppose he's tired; he's been shut up here since daylight," said Tom looking at the angry old dog. "Well, I suppose you'll have to take Grip, then. Hurry,--they're at the last verse."

So the signal was given, and the friends and neighbors, rejoiced that their embarra.s.sment was over, began to pull with such a will that Tom had hardly time to run back and repeat his prepared speech. "He is safe! Our n.o.ble Putnam is safe!" cried Tom, with enthusiasm. "He bringeth out the wolf, the great, the dreadful wolf!" At this instant the General hove into view, his feathered hat knocked over his eyes, the rope girding his chest with alarming tightness, and wee little Grip suspended by the nape of his neck as the wolf, "the great, the dreadful wolf!" A burst of irrepressible laughter from the audience greeted this tableau, and Putnam's mother cried out in great anxiety, "Jimmy, Jimmy, take off that rope directly; it will hurt your chest!"

The first part over, the scene was supposed to be changed. Half of the B. B.'s were required to bring the two cows from the cow-house where they were standing already harnessed, and the others put the plough in position and hold up the sheet. But the cows were obstinate and would not walk together, so that gradually the whole force was summoned, and Gem was left to hold up the curtain with the a.s.sistance of a small boy, the brother of General Stark. At length, after severe labor, the cows were brought up behind the sheet and attached to the plough, but before Putnam could take his position, one of them, a frisky animal, put down her head and shook her horns so threateningly that Gem abandoned her corner of the sheet and fled in terror, leaving the mortified patriots to the full blaze of public ridicule. Tom was furious, but he reserved his rage for another time. "Bring those cows together by main force and hold 'em still, boys," he said in a concentrated tone as he picked up the corner of the sheet. "Take hold of the plough, Jim. Now, d.i.c.k, say your piece." The Cla.s.sic Muse advancing before the curtain obeyed, in the following language: "Behold the peaceful Putnam tilling the soil. His gentle oxen feed among the clover. But the n.o.ble Declaration of Independence rouseth his manly heart. He leaveth his team in the furrow and goeth to Bunker Hill!" declaimed the Muse at the top of his voice as the sheet was dropped disclosing the spectacle of ten boys fiercely holding the two cows in position while Putnam, in full uniform as usual, peacefully read a huge paper doc.u.ment apparently all unmindful of the struggles of his team.

The effect of this tableau was, like the first, far greater than antic.i.p.ated. The audience laughed till they cried; and not the least part of the amus.e.m.e.nt was the retreat of the "peaceful oxen," wildly careering back to the pasture, their harness fluttering behind their frightened heels.

After a short pause the Battle of Bunker Hill began in earnest, and was esteemed a great success. The cannon raked the asparagus-bed very effectively, and the musketry of torpedoes and fire-crackers, was really deafening; the British flag was ignominiously hauled down from the Bunker Hill Monument, and the Stars and Stripes raised in its place; every now and then, also, the shrieks and groans of the wounded, were heard from the corn-patch, which added, of course, the pathetic element to the scene. At last, when all the ammunition was exhausted, peace was declared, and the American forces a.s.sembling around the monument, listened to General Stark, as he vehemently burst forth into "To be, or not to be," pointing aloft, at intervals, to the Banner of Freedom, and closing with,--

"The Flag of our Union! At Lexington first Through clouds of oppression its radiance burst; But at brave Bunker Hill rolled back the last crest, And, a bright constellation, it blazed in the West.

Division! No, never! The Union forever!

And cursed be the hand that our country would sever!"

as a highly appropriate termination, giving a local and military coloring to Hamlet's celebrated soliloquy.

The battle well over, and generous applause bestowed upon the army, the episode of the spy was introduced, and Gem retrieved her character by patiently holding up her end of the sheet while the tent was constructed out of some poles and colored blankets,--a real camp-fire along side being relied upon to give a life-like resemblance to "Valley Forge." The sheet removed, General Putnam was discovered seated within his tent, writing a letter. Enter, from the potato-patch, an orderly, who reported in a deep voice, "General Tryon demands Nathan Palmer."

"Ha! Doth he so! British miscreant! thus will I fell him!" exclaimed Putnam, brandis.h.i.+ng his sword with so much ferocity that the whole tent fell to the ground, covering him with blankets and confusion.

Rescued from the wreck by the orderly, the general stammered out his next sentence: "Behold what I have written to Tryon! Take the letter and read it to the army!" he said sternly, and retired--to what was once his tent. The enemy filed in from the chicken-yard, presented arms, and stood motionless while the orderly read as follows:--

"MARCH 8th, 1777.

"------ TRYON,--Sir:

"Nathan Palmer, a lieutenant in your king's service, was taken in my camp as a spy, He was tried as a spy; he was condemned as a spy; and he shall be hanged as a spy.

PUTNAM.

"P. S.--Night. He is hanged."

This celebrated letter having been read, Putnam's part was over, and he retired backwards to the corn-patch to slow music from the orchestra hidden behind the currant-bushes, while the army marched away in the opposite direction,--the two effects having been contrived by Tom to imitate a dissolving view. This pantomime was received by the merry audience with great applause.

The next scene exhibited, after long preparation, the body of the unfortunate Palmer hanging from a tree, suspended by his hands, with a rope conspicuously coiled around his neck. The Cla.s.sic Muse again appeared, and took his position near by, while the American army in masks, with dark-lanterns and m.u.f.fled drums, filed in softly, and formed a circle around the tree. "Friends!" said one of the band stepping forward, "I am Ethan Allen, and I cannot leave this man, although a British subject, suspended to this tree. We will bury him, friends, 'darkly, at dead of night, by the struggling moonbeams' misty light, and our lanterns dimly burning.'"

The army agreed to these sentiments, and, deputing two of their number to act as bearers, marched away to the sound of the m.u.f.fled drums. But the body, which had conveniently dropped to the ground in the meantime, proved too heavy for the bearers. John Chase, who had been thoughtlessly allowed to take the part of the Spy, was a particularly heavy boy, and the bearers pulled and tugged in vain. The army, absorbed in the m.u.f.fled drums (each boy had one), was already at some distance, and the final tableau, in which the body took a part, was still to be enacted; the bearers made another effort, the perspiration rolled down their faces, but all in vain. There was nothing to be done but signal to the Cla.s.sic Muse to come forward and help. He hastily tucked up his robes and took hold. With his aid the spy was hurried after the retreating army, reaching it just in time to spring to his feet under the flag-staff where floated the Star-Spangled Banner, Red, White, and Blue, and exclaim fervently, "Fellow-citizens, I am not dead! Behold me a changed man! From this moment I am a true and loyal patriot. Long live the Sword of Bunker Hill!" As the resuscitated spy uttered these words, the army formed an effective tableau around him, and the Cla.s.sic Muse, still breathless from his late exertions, waved his laurel-wreath in the foreground, and struck up the "Star-Spangled Banner," in which the audience joined with enthusiasm.

The patriotic drama being over, great applause ensued, and then the army was invited in to lunch in Aunt Faith's cool dining-room; here ice-cream, cakes, and other camp-dishes were provided in great abundance, the soldiers stacked arms, and seemed to enjoy themselves as easily as private citizens. The numerous young sisters of the B. B.'s gradually forgot their shyness, and the afternoon was spent in games and merriment,--the Old Stone House being entirely given up to the young folks early in the evening, when the weary warriors departed.

"It's been a splendid Fourth!" said Tom, throwing himself into a chair when the last guests had taken their departure; "I wish we could have such fun every day!"

"If you had it every day you would soon be tired of it," said Aunt Faith smiling.

About midnight, when all was still, Aunt Faith, who had not been asleep, thought she heard a slight sound; she listened, and distinguished faint sobs coming from Gem's room, as though the child had her head buried in the pillows. Throwing on a wrapper, she hurried thither, and found her little niece with flushed cheeks and tearful eyes, tossing uneasily on her bed. "What is the matter, dear?" asked Aunt Faith, anxiously.

"Oh, is it you, Aunt Faith? I am so glad you have come!" said Gem.

"There is nothing the matter, only I cannot sleep, and I feel so badly."

Do you feel ill? Are you in any pain?"

"No; only hot, and, and--a little frightened."

"Frightened? My dear child, what do you mean?"

"I don't know, auntie. I woke up, and kept thinking of dreadful things," sobbed Gem, burying her head in the pillows. Aunt Faith saw that the child was trembling violently, and, sitting down on the edge of the bed, she drew the little form into her motherly arms, and soothed her as she would have soothed a baby. "Come into my room, dear," she said; "you are tired and excited after this busy day. I have not slept, either, and I shall be glad to have you go with me."

So the two went, back across the hall, Gem clinging to her aunt, and glancing fearfully around, as though she expected to see some ghostly object in every well-known corner. When she had crept into her bed, however, she felt more safe, and nestled down with a deep sigh of relief. After some conversation on various subjects, Aunt Faith said: "And now, my little girl, you must tell me what frightened you. I have always thought you a brave child. What was it you fancied?"

"Oh, I don't know, auntie; all kinds of things. Ghosts, and everything."

"Gem, you know very well there are no such things as ghosts."

"Really and truly, Aunt Faith?" asked Gem, in a low tone.

"Certainly not. I am surprised that you have any such ideas. Where did you get them?"

"I have heard the girls talking about them, sometimes, in the kitchen.

They believe in them, Aunt Faith."

"That is because they are ignorant, my dear. Ignorant people believe a great many things that are false. You know there _are_ no fairies, Gem? You know there is no such person as Santa Claus, don't you?"

"Of course, aunt. Only very little children believe in Santa Claus."