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diff --git a/old/66623-0.txt b/old/66623-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fd32514..0000000 --- a/old/66623-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6786 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Road to Bunker Hill, by Shirley -Barker - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Road to Bunker Hill - -Author: Shirley Barker - -Release Date: October 27, 2021 [eBook #66623] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Tim Lindell, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was - produced from images made available by the HathiTrust - Digital Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROAD TO BUNKER HILL *** - - - - - -THE ROAD TO BUNKER HILL - - - - -_Books by_ SHIRLEY BARKER - - -_For Younger Readers_ - - THE TROJAN HORSE - THE ROAD TO BUNKER HILL - - -_Poetry_ - - THE DARK HILLS UNDER - A LAND AND A PEOPLE - - -_Novels_ - - PEACE, MY DAUGHTERS - RIVERS PARTING - FIRE AND THE HAMMER - TOMORROW THE NEW MOON - LIZA BOWE - SWEAR BY APOLLO - THE LAST GENTLEMAN - CORNER OF THE MOON - - - - - SHIRLEY BARKER - - The Road - to - Bunker Hill - - DUELL, SLOAN AND PEARCE - New York - - - - -Copyright © 1962 by Shirley Barker - -All rights reserved. No part of this book in excess of five hundred -words may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from -the publisher. - -_First edition_ - - -[Illustration] - -_Affiliate of_ - -MEREDITH PRESS - -_Des Moines & New York_ - -Library of Congress Catalogue Card Number: 62-12175 - - - Manufactured in the United States of America for Meredith Press - Van Rees Press · New York - - - - -_For_ - -ESTHER DOANE OSMAN - - - - -_Contents_ - - - 1. A Night to Be Young 3 - - 2. In Readiness to March 13 - - 3. Two to Begin 23 - - 4. The Courage to Go and the Feet to Get Him There 33 - - 5. The Great Ipswich Fright 42 - - 6. Fun While It Lasted 53 - - 7. Off to the Wars in Boston 63 - - 8. Saved by a Pipe-smoking Man 75 - - 9. No Clouds on Bunker Hill 87 - - 10. A Tryst with the Enemy 101 - - 11. A Great Secret 113 - - 12. Thunder in the Air 125 - - 13. The World Turned Upside Down 136 - - 14. The Young May Die 147 - - 15. A Terrible Black Day 160 - - 16. Hanging and Wiving 170 - - - - -THE ROAD TO BUNKER HILL - - - - -_Chapter One_ - -A NIGHT TO BE YOUNG - - -“Nothing ever happens in this town,” said Eben Poore, dangling his long -legs over the edge of the wharf, and looking down river to the open -sea. The sky was pale, almost white above the long sand bar of Plum -Island, he noticed, but the streets were growing dark behind him, and -twilight had begun to gather round the warehouses and tall-masted ships -by the waterside. - -“No,” agreed Dick Moody, “nothing ever happens in Newburyport. Wish -we could have a ‘tea party’ like they had in Boston a spell back. I’d -sure enough be glad to rig up like an Indian and heave a chest of bohea -overside.” - -“I guess all the merchants know better than to bring it in,” said -Johnny Pettengall. “Nobody’d drink the stuff. We got no name o’ being a -Tory town.” - -Johnny was older than the other boys, seventeen past. He had his own -gun and drilled with the militia on muster days. - -“But something has happened in Newburyport,” he went on, “though I -don’t suppose it would mean very much to either o’ you.” - -“What did happen?” asked Dick lazily. “Somebody’s cat kitten, or -Indian Joe take too much rum and do a war dance in Queen Street again?” - -Johnny shook his head and smiled. “Sally Rose Townsend’s back,” he said. - -The other boys sat up, and their faces brightened. - -“I don’t care much for girls,” said Eben, picking a piece of long brown -seaweed from the dock’s end and shredding it in his fingers. “But Sally -Rose is different. Maybe it’s her hair.” - -“Having gold-colored hair never hurt a girl none,” declared Johnny, -with the air of a man who knew about such things, a man grown. “But -with Sally Rose--well, it’s the way she smiles, I think.” - -“I like Kitty better,” said Dick stoutly. “Sally Rose is always -grinning--at everybody. When Kitty smiles, there’s some sense to -it--when she’s pleased, or you tell her a joke.” - -“What’s Sally Rose doing in Newburyport this time o’ year?” asked Eben. -“She comes in the summer to visit Granny Greenleaf and her cousin -Kitty, but it’s still early spring--April nineteenth, for I took me a -look at the almanac this morning. See, there’s the first log raft from -New Hampshire just tied up today.” - -The other boys looked where he pointed. Through the gathering darkness -they saw that a drift of shaggy logs covered the whole surface of a -little cove nearby. Lanterns flashed here and there, and a dim shouting -echoed among the narrow lanes and small brick houses beside the river. -The lumbermen who had brought the raft down from the great forests -farther up the Merrimack, were moving about it now, making everything -fast for the night. - -“It’s been a warm spring,” said Johnny, smiling quietly to himself. - -Dick shivered and turned up the collar of his homespun jacket. “Maybe -it has,” he said, “but it’s cold enough tonight to freeze your -gizzard. Hope there won’t be a frost, with the apple trees already -budded and most o’ the fields plowed. But what’s that got to do with -Sally Rose? Her father keeps a tavern in Charlestown, shops and houses -all round, and the seasons don’t matter. Spring don’t mean nothing -there.” - -“There’s a lot stirring round Charlestown this spring, Sally Rose -says,” continued Johnny. “Looks like the British soldiers in Boston -might be ’most ready to come out and fight. We been expecting it, and -we got plenty o’ powder laid by, at Concord and a few places more. -Might need to use it any time now. Sally Rose’s father thought she’d be -safer here.” - -“Did she tell you that?” asked Eben quickly. “You’ve talked with her -then?” - -“Yes, I talked with her,” said Johnny. He turned his dark head a little -and looked up the hill at the lighted town behind them, starlight over -the dormer windows set high in the rooftops, the church steeple white -against the night sky. He seemed to be watching for something. He did -not say any more. - -A group of sailors swaggered by, jesting and laughing, on their way to -the Wolfe Tavern after grog. The spring wind brought a salt smell up -from the river, a fish smell, and the clean scent of pine logs from the -raft in the cove. One lone candle burned in the window of a counting -house nearby and showed them a figure hunched over a tall desk and open -ledger. Dick pointed suddenly toward it. - -“Shiver my jib and start my planks if I’d want to be a counting-house -clerk!” he exclaimed. Dick was apprenticed to his uncle in the -ship-building trade, but what he wanted was to go to sea. Eben, an -orphan, did chores at a boardinghouse in Chandler’s Lane, and Johnny -helped his father on their farm below the town, a farm known for its -poor soil and salt hay. - -Before anyone could answer him, a girl’s laugh rang out, somewhere in -the shadowy streets above. - -“That’s Sally Rose!” cried Eben. “I’d know her laugh in Jamaicy--if -I was to hear it there! She--she--you knew she was coming down here, -Johnny! You knew!” - -“Yes, I knew,” said Johnny. There was a light in his eye, a reflection -from the counting-house candle, perhaps. “She said she and Kit might -take a walk this way, if Granny Greenleaf would let them out.” - -“Well, Granny did,” cried Dick, “for she’s coming, and Kitty with her. -Look there!” - -Two girls came tripping gaily toward them, their full skirts sweeping -the rutted lane, little white shawls drawn about their shoulders, their -hair brushed back from their faces and falling in curls behind. One -girl’s hair was soft brown, and the other’s yellow like Indian corn. - -The boys stood up. Johnny went forward. “I been waiting for you, Sally -Rose,” he said. - -Sally Rose walked slowly toward him, her head lifted, her eyes shining. -She put out both her hands. “My, you’re handsome, Johnny,” she said. -“I’d forgotten how handsome you were. We don’t have lads like you in -Charlestown, you know.” - -Johnny gripped both her hands against the front of his jacket and took -a deep breath. The other boys looked embarrassed. Eben stared down at -his feet. He suddenly realized that they were bare, bare and not very -clean. He owned a pair of shoes, of course, but he only wore them on -Sundays and in the wintertime. - -“Glad you came back, Sally Rose,” he said, not looking at her. - -“Oh, thank you, Eben,” she answered sweetly. “I’m so glad that you’re -glad.” - -Johnny opened his eyes wide and gave Eben an unfriendly stare. - -“Hey, Kit,” said Dick, “I haven’t seen you since--” - -The brown-haired girl smiled. “You’d have seen me if you’d looked,” she -said. “I passed you by the ropewalk last Friday afternoon. I was going -to Polly Little’s to bring home some tulip bulbs for Granny. I waved to -you, but you wouldn’t see me. You were too busy cleaning a tar barrel.” - -Dick looked down at the worn planks of Somerby’s Wharf. It was dark -beside the river now, and the only light came from the windowpanes of -the small houses along the street. - -“I’m sorry, Kitty,” he said. - -“It doesn’t matter, Dick,” she answered. Her blue eyes smiled at him. -Her voice sounded soothing and kind. - -The five of them stood there, silent in the spring night and the sharp -sea wind. Johnny shifted his feet uneasily. Even Sally Rose did not -know what to do or say. - -Finally Eben spoke. His voice quavered a little, harsh, and -self-conscious, and high. “If I had a shilling,” he said, “I’d ask you -all to come up to the Wolfe Tavern and have a glass of beer.” - -Dick snorted. “Lot of good a shilling would do you there!” he said. -“Ma’am Davenport’s real strict. She won’t sell drink to lads of -thirteen.” - -Eben wilted for a moment. Then Sally Rose smiled at him, and he squared -his shoulders and stood up taller than before. - -“I don’t care for the taste of beer,” she said. “Perhaps I see too much -of it in Father’s tavern as it passes over the board. But thank you, -Eben. It was a kind thought.” - -She turned to Johnny, and her voice grew low and soft. “Will there be a -moon?” she asked. - -He answered her gruffly. “Not till later. Much later, after the bells -have rung curfew; after you girls are home abed.” - -“Oh--?” answered Sally Rose provocatively. - -“Well, here we are, Sally Rose,” said Kitty in a brisk tone, “You said -you wanted to come down to the river.” - -She looked out at the dark flowing stream with the river barges and -fishing smacks and deep-sea-going ships moored on its quiet surface, -lanterns in their rigging, their tall masts reared against the sky, and -their sails furled tight. Ships home from Virginia and the Barbados, -from all over the world, maybe; their holds full of sugar and rice and -wine, silks and laces and oil, India muslins, and French knickknacks, -and gunpowder out of Holland--even if they carried no tea. Try as they -would, the King’s laws hadn’t been able to interfere too much with -trade. - -“Now that you’re here,” she went on, “what do you want to do?” - -“We could go for a walk through the marshes, Plum Island way,” said -Sally Rose, looking at Johnny. - -“All of us?” he asked her. Kitty and Eben and Dick ought to know that -he meant for them to go away and leave him alone with Sally Rose. But -they didn’t go. - -“We could all go back to our house and have plum cake and buttermilk,” -suggested Kitty. “Granny cut a new plum cake yesterday.” - -Eben’s voice rose high and shrill again. “We could play hide-and-seek,” -he announced boldly. - -Sally Rose giggled. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth. - -“That’s only for young ’uns,” muttered Dick. “I be too big for that -now.” - -But suddenly Kitty defended the idea. - -“You’re right, of course, Dick,” she said wistfully. “But then, don’t -you sometimes hate to feel you’re getting too big for the things that -used to be fun? Eben’s the youngest of us, and he finished school more -than a year ago. Soon we’ll be grown and married, with houses and -children, and we won’t be able to run out after dark like this, and -walk by the river, and watch for the moon. We’ll have to stay in, and -rock babies, and split firewood, and see that the doors are locked -and the table set for breakfast. It’ll come on us all so soon now.” -She looked at Johnny appealingly. “Let’s have one last play night--one -night to be young--before we grow too old.” - -Johnny’s eyes widened suddenly, and his mouth curved in a smile. Sally -Rose had a cluster of apple buds pinned on her bodice, and their -sweetness hovered all about. It made him feel sad, and happy, and -unsettled as a girl, ready to agree to anything, even Kitty’s daft -notion. - -“Right enough, Kit,” he said. “For one more night, we’ll be young. -We’ll play hide-and-seek, if we never do again. I’ll count first, and -the rest of you hide. This’ll be goal, this empty rum keg here.” - -He sat down on the rum keg and buried his face in his hands. -“Ten--fifteen--twenty--” he began slowly. - -With a little squeal, Sally Rose picked up her skirts and ran to hide -behind a pile of lobster crates in a far corner. The others hesitated a -moment. - -“Forty-five--fifty--” went on Johnny, still very slow. - -They scattered then. Eben crawled under a ship’s boat, broken and lying -sideways on the wharf. Dick ran into a doorway across the lane. Kitty -waited until she had barely time to crouch down behind a pile of wooden -boxes marked with a black “W. I.”--West India goods. - -“Ninety-five--one hundred--here I come!” Johnny shouted. He stood up -and peered around him, but only for a moment. In almost no time at -all he found Sally Rose, but it was a little longer before he pulled -her out from behind the lobster crates. Perhaps he had peeked through -his fingers, Kitty thought, so that he knew where to look. Perhaps he -kissed Sally Rose before they were in plain sight again. - -Anyway, it was now Sally Rose’s turn to count, and she found Dick with -little trouble. - -But after that they really did seem to be young again, and entered -into the spirit of the game. Gradually the counting got slower, and the -hiding places farther and farther away. Then Sally Rose and Kitty hid -together behind a heap of mackerel nets, and Eben found them both at -the same time. - -“Tie find! Now which of you’s to count and go seek?” asked Dick, -putting up his head in the sharp wind. “Just about once more, and -’twill be curfew time, and we’ll have to go home.” - -“I’ll count,” offered Kitty. - -“No, let me,” said Sally Rose. - -“How about me having a turn?” - -It was a strange voice that spoke, a boy’s voice, quiet and cool, but -with a mocking note of laughter in it. - -They turned around suddenly and stared. There on the wharf behind them -stood a tall fellow not much older than Johnny, with a lean face, sharp -gray eyes, and sun-bleached hair. He wore cowhide boots and a loose -hunting shirt over moosehide breeches. He carried a long pole with an -iron barb on the end, such as the lumbermen used to break up log jams -and herd the great rafts down the river. - -“I’m know I’m a stranger here,” he went on, “but I ain’t poison. I been -watching you awhile. I’d like a hand in the game.” - -“You came down river with the logs?” asked Dick slowly. - -The stranger nodded. “Aye, clear from the falls at Derryfield. A fellow -can be lonely--away from his own town at night--first time away.” The -sharpness went out of his eyes, and he looked younger, almost like a -little boy. - -“Of course you can play,” cried Kitty, sympathy in her voice. “I’ve -been lonely, too, sometimes, when I went to visit Sally Rose in -Charlestown, and I know what it’s like. He can count this time, can’t -he, Sally Rose?” - -“Of course he can,” said Sally Rose, smiling at the strange lad, -flicking her lashes. - -Dick and Eben looked crestfallen. Johnny kicked the side of the rum -keg. “Didn’t know backwoodsmen could count,” he sneered. “Tell us what -your name is, if you want to play.” - -The stranger narrowed his eyes, then he opened them wide and smiled -innocently. “My name’s Tom Trask,” he said, “and I can count.” He -put his head down in the crook of his arm, but they did not hear the -familiar “Ten--fifteen--twenty--” - -After a moment, thinking he might be counting to himself, they started -to straggle away. Kitty did not watch where the others went to. Seconds -mattered at a time like this. She slipped behind a row of tar barrels -at the corner of the counting house and stood there, listening to the -water as it sucked at the piles underneath, to the sound of singing and -fiddle music where the sailors were making merry on the deck of a ship -moored a hundred yards off shore. - -Suddenly the voice of the young logger from up the Merrimack whipped -out like the command of the captain to the volunteers who drilled on -Frog Pond green come muster day. - -“Ten--ten--double ten--forty-five--fifteen!” - -He reached his hundred all at once, leaped from the keg, and ran -straight toward her, toward her, Kitty Greenleaf, of the High Street -in Newburyport, who had never seen him before tonight. He ran to her, -around the tar barrels, around the corner of the counting house. In -a moment he had put his arms about her and kissed her on the mouth, -kissed her hard. - -Not used to such sudden attack, not used to kissing any lad at all, -except in kissing games where everybody looked on and laughed, or -when Dick bade her a shy good night sometimes by the garden wall, she -struggled, and sputtered, and pulled away. - -She wiped her mouth and looked up. “What--what did you do that for?” -she gasped. - -The gray eyes were smiling down at her, there in the chilly spring -dark, the thin mouth crooked upward in a smile. - -“Like I said, a lad’s lonely in a strange town at night.” - -Before she could answer, she heard a soft little laugh beside them. She -turned about. There stood Sally Rose. Sally Rose flickered her long -lashes and opened her hazel eyes very wide. - -“There’s no need for you to be lonely,” she trilled. “My, but you’re a -handsome lad! We’ve none such handsome lads in Charlestown.” - -Tom Trask eyed her coldly. His mouth was still smiling, but his eyes -looked sharp and unfriendly in the candlelight that shone through the -dusty panes of the counting-house window behind his head. - -“Charlestown can’t be much of a place,” he retorted, “though I wouldn’t -know, for my business never took me there, and ’tisn’t likely to. -But--” He paused a moment, and his head lifted a little. “Up the -Merrimack we got prettier girls than you. Maybe a score.” - -Sally Rose’s eyes flashed, and she tossed her curls. “I don’t care -what’s up the Merrimack. I look pretty enough in Charlestown! Pretty -enough to please Captain Gerald Malory of the Twenty-third!” - -The logger did not answer her. He turned around and walked slowly down -the wharf. Kitty could hear the ring of the iron nails in the soles of -his country boots as he strode away. - - - - -_Chapter Two_ - -IN READINESS TO MARCH - - -“Insolent plowboy!” exclaimed Sally Rose haughtily. She stood in front -of the mirror wreathed with gilt cupids, her palms flat on the mahogany -dressing table, and stared at her own reflection, curls loosened and -falling over the shoulders of her white cambric night robe, her eyes -narrowed and glinting coldly in the candlelight. Then the coldness -dissolved away, and she giggled. - -Kitty, lying sprawled on the patchwork counterpane that covered the -great four-poster bed, giggled too, uncertainly. Sally Rose had moods -that changed so fast she was never able to keep up with them. So, as -usual, she didn’t try, but spoke her mind in her turn. - -“He wasn’t a plowboy, he was a logger,” she said. “Maybe the owner of a -whole forest as big as this parish. Some of them are, you know, those -up-country lads. And he was too smart for you, Sally Rose. He knew you -were making fun of him.” - -Sally Rose sat down on the counterpane and hugged her knees. She looked -thoughtful. “Yes, he knew,” she said. “But when I said the same thing -to Johnny Pettengall, Johnny thought I meant it. Inside, I almost -laughed myself to death. I wonder why I couldn’t fool that backwoods -boy, when I could fool Johnny.” - -“Maybe because he’s older,” suggested Kitty. “He looked older, anyway.” -She got up, went to the chest, and blew the candle out. - -“Yes,” reflected Sally Rose, “older, but not really a man--not so much -as twenty.” - -“Is that how old he is?” Kitty demanded. “Come on now, Sally Rose. Tell -me all about him.” - -“About who?” asked Sally Rose. “The logger? Tom Trask was his name, he -said. I don’t know anything about Tom Trask, except that I caught him -kissing you. I wonder why you didn’t stop him. If Granny finds out--” - -“I didn’t have time to stop him,” retorted Kitty severely. “And don’t -try to change the subject. The ‘him’ I want to know about is that -British officer. Captain Malory of the Twenty-third.” - -“Oh!” exclaimed Sally Rose uneasily. She, too, left the bed, and went -to stand between the patchwork curtains at the window. It was nearly -midnight. Late moonrise silvered the sky over Plum Island, and the -young leaves stirred restlessly in the sea wind, hiding the quiet -darkness of Granny’s crocus and daffodil beds in the garden below. - -“You know you really want to tell me about him,” continued Kitty. “You -always want to tell me about the lads you’ve taken a fancy to.” - -Sally Rose did not turn, and when she answered, her voice was very -quiet, with none of the usual merry undertones that made it so -charming. “Oh, but this is different, Kitty. You guessed right--he is -twenty. And Father says he’s an enemy.” She laughed ruefully. “In fact, -Father says he’s a damned lobsterback, and I mustn’t see him again. But -I sent him a note to tell him where I was going, and maybe.... But how -did you know he was British? You only heard me say his name.” - -Kitty could feel her face burn in the darkness. She still felt ashamed, -though it hadn’t been her fault, really. - -“I read it in a letter,” she said with some stiffness, “the letter your -father wrote to Granny, telling her why he was sending you here. I went -down to meet the postrider, and when he handed me a letter addressed to -C. Greenleaf, I never thought that it was for Granny instead of me, and -so I read it. Of course she’s Catherine, too.” - -“What did Father say?” asked Sally Rose. Her voice had a worried sound. - -“It began, ‘My dear,’ instead of ‘Dear Mother’--that’s why I didn’t -know it was for Gran, and I kept on reading. He said ‘I’m worried about -our little girl.’” - -Kitty paused, and Sally Rose did not question her any further just -then. Both girls looked through the window, over the roofs of the town, -at the wide dark waters of the Merrimack flowing seaward. - -Fifteen years ago, about this time of the year, Caleb Greenleaf had -taken his wife, Becky, and his married sister, Anne Townsend, for a -little jaunt on the river in the April sunshine. The young mothers had -left their baby girls with Granny Greenleaf, and gone happily aboard -his small fishing boat, and no one had foreseen the sudden mad wind, -the squall of snow that would engulf them. Afterwards, Granny had -brought up orphan Kitty, but Job Townsend had taken his motherless -daughter back to Charlestown to his own people. The tragedy had brought -him close to his mother-in-law, however, so that he still addressed her -as ‘My dear,’ and spoke of ‘our little girl,’ and there had been much -going back and forth between them. - -For a long moment now, the girls stared at the dark river. Kitty was -the first to take her eyes away. She did not refer to the old, sad -loss, of which she knew they were both thinking. - -“Your father wrote that he was sending you to stay with us for a -while,” she said quietly, “to get you away from that British officer -you’ve been stealing out with. He said this--this enemy--puts on a -homespun shirt and leather breeches, pretends to be one of our lads, -and goes wherever he likes, on all the roads round Boston.” - -Sally Rose gave a soft little laugh. “Yes,” she said, “Gerry does that -sometimes. But I like him better when he wears his scarlet coat and his -sword. He’s sure handsome enough to make any girl forget about Johnny -Pettengall.” - -There was a prideful note in Sally Rose’s voice as she shook back her -yellow hair. - -“But he’s British, Sally Rose! He’s one of the King’s men who’ve -captured Boston, and closed the port, and made so much trouble for the -people who live there. Dick says they’ll march out and start shooting -at us any day now. You’d be better off with a New England lad--even -that logger.” - -Sally Rose sighed. “I know,” she said. “Wars are hard on a girl, Kit. I -know I’m supposed to hate the British, but how can I, when they are so -handsome--when they have such gallant manners! I’ll bet wars don’t mean -a thing to those cupids round the mirror. Love doesn’t know Whig from -Tory. But why does he have to be--” - -Three sharp taps sounded on the other side of the bedroom wall. - -“Granny’s cane!” cried Kit softly, lowering her voice to a whisper. -“That means we’re keeping her awake. But there’s so much I want to -hear. How you met this Gerry, and--” - -“Hush!” breathed Sally Rose, remembering Granny’s outbursts of -short-lived peppery wrath. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.” - -They slipped into bed and lay quiet, side by side, arms relaxed on the -counterpane, watching the moonlight along the wall. First Kitty turned -over and sighed. A few minutes later Sally Rose did the same. Finally -Kitty sat up and punched her pillow. “I can’t sleep,” she said. - -“Neither can I,” said Sally Rose. “I feel as if something were going to -happen.” - -Below them in the town the church bells began to ring. - -They rang and rang, and kept on ringing. Kitty could see them in her -mind, tossing wildly in their belfry, high over Market Square. She -sat up higher in bed. Sally Rose sat up, too, and reached out for her -cousin’s hand. - -“It must be a house afire,” said Kitty. “Can’t be a ship in trouble. -The wind isn’t that strong.” - -She jumped out of bed and ran to the window, but no hot glare lit -the sky, only the cold pale light of the April moon. Now a noise of -shouting broke out in Fish Street, growing louder every minute. Lights -flickered behind the windowpanes of the small wooden houses all about, -and went on burning, steady and strong. Shadows moved across them. -People were getting up. - -Kitty turned from the window. “Let’s get dressed!” she cried. “Maybe -Granny will let us go and see what it’s all about.” But Sally Rose was -already fastening her petticoat. - -Pulling large winter shawls about them to hide half-buttoned bodices -and yawning plackets, they tiptoed into the hall, but Granny had got -there ahead of them. She stood at the top of the stairs, small, and -neat, and wizened, looking as if she were ready to go to church on a -Sunday morning, her costume complete, even to gold eardrops and a chip -bonnet with ostrich plumes. She had a lighted candle in one hand, and -her cane, which she carried but seldom used, in the other. She opened -her mouth to speak to them, but was interrupted by a heavy knocking on -the front door and a man’s voice shouting for Timothy. - -Timothy Coffin, Granny’s hired man who tended the garden and split the -firewood, came tumbling down from his tiny attic chamber. Gnarled and -weathered, not much younger than his employer, his arms were half in, -half out of his woolen jacket, and he carried an old flintlock, like -himself, a veteran of the siege of Louisburg thirty years ago. - -“Git out o’ my way, women,” he shouted, as he tore past them. “I’ll bet -it’s them varmints. I knowed they was about to strike!” - -Granny peered after him in bewilderment, as he fumbled with the lock of -the heavy front door. - -“Does he mean the Indians?” she asked. “When I was a girl I used to -hear stories--but it seems they’re too scarce hereabout to cause any -trouble now.” - -Timothy finally got the door open and stood there, listening to a -hoarse excited voice that spoke in the dark outside. Suddenly he turned -around. - -“I’m off, Ma’am Greenleaf!” he called to Granny. “Them British dogs has -struck at last. I signed the pledge for a Minuteman. I swore to hold -myself in readiness to march whenever I be ordered. An’ I be ordered -now.” - -“If you’re going far, you’d better take some food with you,” said -Granny smartly. “Take all the bread in the cupboard, and the cold -chicken--” - -“And the plum cake,” interrupted Kitty. “We cut a plum cake yesterday.” - -“Where are you going, Timothy? Where did the ‘British dogs’ strike?” -asked Sally Rose, her eyes looking large in her white face. - -Timothy did not answer her. Instead he ducked into the kitchen. The -front door yawned open, and through it they could hear the terrible -clamor of the bells, the lift of excited voices as the townspeople -hastened by. - -“Come, girls,” said Granny. “I aim to learn what this commotion is all -about.” - -They followed her out of the house and along High Street, past the Frog -Pond and the new training green laid out where the windmill used to be. - -A crowd had gathered in front of the Wolfe Tavern, and they paused at -the outskirts of it. Torches flared all about, lighting up the portrait -of General Wolfe that hung on a pole near the tavern door, flickering -on the windowpanes along Fish Street and on the startled faces of the -Newburyport folk. Fashionable flounced ladies stood side by side with -barefooted fishwives from Flatiron Point, while toddlers clung to their -skirts, and urchins raced here and there, shouting with shrill voices, -as if they played some sort of exciting game. Most of the men were -gathered round the tavern’s high front steps, and new arrivals kept -elbowing their way forward every minute. The throng bristled everywhere -with gun barrels; a flintlock, a fowling piece, an old queen’s arm. - -“There’s Johnny,” said Sally Rose suddenly, and sure enough, Kitty -craned her neck and saw him standing with the other men, his hands -gripping a heavy musket. He was watching the tavern door intently. He -did not look their way. - -“What’s going on here?” demanded Granny in a querulous tone. Everybody -seemed to be talking at once, but nobody answered her. - -A man wearing a blue coat and carrying a sword came out of the tavern -and stood still at the top of the steps, looking round him. He held -up his hand. The urchins stopped shouting. The bells down the street -pealed a time or two and then were silent. The voices of the crowd died -away. A sudden burst of spring wind lifted a heap of dead leaves from -the gutter and swirled it high in the face of the round white moon. - -The man on the steps began to speak. “Men o’ the Port,” he called out, -in a voice that was low and deep, a voice that without lifting or -straining itself could be heard in all the streets and lanes nearby, -“New England blood’s been spilt, as some o’ you know. But for them that -don’t, I’ll read the word the postrider brought.” He waved a paper -aloft, then held it square in front of him. - -“‘To all friends of American Liberty, let it be known! This morning -before break of day, a brigade consisting of some twelve hundred -redcoats ... marched to Lexington ... and on to Concord Bridge. Many -were slain both sides, and the roads are bloody. Another brigade is now -upon the march from Boston!’” - -He put the paper down. “Men o’ the Port, such as signed the pledge, -‘We do enlist ourselves as Minutemen and do engage that we will hold -ourselves in readiness to march!’ All such men to the training green! -Fall in by companies! Come, lads! Up the hill!” - -With a cheer the men surged up Fish Street, shoulders hunched and heads -thrust forward, their guns gripped in their hands. With cries of dismay -and alarm the women began to trail after them. Granny stood still, -leaning on her cane. - -“There’s Dick and Eben,” cried Kitty. “Dick!” She lifted her voice. -“Dick, come here and tell me where they are going. Dick, are you going -too?” - -But Dick and Eben were hurrying after the Minutemen. They looked at the -girls and waved, and then ran on. - -“Ah, here’s Mr. Cary,” Granny exclaimed. “Now we’ll see what all this -uproar is likely to lead to.” She trotted over to the minister who was -moving swiftly up the street, his wig not quite straight, and the linen -bands at his throat somewhat disordered. “Mr. Cary, tell me now, what -does all this mean?” - -The minister paused, adjusted his wig, and mopped his brow with a lawn -handkerchief. “I’m afraid it means war, Madame Greenleaf. It was bound -to come. They’ve oppressed us too far. But about this latest outrage--I -myself talked with the postrider, and he was there and saw it all. A -frightful slaughter!” He looked at the girls and lowered his voice, but -they heard him all the same. - -“He says that when he left, the whole rout was fleeing back towards -Boston, but he heard Captain Parker say that if they mean to have a -war, let it begin here. ’Twould seem they so mean, and that it has -begun.” - -“Who were the redcoats?” asked Sally Rose in a small tremulous voice. -“Did he say if it was the Twenty-third?” - -Mr. Cary looked at her sharply. “Who knows one redcoat from another, -and what does it matter?” he demanded. “But I believe he did mention -the Twenty-third. It seems they were not in the thickest of the -engagement, but posted out to help their fellow scoundrels home to -Boston.” - -Sally Rose let her breath escape in a little sigh of relief. Granny -tapped her cane on a granite horse block nearby to get Mr. Carey’s -attention again. - -“Well, what do our lads think to do about it? Why get folks out of bed -in the middle of the night? Must we fortify the Port and barricade -ourselves in our houses because there’s been a fuss in Lexington? Are -the British headed for Frog Pond Green?” - -Mr. Cary started to smile and then bit his lip. “Hardly that, but our -companies will assemble and march from there. The word’s been passed -for such men as are able to bear arms to make their way to Cambridge -with all speed.” - -“Huh!” said Granny. “Cambridge is a good ways off. I hope Timothy took -the plum cake. Come, girls! Now that I’ve satisfied my mind, I’m going -home.” - -“Oh no, Gran,” pleaded Sally Rose, composed and sure of herself again, -now that she felt reasonably certain her British Gerry had come to no -harm. “I want to go up to the green and see them off. It’ll hearten -them to have us there, to have us wave them good luck as they march -away.” - -“Nonsense!” snapped Granny. “The lads will have other things on their -minds. They got no time now for yellow hair.” - -The squeal of a fife and the solemn throb of a beating drum broke -through the shouts of the crowd on the training green. - -“But I don’t want to go back to bed,” pouted Sally Rose. - -“And why did you think you were going back to bed, miss?” Granny -demanded. “Parson Cary says there’s a war begun. That means we’ll into -the attic and try to find those bullet molds I put away when I hoped -we wouldn’t need them any more. They haven’t been used since your -grandfather’s time, but I think likely they’re still there.” - - - - -_Chapter Three_ - -TWO TO BEGIN - - -“I told you they’d fight,” said the young man grimly, biting the end -of a cartridge and letting a thin stream of black powder dribble into -the pan of his flintlock. He knelt at the tail gate of the farm wagon -that rattled and swayed from side to side as Sergeant Higgs of the -Twenty-third drove it pell-mell down the Charlestown Road. - -His hat was gone and his red coat in tatters. His white breeches were -stained with gunpowder and the blood of the wounded men who lay on -the floor of the wagon; stained, too, with the gray earth of this -unfamiliar country, so unlike the ruddy loam of his native Devonshire. - -“I told you they’d fight,” he repeated. “I been amongst ’em, and I -know.” - -Nobody answered him, but he heard the roar of musket fire back in the -hills, the roar of flames from a burning house in a grove of crooked -trees a few yards away. He thought impatiently that it had never taken -him so long to load before. - -“Shut your pan. Charge with your cartridge. Draw your hammer,” he -muttered, as his fingers moved swiftly along the reeking barrel. No -old hand at this business of soldiering, he felt reassured to find the -phrases of the British Arms Manual fall so readily from his tongue. - -The cart rocked and rumbled down a narrow track at the edge of the salt -marshes. Moors, clay pits, and scrubby oak trees stretched to the foot -of the hillside on his left. To his right, in the middle of the river, -he could see the lights on board the man-o’-war _Somerset_, and beyond -them, the low roofs and steeples of Boston. Would he ever present arms -on Boston Common again, or offer his own arms in another sort of way to -the pretty girls who went walking there? He began to doubt it now. - -“Run down your cartridge. Withdraw your rammer.” He was ready at last. -He lifted the gun and pointed it horizontally, pointed it, pulled the -ten-pound trigger, and at the same instant stiffened his body against -the powerful recoil. - -Then he heard a triumphant roar as the gun went off, sending its charge -of powder and ball in the direction of the pursuing Yankees. Hooray! -Sometimes it merely sparked and fizzled in the pan. God send he had hit -somebody! - -“The Yankees don’t fire like that, lad,” he heard a voice mutter. - -Turning his head in surprise, he looked down at a battered veteran who -crouched a few feet away, dabbing at a shoulder wound. - -“What do you mean?” he demanded. There wasn’t enough of the man’s -uniform left to tell whether he was an officer or not. Best be safe and -address him so. His voice had a ring of authority, for all it came so -weakly from his throat. - -“I know.” The older man smiled through bluish lips. “You fire as you -were taught, and so do I. Did you ever engage with the Rebels before?” - -“Not exactly, sir,” said Gerry Malory of the Twenty-third. “I’ve gone -amongst them somewhat--‘incognito,’ one might say.” - -“Ah! Detailed for spy duty, perhaps?” - -Gerry felt his face flush. I talk too much, he thought. - -The dusk was drawing in thickly now, with a little fog winding up from -the river. Flashes of light burst out on the road behind him, like -fireflies in a hawthorn thicket, all the way back towards Cambridge -where the relief regiments under Lord Percy were trying to cover -the rout of the troops that had charged so proudly that morning on -Lexington Green. - -He heard a whoosh in the dull air behind them. “Duck, lads,” he cried, -and flung himself down on the floor of the cart. The whoosh turned to -a shrill whistle and then to a scream as it passed overhead. Then came -a thud and a splash as the heavy ball fell harmlessly on the sludgy -ground. - -Gerry lifted his head. “Drive like the devil, Sergeant,” he shouted. -“Once we get over Charlestown Neck, we’re as safe as the Tower of -London. They’ll never follow us under the guns of our own ships.” - -“Causeway’s just ahead!” shouted back Sergeant Higgs, whipping the -horses. - -Gerry stood up and looked around him. They were well down on the narrow -neck of wasteland now, between the wide, sea-flowing mouths of the -Charles and the Mystic. He could smell the salt air and feel the cool -wind on his hot face. Groups of weary red-coated men straggled into the -marsh grass to let them drive through. How many had preceded him into -safety, how many were left in the running fight behind, he couldn’t -tell. But he saw campfires on the smooth green hills above Charlestown -village, and he thought longingly of the farms and orchards there, a -little more longingly of the Bay and Beagle Tavern and a girl called -Sally Rose. - -“Not detailed for spy duty?” asked the veteran persistently. - -Gerry looked down at him, and he was enough of a soldier to realize -that the wounded man wanted to engage in conversation in order to -forget his pain. He seated himself on the floor of the wagon and -answered evasively. - -“No, but I go about sometimes. I like to know what kind of men the -Rebels are, and what their country is like. Maybe walk out with a girl -and play a prank or two. I be West Country-bred, and not too fond -o’ towns and barracks life.” Then he thought of a way to shift the -attention to another matter. “But what were you saying about the way I -shoot?” - -The man grinned. A bit of color had come back into his face now, and -the dark stain was no longer spreading on the shoulder of his coat. - -“Why, you load and prime your piece and blast away, hoping the shot -will tell. The Yankees sight and aim. I saw the man who hit me. Stood -up behind a stone wall, looked me over, head to toe, and marked me -down. We fire line to line, and they fire man to man. We shoot in the -direction of the enemy. They pick a target. That’s why they’ve got us -running away.” - -You mean they shoot like poachers, thought Gerry. Like poachers after -pheasants in the squire’s bit o’ woodland. But he did not say it out -loud. Every man’s past was his own, but to keep it so, he had to be -wary. - -They had crossed the Neck by this time, and the road veered away to the -right, circling the foot of Bunker Hill and heading for Charlestown -village. - -“Don’t hear them firing after us any more,” said Gerry, peering back -the way they had come. Some of the sunset red was still left in the -sky, and enough daylight for him to see that the road behind them was -choked with carts and stragglers, but the whole pace of the retreat -seemed to have slowed. - -“No, and you won’t hear them again tonight. They won’t dare follow us -into Charlestown. Could you hold me up, lad? I do not breathe as easily -as I am wont to do.” - -Gerry knelt down, got his hands under the limp elbows of the fallen -officer, and hoisted him into a sitting position against the side of -the cart. The man drew a few painful breaths and then spoke again. - -“Thank you for your trouble. I am Captain Blakeslee of the King’s Own.” - -“’Twas no trouble, sir,” muttered Gerry uneasily. “I be Private Malory -of the Twenty-third.” - -The captain’s face relaxed in a smile. “A fine regiment--the Welsh -Fusileers. I was a guest when they made merry on last St. David’s day. -Ah--it comes to me now. I knew I had seen your face before. Were you -not the lad who led forth the goat with the gilded horns? He ran wild, -I remember, leaped on the table, and up-ended our wine glasses just as -we were going to drink to the Prince of Wales! A ludicrous scene!” - -Gerry’s cheeks grew hot in the darkness, and he clenched his fists to -keep his shame and resentment down. Yes, he had led the damn goat that -according to army tradition preceded the Welsh Fusileers whenever they -passed in review. Led, and cleaned it, and curried it, and bedded it -down every night in a stable near Long Wharf, and twisted garlands -about its horns on parade days. He still remembered the hideous -embarrassment of the moment when the beast had escaped him. - -Signed up for a soldier, he had, reluctantly, but expecting his share -of excitement and glory. Until today he had done nothing save tend -that black-tempered goat. No wonder he had fallen into the habit of -“borrowing” a captain’s uniform or an American’s homespun breeches -and tow shirt, and gone swaggering out amongst the girls in the Yankee -villages now and then! A man had to have his pride and sweetness and a -bit of sport in life. He had learned to imitate the officers’ pompous -speech and attitudes, or to talk with a New England twang. Maybe he’d -go for a strolling player when he got home again. Maybe he’d be good at -it, he thought. But of course, it was in his blood, and no wonder if he -should turn out that way. - -The farm cart ground to a stop just as Gerry was about to mutter that -it was indeed he who led the goat. Sergeant Higgs leaned over to confer -with an officer in fresh white trousers and trim jacket, a man who had -obviously taken no part in the fighting that day. Then the officer -stood aside, the sergeant pulled sharply on the reins, and Gerry felt -the wagon leave the road and go lurching across a field at the foot of -Bunker Hill. One of the wounded men sat up. The others began to moan -and swear. - -“You’re off course, Higgs!” shouted Gerry, forgetting that his -barracks-mate outranked him and was entitled to a more respectful -salute. - -Higgs turned around, his broad face a white blur in the darkness. “I be -following orders, Private Malory. We’re to wait by yon hill till the -troops clears a way through the town so the boats can take us off. By -midnight we’ll all be back in Boston.” - -“Thank God,” murmured Captain Blakeslee, and then as Higgs drew up the -cart in a little grove of locust trees, he turned to the younger man. -“Will you help me down on the grass for a bit, lad? I’ve taken a notion -to feel the earth under me. Better under than over.” He gave a weak -smile. - -“Give us a hand, Higgs,” called Gerry, trying to lift the captain, -almost a dead weight this time. - -Jack Higgs was six years older than Gerry. This was not his first -battle, nor the first wounded man he had seen. The moment he joined -them in the bed of the wagon, he thrust his hand inside the tattered -coat. Then he pulled it out again and muttered under his breath. For a -long moment he stared at Gerry. - -“Is--is it bad?” faltered the young private, feeling suddenly afraid, -as he had not felt all that afternoon when the Yankees were shooting at -him as he retreated down the Charlestown Road. - -Captain Blakeslee gave a hoarse cough. - -“Bad enough,” said Higgs. “Tell you what, Gerry. Go down into -Charlestown and see if you can find a surgeon. Tell him we got need of -him here.” - -“Put--me--on the ground,” whispered Captain Blakeslee. He lay slumped -against the side of the wagon and tried to lift his head, but he was -not strong enough. - -Together Gerry and Sergeant Higgs got him out of the cart and stretched -the limp body on the young grass under a locust tree. - -“I’ll go quickly,” Gerry promised. “I’ll come back with the surgeon. I -hope ’twill be in time.” - -“Good luck to you, lad,” said the sergeant. He was still bending over -the wounded man when Gerry hastened off. - -The journey proved not to be a long one, but over all too soon. Ten -minutes hard running across the fields, a brief encounter, and he came -pounding back. Jack Higgs stood leaning against the wagon. He had -lighted a little fire of dead boughs, and in its light his usually -pleasant face looked somber, his eyes a little sick. He was in his -shirt sleeves now. - -“They told me I was a fool,” panted Gerry. “Told me no surgeon would -come out this far to save one man, or three, or four, when so many lies -bleeding there in the town. How is the Captain? Jack--where is your -coat?” - -Sergeant Higgs motioned toward a dark heap under the locust tree. For a -moment he stood silent, then he spoke. - -“Surgeons couldn’t ha’ saved him, Gerry--not a whole regiment of ’em -marched out here two and two. When I put my hand to him, his flesh was -already cold. He was about gone. I knew they wouldn’t come. I only -sent you to get you away. You never been in battle, never seen men die -before.” - -“Your coat--?” faltered Gerry. Not that the coat mattered, but he felt -he could not talk of anything that did. - -“I laid it across his face,” said Higgs, clearing his throat. -“Afterwards. It seemed more decent-like, somehow.” - -Gerry sat down on the grass beside the little fire, there being nothing -else to do. The moon had risen and was shining wanly down on the hills -and pastures, on the roofs of Charlestown village. It made a path of -silver across the black bay, a path to the lighted shores of Boston. -Lanterns flashed in the midst of it, lanterns on the prows of the boats -that were carrying the badly defeated British back to the town they had -left so proudly the night before. - -Gerry thought how he himself and the rest of the Twenty-third had -marched out that morning, fifers playing “Yankee Doodle,” and colors -lifting on the spring wind. They had marched inland by way of the Neck, -through Roxbury to Cambridge, and so far, it was all a game. But the -sport ceased near Lexington where they met their fleeing comrades who -had gone to Concord to raid the Yankees’ powder magazine. Powerful -grenadiers dropped exhausted and lay like dogs after a hunt, panting, -their tongues hanging out. The Marines and Light Infantry scattered -helter-skelter across the countryside, while the farmers fired at them -from behind every wall and tree. - -“Cover the retreat,” his regiment had been ordered, and they had done -so, in a running battle all the way back to Cambridge. It was there -that an officer had detailed him and his sergeant to help get the -wounded away. - -And now one of those wounded was dead, Captain Blakeslee. Why should it -matter to him, when he had known the captain such a little time? But -it did matter. A lump swelled and stiffened inside his throat. Then -he looked down towards Charlestown and thought of Sally Rose. But she -wouldn’t be there, of course. She had gone to visit her kin in a town -called Newburyport, a town in the country somewhere. Her father had -sent her away because he thought she was too good for a captain of the -Welsh Fusileers. And if he felt that way about a captain, how would he -feel about the private who tended a goat in stable and led it out on -muster day? How would Sally Rose feel if she knew the truth about him? -And then somehow Sally Rose began to dwindle in his mind, and for the -moment she did not matter any more. He remembered that he had fought -his first battle and come out alive, but Captain Blakeslee was dead, -and maybe tomorrow there would be another battle, and he would be the -one to lie under the locust tree, under some comrade’s tattered coat. - -“Open your haversack, lad,” said Sergeant Higgs, his voice cheery -again. “I found a spring on the hillside a bit of a ways off, and I’ve -been fetching water to the men in the wagon there. They be all somewhat -easier now, and the boats will have us in Boston before long.” He threw -another armful of dry branches on the fire. “You’ve salt pork and -bread, like the rest of us, so eat up your supper. ’Twill taste little -worse for the fact that good men be dead, and we lost the day.” - -“I know we were driven back,” murmured Gerry, obeying the sergeant and -taking out his small parcel of food. “But didn’t the troops get the -Rebel stores they went for? Didn’t they get to Concord before...?” - -Higgs nodded. He had run the point of his bayonet through a lump of -thick, greasy-looking meat and held it over the fire. “Oh, they got -there, all right,” he said. “But they’d been better off if they’d -stayed in barracks, according to the way I heard. They broke up a -couple of cannon, rolled some powder kegs into a millpond, and burnt a -house or two. Then they was routed. But ’twould be a different story if -the Yankees would come out in the open and fight like men.” - -“They seemed to be in an almighty rage about something,” said Gerry, -beginning to toast his own meat, keeping his eyes away from the shadow -under the locust tree. “And they had no sort of uniformed army. Men -in shirts and leather breeches, just as they’d come from the plow or -workshop. Well, all spring we’ve been sure there was fighting ahead of -us. Now it’s begun.” - -“Yes,” said Jack Higgs, looking out at the dark shapes of the rescue -boats that crossed and recrossed the moonlit water. “It’s begun, and -it took two to begin it--we and they. But at the end--there’ll be left -only one.” - -“And it better be we!” Gerry felt his own features soften in a smile. - -He put up his head in the sharp night air and heard the bugles sounding -on the peaceful green crest of Bunker Hill. They were British bugles, -and they reassured him. For the last hour or so, he had been sure he -would never have the heart to go forth disguised and playing pranks -about the countryside again. But now it seemed to him that perhaps he -might. - - - - -_Chapter Four_ - -THE COURAGE TO GO AND THE FEET TO GET HIM THERE - - -“Not that way, child!” cried Granny warningly. “Lord o’ mercy, Sally -Rose, take care!” - -Sally Rose stood by the huge brick fireplace in the raftered kitchen -and stared desperately about her. In her hands she held a hot iron -kettle full of molten silver-gray lead. It was too heavy for her to -hold any longer, and she saw no place to set it safely down. Kitty -would have figured out ahead of time what she meant to do with it, but -not Sally Rose. - -“Let me help you,” cried Kitty, jumping up from her place at the heavy -oak table where she had been preparing the bullet molds while Sally -Rose heated the lead. She reached her cousin’s side a second too late. -The kettle tilted dangerously and fell from Sally Rose’s loosened -fingers, just missing the yellow flames beneath. It lay on its side at -the edge of the wide hearth, its contents spilling out harmlessly in -a gray film over the rosy old bricks, sinking into the cracks between -them. - -“I’m sorry, Gran,” said Sally Rose contritely. - -Granny sniffed. “Sorrow butters no parsnips,” she retorted. “Well, it’s -no use crying over spilt lead, I suppose. That’s one batch of bullets -will do no harm to the British. But it’s a mercy you didn’t burn -yourself or set the house afire.” She straightened her muslin cap and -smoothed her plaid apron with thin, blue-veined hands. - -Kitty let her glance rove out of the window, at the gooseberry bushes -in the kitchen garden and the moist brown seedbeds where Timothy had -been spading yesterday. His old hickory-handled spade still leaned -against the garden wall. No telling when he would use it again. Timothy -had taken his gun and gone to Cambridge, and it seemed like half the -town had gone with him. Even boys not much older than herself, boys -like Johnny Pettengall. She still didn’t know about Dick, but then, -Dick didn’t have a gun, so he’d probably be down at the shipyard, just -as he always was. She’d make some excuse to go by there, later in the -day. She wondered about the strange lad from up the Merrimack. Maybe, -since the war was in Massachusetts Colony, the New Hampshire men would -think they had no call to go. Still, with his keen eyes and sharp jaw, -he looked like he’d be wherever there was a fight going on. She heard -Granny’s brisk voice calling her attention back to the kitchen. - -“I suppose you’d better run down to the gunsmith’s, Kitty, and fetch me -some more pig lead--all he can spare. Sally Rose, you and me’ll get the -bake ovens going. Uncle Moses Chase came by here awhile back, and he -says they’re gathering supplies to send by oxcart--enough to feed the -lads for a few days: hams, flour, meal, salt fish and cooked victuals; -lint and medicines, too, in case--who told you to take your apron off, -Sally Rose?” - -“Don’t you think I’d better go with Kitty?” asked Sally Rose eagerly. -“Lead’s apt to be heavy, you know, and--” - -“What she can’t carry, the shop will send after her, I don’t doubt,” -replied Granny. “Sally Rose, you start yourself for the flour barrels. -Take half rye and half cornmeal....” - -Sally Rose pouted. Kitty knew she was pouting, although she did not -look at her. She tied on her new chip hat with the velvet roses, and -hastened through the garden, into the street. - -“Kitty, take off that hat and put on your old serge hood!” Granny -called after her. “It looks like there’ll be a shower any minute.” -Kitty pretended not to hear her. - -She walked down the hill into the town, past Mr. Dalton’s mansion house -and the Wolfe Tavern. People still loitered about in little groups, but -last night’s excitement seemed to have given place to a quieter mood, -uneasiness, anxiety, perhaps fear. The shoemaker stood in front of his -gabled shop, a wooden last in one hand and a strip of purple kid in the -other, talking to a grizzled old man who peddled clams in Water Street. - -“No, we’ve heard no more,” he was saying. “No more o’ the Concord -Fight, or our lads that marched away. Whole colony’s up, though. Half -Essex County’s gone, the stage driver says, and the men way out west -beyond Boston are moving in from their side. Hope to squeeze the -British in between.” - -“Aye,” said the peddler. “The Hampshire lads has started across the -river, too. Some by ferry, and some with smacks and dories, and they -say there’ll be more. The word’s gone inland, way beyond Rockingham.” - -“You mean they’re going to make cause with us and fight the King’s -men?” asked the shoemaker, twisting the strip of purple kid in his hand. - -The peddler nodded. “They’ve long been sworn to. And everywheres now, -them as was undecided whether to go Whig or Tory has got to make up -their minds. You’ll find things’ll be different, now blood’s been -spilt.” - -Kitty walked on, and the words echoed disturbingly in her head. -The street sloped sharply down to the water, with shops along both -sides--the milliner’s, the baker’s, the butcher’s--shutters down and -doors wide open, just as on other days, but nobody seemed to be buying -anything. Most of the shopkeepers, like the shoemaker, had joined the -uneasy groups in the street outside. - -The gunsmith’s shop was in a narrow lane behind the church, and when -she reached it, she found its door tightly barred and a crude sign -dangling from the latch. _Gorn to Cambridj till further notiz_, the -sign said. - -She stood there uncertainly for a moment, and looked about her. The -soft gray sky seemed to match her own mood, uncertain whether to -pour down rain or let the sun shine through. Between the houses she -could see the waters of the river, a darker gray. Not all the men had -followed the gunsmith’s example, for busy crews were working about -the wharves and slips, hammers rang from the shipyards, and the tall -chimneys of the distillery lifted their plumes of smoke, just as if it -were an ordinary morning. Somehow the sight reassured her. She’d go and -look for Dick, she thought, and make sure that he hadn’t run off with -the Minutemen. Then she’d go home and tell Gran about the gunsmith, -take off her hat, and get ready to help with the baking. - -As she passed the sailors’ boardinghouse in Chandler’s Lane, she -noticed Eben in the backyard chopping wood, and she called to him. He -straightened up, looked at her for a minute, then put his ax down and -came over to the board fence. - -“What are you after, Kitty? ’Tisn’t no use looking for Dick,” he said. - -“I don’t know that I was looking for Dick,” said Kitty tartly, -chagrined because Eben had read her mind so plain. “But now that you -speak of him, I don’t suppose he’s off for Cambridge, too?” - -Eben nodded solemnly. “Ye-a, Dick’s gone.” - -Kitty felt shocked in spite of herself. “But how could he? He doesn’t -have a gun.” - -“He’s got a tomahawk,” said Eben. “Tomahawk they took out o’ his -great-grandmother’s head when the Indian tried to scalp her up in -Haverhill in ’96.” - -“Why, I know that old thing,” cried Kitty. “It’s duller’n a hoe. We -played with it when we were children. Might as well try to fight with a -warming pan!” - -Eben shrugged. “Colonel told him to come along,” he said. “Told him -there’d be men there was poorer armed, he didn’t doubt. Said the -courage to go and the feet to get him there was all he’d really need.” -Suddenly he fell silent. He looked down at his own bare feet and -stubbed one great toe in the moist earth. - -Kitty felt a little shaken. So Dick had gone off to fight the British. -Dick, that she’d played with when they were toddlers and he lived in -an adjoining house on High Street. How excited they had been, that day -when they first found out they were big enough to scramble back and -forth over the low fence. And now he had taken his old tomahawk and -marched away, a man with other men! And she was left here to do Gran’s -bidding, just as if she were still a little girl. But she did not feel -like a little girl. She felt sad and tremulous and excited, as if she -had the weight of the world on her shoulders, and still, a little happy -in spite of it all. Maybe this was the feel of growing up. Maybe last -night when they played hide-and-seek had really been their last night -to be young, though they hadn’t known it then. Mostly, she thought, we -never know when we do anything the last time. - -She suddenly realized that a soft rain had begun to fall, cooling her -checks and gathering mistily in her hair. - -“Eb--en!” shouted a buxom woman from the back steps of the -boardinghouse. “Take in my washing off the line! Step lively there!” - -Eben muttered, and his face burned crimson as he walked away. - -Kitty looked after him for a moment, and her heart stirred with quick -sympathy. It must be hard for Eben to be left behind to do such humble -chores while his friend had gone off to war and been accepted as a man. -The soft drizzle turned into a downpour. She thought, belatedly and -with some alarm, of the roses on her hat. She turned and hurried back -to Market Square and up the hill, walking with her head bent because of -the rain, trying to shield her finery with one lifted hand. So it was -that she did not see him until they almost collided under the tavern -sign that hung on a long pole high over the sloping street. Then she -caught her breath and stepped back, and looked up into the eyes of Tom -Trask, the logger from Derryfield. - -He stood there, bareheaded in the rain, and he wore the same hunting -shirt and moosehide breeches, but he was not smiling now, though his -gray eyes lighted with recognition. - -“Playing games on the dock tonight, Miss Kitty?” he asked her, and in -spite of his sober face, his voice had a teasing note in it. - -She smiled and shook the rain from her lashes. “How did you know my -name was Kitty?” she asked him. - -“Heard ’em call you that times enough--last night, I mean, whilst I was -looking on.” His eyes smiled now, but his mouth remained a thin line. -He seemed to be waiting for her answer. - -“No,” she said. “We’re not often so silly, and besides, I doubt if the -rain will stop. And even if it did--there are hardly enough of us left -to play.” - -He nodded. “I seen two o’ your friends marching off last night,” he -said. “All our crew was asleep on the raft when the bells begun to go, -but when we got into town and heard the news, ’twas no surprise. I -was over to Johnny Stark’s sawmill just before I started down river, -and he said he figured Boston had stood about all they could o’ the -British, and the British had stood about all they could o’ Boston. Said -he expected to be taking his gun down any day. Well, if he’s got the -word, he’s likely there, him and the rest o’ the boys, and I aim to -join them, only--” - -Kitty could feel her hair turning dank and the raindrops thickening on -her lashes. She thought of her sodden hat, and sighed inwardly, but she -made no move to excuse herself and leave the stranger. - -“--only I left my musket at home in Derryfield, and the gunsmiths here -ain’t doing business today. Has any o’ your menfolk got a spare gun, -Miss Kitty?” - -She hesitated. He held out his lean hard hands with freckles on the -backs of them. “I suppose I could use these on the varmints,” he -muttered. “But powder and ball’s the quicker way.” - -“There is a gun in the barn loft that belonged to my father,” she said -slowly. - -“You speak like your daddy’s dead,” he answered, not looking at her. - -“Yes. He drowned in the river just below here, not long after I was -born.” - -“I don’t remember much o’ mine, either. Killed when we took Quebec in -’59. Shooting shoulder to shoulder with the British then we was, and -now we’re shooting at ’em.” He shrugged his lean shoulders. “Well, I’d -sure like to borrow your daddy’s gun, if your mother don’t object none -to the idea.” - -“My mother’s dead, too, and Granny would likely make a fuss, but I -don’t think we’ll ask Granny.” - -Kitty had finally made up her mind. “Come on,” she said, flicking her -fingers lightly against his sleeve. - -His fingers were not light when they gripped her arm. They were sure -and steady. Together they walked up Fish Street and turned right to -pass the Frog Pond and the new training green. He strode proudly along -with his head up, but he did not talk to her. Instead he whistled a -plaintive air she had never heard before. - -When they got to Gran’s neat clapboarded house, she guided him through -the front gate and along the garden path, half screened by lilac bushes -growing thick and tall. - -A small whitewashed barn stood at the rear of the property, but Granny -kept no livestock any more, and the inside of it smelled clean and -musty like an attic, with no scent of dung or hay. The loft had two -tiny windows set high under the eaves, but no other light, and it took -Kitty a few minutes before she could make out the old gun hanging on -the wall between a moth-eaten lap robe and a long wooden fork for -pitching hay. - -“There it is,” she murmured, pointing, breathless and a little proud. - -He strode forward and pulled down the short, thick-barreled gun. When -he spoke she caught a note of dismay in his voice. - -“An old blunderbuss,” he murmured. “An old blunderbuss! Looks like the -one Adam must ha’ carried when they driv’ him out o’ Eden.” He peered -into the flaring muzzle. “Might shoot, at that. Don’t believe I’ll try -it in here.” - -Groping around on a shelf, Kitty found an empty powder horn, which he -took a little more gratefully. - -“There’ll be powder enough where I’m going,” he told her, “and I better -be getting there.” - -The rain tapped steadily on the shingles overhead, but the tiny window -that faced westward showed a streak of blue sky. Carrying the old -blunderbuss carefully, he moved toward the ladder that led below. -Uncertain what to do or say, Kitty stood and stared at him. He paused -and turned toward her. - -“I’ll take good care o’ this,” he said, “and I’ll see you get it back -when I don’t need it any more.” He took a step in her direction. -Suddenly her throat began to hurt, and she felt as if she were going to -cry. He took another step. “I’ll make sure of it,” he said. “When I get -to camp and can set down for a spell, I’ll cut your name and the town -where you live--right here on the butt.” He tapped the end of the thick -gun. “And then, maybe somebody else will send it home if I don’t--come -back this way.” - -He took her by the shoulders and kissed her quickly on the mouth. - -She gulped and felt the tears slip down her cheeks. Under his hands her -shoulders were shaking. - -“But I aim to come back,” he said. He scrambled down the ladder and -away. Like Dick, he had the courage to go and the feet to get him -there, and she was left without so much as a window to wave him good-by -from, and how could he put her name on the gun when he did not know her -name? - -It came to her suddenly that she had to run after him and tell him her -name was Catherine Greenleaf. If he didn’t know it, he’d never be able -to send her father’s gun back to her, and she wouldn’t want a stranger -to keep her father’s gun. Dashing the tears away, she stumbled down the -ladder and ran through the lilacs where she met him slowly coming back. -He looked down at her and smiled. - -“Come to my mind that a thing you do for luck, you must do three -times,” he said. He bent and kissed her again. Then he turned and ran -through the front gateway. - -“Stop, thief!” yelled Granny, tapping furiously on the parlor -windowpane. “That’s my son’s blunderbuss! Call the watch! Call the -constable! Call the sheriff! Stop, thief, stop! Come back, come back!” - - - - -_Chapter Five_ - -THE GREAT IPSWICH FRIGHT - - -“I can’t think whatever put you up to such devilment, Catherine,” -sputtered Granny. “’Twas bad enough for you to spile your new hat, -without giving your father’s gun away.” - -“I’ve told you over and over again that I didn’t give him the gun,” -sighed Kitty. “I only loaned it to him. He promised to bring it back. -He looked like a lad who’d keep his word.” - -Granny clucked to the raw-boned sorrel horse and tugged expertly at the -reins as the animal plodded round a curve in the sandy road. - -“Tom, Tom, the piper’s son/He ran away with Father’s gun!” sang Sally -Rose under her breath. - -“Hummp!” snorted Gran. - -Kitty looked across the plowed fields to where the Merrimack flowed -behind a hedge of willows. They dipped their long green boughs in the -flooding stream, and here and there the water gave back a flash of -bright sun. How peaceful everything looked in the soft April afternoon. -How hard it was to believe that the lads she knew might be facing the -redcoats’ bayonets only a few miles off. But everyone did believe it. -Everyone was frightened and apprehensive. Folk turned out everywhere to -shade their eyes and watch the roads that led southward, Boston way. - -It was more than twenty-four hours since Tom Trask had made off with -the old blunderbuss, but Granny was still scolding about it. She would -have scolded more, probably, if there hadn’t been so many chores for -all of them, getting supplies ready to send after the Minutemen. All -day yesterday they had baked, and this morning she and Sally Rose had -gone from door to door collecting old linen for bandages. Then Uncle -Moses Chase brought the borrowed wagon and suggested that the three -of them might help by driving into the country to see what they could -procure from the cellars and smoke houses of the farmers round. - -“If you’d let it go to one o’ the Port lads--say Dick Moody, now--I -could have understood,” Granny rambled on. “Why, I don’t know how many -years that gun has been in our family! My grandmother told me it was -brought from England in the days of the coming over. Her father got it -in trade for an old horse down in Plymouth County.” - -Kitty gave a sudden giggle. “Tom said it looked old enough to belong to -Adam,” she said. She pulled her bonnet off and felt the warm sunlight -on her brown hair, felt a warmth inside her when she said his name. - -“Hoity-toity, so we call him ‘Tom’!” cried Granny. - -Sally Rose reached out and caught her grandmother’s ruffled taffeta -sleeve. “Granny,” she said, “there’s a farmhouse down that cart track -under the shagbark trees. Uncle Moses said to call at every place and -not miss a single one.” - -Kitty gave her cousin a grateful glance as Granny turned the sorrel off -the highway and into a rutted lane. Stone walls bordered the fields on -each side of them, and little brooks of water flowed in the gutters, -draining the wet black land. In one field a plow stood abandoned in -mid-furrow, and half a dozen cows waited patiently at the bars, but -nobody came to drive them off to pasture. - -“Can’t be anyone at home,” said Granny, “’Bijah Davis lives here, and -he’d never treat his animals so.” - -As they drove into the yard of the weathered farmhouse, a young woman -came to the door, a pale young woman with a baby in her arms and two -toddlers pulling at the skirts of her blue calico dress. A half-grown -yellow cat ran between her feet, almost upsetting her. - -“Land’s sakes, Nance,” cried Granny. “You’re looking poorly this -spring. Is ’Bijah round somewhere?” - -The young woman shook her head. “’Bijah took his gun and put for -Cambridge,” she answered. “I wrapped him up a clean shirt and a hunk o’ -corn’ beef. I don’t know when he’ll be home.” - -Granny tut-tutted. “Many gone from around here?” she wanted to know. - -“Pretty nigh all the men,” said the young wife sadly. “Like you say, -Ma’am Greenleaf, I been poorly this spring, but I got both bake ovens -going just like other folks, I can tell you. We’re cooking up victuals -to send after the lads. Two oxcarts has gone already, and by tomorrow -we can fill two more.” - -Granny nodded in agreement. “We’re doing the same at the Port,” she -said. “Don’t suppose you got any foodstuffs you could spare us, -something you don’t need for your own?” She pulled out a beaded purse -and fingered it significantly. - -Nancy Davis put up a hand to smooth back the stray wisps of hair from -her forehead. “Could be some eggs in the haymow where the hens steal -nests sometimes,” she murmured. “Could be. I ain’t had the gumption to -go look.” - -“We’ll go,” cried Sally Rose eagerly. “Come on, Kitty.” - -“You’d better take this basket,” said Gran, reaching under the wagon -seat. “And don’t be gone long. It’s nigh on to sunset time. When we -finish here, we’ll start home.” She turned again to the farm wife. “I -suppose folks is pretty well stirred up around here.” - -The young woman nodded. “That we be. Nervous and on edge till we’d run -a mile if we was to hear a pin drop. Fear’s about us on all sides, -just the way I’ve heard my grandmother tell it was down to Salem in -the witchcraft time. It’s because we don’t know what’s happening, I -think--nothing since the first word. Sure, the British was driv’ back -to Boston once, but maybe they’ve marched out again. Maybe our lads -couldn’t stop ’em, and they’re headed this way. And how can I tell -whether ’Bijah be still in the land o’ the living or no!” She began to -cry. - -“Folks is all upset at the Port, too,” said Gran soothingly, getting -out of the cart to go to Nancy. - -The girls scurried into the mossy-roofed rambling barn, climbed to the -loft, and began searching through the hay. - -“Which are you the most worried about, Kit,” asked Sally Rose. “Dick, -or--?” She sneezed violently and wiped her eyes and nose with a lace -handkerchief. “My, this hay dust makes me think of the time when I was -little and got to playing with Father’s snuffbox. Which one? Tell me, -Kitty.” - -“I’m worried about all of them,” said Kitty slowly. “Even your wretched -Gerry. I wish men would keep their guns for deer and wild ducks. I -don’t see why they have to kill each other.” - -Sally Rose shrugged. “I know,” she said. “I don’t understand it either. -But you have to realize, Kitty, some things about men we’ll never -understand.” She pulled a large brown egg out of the hay and placed it -carefully in the basket. “I wonder,” she said thoughtfully, “if the men -on both sides were all shut up in gaol, just how the women would go to -work to settle the matter.” - -“I don’t know,” said Kitty, adding two more eggs to their collection, -“but I’m sure there’d be cups of tea for everybody.” - -“Tea doesn’t have much to do with this war, Father says,” went on Sally -Rose quickly. “And Gerry says the same. They both say it’s to decide -who will rule America--King and Parliament, or the men who live in this -country.” - -“I should think King and Parliament would have enough to do at home,” -answered Kitty. “What’s that? I thought I heard someone shouting.” - -Both girls sat up in the shadowy mow to listen. - -“Turn out! Turn out! For God’s sake!” thundered a hoarse voice from the -highway. - -“Maybe he’s brought news of the lads,” cried Sally Rose, upsetting the -basket in her haste to scramble down the ladder. Forgetting the eggs, -Kitty followed her. They ran out of the barn and across the yard under -the hickory trees. Granny and Nance, with the children straggling after -them, had already started up the lane. - -A black-coated rider came spurring toward them from the direction of -the Port, waving his cocked hat with one hand and whipping his horse -with the other. - -“Turn out!” he shouted. “Turn out, or you will all be killed! The -British have landed at Ipswich and have marched to Old Town Bridge! -They are cutting and slashing all before them!” - -He paid no attention to the huddled group of women, but galloped past. - -“Turn out! Turn out!” he panted. “The British have landed at Ipswich!” -His voice grew fainter as he rounded the end of a low hill and swept -out of sight. - -They stood looking at one another. “If you ask me, his wits are -addled,” said Gran stoutly. “He had a mad look in his eyes. I’d want -some further word--” - -Then a chaise hurtled down the road, swaying from side to side, driven -by a lean woman with gray hair streaming about her shoulders and a -swansdown hat hanging on one ear. “The British!” she choked as the -chaise went rocking by. - -After her came a young couple on horseback, and then three farm wagons -loaded with family groups and household goods. A wooden churn fell off -and rolled into the brimming gutter, but they did not stop to retrieve -it; they drove furiously on. - -Nance stood there, as silent and rooted to earth as one of her own -hickory trees. Kitty and Sally Rose held hands tightly and looked at -each other, uncertain whether to laugh or be afraid, waiting to see -what would happen next. - -Then it seemed as if half the Port went streaming by. Gran stood at the -side of the road and waved her beaded purse at the mad rout of chaises -and wagons, but nobody would stop for her. Finally a farmer hastened -by on foot, leading a plow horse that had gone lame. She stepped up -smartly and caught him by the front of his tow-colored smock. “Young -man, what is the meaning of this?” she demanded. - -“God Almighty, are ye deaf, Mother?” he growled, spitting tobacco juice -into the dust of the road, just missing her dainty kid slipper. “The -British ha’ come ashore. Come ashore at Ipswich, and hacked their way -past Old Town Bridge. I rode over twenty dead bodies as I come from -there. They’ll be at the Port now, heading this way.” - -For the first time Kitty began to feel that this was not some -ridiculous mistake. Her throat grew tight, and her nerves began to -tingle with fear. - -“Where is everyone going?” she cried. - -The farmer turned to answer her. “They’re all trying to get across -the river into Hampshire,” he said. “Some’s for the woods and swamps -nearby. Better get along yourselves. You’ll be the safer, the further -you can go.” - -He urged his old horse forward again. - -Gran turned back from the highroad as another half dozen wagons rattled -past. “He looked like an honest lad, and he saw it with his own eyes, -Nancy,” she admitted reluctantly. “You bundle up the children and -whatever food you’ve got on hand, and come along in our wagon. I’m -going to drive as hard as I can for Haverhill Ferry. I trust we’ll get -across.” - -Nance, bewildered and numb with terror, tried to follow out Granny’s -instructions. Back in the kitchen she fumbled through the bin, brought -out a sack of potatoes, and stood there helplessly, holding it. Gran -reached past her. “Take the apples, instead,” she advised. “They’ll -taste better if we have to eat them raw.” - -Finally the young wife got herself, the two children, and the -shawl-wrapped infant into the wagon. She sat on the seat with Granny, -and Kitty and Sally Rose crouched on a sack of turnips a farmer had -given them early in the afternoon. How long ago that seemed! In the -gathering twilight they drove swiftly along the winding river road. - -The lower Merrimack Valley above the Port was not sparsely settled -country in those spring days of 1775. There were farmhouses and parish -churches and crossroads villages scattered all about it, and few -dwellers there who could not see their neighbor’s chimney smoke or -the lights of his kitchen when they looked out at night. But now the -peaceful district was overrun with strangers and refugees streaming -through. - -Kitty and Sally Rose huddled together on the turnip sack for warmth, -looking back down the road every now and then, to see if the British -were in sight, if the glare of burning towns lighted the sky. But all -they could see were the frightened folk of Essex County hurrying for -the swamps and the forests, for the low hills of New Hampshire Colony -across the wide dark stream. - -Women, and a few old or feeble men, were toiling across the farmyards -here and there, carrying favorite gowns, or chests of silver, or -pewter teapots to conceal them in wells and hollow trees. And from -almost every doorstep strong arms laboriously hoisted old folk and -invalids into carts to haul them away. - -“What do you think’ll come of it, Kit?” asked Sally Rose in a low -worried voice. “Do you think Gran will take us over the river to -Haverhill? I don’t want to go to Haverhill. It’s a sleepy country town, -and it’ll be worse than the Port, with all the lads away. I’d almost -rather get caught by the British, I think.” - -“But they’re cutting and slashing all before them,” Kitty reminded her -grimly. “That farmer said he rode over twenty dead bodies on the way.” - -“Well, I do not think they would cut and slash me,” said Sally Rose, -smiling confidently in the dark. “Oh, Kit, look there!” - -They were passing a tiny cottage half hidden by leafy apple trees. An -armchair had been placed firmly on a scrap of lawn, and in the chair -sat a man with a lantern beside him and a musket across his knees. He -was enormous, and almost perfectly round. “Let the British come!” he -shouted, and waved his musket. “I be too fat to budge for ’em! I’ll -stay here and shoot the bloody devils down!” - -A little way farther on they came across a group of women bending over -another woman who lay on the ground in the curve of a stone wall. -Granny hesitated, and then drew rein. “Is the poor critter sick?” she -called to them. “Can I help? Perhaps we could make a place for her.” - -A tall woman in a gray shawl straightened up. “No, thank’ee, Ma’am,” -she called crisply. “It’s only Aunt Hannah. She wheezes so with the -asmaticks, her noise would give us away to the British. We’re going to -cover her over with leaves and let her rest, all snug and out of sight, -here by the wall.” - -At that Nancy Davis began to laugh. She laughed and laughed, and then -she began to cry. Gran slapped her face hard and drove on. “None o’ -that foolishness, Nance,” she said severely. “Mind your children. -’Bijah would expect you to. Kitty and Sally Rose”--she lifted her -voice--“is all well with you back there?” - -“Let’s not go any farther, Gran,” pleaded Sally Rose. “There are lights -at the inn we just passed by. If the folks haven’t run away, maybe -they’ll have beds for us. Maybe if we hide in bed, the British will -ride on and never know we’re there. I don’t want to go to Haverhill, -Gran.” - -“When I say you’ll go to Haverhill, to Haverhill you’ll go,” said Gran, -and drove on into the night. “I hope I can make the ferry in time.” - -Kitty sensed the note of anxiety in Gran’s voice, and that frightened -her more than anything that had gone before it. Not when the smallpox -struck and folk lay dying in every house in town, not when a great -tree crashed through the roof in the midst of an autumn storm, had she -known Gran to feel afraid. She looked over her shoulder again, and then -around her at the dark fields, the thickets here and there along the -road. Frightened women had come this way in other times, she knew, when -Indians with tomahawks lurked behind every tree. She had heard, too, of -the dreadful times at Salem that Nancy spoke about, when the devil had -walked abroad in Essex County, or folk thought that he had, though they -never saw the devil. The most terrible fear, she thought, is the fear -of an unseen thing. A British Army marching toward them with drums and -banners and bayonets would not be so terrible as the shadows that might -hold any nameless menace, the shadows drawing closer in.... - -She turned to Sally Rose, but Sally Rose was humming a little tune. -There was boredom rather than terror in her hazel eyes. Sally Rose had -found one redcoat to be a gallant and handsome lover, so she believed -they would all be that. But Kitty had heard tales of their cruelty to -Boston folk. She remembered that blood had been shed at Concord Fight -and on Lexington Green. She crouched on the turnip sack and shivered -with cold fear. - -Somehow the road seemed to be less crowded now. No one had passed them -for half an hour. Then they met a little group of horsemen slowly -riding back. Granny hailed them. - -“Are you headed for Newburyport? Is the battle over? Where are the -British?” she wanted to know. - -The leader took off his cocked hat, and Kitty noticed that he had a -bald head and very black eyes. “We begin to think the British are in -Boston and have been there all along, that they never stirred from -there. We have found no trace of them, and we scoured the countryside. -The whole commotion is either a sorry jest or a coward’s error, it -seems. At least, we have recovered sufficient courage to ride back -toward Ipswich and see.” - -“I suspected as much,” said Gran, tightening her mouth. - -“Ho hum!” said Sally Rose. - -The men rode off, and Gran pulled the wagon to one side of the road. -They were facing a small common with a white steepled church at the -edge of it. Houses clustered round about, darkened and deserted, their -doors hanging open, their inhabitants fled away. Overhead the elm -boughs tossed eerily in the light of the cold moon. - -“Get out, girls, and stretch your legs,” Gran ordered. “Then I’m going -to turn around and drive back to my own house at the Port. You can come -with me, Nance, if you’re afraid to bide at home.” - -“I’m not afraid any more,” said Nance wanly. “Not if the British -are still in Boston. Do you think they are still in Boston, Ma’am -Greenleaf?” - -“I feel sure of it,” declared Gran firmly. “Well, the Bible says the -young men shall dream dreams. That’s what that lad who said he rode -over twenty dead bodies must ha’ done. Let’s all go over to the church -steps and give thanks to God. Dream, joke, or error, I don’t care which -it was. It’s over now, and high time we went home.” - -The two children were asleep on the seat of the wagon, but Nance -carried the shawl-wrapped baby and held it in her arms as they knelt on -the church steps of gray old stone. Gran lifted up voluble thanks to -the Almighty, and Kitty’s attention wandered. She watched a husky youth -who had been hiding in the crotch of a pear tree climb sheepishly down -and sidle off, gnawing a piece of salt pork. He had apparently taken -provisions to his refuge, in case the British kept him treed for a long -time. The sight of the pork made her hungry, and Nance must have seen -it, too, and thought of food, but not for herself. The minute Gran rose -from her knees, she asked if they could wait while she suckled the baby. - -“Why of course,” said Gran heartily. “My, there’s not been one peep -out of the little thing. I trust it hasn’t got smothered in all this -uproar.” - -Nancy sat down on the step, carefully pulled the shawls away, and bent -her head while the others stood looking on. - -Suddenly she screamed. They peered closer. - -“God save our souls alive!” gasped Granny. - -Sally Rose giggled. Kitty swallowed and made no sound at all. - -In her haste Nance had wrapped up the wrong creature, and now it was -the half-grown yellow cat that slept peacefully in the crook of her -arm. - - - - -_Chapter Six_ - -FUN WHILE IT LASTED - - -The young man sat on the steps of the tavern by Ipswich Green and -stared about him; at the old brown roofs with yellow moss growing on -their seaward sides, at the little rocky river that flowed like liquid -amber under its stone bridge, at the steepled church on the rocky hill. -Shadows lay long in the deserted streets of Ipswich, and far to the -west the sun was going down. - -The young man wore a rough woolen shirt and homespun breeches. He had a -cleft chin, deep blue eyes, and black curly hair. He looked uncommonly -pleased about something. - -The landlord came to the open doorway behind him and stood there, -peering into the dusk. He was a short plump man with a lame leg and a -worried expression. - -“Not a sign o’ the British yet, be there, lad?” he asked anxiously. - -The young man shrugged his shoulders. “Could be they’ve turned aside -and gone another way,” he said in a lilting tone. “Well, I guess I’ll -be taking the road myself, while there’s a bit o’ the daylight left. -How far did you tell me it was to Newburyport, sir?” - -The landlord shifted his feet uneasily. “It’s a piece of a journey yet, -and the roads will doubtless be clogged with fleeing folk, if one’s -to judge by the rout that streamed out of here; likewise the half o’ -Beverly tagging through. Why not stay the night? I’ll give ye free -lodging. It’ll mean there’s one able-bodied man in town, besides a -handful of petticoat folk.” - -Again the young man shrugged his shoulders. “Well enough, if ’twill -please you--and supper be included in the offer.” He got to his feet -and stood there smiling. - -“Come in, lad, come in,” cried the landlord in relieved tones. “Come, -and I’ll give ye supper, such as ’tis. Cook’s run off to the hills like -all the rest, but my daughter Nanny’s here, and Nanny can do. Come and -bring your box, if ye will. Where’d ye say ye be from? Have ye traveled -far?” - -The young man stooped and lifted a small leather chest bound with iron. -Deep in the lid was burned the name “G. Malory.” It was a peculiarity -of his that although he often played other men’s parts and wore other -men’s clothing, he would never abandon his own name. - -“Barnstaple,” he said. “Gerry Malory of Barnstaple, shoemaker.” - -“Barnstable? Down Cape Cod, ain’t it? A fair ways from here.” - -“Yes, Barnstaple’s a fair ways off,” said the young man. - -Together they stepped into the dark smoky taproom. It was deserted -except for a little maid, scarce more than a child, who stood in the -doorway of the kitchen. - -The landlord went to the hearth and stirred the dwindling fire. “What’s -in the pot, Nanny?” he asked. - -“Dandelions,” said Nanny pertly. “Dandelion greens and a ham bone. But -the ham bone don’t smell like it should, Father.” - -“Warm up the chowder then,” he ordered, and turned to his guest. “Are -ye handy with firearms, Gerry?” - -“I’ve a pistol in my chest here, among my shoemaker’s tools. Guess I -know what to do with it.” - -“No, no,” cried the landlord impatiently. “I got no faith in such pop -guns. I mean a man-sized weapon. Son Rob took my musket to Cambridge, -but there’s a fowling piece hung up on the kitchen wall. I don’t see as -well to aim as I did once. Who was it spread the word about town? Did -ye happen to hear?” - -The shoemaker shook his head. “I couldn’t say, sir. As I told you -before, I was just passing through here on my way to Newburyport to see -a girl, when all at once a great stir began, and folks went rushing to -the green. Somebody shouted that the British had landed at Ipswich Bar -and were cutting and slashing all before them. Next thing I knew, the -wagons started rolling out of town, and everyone took to the highway, -afoot and on horseback. I watched them for awhile, and then came here -to catch my breath and maybe have a bite of supper.” - -Again the landlord went to the door and peered nervously into the -thickening night. “Not a light in town,” he said. “Folk that hasn’t -fled away be keeping their houses dark, ’twould seem. Do ye mind if I -don’t light up, lad? Can ye see by the glow o’ the fire?” - -“’Tis no trick to find a mouth the size of mine,” said the young man -gallantly. Then as Nanny put a steaming bowl on the table in front of -him, his nostrils quivered. “Did the ham smell stronger than this, my -lady?” he asked her. - -“Yes,” said Nanny flatly, stepping back into the kitchen. - -He sat down on a bench, picked up a ladle, and tasted the chowder -gingerly. - -“None for me, Nanny,” called her father. “I be that worried about the -British, I wouldn’t relish victuals none.” - -“Right, sir,” said Gerry, putting down the ladle. “It comes to me that -I, too, am worried about the British. Still, a piece of bread now--it -need not have butter--I could eat it dry.” - -“Slice up a loaf of bread, Nanny,” called the landlord. - -Nanny’s thin piping voice came back from the kitchen. “The bread’s -moldy. All that wasn’t, we sent to Cambridge.” - -Gerry Malory sighed resignedly. “Well, perhaps a glass of milk -then--unless all the cows have fled away. Nothing stronger. I must keep -a clear head on me.” - -The landlord himself brought a pitcher of milk and poured two glasses -full. - -“Be ye just up from the Cape, Gerry? And did ye come by Cambridge? -We’ve had no news from there since the word o’ Concord Fight come -through.” - -The young man shook his head. “I haven’t been near Cambridge, and it’s -a long time since I went Barnstaple way.” - -“Where ye been, then?” - -“Oh--round Charlestown most of the time, I guess. You know Job -Townsend’s tavern there?” - -“Job Townsend? Keeps the Bay and Beagle, don’t he? In Crooked Lane near -Harvard Street. I knowed him when he was your age. Too bad. He lost his -wife young. Got a right pretty daughter, I’ve heard. Sally Rose, or -something like.” - -“Yes, he’s got a pretty daughter,” said Gerry Malory, draining his -glass. “I been around the Bay and Beagle some.” - -“I don’t get down that way much myself,” said the landlord -thoughtfully. “What’s the news thereabout? Do they think the British’ll -fight? And if they do....” - -The young man shook his head solemnly. “You got no chance against the -British,” he said. - -The landlord looked up sharply. “Ye say ‘you’ and not ‘we,’” he -protested. “Does that mean Barnstable don’t intend to join against -the cruel laws o’ the King? That they be not with the rest o’ -Massachusetts? The Hampshire towns be with us, and I hear that so be -the west and south, New York and Virginia, too.” - -“Oh no, no, I do not mean that at all,” cried the young shoemaker. -“’Twas a slip of the tongue. Of course Barnstable--on Cape Cod--will -join cause with you. I only mean that the outlook is dark, sir, dark, -for those who would fan the flames of rebellion in America.” - -He put down his empty glass and leaned forward, his hands clenched -before him on the table. “How can _we_ defend a thousand miles of -seacoast with only a few scattered towns, against a great battle fleet -of three hundred ships and armed men? We can scarce put thirty thousand -soldiers in the field. England has one hundred and fifty thousand, and -can summon more. We lack guns, ammunition, money, and trade. More than -that, we lack the tradition of love of country, a tradition that will -make the meanest man fight and die bravely. For a thousand years men -have been giving their lives for England. What man has ever given his -life for America before?” - -“Sounds like you been listening to some Tory make speeches, lad. -Happens there was a few gave their lives at Concord and Lexington the -day before yesterday,” retorted the landlord. “There’s a first time -for everything, Gerry.” His voice was milder than the milk in his -half-empty glass, but his eyes held a sharp look, a look of question. -Suddenly his face went white. - -“Lord in heaven, I’ll fetch the gun for ye! Here they come!” he cried, -dashing from the room, tripping over a footstool unseen in the light of -the fire. - -Gerry Malory lifted his head. He heard a shouting in the road, the -creak of wagons rumbling along. He, too, got up, went to the door, and -stared out into the soft April night. The moon had not yet risen, but -as he turned to look to the north he could see swaying lights and -shadowy figures, moving painfully slow, but drawing closer. He waited, -silent, to see what would emerge out of the dark. - -As the cavalcade became more sharply visible, he saw that it consisted -of three oxcarts piled with boxes, kegs, and baskets, escorted by some -half dozen men. The oxen lumbered along wearily, and the men seemed -weary, too, as they plodded at the side. They were not young men, but -grayish and old and frail, except for a thin-faced lad with tow-colored -hair and an ancient gun gripped casually in his right hand. The wagons -drew to a halt in front of the tavern, one man stayed with the oxen, -and the others came forward eagerly, seeking refreshment. - -Gerry stepped back into the taproom and turned to face the landlord who -rushed out of the kitchen with a badly rusted gun held in front of him. -“No British,” he said reassuringly. “Just some teamsters who want to -wet their whistles, I expect.” He retired to the shadows near the great -chimney, found a stool there, and sat down. - -The landlord bustled forward to welcome the visitors. In a few moments -they were seated at the table, and Nanny was helping her father to set -out food and drink, greens, ham bone, chowder, and all. - -“Not a fit man amongst us,” sighed the oldster with a face like a -russet apple and a scar across his forehead. “I fought in too many wars -already. But once we get these stores to Cambridge, likely I’ll stay -there and enlist for one more.” - -“Don’t know how we’d ha’ got this far, if this Hampshire lad hadn’t -o’ertaken us,” said another. He turned to the thin-faced youth who was -eating chowder, the old blunderbuss leaning against the table close to -his elbow. “We was sure glad to see you, Tom Trask, when our cart broke -down the other side of Rowley last night. A proper wheelwright you -turned out to be.” - -Tom Trask did not look up from his chowder. “Be a wheelwright when I -have to,” he muttered, “or most any other sort of thing.” - -“Tell me, lads,” questioned the landlord eagerly, “did ye see aught of -the British that’s supposed to be marching on us, cutting and slashing -all before?” - -“We heard the rumor, o’ course,” went on the russet-cheeked man, “and -saw the rout go past. Didn’t trouble us none. We kept on our way. -Word’s gone about now, that there be doubts the British ever was nearer -than Boston. Truth to tell, sir, I surmise we been made fools of.” - -The landlord made a clucking sound with his thin lips. Tom Trask was -staring hard at the small iron-bound leather box on the table in front -of him. - -“Who’s that there belong to?” he asked suddenly. - -“That--oh, that belongs to Gerry Malory over in the corner. Gerry’s a -shoemaker from Barnstable--on his way to Newburyport to see a girl.” -The landlord’s voice was gay and jovial in his relief, now that he -had no further cause to fear the British. After all, he had not fled -away at the false rumor. He had not been made a fool of. He strutted a -little as he walked about the room, filling the glasses, replenishing -the fire. When his shame-faced neighbors came straggling back, he’d be -able to indulge himself in a boast or two. Then suddenly he pricked up -his ears. The tow-headed lad from New Hampshire Colony was speaking. He -held the leather chest in his hands, turning it about. - -“‘G. Malory,’ it says here. And Landlord says G.’s for Gerry. Gerry -Malory--going to Newburyport to see a girl.” He sounded thoughtful. - -The landlord noticed that the young shoemaker from Barnstable had edged -his stool further back into the shadows. He said no word. - -“Seems to me,” went on Tom Trask, “I might know what girl he’s going to -see. A peacock-proud girl named Sally Rose, I wouldn’t wonder. Seems to -me I heard o’ Gerry Malory.” - -His voice deepened, and there was a sharp edge to it that caught the -attention of everyone in the room and made them listen. - -“That’s her!” cried the landlord excitedly. “Sally Rose! Job Townsend’s -daughter! He said he hung around the Bay and Beagle some!” - -Still the young man in the shadows did not speak. - -“The Gerry Malory I heard of,” went on Tom Trask, “was said to be a -captain in the Twenty-third. That’d mean he’s a British officer.” He -waited accusingly. - -The landlord slapped his thigh. “Well, pickle my brains in rum!” he -cried. “I think ye be right, lad. He was talking like a Britisher just -before ye got here. Saying times was dark for us, and no man would give -his life for America. Out o’ that corner, sir, and answer the charge! -Be ye a lobsterback come in disguise among us?” - -Then indeed Gerry Malory stepped forward. “You’ve mistaken yourselves,” -he said easily. “There may be a man with the same name as mine in the -ranks of the British. I doubt that I be the first Gerald Malory since -the world was made. I doubt if I be the last. I be a shoemaker of -Barnstable, loyal as any man here.” - -“Loyal to what?” demanded Tom Trask. Then he bent down, pulled off one -crude cowhide boot, and held it out. “Here. I got a hole clear through -my sole leather tramping these rocky roads of Essex County. If you be a -shoemaker, prove it! Cobble my boot!” - -Gerry Malory took the boot in his hands and examined it. Then he -shook his head. “’Tis scarce worth fixing, my good man,” he said -condescendingly. “Get yourself a new pair when you arrive in -Cambridge. That is the best advice I can give you.” - -“You lie,” said Tom Trask steadily. “I can fix it myself, if you’re -unable. All I ask you to do is prove you be a shoemaker.” - -The teamsters, the landlord, even Nanny, were staring in silence at the -two young men. Gerry Malory studied the boot in his hand. He frowned. -“Well enough,” he said. He opened the small chest and fumbled inside -it, took out a wooden last, hammer, and awl, a packet of pegs and -nails. “Ah, this should do it,” he murmured judiciously. He selected -a strip of leather and tried to fit it over the ragged hole Tom had -pointed out. - -All eyes were upon him. No lips made any comment. He gripped the boot -with one hand under the instep. He fitted the leather over the hole -with the other hand. Then he stood there, conscious suddenly that he -had no third hand to set the nails in place, no fourth hand to wield -the hammer. He put the boot down and started all over again. - -But his face was growing hot and his fingers even more clumsy. Suddenly -he ceased his efforts. “I am sorry,” he said. “I forgot my most needful -tool. You must wait until you get to Cambridge, unless you can find -another cobbler.” - -Tom Trask stood up. He held the old gun lightly in his hand. “Your most -needful tool is there,” he said, “but you don’t know enough to know it. -Put the boot on the last, you should have. That would ha’ held it firm, -and left your hands free to get on with your cobbling. Right enough, -we’ll go to Cambridge, and we’ll take you along as our prisoner, -Captain Malory o’ the Twenty-third. All the world can see you’re no -shoemaker. Johnny Stark will know what to do with you. Landlord, have -you a length of rope, or better, a few links of chain, about the place? -For safety, we’ll tie him up now.” - -Gerry Malory, of Barnstaple in English Devon, bit his lip and stared -around him somewhat wildly. That cursed Yankee with the gun that looked -as if it came out of Noah’s ark stood between him and the open doorway. -He doubted if it would shoot, but even if it didn’t, its owner looked -like no easy man to handle. And the Yankee had his friends about him. - -While he hesitated, two old men ambled forward and bound his wrists -together with a heavy length of clanking chain. Then they stepped back, -and the whole company continued to stare at him. - -“Captain,” said Tom Trask thoughtfully, “I be not so sure as I was -that you come this way to see a girl. Likely you did, but likely, too, -you might ha’ spread the false report that the British was upon us. It -might ha’ been a word o’ yours that sent us flying over hills far and -wide as if the devil was after. A fool’s prank, maybe--maybe a smart -trick to spread confusion amongst us.” - -Suddenly Gerry Malory remembered the scenes of the afternoon: lean -spinsters rocking along like giraffes in the animal garden on Tower -Hill, fat men waddling off, their faces red and their eyes popping with -panic. He laughed aloud and looked down at his hands bound stiffly in -front of him. - -“In either case, it was fun while it lasted,” he said. - - - - -_Chapter Seven_ - -OFF TO THE WARS IN BOSTON - - -“Cousin, I see no future for us in this place,” said Sally Rose bleakly. - -She was sitting in the soft grass on the hill behind the Frog Pond, -looking down the dusty street that led through the Port, straight to -the wharves and warehouses along the river. - -Kitty pulled herself up on her elbow and let her glance follow her -cousin’s. There appeared to be as many white sails in the channel as -usual, the same blue spring haze on the far shore, and the familiar -curve of sky overhead. But the town below them, commonly bustling with -life on a warm May afternoon, looked strangely deserted and still. A -brown dog slept in the middle of High Street, and two old men hobbled -past the Wolfe Tavern in the direction of Market Square. A farm cart -ground its slow way towards Old Newbury, and a group of children ran -hither and thither across the training green with laughter and shrill -cries. - -Kitty pulled a golden dandelion blossom from the grass and began to -tear it apart in her fingers. “I think I see what you mean, Sally -Rose,” she said. “It is dull here with no one to talk to but grown -folk--and of course, the other girls. I never realized how many girls -there are in town. There never seemed to be so many before. I never -thought I bothered myself much about the lads, but what a difference it -makes--now they are all gone away.” - -“Gone, and not likely to return very soon, from what I hear,” said -Sally Rose thoughtfully. “A few have come home, but mostly the older -men with families, or the fainthearted ones. Last night I heard Uncle -Moses telling Granny they plan to stay where they are and form a mighty -army that will circle round like a wall of iron to keep the British -penned in Boston.” - -“Then there’s no knowing when they’ll be home,” answered Kitty. It made -her uneasy to admit to herself, as she had been forced to do, that -all her eagerness and anxiety were not for her long-time friend, Dick -Moody, but for that other one, the thin lad from New Hampshire who had -taken her father’s blunderbuss away. - -“No knowing,” agreed Sally Rose. “Three weeks it’s been since Concord -Fight, maybe more. More than a month since I’ve seen Gerry. I thought -he might write to me, but he never has. Some of the Tory girls in -Boston are very fair,” and she sighed. “I thought I might find someone -to take his place, but I should have known I never could--here in this -dull, stupid, country town.” - -“You’re better off not seeing him, since he’s British,” said Kitty -sharply. “I’m sure, most times, you’d find better lads than him, -walking down Queen Street any day. But just now--well, you know where -they’ve all gone. They’ve gone to fight for the rights of our colony, -and you ought to be proud of them, Sally Rose.” - -“Ummmm,” said Sally Rose, chewing a dandelion stem and then making up -a face when its bitter white milk puckered her mouth. “Of course I’m -proud of them. How old does one have to be before they’re an old maid, -Kitty? It seems like I might be approaching the time.” - -“Oh no,” cried Kitty. “We’re only sixteen. No one would think that of -us--not for at least two years more!” - -Sally Rose stood up and tossed her bright hair in the sun. “Two years -isn’t long,” she said. “Well, you can sit here in the Port and wither -if you want to, but I’ve got other fish in the pan.” - -She started walking quickly in the direction of Granny Greenleaf’s -weathered house. - -Kitty watched her with apparent unconcern for as long as she could. -Then she jumped to her feet and hurried after. - -“Where are you going?” she panted. - -Sally Rose smiled at her. “Why,” she said, “I think I’ll go back to my -father’s house in Charlestown. If there’s a war in Boston, we’ll be in -the midst of everything there. Why don’t you come along, Kit? Tom Trask -may not be back this way, you know.” - -Kitty felt her face turning hot and red, but she chose to ignore the -last part of her cousin’s remark. “You can’t go to Charlestown,” she -said. “Granny won’t let you go where there’s likely to be fighting. You -know that as well as I.” - -They had turned in at the front gate now, and were walking under -the budded lilac bushes, Sally Rose in the lead, Kitty following -breathless, a few steps behind. - -“A fig for Granny!” cried Sally Rose. “I love her, of course, but she’s -a timid old lady, fit only to huddle in the chimney corner. She doesn’t -know what it’s like to be bold and daring--the way a girl has to be -these days. Of course she won’t let me go, and so I shan’t ask her. -She drove out to see Nancy Davis this afternoon. When she gets back at -suppertime, I won’t be here. I’ll be halfway to Rowley--or further on.” - -She opened the unlocked kitchen door and ran lightly up the back stairs -to their chamber. - -Kitty followed, a little more slowly. She sat down on the edge of the -high four-poster and dangled her feet over the side; watched while -Sally Rose gathered ribbons, laces, and a few toilet articles and tied -them up in a shawl. - -“It’s a long walk to Charlestown,” she said tartly. - -“Not so far for a horse,” answered Sally Rose. - -“You have a horse then?” - -“I know where to borrow one. I know where I can borrow two. Uncle Moses -Chase keeps half a dozen in his barn on the Old Newbury road, and he’s -gone with Granny, so he won’t know if we take them. He won’t care, when -he finds out. Why don’t you come with me, Kitty? We’ll have a gay time -in Charlestown.” - -Kitty shook her head, but without much conviction. “I couldn’t go -behind Granny’s back,” she said. - -Sally Rose smiled sweetly. “I’m sorry you feel so, Cousin. Perhaps I do -wrong to make a jest of everything, but that is my way. Have you never -thought, when you hear all these preparations for war, that there is -work for us as well as for the lads? Who’s to cook and wash and sew for -them, and bind up their wounds when the fighting is over? I’m going -where I can be of use to my country. If you’re afraid to come with -me--well, you can stay here and sleep in the sun by the Frog Pond every -afternoon. You’ll surely be safe enough--unless a horsefly bites you, -or the dry rot settles in.” - -She took a quill pen and inkpot from the mantelpiece, sat down at the -dressing table, and began to write. - -Kitty jumped from the bed and took a few turns up and down the room. - -“Do you really think we ought to go, Sally Rose?” she asked. “Do you -think--we might be needed there?” - -“I certainly do think so,” said Sally Rose. “Don’t bother to pack any -clothes, Kit. At home in Charlestown I have more than enough for two.” - -Under Sally Rose’s urging, Kitty opened a top drawer in the old -mahogany chest and began slowly to sort out the few possessions she -wanted to take with her, if she did go; an ivory comb, a pleated linen -fichu, her mother’s cameo brooch. Her fingers flew faster every minute, -as her heart warmed to the plan. - -Her throat grew tight, and she felt tears of eagerness and excitement -sting her eyelids. She was going to serve her country, like Tom and -Johnny and Dick, and all the Newburyport lads, all the lads of the Bay -Colony, and maybe other colonies, too. She was going to take part in a -serious, and a mighty, and a very grown-up thing. Wars were history, -and she was going to help make history. It had been done before by -other girls who were just as young. She was glad, she thought, that she -was to have a chance to do it in her time. Her heart stirred just as it -did in church when one or another of the old warlike hymn tunes rose on -the air. - -“You’d better take a cloak, Kit, for it’ll grow cold after sundown, and -we may ride late,” advised Sally Rose, pulling her own fleecy shawl -from the carved old press. “Come, let’s be off to the wars in Boston!” - -On her way to follow Sally Rose’s bidding, Kitty caught sight of her -cousin’s note as it lay open on the dressing table. - -_Dear Granny_, the note began, in dainty, pointed script, _Forgive me -for leaving you so suddenly, and practically forcing poor Kitty to -go along. But I dare not travel by myself, and I find that a sudden -yearning to see my father takes me...._ - -Kitty stood still for a moment and almost gave up all idea of this -desperate journey. - -“We’ll have a gay time in Charlestown.” “I want to serve my country.” -“A sudden yearning to see my father takes me.” - -Sally Rose could give many reasons for what she wanted to do. And she -would always give the ones most likely to get her what she wanted. And -what was her true reason? No one knew except Sally Rose. - -Nevertheless, Kitty found she did not turn back, but folded her cloak -over her arm and hastened downstairs after her cousin. After all, what -was her own reason for wanting to go to Charlestown? She did want to -serve her country, but she was quick enough to see that she could serve -it quite as well at home, if she had chosen so. But she had not so -chosen. Was not she, Kitty, slyer, more secret and stubborn than Sally -Rose in getting her own way? - - * * * * * - -It was black dark when they rode into Ipswich, very few lights in the -town, and very few people still awake. The moon was hidden away behind -the clouds somewhere, and a light mist had begun to fall. - -“I hoped we could get as far as Beverly,” said Sally Rose, “but we’ve -come only half the way. Uncle Moses said he had plenty of horses in his -barn, but he didn’t say they were plow horses. Well, there’s a light -in the tavern. I’ve stopped there before, and I know the landlord’s -daughter. A pert, homely little wench, but I’m sure she’ll find us a -bed.” - -“I hope so,” said Kitty dubiously, climbing down from her horse and -following her cousin up the wide stone steps and through the low front -door. - -The taproom smelled of cider and fish and the smoky wood fire burning -on it blackened hearth. It was dimly lit and empty, except for three -old men who sat at a table with glasses in front of them, and a -sharp-faced, sallow girl polishing other glasses behind a narrow bar. - -When Sally Rose walked across the uneven floor, her head up, her eyes -shining in the candlelight, her hips swaying ever so slightly, the -heads of the old men turned toward her as sunflowers turn to follow -the golden light of day. Kitty walked demurely behind her, but nobody -noticed Kitty. - -“Nanny,” cried Sally Rose, putting out her hand to the girl eagerly, -as if there was no one in the world she would be gladder to see than -Ipswich Nan. “Nanny, we’re o’ertaken with darkness, and we need a bed -for the night, my cousin and I.” She drew Kitty forward, and they stood -together at the bar. “We’ll need supper, too, Nanny,” she said. - -Nanny curtsied. “Yes, Miss Sally Rose,” she answered, beaming adoringly -at the pretty, smiling face turned toward her. “The bed in the east -chamber is aired and ready. Should I serve you there, or....” She -glanced about the taproom. - -Sally Rose began to pull off her embroidered gloves, put up a hand to -pat her golden hair. “Oh--at that table by the fire, please. It was -chilly, coming the last mile through the swamp willows, and with all -the fog about.” - -Nanny lighted a candle in a pewter holder and carried it to the table -by the fire. “I’ll bring you supper right off, Miss Sally Rose. We got -dandelion greens and a ham bone--” - -Sally Rose made up a face. “Oh Nanny,” she pleaded, “you know my -stomach’s delicate.” - -Kitty clapped her hand over her mouth so that she would not giggle. -Sally Rose had never been sick in her life, and could probably digest -brass nails if she had to. - -“Couldn’t you find a bit of chicken, Nanny?” - -“Chicken I’ve not got,” answered Nanny. “But there’s a piece of spring -lamb I just been a-roasting for the minister’s wife. She’s got Salem -company coming tomorrow.” - -“The lamb will do nicely,” said Sally Rose, sitting down at table. - -“About our horses,” asked Kitty, taking the chair across from her -cousin. - -“Oh, of course. I’ll speak to one of the men and have them seen to. I -noticed the landlord as I came in.” - -They turned to look at the three men by the table. The men were all -staring at them and talking together in low voices. One of them now -rose and came forward. He wore a leather apron tied around his middle -and walked with a decided limp. - -“Job Townsend’s daughter, ain’t you?” he demanded of Sally Rose. “Visit -kin in Newburyport on occasion?” - -Sally Rose smiled and dimpled. “Why, how clever of you to remember -me! Of course I’m Job Townsend’s daughter,” she said. “And I’m on my -way home from Newburyport right now. I’ve often told my cousin Kitty -here, about your tavern--there isn’t a better one in the whole of Essex -County.” - -Strangely enough, the landlord was not smiling at Sally Rose, and he -ignored her compliment. - -“We had a young fellow here a short time back. A young fellow who said -he hung around the Bay and Beagle some.” - -He waited, his face expressionless, for Sally Rose to speak. In the -silence Kitty heard the rattle of dishes from the kitchen. She caught -the delicious odor of roast meat, the tang of crushed mint leaves. - -Sally Rose’s smile grew no whit dimmer. “We’ve many young fellows who -hang around the Bay and Beagle,” she said. “My dad would go poor, if we -didn’t. They keep the till full. Did he tell you his name?” - -The landlord spoke accusingly. “He said his name was Gerry Malory. He -said he was going to Newburyport to see a girl.” - -Sally Rose shrugged her graceful shoulders. “Plenty of girls in -Newburyport,” she said. - -“Do you know this Gerry Malory?” - -“I might,” she answered cautiously. “Was he a dockyard hand now, or -maybe a farmer from Breed’s hill--” - -“This one was took up for being a British officer,” said the -landlord grimly. “Took up, right here in my tavern. Irons put on his -wrists--part of an old ox chain I had--and he was took to the camp at -Cambridge under guard. Likely they’ll hang the damn redcoat. I hope -they do.” - -Sally Rose’s smile looked a bit frozen, but it did not vanish away. -There was a tremor in her voice, but she spoke imperiously still. “All -very interesting, Landlord, but your daughter has undertaken to fetch -us a supper of spring lamb. We are tired with long riding, and if you -could ask her to be spry about it, we should be grateful. Our horses, -also, are at your door and in need of attention.” - -She sat down and turned her back upon him. - -Kitty watched the lame man shake his head. Then he stumped off toward -the kitchen. She looked again at her cousin, and Sally Rose’s eyes were -shining with more than the candlelight. - -“He was coming to see me,” she murmured happily. “Gerry was coming to -see me when they caught him.” - -Kitty felt her face twist in a frown and spoke her disapproval. “Which -he shouldn’t have been doing, of course. He belongs with the other -British in Boston. Well, he’s got himself in trouble now. A prisoner of -our men, and the landlord talked of hanging. Aren’t you worried about -him?” - -Sally Rose took off her bonnet and shook back her shining hair. “Not -a little finger’s worth,” she said. “They won’t hold him long. He can -come and go like a breath of east wind, Gerry can. My, oh my”--and she -patted the front of her muslin gown--“I’m so hungry. I wish Nanny would -hurry and bring that spring lamb!” - - * * * * * - -Twenty-four hours later they were hungry again, much hungrier, and very -tired. But they were riding down Crooked Lane in Charlestown, with -the Bay and Beagle almost in sight, and over the river the lights of -Boston. - -“My, it’s been a tiresome day,” sighed Sally Rose. “Losing my purse, -horse going lame, taking the wrong turn in Danvers--I don’t see how I -could have been so stupid as to do that.” - -“The black flies were the worst,” complained Kitty. “I’m bitten in a -dozen places, I vow. And I don’t dare scratch the bites, for if I do, -I’ll look as if I had smallpox.” - -She thought back over their long day’s riding: village greens with -white steeples--Wenham, Beverly, Salem; long stretches of salt marsh -with the sea beyond it; then Lynn and Malden, as the towns drew -closer in. It was already night when they came to Medford, and there -a constable had ridden with them through town, straight to the Penny -Ferry. Part of the great New England Army was camped on the hills about -and overflowing the streets and taverns, he said, and he feared for the -safety of young maids abroad so late. What were their folks thinking -of, anyway? - -For once Sally Rose had been too tired to be charming. She bowed her -head meekly and accepted his rebuke. But her spirits rose as they left -river and causeway behind them and took a field path so as not to have -to pass the Sign of the Sun tavern where there were apt to be British -officers about. - -“My, but Daddy will be surprised,” she said. “I want a glass of Spanish -wine and a meat pasty. And then, bed! Oh Kitty, think what it’ll be -like to have a featherbed under us again! I swear, I’ll roll and -wallow in it! Why--why here we are, and there aren’t any lights in the -windows!” - -They drew up their horses uncertainly in the deserted street. All the -houses were dark around them, and the cloudy sky was dark overhead. A -lantern burned at the top of a pole a little way off, so that Kitty -could make out the weathered sign before her uncle’s tavern, the wooden -profile of a tall bay horse pawing the air, and at his feet a trim, -alert hunting dog. But as Sally Rose said, the diamond-shaped panes -were dark. Peering closer, however, she noticed some letters traced in -whitewash on the iron-bound door. - -“Look, Sally Rose, there’s a sign, but I can’t read it,” she said. - -They got down from their horses and walked closer. “Neither can I,” -said Sally Rose. She tried the door. It was locked tight. - -“I know how to climb in by the buttery window,” she murmured, for once -a little crestfallen, “but I still want to know what is written on the -door. I wonder where Father can be. He always keeps late closing time.” - -She stood irresolute a moment. Then she drew a quick breath as if -something pleased her, and ran down the street to the lantern swinging -on its pole. Reaching, stretching, pulling herself up, she managed to -lift it down and hurry back, holding it proudly aloft, flashing it on -the paneled door. - -In the light that flared uncertainly behind the thin panes of horn, the -two cousins bent close and read aloud the words, “Closed. Gone to the -wars till the damn British be beat. J. Townsend.” - -They stood still and looked at each other. A salt-smelling wind blew -down the old street, and a wisp of fog came with it. Fog was dimming -the lights of Boston, that even now, close to midnight, still burned -on the other side of the river. The lights looked unfriendly, Kitty -thought, as she remembered that Boston was in the hands of the enemy. -Down by the wharves men were shouting and the shouts had an angry -sound. A burst of musket fire broke out, somewhere off Medford way. The -girls looked at each other and shivered. They were hungry and tired and -fly-bitten. They were a little frightened, maybe. - -“What will we do now?” asked Kitty. The tone reminded Sally Rose that -she was to blame for the plight they were in, even if the words did -not. - -“I--don’t--quite know,” faltered Sally Rose. “We can get into the -house. We’ll have a roof over our heads, and a bed to sleep in. Maybe -there’s something to eat in the cupboard. We’ll be safe for tonight. -But it’s after that I’m thinking of. We can’t run the tavern alone, -without father, and how are we to live if we cannot run the tavern?” - -“We could send for Gran,” said Kitty a little mockingly. “Of course -she’s a timid old lady, but I notice she’s able to do most everything -that comes her way. I’ll bet she’d be able to serve up cider, or rum -toddy, or hot grog--or whatever it is they drink.” - -Suddenly Sally Rose was smiling again. “Kitty, that’s a wonderful plan. -Let’s climb into the house now, and have supper, and sleep forever. -When we wake up we’ll send her a letter by the first post. The buttery -window’s around here at the back, under the apple tree. Come along. I -can unfasten the catch, but you’ll have to hoist me in.” - - - - -_Chapter Eight_ - -SAVED BY A PIPE-SMOKING MAN - - -Standing in the wet salt grass at the end of Chelsea Neck, Tom Trask -shifted the old blunderbuss from one shoulder to the other. - -“Wisht I had my own gun,” he said to himself. “I’d rather try to lug a -young pine tree, roots and all, than this critter here.” - -Then he smiled sheepishly as he thought of the pretty girl who had -loaned him the aged weapon. She was a pretty girl, too. Likely he’d go -to her house and see her when he went down river with the logs next -spring. Guess she wouldn’t have any eyes for the Newburyport lads when -he was about. This fuss would all be over by then, and folks back where -they belonged, plowing their own ground. - -He shivered with the cold that goes before sunrise and tried to peer -through the blackness and mist around him to see if the others were -getting as restless as he. There were three hundred or more of them, -New Hampshire and Massachusetts men, here where the Neck narrowed down. -Not a torch, not a lantern, General Putnam had warned, and if any man -felt the need of tobacco, let him cut plug and chew, like an old cow -with cud. It was worse than being lost in the devil’s pocket, but even -at that, it was better than sitting around camp playing cat’s-cradle, -like they’d been doing for the past month. A man could get gray -whiskers before his time, that way. - -Some of the lads who came a-running so quick after Concord Fight had -got tired of the game and put for home already, but Tom hadn’t quite -been able to convince himself he ought to go along. No, so long as -Colonel Stark saw a reason to sit around waiting for the British to -jump, he guessed he, Tom Trask, could wait too. He himself hadn’t been -far from the camp at Medford, but he’d heard Boston was all ringed -round with Massachusetts and Connecticut men keeping the redcoats shut -up tight. - -“Can you hear me, lads?” bellowed a gruff voice up ahead. - -“Aye,” came a dozen shouts from the tall reeds around him, and an -equally gruff voice added, “Aye! We be listening all.” - -“Volunteers! Old Put wants volunteers!” roared the first speaker. -“There’ll be an officer come amongst you. There’ll be....” His voice -grew fainter as he turned to deliver his message in another direction, -but the words still sounded plain. - -Tom put his blunderbuss down and leaned on it. He spoke to the man who -stood in the marsh grass just ahead of him. - -“Got any idea what this is about?” he asked. - -The other man took his time in answering. He was older, Tom sensed, and -more heavily built. In the silence they heard shouting and the rattle -of musket fire. A ship’s gun flashed on the dark waters of Chelsea -Creek. - -“Yea--a,” said the man slowly. “I was down by the ferry stage awhile -back.” - -“Was there fighting there?” - -“Fighting there was. The British ships firing at us, and our men -waist-deep in water shooting back--even the General himself, Old Put.” - -“Did you hear what the volunteers be for?” - -“Maybe. You haven’t been here all along? You’re one o’ the reserves who -come in late last night? One o’ Stark’s men?” - -“Aye. One o’ Stark’s men, and proud of it.” - -The man was chewing tobacco, Tom’s keen nose told him. He spat suddenly -into the reeds, his own mouth tasting rancid. - -“Likely some day you may have something to be proud of. You done no -more yet than anyone else, as I can see.” - -Tom ignored the rebuke. “Volunteers now,” he murmured. “If I knew what -’twas about, likely I might take a notion to go.” - -“Likely they wouldn’t want you,” sneered the older man. “If I was -Putnam--which I ain’t--I’d give the job to one o’ the Essex County -boys.” - -“Why?” - -“Because ’tis a seafaring operation, of a sort, and there be none like -the Essex men for maneuvers at sea.” - -The firing from the river was steady now. - -“Maybe,” said Tom. “What is this operation that takes such a picked -crew? I never see salt water yet will fight a man as hard as old -Merrimack when the freshets come down.” - -“Volunteers!” sang out a voice nearby. A man, bareheaded, wearing a -torn brown coat, stood before them holding a carefully shielded lantern -in his hand. - -“Eleven picked men I got. I need one more.” - -“Twelve men, you got,” said Tom, shouldering his blunderbuss. “Where do -I go?” - -The man held up his lantern so that the dim light shone on his new -recruit. - -“Built for it, you be,” he said after a moment. “Long, and lean, and -tough, by the look of you. Are you tough, lad?” - -“Tougher’n a biled owl,” said Tom imperturbably. - -“Can you swim?” - -“Like a muskrat.” - -The man grinned. “What’s your trade?” - -“I’m a timber man. Floating logs downstream out of the Hampshire woods -is my trade.” - -“Good! Come along then. Down by the water. Ike Baldwin has charge o’ -the action, and he’s gathered his men there.” - -Tom followed as he was bidden, down a rough path to the border of -Chelsea Creek. Looking over his shoulder once, he saw in the sky a long -streak of sunrise, salmon and silver-gray. - -The Neck ended in a narrow strip of shaly beach, and as Tom moved out -of the protecting reeds he drew his head down turtle-fashion. A British -ball whined past him, and then another. Half an hour now, and it would -be broad daylight. Whatever this seafaring operation was, they’d -better get it over, and soon. Then a little group of men loomed up in -the thinning mist ahead of him. Eight, nine, he counted, most of them -no older than he. They were stripped to the waist and unarmed, save -for their leader, a stalwart man in a blue coat and knee breeches who -leaned on a musket. Tom and his guide approached the group. - -“Here’s your twelfth, Ike,” said the brown-coated man. “Swims like a -muskrat, tougher’n a biled owl, and is used to riding log rafts down -the Merrimack. Think he’ll do.” - -Ike cleared his throat and spat into the water lapping gently along -the beach. “Have to, now,” he said. “We’ll be sitting ducks in fifteen -minutes more. Cal and ’Lisha’s gone for a keg of pitch.” He turned to -Tom. “You one o’ Stark’s men?” - -“Aye. Tom Trask of Derryfield.” - -“Good. Get rid of your gun and strip down.” - -Tom looked around and found an outcrop of ledge where he thought he -could probably leave the blunderbuss in safety. Then he peeled off his -hunting shirt. British mortar fire still droned overhead--too high; he -had heard back in camp that the British usually shot that way. As he -shook his hands free from the loose sleeves and flung the garment down, -he lifted his head and looked at the man nearest to him. Then a wry -smile twisted his mouth. - -“I think I seen you before,” he said. - -The other lad peered through the thinning mist, then his eyes widened -in recognition and he smiled. - -“Aye,” he answered jauntily. “Last time I seen you, you was playing -hide-and-seek. You grown up yet, I wonder?” - -“There was others playing it, too,” retorted Tom. - -“Yes, others. Kitty Greenleaf, you’ll likely remember.” - -“Kitty Greenleaf! So that’s her name. I never did know the whole of it. -Promised her I’d call by and see her, if I ever happened back that way.” - -“Don’t take the trouble. Kitty’s closer now. She’s in Charlestown with -her cousin, Sally Rose. I went home to get some clean shirts and a -better gun, and ’twas there I heard it.” - -“In Charlestown?” asked Tom in surprise. “Charlestown’s not held to be -very safe these days. ’Tis thought the British may strike at us from -there. I heard there be only a couple hundred people left in the town, -and most of the women sent away.” - -“I heard so, too. But Sally Rose took a notion to go home and nothing -would stop her, so Kitty went along. I ain’t got over there yet to see -them, but I mean to. I heard Granny Greenleaf went legging after them, -mad as time.” - -Tom laughed in spite of himself as he remembered the thin old voice -quavering excitedly, “Stop, thief, stop!” - -“Maybe I’ll just go along with you, when you do go,” he said. “What’s -your name now? Eben, was it?” - -“Eben! No! You’re thinking of Eben Poore. He’s naught but a foolish -little lad. I be Johnny Pettengall.” - -“So,” said Tom. In the river ahead of him he could see two low green -islands getting plainer every minute as the mist cleared away. “Well, -Johnny, for old times’ sake then, tell me what’s afoot and what are we -down here for?” - -Johnny’s face brightened and his voice grew eager, now that he was -intent again on the business in hand. - -“Likely, being a New Hampshire man, you come in with Stark’s reserves -last night.” - -“No. I wasn’t detailed to go--nor to stay, either. Couldn’t sleep, and -long in the night sometime, I thought I’d just wander this way.” - -“I been here all along. We was sent over to Noddle’s Island yesterday -to drive the cattle off. Farmers who pasture there have been selling -beef to the British. We’d cleared off Noddle, burned the house of one -man who resisted, and was on our way back across Hog Island, when a -sloop and a schooner sailed close in. Fired on us, they did, and o’ -course we answered back.” - -“O’ course,” agreed Tom. - -“Been firing ever since, except for the schooner--the _Diana_, she is, -one of our men said who recognized her. She’s run aground and been -abandoned. It’s her we’re going out to burn.” - -Tom looked where the other lad pointed. Sure enough, there in the gray -light, not very far from shore, rode a two-masted schooner, listing -badly to one side. Her foresail hung in long streamers that stirred as -the morning wind blew through them. Her colors had been shot away, and -the lower side of her deck was all awash with sea. - -“All right, boys!” Ike Baldwin straightened them to attention with his -command. “Here’s Cal and ’Lisha with the pitch. Now we can go.” - -Two young men, dark-haired and muscular, came panting up with a heavy -keg between them, swung in a cradle of stout rope. Baldwin went on, -speaking rapidly. - -“Cal and ’Lisha will tow the pitch out to the schooner. Got that now?” - -General murmurs of assent passed among the little group. - -“Aye,” murmured Johnny brightly, like a smart lad repeating catechism. - -Tom inclined his head and chewed nervously at a bit of grass he had -picked up somewhere. It had a rank salty taste. He wished he knew -exactly what he was supposed to do. - -“The rest of you ain’t going along for the swim, remember,” the -relentless orders went on. “You’re there to help get the pitch aboard -and spread it around on whatever parts of her is driest and most likely -to burn. Don’t want her to go back into British service again. Don’t -want the British to think they can come shooting amongst us any time -they choose without having to pay.” - -He stood still for a moment, in a defiant attitude, waiting for his -words to take effect. - -“How we going to kindle the pitch, Ike?” asked a voice at the rear of -the group. “Flints and tinderboxes’ll be wetter’n a drowned cat ’fore -we get there.” - -Isaac Baldwin frowned. Then his face cleared and he waved a nonchalant -hand. “Likely there’ll be a cookfire in the galley,” he said. “She -ain’t been abandoned long. Likely you’ll find a tinderbox there--or -somewhere else aboard. Her crew must ha’ had some means to light a -fire.” - -“Maybe,” said Tom. He stood thoughtfully for a moment, wondering how -much time he would have before Ike Baldwin ordered them into the water. -It would take a few minutes, the thing he wanted to do. - -Luck was with him, for Baldwin bent over just then to speak with Cal -and ’Lisha who were tightening the cradle ropes about the keg. He -looked up the hill in the direction he had come, then back at the creek -again. Out beyond the stranded _Diana_, the guns of the sloop were -still firing harmlessly away. After a moment of indecision, he turned -and ran up the hill. - -He found the man he had been talking to a short time before, seated now -on a tuft of marsh grass, his gun beside him. He was just in the act of -filling a pipe, as Tom had gambled he would be. The New Hampshire man -loped up and accosted him. - -“You with that pipe there!” - -The man did not look up. His fingers moved leisurely with flints and -tinder. He lit the pipe, drew on it deeply, then took it from his mouth -and asked, “Was you speaking to me?” - -“Yes. General Putnam gave out the word there was to be no smoking -amongst the men. He sent me to collect every pipe I found lighted. Like -this.” - -Tom’s hand reached forth lightning quick and snatched the pipe from its -owner’s startled jaws. Then he sprinted off, down the Neck. - -“Hey! Give me back my pipe!” yelled the man, scrambling to his feet, -his arms flailing the air. “Them orders against pipes was night orders -only. It’s safe enough, now day’s come.” - -“Tell it to General Putnam,” called Tom over his shoulder. He did not -slow his pace until he reached the beach. Cal and ’Lisha had waded out -waist-deep, floating the keg between them. The others plunged in now, -and began swimming toward the schooner. Their officer laid his musket -down and shed his clothes, obviously intending to follow them, like a -shepherd after his sheep. - -Tom stood still, put the pipe in his mouth, and took a pull on it. -Great Jehovah, it tasted worse than sulphur and molasses that the old -women dosed you with in the spring. It tasted worse than wormwood and -bear’s grease, worse than dragonroot tea. Ike Baldwin stepped into the -water now, and Tom followed at a little distance. By and by he felt -the river floor sloping away under his feet, but he managed to keep on -wading, though the others launched forth and swam. He held his head -high and his neck still, and kept puffing on the pipe. The schooner was -only a little way off, stranded in shallow water, but it seemed to Tom -as if he would never get there, with the ill-smelling wooden bowl and -its little treasure of fire. Maybe they wouldn’t need it, he thought, -but if they did they would need it bad, and he meant to have it on hand. - -Once a British ball struck close by, throwing up a shower of spray that -left him shaken and half blinded, but he kept puffing away at the pipe -and forged steadily ahead. Then another ball struck even closer. The -British were finding the range, he thought. They must have realized -what their opponents meant to do. - -When he reached the schooner, she was so sharply tilted that he found -it as easy to climb aboard her as it would have been to swarm up a -sloping beach. The other lads were there ahead of him, busy spreading -pitch on a pile of canvas mattresses and hammocks fetched up from the -sleeping quarters below, spreading it on the dry parts of the deck -above water line. - -A brisk wind sang through the _Diana’s_ broken rigging. It struck cold -on Tom’s bare shoulders and drove the last of the mist away. Sounds of -firing came from the British sloop, but he forgot the sloop. He cupped -his hands about the pipe bowl to shelter its living contents from the -wind. He took a long puff. - -“So this is the way Stark trains his lads!” Isaac Baldwin’s voice -lashed out at him. He turned sharply and looked into the grim, angry -face of their leader. - -Tom took the pipe cautiously from his mouth. “’T hasn’t got nothing to -do with Stark,” he said. - -“If this were a regular engagement, you could be court-martialed. -Smoking a pipe! Skulking here smoking a pipe! Look at the other lads!” - -Tom stared miserably at the busy group who were still heaping up -whatever inflammables they could find. Then he put the pipe back in his -mouth and gave another dogged puff. - -“Here! Give me that!” Livid with rage, Ike Baldwin made a grab for the -pipe. - -Tom put one hand up before his face and ducked away. The deck under -his feet was worn by the tramp of many men, and it was slippery with -morning dew. He fell, half recovered himself, and then went down on his -knees, his teeth still clamped to the pipestem. - -From the hatchway that led below came confused cries. - -“Oh, Captain! Tell the Captain there’s not a spark aboard her! Galley -fire’s been put out and the ashes raked over! Not a flint! Not a -tinderbox! How’s to have a burning without fire?” - -Tom felt his pulses quicken. It was as if there were shooting sparks -of triumph in his blood. His guess had been right, then. He lifted his -head. Baldwin had turned away, having greater troubles now. - -“There must be flints somewhere,” he exclaimed crustily. “Have you -searched the officers’ quarters? The mess cabin? The hold?” - -“Aye, sir. Everywhere.” - -Tom got to his feet and looked around him. The men were standing idle -now, about the heap of mattresses. They looked bewildered and--well, -not afraid--uneasy, maybe. Turning his head a little, he saw the green -shores of Hog Island with Noddle’s Island just beyond it, and far -beyond that, the roofs of Boston touched with the morning sun. In the -foreground hovered the British sloop. Her guns were silent now, but her -sails were spread and she seemed to be drawing close. Perhaps this was -the time for him to speak. - -“Give me that pipe!” Isaac Baldwin’s command had a different tone to -it this time. Before he had been angry and somewhat scornful. Now his -voice was full of eagerness, quick and keen. - -Tom took the pipe from his mouth. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I thought we -might need it, sir. That’s why I brought it along. I--I’m not much of a -smoking man.” - -“Good boy,” said Isaac Baldwin. - -He walked quickly across the deck, knelt down, and ripped a bit of tow -from a mattress, testing the dryness of it with his fingers. Then he -placed it lightly across the bowl of the pipe. - -The other men were holding their breaths as they looked on. Tom -watched, too, but he felt a strange dizziness coming over him, so he -went and clung to the rail. - -At first nothing happened. Then it was as if the tow began to melt -away. Ike held a larger piece of tow above the first one--a fluffed-out -piece. Suddenly the fluff burst into open flame. Someone started to -cheer and quickly choked the sound back. From the fluff, Ike lighted a -still larger piece of tow and dropped that on the heap of bedding. The -men watched, fascinated. First one little tongue of flame leaped up and -then another. Then a tiny roaring sound began, growing louder every -moment. - -When he saw that there was a splendid bonfire a-going, Tom turned to -the rail and hung weakly overside. He knew now that his trick had -worked and the British schooner would soon be a seething mass of -flame. Soon his comrades, their mission accomplished, would be leaping -overside and swimming back to Chelsea Neck. When that time came, he -knew, he would straighten himself up and go with them, but right now -there was a rancid taste in his mouth and the smell of burning pitch in -his nostrils. He’d had enough of pipe-smoking to last him a lifetime, -and he didn’t feel very well--in fact, he didn’t feel well at all. - - - - -_Chapter Nine_ - -NO CLOUDS ON BUNKER HILL - - -“Never expected to see you keeping a public house, Ma’am -Greenleaf--leastwise, not one with a strong drink license.” - -Old Timothy Coffin’s voice had disapproval in it, Kitty thought, as she -turned from the small oak bar where she was polishing glasses. The warm -June sunshine struck through the diamond-shaped panes and lay in pools -of light with rainbow edges on the sanded floor, on the worn tables and -benches. A gentle breeze stirred the tall hollyhock stems outside the -window. Sally Rose was weeding the hollyhocks--or supposed to be. Now -that Gran had come to take charge, there was a task for everyone. - -“You’re a-going to see a deal of things you never expected to see,” -said Gran tartly. She was seated by the hearth shelling peas, while -Timothy swept the tiles with a birch broom. - -“Happen you’re right, Ma’am,” agreed the old man. “Never expected to -see the King’s men shooting at us--and we going to meeting, praying for -the King, all the while.” - -“Yes, it’s a strange state of affairs, Timothy,” answered Gran. Her -voice had turned suddenly thoughtful, and her fingers played idly with -the empty pods as she stared through the open door at the empty house -across the way. - -Kitty looked at the empty house, too. Most of the houses in Charlestown -were empty now, and scarcely any women left in the town at all. The -men came back sometimes to cut hay and weed their gardens, but they -had sent their families away to the inland towns, and swore they would -leave them there till this fuss with the British soldiers was ended, -one way or another. - -This was bad for business, of course. Here it was, nearly ten o’clock -of a fine hot Tuesday morning, sixth of June by the almanac, and she -hadn’t served a single customer. - -Everything seemed to be set up in terms of this “fuss,” nowadays. -For instance, she and Gran and Sally Rose living here in Charlestown -and running the Bay and Beagle, while Uncle Job was away with the -Massachusetts troops somewhere. Not knowing they were here, thinking -Sally Rose was safe in Newburyport, he hadn’t come home. Then when Gran -came to join them, hopping mad at the trick Sally Rose had played, she -brought Dick Moody and Timothy along to do the men’s work about the -place. They hadn’t stayed in camp long, for Dick was young and couldn’t -shoot well enough, and Timothy was old, and his bones creaked. But all -they wanted to talk about was the camp and the goings-on there. But -they didn’t call it a “fuss” like Gran did. They called it a war. And -that had a much more important and terrible sound. - -War was terrible, Kitty knew, so terrible that it couldn’t be going to -happen right here in front of her eyes, to people she knew, maybe to -herself--not really. - -Dick came in from the backyard with an armful of wood and stacked it -carefully beside the hearth. Then he stood silent and respectful, -looking at Granny. - -Dick had grown taller, Kitty thought, and next time he went to camp, -as he threatened to do every day or so, it wasn’t likely they’d send -him home for being too young. Sometimes he and Timothy went to the -cow pasture at the foot of Bunker Hill and practiced a little with -Timothy’s gun--not much, though, because they didn’t want to waste -powder and ball. Suddenly she realized Dick was speaking. He looked at -her, but he addressed himself to Granny. - -“I thank you for bringing me down here, near where I wanted to be. But -I’m quitting your service now, Ma’am Greenleaf.” - -“Oh, go get yourself a slice of bread and molasses, and you’ll think -better of it,” said Granny. “You can put maple sugar on it, too,” she -added. - -Dick’s face grew red, and his young voice had an unfamiliar harshness -in it. “You’ve fed me well enough, Ma’am. It’s not on account of the -food and wages I’m leaving.” - -“What is it then, and what do you think to do?” asked Gran, with an air -of rapidly exhausting patience. - -“Up the Mystic a ways--in one o’ the swamps there--some men from -Gloucester are building fire boats. I been in the ship-building trade. -They said I could help them.” - -“Fire boats!” Granny tried to laugh, but there was no merriment in the -noise she made. It sounded like a cackle. “And what do you think to do -with fire boats, pray?” - -“Why, what do most folk do with fire? Burn something. Maybe one o’ the -British schooners, or men-o’-war, even. Maybe burn Boston, for all I -know. Whatever our orders say.” - -“You can’t burn Boston,” retorted Granny severely. “Boston don’t belong -to the British soldiery. Houses and shops and all belongs to Americans, -as good as you be. True, they’ve most of them fled from it now, but -they’ll be back some day--when this fuss is over, and God send that -happen right soon. Now whatever is that drum a-beating for?” She held -up her head and listened. “I’ve heard fife and drum music enough to -last me a long time.” - -“You’ll hear more of it before you hear less, Ma’am,” muttered Timothy. - -Dick hurried to the door and stared up the road that led to the Neck, -from which the sound came. Kitty went to stand beside him. - -“Are you really going back to be with the Army, Dick?” she asked, in -one of the brief pauses between the slow beats of the drum. - -Dick cleared his throat. “Seems like I have to,” he murmured. “Would -it matter to you, Kit, if I--” His voice broke off, and his hand just -brushed her shoulder. - -“Oh Kitty! Kitty!” cried Sally Rose as she came flying down the street, -her bright hair loose on her shoulders and her cheeks flushed with -excitement. “They’re bringing the prisoners! There’s going to be an -exchange! Perhaps Gerry will be in it!” - -She dropped down on the broad doorstone and sat there, trying to get -back her breath. - -“How do you know?” asked Dick quickly. He was not looking at Sally -Rose, but up the winding street that led to Charlestown Neck and the -towns beyond it on the mainland. - -Kitty looked, too. Down the narrow way between the gabled houses came a -slowly moving procession. First the drummer stepped out, a scrawny lad -not much taller than Dick. He walked all alone, beating a brass-bound -drum, and behind him followed a black horse drawing a phaeton with two -men in it. After the phaeton rode two British officers on horseback. -She could see nothing more at the moment because of a crook in the -street. A little crowd was beginning to gather in the direction of -Market Square. Sally Rose finally got back her breath and answered -Dick’s question. - -“When I heard the drum I ran down to Mr. Bassett’s wine shop. He’s back -in town, you know, to cut his hay on the Point Road, and I asked him -what was happening. He said he heard--” - -The drummer had come even with the Bay and Beagle now, and his steady -beating drowned out the girl’s excited voice. Sally Rose stopped -talking and got to her feet. She and Dick and Kitty stood together in -the tavern doorway and watched the slow procession advance and pass -close by them. - -The two men who rode in the phaeton behind the drummer were in odd -contrast to each other, and yet there was the same air of dignity and -purpose enveloping both of them. One was old--not so old as Timothy, -but not young any more. He was broad-shouldered and sturdy and had a -round, good-natured face and a shock of tousled gray hair. He wore a -blue uniform. His companion was younger, fair-haired and blue-eyed, -with a ruddy face and a fresh, scrubbed look about him. He was not a -soldier, apparently, for his coat was fawn-colored with a white-fringed -waistcoat underneath. - -“That’s Old Put,” said Timothy proudly, for he and Gran had come to -stand just behind them. “See! In the blue coat there! General Putnam. -His wife must ha’ sent him his uniform.” - -“Why would she have to do that?” asked Gran tartly. “Wouldn’t go off to -war without it, would he?” - -Timothy chuckled. “That’s just what he done! When he heard about -Concord Fight, he was building a stone wall on his farm away down in -Connecticut. But he come just as he was, in leather breeches and apron. -Got here at next day’s sunrise, they say.” - -“I guess there was others got here just as quick as he did,” answered -Gran. “Yourself for one.” She peered over Kitty’s shoulder. “Who be -that by his side?” - -“That’s Dr. Warren. Best damn man, I say, that ever come out o’ -Boston. Don’t know how General Ward would run Cambridge Camp without -him. Figures out how to get supplies, and men, and money, and all. He’s -got book learning and can talk to anybody. More’n that, he’s a good -doctor.” - -“Where are the prisoners, I wonder?” asked Sally Rose. - -Kitty nudged her, and she subsided. - -After the phaeton came two British officers, splendid in white -and scarlet, and riding sleek horses; then another officer in a -chaise; then a handful of officers on foot. They were escorted by a -blue-uniformed guard that Timothy said looked to him like Connecticut -men. By now the drummer had turned into Ferry Street, heading for the -wharves at the waterside. Here and there stood a little cluster of -men, here and there a woman’s head appeared at a gable window, but the -spectators were few. At the very end of the procession a farm cart -rattled along, drawn by two plow horses. A group of men sprawled on -the floor of it, men in tattered British uniforms, pale and unshaven, -unable to walk, apparently, because of wounds or illness. They looked -so forlorn and miserable that Kitty felt tears start to her eyes. - -“Oh,” she whispered to Sally Rose, “I’m sorry for the poor lads. I -don’t care if they are British.” - -“If they hadn’t come out shooting at us, they wouldn’t be in this -pickle now,” growled Timothy. “Wonder where is our boys we’re supposed -to get back in the exchange.” - -“Mr. Bassett says they’re aboard the _Lively_,” said Sally Rose. -“Oh--oh--Kitty--” She clapped her hand over her mouth. - -For a moment Kitty did not see anything to exclaim about. The cart full -of prisoners trundled slowly by. Close beside it walked a young man in -a rough woolen shirt and homespun breeches. He carried a knapsack, and -a large wooden bottle was slung from his shoulder by a leather strap. -Just then the procession halted a moment. Up ahead, the drummer turned -down Ferry Street on his way to the docks to meet the boats from the -_Lively_. The phaeton bent its wheels sharply to round the corner. In -the pause the young man unstoppered the wooden bottle and held it over -the side of the cart so one of the prisoners could drink. The rear -guard, another group of blue-coated Connecticut men, halted too. They -were apparently the last of the procession. - -Kitty glanced again at her cousin. Sally Rose stood up proud and -smiling. The long lashes about her hazel eyes flickered provocatively. -Sally Rose was watching the young man with the bottle. For that reason, -and that reason alone, Kitty looked closer at him herself. - -He turned just then and smiled at them. He had dark hair, she saw, and -deep-set blue eyes. My, he was certainly handsome! Living all her life -in Newburyport, she hadn’t realized how many handsome men there were -in the world--drifting down the Merrimack on a log raft, walking the -road that ran past Bunker Hill. They were everywhere, now that she had -suddenly grown up enough to look at them. Sally Rose had always known. -Sally Rose was born grown up. - -She cast a sudden look at Dick, and knew instinctively that she would -never kiss him good night again, or if she did, it would be with a -difference. Their kissing days were over. Dick was an old friend now, -and only that. Never again would he stir in her that strange tremulous -feeling that went with a new moon and apple blossoms and the first warm -nights of spring. She knew, but she did not know how it was that she -knew. - -The young man in the leather breeches was still smiling. He lifted his -hand, oh so slightly, and motioned toward the docks. Then the cart -wheels began to turn again, and the procession plodded on. The little -group around the door of the Bay and Beagle watched until the last -straggler was out of sight. - -“Well, that’s over,” said Gran briskly, “It’s well past noon, and I -expect we’ll have custom. If you’re leaving us, Master Dick, you might -as well be off, and good luck to you--the same as I’d wish to the son -of any neighbor. Timothy, you better bring up another keg of brandy -from the cellar. You can tend the taps for awhile, Kitty, and Sally -Rose--why, where is Sally Rose?” - -They called and called and searched the bedrooms and the attic and the -back garden, but the girl was nowhere to be found. Dick left, after a -bit, taking his spare shirt with him, a small ham, and a hunting knife -proffered by Timothy. The old man went on his errand to the cellar, -and Kitty returned to polishing glasses. A few men drifted in to drink -beer and cider and talk about the exchange of prisoners. Gran muttered -a few dark words about the flightiness of the younger generation and -went into the kitchen to put the bread to rise and make pease porridge -for supper. Bread and beer and pease porridge folk had to have, thought -Kitty, no matter if wars came about, and handsome young men went out to -be killed in them, and girls grew up all too late. - - * * * * * - -Trade got brisker during the long hot afternoon, and Kitty was kept -busy filling mugs and glasses. She learned from the talk of the men who -happened in that the British prisoners had been sent out by boat to -the great, threatening man-o’-war that swung at anchor in the channel, -halfway to Boston. The officers in charge of the business had all come -into town to take some refreshment and expected shortly to return to -the dock to receive the American lads whose delivery would complete the -exchange. Everything had been conducted in an orderly and courteous -fashion. - -Gradually the excitement died down. Gran put on her second best straw -bonnet and went out to look for Sally Rose. Timothy had trouble getting -the brandy keg up the cellar stairs. Bees droned loudly in the -hollyhocks, and gulls cried from the harbor. Slowly the sun moved over -to the westward side of the roofs and gables. It was a summer afternoon -like any other summer afternoon. - -And then, all of a sudden, Sally Rose was back. She slipped in quietly, -like a shadow. On her face was that cat-stealing-cream look that fitted -her so well. She went straight to the kitchen. - -Kitty hastily served a waiting customer, that same Mr. Bassett who had -come back to Charlestown to cut his hay, and then she followed her -cousin. Sally Rose stood by the water bucket, the dipper lifted to her -mouth. She drank thirstily. - -“My, that tastes good,” she said, licking her wet red lips. “It was hot -down by the dockside. Not a sea breeze anywhere.” - -“You’ve been to the docks?” asked Kitty curiously. - -“Of course. Didn’t you see Gerry wave to me to follow him?” - -“Gerry?” - -“Oh, of course, Kit!” Sally Rose’s voice had a ring of impatience in -it. “I tried to make signs to you. I thought by the look of your face -you understood me. You were surely staring at him.” - -“Staring at whom?” - -“Oh Kitty! You saw him! Gerry was the lad in the homespun breeches who -marched beside the prisoners’ cart. He was the only one able to walk, -and so he had to wait on them.” - -“But--but that lad--he looked like an American. His clothes--I -thought--” - -“Of course! Gerry was pretending to be an American when we captured -him. That’s why he was looking so shabby. You should see him in his -captain’s uniform! He’s been kept in a tent in Cambridge--a tent made -of old sailcloth that the rain came through, and guards all around -him. But he was exchanged this afternoon. I went down to the dock -and talked to him while the boats were putting off. He’s gone safe to -his own regiment in Boston now. But he says he’ll come back to see -me--another day.” - -“That’s nice,” said Kitty. “That’s very nice indeed.” - -She felt cross suddenly. It must be the heat, or because she had been -working so hard, or because she had forgotten to eat any dinner. It -might be the outrageous behavior of Sally Rose. There are many ways to -explain such a thing. - -“And you know he said ...” Sally Rose rattled on. - -Suddenly there was a hoarse cry from the cellar stairs--a burst of -strong language, then a deep groan of pain. The girls looked at each -other. - -“Oh, it’s Timothy!” gasped Kit. “He was trying to bring up a brandy -keg. He must have fallen.” - -The groans continued. She ran to the head of the cellar stairs and -looked down. Sure enough, the old man lay on the dank earth that served -for a flooring, the heavy keg on top of his right foot, his left leg -bent beneath him. - -“We’re coming, Timothy,” she called. “We’ll help you.” - -She gazed desperately around the taproom, but it was empty. The last -customer had gone. Again she and Sally Rose stood looking at each other. - -“He’ll need a doctor,” murmured Kitty. “He’s sure to need a doctor. -Whether there’s one left in town or not, I don’t know.” - -Suddenly her cousin’s face lighted. “Of course there’s one in town,” -she cried. “Timothy himself pointed one out. That kind-looking man who -rode in the phaeton with Old Put. Dr. Warren of Boston.” - -“Oh--of course I remember. But he’ll be dining with the British -officers. He’s an important official, I think, like a minister or a -judge. He was wearing a fine coat, Sally Rose. He won’t want to leave -his wine and go down in a dirty cellar to tend a poor old man.” - -“You can’t tell,” said Sally Rose. “You can’t tell at all. He looked -kind. I’m going to try to find him.” She ran through the doorway. - -Kitty stepped gingerly down the cellar stairs to see if she could help -the old man. He could only moan and grunt and utter inarticulate sounds -when she tried to talk to him, but she managed to roll the heavy cask -off his foot and drag him into a sitting position against the roots of -the massive chimney. It seemed hours before she heard footsteps on the -floor overhead, but later she realized it could not have been very long. - -A moment later the fair-haired doctor in his neat coat and breeches -stepped nimbly down the stairway. Four of the blue-coated Connecticut -lads swarmed after. - -Dr. Warren looked around him in the dim light, at the cobwebbed depths -of the cellar: at the empty vegetable bins waiting for this year’s -harvest, the shelves of preserves and jellies in stone crocks, the -casks that held the stock in trade of the tavern above. He smiled -briefly at Kitty, then he went down on his knees on the earth floor. - -“A bad mishap, Timothy,” he said, bending over the old man. There was a -note of cheery courage in his voice. Kitty felt it, and she knew that -Timothy felt it too. The old man spoke weakly. - -“Aye, sir. All the brandy in the house be not in that blasted keg -there. Have the lass to fetch me a swig, if you will, sir.” - -Kitty did not need to be told again. She ran upstairs to fetch a glass -of brandy. When she came back, the doctor had cut Timothy’s boot away -and bared the flesh beneath it. He shook his head, and there was a -sober look on his face. - -“’Tis somewhat crushed I fear. Drink up your brandy, sir, and I will -patch it as best I can. Then the lads will carry you upstairs--where -there should be a bed waiting.” He looked questioningly at Kitty. - -“There will be,” she assured him tremulously. “I spoke to my cousin, -Sally Rose. She’s getting it ready.” - -She held the brandy glass to Timothy’s mouth, and the old man sipped -feebly. Sometimes he flinched, as the doctor worked at the broken foot, -reshaping it, applying splints and bandages. He did not utter a word, -but his breath came in painful gasps, and he was shivering. The young -soldiers stood looking on. - -Dr. Warren talked as he worked, hoping, perhaps, to distract the old -man’s attention. - -“Well, sir,” he said, “to tell you the truth, sir, I was glad enough -when the young lady came to fetch me here. I was in the act of -quarreling with Old Put as we partook of a roast goose and glasses -of claret. Somehow, in spite of the present triumph of more cautious -gentlemen, I fear the General may yet have his way.” - -Timothy grinned faintly. “I be sorry for ye,” he whispered, “if ye -quarreled with Old Put.” - -“Yes, and I felt I was getting the worst of it, though it seems that -at the moment all the greatest powers in our Great American Army be -on my side. Steady, Timothy! This will take but a minute. There! As I -was saying, the whole camp has been in an uproar the past month, as to -whether or not we should fortify Bunker Hill and make a stand against -the British there. Some say we must fight them, and it better be soon -rather than late. Old Put and Prescott go with that way of thinking.” - -“Fortify Bunker Hill?” whispered Timothy manfully through his pain. -“Why, that be close by!” - -“Very close,” said the doctor. “General Ward and I have talked much -about it. I have been housed at his Cambridge headquarters of late, -where I can easily visit the Provincial Congress in Watertown. He and -I think our men are not yet ready to make a stand. We are against such -an incautious display of valor. Later, perhaps, but not until we have a -better equipped and conditioned army.” - -“I wisht,” muttered Timothy, “I had displayed less incautious valor -with that brandy keg. In God’s mercy, I do, sir.” - -Dr. Warren tightened the last bandage and got to his feet. - -“Take him up carefully, lads,” he said, “and carry him above stairs. -The little golden-head will show you where.” - -Kitty thought fleetingly that even the great doctor had been enough -like common men so that he had an eye for the beauty of Sally Rose. She -had hardly noticed what he said about a battle on Bunker Hill. - -But she thought about it later when she was standing at the tavern door -in the hot dusk, looking past the roofs of Charlestown at the green -countryside rising behind it. Gran was at home now, alternately tending -Timothy and scolding Sally Rose. The doctor and the soldiers had long -since gone, and the exchange of prisoners was probably complete. - -Bunker Hill rose smooth and round and green. Breed’s Hill, not so tall, -was nearer the point, and the third hill, away to the southeast, she -could not see. The hills were criss-crossed with rail fences and stone -walls, divided into orchards, gardens, and pasture land. Daisies and -buttercups bloomed all white and gold in the hayfields. The locust -trees rose tall, and the elm trees taller. Hard green fruit clung to -the apple boughs, and tassels were coming on the stalks of Indian corn. -Gulls cried from the harbor, and a bat swooped down from the eaves -above her head, and darted off, winging its way from side to side of -the crooked street. - -Away to the eastward a low-lying cloud bank merged with the dim sea. -There were clouds in the west, too, and thickening round the hills and -steeples of Boston. But over Bunker Hill the sky was clear, lighted -with one pale star. She took it to be a good omen--that there would be -no battle there. - -It seemed to Kitty the most peaceful landscape she had ever seen in her -life. And yet, the talk was, “Fortify Bunker Hill! Make a stand against -the British there!” She was glad Dr. Warren did not favor it, and she -hoped he would have his way. She thought maybe she would have liked the -young man by the prisoners’ cart, if she had ever come to know him. But -then, she had never dreamed that he was not an American. And he had -turned out to be her cousin’s British Gerry. He probably wouldn’t have -looked so handsome to her if he had been wearing his red coat. - - - - -_Chapter Ten_ - -A TRYST WITH THE ENEMY - - -“But what makes you so sure he will be there, Sally Rose,” asked Kitty, -“if you haven’t had any word?” - -She was curled up in the middle of the four-poster bed which she shared -with her cousin. Sally Rose sat at the dressing table. A candle burned -at each side of the mirror, and she was studying her reflection in its -glass. She wore nothing but a thin cambric shift, and her feet were -bare. - -“He told me he would come in a week’s time, if not before. He promised -it wouldn’t be more than that. When he got aboard the boat to go to the -_Lively_, he promised me.” - -Kitty stared past Sally Rose’s golden head into the dark street. Their -bedroom was over the kitchen, and she could hear Gran’s brisk footsteps -trotting about below. Gran was roasting mutton to feed tomorrow’s -customers, but she had sent the girls upstairs to get their beauty -sleep. - -“I’ve slipped out to our old meeting place in the graveyard every -night, but he was never there,” she went on. “But tonight it’s Tuesday -again, so he has to be. He just has to be there tonight.” She pulled -on a pair of delicate thread stockings, and thrust her feet into -high-heeled slippers with roses on the toes. - -Kitty eyed them disapprovingly. “As I remember the old graveyard, it’s -full of holes and hummocks,” she said. “You’ll trip and fall in those -shoes, if you go walking there.” - -“I don’t expect to do much walking,” said Sally Rose. - -Then a mischievous light shone out of her hazel eyes. “Kitty! Wait till -you see what I bought today. The shops are full of bargains, with all -the Tories gone out of town. You’ll have to help me, I think.” - -She scurried to the clothespress, reached inside it, and brought out -the most hideous contraption Kitty had ever seen. It was a pair of -stays, she supposed, but what a pair! A long cruel case of whalebone -and stiff buckram, high in the back, very low in the front, pinched -and pointed like the body of some vicious insect. That it was covered -with white velvet and sewn with brilliants did not make it any the less -frightening. Kitty got a cramp in her stomach as she looked at it. Her -chest tightened, and for a moment she had trouble in breathing. But -Sally Rose had a gleam in her eye. - -“I got this at the staymaker’s this morning,” she said. “He ordered it -for a rich Tory lady, but she fled away to join the British in Boston, -so he let me have it cheap.” - -“I should think he might,” said Kitty. “Why it’s hardly a foot around -the middle. You’re slender, but not that slender, Sally Rose. How do -you think to lace it up?” - -Sally Rose smiled engagingly and stepped into the dreadful garment, -dragging it over her hips and around her slight form. “Oh, you’ll have -to lace it for me, Kit,” she announced. “I’ll have a truly fashionable -figure now. I always wanted one. Remember, Gerry’s been looking at -those rich Boston ladies all the week long. I don’t want him to feel -disappointed when he sees me.” - -Kitty climbed down from the bed and went to her cousin. She picked up -the ends of the lacings and began to weave them into the metal hooks. -Sally Rose stood there beaming, holding the stays in place. - -“Hurry and lace them up, Kit,” she urged. “It will be easier if I can -slip out while Gran is still at her work. Before she comes upstairs, I -mean to be gone.” - -With a great effort Kitty drew the stays together at the bottom, -clamping her cousin’s slim hips and belly into a frighteningly narrow -space. The garment had been designed for a much taller girl, and came -well down over the thigh, almost to the knee. It fastened at the bottom -with a tiny jeweled padlock, and Kitty noted a similar one at the top. -She hesitated. - -“Does this unlock with a key?” she asked. - -Sally Rose held up a tiny bit of gold on a satin ribbon. “Oh, it does, -Kitty, and I have the key here. Isn’t it all deliciously clever?” - -“I don’t know,” muttered Kitty. “Hold your stomach in.” - -Sally Rose compressed herself to the utmost and closed her eyes. Kitty -fastened the padlock and struggled with the lacings. - -“Tighter! Tighter!” gasped Sally Rose. - -Kitty pulled at the strong cord until it almost cut her fingers. It was -waxed, and it had a toughness about it that made her think of wire. - -After a moment she shoved Sally Rose up against the wall, sat down in a -chair in front of her, braced her knees, and laboriously threaded and -pulled till the task was over and she could snap the jeweled padlock at -the top. Then she stood off to view her work. - -Sally Rose looked like a long white worm standing up on its tail--or -like a white candle, if you wanted to be poetic--but more like a worm. -Her face was flushed, and she could take only the shortest, shallowest -breaths, but there was triumph in her eye. - -“Now my dress and petticoat, Kitty, if you’ll be so good. Oh wait till -Gerry sees me! He’ll be so o’ercome with admiration he’ll scarce know -what to say!” - -“He’ll be o’ercome, I don’t doubt,” said Kitty. “Especially if he -tries to put his arm around you. You feel like a stick of cord wood.” -She fastened the gauze petticoat over the stays and then brought the -sky-blue muslin gown Sally Rose had laid out on a chair. - -Was life going to be like this always, she wondered somewhat wistfully; -helping Sally Rose to dress, letting Sally Rose in when the evening -was over; herself never dressing up, never meeting anyone, never going -anywhere? She wished that Tom Trask the logger had the daring British -Gerry had. Gossip said that the New Hampshire men were in camp in -Medford, and Medford wasn’t much farther than Boston. But he had no -way of knowing she was so near him, of course. Perhaps when things got -quieter after Concord Fight, he’d gone back to Newburyport to return -her father’s gun. But now it seemed that battles were threatening -again. Perhaps-- - -“Now my gold gauze kerchief and my scent bottle,” panted Sally Rose. - -Kitty brought them. “Are you ready now?” she asked, trying to keep the -envy from her tone. It wasn’t Sally Rose’s fault that she felt lonely -and neglected, not Sally Rose’s fault at all. - -“Yes, I’m ready,” sighed Sally Rose. “I’ll go down the back stairs, I -think, and through the garden. Good-by, dear.” She held up her soft -cheek. - -Kitty brushed her lips against it. “Good-by, Sally Rose,” she said. -“Don’t get into any trouble, and come home soon.” - -Sally Rose laughed a little uneasily and made an awkward motion to -step forward. But she did not step forward. She stopped suddenly, -twisted her body, or tried to, and put her hand to her side. - -“My, a bone jabbed me,” she said. - -After a moment she tried again to move forward. This time she succeeded -in taking three little hobbled steps. Then she swayed clumsily, -tripped, and fell on the rag rug. There she lay like an overset turtle, -unable to rise. - -Kitty stuffed her handkerchief into her mouth to choke back her -laughter. Then she ran forward and struggled to hoist Sally Rose to her -feet. - -“I--I don’t think I can walk in this thing,” gasped Sally Rose. “It’s -like having two feet in one breeches leg. And the bones hurt me. And -it’s getting late. Take it off, Kit. Take it off at once. Here’s the -key.” - -Still trying to keep back her laughter at the other girl’s ridiculous -plight, Kitty pulled off the blue dress and the petticoat and fitted -the tiny key into the jeweled lock. It refused to turn, and she twisted -it gently. - -“You’ll be in a pickle,” she muttered, “if it should break.” - -“Don’t you dare break it!” squealed Sally Rose. - -Kitty worked the key this way and that. Below in the tavern kitchen -Gran’s voice lifted up the words of an old hymn. Through the open -window drifted the scent of garden flowers in the warm dark. Her hands -got sticky with sweat. She kept dropping the wretched little key. - -“Hurry!” pleaded Sally Rose. “I’m afraid he’ll come and not find me. -I’m afraid he’ll go away.” - -Desperately Kitty twisted the bit of metal. - -“It’s no use, Sally Rose,” she said at last. “I can’t make it work. -What will we do?” - -“Cut the lacings, I suppose,” sighed Sally Rose, “and I’ll try to -wiggle out through the gap in the middle. I don’t care much. I never -should have bought it. Maybe the staymaker will take it back. Get my -shears. They’re in the workbox in the top drawer.” - -“But you left your workbox in the kitchen,” said Kit. “I saw it there -when we were scouring the pots after supper. All the other shears and -knives are there too, and if I went down, I’d have to explain to Gran.” - -The two girls looked at each other in dismay. Sally Rose bit her lip. -“Yes, you would,” she said. “And whatever excuse you made, she might -come back upstairs with you, and then I’d never get away. Can’t you -break the lacings?” - -“I doubt it,” said Kitty. “It’s the toughest cord I ever saw.” - -“Try.” - -So Kitty yanked and tugged and twisted, but the cord refused to break. -Sally Rose was hopelessly trapped. - -They were silent for a moment. Then she clenched her soft hands and -stiffened her mouth. “I’ll have to go just as I am,” she said, and -tried to walk again. Again she fell. - -Kitty helped her up and led her to a chair. “Sit down, Sally Rose,” she -said gently. But Sally Rose could not sit down. - -“I guess it’s no use,” she murmured, reluctant, almost tearful. “You’ll -just have to go and tell Gerry I’m sick, or something. Tell him to come -back tomorrow night. I’ll surely be there.” - -Kitty hesitated. She didn’t know quite why. Was it because Gerry -was British and she disapproved of the British? Or was it a deeper, -stranger thing--a sort of foreboding? A fear, and yet an eagerness, too. - -“Are you sure you want me to, Sally Rose?” she asked. - -Sally Rose stamped her foot, or tried to, then writhed as a whalebone -jabbed her. “Of course I do,” she cried. “Go quickly, do, and come back -and tell me what he has to say. Then we’ll have to get the shears and -cut me out of this thing. Oh Kitty, go now!” - -And so it was that Kitty Greenleaf slipped away to Charlestown’s old -graveyard that night to meet her country’s enemy, her cousin’s exciting -young man. - - * * * * * - -An eerie little wind was blowing through the town that night, a warm -wind, and it had the tang of sea salt in it, and the heavy sweetness of -the new mown hay on Bunker Hill. It ruffled Kitty’s hair and cooled her -hot face as she walked through the empty streets, past the Two Cranes, -the courthouse, and the meeting house with its tall white spire rising -against the dark. Few of the windows were lighted, but down by the -docks she could hear the familiar cry of the watch, and over the bay -the lights of Boston shone out bright and clear. It was hard for her to -remember that Boston was no longer a friendly town. - -When she reached the graveyard she felt her way along the low wall that -protected it from the street. Shadow lay thick about the grassy mounds -inside, and crooked elm boughs meeting overhead shut out the thin glow -of the starlight. There was no moon. - -Leaving the wall she blundered forward, now and then brushing against -one of the old headstones. She knew what they looked like well enough: -short thick slabs of greenish slate with a death’s head at the top; -some of reddish sandstone; beyond them the granite tombs where the -great families lay. But she could not seem to find the path that would -lead her through. And then, somehow she did find it, and groped her -way to the wall on the far side with the open fields beyond. He was -standing there, just as she knew he would be. - -He carried a dark lantern, half open now to let a little light shine -through, and he wore the rough shirt and breeches of an American -farmer. Sally Rose would have been disappointed had she hoped to see -the scarlet coat. As he heard her footstep on the worn grass he drew -in his breath sharply. - -“Ah, Sally Rose!” he whispered, and turned the lantern full upon her. - -“I--I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I’m her cousin Kitty. She sent me to -tell you--” - -And then suddenly, to her own horror, in spite of the awe she felt for -this handsome young stranger from the enemy camp, in spite of the need -to keep this tryst in silence and secrecy, she began to giggle. She -couldn’t help it when she thought of Sally Rose trapped in the stays; -of her pretty, angry face on top of the body of a pinched white worm. -She put both hands to her mouth and rocked and rocked with stifled -mirth. - -Then she realized that he was shaking her. “Stop it, Kitty, if that’s -your name,” he said. His voice was firm but not unkind. “Where’s Sally -Rose? Tell me what you are laughing at? I want to laugh, too.” - -He had put the lantern down and was holding her by both shoulders. She -could not see his face, and yet she knew what he looked like. She would -always remember him, she thought, from that day when he marched past -the Bay and Beagle and she was standing at the door. Suddenly she found -herself telling him all about the stays and Sally Rose. - -He kept very quiet until she had finished, but then he did not laugh -as she had expected him to do. When he spoke again, his voice had an -impatient sound. - -“I’ve often heard the men in barracks say--the married men, that -is--that women have no sense at all. And I guess they be right. I’m -sorry Sally Rose did such a foolish thing. I--I wanted--tonight it -really mattered that I should see her.” - -“But she will be here tomorrow night, sir,” answered Kitty, not quite -sure how one addressed a British officer who pretended not to be a -British officer. “It will be such a little time till then.” - -“A little time,” he muttered, “but much may happen in it. I may be here -tomorrow night--but I trust she will not be.” - -“What do you mean?” faltered Kitty. - -A bough rustled a few yards off, and he flashed his lantern that way -and listened. After a moment he spoke again in a lower tone. - -“How does it happen you womenfolk are still in Charlestown? I -understood that it had been evacuated.” - -“Oh, it has been--nearly. But Granny says she will not abandon my -uncle’s property here until she must. She says she will stay and try to -keep it intact for him, if she can.” - -“It’s been known since April that we might burn the town any day.” - -“I know. But time goes on, and you do not do it, and we grow less -afraid. And all the while our Army is growing larger and more strong.” - -“So is ours,” he retorted. “Three new generals arrived from England; -martial law proclaimed in Boston yesterday. General Gage denounced you -for rebels and traitors. If you don’t disband and go your ways in peace -soon, we’re coming out to make you go.” - -“Then I suppose there will be a battle,” sighed Kitty. “I’ll never -know why it is men can’t settle a squabble without trying to kill each -other.” - -Again he flashed the lantern on her face and held it there a moment. -Then he spoke to her from out of the dark, and his voice had a -different sound. - -“You know--Kitty--I don’t think I understand it either. I never really -wanted to be a soldier.” - -“A captain,” she corrected him. “A captain in the Twenty-third.” - -“Ah yes, a captain. I can hear the watch coming down the street, and -we cannot leave here until he is gone. Sit down on the grass.” - -Indeed it was the watch, and she could hear him shouting as he turned -the corner by the brick well. “Ten o’ the clock, this thirteenth night -o’ June, and the weather fair. Town’s empty, Sons o’ Liberty gone to -camp, Rogues and Tories to Boston!” - -The young Englishman drew her down in the shadow of a flowering quince -tree. She sat there straight and proper and he sprawled with careless -grace beside her, not alarmingly near. - -“No, I never meant to bear arms, and how I came to do it is no matter, -but I, too, wish England and America could settle their differences -without spilling blood. Do you think I am a coward, Kitty?” - -“No,” she said slowly. “I do not think that.” - -The voice of the watch grew louder. He must be passing very close by. - -“I have cursed the Americans, and yet I am not sure I was right when I -did it. I have gone amongst them some, even been kept in gaol by them, -and yet I can’t see that they’re any worse fellows than I. I cannot -help thinking that I myself might have been an American. Except for a -choice a man made some hundred and fifty years ago. The right choice, -of course--and yet--” - -Kitty felt her blood stir in a different way now. She had been -thrilling to his strangeness and his handsomeness, and the excitement -of this secret meeting. But now she had the uncanny feel that there -were ghosts about. Mighty ghosts, ghosts of countries coming together, -here in the dim starlight in the shadow of Bunker Hill. - -“You an American? How?” - -He settled comfortably in the grass. “Listen, Kitty, I’ll tell you more -of myself than I ever told Sally Rose. I do not know why, unless it -is because you are less distractingly fair. Alas, I am afraid I like -overwell to talk, Kitty.” - -“So does everyone, it seems,” murmured Kitty. “But what happened--a -hundred and fifty years ago?” - -“I like to talk, I suppose, because my mother was a strolling player, -and famous for the way she spoke her lines as well as her good looks. -She traveled the fairs and market towns, and everywhere she was made -welcome and a stage set up for her. My father was a West Country -farmer, and a dull husband I think he made her. I cannot recall her -too well. But it was through his blood that I might have been born an -American.” - -The voice of the watch was fading now, down by the tannery and the -distilleries, but Gerry Malory kept on talking. - -“My father would shake his head, I remember, whenever anyone mentioned -America. ’Twas a legend in our family that once an old grandsire of -ours, about the time I mention, had journeyed to Plymouth and watched a -shipful of people leaving that country to settle in this one. That he -thought for a time to go with them, but decided against it. Sometimes I -wonder if he had gone--” - -The watch was coming back. They saw the light he carried. It wavered -to and fro. Then it stopped just at the wall of the graveyard. Gerry -Malory sprang hastily to his feet. “Kitty,” he whispered, “go back and -tell Sally Rose--I don’t know when I’ll see her--but tell her to get -out of Charlestown. We’re getting ready to move against the Americans. -I don’t know when. At least by the end of the week. Some say we’re for -Dorchester Heights, and some say Bunker Hill. Tell her to be gone. And -you go with her--Kitty.” - -He vaulted over the low wall and disappeared in the darkness between -the fields and the flats along the river. Kitty peered after him, but -she saw only a scatter of fireflies and a light mist rising from the -earth. She was not afraid of the watch, but he did not challenge her -as she crept back to the Bay and Beagle. He did not know she had been -keeping a tryst with the enemy. Well, she had been, and felt herself -none the worse for it. - -She, too, was wondering what would have happened if old Grandsire -Malory had taken that ship so many years ago. - - - - -_Chapter Eleven_ - -A GREAT SECRET - - -“We been long enough getting here,” said Tom Trask, as he dragged the -prow of a small rowboat up the shaly beach. “Are you sure this be -Charlestown Neck, Johnny?” - -Tugging away at the other side of the boat, Johnny Pettengall answered -him. “Charlestown, sure enough. Hold on. Give me your hand. I got my -foot caught in a patch of eel grass or summ’at like.” - -Tom did as he was bidden, and in a moment the two were climbing up a -steep bank into the hayfield above. Just to their left loomed a low -hill, sharp on its eastern side. A taller, more gently rounded hill -stood up behind it, and through the thick, fragrant grass around them -a rail fence wound away toward higher ground. Tom could see no lighted -windows anywhere. - -“You ever been here before?” he asked doubtfully. - -“No,” said Johnny, “but I come by here yesterday when I was aboard our -sloop that went up to the Penny Ferry to meet the supply carts from the -eastward. I had it pointed out to me. This is Breed’s Hill just ahead -of us, and Bunker Hill’s behind.” - -“Charlestown’s said to be a village,” Tom continued to object. “I can -see orchards, and what looks like a brick kiln over there, and by the -smell there’s clay pits somewhere about. But I don’t see any houses at -all.” - -“Town’s the other side of the hill,” Johnny reassured him. “Come on. We -got to get to the Bay and Beagle before Ma’am Greenleaf locks up for -the night.” - -Uncertain and on his guard, Tom followed his companion up the slope -through the firefly-studded grass. More than a week now, he and the -Newburyport lad had been sleeping at night with their feet toward the -same campfire--when they did sleep--sharing the same ration of salt -pork and corn meal. He had not gone back to Medford after they burned -the _Diana_, for he and Johnny kept telling themselves that they would -borrow a boat and row over to Charlestown to see the girls, but not -until tonight had they been able to get away. They had not wasted their -time, though. They had gone with the raiding parties that constantly -scoured the islands all the way from Chelsea Neck to the deep sea. They -had helped to burn Tory barns and steal Tory cattle. Tom felt he could -give a good account of himself when he got back to his own company, -but he was not so sure Captain Moore would consider it a good account. -He was even more dubious about the attitude of the Colonel, his old -friend, Johnny Stark. That they were old friends wouldn’t make any -difference at all, when there was business in hand. - -Yes, tonight after he’d seen Miss Kitty again and stolen a kiss or -two, he thought he’d better make for Medford, with or without young -Pettengall. Maybe he’d better ask now just what his companion intended -to do. - -At that moment they reached the crest of Breed’s Hill and paused to -look down. - -“Them lights over there must be Boston,” Johnny told him. “You ever -been there, Tom? I heard it’s the greatest city in North America. The -best anyway.” - -“Didn’t know we had any other cities,” said Tom, grinning in the -darkness. - -Johnny took him seriously. “Course we have,” he hastened to protest. -“There’s New York, and Philadelphia where the Great Congress meets. -Some others further south, I guess, and all of ’em sending help to -Boston. There’s talk they’ll even send their soldiers here.” - -“Believe it when I see them,” said Tom skeptically. “But you ask me, -and I say no, I never been to Boston. I live a sight of a ways off, you -know, up the Merrimack.” - -They stood there together a moment in the starlight and cool sea wind, -the sweetness of ripe hay. - -“I know,” said Johnny. “You didn’t go back there, ever--after we got -news of Concord Fight, did you? Ain’t you got some folks waiting for -you to come home?” - -Tom shrugged. “Folks is all dead,” he told Johnny. “Won’t nobody miss -me. Well--maybe a girl or two.” - -Then he spoke more quickly and in a lighter tone. “But I know where I -will be missed, I bet, and that’s back in Medford. My company was less -than half full strength when I left, and I better be getting myself -over there. How about you?” - -“I ought to be in Cambridge, I guess, with Captain Little’s company.” - -“Moses Little? Heard he’d been made a colonel, just like Stark.” - -“I don’t know. I didn’t hear.” - -They were starting down the hill now, toward a cluster of roofs and -gables with a tall spire in the midst of it, toward a shadowy line of -wharves along the shore. - -“I know sure enough about Johnny. I was there in the tavern when we -chose him by a show of hands. They say some voted twice. I know I did. -He was my neighbor up in Derryfield. I worked in his sawmill some and -went hunting with his son Caleb. Caleb’s a right smart lad.” - -It was harder going down Breed’s Hill than going up, for the western -side was as steep as the eastern, and they had to hold back. There were -stone walls to climb, and the dew-wet grass was hard to wade through, -but Tom scarcely noticed that. Funny, he thought, as he heard his -tongue run on, how he never had very much to say, unless it was about -John Stark. - -“Oh, Johnny’s the man for you,” he was saying. “Once when the Indians -captured him and put him to hoeing their fields, he cut down the corn -and left the weeds standing. When they made him run the gantlet, he -whacked them as he went through, instead of t’other way. Kept singing -while he ran that he’d kiss all their women. He never liked the British -either, after he fought beside them at Quebec. ’Fore I was high as a -rail fence, I heard him say we’d have to fight against them sometime. -There was folks who laughed at him, but I guess they ain’t laughing -now.” - -“Here we be,” said Johnny as they came to the beginning of a street -that led past the darkened windows of Charlestown. “I got no idea where -the place is. Likely there’ll be a horse and a dog on its sign.” - -But Charlestown was no very extensive metropolis, and after a little -wandering through its dim lanes and uncobbled streets, they found the -tavern they were seeking. The door stood open to let in the night -breeze, and the two boys stepped uncertainly through. - -A few candles burning in iron holders lit the dim taproom. Clean mugs -and glasses stood neatly on shelves behind the bar, and the long brown -braid of tobacco leaves hanging near it swayed gently in the draft from -the open door. Tom thought that the braid looked like a cow’s tail. He -made up a face when he remembered the pipeful of tobacco he’d had to -smoke the night they burned the _Diana_. Here was one customer of Ma’am -Greenleaf’s who wouldn’t ask her to cut off a few inches for him, that -was sure. But where was Ma’am Greenleaf? Or Kitty? Or the other girl? -The room was empty, so far as he could see. - -Johnny, too, was looking around him. “Don’t see where they could have -gone to,” he muttered, “and left the door open and the lights burning.” - -Just at that moment there came an anguished wail from somewhere -overhead. - -“Stop it! Oh stop! You’re killing me!” - -“Robbers!” gasped Johnny. - -“Or them British devils!” cried Tom, looking desperately for the -staircase. He finally saw it, winding up from a little alcove that led -to the kitchen, and in a flash he and Johnny pounded up the narrow -treads, bursting breathlessly into a long hall at the top. From a room -on the side toward the river emerged another half-stifled cry. - -“In here!” shouted Tom, flinging the door open. - -Then he stood quite still. The sight before him was such a one as he -had never seen by the falls of Derryfield. Johnny’s astonished gasp -told him that his friend was as taken aback as he. - -Sally Rose Townsend sat precariously on the edge of a four-poster bed, -her face flushed and distorted. Granny Greenleaf stood in front of her, -her hands busy about the girl’s dress--except that Sally Rose wore no -dress. Her shoulders were bare and gleamed whitely in the candlelight, -but her entire body below her shoulders seemed to be shut up in some -sort of cage. The cage gapped apart in the middle to show an expanse of -some white fabric underneath. It was gripped firmly together at a point -just above the girl’s waist, and again below. - -“It’s no use, Sally Rose,” Gran was muttering. “I can’t get this -foolish contrivance apart, and there isn’t a locksmith left in town. -I believe there’s a blacksmith, though. We’ll send Kitty to fetch the -blacksmith. Mercy, where is Kitty? I never thought of her before. Where -has Kitty gone?” - -“Quick! Cover me up, Gran!” gasped Sally Rose frantically, her breath -short, her words not quite clear. - -Gran glanced backward over her shoulder. Then she turned completely -round and faced the intruders. - -“Johnny Pettengall! And you--” she peered closer, “the thief who made -off with my son’s musket! What are you doing in the bedchamber of a -decent lass?” - -“We didn’t mean no harm, Ma’am Greenleaf,” explained Johnny. “We just -came from camp to see the girls, and walked into the taproom like--like -anybody would. Then we heard Sally Rose scream she was being killed--” -He broke off and stared again at the bent golden head of his adored -one. Sally Rose was beginning to weep tears of embarrassment. - -“I see,” replied the old lady grimly. She stood protectingly in front -of her granddaughter. After a moment she seemed to come to a decision. -“Well, since you’re here, you’re here. And it’s plain some male critter -will have to help us. ’Tisn’t as if the girl weren’t decently covered -underneath. Can you boys get her out of that contraption?” - -Johnny swallowed and made inarticulate sounds. - -“We can try,” said Tom. “What is it? What’s it made of?” - -“It’s a pair of stays. An outlandish pair brought from New York for -some Tory hussy.” - -“My mother’s stays are laced together,” said Johnny, his embarrassment -lessening a little. “Won’t they come off if you unlace them?” - -“I cut the laces--first thing I did when I came upstairs and heard her -moaning,” snapped Gran. “But these are fastened with locks at top and -bottom. Come and look at them.” - -Gran motioned the boys forward and they gingerly approached Sally Rose. - -Tom reached out coolly and fingered the jeweled padlock. - -Sally Rose sucked in her breath and closed her eyes. Johnny looked the -other way. - -“I could force it apart,” said Tom thoughtfully, “but it’s too small -for me to get a grip on. What we need is a file. You got one about the -place somewhere?” - -“Does your father keep a tool chest handy?” demanded Gran of Sally Rose. - -“I think--in the barn--out the back way through the garden,” Sally Rose -whispered. - -“Go find it, Johnny,” ordered Tom. - -Johnny dashed for the stairway, and the Derryfield lad walked to the -window and stood there with his hands behind him, gazing into the -summer night. Nothing could be done until Johnny came back, and he had -no wish to embarrass the poor girl further by staring at her. - -He looked at the gable windows of the house across the street, and -then down the narrow way that led to the market place. Then he craned -his neck at what he saw, and felt a little smile crooking the corners -of his mouth. Miss Catherine Greenleaf was coming hot-foot home from -somewhere, and he guessed he’d see she got a proper welcome. He turned -back to Gran who still stood in front of Sally Rose, tapping her -slippered foot on the pine floor. - -“Think I’ll go help Johnny hunt for the file,” he said. - -He stepped into the taproom of the Bay and Beagle just as Kitty entered -from the street. He had the advantage, for he had expected the meeting. -She stopped still and gave a little gasp, but he spoke calmly enough. - -“You ought to stay to home when you have company, Miss Kitty,” he -rebuked her mildly. - -Kitty recovered herself quickly, lifted her head, and smiled. - -“Perhaps I would have,” she said, “if I had known. Wherever did you -come from?” - -“Sit here,” he said, and drew her down beside him on the wide ledge -that ran under the window. “I come from Chelsea Neck on my way back to -the camp in Medford--” - -“You--you’re going back to camp?” she interrupted him. - -He looked at her keenly. Something was the matter with her. She was all -upset like, but trying not to let him see. He’d thought to steal a few -kisses, but he felt pretty sure she wasn’t in the mood for kissing. Too -bad. Well, another night, maybe. He shrugged his shoulders. - -“Yes, I think likely they can use me there. I been away driving cattle -off the islands the last week or two. Met up with Johnny Pettengall and -he told me you was here. Tonight we borrowed a boat and rowed over the -Mystic. But I didn’t see you anywheres as I come across Breed’s Hill -and through the town. Where you been tonight, Kitty?” - -She looked at him thoughtfully. “I don’t know that--but maybe I ought--” - -“Here ’tis!” cried Johnny triumphantly, rushing into the room with a -small iron file in his hand. He paid no attention to Kitty. “Come on, -Tom! Let’s go file Sally Rose!” - -Tom waved him away with a flippant gesture. “You go file Sally Rose,” -he said. “She’s your girl. I got business with Kitty.” He turned his -back on the other lad. - -Kitty put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, I forgot!” she gasped. “Sally -Rose is still in the stays!” - -“Sure enough she is,” agreed Tom. “Johnny’s got a file, and he can -shave the lock away. I asked you where you’d been tonight, Kit. Walking -out with some other lad, maybe. No moon, but it’s sweet-aired and -warm. A good courting night.” - -Kitty sat twisting her hands in her lap and did not answer. Johnny made -a pitiful noise of dismay and turned reluctantly toward the staircase. - -“Where’s Gran?” asked Kitty. - -Tom smiled widely. “With Sally Rose,” he said. “Likely to stay there -awhile, wouldn’t you think so?” - -“Oh, of course. She wouldn’t leave Sally Rose like that--and with -Johnny. I--I--” she stopped again. - -“What’s on your mind, Kitty? Something, I can tell.” - -“Yes. Yes, there is. I don’t know--maybe I should--or maybe I should -wait and tell Sally Rose first. But maybe you’re the one.” - -“You better tell me,” he said, trying to put strength into his voice, -and a little tenderness, but not too much. He didn’t want her breaking -down. - -“Yes,” she said after a moment, lifting her head and looking straight -into his eyes. “Yes, I think I should probably tell you, for you’ll -know what to do about it. If you’re going back to camp--it ought to be -made known to the officers there.” - -“I aim to go tonight, not tomorrow morning,” he said. “Say what’s got -to be said, Kitty.” - -“Well then, I will.” She was not looking at him now. She fixed her eyes -on a candle burning in a sconce across the room. “Tonight I went out to -meet--a man--who was expecting Sally Rose. You can see why she couldn’t -go.” - -He grinned. “Yes,” he said. “Sally Rose ain’t geared right now to -travel far. Who was the man? Oh--I bet I know--that redcoat she took -such a notion to.” - -“Yes, it was Gerry. Captain Gerald Malory of the Twenty-third. I did -see him, and he warned me. He told us to get out of Charlestown, for -the British are about to strike.” - -Tom leaned forward. “When?” he demanded. “Where?” - -“Any night now. By the end of the week, surely. Here, or in Dorchester. -Gerry wasn’t sure. But if it should be Bunker Hill--” - -“Bunker Hill would be a right handy site for them to hold,” muttered -Tom. “We thought they was about ready to go. But before this we had no -real word.” - -He was silent for a moment. Then he laid his hand over hers. Then he -stood up. - -“Guess I better make for camp,” he said. “This is important information -you got here. I’ll carry the news straight to Stark. He’ll be the man -to tell. He’ll know what steps to take. You was smart, Kitty, to tell -me. May make a big difference--to both sides. Don’t suppose you’ve got -a horse about?” - -“Indeed we have,” cried Kitty, relieved that she had told her -disturbing secret and eager to be of further help, if that were -possible. “There are two horses in the barn that belong to Uncle Moses -Chase. Sally Rose and I brought them from Newburyport. Gran says -they’re eating their heads off, but she hasn’t sent them home. But -they’re only plow horses.” - -“Kind I’m best used to. Like the gun, I’ll see you get it back some -day.” He stroked the blunderbuss that now accompanied him everywhere. -“Don’t know when I’ll see you again Kitty. Not here, likely. If the -British are aiming to come this way, you folks will have to go.” - -“Oh, we will. Just as soon as I can talk to Gran and Sally Rose. Back -to Newburyport, perhaps. Why don’t you come to see us there?” - -“Can’t tell. Looks like I’ll have some fighting to do first. Glad you -took our side and told me that British fellow’s secret, instead of -hiding his little plan for him.” - -A startled look came over Kitty’s face. “Why--why, I did betray Gerry, -didn’t I? I--I never thought of it like that.” - -“’Course you betrayed him. You’re too good a Yankee to do aught else, -as I can see. Good-by, Kitty.” - -He strode into the kitchen on his way to the garden and the barn behind -it. - -The last thing he heard was a triumphant squeal from Sally Rose. - - * * * * * - -Colonel John Stark of the New Hampshire line was not in his quarters -that night, but walking among the tents on the hillsides above Medford, -talking with his men. After the long ride from Charlestown, Tom Trask -felt weary and breathless when he finally caught up with his old -neighbor. - -The colonel stood in a grove of oak trees where a little brook drained -down. All along the brook the crude sailcloth tents clustered very -thick. Campfires were burning low now. Some of the men lay sleeping on -the ground beside them. Others were playing cards, jubilant when they -could fling down the ace to take the queen. Stark was talking with a -couple of grizzled veterans who had fought beside him in the Indian -wars, but he broke off when the younger man came panting up. - -“Where you been, lad?” he asked, and clapped Tom on the shoulder. -“Couldn’t believe it when Moore reported you missing. Shut up in gaol, -maybe? I know you got some good reason for being away.” - -Tom could not bring himself to look at the keen blue-gray eyes and -sharp, viselike face. - -“I been raiding the islands with some of Putnam’s men,” he muttered. -“But on my way back tonight, I heard a word in Charlestown you ought to -know.” - -“You got no business raiding islands, nor being in Charlestown,” -snapped the colonel, all the warmth and friendliness gone from his -voice. “Get back to Captain Moore, and tell him where you been. He’ll -deal with you.” He turned away. - -Tom nerved himself to step forward and pluck the sleeve of Stark’s new -blue uniform. - -“Colonel Stark, sir,” he stammered. “You know what I heard in -Charlestown? It come straight from a British captain, what I heard.” - -The colonel turned toward him again. “What was it?” he demanded. - -Tom lowered his voice. No use in alarming the men. “Oh, a very great -secret it was, told in confidence to a girl. This captain said that the -British mean to move out of Boston before the week’s end. They mean to -seize and fortify either Dorchester Heights or Bunker Hill.” He paused -expectantly. - -John Stark uttered a mirthless ha-ha. - -“I know,” he said. “Seems like you be about the forty-first private to -come up and tell me that. The word’s spread wide, from here to Jamaica -Plain.” Then he shook his head. “Too bad you done what you done. I’d -ha’ liked to ha’ recommended a sergeant’s knot o’ red for your shoulder -when I sent you back to Captain Moore.” - - - - -_Chapter Twelve_ - -THUNDER IN THE AIR - - -The bells were sounding midnight in Medford Steeple, turning Tuesday -night into Wednesday morning, when Tom Trask tied his borrowed horse -to a nearby fence and lay down beside the dying campfire of his own -company. After the rebuke by his colonel and another one next day by -Captain Moore, he hardly expected John Stark to send for him within a -day or two, but that was what came about. - -Stark was holding a conference with a handful of his captains in the -little hollow between Plowed Hill and Winter Hill. It had probably been -a green valley once, but now the young grass was all trampled away, and -so was a field of what had started out to be Indian corn. All about -stretched the tents and crude wooden shelters of the New Hampshire men. -The colonel was in his shirt sleeves, and his lean face looked grimmer -than usual. He had no smile of greeting, but he did not seem to be -angry any more. - -“See you brought your horse, Tom, like I said. Was surprised when ’twas -reported to me you owned such an animal. They’re scarcer’n hen’s teeth -around here.” - -“I only borrowed him, sir,” replied Tom quickly. “Borrowed him in -Charlestown. He belongs in Newburyport. When I can, I mean to return -him home.” - -“Don’t hurry about it,” replied the colonel. “See that cart over -there?” He pointed to a heavy wagon, empty, three young men standing -close by. A horse was fastened between the shafts of it, but he was a -lank, ill-favored nag and looked scarce able to go. - -“Yes, sir,” said Tom. - -“Then take your critter over to help the other one pull. General Ward -has promised to issue some lead to us, if we send to Cambridge for it. -That’s Peter Christie, Hugh Watts, and Asa Senter who are going with -you. Good lads. I knew their folks in Londonderry before I was grown. -Be as quick as you can about it, too. We haven’t got enough powder and -ball to scare off a herd of deer, let alone the British Army.” - -“Yes, sir,” said Tom again. He waited for further instructions, but -none were forthcoming. Colonel Stark turned back to his worried-looking -officers. After a moment Tom led his horse over to the wagon. - -The Londonderry men were indeed good fellows, he soon found out, used -to the same life as he. They had fished in the same streams and hunted -over the same mountains, knew as little about books and high living, -as much about how to plant corn or cut down a white pine so it would -fall the right way. And soon they were all singing crude old-fashioned -country songs as they drove along the winding road. - -Tom looked westward across the pleasant farms to the faint blue line -of hills beyond them, and he thought of the unseen army that was -supposed to be circling tightly all around Boston, an army of men -like himself and the Londonderry boys. Some said it was ten thousand -strong, and some said twenty, all the way from Medford River to Jamaica -Plain. He thought of that other army, swaggering through the streets -of Boston; men, he supposed, like that redcoat captain he’d brought -home in chains a while back--and nobody knew what strength they had. -He remembered Kitty’s warning that the British meant to strike by the -week’s end. Well, here it was, Friday, June sixteenth, and the weather -hotter’n the burning roof of hell. If the British were coming, they’d -better be on their way. Maybe they were on their way. Everybody in camp -was worn out and restless with expecting them, but nobody seemed to -know. - -Just then his horse gave a neigh, laid back its ears, and stood still. -Perforce, the other horse halted, too. - -“Must ha’ seen a rabbit,” said Hugh Watts, peering over the side of -the cart into the thick grass that grew beside the road. “I don’t see -anything but ripe strawberries, though. Think we could stop to pick a -few?” - -Asa Senter shook his head. “Wouldn’t hardly dare it,” he objected. -“Stark wants us to go and get back. By the look o’ the sun, it’s -already six o’clock, and we still got about another mile.” - -Tom leaped down from the wagon. “I don’t think it was a rabbit,” he -said. “He acts more like there was thunder in the air.” - -“Not a cloud anywheres that I can see,” said Peter Christie. - -“Don’t have to be.” Tom patted the horse’s flank and started to lead -them ahead. “If there’s thunder somewheres over back, a critter’ll -always know.” - -“Feel a bit uneasy myself,” said Asa, getting down to walk beside Tom. -“Look! There’s a steeple and some roofs sticking up through the trees. -Cambridge must be just ahead.” - -There were a sight of mighty fine houses round Cambridge Common, Tom -thought, as they approached it. Big square mansions, some of them; some -with gambrel roofs, mostly painted yellow and white. But he didn’t see -any of the sort of folk who looked as if they lived in the houses; -pretty women with flowers and jewels, or gentlemen in velvet jackets -wearing swords. The roads that led to the Common were thronged with -soldiers like himself, in cowhide shoes, leather breeches, and tattered -tow-cloth shirts, with bandanas round their heads; and all too many, -for his taste, had a short-stemmed pipe gripped between their teeth. -They all seemed to be excited about something. - -He had no trouble in getting the old Hastings house pointed out to -him, but he was unable to lead his horse anywhere near it because the -crowd was so great. They seemed to be having some sort of muster on the -Common, for men were drawn up in rank there, maybe a thousand or so. - -“What’s a-going on, Tom?” Peter demanded. - -“I don’t know,” said Tom, “but I aim to find out. You boys stay here -with the cart, and I’ll go over to General Ward’s and ask. We got to go -there anyway to get the lead.” - -He left his companions and made his way forward till he reached the -rail fence before the dwelling house that had been pointed out to him -as the headquarters of the Great American Army. A row of Lombardy -poplar trees stood up tall and pointed behind the fence, and just as -Tom elbowed his way to the gate, a man came out to stand before the -wide front door. - -First there was a loud shouting, and cheers, and then a hush. The -seething mass of men around Cambridge Common stood very still. - -The man in the doorway was not General Ward, surely, for he wore a long -black gown with flowing sleeves and a square-topped cap such as Tom -had never seen before, with a tassel hanging down. But two other men -stood behind him in blue coats and three-cornered hats, and they were -officers, right enough. - -However it was the black-clad man who spoke, loudly and clearly, so -that as many as possible might hear. - -“I, Samuel Langdon, President of Harvard College, am here to assure -you that the hearts of our little community go with you in your heroic -venture. With you go the hopes of Massachusetts, and the future, -perhaps, of our whole great country. I am here to bless your going out -and your coming home. May His strength uphold you when your need is -greatest, His spirit restore you when you falter, and His truth abide -in you always. My sons, let us pray.” - -Tom whipped off his cap, bowed his head, and closed his eyes, aware -that hundreds of other men were doing the same. But his throat -tightened and he heard no more of President Langdon’s prayer. This was -the beginning, he thought. Concord Fight hadn’t been anything to what -this would be. At Concord Fight they had all come a-running, just the -way men come when the word goes out that a house is afire. But this was -like when a whole town got together by plan and moved out against the -French or the Indians. Concord Fight had been a fight--just that--but -this wouldn’t be a fight, what was coming now. It would be a battle. It -would be a war. - -“_Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori_,” finished Dr. Langdon soberly. -“It is sweet and fitting, my sons, to die for one’s country.” - -He lifted his eyes and stood silent, looking over the heads of the -company, straight at the small square bell tower of a church across the -way. - -Everyone began to talk at once, it seemed, and in the uproar Tom thrust -open the gate that led to the Hastings house and crossed the lawn to -the back door. Lilac trees grew close to it, and here, away from the -glare of the sinking sun, the air was fragrant and cool. A young man in -a trim blue coat sat at a table just inside the door. - -“Lead for Colonel Stark?” he replied to Tom’s question. “Yes, he’s to -have a supply our men cut out of the organ pipes in the English church -across the Common. Trouble is, I can’t think for the minute where ’tis -stored. Suppose you come back tomorrow.” - -Tom pulled a tendril off a grape vine that grew on a trellis over the -door and began to chew it. “Stark wants me to bring it back tonight,” -he said. - -The young officer sat up and surveyed him insolently. - -“Stark may not know it, but there’s a war beginning,” he announced. - -“Yes,” agreed Tom. “There is. That’s what he wants the lead for.” - -Suddenly they were both laughing. - -“You’re right, man,” answered the young officer in a friendlier tone. -“We’re all on edge, and it takes us different ways, I guess. But I -still don’t know where the stuff has got to, and I’m afraid we can’t do -anything till Prescott takes his force out of town, which he’ll do as -soon as it’s dark enough. Come back a little after nine.” - -“Where’s Prescott going?” Tom asked. - -The officer laid his finger across his mouth. “Prescott knows--and -nobody else has any need to. Have you got rations, lad?” - -“No,” said Tom, “we come empty-handed. Three others besides me.” - -The officer wrote rapidly on a slip of paper. - -“Here. Take this to the head of the Common when you hear them blow a -bugle up there. Give it to the mess sergeant, and he’ll see you have -some supper.” - -“Thank you, sir,” said Tom. He went back to where he had left his -companions. - -He found them sitting along the top rail of a fence while the horses -cropped the wayside grass. - -“Did you find out what’s afoot, Tom?” asked Hugh Watts eagerly. - -The men in the streets were thinning out, but those on the Common, -though no longer drawn up at attention, still remained there. - -“Oh, there’s a war beginning, and nobody knows where the lead is,” -said Tom, flinging himself down on the grass. “Didn’t find out a thing -beyond that.” - -“We did,” said Asa. “After the man got through praying, we asked -around. Seems Colonel Prescott’s taking out twelve hundred men with -packs and blankets and a day’s ration. There’s a fatigue crew along, -and picks and shovels like they mean to fortify. Nobody knows where.” - -“It’ll either be behind Dorchester or Charlestown,” said Tom. He -thought fleetingly of Kitty, and the yellow-haired minx, and the -gallant old woman. He hoped they’d got safe away, but he didn’t think -of them long. “There’s the bugle,” he said. “Let’s go get supper.” - -Supper in Cambridge camp that night, for such men as did not have -regular rations, consisted of a slab of salt fish and a hunk of hard, -grayish bread, served with a noggin of sour beer. After the boys had -eaten they walked about the town, down to the red brick buildings of -the college, filled now with soldiers instead of scholars, and into the -gray flush-board English church to see if by any chance the lead was -still there. The church was full of Connecticut men who were using it -for barracks, and they knew nothing about the lead at all. - -By nine o’clock the twilight had gathered thickly about the little -town, and the men on the Common formed in ranks and began their march. -Two sergeants walked ahead carrying dark lanterns, half open so as to -throw the light behind. Then came two blue-coated officers, Colonel -Prescott and Colonel Gridley, then the rest of the detail, made up of -Massachusetts and Connecticut men. Tom was not surprised when he saw -that they took the Charlestown Road. - -“Bet they’re going to fortify Bunker Hill,” he told his friends. -“They’re carrying entrenchment tools. Wouldn’t bother with them if -the British had already struck. Must be we mean to get there first -and beat them to it. You go back to the cart, and I’ll call round at -headquarters again. We got to get that lead and start for Winter Hill.” - -The town had quieted down now, and most of the men remaining there had -gone to the houses where they were quartered, or to their tents in the -fields beyond. Nobody would do much sleeping, Tom thought. Tense and -nervous they all felt, trying to tell themselves they were too much -men to be afraid--just like any flesh and blood thing when there was -thunder in the air. - -Two lanterns were burning on poles set up in the yard of the Hastings -house, but the back door was locked when Tom rapped on it. So was the -front door, when he tried to enter there. Through the window he could -see candles burning in prismed holders, and a group of men sitting -around a mahogany table, some in uniforms, others in buff and gray -and bottle green coats. One of the officers stood up to speak. He was -heavily built, with pointed features and bright eyes, but his face had -an unhealthy look. Must be Ward himself, thought Tom. All the Army knew -their leader was a sick man. - -“When the Committee of Safety advised me this afternoon,” he began, -“that it was deemed best for us to fortify Bunker Hill--” - -Just then a sentry tapped Tom on the shoulder with a gun barrel. “What -are ye lurking about for?” he growled in a rough voice. - -Tom turned around sharply. The sentry was an oldish man, unshaven, with -shaggy hair and beard. - -“I got business here,” he said. “I come to get Colonel Stark’s lead, -and by the great Jehovah, I mean to do the same.” - -The sentry spat. “Maybe ye’re honest,” he said. “Ye look to be. But -General Ward’s a-talking to some important men from the Congress o’ -Massachusetts right now. Couldn’t let ye in there if ye was King George -himself, with the Queen tagging along.” - -“I’ll wait here till they’re through then,” insisted Tom. “I’ll wait -right here.” - -The sentry shrugged. “Guess there’s no harm in that,” he muttered, and -ambled off. - -Tom sat down on the grass with his back against a poplar tree and -looked up at the stars. They were just as bright as they had been when -he crossed Breed’s Hill a few nights ago. He wondered if tomorrow -he’d be going back there, lugging Kitty’s old blunderbuss with him. -Suddenly he realized that he was sleepy. The tension had eased out -of him, even though there was still thunder in the air, the thunder -of war about to break. A man could only keep himself keyed up for so -long. But it wouldn’t do--now--to go--to sleep. He ought to get up and -walk--get--up--and--walk-- - -He opened his eyes and shook himself. How did it get to be like -that--early morning, the light as broad as day? The sky was red and -golden over eastward where the sea must lie. The grass around him was -wet with dew. Smoke was curling upward from the chimneys round about, -and in somebody’s barnyard he could hear a rooster crow. Lord forgive -him, he’d slept all night. They’d drum him out of camp or at least give -him forty lashes, and he deserved it, too. - -He stood up just as a horse and rider came spurring to the gate. The -rider dismounted hastily and approached the front door. He was a -trim, neat man with fair hair, but he looked feverish and ill. Almost -immediately a pint-sized man came out to let him in. The two shook -hands. - -“Ah, Elbridge, Elbridge Gerry, my good friend,” murmured the newcomer. -“It is folly to try to seize and hold Charlestown. Yet, I must go.” - -“Ah no, Dr. Warren,” pleaded the smaller man. “You are too well known. -You stayed in Boston too long, and the British know too well what a -great pillar of strength you have been to our colonial cause. As surely -as you go up Bunker Hill, you will be slain.” - -“I know,” answered the doctor tensely. “I told the friends with whom -I dined last night that I would go up the Hill today and never come -off again. I slept wretchedly, and my head aches, but after an hour or -two--” - -“Sirs,” interrupted Tom politely, “I am sorry to bother you when you’re -about such weighty business, but I been here since six o’clock last -night, trying to get some lead for Colonel Stark.” - -Elbridge Gerry gave a snort of impatience, but Dr. Warren turned and -smiled at the boy. - -“I am sorry you had the long delay, lad. I myself saw that the lead was -dispatched to Stark late yesterday afternoon. He’ll know what to do -with it, if anybody does. His men will have melted it into bullets by -now, and may be shooting it at the British, for all I know.” - -He turned again to Mr. Gerry. “Ah, sir, ‘_Dulce decorum_,’ as all men -know or must learn. Let us go inside, and send someone to lead my horse -away, for he is as spent as I.” - -Tom walked thoughtfully back to where his comrades would still be -asleep in the empty cart. ‘_Dulce decorum_’! He knew what the Latin -meant, for President Langdon had translated it yesterday afternoon. -“It is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country.” But was it, he -wondered. The sun felt gloriously warm on his back, and made his blood -tingle. The birds were singing in the elm trees round the Common. Kitty -was a pretty girl, and there were other pretty girls. Sweet to die? -That sounded like a thing old men would think of, tired old men who -never had to go out and fight, who would die in bed at ninety-three or -so. Still, if you had to do it, you had to do it, and he guessed he was -as ready as he’d ever be. - -Over towards Charlestown he heard the boom of a heavy gun. - - - - -_Chapter Thirteen_ - -THE WORLD TURNED UPSIDE DOWN - - -Gerry Malory was back in Devonshire at daybreak on that hot June -morning, only it did not seem to him to be morning, or any special time -of day. He stood in a low valley opening toward the sea, and there were -little farms all around him with hedgerows in between them, and here -and there a church spire reaching toward the sky. He was not alone, -for a man stood beside him, a man he had never seen before, about his -father’s age, dressed in quaint old-fashioned clothes, and carrying an -ancient gun. The gun looked like the one that belonged to the Yankee -that had taken him prisoner in the tavern by Ipswich Green. The man was -shaking his head and scowling. He seemed to be angry about something. -Gerry was ready to protest that he hadn’t done anything wrong, when -suddenly he thought that maybe he had. Maybe he’d been poaching again. - -Just then the man spoke. “It’s the coming country, lad,” he said. -“Don’t make the mistake I did in my time.” - -“What mistake?” Gerry murmured, but he thought he knew. His words were -drowned out by the deep boom of thunder. Again and again the thunder -sounded, and the echoes rolled over valley and hill and sea. - -His body shook like an aspen in a storm wind; his eyelids snapped wide -apart. He was in the warehouse behind the stables near Long Wharf in -Boston, Massachusetts, and Sergeant Higgs had him by the shoulder. The -thunder still boomed in his ears, but the Devon landscape had gone back -into his memory, where it probably came from. He was lying on his own -blanket on a heap of straw, with the regiment’s goat tethered nearby. - -“Wake up, lad! Don’t you hear the guns?” Higgs was saying. - -Gerry pulled himself erect. He found it hard to come out of the dream -that had seemed so real to him. - -“Yes, I hear them,” he said. “Whose guns are they?” - -“Whose would they be?” scoffed the sergeant. “Do you think the Yankees -have guns like that?” - -“No--no.” He was wide awake now, wider awake than he wanted to be, -he thought, for the cannonading sounded ominous and near. “What’s -happening, Jack? Are we marching against them? Have we attacked--or -they?” - -“Can’t tell yet,” said Sergeant Higgs. “All we know is, we hear -gunfire. Lieutenant Apthorp has gone to headquarters to find out. You -better get some breakfast. It’s best we be ready for anything.” - -In the cobbled square outside, the men of the Twenty-third had built -their usual cookfire, just as they did every morning, and gathered -round it, salt pork spitted on bayonets and stale bread handed round by -the mess sergeant. Lieutenant Apthorp did not come back, and Lieutenant -Julian went to see what was keeping him. The cannonading went on. It -was coming from the ships in the river beyond the North End, most of -the men agreed. Maybe the Yankees had got together some sort of raft -and were moving by water against Boston. The Twenty-third seemed more -amused than frightened at this suggestion. - -And then, without any official announcement being made, the word was -passed from mouth to mouth, and everybody knew. - -The Yankees had taken the hills above Charlestown in the night, and -built some sort of entrenchment there. They were being fired at from -three sides by the British men-o’-war, but it began to seem as if this -would not be enough to dislodge them, as if a force would have to go -out and drive them from the hill. - -In the town behind him Gerry could hear the rattle of artillery -carriages, the thud of horses’ hoofs as the dragoons galloped here and -there. General Gage had called for his officers to meet at the Province -House, and some of the men went off to hover about that grim, narrow -structure and get the word as soon as it was handed down. - -Gerry did not go to the Province House. He went to the edge of the -wharf and sat there, dangling his legs over the side. The sun was -getting higher and hotter, and he looked up at the sun, and then down -at the thick grayish water lapping silently round the piers below. He -thought about his dream, and he thought about the girl called Kitty, -who was not so distractingly fair as Sally Rose, and wondered if she -had got safe away. He thought about Captain Blakeslee lying dead under -the locust tree. True, he had never wanted to be a soldier, but once he -became one, he’d expected to bear his part well. Once he’d have been -eager to march out when he heard firing, but he was none so eager now. -Maybe he was afraid. Maybe that was a bad omen. He’d heard around the -campfire that men who were going into their last battle often felt that -way. If only he could forget the dream.... - -The sounds of confusion in the town behind him seemed to increase and -grow. Now that he thought of it, none of the usual daily noises could -be heard: not the tapping of the carpenters’ hammers, nor the thumping -of handlooms, nor the creak of wooden machinery. The little Negro -boys were nowhere about with their cries of “Sweep oh! Sweep oh!” He -suspected that the town of Boston would do no work this day. Everywhere -men were shouting and bells were ringing: Christ’s Church with its -royal peal, the North Church with its sour note, and half a dozen more. -Just as usual, the breeze that blew over Long Wharf smelled of fish and -whale oil and the nearby stables, of tar, and spice, and wood smoke, -but now, or did he imagine it, it had an acrid brimstone tang. - -At eleven the men came trooping back, and the word was out. Every man -knew what was to be the order of his day. - -At half past eleven the men of Gerry’s company paraded on the Common, -splendid in scarlet and white and brass, equipped with full kit, -blankets, and three days’ rations, and drawn up beside them were -fifteen hundred more. The ships’ guns still roared away, and every now -and then a terrible blast let go from the battery on Copp’s Hill. - -“They say it’s only a handful of farmers,” muttered Jack Higgs. “I’d -not think they could stand such punishment for long.” - -Gerry looked at Boston Common, the rambling field that had become so -familiar to him in the past year: the crooked cowpaths, and the little -pond, and the thick clumps of juniper and steeplebush, so handy to come -upon when you were walking in the moonlight with a girl; the gravel -strip where the officers still raced their horses, in spite of all the -town fathers could do. He looked at the gabled mansions and quaint, -crooked houses round, as if he never expected to see them any more. - -“The Yankees’ll take more punishment than you’d think for,” he said. - -Once on the water, the barges from Long Wharf joined with the barges -from the North Battery, twenty-eight of them moving in two long -parallel lines, filled with scarlet-coated men. In the leading boats -were two polished brass field pieces, and the noonday sun struck -everywhere on colorful banners and gleaming arms. For the Tories in -Boston, it must have been a splendid sight, but Gerry turned his eyes -toward the Charlestown peninsula as the troops were rowed across the -blue bay. - -Smoke and flame and awful sound kept pouring forth from the great guns -of the fleet--the _Somerset_, the _Falcon_, the _Lively_. Dimly through -the barrage he could see the little village where he had gone drinking -at the Bay and Beagle and courting in the graveyard under the spring -moon. On the hill above it, grown up overnight like a mushroom, stood -a small square earthworks, silent, except for one erratic cannon that -spoke now and then. Black dots of men moved about the earthworks, but -no columns issued forth drawn up in battle array, no reinforcements -poured in from any side. - -Gerry’s spirits rose and he cleared his throat. “Is that,” he asked the -sergeant, “the great fortification we’re all ordered out to tear down?” - -The sergeant laughed grimly. “Don’t look very fearsome, does it?” he -agreed. “But after the way they run us back through Lexington, I don’t -trust them devils.” - -“And I thought it was Bunker Hill instead of Breed’s they’d be likely -to fortify,” went on Gerry. “That’s how we would have chosen. But -that’s Bunker Hill, standing up behind there, bare as a plate. The -little dugout is on Breed’s Hill, below.” - -“Breed’s or Bunker makes no difference now,” said Sergeant Higgs. “Keep -your cartridges dry in the landing. We’re headed in towards shore.” - -A few minutes later they were all drawn up in a low-lying field where -Charlestown peninsula extended, pear-shaped, into the sea. Gerry found -himself in the front line, far to the right, with the light infantry of -the Twenty-third and the King’s Own. To the left stood the grenadiers, -and behind him the Fifty-second and the Fifth. He was feeling cheerful -and brave now, and as safe as London Tower. It reassured him even more -when the order came to break ranks and dine on the rations in their -knapsacks before going farther along. - -Sprawled in the hot sun, chewing his beef and biscuit, he eyed the -landscape round him: the green, sloping fields, some cocked hay, and -some standing grass; the swamp and brick kilns to the left; Breed’s -Hill above, where the black dots still crawled around the tiny redoubt. -He talked with the other men. - -All the young lads, he found, were in their glory that the attack was -to be made straight on, that this detachment of the British Army would -pound forward full force and set the Americans running, or beat them -down into their native clay. But the old wise sergeants shook their -heads and said it was a pity Gage hadn’t ordered them to land at the -Neck. They could have bottled up the Yankees in Charlestown then, and -starved them out, and not had to fire a shot. - -No, somebody else said, for to do that would have meant sending a force -between two wings of its enemy, and that was a tactic frowned upon long -before Caesar marched through Gaul. In the end they all agreed that -they were well enough satisfied with the way things had fallen out. -They’d march up that hill in double-quick time, drive the cowardly -Yankees out of their burrow, and be back drinking beer in Boston before -the sun went down. - -They were beginning to take out packs of dog-eared playing cards when -the word passed among them that reinforcements were disembarking on the -fields to the left; that Howe had sent for the reinforcements because -the Americans were bringing in more troops, the earthworks had been -extended far to the left, and he didn’t like the looks of things at all. - -Gerry began to put his uneaten food away in his knapsack. There wasn’t -as much room in it as there should have been, because at the last -moment he had decided to stuff in the rough shirt and breeches he wore -when he went about the Yankee countryside. He smiled now, as he saw -them there. Didn’t think he’d have a need for them, but you never know. -Just then the bugles sounded and the officers called them to attention. -Like one man the assembled army was on its feet. Gerry could see the -newly landed troops drawn up away to the left, facing the redoubt. - -General Howe, dark, florid and heavily built, stood forth and spoke to -his men. - -“Gentlemen, I am very happy to have the honor of commanding so fine -a body.... I do not doubt that you will behave like Englishmen and -as becometh good soldiers. If the enemy will not come from their -entrenchments, we must drive them out, otherwise the town of Boston -will be set on fire by them.... I shall not desire one of you to go a -step further than where I go at your head. Remember, gentlemen, we have -no recourse, if we lose Boston, but to go on board our ships ... which -will be very disagreeable to us all.” - -General Howe stepped a little aside and stood smiling proudly round -him, his hand on his sword. The troops stood tensely, bayonets in hand, -waiting the order to move ahead. The cannonading from the ships was -so steady that they did not hear it any more, but the guns of Boston -now set up an iron clamor that seemed fit to shake the earth. Now the -artillery rolled toward the redoubt. - -Gerry looked up at the serene blue sky, at a cluster of apple trees a -little way ahead. There were trees like that on his father’s farm in -Devon, and he wondered if he’d ever again see them growing there. He -looked at the hill where spouts of dust shot upward as heavy balls hit -the turf of the redoubt. Suppose they did have to board their ships -and sail away? Maybe he wouldn’t sail away, maybe he’d go and find -blue-eyed Kitty. Maybe he would.... - -The artillery seemed to have slowed and faltered, bogged down in the -miry earth at the swamp edge, crushing the blue flag lilies as it moved -forward again. At last came the order the scarlet host had been waiting -for. - -Gerry gripped his bayonet and stepped out as he had been trained to do. -A rippling field of buttercups and daisies lay ahead, and beyond it a -rail fence, but he saw no likely danger there. He glanced toward the -redoubt where General Pigot was to lead the attack. Howe would march on -the rail fence that joined a stone wall running to the waterside. Then -Howe’s regiments and the light infantry would shatter the Yankees’ left -and sweep across it, swinging inland to overwhelm the earthworks from -behind. It seemed like an unbeatable plan. - -The light infantry, men from the Welsh Fusileers and the King’s Own -forged steadily ahead--but not easily. The day was growing hotter. What -with ammunition, food, blankets, and firelocks, they were weighted -down a hundred pounds to a man. Gerry felt the sweat burst out on his -face. He wished he had a drink. He wished he could run his finger under -the stiff leather stock that gripped his throat. He wished he could -rip off his beaver hat. Clouds of black smoke with white under-edges -were billowing up to the west of Breed’s Hill. Looked like Charlestown -Village was afire. Well, Admiral Graves had wanted to burn it long ago. - -He waded through the thick grass, almost to his knees, then out on a -muddy strip of beach littered with driftwood and small dead creatures -of the sea. Here they halted briefly to re-form. - -Grouped now in columns of fours, the Welsh Fusileers in the lead, the -light infantry advanced along the narrow strip of shore. They drew -close to the rough fieldstone wall. That it had been hastily thrown up, -Gerry could see now. Undoubtably there would be Yankees behind it. He -half lifted his bayonet. They drew nearer and nearer. They were ready -to deploy and charge, when the blast came. - -The low stone wall seemed to leap forth at them in a searing torrent of -fire. Like corn before the scythe, the men on both sides of him went -down. More from shock than anything else. Gerry fell on his knees, but -he lifted his gun and fired once from there. Where the bullet went, he -never knew. Crouched in the foul-smelling mud, he tried to load again. -Wounded men lay all around him. His own company seemed to be cut to -pieces, but the King’s Own tried to form a charge and went streaming -through. Again the tide of flame leaped forward. The scarlet line, -broken in many places, reeled back. Again the officers rallied what was -left of them, and again the charge came on. The whole world seemed to -be dissolved in blood and fire, the cries of the wounded, the shouts of -the officers, and the steady roar of the guns upon the hill. - -He tried to pull himself upright, but just then he felt a terrible -blow against his head. His ears rang. Stars and circles swam before -his eyes, orange, green, and rainbow-hued. He seemed to be no longer a -living thing, only one huge dull pain sinking into darkness. - -He did not know how long it was before the darkness streamed past him -and away, and he saw the stone wall abristle with smoking gun barrels. -He lifted his head from the mud and gazed in the other direction. -To his horror he saw the scarlet backs of his comrades fleeing -helter-skelter toward the barges by the shore. He lay all alone, in the -midst of the dying and the dead. One man was calling for a drink of -water, and another man gasped out a prayer. Shattered muskets, ripped -knapsacks, and the discarded wigs of the officers littered the beach -about him. - -His head throbbed and seemed to be swelling larger every minute, big as -the sun itself, the sun that still glared down from the pitiless blue -sky. He couldn’t think clear, and he knew he’d have to think clear, if -he ever got out of this alive. - -Finally he lifted up his head and saw a steepening of the river bank -just ahead of him that made a sort of bluff he could try to crawl -under. Inch by inch, painfully, he dragged himself among the fallen -men. Most of them lay quiet now and were not troubled by his passage -through. They would never be troubled by anything any more. They had -not beaten the Americans, but they would never board the ships and sail -away. - -Once under the safety of the bluff, he lay there and sipped a little of -the brackish water which he scooped up in his hands. There was blood on -his uniform, and blood was trickling down from somewhere over his left -ear, but he did not put his hand up. He did not want to know how badly -he was hurt--not right now. - -And yet, his own wound wasn’t the worst of it. The worst of it was the -sight of the British Army running away. Running to the barges, fleeing -back to Boston, beaten almost to destruction by a mob of American -farmers at a stone wall and an earthworks on a hill! What was that old -tune the band played sometimes on parade? _The World Turned Upside -Down!_ - -What would happen to him, he wondered, when the Yankees found him lying -here? They didn’t have bayonets, most of them, so they couldn’t run him -through, but there were other ways to kill a man. - -But maybe they wouldn’t, all of them, kill a wounded man, any more than -he would. He’d gone among them, traveled through their towns, and found -there men no worse than he. And at that he remembered the knapsack and -the clothing in it. He reached down; yes, it still hung at his side. - -Painfully, haltingly, he pulled off the ruined uniform, the muddy -scarlet and blood-stained white. Then he lay there naked in the mud a -little while, under the bluff of sun-baked clay, till he had gathered -strength enough to pull on the country clothes, the garb of most of the -men behind the American line. - -“Maybe--if they find me--they’ll think I’m one of theirs,” he muttered, -“take me in with their own wounded and bind my head up--and never -know.” He managed a weak smile. The last prank he’d ever play on the -Yankees, he guessed, but it was worth a try. - -Somehow he managed to crawl up the bank and out on the bloody grass. He -lifted his eyes toward the redoubt. Could he believe what he saw? It -had redcoats swarming all over it, their bayonets drawn, struggling on -the parapet with the Americans, leaping down on those below. - -“So the lads have come back,” he whispered faintly. “We aren’t beaten -after all. I should have known it couldn’t be--not Howe and Pigot! Not -the Fusileers and the King’s Own.” - -He tried to get to his feet, but he couldn’t because his head was too -big and heavy. His head was as big as the whole world. His head was -drifting away on a tide of darkness that swept by. - - - - -_Chapter Fourteen_ - -THE YOUNG MAY DIE - - -Kitty did not know what time it was or how long she had been asleep. -She only knew that she was wide awake now, somewhere in the empty black -middle of the night, and she could hear Gran’s voice from the taproom -below. - -“You may be an officer, young man,” Gran was saying, “furthermore, -you may have come all the way up here from Connecticut, but I’m not -impressed with that. I’m not one of your soldiery, nor obliged to take -your orders. This is my son-in-law’s house, and the taxes upon it paid. -I mean to stay here till he orders me from it.” - -Kitty leaped out of bed and ran to the head of the stairs where she -could hear better. - -“It’s only for your own safety, Ma’am,” a harassed young voice was -explaining. “There’s going to be all hell to pay here tomorrow morning.” - -“So you’ve been telling me,” went on Gran calmly, “and in that case, -I’d better get some sleep to be ready for it. Good night, young man.” - -Kitty heard the slamming of the front door. She crept downstairs. - -Gran was methodically taking all the best silverware out of the chest -and wrapping each piece separately in flannel. - -“What’s the matter, Gran?” asked Kitty. She drew her flimsy nightrail -around her and stood there shivering. - -Gran went on sorting out porringers and teaspoons. “There’s going to be -trouble, child,” she said. “The town’s full of soldiers, and there’s -more soldiers digging some sort of burrow above us on the hill. They -say by daylight we can expect shooting.” - -“Are they British soldiers?” asked Kitty. After all, Gerry Malory had -warned her, and she had passed the message on, telling Gran it was -something she had heard in the street. Gran had scoffed at the idea, -refused to be driven away. - -“British! No! They be still drinking and gambling in Boston, and like -to stay there till the blast of Gabriel’s horn, if you ask me. These -soldiers are our own lads, and they sent the word about that since -they’ve entrenched themselves on a hill the British wanted, they look -for a battle.” - -“If--if there is a battle, what will we do?” asked Kitty. - -“We’ll do what is needed,” said Gran shortly. “Right now I want you to -wake Sally Rose. Put on your oldest dresses and good stout shoes. No -flounces and toothpick heels, mind. Pick up whatever valuables you have -and bring them to me.” - -Sally Rose, still sleepy-eyed, was enchanted at the prospect of -adventure. She brought a whole little chest full of trinkets when they -returned to the kitchen. Kitty had only her mother’s cameo brooch, and -she pinned that inside her bodice. Gran held out a willow basket full -of the carefully wrapped silver. - -“You girls take this down to the graveyard and bury it,” she ordered. -“If the British come pouring in here tomorrow morning, looking for -what they can find, new-turned earth in a graveyard will occasion no -comment.” Across the lid of the basket she laid a wooden shovel. - -Carrying the basket between them, the girls picked their way through -the town in the warm, dim starlight. Here and there they passed by -little groups of men who seemed to be patrolling the streets, who -looked at them curiously but uttered no challenge. Lights were burning -across the river in Boston and on the masts of the _Somerset_ lying -at anchor in mid-channel. Cries of “All’s Well!” sounded faintly at -intervals from its decks and from the sentries in the town beyond it. - -There were no lights or sentries apparent on Bunker Hill, nor yet on -Breed’s, when they looked that way, but both hillsides seemed to be -alive with moving masses of shadow; a low hum rose above them like the -swarming of many hives of bees. Now and then there was a tiny flash of -light, or a clang as a shovel hit against stone. - -Kitty dug a shallow pit under the flowering quince tree where she had -talked with Gerry Malory, and Sally Rose helped to cover it over, once -the silver and her own treasures lay safe inside. Then they hurried -back to the Bay and Beagle. Gran was trotting about the kitchen, -setting many pans of bread to rise, pulling down hams from the rafters, -heating the bake ovens red hot. - -“Get to work, girls,” she said as they came in, handing Kitty a carving -knife and Sally Rose a wooden spoon. “Can’t tell how many men we may -have to feed tomorrow.” - -When they finished the preparations she considered necessary, they sank -down exhausted on benches drawn to the oak table. Kitty noticed that -the hands of the tall old clock pointed to a quarter past three. - -“My soul and body,” said Gran, “I thought I’d learned to do without it, -but a cup of tea would certainly taste good to me right now.” - -Sally Rose smiled and her eyes sparkled in the candlelight. “I can -get you tea, Gran,” she said. “Father has some hidden away. He says -he keeps it for times of need among womenfolk. ’Twas bought long ago -before tea-tax time. Put the kettle on, Kitty.” - -She went flying into the taproom to the secret cache behind the bar. A -little later they sat down again with steaming cups before them. - -But Gran’s face was sober, and she spoke more gently than was her wont -to do. “I hope that whatever happens tomorrow,” she said, holding her -teacup in her hand, not tasting the fragrant liquid, “you girls will -behave in a fitting manner, though it may not be easy. There is bound -to be much danger about in a battle, and many horrible sights to be -seen. When the soldiers came here first and warned us to go away, I -thought I would do as they advised me. And then I remembered an old -great-grandmother of mine. She lived in a lonely garrison and when the -Indians attacked her home, she did not run away.” - -“What did she do?” asked Sally Rose, her eyes wide. - -“She poured boiling water out of an upstairs window and scalded the -varmints,” snapped Gran, with all her usual severity. “And if she could -do that, it came to me that I could stay here and do whatever it was -needful I should do.” - -“Do you think to pour hot water on the British, Gran?” asked Kitty, -trying to suppress a giggle. - -“Times change,” said Gran, her eyes fixed on the dwindling darkness -outside, on the tall hollyhock stems becoming visible in the garden, -“and that’s not what will be expected of us, most likely. Only--it -comes to me--that sometime, a good many years from now, all of us, yes, -even you, Sally Rose, will be great-grandmothers, too.” - -“With gray hair?” asked Sally Rose plaintively. - -“With gray hair--or no hair at all,” continued Gran. “And then, at that -time, we wouldn’t want the young folk of our blood to say we were -afraid and ran away when the time of danger came.” - -She looked challengingly at the girls. - -“No,” said Kitty soberly. “We wouldn’t want that. But what will we do, -Gran?” - -“Can’t tell for certain. But the way I see it, we keep a victualling -house, and when there’s a lull in the fight, if a fight there be, the -men will want food and drink. We’ll be here to provide it for them. All -we have to do is the thing we do every day--” - -A low boom like thunder, and yet sharper and more explosive than -thunder, rolled and echoed in the direction of Morton’s Point. A moment -later the windows rattled and the tavern shook. - -Gran covered her ears and closed her eyes. “Merciful heavens, it’s -begun! I’ll have to eat my fine words now! Under the table, Kitty, -Sally Rose!” - -In a moment they were huddled together on the floor, with the spreading -trestles round them and the stout oak planks above. The blast was -followed by a silence, and in the silence they heard a derisive -shouting from the crest of Breed’s Hill. - -“Sounds like the lads up there had suffered no harm from it,” murmured -Gran, her voice a little steadier now. “That was a cannon shot, I -think; most likely from one of their ships. I really doubt they’ll come -ashore. Perhaps it would be safe--” - -The cannon boomed again. Now another cannon spoke out, a little to the -left. Then another. There were no silences any more, only the steady -booming, and with every fourth or fifth boom, the tavern shook. One -after another the windowpanes began to shatter. Once they heard a great -crash in the street. - -They did not speak to each other, for no human voice could penetrate -the din. Kitty watched a streak of sunlight slowly widen and move -across the floor. It told her that time was passing, and that this was -a clear, bright day. - -After awhile a lull did come, and the cannonading died out into -silence. The silence was broken by a heavy knocking on the street door. - -Gran’s eyes snapped and her face hardened. “’Pon my soul, no stranger -is going to catch me hiding under a table, cannon or no cannon--nor my -granddaughters, either. Kitty, go and see what’s wanted.” - -She got to her feet and smoothed her apron. Sally Rose followed her and -stood still, her eyes wide with fright, her lips trembling. Kitty went -to open the door. - -A gnarled old man stood there, holding a wooden bucket in each hand. -He pointed to the tavern sign and then opened his mouth in a toothless -grin. - -“Lass,” he inquired, “are ye doing business today?” - -“Yes,” said Kitty steadily. “I guess we are.” - -“Good. Will ye fill these pails with water for me. The lads has need of -it on the Hill.” - -“Come in,” said Kitty. She took the two pails through the kitchen to -the garden well. When she returned with them, there were half a dozen -other men waiting, and they wanted water, too. - -The guns began again with a new fury. Gran and Sally Rose had stepped -into the garden, and when Kitty returned there after the men had gone, -she found them staring up the hill. - -A small, square earthworks stood on the green crest that had been bare -at twilight. Small figures of men were working all around it, digging -up turf, building it higher, stringing a wooden fence in front. Other -men passed to and fro over Bunker Hill and the highroad that led to -the Neck. Every now and then a column of dust shot skyward as a cannon -ball plowed into the earth. But the men who were busy about the -earthworks paid no attention to the cannon balls. - -Now and then there would be a moment’s pause in the firing, and that -gave Gran and the girls a chance to speak to one another. - -“What’s going on up there, and where are the British?” demanded Gran. -“Did those water boys bring you any news, Kitty?” - -“It’s just as you thought,” said Kitty hurriedly, knowing that the guns -might interrupt her at any moment. “The ships are firing at us from all -three sides. The lookouts say there’s a commotion in Boston, but it’s -too early to tell yet what they mean to do. They say there are about -a hundred people left here in the town, but there’s such heavy firing -across the Neck they doubt that we can get away.” - -Just then there came a hail from the kitchen doorway, where a man stood -with two empty water buckets. Gran went to talk with him herself, this -time. When he had gone, she spoke her mind to the girls. - -“Nobody up there’s got time to be hungry, it seems, and they’ve plenty -of strong drink amongst them, but two of their great hogsheads have -been shot open, and the need’s for water. Sally Rose, you stay by the -windlass and keep turning. Kitty, you carry the pails to the taproom to -save the men the journey out here. Fill every tub and bucket and keep -them full. I’m going to the roof to see for myself whatever there is to -be seen.” - -It seemed to the two girls that the morning would last forever, as the -sun toiled upward toward noon. Sally Rose ground at the windlass and -swung the heavy buckets over the stone curb where Kitty’s hand received -them and carried them inside. Round and round, back and forth, round -and round, less like women of flesh and blood than like two parts of -some wooden machine. They did not talk much together. They had not the -breath for it, nor very much to say. Now and then Kitty looked up the -hill to the earthworks, the tiny, gallant redoubt. The men were still -toiling to reinforce it, and a man in a blue coat strolled fearlessly -along the parapet as if he were telling them what to do. - -It was about noon by the kitchen clock when Gran came down stairs. Her -face was grim. “Girls,” she said tensely, “leave your work and come -with me. I want you to see a shameful sight. I want you to see the -King’s soldiers coming out with guns against the King’s loyal people.” - -The Bay and Beagle was a square-built house of red brick, three stories -tall, with a white railing about its flat roof. Gran led the girls to -the side facing Boston, half a mile away. Kitty gripped the rail with -both hands, though she would have liked to put them in her ears, the -cannonading had become so much louder, the spaces between the blasts -so brief and few. Sunlight sparkled on the blue river and on the three -great ships pouring forth constant broadsides of fire. Flames leaped -forth from Copp’s Hill, from floating batteries in the ferry way, and -over all hung a mist of grayish white smoke. - -“Look there,” hissed Gran during a quiet interval, quiet except for -the jangling bells of Boston that were doing their best to make their -steeples rock. - -Kitty and Sally Rose let their glances follow her pointing finger, -to the docks that lined the opposite shore. Two lines of barges were -moving out on the full tide, one from Long Wharf, and one from the -North Battery. They rode low in the water, being full to the gunwhales -with soldiers clad in white and vivid scarlet. The sunlight gleamed on -the steel of bayonets, on the brass mountings of the great black guns. -It was a gorgeous and yet a terrible sight. - -All Boston seemed to go mad with the frantic clamor of bells. Shouts -and cheers rose from its crooked streets that wandered up hill and -down, and somewhere a band was playing. Its rooftops were black with -tiny figures who had climbed there to watch the King’s troops move -against the King’s people who felt they had always been loyal to -him--so far. - -When the two rows of barges reached midstream they drew near to each -other and then moved forward in two long lines, side by side, like -pairs of marching men. They seemed to be headed for Moulton’s Point. -Kitty watched them till they passed out of sight around a curve of the -shore. Then she turned to face Gran and Sally Rose. - -“Do--do you think they’re going to land?” she asked. - -“Sakes alive, child,” answered Gran, “I don’t know what they mean to -do, but we’ll go back downstairs and see if we can find out. There are -sure to be more men coming after water.” She glanced up the hill toward -the redoubt. Only a few figures moved about it now, but clouds of dust -rose everywhere, thrown up by the impact of cannon balls, and the smoke -from the guns themselves drifted that way. At that moment a handful of -men appeared on the top of Bunker Hill, coming from the direction of -the Neck. More men followed them, and still more. In orderly fashion -they marched toward the redoubt where they were greeted with a faint -cheering. - -“Looks like more of our lads had come to help,” said Gran, as she led -them down the narrow stairs and into the taproom. Just as she had -suspected, three water carriers waited there, and all the pails and -tubs were empty. - -“Gran,” whispered Sally Rose, “I--I just don’t think I can turn that -windlass any more.” - -Gran looked at her keenly. “It makes the arms ache, I know,” she said -with surprising sympathy. “Kitty, you go to the well for a while, and -let Sally Rose carry the buckets.” - -And thus their morning chores began all over again, though it was -already early afternoon. - -At the end of her third trip between well and taproom, Sally Rose -stopped to talk to Kitty in one of the rare intervals when no gun was -going off. - -“Kit,” she said wanly, “I--I’m frightened, Kit. Do you think Gerry’s -coming in one of those barges? Do you think he’ll have to shoot at our -lads on the Hill? Do you think he might shoot at me?” - -Kitty had been wondering almost the same thing, but she would not tell -her cousin so. - -“If you’re going to think about a lad at a time like this,” she said, -“why don’t you think of Johnny? You’ve gone about with Johnny for a -long time, Sally Rose, and Johnny’s on our side. Don’t you wonder if -maybe he isn’t up there--in that earthworks on the Hill? Right there in -the thick of the cannon balls?” - -“Well, I do wonder about Johnny,” she answered plaintively, “and about -Dick, even about that New Hampshire boy with no manners--Tom what’s his -name.” - -Kitty, too, had wondered about Tom, but not too much. There was a cold -certainty in her heart that Tom Trask would be in the thick of whatever -fighting there was to come. She knew that as well as if she could see -him there. - -“Girls!” called Gran’s voice from the kitchen door. “Girls! come here -to me!” - -Kitty let go the windlass suddenly, and the handle spun creaking round. -Sally Rose set down her pail. - -Just then there was a loud whine somewhere overhead, and then a whoosh, -a shower of splinters about them, and a roaring wind that flung them -hard against the turf. For a moment they lay there, not daring to move. -The smell of burning powder filled the air. Then another roaring wind -went by, but not so close, and higher overhead. - -Kitty sat up. A cannon ball was bouncing across the grassy yard of the -house next door. It had passed through the garden and shattered the -pointed roof of the well-house where they stood. She reached out and -grasped Sally Rose by the shoulder. - -“Quick,” she gasped. “Let’s get inside. They’re firing into the town, -not just at the earthworks any more.” - -Racing into the taproom, they found Gran in talk with a tall man who -wore an officer’s coat and three-cornered hat and did not carry a pail. - -“Girls,” said Gran, her voice frighteningly calm, “the British have -landed, and ’tis plain they mean to charge the Hill. Whether they can -take it or not, we don’t know. But they’re shooting straight into -Charlestown now, iron balls and iron cases full of burning trash. The -town’ll soon be in flames over our heads. ’Tis time to leave. There’s -nothing more we can do.” - -A moment later they were in the street outside, trailing along after -a sorry-looking group of men and women, poor folk, mostly, who had -stayed in town in spite of all the warnings of danger, because they had -nowhere else to go. - -“I’m glad,” murmured Gran as they plodded over the cobblestones, their -eyelids smarting and their throats choked with the thick smokiness that -seemed to be flooding over the whole world, “I’m glad we sent Timothy -to Cambridge, two days back--Timothy and that poor horse, too. At -least, we’re leaving no living thing behind to burn.” - -Kitty thought of all the living things who were left to their fate in -that tiny fortress on the Hill. - -Iron shot blasted the roofs about them, and balls of living flame burst -in the street. All along their way the old wooden houses were beginning -to catch fire. Just as they passed out of town and into the green -country at the rear of Bunker Hill, Kitty looked back. Clouds of black -smoke billowed upward from the docks, the warehouses, the dwellings, -the shops in the market square. The church steeple lifted up one -soaring pyramid of fire. - -Her eyes hurt suddenly with tears that did not come from the smoke. - -“Come away, child,” said Gran, putting her arm about the girl’s -shoulders, using her other hand to guide the half-blinded Sally Rose. - -How far they had gone before the little procession came to a halt, she -did not know, but she did know they toiled a long way down the dusty -road, constantly shelled by the heavy guns of the ships. - -When they did stop, it was in the front dooryard of a little tavern, -The Sign of the Sun. The raggle-taggle company scattered themselves -about on the grass, but Gran led the girls inside. - -“They say the firing’s too heavy for us to cross the Neck and flee -inland,” she explained, “but ’tis to this place they are bringing the -wounded men. Perhaps we can help here.” - -The taproom they entered was not unlike the taproom at the Bay and -Beagle, but tables and benches had been moved back to clear the floor. -Some dozen men in tattered shirts and bloody breeches were lying on the -wide pine boards. Some moaned, and some lay very still. Three women -worked among them, and a man in a buff coat, a doctor, most like, knelt -by one soldier probing a wounded knee. - -Gran looked around her. “There’s water and bandages on the counter over -there,” she said. “Get to work, Kitty, Sally Rose.” - -If the morning had seemed long, it seemed that that afternoon at the -Sign of the Sun would never go. Kitty knelt and swabbed and tied -bandages and held whiskey to men’s lips to ease their pain when Dr. -Eustis’ probe went deep. Sally Rose and Gran were doing the same thing, -too. - -Then the men came in so fast there was no room for them in the tavern, -so they were laid in the yard, and all about the garden reaching up -the hill. The air was full of booming sound and smoke, and over all -burned the hot, hot sun. - -The British had charged the Hill and been driven back, she heard from -the men she tended. The British had gathered themselves together and -were about to charge again. - -She and Gran and Sally Rose were working over two men with shoulder -wounds, trying to staunch the flow of blood, when Gran suddenly stood -up and put her hand to her forehead. A strange look came across her -face. Then she smiled, and the light in her eyes paled out and dimmed -away. - -“The young may die,” she murmured, “but the old must.” - -She tottered and fell beside the soldiers on the bloody grass. - -“Dead. Stone dead,” muttered Dr. Eustis, kneeling above her a few -moments later. “Her heart failed from the shock and strain of this day, -I do believe. But she died with her hand to the plow. She died like a -good soldier.” - -Sally Rose crouched on the steps of the tavern, put her head in her -lap, and burst into uncontrollable weeping. She never moved from there -the rest of the afternoon. After Gran’s body was carried to a chamber -over the taproom, Kitty looked desolately about her for a few moments. -Then she went back to tending the wounded men. She would do what it was -needful for her to do. - -Word came down the hill that the British were driving on the redoubt, -that powder horns were getting low. - -Sometime after that--she never knew how long--Kitty knelt beside the -newest soldier to arrive. His head was bloody, and he wore a rough -shirt and breeches like all the rest, but on his feet were the fine -polished boots worn by the men in the British Army. When she washed the -blood away, she found she was bending over Gerry Malory. - - - - -_Chapter Fifteen_ - -A TERRIBLE BLACK DAY - - -“We be going down this hill now,” said Colonel John Stark, “to fortify -and hold the rail fence there.” - -He stood out boldly on the bold bare top of Bunker Hill, his new blue -and buff coat unfastened at the neck, his musket held lightly but -warily in his hand. His New Hampshire troops were drawn up before him, -farmers and woodsmen for the most part, and dressed as befitted their -callings. They wore homespun shirts and breeches dyed in the sober -colors of late autumn, after the red and gold are gone. They carried a -variety of weapons: here a fowling piece made by a village blacksmith; -there an ancient queen’s arm left over from the Siege of Louisburg -thirty years ago; there a blunderbuss older than Plymouth Colony. - -Tom Trask, who carried the blunderbuss, looked past his colonel at -the whole of Charlestown peninsula spread out before him in the early -afternoon sun. Below, on Breed’s Hill, that Prescott’s engineers had -made the surprise decision to fortify, stood the redoubt. He could look -down into it, just as if he were standing in the top of a tree. The -men had built wooden platforms to fire from, and they were massed and -waiting behind their guns. Farther down, on the point of land between -the sparkling blue rivers, the scarlet pride of the British Army -sprawled on the grass eating its dinner. - -Stark went on, his voice low but piercing, a tenseness in it that made -a man’s blood run hot with courage, rather than cold with fear. He -gestured toward the shores of the Mystic, the side of the field away -from Boston. - -“To the left of the redoubt, lads, you can see a rail fence, and -Knowlton’s men have banked it with cut hay. But past the rail fence -there’s an open stretch along the river, wide enough to drive a team of -horses through. We’ll go down there now and build a stone wall across -it. Isn’t a man among you don’t know how to build a stone wall.” - -He paused and looked proudly around him. “And when it’s built, we’ll -take our stand there, there and along the fence, and fight. If there’s -a man among you don’t know how to do that, he can go home.” - -The road back to the safety of Medford lay broad and smooth behind -them, but nobody turned toward that road. They started to cheer, but -the colonel held up his hand. - -“Wait till you got something to cheer for, boys,” he said. “But -remember this--all! Don’t shoot till they be within fifty yards. Pick -out the officers. Fire low, and aim at the crossing of their belts. Hit -for the handsome coats and the commanders.” - -He lifted his head and stepped back. Tom stood close enough to see his -burning eyes and the unflinching line of his mouth. “I don’t know how -the rest o’ you feel,” Stark went on, “but for myself, I’ll fight to -the last drop o’ blood in me. By the great Jehovah, I mean to live free -or die!” - -“Fall in!” he shouted. He held up his arm and made a swooping motion -toward the rail fence. The New Hampshire regiments followed him down -the hill. - -Once on the narrow strip of muddy beach beyond the fence, they worked -desperately to rear a wall across it before the British should come -on. Some fetched stones from other walls that divided the pastures on -the hillside. Others toiled to heap them in a bulwark straight to the -water’s edge. Tom was with those who carried boulders flung from the -bank and piled them ready to the builder’s hand. Once he climbed up the -ledge himself to take a look at the field above. - -“Hey, Caleb,” he called eagerly, as he noticed a young man standing -where the rail fence ended, a musket in his hand. - -Colonel Stark’s first-born son, sixteen-year-old Caleb, turned around -and a grin broke over his lean face as he recognized his old hunting -companion. He stepped forward. - -“Tom!” he exclaimed. “Haven’t seen you since you left for Newburyport -with the log raft, back sometime in the spring.” - -“No, I ain’t had a chance to get home. Ever since Concord Fight I been -in camp. Where you been?” - -“Round home mostly. Just got here this morning. Word’s gone all around -the countryside that the British be about to attack. Figured my dad -could use another man. Say, Tom, Jean’s been asking about you--” - -Fife and drum music burst forth from the red-coated ranks below the -hill, and the bugles uttered an urgent cry. - -“Here they come!” yelled Tom. He leaped down the bank and ran to where -he had left his blunderbuss, in the center of the stone wall. - -Crouched behind it, he watched the British come on. He could not see -the field above him that sloped upward to the redoubt, and ’twas likely -the heaviest charge would be there. But there were plenty of red coats -and white breeches moving toward the New Hampshire line. Once the -attackers stopped and reformed in groups of four. Then on they came. - -Just to his right a musket spoke, though they had received no order -to fire. Tom lifted his own blunderbuss, but before he could pull the -trigger Colonel Stark strode fearlessly between the opposing armies. He -had a tree branch in his hand. With a sharp stab he thrust it into the -earth. - -“Don’t another man fire till they pass this stake. Whoever does, I’ll -knock him down,” he said. - -He looked around him to make sure his words were understood. Then he -walked back to his own line as calmly as if he were going down to his -sawmill on any summer afternoon. Behind him the advancing British fixed -their bayonets. He leaped down into the shelter of the wall. - -When the word came, Tom was ready, and his blunderbuss spoke punctually -as the British passed the stake. He could not tell how many times he -fired, and he did not stop to see what damage he had done. Aim, fire, -load. Aim, fire, load. He kept relentlessly on, scarce conscious that -all around him other men were doing the same. He knew that the ground -in front of the stone wall was covered with wounded and dying redcoats, -but their line kept still coming on, and so long as it did, he would do -nothing but fire, load, aim. - -As he had been told, he aimed at the handsome coats and the commanders. -Once when he lifted his eyes to choose the next target, he saw, -to his utter amazement, a man he knew. Captain Gerald Malory was -advancing toward him, bayonet in hand. As he looked, his amazement -turned to contempt. “Polecat!” he muttered. “Said he was captain. -Done it to dazzle the girls, I’ll warrant.” Gerald Malory wore a -private’s uniform. Turning away deliberately, Tom leveled his gun on a -resplendent major. When he looked back again, his one-time prisoner was -gone. - -The British line wavered and fell back. He could hear the shouts of the -officers trying to rally their men. They lifted their guns and fired a -volley, and Tom heard the shots whistle high above. - -“Gunning for hen hawks, maybe,” he told himself with a grin. “Won’t hit -nothing else that high in air.” - -Now the red-coated line was drawing back, retreating down the beach -toward the point from whence they had come. Now there were no redcoats -within firing range any more. - -“Whew!” said Tom. He put down the blunderbuss and mopped his forehead. -Now he took time to look around him. - -All along the New Hampshire line men were standing up to stretch, -drinking water out of leather bottles, and beginning to move about and -talk together. He did not know the grizzled oldsters on either side of -him, but he soon learned they were veterans of the Indian War, and no -strangers to powder and shot. - -“Think they’ll be back?” he asked, waving his thumb in the direction of -the retreating British. - -His companions nodded. They were starting already to reload. - -Down at the open end beside the water lay a confused heap of wounded. -Those who could still stand up and walk were helping to carry their -less fortunate fellows away. The word went round that a hospital had -been set up at The Sign of the Sun, a tavern on the back side of Bunker -Hill. - -There came a hail from the bank above. Tom turned that way and -recognized the shaggy gray head and sturdy figure of Old Put. The -general was mounted on a horse, and had several other blue-coated -officers with him. Colonel Stark and three of his captains strode over -to the bank, and the two commanders talked for a long time. Then Stark -walked resolutely back to the stone wall, with his head lifted, his -gaze fixed straight before him. Old Put’s party rode off toward the -redoubt. - -A bugle sounded far down on Morton’s Point. Once again the British -must be coming on. Tom crouched and leveled the blunderbuss. Just then -the man on his left leaned over and spoke. - -“Word’s gone down the line,” he muttered through a thick wad of -tobacco, “that Johnny Stark’s lost his boy.” - -“Caleb? How?” gasped Tom. - -“Stopped a British ball somewheres up by the fence, they say.” The man -spat brown juice on the trampled mud. “Don’t like the look o’ things, -lad. My powder horn’s getting low.” - -“So’s mine,” said Tom numbly. He looked between the stones at the -oncoming scarlet line. He knew the depth of quiet love that lay between -that father and son. “When they told Stark--what did he say?” - -“Said he had no time now to talk o’ private affairs,” answered the -veteran. “Look there, in the front ranks of ’em! That’s General Howe. I -fought under him at Quebec in ’59. I’d know him anywhere.” - -Tom looked where the other pointed, but he did not see the proud -pompous figure of the British general leading on his men. He saw -instead a New Hampshire mountainside in the fall, young Caleb Stark -walking under the golden beech leaves, with his head up, laughing -in the crisp air. He saw Caleb skating on Dorr’s Pond in the winter -moonlight; pitching hay on a summer afternoon. And now at the rail -fence Caleb lay dead. By Jehovah, he’d fix the British for doing that -to his friend. - -“Here they come, lad,” warned the man at his side. - -“I’m ready,” said Tom. He gripped the blunderbuss, and all his rage and -vengeance sounded in the roar of it as it spoke. - -The British were not so easily beaten back this time. Stepping over -their fallen comrades they marched up to the wall, staggered back at -the withering blast of fire, and came on again. But at last their -officers could no longer urge them forward. Once more Tom found -himself staring at the redcoats fleeing away. - -It was a long time before they formed again, and the whole American -line was jubilant. It began to seem as if a handful of farmers with -nothing but courage and gunpowder had turned back the British Army. Tom -climbed up the bank in the interval and took a look at the redoubt. -It was untaken, and there were still, red-clad forms lying all over -the slope before it, and the gleaming brass of abandoned artillery. In -front of his own line the dead lay as thick as sheep in a fold. - -“We ought to send for more powder,” he muttered, as he went back to his -place and loaded the blunderbuss. “More men, maybe.” - -“Prescott already sent for more men,” growled his neighbor. “Been -sending for ’em all day. Ward keeps ’em all close to Cambridge because -he thinks they’re in danger there. As for powder, there was only ’leven -barrels in the whole camp this morning. Bet there’s powerful little of -it left by now.” - -“I got three more loadings,” said Tom. “I’ll give ’em that. Then I’ll -have to bash their skulls if I bring ’em down.” - -“Bash their skulls then,” said the older man. “That’s as good a way as -any for the varmints to go.” - -When the British made their third charge, they sent only a token force -against the rail fence. Their main attack was directed at the redoubt. -Tom fired his last charge of powder and then flung himself over the -bank to the field above. Many other New Hampshire men were doing the -same, their powder likewise being gone. - -At his side he saw Hugh Watts, who had driven with him to Cambridge -after the lead. - -“Bad news for the colonel,” said Watts. - -“Aye. Bad news for everyone who knew young Caleb,” answered Tom with a -gulp. “He was a friend of mine.” - -“Hope they got enough powder up there on the Hill,” the Londonderry -man went on. “Don’t seem as if they’re firing as lively as they should.” - -Tom looked again at the redoubt. Black smoke was pouring up the sky -from over Charlestown way. The main force of the British was driving -toward the little fortress, coming dangerously near. Now they passed -the wooden fence. Now a handful of them began to swarm up a locust tree -that stood in one corner of the earthen wall. - -“Great Jehovah!” gasped Hugh Watts. “They’re going in!” - -It was true. A last frantic burst of firing came from the redoubt, and -then its guns were still. The British poured over the low walls in a -triumphant scarlet wave. - -“No more powder. Or they’re all dead,” said Tom grimly. - -“Out, lads!” he heard Captain Moore calling behind him. “Spread over -the field from Bunker Hill to the river and cover the retreat!” - - * * * * * - -Tramping back across Charlestown Neck in the sunset with the last -straggling ranks of the Great American Army, Tom Trask slowly began -to realize that he was not the same Tom Trask who had marched out -so confidently to Bunker Hill. He had seen and heard too much that -afternoon to remain the same. He had seen the King’s troops firing at -him, and he had fired back, and he wanted no more of England and the -King. - -When the bells began to ring in Newburyport last April and he heard -the news of Concord Fight, he had gone to camp because all the other -men were going. Only a cripple or a coward would stay at home. But -he hadn’t thought much about it, much about why there had been this -Concord Fight. - -He’d learned a little more from the talk around the campfire at Winter -Hill, but nobody seemed to be sure whether they were fighting to make -the King treat them better, or to get the country away from the King. -Well, for himself, he was sure now. He knew when he heard John Stark -say, “I mean to live free or die.” For that was the way he meant to -live. He knew it for sure when he heard the news that Caleb had been -shot. - -And he had good hopes that the time would come when he could live that -way. Hadn’t he seen the British Army turn and run--turn and run away -twice? - -“We’ll fight them from now till Judgment,” he muttered to himself. “But -we’re going to be free.” - -A little group of his dusty, tattered fellows came toiling up and -overtook him where he plodded along, trailing the empty blunderbuss. -One of them hailed him, and he saw that it was Johnny Pettengall. - -“Hey, Tom! We almost licked ’em, didn’t we?” he called. “If our -powder’d lasted one more time.... Where was you?” - -“At the rail fence and along the wall,” said Tom. - -“I was in the redoubt.” - -“We got slaughtered there,” said Tom. - -“Aye, many slaughtered,” agreed Johnny, falling into step beside him. -“We was bayoneted like so many cattle. This’ll be remembered forever in -New England as a terrible black day.” - -“I guess it will,” Tom said. - -“I saw them shoot Dr. Warren,” continued Johnny. “Shot him in the head -just as he was leaving the redoubt.” - -“I seen him once in Cambridge,” muttered Tom. “He was a good man, I -guess. It’s worse for me that we lost young Caleb Stark.” - -“The Colonel’s son?” asked Johnny, and his face brightened. “Oh no! -That was a false report, Tom. I heard Putnam himself telling Prescott -that. Said he was sorry the boy’s father ever got the word--but it -didn’t make no difference in the way he led his men. He said Stark’s -a soldier all the way through. Likely you and Caleb will be drinking -beer together tonight on Winter Hill.” - -Tom drew a long breath. He looked out at the blue hills to the west, -with the red hot ball of the setting sun behind them. He was glad that -his friend was alive, but the good news hadn’t changed his mind about -one thing. He still wanted to live free. - - - - -_Chapter Sixteen_ - -HANGING AND WIVING - - -“Do you feel afraid now we’re really here?” asked Kitty. She put her -hand to Gerald Malory’s sleeve with a light, possessive touch and -looked up into his face anxiously. Gerry smiled down at her. - -He still wore his country clothes and a bandage round his head, but the -healthy color was coming back into his face now. She had tended him for -a week at the field hospital below Medford Bridge, and for a week after -that he had been able to go walking with her in the sunshine every -afternoon. She and Sally Rose slept at the house of Mrs. Fulton who -directed the hospital. But Sally Rose was making new friends, and spent -less and less time among the wounded men, even though Gerry himself was -there. - -“Not half so afraid as I was that night we went back to Charlestown to -dig up the silver,” Gerry said. - -They stood in the highroad in front of the old Royall House where -Colonel Stark had his headquarters. In a few moments they would go -in. Gerry would confess that he was not a New Hampshire man who had -got knocked on the head at the rail fence and couldn’t remember what -company he came from. He would admit that he was Gerald Malory of the -Twenty-third. But they would not go in just yet. It was a soft summer -night with the fragrance of garden flowers in the air. He drew her down -beside him on the low brick wall. - -“What were you afraid of that night?” she asked him. “When we went to -The Sign of the Sun to get a pass from the British major so we could go -into town, I thought he seemed like a very kind man.” - -Gerry grinned down at her. “He was kind to you, certainly. From the -look in his eye, he’d have given you Boston Common and Long Wharf too, -if you’d asked for them. You’ve a way with us menfolk, Kitty.” - -Kitty let her long lashes fall across her cheek, then she looked up at -him suddenly and smiled. “Do you know, it’s the strangest thing, I do -seem to have a way with them lately. But before I knew you, I never had -any way with them at all.” - -He cleared his throat and looked away from her. “Yes, you’re blooming -out, my girl,” he said. - -Kitty sighed happily. “Oh I do hope so! For so many years nobody -noticed me at all beside Sally Rose.” - -“Ah, Sally Rose!” he muttered. “Honestly, I feel guilty there. How am -I ever going to tell her that I--that I--have taken a fancy to you, -Kitty?” - -“Is a fancy all you’ve taken?” - -“A deep down kind of fancy.” - -“Oh!” She was silent for a moment, and then she said, “If you feel -guilty about Sally Rose, how do you think I feel about Tom Trask, the -New Hampshire boy? How am I going to tell him I’ve taken a fancy to -you?” - -He did not answer, and after a moment she repeated her earlier -question. “What were you afraid of when we went to Charlestown that -night? It was sad, really, but I didn’t see any reason to be afraid.” - -She remembered the forlorn look of the town, its cellar holes still -smoking, only a few old houses left near the millpond, the moss on the -gravestones scorched away. But they had found and brought back the -silverware. - -“I was afraid I might be recognized and sent to rejoin my regiment. You -know I don’t want that to happen to me, Kitty.” - -Kitty slipped out of his encircling arm and jumped to her feet. -“I know,” she said. “That’s why I coaxed you to come and tell the -whole thing to Colonel Stark. If he says you can stay here and be an -American, then you’ll have no more cause to be afraid.” - -“Suppose he says I’m a deserter and an enemy, and ought to be hanged on -Cambridge Common? He may even think I’m a spy, Kitty.” - -He stood up and held out both his hands. “I don’t think he’ll do that,” -said Kitty slowly. “Colonel Stark ought to understand any man who wants -to be an American. You can’t go on pretending always--always being -afraid.” - -They heard a throat cleared sharply on the other side of the low wall. - -“Don’t you young folks have any other place to do your courting?” asked -Colonel Stark. - -Gerry turned quickly round, and Kitty drew a deep breath. - -“We--we were on our way to consult you, Colonel--about a small matter.” - -Colonel Stark inclined his head. “Come inside then,” he ordered. “I -trust the young woman has no complaint against you.” - -“Oh no!” cried Kitty in embarrassment and alarm. - -The three of them walked together up the broad graveled path between -the boxwood hedges, and in at the wide front door. Kitty had heard much -about Isaac Royall, the owner of the house, a rich Tory who had fled to -Boston, but she was not prepared for the carved elegance and panelled -wainscot of the great hall. She had never before seen a room like the -white and gold parlor where Colonel Stark seated them. It reassured -her a little to see his somewhat battered musket leaning against the -rosewood desk, a cartridge box flung down on a brocade chair. - -“O’erlook the disorder if you will,” he said, picking up the cartridge -box. “I been at Cambridge all day, and Molly’s housemaids are forbidden -to meddle with my field equipment. Well, lad,” and he turned to Gerry, -his mouth severe, but a twinkle in his cold blue eye. “You say you come -here to see me about some matter.” - -“Yes sir,” said Gerry, clenching his fists and leaning forward. -“Colonel Stark, sir, I been abed in your field hospital ever since the -battle at Charlestown. I said to all that I came from New Hampshire, -but since I was wounded I couldn’t remember my town or the name of my -captain. I told a lie, sir. I am Gerald Malory of the Twenty-third.” - -“I know it,” said Stark quietly. The twinkle in his eye deepened. - -“You--you know it? How?” - -“Haven’t forgotten you was our prisoner after the Ipswich Fright, have -you? I won’t question you about the Fright too much. That’s water under -the bridge. Might have enjoyed it myself, when I was a lad.” - -Gerry hung his head, and the Colonel went on. “You was recognized by -more’n a dozen men when we carted you back from the Hill.” - -“Then--why?” - -“Why didn’t we clap you back in gaol again? Well, maybe we should have. -I decided instead to have you watched. I wanted to find out your game.” - -“I haven’t any game,” said Gerry miserably. - -“So it was beginning to seem,” agreed Stark. “What are you? Tired of -fighting? A deserter?” - -“I--I suppose so,” said Gerry. “I never meant to be a soldier. But -after I got in trouble at home, it seemed the best way.” - -Stark cleared his throat. “You got a father?” he asked. - -“A father? Yes, sir.” - -“At home in England?” - -“Yes.” - -“How do you think he’d feel if he knew you was behaving so?” - -“I don’t believe he’d care,” said Gerry. “After my mother died, he took -a young wife and has other sons. New one every year. ’Twas getting so -there was no room at home for me.” - -Gradually, under the Colonel’s shrewd questioning, Gerry Malory’s whole -story came clear. Kitty had heard much of it before, but not all. He -told about his mother, the strolling player; how after her death he had -left grammar school, and ranged with a wild group of friends about the -farms and the town. Then he was taken up for poaching in the squire’s -woodland--caught the first unlucky time he set a bit of a rabbit snare. -And the recruiting sergeant came by in the thick of the trouble, and -there you were. No, he wasn’t a captain and never had been. He never -thought pretending to be one was a dishonest trick, since he never -gained thereby. He thought it was like taking a part in a play, and -better to choose a leading part. He wasn’t even twenty years old, as he -had said; wouldn’t be eighteen till next December came. - -Stark pondered. “All that I can see,” he murmured. “I been a lad -myself, though, thank God, none such a foolhardy one. But after the -battle--what did you do with the boots you wore when they brought you -in, the boots that went with your British uniform?” - -“My boots?” asked Gerry. He looked down at his feet. He was wearing -a pair of cowhide shoes Kitty had bought for him at a shop in Medford -Square. “Why, I don’t know what became of my boots.” - -“I hid them,” said Kitty defiantly. “I was afraid--if the doctors -thought he was British--they’d just let him die. I pulled them off, and -took them outside, and threw them down the well.” - -Colonel Stark slapped his knee and laughed with a quiet, wry kind of -mirth. “So I suppose from now on the water at The Sign of the Sun will -taste o’ British leather,” he said. Then he turned to Gerry. “Well, a -spirited lass is none so bad to have for a wife. I got one myself. Do -you mean to marry her for her kindness to you--if you don’t have to -hang, of course?” - -“Not for her kindness,” said Gerry Malory firmly, his eyes lighting. “I -mean to marry her--well, because I mean to marry her.” - -“Well enough said,” agreed the colonel. “But I mentioned the other, the -hanging matter. Can you think of any reason against it?” - -A tragic look came over Gerry’s face, and his voice took on a deep -vibrant note of pleading. It seemed to Kitty that she could see and -hear his actress mother there. - -“You wouldn’t hang a man for a mistake, would you, Colonel? A mistake -that was made a hundred and fifty years ago?” He paused and shut his -eyes dramatically. - -Colonel Stark gave Kitty a slow, solemn wink, and she knew that he was -thinking of the actress mother, too. - -“What was the mistake, lad,” he demanded, “and who made it? You weren’t -making mistakes a hundred and fifty years ago. Yours were all ahead of -you then.” - -“It was an old ancestor of mine, sir, who went down to the docks in -Plymouth and thought to sail with the folk who came here to found your -own Plymouth Colony. He thought he would come with them and be an -American, but he changed his mind and went back to Barnstaple, and the -family’s been there ever since. That was the mistake he made. If it -hadn’t been for him--I might ha’ been fighting on your side in this -war.” - -Colonel Stark gazed sharply at the young man and saw what Kitty hoped -he would see: that for all the pretentious manner, the words were true. -Then he turned away for a moment and stared through the window where -the moonlight was turning white flowered stalks to silver in the garden. - -“My folks didn’t make that mistake,” he said abruptly. “They come here -on a ship, like all the rest of us, except those who be Injun bred. -Come out o’ Scotland, my folks. Had five young ones die on the voyage, -and raised another five to replace ’em. Yes, your ancestor made a -mistake, lad. But how do you think to right it? Peace time, you could -come here like other Englishmen always did, and settle down and be one -of us. But not now, now that we be at war.” - -“Couldn’t I, Colonel? That was what I was hoping for. It’s not that I’m -afraid of fighting. But I don’t want to fight against you. And I can’t -fight against my own.” - -“And what would you do, Private Malory, if I said, ‘Go to! Clear out of -my camp and make your way as best you can?’” - -Gerry’s face lit up, and there was no play-acting about him this time. -“Why, I’d thought about that, Colonel. Do you know what I’d do? I -sailed from Plymouth myself, for my regiment took ship there, so for -old times’ sake, I’d take the highroad and go down to your Plymouth in -Massachusetts, and see if I could make my way there and settle in, and -become a Plymouth man.” - -“We got a Plymouth in New Hampshire,” said Stark thoughtfully. “I don’t -know whether all the land be taken there or no.” Then the lines in his -face hardened. - -“I got the power tonight to send you on your way,” he said. “Tomorrow, -I may be plain Johnny Stark, headed back to the sawmill again. We got -a new commander coming up from the South to take over the whole army. -Name o’ Washington. A Virginia man. Can’t tell what he’ll do.” - -On that July night the name of Washington meant nothing to Kitty -Greenleaf and Gerald Malory. - -“Then let me go, Colonel Stark. Let me go tonight,” Gerry pleaded. - -The colonel looked down at the rich woven rug on the floor. His eyes -seemed to be tracing the scrollwork pattern. Then he turned to Gerry -again. “There’s only one thing still bothers me, Private Malory,” -he said. “I believe you when you say you’d like to be an American, -and settle down in America and make your way there, and do no harm -to anyone. I commend you for it. But how do you feel toward your own -people? Don’t you believe in Parliament and the King?” - -“I believe in them--over there,” said Gerry slowly. “But not over here. -They rule fine in England, it seems to me. But in America--the way I’ve -come to see America--they don’t know what they’re doing at all.” - -Stark’s grin told Kitty that he had heard the answer he wanted to hear, -but he had one more word of caution. “Remember, you been knocked in the -head, lad. Are you sure you know what you’re about? That you won’t wake -up in a daze some morning and wish you was back with the Twenty-third?” - -“No,” said Gerry. “I won’t wish myself back.” - -Stark got to his feet. “Might happen,” he said mildly, “if you was to -slip out of camp long about midnight, sentry would be looking the other -way.” - -“Thank you, sir,” said Gerry fervently. - -“Thank me in ten years,” said Stark, “if you still want to then. It’s a -crazy venture, and we can’t tell how it’ll turn out. But if it’s what -you want, get on with it. They say hanging and wiving goes by destiny. -And I guess you’re lucky in both o’ them matters, lad.” - -He led them toward the front door, and as they passed by a small parlor -opening off the hall, Kitty caught sight of a couple inside it. They -sat on a peacock-colored sofa, locked in a deep embrace. Startled at -the sound of footsteps, they drew apart. Stark shot a quick look in -their direction and grinned widely. “No harm in it,” he said, “they’re -a betrothed pair.” He would have kept on down the hall, but Kitty stood -still, gasping. - -The man on the blue sofa was Tom Trask, and the girl was a stranger -to her; small and delicately formed, with a beautiful cameo face and -shining red hair. Under their scrutiny Tom stood up. Some men would -have been embarrassed, but not he. He scooped the girl to her feet and -led her forward. - -“Well,” he greeted them, “so it’s Kit herself, and _Private_ Malory. -I’d like you to meet Jeanie Morrison.” He looked down at the red-haired -girl, and there was a tender merriment in his eye. - -“I kissed with all the girls some,” he continued. “But I always knew -I’d marry Jean.” - -“Listen to the man!” trilled Jeanie. She gave him an enchanting smile -that showed a dimple in her cheek. - -“Jeanie come down from Derryfield with my wife a few days back,” -explained the colonel, sensing some tension in the air he could not -understand. “She came to see Tom and bring him his gun. A Brown Bess, -British made, one of the best guns in the army.” - -“Aye,” said Tom mockingly. “I got my own gun. You can have your -blunderbuss back, Kitty. I’ll bring it to the hospital tomorrow.” - -“Don’t bother,” said Kitty, but Gerry’s eyes lighted. - -“Is there any way we could get it tonight?” he asked. - -Kitty knew what he was thinking, and she saw the rightness of it. He -meant to go to Plymouth, armed with the Plymouth blunderbuss. - -Tom shrugged, “If you want it that bad,” he said. “As a matter of fact, -I brought it with me. You’ll find it standing among the lilacs to the -right of the front door.” - -After they had retrieved the old weapon and taken their leave of -Colonel Stark, they walked quietly through the streets of Medford hand -in hand. - -Kitty should have been relieved that she would have no painful scene -with Tom, but she could not help feeling rueful at the knowledge that -he had preferred red-haired Jeanie all the time. - -“You’re lucky,” Gerry assured her. “I wish--I wish I could get out of -it so easy with Sally Rose.” - -He kissed her on the steps of the Fulton house. - -“I don’t know when I’ll be back, Kitty,” he said. “It may take me a -long time to make my own way. And you--now your grandmother’s dead, -where will you go?” - -“I think I’ll go back to her old house and wait till you come for me. -You’ve never been to Newburyport, but you can find the way. You’ll be -gone tomorrow, and I’m going to Cambridge and get old Timothy and take -him home.” - -“Will Sally Rose go with you?” he asked. - -“What do you think?” said Kitty. “Look there!” She pointed to the -parlor window just to the left of the front door. - -Sally Rose was standing inside the parlor. She was smiling up into -the eyes of a tall young captain who wore the blue and white of the -Connecticut line. She let her lashes veil her eyes and opened her -pretty lips. “We’ve none such handsome lads in Massachusetts--” she -said. - -Gerry Malory swallowed. Then he began to laugh. “Where, oh where,” he -exclaimed, “have I heard those words before?” - -After he had left her, Kitty slipped into the house and up to the -little chamber that she shared with Sally Rose. She went to the window -and stood there, looking at the still town, and the moonlit river, the -campfires on Winter Hill, the lights of the warships far down the dim -bay. - -Less than three months back, it was, that they had all played -hide-and-seek in Newburyport, but they would never play hide-and-seek -again. Never again would they be that young. - -Even she and Sally Rose, Gran had said, would be great-grandmothers -some day. How glad she was that Gran had had that last cup of tea. - -She turned from the window and began to undress, laughing as she -remembered the struggle to get Sally Rose out of the stays. Never -again, she thought, would they be as young as that. - -She was just climbing into bed when Sally Rose opened the chamber door. - -“Kitty,” she said, “there’s going to be handsome men in uniform about -for ages. Captain Davenport was just telling me that he expects a long -war. He says that since Bunker Hill, the word’s been in everybody’s -mouth that we’re going to live free or die--and that will take a long -time.” - -“Live free or die? What does that mean?” asked Kitty, bewildered. - -“Well, I don’t understand it myself,” said Sally Rose, taking the -ribbon out of her curls, “but I have an idea of one man who might know. -I think you’ll be likely to find out if you go and speak to Tom Trask.” - -Kitty lay in the wide bed and watched her cousin slip out of her dainty -garments and fling them carelessly across a chair. Yes, she thought, -there was, after all, some sort of unconscious wisdom about the pretty -featherbrain. Hanging and wiving goes by destiny, Colonel Stark had -said, and she had known that Gerry was her destiny, almost from the -day she had seen him first from the door of the Bay and Beagle as -he marched past with the prisoners’ cart. And she would not have it -otherwise, for she loved Gerry. He would be as good an American as most -others, some day. He had many virtues, and she would rejoice and be -proud of them all her life, most likely. But when it came to a matter -of living free, Sally Rose was right. Tom Trask was the man who would -know. - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROAD TO BUNKER HILL *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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