THE REGULARS EMBARK
Early the next morning Don was hard at work washing the windows at the
front of the store. He had cleaned them on the inside and was about to
start on the outside, when Jud crossed the square and hailed him. Over
his shoulder he was carrying two fishing poles.
“Where are you going?” asked Don.
“Up to the mill-pond. I thought maybe you’d come along, so I brought an
extra pole.”
“Sure,” said Don; “but I’ll have to finish these windows first.”
“I’ll help you,” Jud replied promptly and, setting down the poles,
rolled up his sleeves.
While the two boys were cleaning and polishing the glass Tom Bullard
happened to turn into the lane from King Street. It was clear that he
had not expected to meet the boys and did not want them to see him;
for he had no sooner spied them than he stopped and made as if to turn
back; but Jud’s sharp eyes had already caught sight of him. “Here’s
the chicken-thief, Don,” he whispered.
Don stopped work to look. It is to Tom’s credit perhaps that he did
not turn on his heel then and there. What he did was to lift his chin
a trifle and, choosing the opposite side of the street, march past
without looking either to the right or to the left. It was really a
hard thing to do, for Don and Jud were staring at him and grinning
frankly.
“He’s got his head pretty high, hasn’t he?” said Jud in a loud whisper.
“But not high enough to hide that bump above his left eye,” replied Don.
“That’s where Fred’s stick landed,” said Jud. “Just look how high he
holds his head--just like a chicken!”
Both boys chuckled, and a moment later they laughed outright when Tom’s
foot struck an upraised brick, and he stumbled. At the corner of Water
Street, Tom turned and shook his fist.
Jud’s eyes flashed, but Don was silent. “And to think,” he said at
last, “that he used to be my best friend!”
“He’s not worth thinking about,” said Jud shortly. “Come on, Don, let’s
finish these windows in a hurry. I wonder how the fish are biting?”
But there were other things beside fish to wonder about on that day in
early May. The people of Boston knew little enough of what was going on
round them. Every other person was wondering how soon the American army
would attack the British, and whether the Redcoats would risk going out
and fighting in the open. Already there had been skirmishes and they
continued to occur off and on throughout the rest of the month; but
although the Americans were generally successful, the skirmishes really
did not amount to much.
Word had somehow seeped into the beleaguered town that the Continental
force consisted of sixteen thousand men and that fortifications were
being prepared in Cambridge and along the Mystic River; and it was
whispered that men from all the other Colonies as far south as Virginia
were flocking to join the army. But Gage’s men scoffed at such reports;
and although none of them dared venture outside the town they also
scoffed at the idea that they were in a state of siege. A body of
undisciplined farmers oppose them, the King’s soldiers? Preposterous!
What the King’s men did not realize was that many of them, especially
the officers, had fought in the French wars. Oddly enough the terrible
experience of the nineteenth of April was lost upon the over-confident
British; they supposed that the men who had fought so valiantly at
Concord and Lexington would run like frightened sheep in an encounter
in the open.
Numerous things had occurred to exasperate the good people of Boston,
but one of the worst was a proclamation that Gage issued; it declared
martial law and referred to all who were bearing arms against the
King’s men as “rebels and traitors”; but, said the proclamation, if
they would lay down their arms all would be pardoned--all, that is,
except John Hancock and Samuel Adams.
Toward the end of the month British re-enforcements began to arrive,
and on the twenty-fifth the troop-ship _Cerebus_ brought three
generals--Howe, Clinton and Burgoyne.
Don and Jud were in the vicinity of the Green Dragon Tavern a few days
after the _Cerebus_ arrived. They were looking out over the harbor
when Don heard someone call his name, and, turning, he saw one of the
sailors who had helped him from the water the day he had saved the
Redcoat from drowning.
“Hello, there, young Master Donald,” said the fellow--it was Hank.
“There’s the boat out there that brought the three big ones--Howe,
Clinton and Elbow-Room Burgoyne. If they’d side-stepped on the
gangplank, I don’t doubt you’d have jumped in and saved them.”
Don flushed. “I’m not so sure--now,” he replied. “But tell me, why do
you call Burgoyne ‘Elbow-Room’?”
“Why, haven’t you heard that story?” Hank grinned and glanced round to
make sure that no Redcoat was within hearing. “You see, it’s like this:
As the _Cerebus_ was coming in she met a packet bound for Newport.
‘What news is there?’ Burgoyne shouts to the skipper. ‘The town is
surrounded by ten thousand country folk,’ was the reply. At that the
general opens his eyes wide. ‘How many regulars are in the town?’ he
asks. ‘About five thousand,’ the skipper shouts in reply. Then the
general’s eyes open wider than ever, and he cries, ‘What, ten thousand
peasants keep five thousand King’s troops shut up! Well, let us get in,
and we’ll soon find elbow-room!’”
Both boys laughed heartily, and Hank added, “Elbow-Room Burgoyne
it’ll be to the end of his days, now, I suppose.” Hank lowered his
voice. “Let me tell you something, my lads,” he said. “There’s going
to be a big fight before many days have passed. There must be close
to ten thousand Redcoats in the town now, and, mark my words, they’re
not going to sit idle, not they. You lads keep your eyes fixed on
Dorchester Heights and Bunker’s Hill.”
“How do you know all that?” asked Jud.
The sailor solemnly winked his left eye and stuck his tongue into his
left cheek. “The sea-gulls of the air,” he said. “The sea-gulls of the
air.”
Whether or not Hank had secret information about the movements and
intentions of the British troops, it is a fact that on the evening
of the sixteenth of June, while Don and his aunt were sound asleep,
events moved swiftly toward a climax. The army in Cambridge, determined
on driving the King’s troops from the town, took measures to fortify
Bunker Hill, and then almost at the last moment changed the plan and
fortified a hill that was somewhat nearer the town. All during the
night the Continentals labored at throwing up earthworks; and all the
while the stars looked down peacefully, and the British men-of-war
floated serenely with the tide, and the British patrols cried “All’s
well” at frequent intervals.
At dawn Don and his aunt were wakened by the noise of firing; but by
the time they were both down to breakfast the firing had ceased.
“Now what in the world could that have meant?” asked Aunt Martha.
“I’ll find out,” replied Don and ran into the street.
Near the town hall he inquired of a pedestrian what the firing was.
“His Majesty’s ship _Lively_,” replied the fellow shortly. He was
evidently a Tory. “She fired on some earthworks the rebels have thrown
up over by Charlestown.”
Don waited to hear no more. While he and his aunt were having breakfast
he told her what he had heard. Aunt Martha only sighed. “Who knows,”
she said after a long pause, “but what your uncle and Glen are over
there at Charlestown?”
During the forenoon the firing resumed. The British, it seems,
had brought three or four floating batteries to bear upon the
fortifications; but in spite of the heavy bombardment the Continentals
continued to work.
The day promised to be hot and sultry. The sun, a bright ball of molten
gold, was blazing down on the shingled roofs of the town and was
sending up heat waves from the cobblestoned streets. Don left off his
top coat and turned in the collar of his shirt.
“You don’t look neat and trim, Donald Alden,” said his aunt as he was
about to leave the house.
“It’s too hot, Aunt Martha.”
“You think so perhaps. Well, don’t go far.”
“I’m going to find Jud,” replied Don.
He did not have to go all the way to Hog Alley to find his comrade.
Jud, hot and excited, almost ran into him at the foot of School Street.
“O Don!” he exclaimed. “There’s going to be an awful time--a battle,
sure as you’re alive! I was coming to get you.”
“I know,” said Don. “Everybody’s excited. And did you hear the firing
early this morning?”
“Come up to the Common,” said Jud. “The Redcoats are all on parade.
They’re going to march off, I think.”
The boys found the Common a scene of intense activity. There seemed
to be Redcoats everywhere. Some were in formation; some were hurrying
to join their companies that were assembling, and all seemed to be
carrying arms and full equipment. The sun flashed on glistening swords
and buckles and seemed to turn each bright red coat into a vivid blaze
of fire. And overhead the graceful limbs of the great old elms waved
gently to and fro like gigantic lacy green fans.
“Look,” said Don, “there’s the 43rd, Harry Hawkins’s regiment.”
“Yes, and there’s Hawkins himself,” replied Jud. “See him--that big
fellow?”
Don bit his lips and said nothing. He did not dare put into words the
thoughts that had come crowding into his mind at sight of the only
Redcoat for whom he had the least affection.
“There’s the grenadiers,” said Jud; “and the new regiment, the 35th and
the 49th.”
“Yes, and there are the marines,” added Don. “They all look pretty
fine, don’t they?”
“They look fine enough now,” replied Jud, “but just you wait till our
men get a shot at them. You know how it was at Lexington and Concord.”
Don knew indeed, and the thought of that memorable day cheered him
considerably.
By now most of the troops had assembled, and one regiment already was
marching off. The boys hastened to follow along Common Street.
“My, but it’s hot! Whew!” cried Jud. “I’m most melted.”
“I am too,” Don grinned. “I’m glad I don’t have to carry a pack and a
musket. Just listen to the firing now!”
Although the sun was high overhead, neither boy thought of being
hungry. Down Queen Street they hurried and past the town hall into King
Street. People were standing on street corners and watching from doors
and windows as the King’s troops swung past over the rough street.
Small boys, shouting loudly to one another, were hurrying along beside
the splendid, well-disciplined columns; and dogs of all sizes were
running here and there, barking shrilly. One little fellow, all black
with white spots, ran diagonally through the column and then, turning
swiftly, ran back again as if for the sole purpose of showing that he
could do it.
The boys saw the regiment march out upon Long Wharf, where boats were
waiting to carry them north toward Charlestown. Then they saw another
and another regiment swing down King Street and move out upon the wharf.
“Are they all going to embark here?” asked Jud.
“No,” replied a man who was standing near by. “Some of ’em are on the
way to North Battery.”
“Come on up there then,” said Don.
When the boys reached the battery most of the British who were
embarking at that point were already in the boats.
By now some of the people in the North End had climbed to the roofs of
their houses, from which points they would have an unobstructed view of
Charlestown across the water and of the men-of-war. As the boys were
coming from the North Battery, Jud shouted to a man who was perched
astride his gabled roof: “Hey, there, is there room for two more?”
“Come right along if you’re not Tories,” replied the man. “I reckon it
wouldn’t be safe for a Tory up here beside me to-day.”
Jud, impetuous by nature, ran to the ladder that was leaning against
the house, and Don, naturally cautious but in the excitement forgetful
of everything, followed him. In a minute the boys were beside the
man--John Short, a saddle-maker--and were looking eagerly across the
water.