FROM A HOUSETOP
The two boys and their patriotic friend, the saddle-maker, saw the
barges loaded with red-clad soldiers steering for the point northeast
of Charlestown and later saw the barges return for more troops. Close
in toward the Charlestown shore they could see the men-of-war _Falcon_,
_Lively_, _Somerset_ and _Symmetry_, and all were firing at the little
redoubt on the hill beyond the town.
“Who’s that walking along the top of the fort there?” Don asked
suddenly.
“Whoever he is, he’d better keep down,” said Jud.
“I can’t be sure at this distance,” replied the saddle-maker, “but from
the size and appearance of him I’d say he was Colonel Prescott.”
Afterward the boys learned that the man was Colonel Prescott and that
his apparent disregard for the fire of the British was for the purpose
of heartening the men within the fort.
About mid-afternoon all the fire from the men-of-war and the British
batteries seemed to concentrate on the little fort.
“There they go!” cried Short. “The attack’s begun.”
The regulars were advancing in two divisions; one division moved
straight up the hill toward the fort; the other moved toward the
fortifications beyond the hill--which could not be seen from the roof.
Burdened with heavy equipment, and with the hot sun blazing down on
their heads, the British walked slowly over the uneven ground. When
they had gone some distance they opened fire and continued to fire as
they advanced. A few scattering shots from the hill answered them.
“Our men are withholding their fire till it’ll count,” said Short. “A
wise thing to do.”
“Well, I wish they’d hurry and fire,” said Jud. “Just see how close the
Redcoats are to the fort!”
The stretch of green and brown field between the redoubt and the front
line of advancing regulars was growing smaller and smaller. From beyond
the hill came a rattling roar of muskets and of field-pieces. Then came
a heavy volley from the fort.
“Look! Look!” cried Short and in his excitement almost let go his hold.
The regulars returned the fire, and then amid the rattling, crackling
hail of musket balls the ranks wavered and then broke. Down the hill
haphazard the trained troops of King George retreated; but they left
many of their number behind on the slope.
Meanwhile shells that had fallen inside Charlestown had set many of
the wooden buildings on fire, and the flames were spreading with great
rapidity. Blue smoke was curling upward from the spires of the public
buildings to mingle with the deeper blue of the sky. Little tongues of
yellow flame were licking the sides and roofs of many of the smaller
houses. In a few minutes the crash of falling beams mingled with the
roar and rattle of cannon and musket.
The regulars rallied and advanced again, but they could not go far
in the face of the terrible fire that poured down upon them. As at
Lexington, Don could see red-coated officers urging and threatening
their men with brightly gleaming swords, but it was of no use. Again
the lines broke, and the King’s troops retreated, this time in greater
disorder than the first.
“They’re brave men; I’ll say that for them,” said Short.
Don and Jud thought so too, but neither said a word; the terrible
spectacle seemed to have taken away their power to speak.
It was a long time before the Redcoats rallied and advanced for the
third time.
“They’ve left off their knapsacks this trip,” said Short. “They’ll do
better, I’m thinking.”
It was only too true, for the gallant Americans had used most of their
ammunition. They met the attack bravely, and then the fire from the
fort suddenly slackened. In a few minutes the regulars were at the
walls. Then a great cloud of dust rose above the works as the defenders
reluctantly gave way. The British, who were on three sides of the
redoubt, rushed forward and, swarming over the walls, sent up a great
cheer, which came faintly across the water. Then they opened fire on
the retreating Continentals.
The boys could see little groups of soldiers beyond on the slopes of
Bunker Hill, but by now the dust was so thick that they could hardly
distinguish which side the men belonged to. Intermittent firing
continued for some time, and the warm air was saturated with the
pungent odor of powder.
“Victory for the Redcoats,” said Jud in a choking voice, and Don nodded
in agreement. There was such a lump in his throat that he would not
trust himself to speak.
“Well, maybe,” said Short, “but I’m a-thinking it’s a pretty costly
victory for old King George.”
And so it proved to be. The town of Boston wore a gloomy aspect during
the next few days. The King’s troops, who had looked so fine on parade
on the morning of the battle, went about dispiritedly and muttered
among themselves at the awful price that they had paid for the hill.
When Don reached home late that evening the sound of cannon was still
ringing in his ears--indeed the guns did not cease firing until the
next afternoon. He told his aunt what he had seen, but omitted a good
deal out of sympathy for her feelings. But though Aunt Martha had not
seen so much as her nephew she seemed to know quite as much about what
had happened as he did; and all her anxiety, all her thoughts were for
her husband and for Glen Drake.
Almost all of the next day, which was Sunday, she spent in reading the
Bible; nor would she permit her nephew to stir from the house. “I want
you with me, Donald,” she said. “Something tells me that your uncle was
in the battle, and something tells me that everything did not go just
right.”
“But, Aunt Martha, you can’t be sure,” said Don. “I’m just going to
suppose that he was there and didn’t get a scratch.”
Although Aunt Martha did not reply her eyes said plainly that she
wished she could think as her nephew did.
To relieve the depressed and disgruntled Redcoats the Tories took upon
themselves the work of patrolling the streets at night. Every evening
forty-nine of them went on duty, and once Don saw Tom Bullard, dressed
in a green uniform, hurrying importantly along Cornhill apparently with
a message from his chief, General Ruggles. That was the same evening
after General Gage had issued another proclamation calling upon the
townspeople again to turn over to him any firearms that they still
possessed.
“Aunt Martha,” said Don, “you know there’s some powder among that stuff
in the cellar. Do you suppose we’d better turn that in?”
“No,” replied his aunt firmly. “Only to have the Redcoats use it
against our own men! Never! If the cellar were full of swords and
muskets, I’d not say a word about them to anyone who wears a red coat.
Maybe some day that powder will be useful in the hands of those who
really deserve it.”
It was now nearing the end of June, but not a word, not the slightest
hint concerning the fate of either David Hollis or Glen Drake had
reached Aunt Martha’s ears. Together Don and his aunt had visited the
hospitals where both Americans and British wounded soldiers were being
cared for; yet not a thing could they find out. Instead of feeling
encouraged, however, Aunt Martha became more and more worried, and
oddly enough Don soon began to feel much as she did.
One bit of information of quite a different sort did, however, seep
into the beleaguered town. Rumor had it that a valiant soldier from
Virginia--Col. George Washington--was coming to Cambridge to take
command of the entire Continental army. Don heard the news from Jud,
who in turn had heard it from a storekeeper in Orange Street.
“Col. George Washington--why, he was with Braddock and saved what
remained of the British army after the French and Indians had ambushed
them.” Don’s eyes were wide with admiration. “When’s he coming, Jud?
Say, he’s a great man!”
“He’s one of the finest soldiers there ever was,” said Jud. “He’ll make
things hum when he arrives. Give him an army and he won’t be long in
driving the Redcoats into the sea!”
“When’s he coming?” Don asked again.
“Oh, in a few days, so they say. I heard that he’s already on his way
and that Congress had made him commander-in-chief just a day or so
before the fight over Charlestown way.”
“I’d surely like to see him,” said Don. “Glen Drake knows him and has
fought beside him. He says he’s the finest looking man he ever saw.”
“Have you heard anything of Glen or your uncle?”
Don immediately became grave. “Not a word, Jud,” he replied.
The first two weeks in July came and passed, and it was known
definitely that General Washington had reached Cambridge and had taken
command of the army beneath a large spreading elm tree.
Still no word came concerning David Hollis. Aunt Martha went
mechanically about her housework and had got into the habit of reading
much and of talking little. Other people who had relatives in the
Continental army had managed to get word of them--somehow; but David
Hollis and his friend, the trapper,--it seemed at times almost as if
they never had existed.
The friendship between David and Jud seemed to grow stronger each day,
and the boys spent most of their time together. One evening, Jud, in
response to an invitation from Aunt Martha, came to spend the afternoon
and night at the house in Pudding Lane. The boys had intended to go
fishing that afternoon, but unfortunately rain began to fall around
noon and increased to a steady, violent downpour as the afternoon wore
on.
By five o’clock it was so dark that Aunt Martha had to light a candle
in order to see to read. Rain was still falling, and with it came a
heavy fog that swept like smoke through the narrow streets.
“It’s good we didn’t so fishing,” said Jud. “This is a regular
northeast storm. Probably it will last for two or three days.”
“Yes, and it’s growing cold,” said Aunt Martha. “Donald, I think we’d
better have a fire.”
Between the two of them the boys soon had a cheerful, crackling fire on
the hearth; and by the light of it Aunt Martha became more like her old
self. During supper she laughed frequently with the boys, especially
when Jud told of his many pets. And afterward she played fox and geese
with them. “I declare, Jud,” she said, “I’m glad you came.”
The evening passed swiftly and pleasantly, though outside the wind was
howling and sending the heavy drops of rain spattering against the
windows.
Don and Jud had finished their last game, and Aunt Martha was looking
at them inquiringly, when suddenly the knocker on the door rose and
fell.
“Oh!” cried Aunt Martha, startled.
“Now who can that be?” said Don and went to the door.
He opened it a crack and then stepped backward in astonishment as a man
pushed his way inside and hastily closed the door behind him.
“Glen--Glen!” cried Aunt Martha and fairly flew to meet the visitor.
Don was too much surprised to speak. He only looked on dumbly as the
old trapper caught his aunt’s hands and drew her swiftly into the
shadows away from the window.
“Glen,” said Aunt Martha, “only one thing could bring you
here--David----”
“Is well,” replied the trapper and sat down in one of the chairs. “He’s
been sick, Martha--he was wounded at Bunker’s Hill--but he’s doing
well. There’s no cause for worry.”
Aunt Martha drew a deep breath and sank into a chair beside him.
“Don, my boy, how are you?” asked Glen. “I see you’re taking good care
of your aunt. And this----” He glanced at Jud searchingly for a moment.
“This is Jud Appleton,” said Aunt Martha. “Don’s close companion and as
loyal as any of us.”
Jud winced under the trapper’s grip and from that moment would have
followed his lead anywhere.
“I told you he’d come if he wanted to,” whispered Don.
Though Glen was naturally a man of few words he did most of the talking
during the two hours that he remained at the house in Pudding Lane. He
had crossed from Cambridge under cover of rain and darkness and would
return the same way. David Hollis, he said, had received a ball through
the shoulder during the third assault of the Redcoats on the hill and
was now at Cambridge, where he would probably remain until he was fully
recovered; then he would rejoin his company.
Glen had had two reasons for coming, it seemed; one was to acquaint
Aunt Martha with the exact condition of her husband; the other was to
bring money, which both he and David Hollis feared she was sorely in
need of.
For perhaps half an hour he and Aunt Martha talked in low whispers.
Then he raised his voice and spoke of events that had happened
concerning the Continental army, and both boys bent forward eagerly to
listen.
“You boys just ought to see Cambridge,” he said. “Soldiers
everywhere--fine-looking fellows from up north, dark, handsome boys
from the South. I tell you it’s a sight to see them on parade. And
tents--hundreds of ’em of all sorts. Those of the Rhode Islanders are
all canvas, but the others--why, they’re part sailcloth and part wood,
and some are mostly mud and branches. And fortifications all over;
Boston Neck and Charlestown Neck are sealed tight, you might say.”
Glen paused and filled his pipe. “It’s a funny thing,” he continued;
“not many years ago the settlers faced their fortifications the
opposite way to protect their homes against the Injuns; now it’s an
enemy from the east they’ve got to protect themselves against.”
“And have you seen Colonel Washington?” asked Jud.
“Seen him! I should say so!” The old trapper’s face lighted up, and his
eyes gleamed in the shadows. “There’s not a better officer alive. He’s
what you call an officer and a gentleman, and he looks the part every
inch when he’s on his big horse. He wears a blue uniform faced with
buff and a black cockade in his hat--but you ought to see him. I’m no
hand at describing.”
Glen had another talk alone with Aunt Martha before he finally shook
everyone by the hand, bade them keep up their spirits and then,
muffling his face with the collar of his coat, slipped noiselessly out
into the night.
“Now, you boys, to bed with you,” said Aunt Martha. “And don’t lie
awake, talking.”
But her good advice was given in vain; the boys lay awake until long
into the night, talking of the wily old trapper who somehow had entered
the town right under the Redcoats’ nose without their knowing it.
“I told you he’d come if he wanted to,” Don repeated exultantly.
“Yes, and he’ll get back easily too,” said Jud. “I’d pity any Redcoat
who tried to stop him.”
“So would I,” said Don, thinking of how Glen had acted on the evening
when they had crossed the flats together and had met the British sentry.
“Are you boys asleep?” came the voice of Aunt Martha.
Only the echoes answered her question.