“Wait until you hear Deb. The battle of Lexington has made every man brave. Thousands of men joined the army at once and rushed on to Boston. They’ll drive every Britisher into the harbor!” Jack’s voice shook with excitement, “Yes; every King’s dog of them shall die. But”—his eagerness waned—“there has been another battle since. The report of our men winning at Bunker Hill was wrong. But it was a glorious fight. On, on came the British with bayonets pointed, not one of our men flinched; when they came near enough they gave them volley upon volley. I tell you, Deb, every rusty gun spoke true that day!”
“Oh!” gasped the girl, “oh! if I were only a boy. Go on, Jack, go on!”
“Well, they fought until their powder was all gone. Not a man fled; when they could fire no more they used their guns for clubs, and rushed upon the foe!”
Jack’s tones grew shriller as his feelings rose. “They were driven back, but they fought as they went, and they died with their faces toward the enemy!”
“All of them?” panted Debby.
“No.” Jack half moaned, “they are behind entrenchments at Prospect Hill. They have been there all Summer, but Deb, George Washington has been made General of the army, and he’s coming to get our men out!”
“George Washington?” cried Debby, “why Mrs. Lane says he is the worst man she knows. I heard her tell Mistress Knowles.”
Jack laughed, “Wait, lass, he’ll drive the British before him. Elder Morris has had a letter from Abner Andrews. ’Twas a wonderful letter. I listened at the door to hear it read when they thought I was feeding the cattle.”
“Why, Jack.” Debby interrupted, “Abner Andrews went away when father went; does he—speak—of—father?” The question came slowly, it seemed to mean life or death to her. In the twilight Debby saw the excitement and flush die from Jack’s face.
“Tell me everything, Jack Martin,” she groaned, “don’t you hide a single thing.”