“It has been a week since I passed through the rebel lines,” said the officer. “I was in disguise,” in a tone of great disgust. “Much rather would I have been in full uniform, and at the head of two regiments of hardy fellows.” Then in another tone, “But what news?”
“The papers, I should think,” and Ezra nodded toward Abdallah, “would tell you everything.”
“Everything of this nature,” and the burly speaker gestured about him in great contempt. “But I want to have as little to do with spying and ferreting as possible. What I want to know is: what has General Gage done to break the preposterous condition at Boston, that the rebels call a siege?”
“Nothing, sir,” replied the boy.
The great, red face grew grim, and the heavy round head wagged from side to side.
“British prestige will suffer for this,” said the major, solemnly. “It will suffer the world over.” Then with a tightening of his jaws, “Come, then, tell me what the rebels have done. I’ll warrant they have been active enough.”
Ezra smiled.
“You are right in that,” said he. “Never were men more busy before. Not a day goes by but that something is done. Earthworks are thrown up, companies are enlisted, stores are gathered, noted men of the colonial wars are offering their swords and their experience.”
This last caused Major Buckstone to grow grimmer than ever.
“And tough fighters, those same rascals are,” said he. “I’ve fought shoulder to shoulder with them, and I know their mettle.”