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.