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.