“We been long enough getting here,” said Tom Trask, as he dragged the prow of a small rowboat up the shaly beach. “Are you sure this be Charlestown Neck, Johnny?”
Tugging away at the other side of the boat, Johnny Pettengall answered him. “Charlestown, sure enough. Hold on. Give me your hand. I got my foot caught in a patch of eel grass or summ’at like.”
Tom did as he was bidden, and in a moment the two were climbing up a steep bank into the hayfield above. Just to their left loomed a low hill, sharp on its eastern side. A taller, more gently rounded hill stood up behind it, and through the thick, fragrant grass around them a rail fence wound away toward higher ground. Tom could see no lighted windows anywhere.
“You ever been here before?” he asked doubtfully.
“No,” said Johnny, “but I come by here yesterday when I was aboard our sloop that went up to the Penny Ferry to meet the supply carts from the eastward. I had it pointed out to me. This is Breed’s Hill just ahead of us, and Bunker Hill’s behind.”
“Charlestown’s said to be a village,” Tom continued to object. “I can see orchards, and what looks like a brick kiln over there, and by the smell there’s clay pits somewhere about. But I don’t see any houses at all.”
“Town’s the other side of the hill,” Johnny reassured him. “Come on. We got to get to the Bay and Beagle before Ma’am Greenleaf locks up for the night.”
Uncertain and on his guard, Tom followed his companion up the slope through the firefly-studded grass. More than a week now, he and the Newburyport lad had been sleeping at night with their feet toward the same campfire—when they did sleep—sharing the same ration of salt pork and corn meal. He had not gone back to Medford after they burned the Diana, for he and Johnny kept telling themselves that they would borrow a boat and row over to Charlestown to see the girls, but not until tonight had they been able to get away. They had not wasted their time, though. They had gone with the raiding parties that constantly scoured the islands all the way from Chelsea Neck to the deep sea. They had helped to burn Tory barns and steal Tory cattle. Tom felt he could give a good account of himself when he got back to his own company, but he was not so sure Captain Moore would consider it a good account. He was even more dubious about the attitude of the Colonel, his old friend, Johnny Stark. That they were old friends wouldn’t make any difference at all, when there was business in hand.
Yes, tonight after he’d seen Miss Kitty again and stolen a kiss or two, he thought he’d better make for Medford, with or without young Pettengall. Maybe he’d better ask now just what his companion intended to do.
At that moment they reached the crest of Breed’s Hill and paused to look down.