"Gage's men stormed the hill defenses at Boston last week, and carried them by assault," he said.
"The devil," said Will.
"And then what happened?" I asked, jumping from my chair.
"What could happen with a lot of yokels against regular troops, hey? What could happen? But," he added, and his eyes fairly flashed, "our boys made a fine stand, sir. Yes, sir, stood there on Bunker Hill 'till the last dram of powder was burned, and the scoundrels were running in and jabbing them with the bayonet. Yes, sir, by Gad, sir, they have the making of the finest men in them that ever stood up to be killed."
"I wish I had been there," said Will.
"Wish thunder!" roared Bullbeggor, half rising from his chair. "What's the use of wishing! Why don't you do something besides lying around here and wishing. Holy thunder! If I was your age I would have been there in the thick of it with our company of Prince George boys. Wish to thunder!" And the old soldier reached for the bottle.
"That is as may be," remarked Will, quietly, referring to the Major's imaginary military movements.
"Wish smoke and blazes!" growled the old fighter, putting down his empty glass. "If it wasn't for this settling in the bones and numbing of the joints, and having pains shooting all through me, to say nothing of a vertigris in the head when I stoop over, I'd have gone up there with the boys. As it is, I'll do what I can against that rascal Dunmore,—and stay here with Woodford toe do it."
"But give us the details of the Boston fight," I urged.
"That's all I know," he answered. "I met Booker riding an express to Richmond, and he told me just what I've told you. I think you and Will here would be welcome at Woodford's—if you don't want to go so far from home—and he will give you enough fighting before the year is out. But isn't that Berk Harrison's voice I hear? He's hand and glove with Phripps and Dunmore, and, perhaps, he would not care to hear my sentiments on the affairs of the day."