The Road to Bunker Hill

“Cousin, I see no future for us in this place,” said Sally Rose bleakly.

She was sitting in the soft grass on the hill behind the Frog Pond, looking down the dusty street that led through the Port, straight to the wharves and warehouses along the river.

Kitty pulled herself up on her elbow and let her glance follow her cousin’s. There appeared to be as many white sails in the channel as usual, the same blue spring haze on the far shore, and the familiar curve of sky overhead. But the town below them, commonly bustling with life on a warm May afternoon, looked strangely deserted and still. A brown dog slept in the middle of High Street, and two old men hobbled past the Wolfe Tavern in the direction of Market Square. A farm cart ground its slow way towards Old Newbury, and a group of children ran hither and thither across the training green with laughter and shrill cries.

Kitty pulled a golden dandelion blossom from the grass and began to tear it apart in her fingers. “I think I see what you mean, Sally Rose,” she said. “It is dull here with no one to talk to but grown folk—and of course, the other girls. I never realized how many girls there are in town. There never seemed to be so many before. I never thought I bothered myself much about the lads, but what a difference it makes—now they are all gone away.”

“Gone, and not likely to return very soon, from what I hear,” said Sally Rose thoughtfully. “A few have come home, but mostly the older men with families, or the fainthearted ones. Last night I heard Uncle Moses telling Granny they plan to stay where they are and form a mighty army that will circle round like a wall of iron to keep the British penned in Boston.”

“Then there’s no knowing when they’ll be home,” answered Kitty. It made her uneasy to admit to herself, as she had been forced to do, that all her eagerness and anxiety were not for her long-time friend, Dick Moody, but for that other one, the thin lad from New Hampshire who had taken her father’s blunderbuss away.

“No knowing,” agreed Sally Rose. “Three weeks it’s been since Concord Fight, maybe more. More than a month since I’ve seen Gerry. I thought he might write to me, but he never has. Some of the Tory girls in Boston are very fair,” and she sighed. “I thought I might find someone to take his place, but I should have known I never could—here in this dull, stupid, country town.”

“You’re better off not seeing him, since he’s British,” said Kitty sharply. “I’m sure, most times, you’d find better lads than him, walking down Queen Street any day. But just now—well, you know where they’ve all gone. They’ve gone to fight for the rights of our colony, and you ought to be proud of them, Sally Rose.”

“Ummmm,” said Sally Rose, chewing a dandelion stem and then making up a face when its bitter white milk puckered her mouth. “Of course I’m proud of them. How old does one have to be before they’re an old maid, Kitty? It seems like I might be approaching the time.”

“Oh no,” cried Kitty. “We’re only sixteen. No one would think that of us—not for at least two years more!”

Sally Rose stood up and tossed her bright hair in the sun. “Two years isn’t long,” she said. “Well, you can sit here in the Port and wither if you want to, but I’ve got other fish in the pan.”

She started walking quickly in the direction of Granny Greenleaf’s weathered house.

Kitty watched her with apparent unconcern for as long as she could. Then she jumped to her feet and hurried after.

“Where are you going?” she panted.

Sally Rose smiled at her. “Why,” she said, “I think I’ll go back to my father’s house in Charlestown. If there’s a war in Boston, we’ll be in the midst of everything there. Why don’t you come along, Kit? Tom Trask may not be back this way, you know.”

Kitty felt her face turning hot and red, but she chose to ignore the last part of her cousin’s remark. “You can’t go to Charlestown,” she said. “Granny won’t let you go where there’s likely to be fighting. You know that as well as I.”

They had turned in at the front gate now, and were walking under the budded lilac bushes, Sally Rose in the lead, Kitty following breathless, a few steps behind.

“A fig for Granny!” cried Sally Rose. “I love her, of course, but she’s a timid old lady, fit only to huddle in the chimney corner. She doesn’t know what it’s like to be bold and daring—the way a girl has to be these days. Of course she won’t let me go, and so I shan’t ask her. She drove out to see Nancy Davis this afternoon. When she gets back at suppertime, I won’t be here. I’ll be halfway to Rowley—or further on.”

She opened the unlocked kitchen door and ran lightly up the back stairs to their chamber.

Kitty followed, a little more slowly. She sat down on the edge of the high four-poster and dangled her feet over the side; watched while Sally Rose gathered ribbons, laces, and a few toilet articles and tied them up in a shawl.

“It’s a long walk to Charlestown,” she said tartly.

“Not so far for a horse,” answered Sally Rose.

“You have a horse then?”

“I know where to borrow one. I know where I can borrow two. Uncle Moses Chase keeps half a dozen in his barn on the Old Newbury road, and he’s gone with Granny, so he won’t know if we take them. He won’t care, when he finds out. Why don’t you come with me, Kitty? We’ll have a gay time in Charlestown.”

Kitty shook her head, but without much conviction. “I couldn’t go behind Granny’s back,” she said.

Sally Rose smiled sweetly. “I’m sorry you feel so, Cousin. Perhaps I do wrong to make a jest of everything, but that is my way. Have you never thought, when you hear all these preparations for war, that there is work for us as well as for the lads? Who’s to cook and wash and sew for them, and bind up their wounds when the fighting is over? I’m going where I can be of use to my country. If you’re afraid to come with me—well, you can stay here and sleep in the sun by the Frog Pond every afternoon. You’ll surely be safe enough—unless a horsefly bites you, or the dry rot settles in.”

She took a quill pen and inkpot from the mantelpiece, sat down at the dressing table, and began to write.

Kitty jumped from the bed and took a few turns up and down the room.

“Do you really think we ought to go, Sally Rose?” she asked. “Do you think—we might be needed there?”

“I certainly do think so,” said Sally Rose. “Don’t bother to pack any clothes, Kit. At home in Charlestown I have more than enough for two.”

Under Sally Rose’s urging, Kitty opened a top drawer in the old mahogany chest and began slowly to sort out the few possessions she wanted to take with her, if she did go; an ivory comb, a pleated linen fichu, her mother’s cameo brooch. Her fingers flew faster every minute, as her heart warmed to the plan.

Her throat grew tight, and she felt tears of eagerness and excitement sting her eyelids. She was going to serve her country, like Tom and Johnny and Dick, and all the Newburyport lads, all the lads of the Bay Colony, and maybe other colonies, too. She was going to take part in a serious, and a mighty, and a very grown-up thing. Wars were history, and she was going to help make history. It had been done before by other girls who were just as young. She was glad, she thought, that she was to have a chance to do it in her time. Her heart stirred just as it did in church when one or another of the old warlike hymn tunes rose on the air.

“You’d better take a cloak, Kit, for it’ll grow cold after sundown, and we may ride late,” advised Sally Rose, pulling her own fleecy shawl from the carved old press. “Come, let’s be off to the wars in Boston!”

On her way to follow Sally Rose’s bidding, Kitty caught sight of her cousin’s note as it lay open on the dressing table.

Dear Granny, the note began, in dainty, pointed script, Forgive me for leaving you so suddenly, and practically forcing poor Kitty to go along. But I dare not travel by myself, and I find that a sudden yearning to see my father takes me....

Kitty stood still for a moment and almost gave up all idea of this desperate journey.

“We’ll have a gay time in Charlestown.” “I want to serve my country.” “A sudden yearning to see my father takes me.”

Sally Rose could give many reasons for what she wanted to do. And she would always give the ones most likely to get her what she wanted. And what was her true reason? No one knew except Sally Rose.

Nevertheless, Kitty found she did not turn back, but folded her cloak over her arm and hastened downstairs after her cousin. After all, what was her own reason for wanting to go to Charlestown? She did want to serve her country, but she was quick enough to see that she could serve it quite as well at home, if she had chosen so. But she had not so chosen. Was not she, Kitty, slyer, more secret and stubborn than Sally Rose in getting her own way?

It was black dark when they rode into Ipswich, very few lights in the town, and very few people still awake. The moon was hidden away behind the clouds somewhere, and a light mist had begun to fall.

“I hoped we could get as far as Beverly,” said Sally Rose, “but we’ve come only half the way. Uncle Moses said he had plenty of horses in his barn, but he didn’t say they were plow horses. Well, there’s a light in the tavern. I’ve stopped there before, and I know the landlord’s daughter. A pert, homely little wench, but I’m sure she’ll find us a bed.”

“I hope so,” said Kitty dubiously, climbing down from her horse and following her cousin up the wide stone steps and through the low front door.

The taproom smelled of cider and fish and the smoky wood fire burning on it blackened hearth. It was dimly lit and empty, except for three old men who sat at a table with glasses in front of them, and a sharp-faced, sallow girl polishing other glasses behind a narrow bar.

When Sally Rose walked across the uneven floor, her head up, her eyes shining in the candlelight, her hips swaying ever so slightly, the heads of the old men turned toward her as sunflowers turn to follow the golden light of day. Kitty walked demurely behind her, but nobody noticed Kitty.

“Nanny,” cried Sally Rose, putting out her hand to the girl eagerly, as if there was no one in the world she would be gladder to see than Ipswich Nan. “Nanny, we’re o’ertaken with darkness, and we need a bed for the night, my cousin and I.” She drew Kitty forward, and they stood together at the bar. “We’ll need supper, too, Nanny,” she said.

Nanny curtsied. “Yes, Miss Sally Rose,” she answered, beaming adoringly at the pretty, smiling face turned toward her. “The bed in the east chamber is aired and ready. Should I serve you there, or....” She glanced about the taproom.

Sally Rose began to pull off her embroidered gloves, put up a hand to pat her golden hair. “Oh—at that table by the fire, please. It was chilly, coming the last mile through the swamp willows, and with all the fog about.”

Nanny lighted a candle in a pewter holder and carried it to the table by the fire. “I’ll bring you supper right off, Miss Sally Rose. We got dandelion greens and a ham bone—”

Sally Rose made up a face. “Oh Nanny,” she pleaded, “you know my stomach’s delicate.”

Kitty clapped her hand over her mouth so that she would not giggle. Sally Rose had never been sick in her life, and could probably digest brass nails if she had to.

“Couldn’t you find a bit of chicken, Nanny?”

“Chicken I’ve not got,” answered Nanny. “But there’s a piece of spring lamb I just been a-roasting for the minister’s wife. She’s got Salem company coming tomorrow.”

“The lamb will do nicely,” said Sally Rose, sitting down at table.

“About our horses,” asked Kitty, taking the chair across from her cousin.

“Oh, of course. I’ll speak to one of the men and have them seen to. I noticed the landlord as I came in.”

They turned to look at the three men by the table. The men were all staring at them and talking together in low voices. One of them now rose and came forward. He wore a leather apron tied around his middle and walked with a decided limp.

“Job Townsend’s daughter, ain’t you?” he demanded of Sally Rose. “Visit kin in Newburyport on occasion?”

Sally Rose smiled and dimpled. “Why, how clever of you to remember me! Of course I’m Job Townsend’s daughter,” she said. “And I’m on my way home from Newburyport right now. I’ve often told my cousin Kitty here, about your tavern—there isn’t a better one in the whole of Essex County.”

Strangely enough, the landlord was not smiling at Sally Rose, and he ignored her compliment.

“We had a young fellow here a short time back. A young fellow who said he hung around the Bay and Beagle some.”

He waited, his face expressionless, for Sally Rose to speak. In the silence Kitty heard the rattle of dishes from the kitchen. She caught the delicious odor of roast meat, the tang of crushed mint leaves.

Sally Rose’s smile grew no whit dimmer. “We’ve many young fellows who hang around the Bay and Beagle,” she said. “My dad would go poor, if we didn’t. They keep the till full. Did he tell you his name?”

The landlord spoke accusingly. “He said his name was Gerry Malory. He said he was going to Newburyport to see a girl.”

Sally Rose shrugged her graceful shoulders. “Plenty of girls in Newburyport,” she said.

“Do you know this Gerry Malory?”

“I might,” she answered cautiously. “Was he a dockyard hand now, or maybe a farmer from Breed’s hill—”

“This one was took up for being a British officer,” said the landlord grimly. “Took up, right here in my tavern. Irons put on his wrists—part of an old ox chain I had—and he was took to the camp at Cambridge under guard. Likely they’ll hang the damn redcoat. I hope they do.”

Sally Rose’s smile looked a bit frozen, but it did not vanish away. There was a tremor in her voice, but she spoke imperiously still. “All very interesting, Landlord, but your daughter has undertaken to fetch us a supper of spring lamb. We are tired with long riding, and if you could ask her to be spry about it, we should be grateful. Our horses, also, are at your door and in need of attention.”

She sat down and turned her back upon him.

Kitty watched the lame man shake his head. Then he stumped off toward the kitchen. She looked again at her cousin, and Sally Rose’s eyes were shining with more than the candlelight.

“He was coming to see me,” she murmured happily. “Gerry was coming to see me when they caught him.”

Kitty felt her face twist in a frown and spoke her disapproval. “Which he shouldn’t have been doing, of course. He belongs with the other British in Boston. Well, he’s got himself in trouble now. A prisoner of our men, and the landlord talked of hanging. Aren’t you worried about him?”

Sally Rose took off her bonnet and shook back her shining hair. “Not a little finger’s worth,” she said. “They won’t hold him long. He can come and go like a breath of east wind, Gerry can. My, oh my”—and she patted the front of her muslin gown—“I’m so hungry. I wish Nanny would hurry and bring that spring lamb!”

Twenty-four hours later they were hungry again, much hungrier, and very tired. But they were riding down Crooked Lane in Charlestown, with the Bay and Beagle almost in sight, and over the river the lights of Boston.

“My, it’s been a tiresome day,” sighed Sally Rose. “Losing my purse, horse going lame, taking the wrong turn in Danvers—I don’t see how I could have been so stupid as to do that.”

“The black flies were the worst,” complained Kitty. “I’m bitten in a dozen places, I vow. And I don’t dare scratch the bites, for if I do, I’ll look as if I had smallpox.”

She thought back over their long day’s riding: village greens with white steeples—Wenham, Beverly, Salem; long stretches of salt marsh with the sea beyond it; then Lynn and Malden, as the towns drew closer in. It was already night when they came to Medford, and there a constable had ridden with them through town, straight to the Penny Ferry. Part of the great New England Army was camped on the hills about and overflowing the streets and taverns, he said, and he feared for the safety of young maids abroad so late. What were their folks thinking of, anyway?

For once Sally Rose had been too tired to be charming. She bowed her head meekly and accepted his rebuke. But her spirits rose as they left river and causeway behind them and took a field path so as not to have to pass the Sign of the Sun tavern where there were apt to be British officers about.

“My, but Daddy will be surprised,” she said. “I want a glass of Spanish wine and a meat pasty. And then, bed! Oh Kitty, think what it’ll be like to have a featherbed under us again! I swear, I’ll roll and wallow in it! Why—why here we are, and there aren’t any lights in the windows!”

They drew up their horses uncertainly in the deserted street. All the houses were dark around them, and the cloudy sky was dark overhead. A lantern burned at the top of a pole a little way off, so that Kitty could make out the weathered sign before her uncle’s tavern, the wooden profile of a tall bay horse pawing the air, and at his feet a trim, alert hunting dog. But as Sally Rose said, the diamond-shaped panes were dark. Peering closer, however, she noticed some letters traced in whitewash on the iron-bound door.

“Look, Sally Rose, there’s a sign, but I can’t read it,” she said.

They got down from their horses and walked closer. “Neither can I,” said Sally Rose. She tried the door. It was locked tight.

“I know how to climb in by the buttery window,” she murmured, for once a little crestfallen, “but I still want to know what is written on the door. I wonder where Father can be. He always keeps late closing time.”

She stood irresolute a moment. Then she drew a quick breath as if something pleased her, and ran down the street to the lantern swinging on its pole. Reaching, stretching, pulling herself up, she managed to lift it down and hurry back, holding it proudly aloft, flashing it on the paneled door.

In the light that flared uncertainly behind the thin panes of horn, the two cousins bent close and read aloud the words, “Closed. Gone to the wars till the damn British be beat. J. Townsend.”

They stood still and looked at each other. A salt-smelling wind blew down the old street, and a wisp of fog came with it. Fog was dimming the lights of Boston, that even now, close to midnight, still burned on the other side of the river. The lights looked unfriendly, Kitty thought, as she remembered that Boston was in the hands of the enemy. Down by the wharves men were shouting and the shouts had an angry sound. A burst of musket fire broke out, somewhere off Medford way. The girls looked at each other and shivered. They were hungry and tired and fly-bitten. They were a little frightened, maybe.

“What will we do now?” asked Kitty. The tone reminded Sally Rose that she was to blame for the plight they were in, even if the words did not.

“I—don’t—quite know,” faltered Sally Rose. “We can get into the house. We’ll have a roof over our heads, and a bed to sleep in. Maybe there’s something to eat in the cupboard. We’ll be safe for tonight. But it’s after that I’m thinking of. We can’t run the tavern alone, without father, and how are we to live if we cannot run the tavern?”

“We could send for Gran,” said Kitty a little mockingly. “Of course she’s a timid old lady, but I notice she’s able to do most everything that comes her way. I’ll bet she’d be able to serve up cider, or rum toddy, or hot grog—or whatever it is they drink.”

Suddenly Sally Rose was smiling again. “Kitty, that’s a wonderful plan. Let’s climb into the house now, and have supper, and sleep forever. When we wake up we’ll send her a letter by the first post. The buttery window’s around here at the back, under the apple tree. Come along. I can unfasten the catch, but you’ll have to hoist me in.”