It was only too true, for the gallant Americans had used most of their ammunition. They met the attack bravely, and then the fire from the fort suddenly slackened. In a few minutes the regulars were at the walls. Then a great cloud of dust rose above the works as the defenders reluctantly gave way. The British, who were on three sides of the redoubt, rushed forward and, swarming over the walls, sent up a great cheer, which came faintly across the water. Then they opened fire on the retreating Continentals. The boys could see little groups of soldiers beyond on the slopes of Bunker Hill, but by now the dust was so thick that they could hardly distinguish which side the men belonged to. Intermittent firing continued for some time, and the warm air was saturated with the pungent odor of powder. “Victory for the Redcoats,” said Jud in a choking voice, and Don nodded in agreement. There was such a lump in his throat that he would not trust himself to speak. “Well, maybe,” said Short, “but I’m a-thinking it’s a pretty costly victory for old King George.” And so it proved to be. The town of Boston wore a gloomy aspect during the next few days. The King’s troops, who had looked so fine on parade on the morning of the battle, went about dispiritedly and muttered among themselves at the awful price that they had paid for the hill. When Don reached home late that evening the sound of cannon was still ringing in his ears--indeed the guns did not cease firing until the next afternoon. He told his aunt what he had seen, but omitted a good deal out of sympathy for her feelings. But though Aunt Martha had not seen so much as her nephew she seemed to know quite as much about what had happened as he did; and all her anxiety, all her thoughts were for her husband and for Glen Drake. Almost all of the next day, which was Sunday, she spent in reading the Bible; nor would she permit her nephew to stir from the house. “I want you with me, Donald,” she said. “Something tells me that your uncle was in the battle, and something tells me that everything did not go just right.” “But, Aunt Martha, you can’t be sure,” said Don. “I’m just going to suppose that he was there and didn’t get a scratch.” Although Aunt Martha did not reply her eyes said plainly that she wished she could think as her nephew did. To relieve the depressed and disgruntled Redcoats the Tories took upon themselves the work of patrolling the streets at night. Every evening forty-nine of them went on duty, and once Don saw Tom Bullard, dressed in a green uniform, hurrying importantly along Cornhill apparently with a message from his chief, General Ruggles. That was the same evening after General Gage had issued another proclamation calling upon the townspeople again to turn over to him any firearms that they still possessed. “Aunt Martha,” said Don, “you know there’s some powder among that stuff in the cellar. Do you suppose we’d better turn that in?”