“It means that General Washington is preparing to drive out old Howe and his men,” Don replied confidently. Don was nearer right than his aunt supposed. The two following nights the bombardment was repeated; it seemed that every gun in all the forts, both friendly and hostile, was crashing forth and illuminating the sky every few seconds. And on the next morning, the fifth of March and the anniversary of the Boston Massacre, the whole town--and especially the British high-command--opened their eyes wide with amazement. Strong fortifications had sprung up, as if by magic, on Dorchester Heights. Grim black guns were pointing at the town; grim black guns threatened the British fleet, which lay at anchor out in the harbor. Later in the morning Jud came hurrying into Pudding Lane and entered the house; he was trembling with excitement. “The time’s come!” he cried. “Have you seen Dorchester Heights? The Redcoats have either got to attack the Heights the way they did Bunker’s Hill, or they’ve got to clear out. I hope they attack!” “Goodness!” exclaimed Aunt Martha. “It’s true,” declared Jud, “everything I’ve told you. The Tories are scared silly!” “Have you seen Tom Bullard?” asked Don. “Yes; I passed him on the way. He didn’t seem scared, though--maybe he’s just too stupid. He shook his fist at me, and he said, ‘You’d better keep away from Pudding Lane if you know what’s good for you.’” “What did he mean?” asked Aunt Martha. “Nothing, I guess,” said Don. “He likes to talk, that’s all.” Throughout the rest of the day the town was a place of keen excitement. Howe, it seems, had decided to accept Washington’s challenge and attack the Heights. He was a brave man, and his own honor as well as the honor of England was at stake; he did not mean to yield weakly to a band of “rebels.” He ordered twenty-four hundred men to embark at once in transports; under the command of Lord Percy, they were to land at Castle William, from which place they were to attack Dorchester Heights when night fell. Don and Jud saw the Redcoats assemble for the attack and then march off. They saw Hawkins, tall, erect, well-composed and confident; they saw Snell marching in another rank--and he seemed anything but confident. By noon virtually everyone in Boston and the vicinity expected to see a terrible battle. It seemed inevitable, for both sides were preparing for it. While the British were mustering for the attack on Dorchester Heights, Washington was preparing to attack the British lines in Boston. A fine detachment of four thousand troops were on parade in Cambridge; under the command of Generals Putnam, Greene and Sullivan they were all ready to embark in boats at the mouth of the river. And, as at Bunker Hill, people had taken up points of vantage on the tops of houses and on some of the near-by hills.