THE ROAD TO BUNKER HILL _Books by_ SHIRLEY BARKER _For Younger Readers_ THE TROJAN HORSE THE ROAD TO BUNKER HILL _Poetry_ THE DARK HILLS UNDER A LAND AND A PEOPLE _Novels_ PEACE, MY DAUGHTERS RIVERS PARTING FIRE AND THE HAMMER TOMORROW THE NEW MOON LIZA BOWE SWEAR BY APOLLO THE LAST GENTLEMAN CORNER OF THE MOON SHIRLEY BARKER The Road to Bunker Hill DUELL, SLOAN AND PEARCE New York Copyright © 1962 by Shirley Barker All rights reserved. No part of this book in excess of five hundred words may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher. _First edition_ [Illustration] _Affiliate of_ MEREDITH PRESS _Des Moines & New York_ Library of Congress Catalogue Card Number: 62-12175 Manufactured in the United States of America for Meredith Press Van Rees Press · New York _For_ ESTHER DOANE OSMAN _Contents_ 1. A Night to Be Young 3 2. In Readiness to March 13 3. Two to Begin 23 4. The Courage to Go and the Feet to Get Him There 33 5. The Great Ipswich Fright 42 6. Fun While It Lasted 53 7. Off to the Wars in Boston 63 8. Saved by a Pipe-smoking Man 75 9. No Clouds on Bunker Hill 87 10. A Tryst with the Enemy 101 11. A Great Secret 113 12. Thunder in the Air 125 13. The World Turned Upside Down 136 14. The Young May Die 147 15. A Terrible Black Day 160 16. Hanging and Wiving 170 THE ROAD TO BUNKER HILL _Chapter One_ A NIGHT TO BE YOUNG “Nothing ever happens in this town,” said Eben Poore, dangling his long legs over the edge of the wharf, and looking down river to the open sea. The sky was pale, almost white above the long sand bar of Plum Island, he noticed, but the streets were growing dark behind him, and twilight had begun to gather round the warehouses and tall-masted ships by the waterside. “No,” agreed Dick Moody, “nothing ever happens in Newburyport. Wish we could have a ‘tea party’ like they had in Boston a spell back. I’d sure enough be glad to rig up like an Indian and heave a chest of bohea overside.” “I guess all the merchants know better than to bring it in,” said Johnny Pettengall. “Nobody’d drink the stuff. We got no name o’ being a Tory town.” Johnny was older than the other boys, seventeen past. He had his own gun and drilled with the militia on muster days. “But something has happened in Newburyport,” he went on, “though I don’t suppose it would mean very much to either o’ you.”