Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10 "It was two months after Lexington and Concord — June 1775," Paul began. Almost exactly one year ago. "I marched from Connecticut to Boston with about twenty other men from my town. It took a week — a hundred miles. My feet nearly fell off." They joined about two thousand other American soldiers camped outside Boston.

Boston was the headquarters for the British army in America, Paul explained. There were six thousand Redcoats stationed there, and they'd taken over the city. "The people of Boston were like prisoners. British soldiers moved into any house they wanted. There wasn't enough food. Shops were shut down. It was so bad. We had to do something to get the British out." There was no American army yet. But each town in the colonies had a militia — a small group of volunteer fighters. Few of those men had ever fought in a war before. "We were all just regular fellows — farmers, bakers, shopkeepers, shoemakers, sailors. Some of us didn't even know how to shoot." And this ragtag group was about to battle the most powerful army in the world. Paul and the other men knew all about the Redcoats. They were experienced fighters.

The British carried modern muskets. And their muskets had extra killing power — a sharp sword attached to the end — a bayonet. "We heard that the British shoot first. And if you don't die from a musket ball to your gut, they'll finish you off with a quick stab in the heart with a bayonet." Nate flinched. The night before the battle, the Americans had been warned that thousands of British troops were on their way. Paul spent the night frantically helping to build fortifications — dirt walls and ditches that could protect them from musket fire. "We worked all night," he said. And then, just after dawn, the British attacked. "We could hear them before we could see them," Paul said. "Their battle drums make a terrible sound." Paul leaned forward. His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "RAT, tat, tat, tat, tat.

RAT, tat, tat, tat, tat. RAT, tat, tat, tat, tat." The hairs on the back of Nate's neck stood up. "Then came the cannon explosions. British warships had sailed into the river below us, and were blasting us nonstop with cannonballs." "I was in one of the ditches — a trench. Somehow a big rock had gotten into my boot. I bent down to get it out. And the second I lowered my head, something huge went screaming over it." "A cannonball?" Nate gasped. "At least a twenty-pounder," Paul said. "It knocked my hat off. It could have taken off my head!" He patted the ugly green hat next to him. "I always knew this was my lucky hat. I never go anywhere without it." Paul took a deep breath. "I was terrified. I just wanted to run away." "But you didn't run," Nate guessed.

"No," Paul said. "It's amazing that none of us did. "We were high up on that hill," Paul went on. "That's always where you want to be in a battle. On the high ground. It's easier to knock out your enemies when they're coming up a hill. And we were dug in — protected by our dirt walls and trenches. "The drums got louder." The British army finally appeared — four thousand Redcoat soldiers, marching in endless lines. They started up the hill. "But we didn't shoot. Our plan was to wait until the British were close — close enough to see their eyes. And then we'd all shoot at once." The British came closer, and closer. Finally the order came. "Fire!" KI-crack! KI-crack! KI-crack! KI-crack! Thousands of musket balls flew through the air.

"Hundreds of Redcoats fell. We Americans ducked behind our defenses and reloaded. Then we fired again." KI-crack! KI-crack! KI-crack! KI-crack! "The Redcoats sent up three waves of soldiers. And then the battle was over." Paul took a deep breath, like he'd been running. Nate's own heart was pounding. It took him a moment to remember that they weren't on that bloody hill outside Boston. They were in New York City, sitting together in the grass. "So you won the battle?" Nate asked excitedly. "No," Paul said. "You lost?" Nate asked, confused. "Not really. We ran out of gunpowder. We had to retreat — escape down the back end of the hill. We didn't free Boston. So no. We definitely didn't win. "But we didn't lose, either. More than a thousand Redcoats were killed or hurt that day.