"I'll stir the Yankee blood before night, just as I stir this brandy,"

said Pitcairn, stirring the spirit in his tumbler with his finger.

A party of British crossed the south bridge, made their way to Colonel Barrett's house, and burned the cannon carriages stored in his barn.

Roger was glad to see Captain Isaac Davis and the minute-men of Acton march up the hill to join them. Captain Davis was thirty years old. He had kissed his young wife and four children good-by.

"Take good care of the children, Hannah," he said as he bade her farewell.

Twice a week he had drilled his company. He was brave, resolute, kind-hearted. His men loved him because he demanded strict obedience.

They had stopped long enough at his home for his young wife to powder their hair, that they might appear neat and trim like gentlemen when meeting the British. They were thirty-five, all told. Keeping step to Luther Blanchard's fifing of the White c.o.c.kade, and Francis Barker's drumming, they marched past the men from Concord and formed on their left.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE WHITE c.o.c.kADE.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: WRIGHT'S TAVERN]

"Order arms!" They rested their muskets on the ground and wiped the perspiration from their foreheads.

Men from Westford, Lincoln, and Carlisle are arriving. They are four hundred now. The officers stand apart, talking in low tones. The redcoats had crossed the bridge to the western bank.

"Let us drive the redcoats across the river," said Captain Smith.

"I haven't a man that is afraid," said Captain Davis.

He was heavy-hearted in the early morning when he kissed the young wife and took the baby from the cradle in his arms, but is resolute now.

"Attention, battalion! Trail arms! Left in front! March!" Luther Blanchard pipes the tune, and the battalion--the men of Acton leading--descends the hill.

The redcoats had recrossed the river and were taking up the planks of the bridge. A moment later muskets flash beneath the elms, and maples along the farthest bank and there is a whistling of bullets in the air. Roger's heart is in his throat, but he gulps it down. Another volley, and Captain Davis, Abner Hosmer, and Luther Blanchard reel to the ground. Never again will Hannah receive a parting kiss, or the father caress the baby crooning in the cradle.[61]

[Footnote 61: "The fire soon began from a dropping shot on our side, when they and the front company fired almost at the same instant."

"Diary of a British Officer," _Atlantic Monthly_, April, 1877.]

"Fire! For G.o.d's sake, fire!" shouts Major b.u.t.trick. Roger c.o.c.ks his gun, takes aim at the line of scarlet beneath the trees and pulls the trigger. Through the smoke he sees men throw up their arms and tumble to the ground. The scarlet line dissolves, the soldiers fleeing in confusion. No longer is Roger's heart in his throat. His nerves are iron and the hot blood is coursing through his veins. King George has begun the war; no longer is he his subject, but a rebel, never more to owe him allegiance.

The forenoon wore away. The British were returning from Colonel Barrett's, having destroyed the cannon carriages, thrown some bullets into a well, and broken open several barrels of flour. It was past noon when they formed in line once more to return to Boston.

"We will head them off at Merriam's Corner," said Colonel Barrett.

The planks which the British had removed from the bridge were quickly replaced. The minute-men crossed the stream, turned into a field to the left, and hastened over the meadow to the road leading to Bedford.

It was past three o'clock when they reached Mr. Merriam's house. Roger saw the British marching down the road. Suddenly a platoon wheeled towards the minute-men and brought their guns to a level. There was a flash, a white cloud, and bullets whistled over their heads. Once more he took aim, as did others, and several redcoats fell. Before he could reload, the serried ranks disappeared, marching rapidly towards Lexington. The minute-men hastened on, and at the tavern of Mr. Brooks he sent another bullet into the ranks of the retreating foe.[62]

[Footnote 62: "We set out upon our return. Before the whole had quitted the town we were fired on from houses and behind trees, and before we had gone half a mile we were fired on from all sides, but mostly from the rear, where the people had hid themselves in houses till we pa.s.sed." "Diary of a British Officer," _Atlantic Monthly_, April, 1877.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: NORTH BRIDGE The minute-men stood under the trees at the right; the British, the other side of the river]

"Scatter now! Get upon their flank! Pepper 'em from behind walls and trees!" shouted Colonel Barrett, who saw that it would be useless to follow the retreating enemy in battalion order, but each man, acting for himself, could run through fields and pastures and keep up a tormenting fire.

Acting upon the order, Roger and James Heywood ran through a piece of woods towards Fiske Hill. They came upon a British soldier drinking at a well by a house.

"You are a dead man," shouted the redcoat, raising his gun.

"So are you," said Heywood. Their muskets flashed and both fell, the Britisher with a bullet through his heart, and Heywood mortally wounded.

From rock heap, tree, fence, and thicket the guns of the minute-men were flashing. The soldiers who had marched so proudly, keeping step to the drumbeat in the morning, were running now. No hurrah went up as at sunrise on Lexington Common. There was no halting at Buckman's tavern, where they had fired their first volley. Their ranks were in confusion. Officers were trying to rally them, threatening to cut them down with their swords if they did not show a bold front to the minute-men, but the Yankees seemed to be everywhere and yet nowhere.

Bullets were coming from every direction, yet the British could see no men in line, no ranks at which they could take aim or charge with the bayonet. They were still twelve miles from Boston, and their ammunition failing. They were worn and weary with the all-night march, and were hungry and thirsty. The road was strewn with their fallen comrades. The wounded were increasing in number, impeding their retreat. Their ranks were broken. All was confusion. Every moment some one was falling.[63] Blessed the sight that greeted them,--the brigade of Earl Percy, drawn up in hollow square by Mr. Munroe's tavern, with two cannon upon the hillocks by the roadside. They rushed into the square and dropped upon the ground, panting and exhausted with their rapid retreat.

[Footnote 63: "They were so concealed there was hardly any seeing them. In this way we marched between nine and ten miles, their numbers increasing from all parts, while ours was reducing by deaths, wounds, and fatigue, and we were totally surrounded with such an incessant fire as it is impossible to conceive. Our ammunition was likewise near expended." "Diary of a British Officer," _Atlantic Monthly_, April, 1877.]

Roger halted a few minutes on Lexington Green, where the conflict began in the morning. He saw the ground stained with the blood of those who had fallen,--crossed the threshold where Jonathan Harrington had died in the arms of his wife. Across the Common the house and barn of Joseph Loring were in flames, set on fire by the British.

Earl Percy's troops were ransacking the houses a little farther down the road. In Mr. Munroe's tavern they were compelling old John Raymond to bring them food, and because he could not give them what they wanted, sent a bullet through his heart.[64]

[Footnote 64: "We marched pretty quiet for about two miles, when they began to pepper us again. We were now obliged to force almost every house in the road, for the rebels had taken possession of them and galled us exceedingly; but they suffered for their temerity, _for all that were found in the houses were put to death._" "Diary of a British Officer," _Atlantic Monthly_, April, 1877.

Earl Percy made the tavern of Mr. Munroe his headquarters.

"A party entered the tavern and, helping themselves, or rather compelling the inmates of the house to help them to whatever they wanted, they treacherously and with ruthlessness shot down John Raymond, an infirm old man, only because he, alarmed at this roughness and brutal conduct, was about leaving the house to seek a place of greater safety." Hudson's _Hist. of Lexington_.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: MERRIAM'S CORNER]

Once more the British were on the march.

Roger, rested and invigorated, ran through a pasture, crouched behind a bowlder, rested his gun upon it, and sent a bullet into the ranks.

He was delighted when Doctor Joseph Warren came galloping over the hill. The doctor said he left Boston in the morning, rode to Cambridge and Watertown, then hastened on to Lexington. He was glad the minute-men and militia had resisted the British. While talking with Roger and those around him, a bullet whizzed past the doctor's head, knocking a pin from his ear-lock.

The rattling fire of the minute-men was increasing once more,--answered by volleys from Percy's platoons. The British, smarting under the tormenting fusilade, angry over the thought that they were being a.s.sailed by a rabble of farmers and were on the defensive, became wanton and barbaric, pillaging houses, and murdering inoffensive old men.

Roger was delighted to hear from Jonathan Loring, one of the Lexington minute-men, how his sister Lydia, fearing that the British would steal the communion cups and platters belonging to the church of which her father was deacon, took them in her ap.r.o.n, ran out into the orchard, and hid them under a pile of brush.

Pitiful it was to see Widow Mulliken's house in flames,--wantonly set on fire by the red-coated ruffians.

Roger saw a soldier deliberately raise his gun, take aim, and send a bullet through the heart of Jason Russel, an old gray-haired man, standing in his own door. Again, at closer range, he took aim at the retreating column.

His indignation was aroused as he listened to the story told by Hannah Adams, a few minutes later. She was in bed in her chamber, with a new-born babe at her breast, when two redcoats entered the room. One pointed his musket at her.

"For the Lord's sake, do not kill me," she said.

"I am going to shoot you," the soldier replied, with an oath.

"No, you mustn't shoot a woman," said the other, pushing aside the gun, "but we are going to set the house on fire, and you must get out."

With the babe in her arms, she crawled downstairs and into the yard.

The soldiers scattered the coals from the fireplace around the room, and left, but the older children ran in and put out the flames.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MUNROE TAVERN Lord Percy's headquarters]