Part 37 (1/2)

John Hanc.o.c.k and Samuel Adams hear the drumbeat; Hanc.o.c.k seizes his gun.

”This is no place for you; you must go to a place of safety,” said Reverend Mr. Clark.

”Never will I turn my back to the redcoats,” said Hanc.o.c.k.

”The country will need your counsels. Others must meet the enemy face to face,” was the calm, wise reply of the patriotic minister.

Other friends expostulate; they cross the road and enter a thick wood crowning the hill.

”Stand your ground. If war is to come, let it begin here. Don't fire till you are fired upon,” said Captain John Parker, walking along the lines of his company.

The sun is just rising. Its level beams glint from the brightly polished gun-barrels and bayonets of the light infantry of King George, as the battalion under Major Pitcairn marches towards Lexington meetinghouse. The trees above them have put forth their tender leaves. The rising sun, the green foliage, the white cross-belts, the s.h.i.+ning buckles, the scarlet coats of the soldiers, and the farmers standing in line, firmly grasping their muskets, make up the picture of the morning.

Major Pitcairn, sitting in his saddle, beholds the line of minute-men, rebels in arms against the sovereign, formed in line to dispute his way. What right have they to be standing there? King George is supreme!

”Disperse, you rebels! Lay down your arms and disperse!” he shouts.

Captain John Parker hears it. The men behind him, citizens in their everyday clothes, with powder-horns slung under their right arms, hear it, but stand firm and resolute in their places. They see the Britisher raise his arm; his pistol flashes. Instantly the front platoon of redcoats raise their muskets. A volley rends the air. Not a man has been injured. Another volley, and a half dozen are reeling to the ground. John Munroe, Jonas Parker, and their comrades bring their muskets to a level and pull the triggers. With the beams of the rising sun falling on their faces, they accept the conflict with arbitrary power.

”What a glorious morning is this!” the exclamation of Samuel Adams on yonder hill.

[Ill.u.s.tration: JONATHAN HARRINGTON'S HOUSE Jonathan Harrington was wounded where the stone now stands, and fell dead at the doorstep of his house]

Seven minute-men have been killed, nine wounded. Captain Parker sees that it is useless for his little handful of men to contend with a force ten times larger, and orders them to disperse.

The redcoats look down exultantly upon the dying and the dead, give a hurrah, and shoot at the fleeing rebels.[60]

[Footnote 60: ”We then formed on the Common, but with some difficulty.

The men were so wild they could hear no orders. We waited a considerable time, and at length proceeded on our way to Concord, which we then learned was our destination.” ”Diary of a British Officer,” _Atlantic Monthly_, April, 1877.]

Jonas Parker will not run.

”Others may do as they will, I never will turn my back to a redcoat,”

he said a few minutes ago. He is on his knees now, wounded, but reloading his gun. The charge is rammed home, the priming in the pan, but his strength is going; his arms are weary; his hands feeble. The redcoats rush upon him, and a bayonet pierces his breast. He dies where he fell.

With the blood spurting from his breast, Jonathan Harrington staggers towards his home. His loving wife is standing in the doorway. He reaches out his arms to her, and falls dead at her feet.

Caleb Harrington falls by the meetinghouse step. A ball plows through the arm of John Comee, by Mr. Munroe's doorway.

The Britishers are wild with excitement, and remorselessly take aim at the fleeing provincials. They have conquered and dispersed the rebels.

Colonel Smith joins Major Pitcairn, and, glorying over the easy victory, they swing their hats, hurrah for King George, and march on towards Concord.

XVII.

BEGINNING OF A NEW ERA.

Roger Stanley, asleep in the old farmhouse on the banks of Concord River, was aroused from slumber by his mother.