Part 37 (2/2)

”Roger! Roger! the meetinghouse bell is ringing!” she shouted up the stairs to him.

With a bound he was on his feet, raised the window and heard the sweet-toned bell. He understood its meaning, that the redcoats were coming. Quickly putting on his clothes, he seized the powder-horn and bullet-pouch which his father carried at Louisburg.

”You must eat something, Roger, before you go,” said his mother.

A moment later and his breakfast was on the table, bread and b.u.t.ter, a slice of cold beef, a mug of cider.

”There's no knowing when I shall be back, mother, for if the war has begun, as I fear it has, I shall be in the ranks till the last redcoat is driven from the country.”

”I know it, Roger. Your father would have done just what you are doing. I know you'll do your duty. You won't show the white feather.

Here's some lunch for you,” she said, putting a package into his knapsack.

”Good-by.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: ROBERT MUNROE'S HOUSE Joseph Comee, a minute-man, was wounded at the doorway]

Her arms were about his neck; tears were on her cheeks as she kissed his lips.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Route of the British to Concord.]

He ran across the meadow to the village. The minute-men and militia were gathering. In the stillness of the morning they could hear the report of guns far away, and knew that they of Sudbury and Acton were hearing the alarm. People were hurrying to and fro in the village, loading barrels of flour into carts, removing the supplies purchased by the Committee of Safety. Reverend Mr. Emerson was there with his gun and powder-horn. Many times Roger had listened to his preaching.

It was gratifying to see him ready to stand in the ranks with his paris.h.i.+oners. He told the women not to be frightened, and smiled upon the boys who took off their hats, and the girls who courtesied to him.

They heard, far away, the drumbeat of the advancing British.

No messengers had arrived to inform the minute-men of Concord what had happened at Lexington; for Doctor Prescott did not know that British muskets had fired a fatal volley.

From the burial ground Roger could look far down the road and see the sunlight glinting from the bayonets of the grenadiers, as the red-coated platoons emerged from the woodland into the open highway.

Major b.u.t.trick with the minute-men and Colonel Barrett with the militia formed in line by the liberty pole.

”Prime and load!” his order.

Roger poured the powder into the palm of his hand, emptied it into the gun, and rammed it home with a ball. Never had he experienced such a sensation as at the moment. He was not doing it to take aim at a deer or fox, but to send it through the heart of a fellow-being if need be; to maintain justice and liberty. He could die in their defense; why should it trouble him, then, to think of shooting those who were a.s.sailing what he held so dear?

”I am doing right. Liberty shall live, cost what it may,” he said to himself as he poured the priming into the pan.

On in serried ranks came the British.

”We are too few, they are three to our one. We must cross the river and wait till we are stronger,” said Colonel Barrett.

[Ill.u.s.tration: REVEREND WILLIAM EMERSON'S HOUSE--THE OLD MANSE The conflict at the Bridge was in plain view from this house]

They were only two hundred. They filed into the road, marched past the Reverend Mr. Emerson's house to the north bridge, crossed the river, and came to a halt on a hill overlooking the meadows, the village, and surrounding country. They could see the British dividing,--one party crossing the south bridge and going towards Colonel Barrett's house to destroy the supplies collected there; another party advancing to the north bridge. Roger saw groups of officers in the graveyard using their spy-gla.s.ses. A soldier was cutting down the liberty pole. Other soldiers were entering houses, helping themselves to what food was left on the breakfast-tables or in the pantries. Colonel Smith and Major Pitcairn rested themselves in Mr. Wright's tavern.

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