Part 39 (1/2)

At Mr. Cooper's tavern was a ghastly sight; upon the floor lay the mangled bodies of Jason Wyman and Jesse Wins.h.i.+p, two old men, who had come from their homes to learn the news. They were drinking toddy, when the head of Earl Percy's retreating troops arrived, and fired a volley into the house. The landlord and his wife fled to the cellar.

The British swarmed into the tavern, mangled the bodies of the two old men with bayonet thrusts, and scattered their brains around the room.

In the morning Roger had felt some qualms of conscience as he took aim at the scarlet line of men by Concord River, but now to him the redcoats were fiends in human form. It gave him fresh courage to see Samuel Whittemore, eighty years old, come running with his musket, taking deliberate aim, firing three times, and bringing down a redcoat every time he pulled the trigger. But a soldier leaped from the ranks, ran upon and shot the old man, stabbed him with his bayonet, beat him with the b.u.t.t of his musket, leaving him for dead.[65]

[Footnote 65: He was not dead, however, but lived many years.]

Roger swung his hat to welcome Captain Gideon Foster of Danvers, and his company, who had marched sixteen miles in four hours, coming upon the British at Menotomy meetinghouse. A moment later they were in the thick of the fight.

It was a thrilling story which Timothy Monroe had to tell, how he and Daniel Townsend fired, and each brought down a redcoat, and then ran into a house; how the British surrounded it, and killed Townsend; how he leaped through a window and ran, with a whole platoon firing at him, riddling his clothes with bullets, yet escaping without a scratch.

Again Roger rejoiced when he learned that before Earl Percy reached Menotomy a company of men had captured his baggage wagons, killing and wounding several British soldiers, and that the attacking party were led by Reverend Philip Payson, the minister of Chelsea.

It was almost sunset when Roger held his horn up to the light once more, and saw there was little more than enough powder for one charge, and that there were only two bullets in the pouch. He decided to put in all the powder and both bullets for his parting shot. Another half hour and they would be under the protection of the guns of the frigate Somerset. The minute-men were getting so near and were so determined that Earl Percy ordered the cannon to unlimber and open fire, while the soldiers, almost upon the run, hastened towards Charlestown.

Roger, having reloaded his gun, made haste to overtake them. Looking along the road, he saw a crowd of panic-stricken people--men, women, and children--fleeing from their houses. The picture of the scene of Menotomy had stamped itself into his memory. This last shot should be his best. Not now would he crouch behind a fence, a tree, or bowlder.

He would confront the murderers like a man. He walked deliberately forward. He was by a farmhouse, so near the last file of soldiers which had halted to ward off the minute-men a moment, that he could see the whites of their eyes. He aimed at the cross-belt of a man in the middle of the file, and pulled the trigger. He caught a glimpse of a man falling, but found himself reeling to the ground. A bullet had pierced his breast. The British pa.s.sed on. A woman came from the house, and looked down into his face.

”A drink of water, please marm,” he said.

She ran to the well, sank the bucket into it, brought a gourd full, and came and crouched by his head while he drank.

”Thank you, marm.”

He looked up into her face a moment.

”I think I am going,” he whispered.

She pillowed his head upon her arm, laid back the hair from his manly brow, and fanned him with her ap.r.o.n.

”Please tell her,” he whispered.

”Tell who?”

She bowed her head to catch the word.

”Tell--Rachel.”

The mild blue eyes were looking far away. A smile like the light of the morning came upon his face. One more breath, and he was one of the forty-nine who, during the day, gave their lives that they might inaugurate a new era in the republic of G.o.d.

XVIII.

BESIEGED.

Thomas Gage, governor, commanding his majesty's forces in America, was sitting in the Province House, greatly disturbed in mind. The expedition to Concord had not resulted as he expected. The troops had marched out bravely, destroyed a few barrels of flour, disabled half a dozen old cannon, burned some carriage wheels, but had returned to Boston on the run like a flock of sheep worried by dogs. The Tories had informed him that a couple of regiments could march from one end of the continent to the other, but the events of the preceding day were opening his eyes to a far different state of affairs. Till within a few hours the country had been at peace: farmers following the plow; blacksmiths hammering iron; carpenters pus.h.i.+ng the plane. All had changed. Thousands were under arms, gathering at Cambridge and Roxbury. The Colonies were aflame,--not only Ma.s.sachusetts, but New Hamps.h.i.+re, Rhode Island, and Connecticut. The troops which marched to Concord so proudly were back in Boston,--not all: twenty-three had been killed, two hundred wounded and missing. Eighteen of the officers had been killed or wounded. Governor Gage could not gainsay the fact that the citizens were victors. They had followed the troops to Charlestown till nightfall, like a swarm of angry hornets. A great army was closing around him, cutting off his supplies. No more fresh beef or mutton would be for sale in the market; no teams would bring potatoes and cabbages for the soldiers. What would King George say?

What would the ministry think? What would they do? How would the people of England regard his administration of affairs? The unexpected had happened. He had not dreamed of such an uprising. What course should he pursue? All Boston was in commotion. People were packing their goods on carts, loading them on boats to flee from the town.

Women were wringing their hands, children crying, fathers walking the streets with careworn faces, not knowing whither to go or what to do.

Officers were gathering at the Province House awaiting orders and talking of what had happened, and smarting under the thought that the retreat had been a flight and almost a panic. It was a humiliating reflection that disciplined soldiers had been put upon the run by a rabble of countrymen. Earl Percy, after a sleepless night, weary and travel-worn, was gladly welcomed by Governor Gage. He told the story of the retreat.