“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 shining 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.