THE WHITE COCKADE.
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.