“Disperse, ye rebels! Lay down your arms!”
All else was instantly forgotten; the drama being enacted before his eyes was more compelling than even his exciting thoughts. Once more the command rang out:
“Why don’t ye lay down your arms, ye villains! Disperse, I tell you.”
But the two thin lines of alarm men held their ground. Then came the report of a musket; Nat saw a British infantryman, his piece at his shoulder, the smoke curling from its muzzle. Another and another shot rang out from the battalion. Pitcairn, frantic with passion, turned upon his men and shouted for them to cease firing. But it was too late.
A scattered volley came from the rifles of the minutemen; Pitcairn’s horse went down with a crash, and the bullets drove above the massed infantry, doing no other harm. Then the British began platoon firing, in regular order, calm, methodical and effective. The patriots responded from behind stone walls and other sheltered places which they had now broken for; and as the leaden messengers began to whistle about his ears, Nat heard a voice say:
“I think we had better get out of this. It is getting a little too warm for comfort.”
It was Ezra’s brother who spoke; and as he saw Nat dart a quick glance about at the soldiery, he added:
“They are too much engaged now to pay any attention to us. But we must be quick.”
So with that the two darted out of the road and behind some buildings. Like deer they raced along the streets, now filled with terrified women and weeping children.
The firing abruptly ceased; and in another moment they noted a little body of minutemen in retreat across a swamp to the north of the Common. Upon a piece of rising ground the boys halted; they saw a full score of dead and wounded lying upon the village green and the huzzas of the British came faintly to their ears.