A patriot lad of old Boston

by Russell Gordon Carter

It was some time before the rear of the column had passed. He waited until it was perhaps a quarter of a mile up the road and then got to his feet. He ought not to have much trouble in reaching Boston if he started at once. He was about to resume his journey when a fresh thought came to him. Ought he to go without knowing what was to happen to the town of Concord—and to his Cousin Deborah? For at least five minutes he struggled with the question. “No, I oughtn’t!” he declared at last and, turning suddenly, began to retrace his steps.

It was close to seven o’clock when the regulars, in two columns, marched into Concord and sent a party over the North Bridge into the country. Don found a clump of spruces growing on a hillside and climbed into the lower branches of one of them. From that position he could see the scattered houses and the two bridges, though the distance was too great for him to be able to distinguish features or even the outlines of anybody in the town.

Part of the King’s force seemed to have disbanded, and later when Don heard the ring of axes he suspected that they were destroying the stores that had not been carried away. “Well,” he thought, “they won’t be able to destroy much.”

But when he distinguished blue smoke curling upward from several places near the centre of the town he almost lost his grip on the branch to which he was clinging. One of them was the court-house! Where was the militia? Where were the Minute-Men? He made out the peaked roof of his cousin’s house and the great elm standing beside it, and observed with some satisfaction that no Redcoats were close to it. Then a while later he saw the thread of smoke above the court-house grow thinner, and at last it disappeared altogether.

Don held his position in the tree for more than an hour. He ground his teeth as he saw a detachment of soldiers leave the town and cut down the liberty pole on the side of the hill. Where were the Minute-Men and the militia?

The main body of the regulars was well inside the town. At the South Bridge there was a small party on guard, and at the North Bridge was another party of about one hundred. Don was so much occupied with watching the Redcoats that he had failed to observe a long double column of Provincials coming down the hill beyond the North Bridge; they were moving at a fast walk and carried their guns at the trail.

At first glance he thought there were no more than a hundred of them, but as he watched he was forced to conclude that there were at least three hundred. He pulled himself farther out on the limb and waited.

The detachment of regulars, who were on the far side of the bridge, hastily retired across it and prepared for an attack. When the Provincials were a few rods distant the Redcoats opened fire, then waited and fired again, and Don saw two men fall. Then he saw a succession of bright flashes and heard the crash of arms as the Provincials returned the fire. Several of the enemy fell. Then there was more firing, and in a few minutes the British left the bridge and ran in great haste toward the main body, a detachment from which was on the way to meet them. The Provincials pursued the regulars over the bridge and then divided; one party climbed the hill to the east, and the other returned to the high grounds.

Don found himself trembling all over; he felt sick and dizzy. With much difficulty he reached the ground, where he lay for a few minutes. On getting to his feet, he saw the Redcoats who had first crossed the North Bridge returning. In the town there seemed to be much confusion; the sun glanced on red coats and polished trimmings as men hurried here and there.

Don would not trust himself to climb the tree again, but threw himself on the ground at the foot of it. He would rest for a while and then set out on his long journey back to Boston, fairly confident that his cousin had not been harmed. He had not slept a wink since some time between one and two o’clock in the morning; now it was after ten o’clock. So when his head began to nod he did not try very hard to fight off sleep.