THE BATTLE OF CONCORD
Phil Warrington dashed into the barn belonging to Andy Sabine's father,
breathless. Andy and his company had just filed down the stairs from
the loft. Their leader ran up to the scurrying figure of the new
arrival with expectancy in his face.
"What is it, Phil?" he cried.
"The Brams have been giving information to the British, and the
redcoats have rounded the town. They are planning to attack us from the
north. I heard some firing in that direction."
"Out of this!" ordered the impulsive Andy quickly. "Scatter the news!
Tell everybody! I'll get to my father and the committee. Then all hands
meet at the square."
There was a tremendous bustle. Phil was borne along in the wake of the
dispersing company. He made sure first, though, to secure his musket.
As he ran down the street, in every direction he could hear the ringing
voices of his young friends, scattering far and wide the news he had
just brought into Concord.
He helped with voice and feet, too, as his share in the action of the
moment. When he reached the square Phil found it the center of a great
commotion. He espied Andy's father moving rapidly from group to group
of the volunteers, and managed to get to his side.
Phil hurriedly explained what he had heard Jasper Bram tell his son,
Greg, about the plans of the redcoats. He referred as well to the
firing he had heard north of the town. Mr. Sabine looked very much
interested, but was excited and worried.
"All our forces and points of advantage are bulked at this end of the
town," he said. "We never counted on the British coming from any other
direction. It will have to be a scattered fight. You lads keep out of
trouble. Do your duty, but don't take any reckless risks."
A short time later Andy and Phil, with the patriotic boys of Concord,
marched out of town and across the bridge to the hill occupied by the
Minute Men and the other patriots that were assembling. Everything was
in a state of excitement.
"Musket Boys to the front!" cried Andy, and soon he gathered many of
his friends about him. All had muskets, some new and some dating back
to the French and Indian Wars.
It was not long before smoke could be seen coming from several points
in Concord.
"Will the British try to burn the town?" was the question on every
tongue.
"Men, we must protect Concord!" cried Captain Barret, who was in
command. "We'll march down to the bridge."
In a few minutes the Minute Men, with many of the Musket Boys, reached
the vicinity of the North Bridge.
"See! see!" cried Phil. "The redcoats are wrecking the bridge!"
Phil's words proved true. The British soldiers were forcing up the
planking of the bridge.
"Stop! stop!" cried a number of the patriots. "Let that bridge alone!"
"Keep back!" was the order from the British commander, and then, as the
Minute Men and the Musket Boys drew closer, he gave the order to fire
on the patriots.
Bang! bang! bang! spoke up the firearms of the redcoats, and two of the
Minute Men fell.
"Give it to the redcoats!" was the yell, and then Minute Men and Musket
Boys returned the volley, and several on the Concord side of the
bridge went down, two to rise no more.
From that moment the fighting became general. The Musket Boys were
in the thick of the fray, and worked as hard as did the Minute Men.
Colonel Smith, the British commander, did all in his power to hold
the bridge, but, more Minute Men arriving, he saw that it would be
impossible to do so, so at last he gave the order to retreat.
In the meantime, there started up fighting at other points, and a
distant cannon boomed out, followed by the explosion of some gunpowder.
"Phil, this is war, actual war!" cried Andy.
"Yes," answered the Boston boy, "and the Musket Boys must do their
duty."
From the bridge, the redcoats were followed into Concord, and then
another skirmish took place. At last the British commenced to retreat
in earnest. Little did they dream of what that withdrawal was to cost
them!
In the midst of the excitement Phil and Andy saw a forlorn figure pass
the lines. Some shots followed him from the British groups, but he
dashed resolutely into the midst of Andy's contingent.
"Ralph--Ralph Post!" cried Andy excitedly. "What news?"
The sailor boy's face was streaked with powder smut, his hair and
eyebrows were singed, and his coat was burned at the edges. A truly
heroic figure, he waved his hand triumphantly.
"They're on the run!" he cried.
"What! we have beaten the British?" spoke Andy.
"Tooth and nail, horse and foot, van and rear, hurrah!" responded
Ralph, but his cheer, meant to be exultant, was decidedly faint, and he
had to lean against a post, pretty well exhausted.
"I tell you it has been hot work," continued Ralph, when he had
recovered his breath. "Those redcoats came down on us like an
avalanche. They were just a solid mass, sweeping away everything in
their path except the town hall. That turned them. They got such a
steady hail of bullets from the windows, from the roof and from behind
trees and fences, that they turned double quick. But they made for the
arsenal. Our men simply couldn't withstand such a force, for most of
the crowd on duty there earlier, had been sent north to fight. They're
getting in on us. Oh, dear!" sighed Ralph dolefully. "Those elegant
cannons!"
"What about the cannons?" inquired Andy impatiently.
"Spiked, smashed, two of them. The redcoats did it. And the powder--all
that precious powder!"
"And what about the powder?" demanded Andy.
"Some barrels emptied into the river. But we beat them--some. A smashed
keg they were rolling along with the other kegs near the river. One
of our men dared everything, ran to the spot, fired his gun among the
loose powder, and that ended it. Why, those redcoats and the Tories
with them ran like scared rats. Then our men put after them. They are
after them now. They have driven the redcoats down the road, just lined
with our skirmishers. It's pop! bang! all the time. A lot of our men
have cut across country to head them off, if they try to return that
way. The rest of our men are just driving the enemy back to Boston on
the double-quick. Oh, we've lost something, but it's a rout, and the
battle of Lexington is won!"
"Let's follow," cried Andy.
"Hold on, break ranks! Attention company! Halt!" rang out a cheery,
martial voice.
A clattering wagon had driven right into the midst of Andy and his
companions. It was recognized at once as the antiquated, familiar rig
of old Silas Berks.
"Whoa!" roared the veteran Indian fighter, getting to his feet and
waving his hand excitedly. "Fellow-citizens--no; I mean friends, boys,
pile aboard. There's a party of redcoats stuck in the road with four
field pieces just beyond my place. If you want to cover yourselves with
glory, all aboard! the more the better, and I'll show you a capture
worth your while."
"I heard something about some of the heavy baggage of the Britishers
unable to make the detour of the town, and ordered to get back to the
next village," said Ralph. "Our men have cut off any chance of the
others reaching and helping them."
"Company--march!" ordered Andy grandly.
The way the "company" obeyed was to pile into the wagon, those of them
who could. The others, eager and excited, strung along on a run behind
as the crazy old vehicle clattered back on its route among the hills
beyond Concord.