Things and Stuff

 

Ok, Campers,  just an update I'm sure all of you are dying to receive.

 

First, there's this fluid coming down out of the sky, and having lived in Central and West Texas most of my life, I've never had a reason to  spend the effort to discern what it is and why it happens. 

 

 

But, having moved to College Station (Home of the Texas A&M Aggies.  Whoop! I never understood that, but learned that not doing that greeting correctly can get you a non-smiling reaction).

 

Sorry, I digressed.  Having moved to College Station, we have found that the fluid coming out of the sky could, IMHO, float Noah's Ark. I believe it’s called “Rain”!

 

Such is the case as I write this posting.  Mrs. J treated me to an "Out to breakfast" date at a restaurant we had only been to once before.  Most Excellent!  Just in case you're interested, it's name is "Another Broken Egg".  Highly recommended.

 

Back on the story, juvat!

 

On Story, Aye, Fearless Leader!

 

So we're headed out to perform our tasks that the Emperors (aka the Horses ) require daily. When, what to my wondering eyes should appear? 

 

No Beans, Not Santa and his Reindeer.  No, a Downpour that in the course of a few seconds brought the visibility down to a matter of double digit feet.  

 

Holy Moley.  Suffice it to say, Mrs J, being the driver*, slowed down significantly. Fortunately, so did the other drivers.  But, as we approached the decision point (head to the stables to muck in the muck or head to the hacienda and write this post).

 

Guess which option won out. 
 

So, I know that discussion of Rainfall in Texas will entertain all y'all to no end.  But, our lawn is green and ready for mowing and it's only the 11th of March.  Some of you, and you know who you are, are still shoveling that white stuff off your sidewalks.  

 

Enough about the weather, juvat!

 

No Weather discussion, Aye, Tuna,

 

As to progress on the current project we're facing.  The blueprints have been revised with several improvements that the various people, who know houses and the plans to build them, recommended.

 

No, Beans, I'm not in that group.  I just follow Mrs J around and say two things.  "Yes, Dear" and "Build it the way she said." 

 

That last one is not quite accurate.  Our builder knows what he's doing and what he says to Mrs J she usually OK's, sometimes there's compromise, but they get along.  So, I tend to keep my mouth closed. 

 

But, the video below is what the house will look like.  I thought this was a pretty cool method for the architect to show his plans with an understandable method.  Blue prints don't trigger my brain's interpretation of the outcome very well.

 

So, here it is.  Enjoy 

 

 

 

 

Akashi Designs

Peace out, y'all

*Still not allowed to drive.  However.....I have an appointment on Thursday with my Cardiologist.  If he says my Heart is beating properly, well, watch out. I haven't driven in 5 months but, that's not going to stop me.  Bwahh ha ha!

 

Drive Them!

Source

"Elizabeth Arnold! Come away from that window immediately!"

Lizzie turned and answered, in a sweet yet somehow disrespectful tone, "Yes, Missus, but the soldiers are preparing to leave. They look nervous."

Rebecca Hamilton scoffed, "As if I care a fig for the doings of the King's troops. We have laundry to do and ..."

The sound of musketry in the near distance silenced the woman, she froze as she listened. "Is that ...?"

"Yes, ma'am, it sounds as though the militia and the regulars are fighting."

While Mrs. Hamilton stood there, unsure of what to do, Lizzie darted outside, grabbing some more bread as she did so. She saw the sergeant she had spoken to moments ago, gathering his men.

"Is there fighting, Sergeant? Are we in danger?"

Andrews turned and again noticed just how pretty the girl was. "I don't think so, Miss. We've been ordered back to Boston. The militia are swarming in the hills, word is that there was fighting at the bridge to the north. You should go back inside until this all dies down."

She nodded and forced the bread into the sergeant's hands, "For you and your men, be careful out there. Please."

Andrews blushed and said, "Thankee Miss, I must go now but ..."

"My name is Elizabeth, my friends call me Lizzie."

"I am Andrews, Allen Andrews of His Majesty's grenadiers. I thank you for ..."

Captain Williston came up, looking for his company. He spotted his sergeant speaking to an attractive young lady.

"Is there a problem, Sergeant?"

Andrews turned, "No Sir, we are ready to march."

"Then let us be off. I fear the return trip will be hot, and not because of the weather."

"Sir!"

"I must be off, Elizabeth."

She touched his hand, "Call me Lizzie, do be careful Sergeant."

Andrews blushed again.

A rider came up, his horse lathered and nearly out of control and reined in next to Captain Jonathan Willson commanding the Bedford minute company.

"Colonel's greetings, Sir. Orders are to withdraw towards Boston. Keep to the ridges and the woods lining the Concord road. You are to harass the regulars at every opportunity."

Without further ado, the man galloped off.

Willson turned to the men gathered around him, "Alright lads, we're off. We'll take to the fields, over yon ridge, and head down the road towards Lexington. I know a few spots where we can hit the regulars."

Looking around he called out, "You Acton boys, where is your captain?"

A man near Seamus answered, "Dead, Sir. Shot through the heart in one of the first volleys!"

Seamus shuddered, he hadn't seen Captain Davis fall. He had been more concerned with his father, who had taken a wound in the arm.

"Dead is he? Very well, you Acton boys are with me now, unless you have a second?"

A man pushed his way forward, "That would be me, Sir, Ensign Heald, John Heald."

"Very well, Ensign Heald, have your men follow my company. Everyone else, follow on as well. Let's show these regulars that they can't come here, take our powder, burn our town, or collect their damned taxes. Who's with me?"

A cheer went up, some men looked around as if terrified of what they had done and witnessed here. This was war and they might have drawn blood here, but many assumed things were going to get far worse before the day was through!

"Keep a close eye on the lads, Tom. The countryside is up in arms and I don't like our odds."

Corporal Tom Holloway ran his hand through his thick hair, marveling at how much he was sweating. "Hot work, Sarge. Hot work indeed."

"Indeed, oh yes, have your lads eaten yet?"

"No, we were too busy starting fires then putting other fires out."

"Here," Andrews handed over a bundle, "a village lass gave me this. My lads have eaten, I didn't think yours had. Share that with the lads, would you?"

"Certainly Sarge, and thank you for thinking of us."

"Not at all, Tom, not at all."

The grenadiers were back with the main column, Andrews could see militia in the woods and up on the hillsides. From what he could see, the column was badly outnumbered. But he wasn't really worried, they were professional soldiers, he considered the colonial militia to be nothing more than rabble. After all, they had scattered them on Lexington Green hadn't they?

"Sure are a lot of the bastards." Corporal Holloway remarked.

"Not nervous are ye, Tommy?"

"I was talking with a lad from the 10th, light infantry lad, apparently the colonials gave as good as they got at a bridge to the north of Concord. Said they lost a number of lads, including officers and sergeants. One lad had been scalped from what Johnson was saying."

"Charlie Johnson?"

"The very same."

"I'd take that with a grain of salt, Charlie has never been that bright a lad."

"That may be, but a number of his company were blood-spattered and powder stained. You only get that in a fierce fight to my knowledge."

Andrews got thoughtful after that.

"We'll hit them here lads, when they come around that bend. You lads at the wall give a volley, then come back up the hill. Hit and run boys, hit and run. Don't let them get close enough to use the bayonet." Captain Willson's plan was simple. As long as no one panicked.

Seamus gripped his musket with sweaty hands. He looked to his father whose wound he had bound up. It wasn't as bad as it had looked at first sight.

"Ye alright, Da'?"

"I'm fine son, just remember to keep your head down. Fire once then we run like hell. We'll reload up on the high ground then slide on down the road further. I mean to make those bastards pay for what they done at Lexington."

"There they are!" A voice shouted from further down the road towards Concord.

Now the McTeagues could hear the thump of drums and the gleam of bayonets as the regulars rounded the bend in the road. They were marching at the quickstep, not in a hurry per se, but not tarrying as well. They knew the danger which lurked all around them.

Andrews sucked in a breath through his teeth as he saw the billowing smoke of a volley from a stonewall not far from the road. Then he heard the whiz of the militia's lead filling the air.

Andrews looked abruptly to the front when he heard the scream, Captain Williston's horse had screamed as it reared then toppled onto its back, throwing its rider to the hard packed surface of the road.

Williston hit the ground hard, his cap spinning off to the verge, his sword scabbard bending as he landed on it. Fortunately he had the sword in his hand when he fell, but he had been winded by the fall.

Lieutenant Mitchell rushed to his commander's side, dismounting when he got there.

"Sir! Are you alright?"

"Leftenant, see to the lads, I'll see to the captain!" Holloway had jumped in immediately, better for the men to see an officer to their front, even if it was just a lieutenant, and a damned green one at that.

Williston moaned as Holloway helped him sit up. "Damn it!"

"I don't see any blood, Sir, does anything feel broken, can ye move your limbs and such?" Holloway inquired.

"Only thing hurt is my pride, Corporal."

Looking around he saw that his horse was down and not moving.

"Damn it, I paid good money for that animal. He was a good horse!"

While Holloway helped the captain regain his wits, Mitchell and Andrews had the men firing at their assailants.

"Bastards are running! Huzzah!" Mitchell yelled out, waving his sword over his head, letting his horse prance in the road.

"Begging your pardon, Sir, but the rebels are just relocating. They know where we have to go and they know the country far better than us."

"Really, Sergeant? And what makes you so ..."

Andrews heard a sickening thud and watched in horror as Lieutenant Mitchell arched his back as his eyes rolled back in his head. He reached for the young officer and felt the man's blood on his face. He pulled the young man from the saddle, but it was too late.

Lieutenant George Mitchell of the 43rd Foot was quite dead.

"Damn it, those are light infantry!" Patrick McTeague cried out.

He had spotted the men when they were but a hundred paces away, they looked angry as hell and seemed to want to come to grips with the militia at bayonet point. They were coming on fast.

"Run lad, fast as you can!"

Seamus did as his father commanded and began to run back deeper into the wood, it was uphill and he realized his legs were tired. Turning he saw something which made his blood run cold.

His father and three other men stood their ground, hoping to delay the light infantrymen as long as possible, perhaps get them to pull off. To no avail.

There were ten of them, resplendent in their short red jackets and their jaunty light infantry caps. Though one of the militiamen did get off a shot, which killed one of the regulars, it only made the survivors even angrier. They swarmed over the militiamen and cut them down where they stood.

With tears streaming down his face, Seamus McTeague ran even faster up the hill. He was sure that his father was gone, dead at the age of 42.

"Drive them lads! Drive them, don't let them stand!"

Major Pitcairn rode among the men at the head of the column, a mix of Marines and grenadiers. They were pushing the colonials back and away from the road.

The road curved to the left here, through a small wooded area. As they approached, the column was squeezed in on itself, there wasn't much room to deploy or maneuver.

"Push through lads, push through!" Pitcairn was yelling.

Heavy firing broke out to either side of the column, men were falling fast, bodies littered the road. Some of the men thought to stop and help the wounded.

Andrews barked at two of his grenadiers, "Lamson, Jones, leave him, he's bloody dead! Or d'ye think the doctors can sew his throat back together!"

Private Greenwell had been hit in the throat and had died gagging on his own blood. It was fast but it certainly looked painful to Andrews.

"Company, move, move, move. Reload on the run, fire at will lads. We need to get through this choke point or we'll be spending eternity under the fields of the Bay Colony!"

Slowly the column pushed through, again the flanking parties supplied by the light companies helped clear the rebels from the stone walls flanking the road.

But thirty of the King's men would not make it to Boston that day, or ever.

Four militiamen also fell at what was later was called the "Bloody Angle." Captain Jonathan Willson, of the Bedford minute company lay among the dead. Ensign Heald had been lost earlier in the day, now the Acton company was led by its senior sergeant.

Seamus McTeague was still in shock at the death of his father.

"How d'ye know he's dead, lad?" Francis Barker, the company drummer asked.

"Saw him take a bayonet to the chest, Francis. Those bloody redcoats just kept stabbing at the men after they'd knocked them down. It was butchery, butchery."

"Well buck up, laddie. Let's move on down the road a piece and return the favor. Cast your eyes to the road down yonder, they're paying the price now."

From where they were on the hillside, Seamus could clearly see the road, numerous red coated bodies were sprawled there, some still moving, hands outstretched, beseeching their comrades not to leave them behind. But most lay still and unmoving, dead or unconscious and dying.

Seamus grimaced, then gripped his musket and followed his company towards Boston.

There were still a lot of regulars who needed killing.

Breakfast at Concord ...

Concord Bridge, The Nineteenth of April, 1775
Don Troiani
Source

"Da'!" Seamus recognized one of the bedraggled men coming down the road as his father. The group was disheveled and had a haunted look about them.

Patrick McTeague looked up, he recognized the sound of his son's voice, it broke him out of the stunned stupor he had fallen into after fleeing from the Lexington green.

"Son! There's been a terrible thing ... there has ... on the green ... at Lexington ..." Patrick had stopped by the side of the road, one or two others did as well. The remainder continued walking, occasionally looking over their shoulders, convinced that the redcoats were not far back.

Captain Davis halted his company and walked forward to talk with the man who had cried out. As he walked closer, he recognized the man, his son served in his company.

"McTeague! What's the situation ahead?" Davis knew that they were almost to Concord, if the regulars were there already, he had to consider his next course of action. He had no desire to blunder into the town and run into the King's soldiers.

"Sir, our company stood, at Lexington. They demanded that we throw down our arms, all we wanted to do was talk, protest the King's actions ..."

"And?"

"They opened fire upon us. I saw a number of our men killed or grievously wounded. I'm sorry to say Sir, we fell apart. Those that didn't run died where they stood."

"What of the regulars' casualties, did you lads at least return fire?"

"It was all so confused, Sir, but I saw no redcoats prostrate on the field, only our men."

"Damn it!" Davis knew then that war had begun, the colonies against the might of Great Britain.

Half of the company was with Corporal Holloway, searching buildings on the north side of the town, Andrews and the rest were standing guard in the middle of the street. Their officers had gone off to confer with command, Andrews supposed. When there was real work to be done, the officers left it to the noncommissioned officers to see to it.

"Sir?"

Andrews turned to find a rather attractive young lady holding a bucket of water and a tin cup.

"You lads look thirsty, I have water. If it's allowed, there is also fresh baked bread just inside the kitchen. I can bring some out. If it's allowed."

One of the men started to speak, but Sergeant Andrews froze him with a glare. "The water would be much appreciated, Miss."

He told the men to queue up to take some water, he had two men go with the girl to bring back bread. Five of the lads could stay here with him and keep an eye on things whilst the rest of the boys had some water and bread.

As Andrews bit into the bread, which was still warm from the oven, he noted that the girl was standing nearby, waiting for her bucket to be returned, no doubt.

"Miss?" Andrews dug into his waistcoat and extracted a couple of coins to pay for the bread. As he stretched his hand out to her, offering the coins, she blushed.

"There is no need to pay, Sir. We're glad to provide food to our lads in uniform."

From her accent, Andrews took her for a northerner, somewhere in Yorkshire.

"Have you been long in the colonies, Miss?"

"A year, I came over as an indentured ..."

"That's enough, Lizzie, get back in here, there's laundry that needs doing!"

Andrews looked towards the door of the house from which the bread had come, standing there was a harsh looking old woman with a scowl on her face. Andrews went over to her.

"No harm done, Ma'am. Your girl was providing us with water and bread."

"I know, my bread, my water,"

Realizing he still had the coins in his hand, Andrews gave them to the woman. "You have my thanks and the thanks of the Crown, madam."

The old woman scoffed, then turned on her heel, she made sure that Andrews saw her spit on the ground in the direction of the soldiers.

"I'm sorry." He heard her soft voice once more as she went inside, addressing him personally. He smiled in response, then he smelled something in the air.

Fire, a building was ablaze just down the street!

The men had discovered a number of carts and two or three gun carriages. Lieutenant Mitchell had ordered them burned. The men were shouting and having a good time throwing wood onto the fire. It was fun until the fire communicated itself to a nearby building. Billowing smoke soon rose into the air.

"Sir, we need to get that fire out!" Andrews remonstrated with his lieutenant.

"Ah, let the town burn, rebel bastards, the lot of them."

Before Andrews could say another word, Captain Williston had arrived on scene and was ordering men to put out the fire which threatened to consume the building. Then that worthy turned his horse and bellowed at Mitchell.

"Damn your eyes, man! Do you require constant supervision? That smoke will be seen for miles and there's colonial militia in the hills, watching our every move."

Andrews' ears perked up, as did the captain's.

"Sir, musket fire!"

"Yes, I hear it too, Sergeant. Have the men fall in, immediately!"

Captain Davis' company had been joined by others at the foot of the North Bridge. The other side was manned by a group of redcoat light infantry. They looked nervous. As Davis watched, one of their officers bellowed out, "Present your firelocks!"

In the next instant the redcoats had fired a volley, as one man heard the hiss of a round pass close by over his head, he shouted out, "Damme, they're firing ball lads!"

The first volley had gone high, the second did not, killing two of the Acton men and wounding others. The militiamen hesitated, but then a commanding voice cried out ...

"Fire, for God's sake, fellow soldiers, fire!"

Seamus brought his piece up to his shoulder, waited a moment, then leveled his musket on a dim red shape across the river. He squeezed his trigger, just as his Da' had taught him. The powder in the pan flashed, then the main charge went off, kicking the butt of his weapon back into his shoulder. Quickly he grounded his musket and reached for another cartridge.

As he reloaded, he saw the redcoats fire a last, ragged volley, then the King's men turned and fled, back towards the town. They left a number of dead and wounded behind. Once reloaded, Seamus looked to his captain.

"Across the bridge lads, they're running, don't let them stand."

They crossed the bridge at a run, some of the men fired at the backs of the retreating regulars. Others looked around at the carnage they had inflicted. Some fifteen soldiers of the Crown would not be returning to Boston on this day, or ever.

Seamus was trembling, he was a good shot and he knew it. He looked about at the men lying on the ground, one or two still moving. Had one of them fallen to his musket? One man, grievously wounded, was crying out, over and over.

"Mama!"

A man standing nearby, Seamus didn't recognize him, pulled a hatchet from his belt, "I'll send ye to yer Mum you redcoat bastard!"

With a fierce blow the man brought the hatchet down onto the soldier's head, who immediately went limp. He was most certainly dead now.

Seamus turned, fell to one knee, then began to spew his breakfast on the roadside. He may or may not have killed a man this day, but surely he had seen one die, violently.

No doubt there would be more before the sun set.

At Break of Day ...

Source

"And where d'ye think ye be going laddie?"

Seamus McTeague stopped in the hallway, looking at his angry grandfather who stood between him and the door.

"The company is forming up, Gran'da, I'm off to join the lads."

"Your Da' is already out there, why do you need to go?"

Seamus' father was indeed already with his militia company over in Lexington. Seamus belonged to the Acton company as his mother had expressed some concern with both of her men being in the same unit. As she had put it ...

"I'll not have all me eggs in one basket, Seamus. If you wish to serve, do it in a different company. Cap'n Davis over in Acton said he'd take ye."

"Who'll keep an eye on the boy, Maggie, if he's in a different company?" It made sense to his father to have his son nearby. But his mother was adamant.

Now grandfather Angus seemed set on preventing Seamus from going.

"Ye'll no leave this house, Seamus. Put that piece away, we'll wait for ..."

"Leave it, Angus." Annie McTeague knew her grandson well. He was determined to go, his parents had consented to his serving with the militia, who was her husband to gainsay that?

"Now look here, Annie ..."

"Enough!"

Annie McTeague handed a tied-up bundle of something that smelled very good to Seamus, then hugged him close. "You be careful out there. Bread for the road, fresh baked this morning, share it with your mates if you will. Now go, before I change my mind."

Seamus felt his eyes begin to water, he hugged his grandmother tightly, then left the house, joining his company on the road.

The drums played a simple beat, just enough for the men to stay in step. Holloway enjoyed marching to the beat of the drum, it was easier than trying to stay in step with a called cadence. The sun was coming up and it looked to be a lovely spring day.

"Sergeant, hold the lads up, something is going on ahead."

"Comp'ny, HALT!" Holloway bellowed as his captain spurred his horse down the road to see what the holdup was.

Holloway looked at the men, a company was, on paper, supposed to consist of some 30 to 40 men, depending on the size of the regiment, some regiments had as few as 300 men, others as many as a thousand. Today there were 27 grenadiers in the ranks, those men looked tired.

They'd been up most of the night and had already marched some ten miles since landing at Lechmere Point. Plus the men had been rather sedentary as of late, marching around Boston Common didn't really prepare the boys for a long march under full packs.

For the moment the men were quiet, reluctant to waste breath wondering what was going on to their front.

Captain Williston looked to his superior who had walked his horse up to the colonials gathered on the green. He looked exasperated and not a little angry.

"Williston! Bring your company up, the damned fools refuse to either lay down their arms or disperse."

"Surely, Sir, we could simply go around them, there's ample room to ..."

"Damn it man, I'll not leave armed men, possibly hostile, in my rear. Bring up your men, and those behind you. Two companies should suffice. Now go!"

Holloway looked up as the captain came back to them. Just ahead was a building which the road went around, blocking the view further on. So he couldn't see what was ahead.

"Leftenant, go back to the company behind us and have them follow us up. Stay there and keep the rest of the column ready to move forward, but await orders. Sergeant Holloway, we advance, there are armed colonials ahead."

"Comp'ny will fix bayonets! Fix your BAYONETS!"

"Shoulder your firelocks!"

"Quick step, MARCH!"

The drums began to beat in unison, the men stepped off smartly down the road. As they came around the building which blocked their few of the common, Holloway saw the men clad in homespun out on the green. They looked nervous.

"By the left, into line!"

An officer on horseback rode up and down the line, Holloway wondered what a Marine was doing out here, shouldn't Lieutenant Colonel Smith be here? As he watched, the Marine officer wheeled his horse about and trotted towards the colonials.

"In the King's Name, throw down your arms and disperse, this instant!"

A colonial, possibly a man of the cloth, stepped forward and tried to reason with the man on horseback. Only to be told, once more, to lay down their arms.

"Damn it, let it be on your head then!"

Turning his horse, the Marine came back to the two companies of grenadiers, he noticed that more of the light and grenadier companies were filing up onto the green. He shook his head, exasperated. They needed to get on to Concord, this delay was unconscionable.

Halting his horse, the man yelled out, "Battalion, will advance! Charge your bayonets!"

At that moment, a loud report was heard, a gun shot?

After a moment's hesitation, one of the grenadiers fired at the colonials. Then, with no order to charge, the grenadiers roared and began to move quickly. More shots were fired, men were dying.

Patrick McTeague looked on in shock as the militia began to crumble. Why were the regulars attacking them? He turned to run when he saw his neighbor, Alistair Stuart stumble and fall. A big grenadier was upon him before he could regain his feet.

Patrick's blood ran cold as he heard Alistair's scream as the redcoat's bayonet ripped into his belly. For a brief moment he thought of throwing away his musket, but then thought better of it as he ran to the nearest stone wall.

Jumping over it, he turned and looked back at the green. Men were down, none of them wearing the red coat of the King, all of them militiamen. He began to run in earnest, as if the devil himself were on his heels.

Lieutenant Mitchell had actually been of some assistance getting the men back under control, Captain Williston was nowhere to be seen. So Holloway was glad of the lieutenant's help.

Mitchell turned and saw a man on horseback starting to ride off, a man in civilian attire.

"That man! Halt!"

Of course, the man did no such thing.

"Give me your firelock, Private!" Mitchell barked at the nearest man.

Yanking the weapon from the private's hands, Mitchell brought the weapon to his shoulder and pulled the trigger. Nothing.

"Begging your pardon, Sir, but she ain't loaded. Please give Spencer his firelock back, hhmm?"

"What? Oh, of course, not loaded, why ain't you loaded Spencer?" Mitchell grunted as he shoved the musket back into its owner's hands.

"No one told us to reload. Sir." Private Will Spencer answered.

"And no one told you to bloody fire either! All right lads, back in ranks, form up." Holloway needed to get control of things before the captain returned, if he returned.

Captain Williston did indeed return, and in a rather foul mood.

"Are you alright, Sir?" Mitchell asked solicitously.

"I'm fine, damn it. Bloody horse bolted when the firing broke out. And who in hell ordered that?"

Holloway answered for the lieutenant, "Nobody Sir. There was a single shot, then the lads just started firing. We assumed the colonials had fired at us, now I'm not so sure."

"Damn their eyes anyway, why didn't the bastards disperse when ordered to?"

Holloway knew better than to answer that question.

"Get the men formed up, I expect we'll be marching on to Concord shortly." Williston rode off to seek orders, from whoever was commanding this circus.

"Sir."

In the Still of the Night ...

Source

Shortly after midnight, 19 April 1775 -

Seamus awoke with a start, men were yelling outside and apparently from the downstairs front room of his grandfather's house. In fact, one of the shouting men was his grandfather, Angus McTeague

"What's that you say, lad?"

As his horse pranced and acted eager to be off, the horseman controlled his steed, then shouted, "The regulars are out, crossed over by ship's boats from Boston, they'll be marching this way I'll wager."

Angus McTeague shook his head, then turned to look at his wife, Annie, before returning his attention to the man on horseback.

"What do ye think their goal might be?" he shouted at the horseman.

"The powder store at Concord. Looking to seize Adams and Hancock as well, would be my guess. Now I must be off!"

Kicking back his heels, the rider spurred his horse on down the road, to Lexington.

The previous day, Boston -

The corporal entered the smoky tavern and looked around, spotting his man, he shouldered his way over to the table where the man was seated.

"Watch yersel' soldier!" Snapped one workingman whose arm was jostled as the corporal moved past him.

"Sorry, lad, King's business, step aside now."

Sergeant Allen Andrews looked up from his ale and grimaced. "Sweet Lord, Thomas, can't ye not make such a fuss. Sit down!" It came out as an order, and the corporal treated it that way.

Sitting down, the corporal, one Thomas Holloway, glanced back over his shoulder at the colonials standing near the bar. "Cheeky bastards, ain't they?"

"Aye, they can be. Now what's the fuss that you must interrupt a man's well-earned ale?"

"Everyone's recalled to barracks, something's afoot. I don't know what, but the captain looked concerned and I do believe our new leftenant was ready to pee hisself. So I'm guessing it's something to do with these bloody colonials."

A man passing by gave Holloway a dirty look, Holloway nodded at the man, "No offense meant."

"Have you no sense, man?" Andrews growled at his corporal. "Times are pretty tense right now and ye'd beard these people in their own taverns?"

"Sorry, Sarge, I'm a bit wrought up."

Getting up from his chair, Holloway leaned over and hissed in Andrews' ear, "I think we're on the march tonight. Just us grenadiers and the light boys from every regiment in town. Best hurry back, I've got two more places to visit."

Holloway rushed out, leaving Andrews thoughtful. If the grenadiers and light infantry were on alert, something was indeed "up," a show of force and the officers would send out a battalion to march around, show the flag as it were. But if it was the combined grenadier and light infantry companies from all of the regiments in Boston, something serious indeed was afoot.

"Leftenant Mitchell, walk with me." Captain John Williston stepped out the door, expecting the lieutenant to follow without question. He wasn't wrong.

"Sir?"

"You're scaring the lads, stop dashing about like a nervous schoolgirl. Calm and steady, that's what the lads like to see in their officers. Panic is contagious. Now can you control yourself? Or do I leave you here when we march for the boats?"

"Boats, Sir?"

"Yes, boats. If we march across Boston Neck, every man jack in the colonies will know about it before sunrise. We're crossing over the Charles, to Lechmere Point. Leftenant Colonel Smith thinks that's the best course of action, fewer colonials snooping around in that direction. By the time they figure it out, we'll be halfway to our destination by then."

"Destination, Sir?"

"Good Lord man, has no one briefed you on tonight's little expedition?"

"Sir, something about seizing the colonials' store of powder and shot up at Concord. But why should we worry, d'ye think the colonials would stand up to the King's army?"

"I don't, but the less fuss the better, don't ye think?"

"Of course, Sir. I'll calm down, please don't leave me behind."

"There's a good lad, now off with ye, make sure the lads have all their gear. We might be out for a few days."

"Quit yer bellyaching boys, those shoes will dry out before ye know it. I believe it's going to be a hot day once the sun comes up."

Sergeant Andrews walked among the men forming up on the shoreline. The crossing had taken longer than expected but now the men were formed up and ready to move off. Things had been quiet until now, Andrews hoped it would stay that way.

He walked by Lieutenant Mitchell, saw the lad was standing next to his horse.

"Plan on walking, Sir?"

"Well, I thought I might, you know, walk with the men."

Andrews shook his head, "Ride the horse, laddie Sir, it's why the King made you buy the bloody animal."

At that moment Captain Williston rode up, "Problem, Sergeant?"

"No Sir, just telling the Leftenant that if the King had wanted him to walk ..."

"He wouldn't have a horse. Quite right. Enough of this foolishness, Leftenant. We're starting to move."

And indeed, the company to their front was stepping off. Williston and his grenadiers soon followed, with Lieutenant Mitchell mounted, just as, Sergeant Andrews thought, God had intended.