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."