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.