The Remains of the Day

Parker's Revenge, April 19th, 1775
Don Troiani
Source

Jack Baker sat with his back to a barn, the pain in his midsection was getting worse, it was all he could do to keep from crying out. He figured that the colonials might still be about, the firing down by the road had lessened, it sounded like it was starting to fade as the fighting moved on.

He looked at his two mates sprawled nearby. It almost seemed as if his mate Johnnie was staring at him, accusing him of surviving while Johnnie himself lay dead. Will's back was to him, he had gone down hard in the volley from the farmers they'd run into. Probably had died instantly, Jack certainly hoped so. He wished he himself could be spared the agony of his wound.

They had followed their company into the wood, trying to drive the militiamen away from the road. They had succeeded, Johnnie had seen the small farmhouse and barn as the three of them had chased a small group of colonials away from the fight. Not all of them however.

When they had rounded the corner of the barn there they were, six men, muskets at the ready. Before any of the soldiers could react, the colonials had fired a volley. Seeing the three redcoats go down, the militiamen had continued their withdrawal to regain another position, closer to Boston.

Jack had managed to drag himself over to the barn, the pain was intense but he didn't want to stay lying down, the pain was worse in that position. He looked over at his firelock, he wished he'd thought to drag it over with him. The agony of being gut-shot might have been relieved if he'd thought to keep his weapon with him.

"Ma! There's a soldier up there, sittin' against the barn, I think he's alive."

Becca Farnsworth moved to the window, "Stay back from the windows child, the regulars might still be about."

She looked where her son had been pointing, surely enough she saw a redcoated man slumped against the side of the barn. She thought he might be dead, but then she saw his chin lift up as the man looked around.

Her husband, Moses Farnsworth, was out with his militia company and she was worried about him. When the light infantrymen, she knew what they were by the caps they wore, had come running up, chasing some of the militia past their small farm, she had dragged her son James and daughter Prudence to the back of the house. She had heard the volley, some shouting, then it grew quiet outside.

As she wondered what to do, deciding that it was perhaps best if she did her chores, no one was going to do those for her, and prepare a meal. She had to assume that Moses would be coming home and after today's activities he would no doubt be hungry. That's when James had called out about the man next to the barn. She sighed, then decided she had to do something about this soldier on their property.

She went back to the bedroom and opened her husband's trunk, rummaging through it until she found the pistol. Moses had taught her how to use it just after they had gotten married. The wars against the Indians and the French were over, but Moses had told her that living out here on a farm, away from the towns, knowing how to load and fire the pistol would be to her advantage.

She found the heavy weapon, along with a small bag of shot for it, drew it out of the trunk and looked it over. The flint looked fine, she knew the weapon would be unloaded, Moses was very strict about his firearms, especially with the children in the house.

She went to the kitchen, found the flask of powder, then proceeded to load the pistol. When done, she drew a deep breath then headed for the door, glancing at the children she admonished them to stay in the house. Her tone of voice brooked no disagreement.

Jack heard a noise from the direction of the small house, he looked in that direction. It was a woman, carrying something in her right hand. As she got closer, he saw the pistol. He was of two minds on that account, if she shot him, he would no longer have to deal with the pain in his belly. But then again, he really didn't want to die. Not now, not on such a beautiful spring day, and certainly not at the hands of a farmer's wife.

The woman stopped a few paces away and raised the pistol, pointing it straight at him, a resolved look upon her care worn face. Jack closed his eyes and waited to spin into eternity.

Becca pointed the pistol at the young man, she noticed that his waistcoat and his trousers were soaked in blood. The man, more of a boy really, closed his eyes and seemed resigned to his fate. She lowered the weapon.

"What's yer name, boy?"

"Name's Jack, ma'am, Jack Baker ..." he grimaced in pain as he said that.

The woman nodded and said, "How bad is yer wound?"

"Pretty bad, I'm hit low in the belly. I'm a goner, even if a surgeon were about, I won't last the day."

"Can I take a look?"

That startled Jack, was she going to tend to his wound?

"Yes, ma'am, if you would, I would truly appreciate that."

Becca examined the man, he had lost a lot of blood and as far as she could tell, the ball which had wounded him was still inside his body. She tried to decide what to do, the boy was going to die, of that there was no doubt, but she could at least make him comfortable.

"Are you thirsty, Jack?"

"Yes, ma'am, dreadfully so, but with a belly wound ..."

"I daresay having some water won't make the pain any worse, but it might help yer spirits a bit. Let me go fetch a cup."

Jack nodded, then had a thought, "Ma'am, do you have a Bible?"

Becca stopped and turned back to the boy, "Yes, why?"

"Could you perhaps read me a few passages while I wait, something from the Psalms maybe?"

"Wait for ..." then it struck her, the boy knew he was dying.

"You are religious then?"

"Not really, but me Mum and Da' took us all to church when I was a boy, my sisters and me. It would be a comfort to maybe remember those days."

"Certainly, Jack, I will return shortly."

Becca returned with a cup of water and the family Bible in hand. As she knelt down next to the soldier, she realized that he was gone. She sighed and looked towards the east, towards Boston, and beyond that to England.

"What a shame that this boy came all the way from England only to die in my barnyard."

Shaking her head, Becca walked slowly back to the house. She would wait for Moses to come home to move the bodies, but she could start digging a grave for them. It was the least she could do.

Sergeant Andrews was gasping with fatigue, they were slowly making their way back to Boston but it was a fight each step of the way. The company was down to less than twenty men. Ensign Mitchell was dead and Captain Williston had been wounded. He had insisted that they leave him behind.

"They might be damned rebels, Sergeant, but they're Christians, they'll come and see to me once the army has moved on. Besides which, you can't spare the men to carry me."

Reluctantly he had agreed, now he was in command of what was left of the company. 

One of the men called to him, "Sarge, looks like the colonials have moved off, probably waiting for us farther down the road. Do we move off?"

Andrews heard an officer bellowing near the head of the column, not all that far away. Seems they were on the move again.

"Alright lads, fall in! Loose order, make sure yer loaded, be ready for anything!"

Thomas Holloway fell in with him, he'd lost his bearskin¹ at some point and his hair was a mess. His face, probably like his own, was dirty and powder stained.

"How you holding up, Tommy?"

"Could use an ale right about now, but I don't see a tavern in sight."

"Well, there's one just down the road, just short of Lexington I think. But I doubt it's open for business."

"We could help ourselves, who gives a damn what these rebels want?"

"Ah, that would be looting now, wouldn't it?"

Holloway sighed, "I suppose so."

The column was bleeding, men were falling left and right, Andrews began to think he'd never see Boston again. At this point in time he was starting to wish that he'd never seen Boston, or heard of it, in the first place.

The remaining officers looked worried, the men looked exhausted and not a little terrified. There seemed to be thousands of militia in the hills and harassing their flanks. The light infantry were staying closer to the column now, those men were exhausted from chasing the militia.

Holloway stumbled and fell against him.

"Are you alright, Tommy?" Andrews was terrified that his best friend in the whole world might be wounded.

"Yeah, I'm fine, but I'm so damned tired it's hard to keep my feet moving without stumbling."

"Stay strong my old friend, well get through this, somehow."

"Or die trying."

"Yup, there's always that chance."

Seamus McTeague was gasping with exhaustion as his company took position behind yet another stone wall. He knew that they were close to Lexington now. Someone shouted out and Seamus looked up, coming down the road were five or six of the redcoats, no weapons, no headgear. They were running to what they thought was safety.

"FIRE!"

Four of the running men went down, the two survivors thrust their hands into the air and began screaming, "QUARTER!"

They had their first prisoners of the day.

Lieutenant Colonel Smith and Major Pitcairn were both wounded, both on foot. They were near the head of the column when some men threw down their firelocks and began running up the road.

"Damn your eyes! Back in line you bastards!" Smith shouted after them.

Pitcairn gathered the remaining officers, all were now carrying muskets, their swords either discarded or back in their scabbards. He had them form a ways in front of the column, for the moment there were no colonials in sight.

"Next man who breaks and runs, we'll cut them down right here. Stay with us, you might die, run and you will die. Now lads, let's be off to Boston."

Rejoining Smith, Pitcairn turned to him said, "Unless the reinforcements come out, we're all dead men."

Smith looked around at the ruin of his expedition, "I dare say you're right, Major."

And the column moved on ...

¹ Some British grenadier companies wore a miter-like cap covered in black bear fur. Some wore the older style helmet type miter caps.