Meanwhile, Colonel Smith assessed the other routes rebel forces could take to converge on Concord, as well as their current stance in the hills and woods to the northwest. Smith shouted for the captain of his Tenth Regiment’s grenadier company.
With Captain Munday Pole in attendance, Smith issued his orders. As some of the British officers took refreshment in local taverns, Captain Pole’s detachment advanced to the South Bridge. A number of his grenadiers held the bridge. The others commenced a search in that area for hidden munitions.
Colonel Smith kept the remaining companies of light infantry and the bulk of the grenadiers in the center of Concord under his direct control, but his forces were now spread thin. He had 100 men at the South Bridge a mile west of the common; 120 at or near the North Bridge a mile to the north; another 120 with Captain Parsons a good two miles beyond that assigned to digging around Barrett’s farm; and the remaining number of about 500 searching the buildings in Concord proper.
British Captain Walter Laurie had only thirty men of the light company guarding the North Bridge, and no communication with Captain Parson’s and his companies nor the Fourth and Tenth light regiments positioned atop the knolls about four hundred yards beyond the bridge. He had no exchange of information with Colonel Smith in his rear in Concord proper. The steady increase of numbers among the colonials on the heights above the bridge made Captain Laurie nervous.
Two companies of 38 minutemen under the command of gun maker, Captain Isaac Davis, arrived from Acton. Forty men from Bedford, and many from Lincoln and other surrounding areas, joined the force of aroused rebels on Punkatasset Hill above Concord. As Captain Parsons’ men passed, the rebels on the hill saw the unmoving man tied to a horse led by a British officer. There was no doubt, judging from his clothing, that the man was a colonist. The sight fueled the rebels’ simmering anger. They shouldered their muskets and rifles.
In Concord proper, the grenadier companies were searching for weapons and supplies. What little remained in town was hidden in various ways.
Mill owner Timothy Wheeler had caches stored in barrels of flour, wheat, and rye in his barn. When he protested that the British had no right to search what belonged to his livelihood, the officers agreed that they did not injure private property and withdrew.
The incident at the house of Ephraim Woods was repeated throughout many homes—women refused the British entry into their bedrooms where caches of military stores were hidden. Many stores were saved by feminine persuasion.
Tavern keeper and town jailer, Ephraim Jones, had custody of important papers from the provincial treasurer. He was arrested at bayonet point, but the officers soon decided that they would be better served if Mr. Jones opened his tavern and set up a round of drinks.
At residences around Concord, hungry troops paid the women of the households for breakfast; after which, the troops searched the houses.
The searches turned up a meager supply of munitions including three iron twenty-four-pound cannons. The munitions were piled and set on fire near the courthouse on the northernmost corner of the commons. The fire soon became out of control and set the courthouse on fire. This was visible from the knolls to the west of the bridge that Colonel James Barrett’s Middlesex County militia, Major James Buttrick’s Concord militia, and Captain Isaac Davis’ Acton minutemen occupied.
For a few minutes, the militiamen and minutemen stared at the smoke curling upward from the courthouse.
“Colonel Barrett,” a militiaman from Lincoln asked, “are you to let them burn the town down?”
This set them in motion. Colonel Barret commanded the militia to march. The minutemen from Acton led the column. As fife and drum played, they marched down the hill and toward the North Bridge with no regard for Captain Parson’s companies searching the Barrett farm a mile and a half to the west behind them.
Satisfied that he had used the unconscious angel to stir the embers of hostility among the colonial rebels, Henry focused his attention on breakfast as did the other officers. At the farm, the hungry regulars offered to pay Mrs. Barrett for breakfast, but Rebeckah Barrett was not amiable. Her disdain for the British, who occupied her home and scavenged her farm while her husband, Colonel James Barrett, was with the militiamen near the North Bridge, was apparent. To make matters worse, she saw the poor man tied to the horse.
Dr. Samuel Prescott also saw him.
Samuel was at the Barrett farm tending to Rebeckah’s fever-stricken son, eighteen-year-old Silas Barrett. Samuel left the house by way of the back porch and circled around to the front. He approached the horse and swept the man’s hair away from his face. Samuel recognized the angel, Ian Keogh. Ian had comforted him when Michael Bohannon and he were beaten outside the meetinghouse the day of Dr. Warren’s Boston Massacre oration.
“Damn!” Samuel shouted without thinking. He began to untie Ian.
His shout of profanity attracted the attention of an infantryman stationed near the horses. The soldier called for Captain Parsons, and then ran to stop Samuel at bayonet point.
Captain Leslie Parsons, Henry, Robert, and several other officers ran out of the house. Rebeckah and her cook, Sidonie Denning, stepped onto the front porch.
When Samuel looked at Robert, the demon purposely flared his orange eyes. Samuel remembered Robert from the incident at the meetinghouse. He had no doubt that the man with the yellow-green eyes was Henry. He was afraid of Henry, but he wanted to get Ian away from the demons.
“I am Dr. Samuel Prescott. Please allow me to administer care to this injured man,” he said to Henry.
The regulars gathered and watched the scene in front of the Barrett house.
Henry weighed his options. What value does the angel fulfill at his point? The archangel will come to his rescue sooner than later. Or…perhaps he won’t. Bohannon has others to protect, such as his new pet, Joseph Warren.
Henry considered the attending officers and infantrymen.
If I refuse the doctor’s request, the men in Parsons’ companies will see me as a brute, and that could result in loss of respect for me. Does that matter? Yes, it does for now. In the end, I will see to it that all the angels die.
“Parsons, untie the man and take him in the house so Dr. Prescott may tend to him,” Henry ordered. He walked back to the house. As he crossed the porch, he looked at Sidonie.
Her heart quickened, and she looked at him with wide eyes.
For a moment, he thought he saw red light flicker in her pale blue eyes. An angel’s aura was not visible in their eyes; therefore, he dismissed the illusion.
“Why are you staring?” Henry asked. Without waiting for an answer, he pushed his way past her and into the house.
Sidonie watched while two infantrymen cut the ropes from the man on the horse. His name bubbled in her throat. She swallowed hard.
The infantrymen carried Ian past Sidonie and into the house.
Rebeckah had them lay Ian on the bed she shared with her husband.
On his way into the house, Samuel stopped and asked Sidonie, “Do you know him?”
She bit her lower lip and nodded.
“Then you understand why I may not be able to help him.”
She nodded again.
He walked past her. She followed.
After Captain Parsons and his officers ate a breakfast of smoked ham and hard biscuits, they started to search the Barrett house. Suddenly, everyone in and around the Barrett farm heard scattered shots coming from the direction of the North Bridge, a mile and half away.
Brandon was observing the activity at the Barrett house from the woods on the western edge of the farm when he heard the shots. As soon as Captain Parsons, his companies, and the demons marched back toward the North Bridge, Brandon dismounted and led his horse to the farmhouse. He tethered the horse, and looked around to ensure he wasn’t drawing unwanted attention before he knocked on the front door.
Rebeckah Barrett answered. Although Brandon’s homespun clothing told her that he was not a red
coat, she frowned and asked, “Who are you?”
“I’m Brandon O’Flynn. I’m a friend of Dr. Prescott’s. I need to speak with him.”
Samuel heard the knock, and then the exchange of words. He went from the bedroom to the living room where he saw Brandon. “Follow me,” he said.
Brandon avoided eye contact with Rebeckah and followed Samuel. Sidonie stood in the hall that lead to the bedroom. Brandon recognized her from the few days she’d spent at the Roxbury farm.
“Come with us,” Samuel said to her.
Rebeckah watched them. What is taking place here in my home and why is Dr. Prescott not in the least bit surprised?
Brandon and Sidonie entered the bedroom. He sat on the bed beside Ian. He stroked Ian’s forehead. What will help him? What comforts him? What makes him strong?
He looked at Sidonie. They touch each other through copulation, and I know that comforts him. Perhaps, she may help.
“Be with him, Sidonie,” Brandon said as he rose from the bed. “I don’t understand copulation, but I think it will help him. At the least, it may help him awaken.”
Samuel thought of the day he was attacked at the meetinghouse, and how much pain he had suffered. Ian had soothed his pain by telling him to think of Lydia’s touch.
Brandon’s inference embarrassed Sidonie, but she asked the question anyway, “How am I to make love to him when he is unaware of my advances?”
“I…don’t…know,” Brandon said. “Samuel, can you answer her?”
Samuel’s young hormones found the idea erotic. He smiled and blushed like a virgin. “I dare say that he will respond if at all possible.”
When Brandon and Samuel were gone, Sidonie closed the curtains over the one small window in the room. She removed her dress, shift, shoes, and stockings, and unpinned her black hair so it draped her shoulders and fell down her back. Then, she sat on the bed beside Ian.
“Why do I love you?” She stroked his face. “Neither of us is real. Not in the human sense. There is no life for us to live together. We can neither be husband and wife nor have children. We have no future.”
She kissed his cheek, and then removed his filthy clothing. His body was grimy with gunpowder, blood, and dirt. He smelled of sweat. Yet, none of those things existed in her senses. She slid her slim naked body on top of him and kissed his neck.
She sat up and straddled his hips. In her mind’s eye, she saw the movements Ian made with his hips when he fucked her, and she tried to emulate that motion. “Wake up, my angel,” Sidonie whispered. “I love you with all my heart.”
Captain Laurie and his troops at the North Bridge were genuinely surprised by the sight of the rebel column coming toward them from Punkatasset Hill. This was not Captain John Parker’s small band hastily gathered on Lexington Green and just as hastily dispersed, but a well-drilled military column of apparently disciplined troops.
As they advanced, Captain Laurie thought, We should have maintained position on the Concord side of the bridge.
Laurie ordered his three companies to fall back across the bridge. As they retreated, Lieutenant William Sutherland and two companies from the knolls joined them. Sutherland ordered some of the regulars to rip up the planks on the bridge to impede the rebels’ progress.
This destruction of property did little more than irk the minutemen and militia. Colonial Major James Buttrick thought they should continue to advance across the bridge. His men concurred.
“Load your weapons! Do not fire first, but if fired upon, return it as fast as you can,” Major Buttrick ordered.
Captain Isaac Davis and his Acton minutemen ran to the bridge with the militia column following behind them.
The plank-ripping regulars scurried across the bridge and fell back into ranks on the Concord side.
Then a shot rang out.
Corporal Amos Barrett saw a ball strike the water in the Concord River to his right. Several more shots were fired over the rebels’ heads.
Then, the British fired a full volley.
Captain Isaac Davis gave the order to return fire, which his Acton men did.
The regulars fired another volley.
Isaac Davis and a man among his ranks, Abner Hosmer, were shot dead.
Major Buttrick shouted, “Fire, for God’s sake!”
The militia fired at Captain Laurie’s troops. They wounded several of his officers and killed two privates. The captain sent a lieutenant to dispatch a plea for assistance from Colonel Smith.
Colonel Smith and Major Pitcairn were in Concord proper, supervising the searches and watching a bucket brigade put out the courthouse fire. The sound of gunfire and the sudden appearance of Captain Laurie’s lieutenant set Colonel Smith into action. He assembled two companies of grenadiers and personally set off for the bridge.
Two more British soldiers were killed at the North Bridge. Captain Laurie signaled his troops to retreat. They encountered Colonel Smith and his band of reinforcements on their flight toward the common.
Captain Laurie halted his companies and addressed Colonel Smith. “Sir, we have three privates dead and four officers and five other ranks wounded! It was necessary to fall back!”
Lieutenant William Sutherland galloped up to meet the officers. The right breast of his redcoat was slightly frazzled which indicated he had suffered a minor wound. The demon that possessed Sutherland was unconcerned.
Major Pitcairn was upset with all the unexpected blood spilled that morning. He had endured quite a berating about what had occurred in Lexington from Colonel Smith. Now, it seemed that bloodshed was inevitable no matter who was in command.
At the North Bridge, colonial Major James Buttrick stared at the dead body of Captain Isaac Davis of Acton. “What has just taken place?” Major Buttrick asked Colonel James Barrett as if he had no recollection of the exchange of musket fire.
Minuteman, Corporal Amos Barrett and his captain, David Brown, squatted next to the body of nineteen-year-old Henry Mackey. Mackey’s body was sprawled in the dirt near the bank of the Concord River in a dark pool of blood. Brown murmured, “Henry’s mother will be beside herself with grief. He was her last surviving child.”
Captain Parsons and his men marched from the Barrett farm into this disconcerting moment. There was not a redcoat to be seen, only stunned colonial rebels with guns in their hands standing on or near the damaged North Bridge.
Henry found the moment delightful. He saw the missing planks in the bridge, and like Parson’s regulars, wondered if it was a rebel tactic to slow their pace. No matter, he thought. Robert and I shall ride ahead of Parson’s men, past the ignorant humans in rough clothing, and over the bridge. If they wish to fire at us, it will be glorious. In fact, I will bring one of my favorite human game pieces along for the ride.
“Ensign de Berniere! Captain Percy! Attend!” General Henry Hereford shouted as he rode to the front of the column. The irritation on Captain Leslie Parson’s face pleased Hereford. Accompanied by Robert and Henry de Berniere, Hereford galloped over the North Bridge unmolested by the still-stunned rebels. Then, Captain Parsons led his companies across the bridge and passed without harm.
While growing numbers of rebels covered the ridgelines and surrounding hills, Colonel Smith gathered his troops on Concord common. Major Pitcairn assembled the companies that had been searching the town’s buildings. Their wounded were cared for.
At noon—two hours after the first shots at the North Bridge were fired—Colonel Smith gave the order to march back to Boston. Francis Smith prayed that they would encounter the reinforcements that he had requested from General Thomas Gage eight hours before.
The rebel militia regrouped, and as the disconcerted shock of what had happened not only in Concord, but also in Lexington, wore off, they went from a stance of armed frustration to outright vengeance.
Twenty-three
Colonel Smith’s column heard a shot resound through the crisp spring air at Merriam’s Corner. The shot was just the beginning of a long afternoo
n of relentless rebel attack on the regulars from the fields and woods flanking the road on which the British retreated to Boston.
As the exhausted British infantrymen fired a poorly aimed volley, Captain John Parker’s militia was at the ready two miles to the east in the heavily forested terrain along the Lincoln-Lexington town line. He had deployed his men in an ambush along the high wooded ridge above the road. This position offered a good view of the road to the west, and the ridge rising higher to the north offered a good defense against any flanking attempts by the regulars.
Like the other colonials awaiting the arrival of the British column, Jeremiah, Seamus, Patrick, Liam, and Michael suffered from anxiety and fatigue. But the angels’ heightened apprehension over what had happened to Ian and Brandon, and their deprivation of Colm’s protection, was taking a toll on them.
From where he stood quietly conversing with Captain Parker, Jeremiah watched the angels struggle to keep their heavenly traits hidden. He knew the gestures they used to comfort themselves were the very things they couldn’t reveal.
Liam sat on the ground with his back against a tree. His green aura flashed from time to time with no warning. He could not control it, but he could wrap its glaring brightness in a cloak he had weaved from comforting thoughts of Abigail Adams.
Seamus sat opposite of Liam. He ran the blade of his butcher knife back and forth between the thumb and forefinger on his left hand until a blister formed. Seamus concentrated on the strange feeling of the blister, which kept his silver wings from unfurling.
Patrick, Michael, and Prince sat side by side on the wooded ledge and dangled their legs over the edge. Prince refused to let his wounded leg deter him from the fight. Michael polished his surgical blade over and over with the hem of his coat. Patrick snapped inch-long lengths off a twig until the twig was only an inch long. Then, he picked up another and did the same.
Angels & Patriots Page 22
