American Spring

by Walter R. Borneman

  Sutherland was not, however, the only rider to have trouble with his mount. Benjamin Tidd of Lexington and Joseph Abbott of nearby Lincoln were on Lexington Green that morning and “mounted on horses” when they “saw a body of Regular Troops marching up to the Lexington Company which was then dispersing.” The British officers riding to the front of their troops paid these two horsemen, who evidently were unarmed observers, no mind, so Tidd and Abbott for a moment had front-row seats. They testified that “the Regulars fired first a few guns, which we took to be pistols from some of the Regulars who were mounted on horses, and then the said Regulars fired a volley or two before any guns were fired by the Lexington Company.” But at the sound of the first volley, Tidd’s and Abbott’s horses also bolted, and they raced off down the road toward Concord.9

  Two other spectators testified that they not only heard what they took to be a pistol shot but also saw a British officer fire it. Thomas Fessenden, having observed the officer in the lead brandishing his sword, claimed, “Meanwhile the second officer, who was about two rods behind him, fired a pistol pointed at said Militia.” In his reminiscences, Reverend Clarke—who may or may not have witnessed the scene in person—agreed with these details and wrote, “The second of these officers, about this time, fired a pistol towards the militia, as they were dispersing.”10

  While these partisan witnesses were likely showing strong bias, it seems quite possible, perhaps even probable, that the first shot came from a pistol held by one of the British officers riding into the rebel lines. Given that Major Pitcairn appears to have been momentarily preoccupied with his advance companies having taken the wrong road and rushing toward the assembled militia, the likely suspects are Major Edward Mitchell, exhausted and clearly keyed up after a tense night without sleep, and Lieutenant William Sutherland, who had been scurrying to the forefront all night long. Whether this officer fired intentionally or whether the pistol discharged accidentally as he rode is another matter.

  The evidence suggests that Sutherland was mounted on a horse he took from a rebel courier who was stopped on the road earlier that morning. So in Sutherland’s defense, it was quite likely not his regular mount. Nonetheless, as one historian shrewdly noted—while admitting it was only his personal hypothesis—“riders who have the most trouble controlling their horses are those least able to control themselves.”11 Sutherland’s horse, by its rider’s own admission, had gone for quite an uncontrolled gallop, and it is certainly possible that Sutherland’s pistol discharged by accident as he rode his frisky mount into the rebel lines.

  The other possibility is that the pistol shot came from among the spectators or even from someone hidden from view who had a not-so-hidden desire to provoke an incident. Sergeant William Munroe swore that he saw someone, possibly Solomon Brown, fire from the back door of Buckman’s Tavern, but this appears to have been after the initial volley from the regulars.12 Given that there were groups of spectators clustered around the green and no absence of firearms, almost anything is plausible.

  In the end, a preponderance of evidence suggests that the first shot did not come from the rebel militia or from the rank and file of the advancing British infantry. Whether it was a pistol shot discharged on purpose or by accident by a British officer or a rebel onlooker remains a point of debate.

  Lieutenant Edward Gould from the light infantry company of the Fourth Regiment may have been among the most objective of observers—or at least he may have summarized the majority opinion. Among the first to move forward across the green, Gould acknowledged that the rebels were dispersing as his command approached, and “soon after firing began; but which party fired first, I cannot exactly say.” But even Gould’s testimony must be considered in light of its circumstances: having been wounded in the action at the North Bridge later that day, Gould was being treated by rebels at Medford when he gave his deposition.13

  Regardless how that first shot was fired, it quickly spread into sporadic and then volley fire from the British regulars. After the first volley apparently caused no casualties among the rebels, John Munroe remarked to his brother Ebenezer, who was standing beside him, that the regulars were only firing powder—a scare but no harm. But on the second volley, a ball ripped into Ebenezer’s arm, and he exclaimed otherwise. “I’ll give them the guts of my gun,” he cried in surprise, and, leveling his piece, he returned the fire.14

  According to one well-worn anecdote of questionable veracity, John Hancock and Samuel Adams were walking through the woods, continuing their escape from Lexington, when they heard this fusillade of musketry. “It is a fine day,” Adams remarked with no little satisfaction. Hancock glanced about, thinking that Adams was talking about the weather. “Very pleasant,” he agreed. Adams suppressed a small smile. “I mean,” he said—for one brief moment, Hancock’s tutor once again—“this day is a glorious day for America.”15 It makes a great story, and, then again, it may have happened, but it certainly conveys the true feelings of Samuel Adams in the matter.

  IN THE MAZE OF LEADEN musket balls flying in all directions it was remarkable that there were not more casualties. The black powder of the day was so dense, and so much of it had been discharged, that a thick veil of smoke settled on the green, and John Munroe recalled, “The smoke prevented our seeing any thing but the heads of some of their horses.” But he fired back nonetheless. After his first shot, he retreated some yards and “then loaded my gun a second time, with two balls, and, on firing at the British, the strength of the charge took off about a foot of my gun barrel.” Ebenezer Munroe also fired again, recalling that as he did so, “the balls flew so thick I thought there was no chance for escape, and that I might as well fire my gun as stand still and do nothing.”16

  Then came the bayonets. Jonas Parker, Captain John Parker’s aging cousin, had been “standing in the ranks, with his balls and flints in his hat, on the ground, between his feet” when he declared he would “never run.” He didn’t, but he was shot down on the second volley. William Munroe “saw him struggling on the ground, attempting to load his gun… [when] as he lay on the ground they run him through with the bayonet.”17

  Jonas Parker, Jonathan Harrington, Isaac Muzzy, and John and Ebenezer Munroe’s father, Robert, were found dead near the place where the militia line had formed. Harrington died almost on his own doorstep, which was just behind the militia line on the edge of the green. No one could say that he hadn’t been defending his home. Samuel Hadley and John Brown died after they had limped off the green. Asahel Porter and Caleb Harrington were shot down on the other end of the common, near the meetinghouse. Porter had been taken prisoner earlier and was trying to escape; Harrington had been minding the powder cache in the meetinghouse with an eye toward blowing it up should the regulars attempt to seize it.18 Among the nine wounded was Prince Estabrook.

  The only casualties on the British side were one infantryman wounded in the leg and Major Pitcairn’s horse, which was nicked in two places. Some, including Reverend Clarke, would cite this as evidence that “far from firing first upon the king’s troops; upon the most careful enquiry, it appears that but very few of our people fired at all.”19

  ONTO THIS SCENE OF BLOODSHED, pungent with the smell of black powder, marched Colonel Smith and his remaining companies of light infantry and grenadiers. Smith, though he never admitted it, must have been aghast as his horse bore his ample girth to within sight of the meetinghouse and Buckman’s Tavern. Pitcairn’s six companies of the advance guard were in disarray, and dead and wounded rebels littered the green. This was not Salem, and Smith was not going to get off as easily as Colonel Leslie did. What words Smith spoke to Pitcairn were never recorded, but they can certainly be imagined. And what of the hyper Major Mitchell? What angst did he add to Smith’s grim view? And then there was Lieutenant Sutherland.

  Once again, Sutherland—by his own account, at least—found himself at the center of the action. Colonel Smith turned to him in this chaos and asked him where a drummer was. Sutherland fou
nd one, and Colonel Smith immediately ordered him to beat to arms and bring some order to his troops. It was not easy. The first exchange of deadly fire had had as profound a psychological effect on the regulars as it had on the militia. Adrenaline was at a fever pitch. “We then formed on the Common but with some difficulty,” Lieutenant Barker of the Fourth Regiment recalled. “The Men were so wild they cou’d hear no orders.”20

  Within Sutherland’s hearing, Smith and Pitcairn expressed dismay at the behavior of their troops in not obeying the junior officers more readily and in not keeping to their ranks. In Sutherland’s words, they recommended “a more steady Conduct to them for the future.” When some troops lingered and attempted to break into some neighboring houses from which they surmised rebel fire had come, Smith, fearing more bloodshed, stopped them.21

  As the sergeants goaded their men back into ranks, Colonel Smith held officers’ call and for the first time told his subordinates the objective of their march—the stores at Concord. Some officers expressed surprise and then skepticism. Others objected almost to the point of insubordination. Contrary to Gage’s and Smith’s delusion, they had never had any hope of surprise, and now the countryside was alarmed all around them with the scent of fresh blood on the ground. Mackenzie’s account suggests that Smith was more patient in hearing these concerns than circumstance or his position required. They would press on, the colonel decreed, if for no other reason than that he was “determined to obey the orders” he had received.22

  With his officers’ call finished, Smith directed his command to fire their weapons in a victory salute and raise three cheers. Likely he did so to clear muskets and avoid any accidental firing while on the march. How much of a morale boost his excited troops needed—despite the uncertainty of advancing even farther from home after a sleepless night—is questionable. Certainly the roar of some eight hundred muskets and the subsequent hurrahs echoing across their green had just the opposite effect on the inhabitants of Lexington.23

  Colonel Smith gave the order to march toward Concord, but as his column of regulars disappeared to the west, Captain Parker reassembled his company of militia on the green. More men had arrived in the meantime from outlying farms. They joined the morning’s survivors in stunned disbelief at the sight of dead and wounded friends and relatives. Quite suddenly, without Parker or anyone saying anything of particular note, the entire atmosphere changed. This assemblage was no longer a military version of a town meeting called to discuss a course of action or make a demonstration of readiness. Their blood had been spilled, and now they would march with but one aim—that of revenge.

  AHEAD OF SMITH’S COLUMN, CONCORD had been on the alert since Dr. Samuel Prescott galloped into town after eluding Major Mitchell’s patrol as it captured Paul Revere. Prescott had ridden through woods and fields that he knew well and avoided further detection. The town’s elders gathered at the parsonage of the Reverend William Emerson, the future grandfather of Ralph Waldo Emerson. While the Concord militia was assembled, a saddle maker named Reuben Brown was dispatched eastward to Lexington to gather intelligence. He witnessed the initial firing from the far western edge of the green, but then hurried back to give the alarm without waiting to determine the outcome. Upon Brown’s arrival back in Concord, Major John Buttrick of the Concord militia company asked him if he thought that the regulars were firing ball. Brown wasn’t sure, but thought it highly probable.24

  As the Concord militia formed, there was much more debate among the volunteers than had occupied the hours of waiting by the Lexington men in Buckman’s Tavern. In Lexington, there had then as yet been no irrevocable sense of doom. In Concord, especially after Reuben Brown’s report, it was pretty clear that doom was on its way to them. The younger men wanted to march eastward and meet the advancing regulars as far from town as possible. The middle-aged men wanted to stay closer to their families and businesses and defend the town proper. The town elders, most of whom had seen some measure of bloodshed in the French and Indian War or in combat against Indians, were more cautious. However many regulars were on the march, the Concord men were likely outnumbered. It might be wise to melt into the surrounding hills and await reinforcements from neighboring towns. Already members of the militia from neighboring Lincoln, just to the east, were joining them.25

  Most of these men were not “minutemen,” as history has so often characterized them. All were militiamen, but per long-standing custom and later suggestions from the Provincial Congress—directives was still too strong a word to these independently minded locals—only about one-quarter of the militia were designated as being able to assemble and march in the shortest time possible. They were the first responders of the day. The remaining militia formed and responded in a much more deliberative manner. Lexington—the minuteman statue that stands on its green to this day notwithstanding—had no company of true minutemen, but larger Concord did, and Amos Barrett was one of them.

  As Barrett remembered it fifty years later, “The bell rung at 3 o’clock for alarm. As I was a minute man, I was soon in town and found my captain and the rest of my Company at the post.” When the Concord men decided to send a scouting party in force to reconnoiter the regulars’ advance, Barrett’s minuteman company was among the 150 or so men who took up positions on the crest of a hill east of town. “We thought we would go and meet the British,” Barrett recalled. “We marched down towards Lexington about a mile or mile and a half and we see them coming. We halted and staid till they got within about 100 rods, then we were ordered to the about face and marched before them with our drums and fifes going, and also the British (drums and fifes). We had grand music.”26

  As these minutemen fell back into Concord, there was still debate about whether the militia would form and defend the town or withdraw to surrounding high ground—both to ascertain the regulars’ intentions and to await the arrival of more militia. To the consternation of some of the younger men, the counsel of sixty-four-year-old Colonel James Barrett prevailed. As the colonel of the combined Middlesex County regiment of militia, Barrett led them north out of Concord, across the North Bridge over the Concord River, and up to the high ground of Punkatasset Hill, about a mile north of Concord Common. A short pause of prudence seemed in order, and, as Reverend Emerson noted, “We were the more careful to prevent a Rupture with the King’s Troops, as we were uncertain what had happened at Lexington, & Knew not they had begun the Quarrell there by 1st firing upon our People.”27

  So Colonel Smith’s men, with fifes and drums playing in an attempt at intimidation—because there was certainly by then no secret of their advance—marched into Concord unopposed and came to a halt opposite the common. At that point it was about 8:00 a.m. The Concord Common, unlike the triangle patch of Lexington Green, was long and rectangular, extending along the southern edge of the main road as it curved north through town toward the North Bridge. In about the middle of the common, a road led west to the South Bridge across the Sudbury River, which joined the Assabet River to form the Concord River just upstream from the North Bridge.

  Now it was time for Colonel Smith once again to remember General Gage’s orders. Having caught up with Major Pitcairn’s advance force after its delay at Lexington and marched with it as one force the six miles into Concord, Smith again ordered that the two Concord bridges just beyond the town be seized. But instead of dispatching Major Pitcairn to command the North Bridge force, Smith chose Captain Lawrence Parsons, the commander of the light infantry company of Smith’s own Tenth Regiment of Foot.

  No firm reason has survived for why Smith chose Parsons over Pitcairn for this assignment, but it is interesting to speculate that Smith was no doubt disturbed over the bloodshed at Lexington. Whether or not the turn of events had been Pitcairn’s fault, he was the commander of the advance troops and responsible, short of an overt first volley by the rebels, for their firing. Parsons marched off for the North Bridge with six companies of light infantry.

  While the record is not completely clear,
these appear to have been the light infantry companies from the Fourth, Fifth, Tenth, and Thirty-Eighth Regiments, which were in Pitcairn’s advance into Lexington, along with the Forty-Third and Fifty-Second, which were not. In short order, Captain Walter S. Laurie of the Forty-Third was left guarding the North Bridge and its western approaches, while the companies of the Fourth and Tenth deployed to low hills a short distance westward. Captain Parsons and the remaining three companies, numbering about 120 men and guided by Ensign Henry De Berniere, marched on toward Colonel Barrett’s farm, where Gage’s intelligence had told him there was a considerable stockpile of munitions.28

  Indeed, there had been until mere days earlier, when Paul Revere had ridden into town with his first message of warning for the Provincial Congress. Much of the matériel had been removed to outlying towns, and what remained had been hidden with some measure of creativity. Only several days before, Colonel Barrett’s sons had plowed a field on his farm and then planted muskets instead of corn, covering them over with dirt. De Berniere, who had scouted this area surreptitiously with Captain Brown only a month earlier, was forced to report, “We did not find so much as we expected, but what there was we destroyed.”29

  Meanwhile, Colonel Smith also detailed a smaller force to the South Bridge, about a mile west of the common, both to look for munitions in that area and to form a defense against any rebel militia coming into town from that direction. Captain Mundy Pole of the grenadier company of Smith’s Tenth Regiment—again the colonel seemed to be going with men he knew well—led this detachment to the South Bridge. But for the steady calm of a rebel minuteman officer, the first shots of the Concord battle might have been fired here.