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Ebenezer Hall (search for this): chapter 7
hat last leisurely lad was naught but a bottomless pit. Mercy. And now, Aunt Abigail, the excitement's all over. Abigail. You know they may be coming home— most any minute now—tired and hungry. Nancy. And our supplies near gone! Abigail. We must have more. Mercy. Shall I run over home? Perchance mother can spare us yet another loaf from yesterday's baking. Abigail. Yes, child, run. And if there be a horse still left, have Pomp fetch us more bread-or crackers — from Master Ebenezer Hall's bakery—if so be they have baked on this distressful day. (Exit Mercy.) Nancy. Now to coax up our fire—scarce any wood left. Can't Peter- Abigail. Where under the canopy is Peter? Nancy. He's gone away up through the trap door, into the upper attic. He thinks he can see our road where it curves into Menotomy. Abigail. Nonsense! He can't possibly see beyond the Weirs. Nancy. Peter's pretty good at seeing, Aunt Abigail. （Steps out and calls up to Peter.) Oh, Pete
Jonathan Porter (search for this): chapter 7
t home, going clang, clang on my anvil. (Enter Porter.) Master Porter, what news, I pray you? Porastle William—all they found there, anyhow? Porter. And what they didn't find had taken wings, haand and wait. (Sits down at back of scene.) Porter (returning visibly stirred). My friends of Mal especially if they lose sons at Lexington. Porter. True, true, but Colonel Royall wished to figh such a pace before. Minutemen. Minutemen. Porter. Have you more news, good doctor? Tufts. I e farmers were fighting all along the road. Porter. Gage doubtless sent reinforcements as the rumouths like dogs. (Sounds of fife and drum.) Porter. More minutemen. (Enter two or three minutemen.) Minuteman. Which way to the fighting? Porter. They are fighting even now in Menotomy. You there. I'll march alongside. (Exeunt all but Porter.) (Fife and drum.) Porter (to his sign). RoPorter (to his sign). Royal Oak. Royal Oak no more. No Colonel-Royall, no King Royal. Fare ye well, Royal Oak. I'll paint [19 more...]
A. Gleason (search for this): chapter 7
Winter hill I think you'll cut them off there. I'll march alongside. (Exeunt all but Porter.) (Fife and drum.) Porter (to his sign). Royal Oak. Royal Oak no more. No Colonel-Royall, no King Royal. Fare ye well, Royal Oak. I'll paint ye over to morrow and call ye—shall it be the Minuteman's Tavern or Liberty Oak? No, it shall be just Porter's Tavern. I can stand it no longer. Look out for yourself, Royal Oak. Farewell. (Exits with musket.) The Roadside farm. by E. G. Bigelow and A. Gleason. Time—5.00 P. M., April 19, 1775. Exterior of Rev. Edward Brooks' home on Grove Street, showing house. Under tree a fire with kettle on tripod, table with pewter mugs, bread, etc., chair, settle at front door. A gawky soldier lad sits at table, feeding hugely, Mercy in attendance. Nancy and Mrs. Putnam at gate. Characters. Nancy. Aged eighteen Nieces of Abigail and Edward Brooks. Mercy. Aged twelve Nieces of Abigail and Edward Brooks. Mrs. Putnam. A neighbor. (Husband w
Frederick Mackenzie (search for this): chapter 7
own horse Lieutenant Gould of the King's Own, who, wounded in the ankle at Concord, was proceeding in a chaise to Boston when he was captured by the old men of Menotomy. In Medford he wrote, I am now treated with the greatest humanity and taken all possible care of. He remained as captive and guest with the Brookses until his wound was healed and he was exchanged. In addition to the minutemen there were many embattled farmers who must have passed through Medford to the fight. Lieut. Frederick Mackenzie,A British Fusileer, edited by Allen French. who has given the only contemporary account of the battle, and who was in the Welsh Fusileers, reports that many farmers rode within a short distance of the fighting, tied their horses and crept near enough to the moving column to get in a few shots and then went back to their horses, rode along again until they came abreast the column, dismounted, hitched, fired, and returned, repeating the same tactics until their ammunition was exhaust
Turrell (search for this): chapter 7
minutemen! Nancy. But in such odd array? Shirt-sleeves, no uniforms, panting, unshorn, no hats, hair flying in the wind? Mercy. Did Uncle Edward look like that when he set forth this morning? Nancy. Nay, nay! In truth he looked the gentleman he is, ana 'twere he went to meeting, except for the musket slung across his shoulder. He rode our own gray mare, had on his very best full-bottomed wig, if you'll believe it, the one he wears whene'er he fills the pulpit for good old Parson Turrell in the new church. He galloped off like mad, trying to overtake Cousin Caleb and the Medford minutemen. (Abigail appears in the doorway.) Abigail. . . Plenty of chocolate still in the pot, girls? Nancy. Not very much, though we have thinned it out with milk. That last leisurely lad was naught but a bottomless pit. Mercy. And now, Aunt Abigail, the excitement's all over. Abigail. You know they may be coming home— most any minute now—tired and hungry. Nancy. And our supplies
William Polly (search for this): chapter 7
on's mouth. New England soldiers have learned much of old from the Indians. Porter. What would poor Colonel Royall think of this? Tufts. Would he were here. His heart has been ever with us, and he could not but take fire had he seen the faces of those men of Danvers. Heat, exhaustion, hunger, thirst—forgotten in that determination to stand for their liberty. Abigail. You should have seen father and our minutemen as they started forth in the morning, with old Master Putnam and William Polly, who's hardly older than I am, following right along with the best of them. Mrs. Fulton. Old and young, we are all on fire with zeal, doctor. Tell us what we must do now if these game men of ours or Danvers come wounded back. Tufts. Gather the women and scrape lint for wounds, and have collected any good clean cloth for bandages. Mrs. Fulton. I'll do so now at my home beyond the bridge. Abigail, go you and tell your mother and collect the women. (Exit Mrs. Fulton and Abigail.)
Harry Bond (search for this): chapter 7
orialized the legislature for compensation. Harry Bond was a Scotch-Irish blacksmith who had a shope you a horseshoe to keep away the Evil One. Bond (musket in one hand, hammer in the other, looki Why don't you go to the fight, Master Bond? Bond. Why don't I? You'd best run home and read yourshot or two, all in a most prodigious hurry. Bond. And in too great a hurry to stop at the Royal ce, while they took it away under our noses. Bond. Took it away right out of Medford, didn't theythey didn't find had taken wings, hadn't it? Bond. Well, it flew away somewhere, but I guess it whis bargain. (Fife and drum drawing nearer.) Bond. Another sound of fife and drum. Yes, more minthink that General Gage knows aught of them. Bond. But suppose the British should send some men-oll have hot fighting enough. Hall. Nay, nay, Bond, if the fighting gets too hot for them up thereance to do battle with them here. Hall. Yes, Bond, you would fight, I know, as bravely as you spe[14 more...]
G. H. LesDnier (search for this): chapter 7
. Afterwards. Medford square was thronged with citizens and children for the observance of Patriot's Day. Just a few of the old veterans of ‘61 are left to us now, but they were loyally present, guests of our president in the old home of Capt. Isaac Hall. The usual features of the day were increasingly well observed and the modern rider sped on his way. Memorial Day came, the day of days for the comrades of the Grand Army. They number but eleven now. Eight of them, Commander George L. Stokell, Charles O. Burbank, Edgar Hall, Alvin Reed, Winslow Joyce, Thomas Kelley, G. H. LesDnier, followed the old flag to the silent city to mark their comrades' graves. A visiting comrade from Vermont, J. M. Safford, went with them. We grasped their hands and looked into their faces once more, remembering the long-ago time in which they lived, loyally dared and bravely fought. On Flag Day four of them participated in the public exercises. The Old Guard dies, but it never surrenders.
Irish (search for this): chapter 7
victim to his patriotism, brought up her family with rare management, and has among her descendants Phillips Brooks, Francis Parkman and Peter Chardon Brooks. The Tavern in the square. by Ruth Dame Coolidge. Scene, Medford square, before Royal Oak Tavern. afternoon, April 19, 1775. Characters in order of entrance. Belinda. Old colored woman in service of Isaac Royall. Abigail. Thirteen-year-old daughter of Capt. Isaac Hall. Harry Bond. Blacksmith from Mystic Avenue. Scotch-Irish; killed at Bunker Hill; patriots met and discussed at his home. Jonathan Porter, proprietor of Royal Oak Tavern. Twenty-seven years old; came to Medford from Malden, 1773; commissioned second lieutenant, 1776. Stephen Hall. Seventy-one years old; called Honorable and Gentleman; served in legislature and on committee of advice. Sarah Bradlee Fulton. Aged twenty-three; energetic, patriotic woman; carried despatches to Boston by order of Washington; assisted in disguising husband and
Yankee Doodle (search for this): chapter 7
irls look up towards Peter.) Nancy. What now, Peter? Peter. Oh, the guns are well-nigh silent, I fear the fight is over. Hold! Horsemen—three, four, and men on foot. A gray horse—looks like Dolly. Abigail. It must be your father, at last! Peter. No, a rider in a red coat—bright red, like the king's troops. Abigail. What does it mean? Peter. Oh, I do see father! He's walking, and leading Dolly—they're almost here! distant men's Voices (getting nearer, singing). Yankee Doodle came to town, Riding on a pony— Nancy. Seem to be in good spirits! Voices. Heels they stuck way out behind Legs were long and bony—ee—ee. (Sounds of horse's feel and cheers.) voice. Don't sing any more about heels, fellers, might hurt the poor gentleman's feelings. another. Haw, haw! Yes, that's so! Heels seems to be his'ns tender p'nt! (Guffaws.) Rev. Edward (outside). Thank you for your assistance, neighbors. Without it, assuredly, our friend's life would hav
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