Bunker Hill

of a farm in Lincoln and recently emigrated from England, handed his musket to one of his townsmen. “I will go down and talk to them,” he said. He walked to the bridge and struck up a conversation with the British officers. After a while, he returned to the hill. Nichols, who was described as a “good droll fellow and a fine singer,” clearly had no heart for what was about to transpire. It was time, he said, to head home. With gun in hand, James Nichols walked away.
    —
    The alarm had reached the town of Acton around 3:00 a.m. Thanks to the thirty-year-old gunsmith Isaac Davis, Acton had one of the best-equipped militia companies in the province. Not only did Davis have a beautiful musket of his own manufacture but he had equipped each of the men in his company with a bayonet. They were also well practiced, having met at Davis’s home twice a week since November 1774.
    But on the morning of April 19, as he prepared to lead his men to Concord, about six miles to the southeast, Davis was, according to his wife, “anxious and thoughtful.” Several of their four children were suffering from scarlet fever. By about seven o’clock, more than twenty militiamen had collected at the Davis house, and Isaac decided they must leave. His wife believed that he had “something to communicate” as he took up his musket and cartridge box, but, unable to find the words, he simply said, “Take good care of the children,” and walked out the door.
    They marched quickly past the Acton Meetinghouse and, soon after that, past Brooks Tavern, where they were greeted by handkerchiefs waving from the windows and doorway. All the while additional members of their company kept catching up to them and falling into line until they eventually comprised thirty-eight men, close to the entire company.
    After following the road for several miles, they took a shortcut along a woodland path and two miles later found themselves at the edge of a field overlooking the home of Colonel Barrett. They could see Captain Parsons and his men moving about the property, looking for stores. Staying off the main road and marching on a direct line through the fields, they passed a tavern kept by the widow Brown, about a mile from the North Bridge. Thirteen-year-old Charles Handley was living at the tavern then; years later he would remember hearing Davis’s fifer play “The White Cockade,” a bouncy Scottish tune that memorialized Bonnie Prince Charlie’s doomed attempt to overthrow the British king. During that 1745 uprising the prince had placed a white rose on his bonnet, and thus the “white cockade” became an emblem of rebellion. With the fife and drum playing this song of defiance, Captain Isaac Davis and his men marched toward the North Bridge of Concord.
    —
    By about nine that morning, somewhere between four and five hundred militiamen had assembled on the flat-topped hill overlooking the river. In addition to those from Concord, Lincoln, and Bedford, officers and men had arrived from Carlisle, Chelmsford, Groton, Littleton, and Stow, including Lieutenant Colonel John Robinson, who had just arrived ahead of his militia companies from Westford. At some point, they were joined by Captain Davis’s company from Acton.
    As they had been doing for several hours now, Colonel Barrett and his officers were discussing what to do next. Then someone pointed out that smoke had begun to rise from the center of Concord. This was the opportunity for which Lieutenant Hosmer had been waiting all morning.
    Hosmer had a history of taking adversarial positions at town meetings. He was also a militant patriot, and he’d probably grown increasingly impatient with Colonel Barrett’s reluctance to engage the British. As billows of smoke continued to rise into the windy sunshine, he turned to Barrett and said, “Will you let them burn the town down?”
    —
    Colonel Smith and Major Pitcairn had fared no better than Captain Parsons in their search for military stores in Concord’s town center. The townspeople were, Colonel Smith later reported to General Gage, “sulky,” and in one instance a man even attacked Major Pitcairn, who scored one of the few successes that morning when he came upon three rusty cannon barrels. As the burly grenadiers moved about the houses, some of the officers sat in the sun on chairs that they’d temporarily confiscated, sipping hard cider.
    As at the Barrett farm, the regulars came upon a few wooden gun carriages, which they