‘THEY WANTED A FIGHT, SO WE GIVE ‘EM ONE”

          I, Daniel Springer, was one of the two-score-plus men that stood under arms, on Lexington’s green, early that Wednesday morn. It was just comin’ on to daybreak, and the weather was right pleasant for the middle of April. Yet, me stomach growled nevertheless, ready for a cup o' coffee and some eggs, as we'd been been standin' here for more'n an hour, already.

          Some say we were lookin’ for a fight. Well.... maybe some were. I, meself, I’m not one to be ridden roughshod over.... not by anyone. Still, I was a hopin’ that them Reg’lars, seein’ us there and not backing down, would just turn around and go back to Boston-town from whence they came. Man, was I wrong.

          Turns out, them wasn’t reg’lar Lobsterbacks. Them was Grenadiers, the King’s own elite, the toughest of ‘em all. They marched into town, took one look at us and wheeled around to face us, and I’m here to tell ya.... I was scared spit-less. It was obvious that bunch was spoilin’ for a fight.

          Now, I’m a tough man.... a blacksmith, by trade.... and I’ve done me share of fightin’, especially back in me younger days when this was all frontier, with red-heathens skulkin’ about. But this here was different.

          We were simple militia, made up of townsfolk and farmers and such, not professional soldiers. In our minds, we were here more as a show of defiance than anything.

          A red coated officer on a white gelding demanded we lay down our arms and disband, but t’weren’t none of us havin’ any of that. Ain’t nobody layin’ hands on me gun but me.

          Cousin John, Cap’n of our militia, had earlier spoke boldly about “if’n they want a war then let it begin here”, but now.... facing a much larger force than we’d expected, he did the right thing. John give us the order to fall back slowly. We were to retire, but with our weapons, in hand.

          Suddenly, a shot was fired.... from where, I know not; but that surely opened the ball. The Grenadiers fired upon us, and I took out at a run for a low stone wall just behind us.

          Prince, Judge Estabrook’s man, was the first of our number to fall; a bullet in his breast. There were others, too. Several, in fact, lay dead or wounded on the common green. 

          The soldiers advanced, the morning sun now gleaming off fixed bayonets, and Cousin John gave the order to scatter, every man for himself. He and I took to the woods, as did most of the others.

          We found out later that the British sacked our town, ripping it apart in search of weapons and gunpowder that we’d secreted away the night before, thanks to Mr. Revere’s midnight warning.

          From Lexington, the soldiers marched on Concord, where they met more’n a thousand of our neighbors, all loaded for bear.

          In the noontime, we received word that the Reg’lars had taken a lickin’ at Concord and were now marchin’ for Boston-town; and that militia from neighboring towns were attacking all along their line of retreat.

          Not to be left out, we took off for the road between Lincoln and Lexington. There, John positioned us atop the Bluff, overlooking the Boston Road. As the column of Reg'lars come abreast our position, we opened up with our long rifles, droppin’ a red coated officer, as well as, several soldiers.

          They rallied, sending skirmishers to dislodge us from our positions, and we took off into the brush, only to set up further along the road to ambush ‘em again and again. It was hot, mean work, it was. From behind a rock or a tree or some such cover, you take a position and sight down the barrel at one of them red coated buggers, all jammed together, marchin' side-by-side, one right after the other, down the rock-walled lane. You take aim, slowly let out your breath, and squeeze the trigger. Past the gun smoke, you see the effect of your shot, and within half a minute, you've reloaded, ready to do it, again. All the time, takin' care not to get shot, ye'self.

       And that's how it went, all afternoon long. Take three or four shots, then hit the woods runnin', two jumps ahead of the skirmishers; makin' your way further along the road, to set up and do it all over again. I’m tellin’ you, friend, I shot that ol’ squirrel rifle of mine ‘til I was plumb sick of reloadin’ the dang thing.

       But then, they did come a askin' for it. They wanted a fight, so we give ‘em one.... all the way back to Boston-town.

'A VERY GOOD EVENING'

The ride home was as routine and uneventful, as ever; my 12-hour shift of ‘playin’ with the Natives’ was over, thank goodness. Outside my truck window, it was a beautiful spring afternoon, with blue skies, lots of sunshine, and temperatures in the low 70's. I debated going fishing when I got home. The dogwoods and the redbud trees were in full bloom, so I knew the crappie would be biting. I also considered taking the dogs out for a run over at the hatchery, but we'd done that the last two evenings in a row. So, no.... that's not what I really wanted to do. In the end, I decided to spend the evening, sitting outside by a fire, reading a bit and just unwinding after a very hectic day.

It took only a few minutes to change out of my uniform and into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. A few more to get a good fire going in my old tractor wheel fire ring, and then I piled up in a sack chair, with a good book in hand.

I'd just gotten into my reading when a turkey sounded off in the distance. The second time he gobbled, I laid my book down and just listened, a smile on my face. I could picture in my mind that ol’ Tom cautiously making his way down the little cove at the back of the farm, looking for him a girlfriend. I knew that’s where he was, 'cause I'd watched that rascal feed, back there, all throughout hunting season while sitting in my deer stand. I never saw a deer, but I sure saw him, a plenty.

         After a few minutes, my mind turned back to reading, and I, once again, immersed myself in the centuries-old saga of the Welsh Prince Madoc. Presently, I felt my black cat Boy rubbing back and forth against my leg. He didn’t really want to be petted. He just seemed happy to have a bit of company for the evening.



As I continued to read and soak up the last warm rays of sunshine, I could feel the tension in my body slowly evaporating. A calm had befallen me, and an unbelievably wonderful feeling it was.

My Sweet Shrub

The sun was now beginning to set, yet the fire kept the creeping evening chill at bay. Most relaxing of all, though, was the smell of wood smoke; a stress reliever in its own rite.

While getting another stick of wood for the fire, I noticed that the sweet shrub that Kim had given me, last year, already had a bloom on it. That made me very happy. I’m already looking forward to the sweet, fruity fragrance of sweet shrub later this summer.

A Whippoorwill

I marveled at the darkening evening sky, as I sat, listening to the lonesome call of the first Whippoorwill I've heard, this year. As full darkness set in, the heavens filled with brilliantly-lit constellations overhead. Of them all, the ones I knew best were that of the Big Dipper and Polaris, the North Star. The star-studded sky was mesmerizing. With it too dark, now, to read anymore, I was content to sit statue-still by the warm fire, soaking in the peace and quiet.

The fire gradually burned down to glowing red coals. I leaned back in my chair to look up through the still-bare limbs of the surrounding trees, as I watched the flashing lights of high-flying jet airplanes streak across the star-studded night sky. From back behind the house, I could hear an owl hooting, calling out to others of its kind.

Finally, after about nine, I decided to call it a night. As I banked the fire so that it would burn completely out during the night, the coyotes from across the Keeler pasture opened up, pups and all, serenading the waning full moon that was already easing below the western horizon. As threatening to our young calves as they are, I still enjoy hearing their weird, wavering song. It’s just another reminder of the wildness that’s still out there in the dark.

With the chirping of crickets the only sound, now, I inhaled deeply of the wood smoke one last time before heading inside. It had been a good evening, a very good evening.