Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1895-07-19

y
enter, its window looking on the pleasant
garden, and perhaps on the two stately
elms-since sappeared-known as elan
cock and adams"
We retrace our steps over the railway,
and turn to the right past the church and
the Harrington house, past the Soldiers
monument" and strike again to the right
along the road to Concord.
All. what terrible fight that was along
this road during the afternoon of April 10,
l775! How our poor redcoats, as we call
them-"those derned lobster-backs," as
an American would call them exhausted
with long marching and fighting under
burning sun, stung with too-well aimed
bullets fired by an invisible and ungetatable
foe, who was secure amidst his native
woods and rocks, half-dead with thirst, and
worst of all-thoroughly beaten, came
racing along here from Concord town, a
| disorganized, dispirited, cowed mass of flu
gitives!
yankee Doodle" said an officer who
had been in the affair, and who was asked
| if he knew the air-"Yankee Doodle
| Yes, bless their eyes; they made us dance
to it till we were tired ~
On the rocky face of bluff on our
right hand, about three miles from Lex
|
Earl Percy made an attempt to rally the
| fugitives, but was driven off the hill at
the point of the bayonet. Cannot we i'm
agine the surprise and indignation with
! which that piece of news was heard? No
body of men, however well disciplined and
however brave, can long stand the harass-
ing fire of a lurking enemy, at which II
cannot get but for a band of ploughboys
and farmers actually to drive the British
regular soldier before them with his own
pet weapon. 1t was impossible, incredi-
ble.' But they did all the same
The road mounts and descends through
a thckly wooded country, which probably
has not materially altered in appearance
during the past century. Gradually the
houses increase in number; we pass Fiske's
| HILL the site of the Brooks tavern, the
Merriam house and the Teal house-at all
of which points there was either actual
fighting or exchange of shots, as the door
and floor of the last named still testify
and descend into the pleasant, but we
should imagine, exceedingly dull old town
of Concord.
At a later period than that of which we
are particularly writing, Concord became
somewhat famous as favorite retreat of
men of letters, prominent amongst whom
colt, and Hoar.
On our left hand is the old Wright S
tavern, where the provincials had an
alarm-p post. 1t is still house of public
entertainment, but, like all others in this
part of Massachusetts, conducted on tenn
perance principles, and the landlord never
tires of telling how an English officer sit
ting here one day with a glass of spirits
before him happened accidentally to cut
his finger whereupOn he allowed some of
the drops of blood to fall into the liquor,
and drank it Off, giving as his toast, May
the blood of the rebel rascals so mix with
the water of Concord river" He happen
ed to be one of the first victims of the
"rebel rascals' fire that same day.
Opposite to the Wrights tavern rises,
behind line of houses, hill which was
considered to be the key to the town. On
this hill the early Puritan settlers reared
their first chapel, and the hillside is still
covered with their old-world gravestones,
inscribed with many a quaint name and
with very curious epitaphs. The graves
of the Buttrick family are numerous; but
the grave of John Buttrick, the patriot,
whose words, Fire, fellow soldiers For
Gods sake, fire. are engraved on his
head stone, is in another old battle-ground
in the town.
Instead of turning down the main street,
we go straight on, along thickly wooded
road, which runs through the centre of the
battlefield of Concord. A little way down,
on the left hand, stands some way back
from the road the "Old Manse" of Haw-
thorne, the "Mosses' from which have
given delight to thousands of readers on
this as well as on the other side of the At
lantic. 1t is the most complete realiza-
ton of an ideal, so complete, indeed, that
the question arises if prosaic forethought
ought not to step in and save it from fall
ing to pieces of sheer decrepitude. 1t is a
"shingle' building, with battered gambre
roof provided with dormer window, de-
serted, falling to decay, its windows shut
tered up, the grass growing on its door
steps, and wild luXuriance of creepel
pushing boldly through the shattered panes
of what was once the study of Hawthorne
Seen as we see it under dark wintry sky,
whilst the wind means through the dark
tir-trees, and makes a loose shutter rattle
against the loose planks of the house-wall
devoid of any sign of recent human hab
tation, not footmark on the path, not q
breath of smoke curling from the massive
chimneys, we can hardly realize that VT
are in young country, of which the his
tory extends back little over century, ant
can fancy rather that we are in some quiet
nook of Old England.
We pass through the gate, hanging on
one hinge, and pause to look at the old
Jones house opposite, from which the
British troops were fired at in 1775, and al
which they let fly in return, bullet-holt
in the door still bearing witness of the
fact. The adjoining field was the muster
ground of the provincial levies, and was
chosen, it is said, from the abundance OF
tlints on the soil, so that the rustics could
supply themselves ere they went into ac-
ton. The next turning to the left beyond
the Old Manse brings us by an alley of fir:
and pines to the base of the famous statue
of the Minute man, erected in commemo-
ration of the event which has immortal
lied Concord. The figure is admirable,
and the site well chosen. Facing the
woodland road up which came King
Georges troops, stands handsome young
fellow of heroic size, three-cornered hat on
head, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his pow,
deT-horn slung over his left shoulder, his
right hand grasping his rifle, his left still
holding the handle of the pillow, over which
hangs his coat The statue tells its OWL
story; the young farmer peacefully pillow
ing, but blowing with rifle and powder
horn ready to be snatched up at the first
alarm, alert at the sound of the warning
bugle, and not even troubling himself tC
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