rd Percy planted a field pine
pointing in the direction of the Green to check the advancing
patriots and cover the retreat of the Regulars.

On the triangular "Common," in the very heart of the village, a
flat-faced boulder marks the line where the minute-men under
Captain Parker were formed to receive the Regulars. "Stand your
ground; don't fire unless fired upon; but if they mean to have a
war, let it begin here" was Parker's command to his men and it was
there the war did begin. The small band of patriots were not yet
in line when the red-coats appeared at the east end of the
meeting-house, coming on the double-quick. Riding ahead, a British
officer called out, "Disperse, you rebels! Villains, disperse!"
but the little band of rebels stood their ground until a fatal
volley killed eight and wounded ten. Only two of the British were
wounded.

The victors remained in possession of the Green, fired a volley,
and gave three loud cheers to celebrate a victory that in the end
was to cost King George his fairest colonies.

The soldiers' monument that stands on the Green was erected in
1799. In 1835, in the presence of Daniel Webster, Joseph Story,
Josiah Quincy, and a vast audience, Edward Everett delivered an
oration, and the bodies of those who fell in the battle were
removed from the old cemetery to a vault in the rear of the shaft,
where they now rest. The weather-beaten stone is over-grown with a
protecting mantle of ivy, which threatens to drop like a veil over
the long inscription. Here, for more than a century, the village
has received distinguished visitors,--Lafayette in 1824, Kossuth
in 1851, and famous men of later days.

The Buckman Tavern, where the patriots assembled, built in 1690,
still stands with its marks of bullets and flood of old
associations.

These ancient hostelries--Monroe's, Buckman's, Wright's in
Concord, and the Wayside Inn--are by no means the least
interesting features of this historic section. An old tavern is as
pathetic as an old hat: it is redolent of former owners and
guests, each room reeks with confused personalities, every latch
is electric from many hands, every wall echoes a thousand voices;
at dusk of day the clink of glasses and the resounding toast may
still be heard in the deserted banquet-hall; at night a ghostly
light illumines the vacant ballroom, and the rustle of silks and
satins, the sound of merry laughter, and the faint far-off strains
of music fall upon the ear.