enoon wore away. The British were returning from Colonel
Barrett's, having destroyed the cannon carriages, thrown some bullets
into a well, and broken open several barrels of flour. It was past
noon when they formed in line once more to return to Boston.

"We will head them off at Merriam's Corner," said Colonel Barrett.

The planks which the British had removed from the bridge were quickly
replaced. The minute-men crossed the stream, turned into a field to
the left, and hastened over the meadow to the road leading to Bedford.
It was past three o'clock when they reached Mr. Merriam's house. Roger
saw the British marching down the road. Suddenly a platoon wheeled
towards the minute-men and brought their guns to a level. There was a
flash, a white cloud, and bullets whistled over their heads. Once more
he took aim, as did others, and several redcoats fell. Before he could
reload, the serried ranks disappeared, marching rapidly towards
Lexington. The minute-men hastened on, and at the tavern of Mr. Brooks
he sent another bullet into the ranks of the retreating foe.[62]

[Footnote 62: "We set out upon our return. Before the whole had
quitted the town we were fired on from houses and behind trees, and
before we had gone half a mile we were fired on from all sides, but
mostly from the rear, where the people had hid themselves in houses
till we passed." "Diary of a British Officer," _Atlantic Monthly_,
April, 1877.]

[Illustration: NORTH BRIDGE The minute-men stood under the trees at
the right; the British, the other side of the river]

"Scatter now! Get upon their flank! Pepper 'em from behind walls and
trees!" shouted Colonel Barrett, who saw that it would be useless to
follow the retreating enemy in battalion order, but each man, acting
for himself, could run through fields and pastures and keep up a
tormenting fire.

Acting upon the order, Roger and James Heywood ran through a piece of
woods towards Fiske Hill. They came upon a British soldier drinking at
a well by a house.

"You are a dead man," shouted the redcoat, raising his gun.

"So are you," said Heywood. Their muskets flashed and both fell, the
Britisher with a bullet through his heart, and Heywood mortally
wounded.

From rock heap, tree, fence, and thicket the guns of the minute-men
were flashing. The soldiers who had marched so proudly, keeping step
to the drumbeat in the morning, were running now. No hurrah went up as
at sunrise on Lexington Common. T