ouch. He decided to put
in all the powder and both bullets for his parting shot. Another half
hour and they would be under the protection of the guns of the frigate
Somerset. The minute-men were getting so near and were so determined
that Earl Percy ordered the cannon to unlimber and open fire, while
the soldiers, almost upon the run, hastened towards Charlestown.

Roger, having reloaded his gun, made haste to overtake them. Looking
along the road, he saw a crowd of panic-stricken people--men, women,
and children--fleeing from their houses. The picture of the scene of
Menotomy had stamped itself into his memory. This last shot should be
his best. Not now would he crouch behind a fence, a tree, or bowlder.
He would confront the murderers like a man. He walked deliberately
forward. He was by a farmhouse, so near the last file of soldiers
which had halted to ward off the minute-men a moment, that he could
see the whites of their eyes. He aimed at the cross-belt of a man in
the middle of the file, and pulled the trigger. He caught a glimpse of
a man falling, but found himself reeling to the ground. A bullet had
pierced his breast. The British passed on. A woman came from the
house, and looked down into his face.

"A drink of water, please marm," he said.

She ran to the well, sank the bucket into it, brought a gourd full,
and came and crouched by his head while he drank.

"Thank you, marm."

He looked up into her face a moment.

"I think I am going," he whispered.

She pillowed his head upon her arm, laid back the hair from his manly
brow, and fanned him with her apron.

"Please tell her," he whispered.

"Tell who?"

She bowed her head to catch the word.

"Tell--Rachel."

The mild blue eyes were looking far away. A smile like the light of
the morning came upon his face. One more breath, and he was one of the
forty-nine who, during the day, gave their lives that they might
inaugurate a new era in the republic of God.

XVIII.

BESIEGED.

Thomas Gage, governor, commanding his majesty's forces in America, was
sitting in the Province House, greatly disturbed in mind. The
expedition to Concord had not resulted as he expected. The troops had
marched out bravely, destroyed a few barrels of flour, disabled half a
dozen old cannon, burned some carriage wheels, but had returned to
Boston on the run like a flock of sheep worried by dogs. The Tories
had informed him that a couple of regiments could march fro