It was the first time any of us had laughed since the morning began.

The rider from Concord was as good as his word. He came spurring and whooping down the road, his horse kicking up clouds of dust, shouting:

``They're a-coming! By God, they're a-coming, they are!''

We heard him before he ever showed, and we heard him yelling after he was out of sight. Solomon Chandler hadn't misjudged the strength of his lungs, not at all. I think you could have heard him a mile away, and he was bursting at every seam with importance. I have observed that being up on a horse changes the whole character of a man, and when a very small man is up on a saddle, he'd like as not prefer to eat his meals there. That's understandable, and I appreciate the sentiment. As for this rider, I never saw him before or afterwards and never saw him dismounted, so whether he stood tall or short in his shoes, I cann't say; but I do know that he gave the day tone and distinction. The last thing in the world that resembled a war was our line of farmers and storekeepers and mechanics perched on top of a stone wall, and this dashing rider made us feel a good deal sharper and more alert to the situation.

We came down off the wall as if he had toppled all of us, and we crouched behind it. I have heard people talk with contempt about the British regulars, but that only proves that a lot of people talk about things of which they are deplorably ignorant. Whatever we felt about the redcoats, we respected them in terms of their trade, which was killing; and I know that I, myself, was nauseated with apprehension and fear and that my hands were soaking wet where they held my gun. I wanted to wipe my flint, but I didn't dare to, the state my hands were in, just as I didn't dare to do anything about the priming. The gun would fire or not, just as chance willed. I put a lot more trust in my two legs than in the gun, because the most important thing I had learned about war was that you could run away and survive to talk about it.