Samuel could not get over the events which had transpired. Placing both hands on his head he walked in a circle replaying the whole thing, "The British lost order, they fired upon us! War has started! We lost the first battle." He was waving his arms like a mad man by this time.

"Stop it!" I cut him short and he turned to face me, "did you not see what just happened? People died."

"Your family is safe, we saw them—and your uncles," Samuel seemed confused at my distress; I could feel my face getting hot and my checks reddening.

"But other people's brothers, fathers, sons, uncles died. Jonas Parker was run through before our eyes! I've known him since I was a babe, you think I do not care?" I pointed out. I stood up so we were facing eye to eye, unyielding. Samuel and I witnessed the same event, but we saw it differently. He saw the glory in it, while I saw the tragedy which had just unfolded. We were not ready for war against such great a nation as Britain; I have been naïve to think so.

"Tis not over Sarah, you shall see. You have fought with Samson, I have seen it. He may be bigger and stronger than such a little mite as you, but he does not always win, in fact you have on many an occasion gotten the best of him. Think of it that way. You are a patriot, act like one." We stood staring at each other for a moment until something caught the corner of his eye, "They are rallying, 'tis not over!" he cried.

The fife and drum started 'Yankee Doodle' and the men shouted 'huzzah!'—their spirits rejuvenated, as were Samuel's. Chills came over my body; to this day the sound of the fife and drum rattling out that tune causes me chills.

The militia started to make way towards Concord, some on the main road, others taking a less obvious route through the back woods. "I will be a part of this." Samuel stated, slinging his musket over his shoulder.

"You are going to follow and watch?" I questioned, convinced we had seen enough for one day.

"I will not stand by and watch history in the making, I will be a part of history," he clarified as he started to take leave, "stay here and I will come back for you."

"Stay here?" I stopped in my place, looking at him in disgust, "Stay here?" I repeated, the words were bitter in my mouth, "You cannot go! Your father told you not to!" I yelled and I started to chase after him.

"Stay here," he called back to me over his shoulder as he jogged away, "I will come back for you, you have my word. I will come back for you Sarah." And I watched as he disappeared into the woods. Slowly turning around, I saw the aftermath on the green; families grieving the loss of their loved ones, the injured being given aid, and a desolate forest surrounded me.

"SAMUEL!" I cried once last time in a blood-curding scream. I could hear musket fire in the distance; and I was terrified. Cupping my red face in my hands I could not believe what had happened. Exhaustion and anger got the better of me; I broke down crying hysterically and slumped back down to the ground, hunched over crying into my pulled up knees. Eventually, cried myself to sleep there on the cold ground: hungry, drained, and alone. My dreams were plagued by images of loved ones dying at the hands of a merciless bayonet.

It was barely 8 a.m.