April Morning by Howard Fast

thoughts in whatever time is left to us—and then to state our purpose and integrity simply and directly. If you wish it so?”
    I thought that it was beautifully put. I was cold and tired and hungry; still I admired that the Reverend, under such circumstances, could do near as well as he had done in church Sunday past. You must remember that he took off Friday and Saturday to prepare his Sunday sermon, and here was this, right off the top of his mind in the pitch-black night. I suppose that Father could have bettered it, being used to throwing in an argument at the drop of the hat, but for a reflective man like the Reverend, it was all one could ask. I even began to look forward to his projected exchange with the British, and to imagine some of the things I might say in his place. Just for the sake of peace, I hoped that his thoughts ran to less colorful language than mine.
    When he finished, the applause came from all around, and it was plain that he had the sentiment with him. I can’t express how relieved I felt. There is nothing that lessens one’s warlike ardor more than a few hours in the wet and cold of the night, and with the reassurance of the Reverend that this would be no more than a polite and skillful exchange of words and principles, I began to anticipate the finish of it and work up a certain amount of indignation at whatever was holding up the arrival of the British. In all truth, I must admit that one of the things I felt I simply could not face was the possibility of being left out of whatever would happen. I could imagine the other boys talking about it and building up their own personal deeds, the way boys do, and strutting in front of the girls; and the thought that I might be out of all this was just heartbreaking. But now it would be all right. I would have my cake and eat it, so as to speak.
    A number of the women and some of the younger boys had drifted out to the common. Jonas Parker and Simon Casper told them in no uncertain terms that they were to go home and stay out of the way. Then Jonas Parker yelled for the militia to fall into parade order and dress up. I had drilled with them enough to know what to do, and I found myself a place next to Abel Loring, in the second rank. Aside from Parker, Casper, Father, and the Reverend, sixty-six men had turned out for the muster. Even though there has been some argument as to the actual number, I know this for a fact—because once we were in rank, Parker had us count off, and the count came to exactly sixty-six. With the four men in front of rank, there were seventy of us assembled on the common, two lines of men, thirty-three in each line.
    At first, there was something of a scramble on the part of the boys to be in the front rank, where they could get a good view of everything that happened, but even the Reverend agreed that the British would get a better impression of us if they saw mature men instead of boys, and he and Parker and Father and Casper went down the ranks, moving the boys back and the men up front. The one exception was Jonathan Harrington. He was seventeen but small for his age, and he didn’t look much more than fourteen or fifteen, but he was a musician. The long-range plan was that we would have a regular corps of four drums and four fifes, and the Committee at Concord had been promising us the drums for weeks. But only one drum came through. Willie Diamond carried it until his mother drove him home and into bed. Abel Loring played the fife and so did Nathan Hamble. But Hamble was in bed with a bad sore throat, and Abel Loringhad forgotten to bring his fife when he joined the muster. Jonathan Crisp and I pressed him to run home for it, but he was afraid that if he did, the British would turn up while he was gone and he’d miss all the fun. That left Jonathan Harrington as our only real musician, and he argued that there was no point in having a musician unless he played his piece where the enemy could see