stantly the fire was returned, and one British soldier was killed and several were wounded. The engagement was at an end.
The two parties seem to have been equally confused by the fight. The Provincials manifested no fear, but the contest so long anticipated had actually taken place,—blood had been shed,—men had fallen on both sides. The responsibility of the moment was very great. In contemplation of law they had resisted the British Ministry, they had attacked the British throne.
The regulars retired to the village, and, the divisions of troops having joined each other, they commenced a retreat which for several miles was a precipitate flight.
Hayward fell mortally wounded at Lexington in a personal rencontre with a British soldier. It was fatal to both, though Hayward survived several hours. With a religious patriotism he assured his father that the day’s doings gave him no regret.
Patriotism is one of the most exalted virtues. It is not, as some would have us believe, a mere excitement, or even a passion. It is high among the virtues which men in this state of existence may exhibit. Patriotism is not merely a barren attachment to the country in which we were born, nor is it that narrow yet holy feeling which leads us to look with affection upon the spot of our nativity—upon the hills over which we have roamed in childhood and youth: but a large and noble view of the entire nation,—a regard for its institutions, social, moral, civil and religious, crowned by a manly spirit which leads its possessor to peril all in their defence. The patriot is devoted and self-sacrificing.
Such were Davis, Hayward and Hosmer. Their names were comparatively humble, yet they were men of duty, men of religion, men of a liberal patriotism. Davis was about thirty years of age. He was both a husband and a father.
