Some of the British soldiers were shot dead; some were severely wounded, and had to be carried along by their comrades; and some dropped down, in utter exhaustion, by the way. While thus retreating, every hour added to their dismay, and the most ignorant soldier could see that they were in imminent danger of being entirely cut off by their rapidly increasing foes. Their fears had now swollen to a panic. About nine o’clock in the morning, General Gage had heard of the peril to which his troops were exposed, and he immediately despatched reinforcements, under Lord Percy, to their aid. The British Lord, as he commenced his march ordered his band, in derision of the Americans, to play “Yankee Doodle.” His troops consisted of a brigade of a thousand men, with two field-pieces. This force he deemed invincible by any power Massachusetts could bring against it. Hilariously he led his veterans over the Neck and through Roxbury, as if on a pleasure excursion. About noon, to his surprise, he met the British regulars, in utter rout, flying as fast as terror could drive them, before the Massachusetts farmers. He opened his brigade to the right and left to receive the fugitives, and, planting his field-pieces on an eminence, held the Americans at bay.[82] A few moments were allowed for refreshment and repose, when the whole force resumed its humiliating flight. The enraged British soldiers behaved like savages. They set fire to the houses and shops by the way. Women and children were maltreated. The sick and helpless were driven from their flaming dwellings into the fields. The Americans hotly pursued. They kept up a constant fire, from every available point. The British occasionally made a stand, and sharp skirmishes ensued. Every hour the march of the fugitives became more and more impeded by the number of their wounded. A bullet pierced the leg of Colonel Smith, and he sat upon his horse pallid and bleeding. A musket ball struck a button from the waistcoat of Lord Percy. One of his officers was so severely wounded that he had to be left behind, at West Cambridge. The ammunition of the British was failing them. Companies of the American militia were hurrying to the scene of battle, from Roxbury, Dorchester, and Milton. Colonel Pickering was approaching, with seven hundred of the Essex militia. About sunset the wretched fugitives reached Charlestown Common, where they found rest under the protection of the guns of the British men-of-war. Gage was astounded at the disaster. The idea had not entered his mind that the unorganized farmers of Massachusetts would dare to meet, in hostile array, soldiers inured to war on the battle-fields of Europe. One of his officers had recently written to London, that the idea of the Americans taking up arms was ridiculous. He said: