“Everything indicates that they are planning to move against Boston, while the larger force attacks us, sir. Country people told me that they are holding Taunton now with a strong force. They were moving men through Pawtucket this morning on the Providence railroad line for Boston.” “Did you see any movement that might menace Worcester immediately?” “They have already repaired the railroad from Providence to Woonsocket.” “Then it’s time for us to get out of this. Gentlemen, you all know what to do. Issue your orders at once.” _The Retreat of the American Army_ Eight hours later the enemy army advanced suddenly. Its southern wing pushed forward, across Rhode Island and entered Connecticut. Its northern wing, advancing more slowly because it had to repair railroads and clear obstructed roads before it, extended itself gradually northward toward Worcester. The extreme southern line, advancing from Westerly, took Stonington, Groton and the new London Navy Yard, and held the eastern shore of the Thames River. Another force took Norwich and crossed the Thames at that place. Gradually the line straightened out and formed into the drive that was to sweep the American army before it, or crush it. But the American army, with everything lacking except transport, was not there, either to be swept or crushed. It was retreating swiftly, in perfect order. As the last wheel rolled out of Springfield, the town shook with the explosions that were wrecking the dismantled arsenal. Eastward, two divisions of enemy forces, perfectly appointed to act as independent armies, were converging on Boston. VI THE RISING OF NEW ENGLAND New England was filmy red with bursting maple buds. Silver troops of rain floated over the low hills in the dawn, and left April shining. The orderly land lay lovely and serene under the tranquil blessing of the New England spring whose memory draws its sons, soon or late, from all the world’s places to go home. It was such a morning “promising to become hot” as had lain on Massachusetts in the dawn of April 19, 1775, when men were gathering at Concord and Lexington. The country was as still as it must have been in that far-off day. The mill-towns were still and smokeless. The machineries were still. There was no cry of plowmen in the fields. It was a supine New England, hushed, apprehensive and conquered. So, at least, it seemed to the invaders whose patrols, spreading fanwise, were beginning to pierce the country in all directions, pushing forward far in advance of their armies, and finding no opposition. Through New England the church and town clocks struck: Seven. The land was peaceful as death. The hour passed. The lazy clocks began to strike: Eight. In a village north of New Bedford stood a little crowd of farmers, gathered around the general store and listening to the sheriff. He was warning them that they must not attempt to resist the invading troops when they came.