General Gage sent eight hundred soldiers to Concord, about eighteen miles from Boston, to destroy some ammunition and provisions which the colonists had collected there.  They set out on their march in the evening of the 18th of April, 1775.  The next morning, the General sent Lord Percy, with nine hundred men, to strengthen the troops which had gone before.  All that day, the inhabitants of Boston heard various rumors.  Some said, that the British were making great slaughter among our countrymen.  Others affirmed that every man had turned out with his musket, and that not a single soldier would ever get back to Boston.

“It was after sunset,” continued Grandfather, “when the troops, who had marched forth so proudly, were seen entering Charlestown.  They were covered with dust, and so hot and weary that their tongues hung out of their mouths.  Many of them were faint with wounds.  They had not all returned.  Nearly three hundred were strewn, dead or dying, along the road from Concord.  The yeomanry had risen upon the invaders, and driven them back.”

“Was this the battle of Lexington?” asked Charley.

“Yes,” replied Grandfather; “it was so called, because the British, without provocation, had fired upon a party of minute men, near Lexington meeting-house, and killed eight of them.  That fatal volley, which was fired by order of Major Pitcairn, began the war of the Revolution.”

About this time, if Grandfather had been correctly informed, our chair disappeared from the British Coffee House.  The manner of its departure cannot be satisfactorily ascertained.  Perhaps the keeper of the Coffee House turned it out of doors, on account of its old-fashioned aspect.  Perhaps he sold it as a curiosity.  Perhaps it was taken, without leave, by some person who regarded it as public property, because it had once figured under Liberty Tree.  Or, perhaps, the old chair, being of a peaceable disposition, had made use of its four oaken legs, and run away from the seat of war.

“It would have made a terrible clattering over the pavement,” said Charley, laughing.

“Meanwhile,” continued Grandfather, “during the mysterious non-appearance of our chair, an army of twenty thousand men had started up, and come to the siege of Boston.  General Gage and his troops were cooped up within the narrow precincts of the peninsula.  On the 17th of June, 1775, the famous battle of Bunker Hill was fought.  Here General Warren fell.  The British got the victory, indeed, but with the loss of more than a thousand officers and men.”

“O, Grandfather,” cried Charley, “you must tell us about that famous battle.”

“No, Charley,” said Grandfather, “I am not like other historians.  Battles shall not hold a prominent place in the history of our quiet and comfortable old chair.  But, to-morrow evening, Laurence, Clara, and yourself, and dear little Alice too, shall visit the Diorama of Bunker Hill.  There you shall see the whole business, the burning of Charlestown and all, with your own eyes, and hear the cannon and musketry with your own ears.”