Well, Doctor Warren, (the first soldier of his age, though he never fought afore,) commanded us all to resarve our fire till the British came within pint blank shot, and we could cleverly see the whites of their eyes, and we did so—­and we mowed them down like grass, and we repeated our fire with awful effect.  I was among the last that remained behind the breast-work, for most on ’em, arter the second shot, cut and run full split.  The British were close to us; and an officer, with his sword drawn, was leading on his men and encouragin them to the charge.  I could see his features, he was a real handsum man, I can see him now with his white breeches and black gaiters, and red coat, and three cornered cocked hat, as plain as if it was yesterday, instead of the year ’75.  Well, I took a steady aim at him and fired.  He did’nt move for a space, and I thought I had missed him, when all of a sudden, he sprung right straight up an eend, his sword slipt through his hands up to the pint, and then he fell flat on his face atop of the blade, and it came straight out through his back.  He was fairly skivered.  I never seed any thing so awful since I was raised, I actilly screamed out with horror—­and I threw away my gun, and joined them that were retreatin over the neck to Charlestown.  Sam, that are British officer, if our rebellion was onjust or onlawful, was murdered, that’s a fact; and the idee, now I am growin old, haunts me day and night.  Sometimes I begin with the Stamp Act, and I go over all our grievances, one by one, and say aint they a sufficient justification?  Well, it makes a long list, and I get kinder satisfied, and it appears as clear as any thing.  But sometimes there come doubts in my mind, jist like a guest that’s not invited or not expected, and takes you at a short like, and I say, warn’t the Stamp Act repealed, and concessions made, and warn’t offers sent to settle all fairly—­and I get troubled and oneasy again?  And then I say to myself, says I, oh yes, but them offers came too late.  I do nothin now, when I am alone, but argue it over and over again.  I actilly dream on that man in my sleep sometimes, and then I see him as plain as if he was afore me, and I go over it all agin till I come to that are shot, and then I leap right up in bed and scream like all vengeance, and your mother, poor old critter, says, Sam, says she, what on airth ails you to make you act so like old Scratch in your sleep—­I do believe there’s somethin or another on your conscience.  And I say, Polly dear, I guess we’re a goin to have rain, for that plaguy cute rheumatis has seized my foot and it does antagonize me so I have no peace.  It always does so when it’s like for a change.  Dear heart she says, (the poor simple critter,) then I guess I had better rub it, had’nt I, Sam? and she crawls out of bed and gets her red flannel petticoat, and rubs away at my foot ever so long.  Oh, Sam, if she could rub it out of my heart as easy as she thinks she rubs it out of my foot, I should be in peace, that’s a fact.