"I Was Horror-Struck" - Lexington's Rebekah Fiske's Eye Witness Account of April 19, 1775

A couple of months ago, we discussed four known accounts of women who came in direct contact with His Majesty’s forces on April 19, 1775.

Thanks to the research efforts of Minute Man National Historical Park, we now know of a 5th account from a civilian trapped between hostile forces during the Battles of Lexington and Concord.

Before we discuss Ms. Rebekah Fiske of Lexington, let’s quickly review the other four accounts.

First up is Lincoln’s Mary Hartwell, who remembered coming in close contact with retreating British forces just as they were about to enter the Bloody Curve. “I saw an occasional horseman dashing by, going up and down, but heard nothing more until I saw them coming back in the afternoon all in confusion, wild with rage and loud with threats. I knew there had been trouble and that it had not resulted favorably for their retreating army. I heard musket shots just below by the old Brooks Tavern and trembled, believing that our folks were killed.”

As they fled the family tavern, Anna Munroe's wife of Lexington’s Sergeant William Munroe and her 5-year-old daughter Anna nearly collided with the Royal Artillery and Percy's Relief Column. According to her 19th Century account, the child witness recalled she “could remember seeing the men in redcoats coming toward the house and how frightened her mother was when they ran from the house. That was all she could remember, but her mother told her of her very unhappy afternoon. She held Anna by the hand, brother William by her side and baby Sally in her arms . . . She could hear the cannon firing over her head on the hill. She could smell the smoke of the three buildings which the British burned between here and the center of Lexington. And she did not know what was happening to her husband, who was fighting, or what was happening within her house.”

Perhaps the most notable female non-combatant who came into direct contact with the retreating British column was Hannah Adams of Menotomy. As previously discussed, the Menotomy Fight of April 19, 1775 was a vicious engagement that devolved into a bloody house-to-house and room-to-room fight for survival. Unfortunately, as this fight raged on, Hannah Adams was trapped between Massachusetts militiamen and British regulars.

Like Hannah Adams, Hannah Bradish of Menotomy was also bedridden on April 19, 1775, having given birth to a child eight days earlier. As the regulars entered Menotomy, Hannah slept in bed with her infant. The fighting noise woke her up, and she quickly gathered her children and fled to the family kitchen at the back of the house.

According to her statement submitted to the Massachusetts Provincial Congress on May 11, 1775, “Hannah Bradish, of that part of Cambridge, called Menotomy, and daughter of timothy Paine, of Worcester, in the county of Worcester, esq. of lawful age, testifies and says, that about five o'clock on Wednesday last, afternoon, being in her bed-chamber, with her infant child, about eight days old, she was surprised by the firing of the king's troops and our people, on their return from Concord. She being weak and unable to go out of her house, in order to secure herself and family, they all retired into the kitchen, in the back part of the house. She soon found the house surrounded with the king's troops; that upon observation made, at least seventy bullets were shot into the front part of the house; several bullets lodged in the kitchen where she was, and one passed through an easy chair she had just gone from. The door of the front part of the house was broken open; she did not see any soldiers in the house, but supposed, by the noise, they were in the front. 

 

Artwork by Don Troiani

Recently Minute Man National Historical Park published an article on Lexington’s Rebekah Fiske. Admittedly, like Hannah Bradish, the Nerds were unaware of this account as well. We apologize, and moving forward, we promise we won’t be distracted by jars of frosting while researching the civilian experience of April 19th.

Rebekah Howe was born in Concord, Massachusetts. On May 14, 1767, she married Benjamin Fiske and moved to his family’s homestead in Lexington, near the Lincoln line. She was twenty-six years old in 1775.

In the early morning of April 19th, word reached the Fiske family that His Majesty’s forces were advancing on Concord. As many of her neighbors fled for safety, Rebekah was in a difficult situation. Her 83-year-old father-in-law, Lieutenant Ebenezer Fiske, was seriously ill and bedridden. At the same time, her husband was also suffering from some unknown impairment and was excused from militia service. As a result, she made the difficult choice of staying in her home.

While there, she heard the echo of gunshots from the Battle of Lexington and, soon thereafter, observed British troops pass her home. According to a 19th century narrative she shared with the Harvard Register, Fiske recalled, “I heard the guns … at about day-break, but being unapprehensive of danger, did not, like most of our neighbors move off for fear of the enemy; especially as my father was confined to his bed of a severe sickness so that in fleeing from the house we must leave him behind, which I could not consent to. Our domestics had already absconded, we knew not whither. I, therefore, and my husband, who on account of a certain indisposition, was incapacitated for military service, remained in the house with our father, while the enemy passed; which they did without offering us any injury. I remember well, their exact order, red coats, glittering arms, and appalling numbers.”

As previous research has suggested, many women and children who fled their homes earlier in the day returned mid-morning. According to Fiske, once word reached their location that the British were marching from Concord back to their location, a panic set in, and many civilians started to flee again.

 

Photo Credit John Collins

 

As the regulars approached, Fiske describes how she, her family, enslaved persons and many of her neighbors made a mad dash across fields to escape the coming firefight. 

 

"Sometime after, on their arrival at Concord, a report of musketry was once more heard, and in broken and incessant volleys. It was a sound of death to us. All now was trepidation, fever, and rushing to arms; women and children bewildered and scouring across the fields. With much ado we succeeded in yoking our oxen and getting father on his bed into an ox-cart, and thus moving him off as carefully as we could to a neighbor’s house, at some distance from the highway, on which we expected the enemy to return. Before leaving our house, I secured some of the most valuable of my effects, putting my large looking glass between two featherbeds, and fastening all the windows and doors. The house we carried farther to, had been already vacated, and here I was left alone with him. The dreadful sound of approaching guns was still ringing min my ears. Bewildered and affrighted, I betook myself into the house-cellar there to await my fate. Occasionally, I ventured to peep out to discover the approach of the enemy. After remaining some time in this dreadful state of fear and suspense, I at last discovered the enemy coming down a long hill on the highway partly upon a run and in some confusion, being closely beset by ‘our men’ in flank and rear. The terrific array of war soon came fully into view, and as soon passed off again from before my eyes, like a horrid vision, leaving only a cloud of smoke behind and the groans of the dying, who were strewed in its wake.”

Once the retreating army had passed her homestead, Rebekah returned to survey the damage. Upon arrival, she discovered a horrific scene. Not only had her home and surrounding property been vandalized and pillaged (both capital crimes in 18th Century Massachusetts), but she also discovered multiple casualties on the doorstep and inside her home. One of the dying was Acton minute man and school teacher James Haywood, mortally wounded earlier while exchanging musket fire with a British soldier at the Fiske’s water well.

As Rebekah graphically recalled in her 1827 statement “After the rattle of musketry had grown somewhat weaker from distance, and my heart became more relieved of its apprehensions, I resolved to return home. But what an altered scene began to present itself, as I approached the house—garden walls thrown down—my flowers trampled upon—earth and herbage covered with the marks of hurried footsteps. The house had been broken open, and on the door-step—awful spectacle—there lay a British soldier dead, on his face, though yet warm, in his blood, which was still trickling from a bullet-hole through his vitals. His bosom and his pockets were stuffed with my effects, which he had been pillaging, having broken into the house through a window. On entering my front room, I was horror-struck. Three mangled soldiers lay groaning on the floor and weltering in their blood which had gathered in large puddles about them. “Beat out my brains, I beg of you,” cried one of them, a young Briton, who was dreadfully pierced with bullets, through almost every part of his body, “and relieve me from this agony.” You will die soon enough, said I, with a revengeful pique. A grim Irishman, shot through the jaws, lay beside him, who mingled his groans of desperation with curses on the villain who had so horridly wounded him. The third was a young American employing his dying breath in prayer. A bullet had passed through his body, taking off in its course the lower part of his powder-horn. The name of this youthful patriot was J. Haywood of Acton. His father came and carried his body home; it no lies in Acton graveyard. These were the circumstances of his death: being ardent and close in the pursuit, he stopped a moment at our well to slake his thirst. Turning from the well, his eye unexpectedly caught that of the Briton, whom I saw lying dead on the door-step, just coming from the house with his plunder. They were about a rod from each other. The Briton know it was death for him to turn, and the American scorned to shrink. A moment of awful suspense ensued—when both simultaneously levelled their muskets at each other’s heart, fired, and fell on their faces together. My husband drew the two Britons off on a sled, and buried them in one of our pastures, where they now lie, beneath a pine tree which has grown up out of their grave. The Irishman was the only one of the three that survived.”

 

Photo Credit Asher Lurie

Rebekah's father-in-law died December 1775. She remained in Lexington until her husband died in 1785. The next year, she married again and moved to Bedford with her husband, William Merriam.

The Nerds will continue to collect period civilian accounts of April 19th. If you are aware of any depositions, claims or interviews that we overlooked, please do not hesitate to let us know!