s he was trying to escape from the
bar-room, and will point out the places near by, where houses were
burned by the British. And as you sit with William under the trees you
will see great six or eight horse teams, laden with goods from New
Hampshire, lumber along heavily over the road. Stages from Keene,
Leominster, Lunenburg, and other towns will dash up to the door and
passengers will alight for their meals. On Saturdays and Sundays herds
of cattle are driven through on their way to the Brighton cattle market.
All is bustle and activity.

[Sidenote: LEXINGTON IN EARLY TIMES]

I was born in this old house in the year 1737. In my boyhood Lexington
was a dull little village unknown to fame. But the 19th of April, 1775,
made the world familiar with the name. And since the bridges, which were
built over the Charles River a few years later, placed the town on the
main highway between Boston and the Back Country, it is now, in this
year 1812, one of the most thriving places in the county.

In my childhood we were remote from the main travelled roads. The Back
Country hardly existed. People were just beginning to settle the
southern part of New Hampshire, and were in constant fear of Indians.
Their time was fully occupied in cutting down the forests, fighting the
redskins, and raising a scanty crop for their own support. Occasionally
a fur trader, driving a pack-horse laden with furs, passed through the
town. The huts and log houses of the first settlers were still standing,
and some of the people kept up an acquaintance and correspondence with
their relatives in the old country.

My grandfather used to take me on his knee and tell me of events which
happened far back in the seventeenth century. His father was a Highland
lad, and during the wars between King Charles and Cromwell fought for
the king in a regiment of Scotch Highlanders. At the battle of Dunbar
the king's army was defeated, and several thousand Scotch soldiers were
taken prisoners. Among them was my great-grandfather, David McComee.

In a few days they were drawn up in a line, and each man was tied to his
neighbour by stout cords around their wrists. A guard of soldiers was
put over them, and they were marched to Plymouth.

There they learned that they were to be sent to the colonies, as slaves
or servants, with the right to buy back their freedom.

[Sidenote: DAVID COMEE, THE REDEMPTIONER]

David McComee and some two hundred and seventy other prisoners