With their own men properly deployed and, for the moment, in hand, mounted British officers rode up and down between the opposing lines. “Disperse,” they repeated angrily, spitting out their word as they grew frustrated with the lack of response. “Disperse, you damned rebels, and be gone.”

Though it was all but impossible to take his eyes off one mounted English officer who loomed before him, Ned managed to glance to his left and right. Like him, some of his companions were clearly intimidated by the English officers and the solid wall of regulars standing behind them. Twitching and shuffling about in their loose formation, Ned saw more than a few glancing back over their shoulders as if they were making sure there was nothing that would impede their flight if it came to that. Others, however, seemed totally unmoved by the overwhelming might that was arrayed before them. Holding their muskets at the ready, those men simply stood stone cold still, carefully eyeing anything that they perceived to be threatening, which, for Ned, was everything.

Slowly, it dawned upon Ned that they were in an impossible situation, one in which there was no good outcome. If they simply obeyed the King’s officer, turned their backs and went home, they would have to face the humiliation and criticism of friends and fellow militiamen. That would have been hard for young Ned to live down, especially after all the bold talk he had bantered about in the tavern. Humiliation, however, could be survived. Standing their ground, as many a crowd had done before in Boston, and hoping that the English would back down, might not. The English, after all, had their pride, too. They had their masters to whom they must answer. What if today was the day, Ned asked himself, if they said, “enough of this” and fired. And if they did, then what? What would he do? What would become of their homes, their families? Where, the young man wondered, had any of the fine gentlemen of Boston addressed that in their fine speeches? Why weren’t they here? Why, Ned asked himself, was he there in their stead?

That there were others who agreed with Ned’s assessment of the situation was obvious. After delaying as long as he dared, their own commander began to make his way down their line. Though nervous himself, Captain Parker at least retained the presence of mind to face the fact that there was nothing that they could accomplish by standing their ground any longer. Even from sixty yards, it was quite obvious that the ordinarily well disciplined English musketeers were in an ugly mood. With no hope of reinforcement, and ever mindful that the men under his command were his friends, neighbors, and their sons, Parker gave them the order to disperse. To Ned, already on the verge of quitting the field, this was sound advice, advice which he fully intended to follow.

The efforts of the mounted officers riding back and forth along the rebel line seemed to be having an effect when, from somewhere off to one side, a single shot rang out. A quick sweep of the rebel line by every English officer, mounted and afoot, failed to detect any telltale signs of smoke drifting away from it. Leaning forward, despite frantic threats from his officer, Johnston glanced down their own line in an effort to see if he could discover the source of the shot.