Paul Revere's Ride

It was night at Boston, the birthnight of one of the leading

events in the history of the world. The weather was balmy

and clear. Most of the good citizens of the town were at

their homes; many of them doubtless in their beds; for early

hours were kept in those early days of our country's

history. Yet many were abroad, and from certain streets of

the town arose unwonted sounds, the steady tread of marching

feet, the occasional click of steel, the rattle of

accoutrements. Those who were within view of Boston Common

at a late hour of that evening of April 18, 1775, beheld an

unusual sight, that of serried ranks of armed men, who had

quietly marched thither from their quarters throughout the

town, as the starting-point for some secret and mysterious

expedition.



At the same hour, in a shaded recess of the suburb of

Charlestown, stood a strongly-built and keen-eyed man, with

his hand on the bridle of an impatiently waiting horse, his

eyes fixed on a distant spire that rose like a shadow

through the gloom of the night. Paul Revere was the name of

this expectant patriot. He had just before crossed the

Charles River in a small boat, rowing needfully through the

darkness, for his route lay under the guns of a British

man-of-war, the "Somerset," on whose deck, doubtless were

watchful eyes on the lookout for midnight prowlers.

Fortunately, the dark shadows which lay upon the water hid

the solitary rower from view, and he reached the opposite

shore unobserved. Here a swift horse had been provided for

him, and he was bidden to be keenly on the alert, as a force

of mounted British officers were on the road which he might

soon have to take.






And still the night moved on in its slow and silent course,

while slumber locked the eyes of most of the worthy people

of Boston town, and few of the patriots were afoot. But

among these was the ardent man who stood with his eyes

impatiently fixed on the lofty spire of the Old North

Church, and in the town itself others heedfully watched the

secret movements of the British troops.



Suddenly a double gleam flashed from the far-off spire. Two

lighted candles had been placed in the belfry window of the

church, and their feeble glimmer sped swiftly through the

intervening air and fell upon the eyes of the expectant

messenger. No sooner had the light met his gaze than Paul

Revere, with a glad cry of relief, sprang to his saddle,

gave his uneasy horse the rein, and dashed away at a

swinging pace, the hoof-beats of his horse sounding like the

hammer-strokes of fate as he bore away on his vital errand.



A minute or two brought him past Charlestown Neck. But not

many steps had he taken on his onward course before peril to

his enterprise suddenly confronted him. Two British officers

appeared in the road.



"Who goes there? Halt!" was their stern command.



Paul Revere looked at them. They were mounted and armed.

Should he attempt to dash past them? It was too risky and

his errand too important. But there was another road near

by, whose entrance he had just passed. With a quick jerk at

the rein he turned his horse, and in an instant was flying

back at racing speed.



"Halt, or we will fire!" cried the officers, spurring their

horses to swift pursuit.



Heedless of this command the bold rider drove headlong back,

his horse quickly proving his mettle by distancing those of

his pursuers. A few minutes brought him to the entrance to

the Medford Road. Into this he sharply wheeled, and was

quickly away again towards his distant goal. Meanwhile one

of the officers, finding himself distanced, turned his horse

into the fields lying between the two roads, with the

purpose of riding across and cutting off the flight of the

fugitive. He had not taken many steps, however, before he

found his horse floundering in a clay-pit, while Revere on

the opposite road shot past, with a ringing shout of triumph

as he went.



Leaving him for the present to his journey, we must return

to the streets of Boston, and learn the secret of this

midnight ride.



For several years previous to 1775 Boston had been in the

hands of British troops,--of a foreign foe, we may almost

say, for they treated it as though it were a captured town.

Many collisions had occurred between the troops and the

citizens, the rebellious feeling growing with every hour of

occupation, until now the spirit of rebellion, like a

contagious fever, had spread far beyond its point of origin,

and affected townsmen and farmers widely throughout the

colonies. In all New England hostility to British rule had

become rampant, minute-men (men pledged to spring to arms at

a minute's notice) were everywhere gathering and drilling,

and here and there depots of arms and ammunition had hastily

been formed. Peace still prevailed, but war was in the air.



Boston itself aided in supplying these warlike stores. Under

the very eyes of the British guards cannon-balls and muskets

were carried out in carts, covered by loads of manure.

Market-women conveyed powder from the city in their

panniers, and candle-boxes served as secret receptacles for

cartridges. Depots of these munitions were made near Boston.

In the preceding February the troops had sought to seize one

of these at Salem, but were forced to halt at Salem bridge

by a strong body of the people, led by Colonel Pickering.

Finding themselves outnumbered, they turned and marched

back, no shot being fired and no harm done.



Another depot of stores had now been made at Concord, about

nineteen miles away, and this General Gage had determined to

destroy, even if blood were shed in so doing. Rebellion, in

his opinion, was gaining too great a head; it must be put

down by the strong arm of force; the time for mild measures

was past.



Yet he was not eager to rouse the colonists to hostility. It

was his purpose to surprise the patriots and capture the

stores before a party could be gathered to their defence.

This was the meaning of the stealthy midnight movement of

the troops. But the patriot leaders in Boston were too

watchful to be easily deceived; they had their means of

obtaining information, and the profound secret of the

British general was known to them before the evening had far

advanced.



About nine o'clock Lord Percy, one of the British officers,

crossed the Common, and in doing so noticed a group of

persons in eager chat. He joined these, curious to learn the

subject of their conversation. The first words he heard

filled him with alarm.



"The British troops will miss their aim," said a garrulous

talker.



"What aim?" asked Percy.



"The cannon at Concord," was the reply.



Percy, who was in Gage's confidence, hastened to the

head-quarters of the commanding general and informed him of

what he had overheard. Gage, startled to learn that his

guarded secret was already town's talk, at once set guards

on all the avenues leading from the town, with orders to

arrest every person who should attempt to leave, while the

squad of officers of whom we have spoken were sent forward

to patrol the roads.



But the patriots were too keen-witted to be so easily

checked in their plans. Samuel Adams and John Hancock, the

patriot leaders, fearing arrest, had left town, and were

then at Lexington at the house of the Rev. Jonas Clarke.

Paul Revere had been sent to Charlestown by the patriotic

Dr. Warren, with orders to take to the road the moment the

signal lights in the belfry of the old North Church should

appear. These lights would indicate that the troops were on

the road. We have seen how promptly he obeyed, and how

narrowly he escaped capture by General Gages' guards.



On he went, mile by mile, rattling down the Medford Road. At

every wayside house he stopped, knocked furiously at the

door, and, as the startled inmates came hastily to the

windows, shouted, "Up! up! the regulars are coming!" and

before his sleepy auditors could fairly grasp his meaning,

was away again.



It was about midnight when the British troops left Boston,

on their supposed secret march. At a little after the same

hour the rattling sound of hoofs broke the quiet of the

dusky streets of Lexington, thirteen miles away.



Around the house of the Rev. Mr. Clarke eight minute-men had

been stationed as a guard, to protect the patriot leaders

within. They started hastily to their feet as the messenger

rode up at headlong speed.



"Rouse the house!" cried Revere.



"That we will not," answered the guards. "Orders have been

given not to disturb the people within by noise."



"Noise!" exclaimed Revere; "you'll have noise enough before

long; the regulars are coming!"



At these startling tidings the guards suffered him to

approach and knock at the door. The next minute a window was

thrown up and Mr. Clarke looked out.



"Who is there?" he demanded.



"I wish to see Mr. Hancock," was the reply.



"I cannot admit strangers to my house at night without

knowing who they are."



Another window opened as he spoke. It was that of John

Hancock, who had heard and recognized the messenger's voice.

He knew him well.



"Come in, Revere," he cried; "we are not afraid of you."



The door was opened and Revere admitted, to tell his

alarming tale, and bid the patriot leaders to flee from that

place of danger. His story was quickly confirmed, for

shortly afterwards another messenger, William Dawes by name,

rode up. He had left Boston at the same time as Revere, but

by a different route. Adams was by this time aroused and had

joined his friend, and the two patriot leaders, feeling

assured that their capture was one of the purposes of the

expedition, hastily prepared for retreat to safer quarters.

While they did so, Revere and Dawes, now joining company,

mounted again, and once more took to the road, on their

midnight mission of warning and alarm.



Away they went again, with thunder of hoofs and rattle of

harness, while as they left the streets of Lexington behind

them a hasty stir succeeded the late silence of that quiet

village. From every house men rushed to learn the news; from

every window women's heads were thrust; some armed minute-men

began to gather, and by two o'clock a hundred and thirty of

these were gathered upon the meeting-house green. But no foe

appeared, and the air was chilly at this hour of the night,

so that, after the roll had been called, they were

dismissed, with orders to be ready to assemble at beat of

drum.



Meanwhile, Revere and his companion had pushed on towards

Concord, six miles beyond. On the road they met Dr. Samuel

Prescott, a resident of that town, on his way home from a

visit to Lexington. The three rode on together, the

messengers telling their startling story to their new

companion.



It was a fortunate meeting, as events fell out, for, as they

pushed onward, Paul Revere somewhat in advance, the group of

British officers of whom he had been told suddenly appeared

in the road before him. Before he could make a movement to

escape they were around him, and strong hands were upon his

shoulders. The gallant scout was a prisoner in British

hands.



Dawes, who had been closely behind him, suffered the same

fate. Not so Prescott, who had been left a short distance

behind by the ardent messengers. He sprang over the

road-side wall before the officers could reach him, and

hastened away through the fields towards Concord, bearing

thither the story he had so opportunely learned.



The officers had already in their custody three Lexington

men, who, in order to convey the news, had taken to the road

while Revere and Dawes were closeted with the patriot

leaders at Mr Clarke's. Riding back with their prisoners to

a house near by, they questioned them at point of pistol as

to their purpose.



Revere at first gave evasive answers to their questions. But

at length, with a show of exultation, he said,--



"Gentlemen, you have missed your aim."



"What aim?" they asked.



"I came from Boston an hour after your troops left it,"

answered Revere. "And if I had not known that messengers

were out in time enough to carry the news for fifty miles,

you would not have stopped me without a shot."



The officers, startled by this confident assertion,

continued their questions; but now, from a distance, the

clang of a bell was heard. The Lexington men cried out at

this,--



"The bells are ringing! The towns are alarmed! You are all

dead men!"



This assertion, which the sound of the bells appeared to

confirm, alarmed the officers. If the people should rise,

their position would be a dangerous one. They must make

their way back. But, as a measure of precaution, they took

Revere's horse and cut the girths and bridles of the others.

This done, they rode away at full speed, leaving their late

captives on foot in the road. But this the two messengers

little heeded, as they knew that their tidings had gone on

in safe hands.



While all this was taking place, indeed, Prescott had

regained the road, and was pressing onward at speed. He

reached Concord about two o'clock in the morning, and

immediately gave the alarm. As quickly as possible the bells

were set ringing, and from all sides people, roused by the

midnight alarum, thronged towards the centre square. As soon

as the startling news was heard active measures were taken

to remove the stores. All the men, and a fair share of the

women, gave their aid, carrying ammunition, muskets,

cartridges, and other munitions hastily to the nearest

woods. Some of the cannon were buried in trenches, over

which a farmer rapidly ran his plough, to give it the aspect

of a newly-ploughed field. The militia gathered in all haste

from neighboring villages, and at early day a large body of

them were assembled, while the bulk of the precious stores

had vanished.






Meanwhile, momentous events were taking place at Lexington.

The first shots of the American Revolution had been fired;

the first blood had been shed. It was about four o'clock

when the marching troops came within sight of the town.

Until now they had supposed that their secret was safe, and

that they would take the patriots off their guard. But the

sound of bells, clashing through the morning air, told a

different tale. In some way the people had been aroused.

Colonel Smith halted his men, sent a messenger to Boston for

re-enforcements, and ordered Major Pitcairn, with six

companies, to press on to Concord with all haste and secure

the bridges.



News that the troops were at hand quickly reached Lexington.

The drums were beaten, the minute-men gathered, and as the

coming morning showed its first gray tinge in the east, it

gave light to a new spectacle on Lexington green, that of a

force of about a hundred armed militiamen facing five or six

times their number of scarlet-coated British troops.



It was a critical moment. Neither party wished to fire. Both

knew well what the first shot involved. But the moment of

prudence did not last. Pitcairn galloped forward, sword in

hand, followed quickly by his men, and shouted in ringing

tones,--



"Disperse, you villains! Lay down your arms, you rebels, and

disperse!"



The patriots did not obey. Not a man of them moved from his

ranks. Not a face blanched. Pitcairn galloped back and bade

his men surround the rebels in arms. At this instant some

shots came from the British line. They were instantly

answered from the American ranks. Pitcairn drew his pistol

and discharged it.



"Fire!" he cried to his troops.



Instantly a fusillade of musketry rang out upon the morning

air, four of the patriots fell dead, and the other, moved by

sudden panic, fled. As they retreated another volley was

fired, and more men fell. The others hid behind stone walls

and buildings and returned the fire, wounding three of the

soldiers and Pitcairn's horse.



Such was the opening contest of the American Revolution.

Those shots were the signal of a tempest of war which was

destined to end in the establishment of one of the greatest

nations known to human history. As for the men who lay dead

upon Lexington green, the first victims of a great cause,

they would be amply revenged before their assailants set

foot again on Boston streets.



The troops, elated with their temporary success, now pushed

on briskly towards Concord, hoping to be in time to seize

the stores. They reached there about seven o'clock, but only

to find that they were too late, and that most of the

material of war had disappeared. They did what damage they

could, knocked open about sixty barrels of flour which they

found, injured three cannon, threw some five hundred pounds

of balls into wells and the mill-pond, and set fire to the

court-house. A Mrs. Moulton put out the flames before they

had done much harm.



The time taken in these exercises was destined to be fatal

to many of those indulging in them. Militia were now

gathering in haste from all the neighboring towns. The

Concord force had withdrawn for re-enforcements, but about

ten o'clock, being now some four hundred strong, the militia

advanced and attacked the enemy on guard at North Bridge. A

sharp contest ensued. Captain Isaac Davis and one of his men

fell dead. Three of the British were killed, and several

wounded and captured. The bridge was taken.



Colonel Smith was in a quandary. Should he stand his ground,

or retreat before these despised provincials? Should veteran

British troops fly before countrymen who had never fired gun

before at anything larger than a rabbit? But these despised

countrymen were gathering in hordes. On every side they

could be seen hasting forward, musket or rifle in hand.

Prudence just then seemed the better part of valor. About

twelve o'clock Colonel Smith reluctantly gave the order to

retreat.



It began as an orderly march; it ended as a disorderly

flight. The story of Lexington had already spread far and

wide and, full of revengeful fury, the minute-men hastened

to the scene. Reaching the line of retreat, they hid behind

houses, barns, and road-side walls, and poured a galling

fire upon the troops, some of whom at every moment fell

dead. During that dreadful six miles' march to Lexington,

the helpless troops ran the gantlet of the most destructive

storm of bullets they had ever encountered. On Lexington

battle-green several of them fell. It is doubtful if a man

of them would have reached Boston alive but for the cautious

demand for re-enforcements which Colonel Smith had sent back

in the early morning.



Lord Percy, with about nine hundred men, left Boston about

nine o'clock in the morning of the 19th, and a short time

after two in the afternoon reached the vicinity of

Lexington. He was barely in time to rescue the exhausted

troops of Colonel Smith. So worn out were they with fatigue

that they were obliged to fling themselves on the ground for

rest, their tongues hanging from their mouths through

drought and weariness.



Little time could be given them for rest. The woods swarmed

with militiamen, who scarcely could be kept back by the

hollow square and planted cannon of Lord Percy's troops. In

a short time the march was resumed. The troops had burned

several houses at Lexington, a vandalism which added to the

fury of the provincials. As they proceeded, the infuriated

soldiers committed other acts of atrocity, particularly in

West Cambridge, where houses were plundered and several

unoffending persons murdered.



But for all this they paid dearly. The militia pursued them

almost to the very streets of Boston, pouring in a hot fire

at every available point. On nearing Charlestown the

situation of the British troops became critical, for their

ammunition was nearly exhausted, and a strong force was

marching upon them from several points. Fortunately for

them, they succeeded in reaching Charlestown before they

could be cut off, and here the pursuit ended as no longer

available. The British loss in killed, wounded, and missing

in that dreadful march had been nearly three hundred; that

of the Americans was about one hundred in all.



It was a day mighty in history, the birthday of the

American Revolution; the opening event in the history of the

United States of America, which has since grown to so

enormous stature, and is perhaps destined to become the

greatest nation upon the face of the earth. That midnight

ride of Paul Revere was one of the turning-points in the

history of mankind.