LORD PERCYLORD PERCY
The sun was sinking behind the western hills. Asthe last beams faded from the gilded vane of Christ Church, they heard the beating of drums and the shrill piping of boatswain’s whistles on the decks of the warships. A cannon flashed on the bastion of the Castle, and the boom of the gun rolled far away as the Cross of St. George descended from flagstaff and topmast to be furled for the night.
“It is the sunset gun; the signal for taking down the flags,” said Berinthia.
“I often watch from my chamber window for the flashing of the cannon,” Miss Newville remarked.
“It is a beautiful sight; but would be more exhilarating if the flag was what it ought to be,” said Robert.
The twilight had not faded from the sky when Robert accompanied Miss Newville to her home. Officers of the king’s regiments lifted their hats to her upon the way; their attentions were recognized with dignified grace. Robert saw scowls on their faces as they glared at him, as if to challenge his right to be her escort.
“The night is hot and the air sultry, and if you please, Mr. Walden, we will sit in the garden rather than in the house,” she said.
They strolled beneath the trees bending with the weight of ripening fruit, and seated themselves in a rustic arbor. The early grapes were purpling above them.
“I do not know, Mr. Walden, that I quite comprehended your meaning when you said the flag would be more beautiful if it were what it ought to be. I think it very beautiful as it is.”
“I did not have reference, Miss Newville, to the texture or quality of the cloth, or the arrangement of colors, neither to the devices,—the crosses of St. George and St. Andrew,—but thought of it as a symbol of power. My father fought under it, and it has waved in triumph on many battlefields; but just now it is being used to deprive us of our rights.”
“Have you ever read the legend of St. George?” she asked.
“I have not, and I hardly know what the Cross of St. George stands for.”
“It is a beautiful story. I read it not long ago in a book which I found in Mr. Knox’s store. Would you like to hear it?”
“Please tell me about it.”
“The story runs that ever so many years ago there was a terrible dragon—a monster, part snake, part crocodile, with sharp teeth, a forked tongue, claws, and wings. It could crawl upon the land or swim in the water. Every day it came from its lair and ate the sheep in the pastures around the old city of Berytus. When the sheep were gone it ate little children. The king of the city could think of nothing better than to issue an edict requiring the selection of two children under fifteen years old by lot, to be given to the dragon. One day the lot fell upon the king’s daughter, the Princess Cleodolinda, a beautiful girl, and as good as she was beautiful. It was a terrible blow to the king. He offered all his gold, precious stones, glittering diamonds, and emeralds, and half his kingdom, if the people would consent to her exemption, which they wouldn’t do. He hadmade the edict; they had given their children; he must give his daughter. Being king, he thought he could take somebody else’s daughter. That made the people angry, and they threatened to kill him. Then the princess showed how good and noble and true she was. She said she would die rather than there should be any trouble. It was a sad morning when she bade her father and mother and all her friends good-by, and went out from the city, all the people weeping to see her in her youth and beauty, so calm, peaceful, and resigned, walking in the green field, waiting for the dragon. They saw the monster crawl towards her. Just then they beheld a young man with a shining shield and waving plume, on horseback, with sword and lance, approaching. It was George of Cappadocia, a brave Christian youth. ‘Fly! fly!’ shouted the princess. ‘Why should I fly?’ he asked. ‘Do you not see the dragon? He will eat you as he will me.’ ‘I am not afraid of him, and I will deliver you,’ said he, rushing upon the dragon with his lance. It was a terrible fight. The monster hissing, running out his tongue, snapping his jaws, striking with his tail and sharp claws; but the brave George kept up the fight, striking his lance through the thick hide and shiny scales, and pinning the writhing creature to the earth. ‘It is not by my own might, but God, through Jesus Christ, who has given me the power to subdue this Apollyon,’ he said. At that, the whole city accepted the Christian religion. In recognition of the victory he put the sign of the letter X, representing the cross, upon his flag. The king was so pleased that, besides becoming a Christian, he offeredGeorge all his gold and silver and diamonds and precious stones; but the prince would not keep them; he gave them to the poor.”
“It is indeed a beautiful story,” said Robert, charmed by the narration.
“I suppose the legend represents the conflict between wickedness and righteousness,” added Miss Newville.
“Did George become the son-in-law of the king?” Robert asked.
Miss Newville laughed heartily.
“If it were a story in a novel,” she said, “of course that would be the outcome of the romance. No; he went on his travels converting people to Christianity. The Greek Christians kept him in remembrance by adopting the letter X as the sign of the cross. When Richard the Lion-Hearted started on his crusade to rescue the holy sepulchre from the Moslems, he selected St. George as his protector. He is the patron saint of England. He stands for courage in defense of the truth.”
“That is what the Cross of St. George should stand for, Miss Newville, but just now it represents tyranny and oppression. It is a beautiful flag, the crosses of St. George and St. Andrew combined, in red, white, and blue. No other banner symbolizes so much that is precious of what men have done, but the king and his ministers are perverting it. St. George and St. Andrew were representatives of justice and righteousness. They died for principles which in their nature are eternal, which will remain, when we are gone. I have taken pride in being an Englishman. The flagthrills me. I like to think of the brave deeds that have been done under it. No other banner means so much. It stirs me to think of it as waving not only in England, but here, in Canada, in South America, and on the banks of the Ganges. Of course, the flag, the crosses upon it, signify suffering, devotion, heroism, bravery. It is these things that warm my blood.”
“Go on, please, Mr. Walden. I want to hear more,” said Miss Newville as he paused.
“I have delighted in being an Englishman because the flag stands for all I hold most dear, but I am conscious that my love for it is not what it was. The king and his ministers by their arbitrary acts, Parliament by passing laws taking away chartered rights, are alienating the affections of the Colonies. We are not so meek that we are ready to kiss the hand that smites us. The time may come, Miss Newville, when the people this side the Atlantic will have a flag of their own. If we do it will be a symbol of a larger liberty than we now have. The world does not stand still. I do not know what Almighty God has been reserving this Western world for through all the ages; but it must be for some grand purpose. It is a great land and it will be peopled some day. We have made our laws in the past, and we shall not surrender our right to do so. The king and his ministers are not using the crosses of St. George and St. Andrew for the good of all. The crosses should represent brotherhood, but they do not. I think the time may come, though, when there will be such a flag.”
Again he paused, and again Miss Newville begged him to go on.
“I cannot tell when it will be, but I know what I would like to see.”
“Please tell me,” she said earnestly.
“I would like to see the time when men will recognize their fellow-men as brothers, and when the flag will stand for equality, unity, liberty, and brotherhood.”
“Do you think such a time will ever come?”
“I do not doubt it. The prophets in the Bible have predicted it, and it seems to me that the human race is advancing in that direction. Have you not noticed that almost everything we prize has come through sacrifice and suffering? I came here with food because the people of this town are suffering. The bags of corn which I have brought are an expression of brotherhood, of unity, love, and good will. The people all the way from the Penobscot to the Savannah are acting from such motives. It is curious that Parliament by passing a wicked law is uniting the Colonies as nothing else could have done. What the king designed for a punishment, in the end may be a great blessing.”
“I see it, and I want to thank you, Mr. Walden, for your words. You have made clear what hitherto I have not been able to understand. Of course, you must be aware that I hear many conversations upon affairs in the Colonies. General Gage and Earl Percy are frequent guests in our home, as are many gentlemen who sympathize with the king and the ministry rather than with Mr. Adams and Doctor Warren. I do not see how the king, who they say is kind-hearted, could assent to a law which would bring suffering and starvation to so many people.”
She sat in silence a moment, and then went on.
“I like to hear you, Mr. Walden, speak of that good time that is to come. I should like to do something to hasten it. I feel that I am stronger for what you have said. Shall we take a stroll through the grounds?”
Through the day he had been looking forward to a possible hour when he could be with her alone, to feel the charm of her presence. And now that it had come, what should he say, how let her know she had been an inspiration to him; how since their first meeting his last thought at night and the first of the morning had been of her? Were he to say the thought of her had filled the days with happiness, would she not think him presumptuous? They were widely separated by the circumstances of life,—he of the country, a farmer, swinging the scythe, holding the plow, driving oxen, feeding pigs; she, on the contrary, was a star in cultured society, entertaining high-born ladies and gentlemen, lords, earls, and governors; chance, only, had made them acquainted. She had been very kind. No, he must not presume upon her graciousness and tell her that his heart had gone out to her in a wonderful way. Many men had proffered their love, but had been rejected. It was blessedness unspeakable to be permitted to walk by her side, to hear her voice, to enjoy her esteem, friendship, and confidence.
The song-birds of summer had gone, but the crickets were merrily chirping around them; flowers were fading, but fruits were ripening. Slowly they walked the winding paths, stopping at times to gaze upon theclouds, silver-lined, in the bright light of the full-orbed moon.
“I shall not soon forget this quiet evening with you, Mr. Walden, nor the words you have spoken. I have thought it was my foreboding, but now I can see that there may be trying times before us,—times which will test friendships.”
“I trust, Miss Newville, that I may ever be worthy to be numbered among your friends.”
“I know you will.” After a moment’s hesitation she added, “The time may come when I shall need your friendship.”
Her voice was tremulous. The nine o’clock bell was ringing. They were by the gate leading to the street.
“You go home to-morrow. Will it be long before we shall see you again? I may want such strength as you can give,” she said.
“I trust that in God’s good time we may meet again. How soon I may be here or what may bring me I do not foresee; but be assured, Miss Newville, I shall ever be your friend.”
“I do not doubt it. Good-by,” she said.
She heard his retreating footsteps growing fainter.
“Oh, if he had only said, ‘I love you,’” the whisper on her lips.
“I could die for her; no, I’ll live for her,” he said to himself, as he walked towards the Brandon home.
Abel Shrimpton, loyal to the king, hated Samuel Adams and John Hancock and the Sons of Liberty, holding them responsible for the troubles that had come to the people. In Mr. Shrimpton’s attractive home, made beautiful by the presence of his daughter, Tom Brandon had been a welcome visitor, but the relations between Mr. Shrimpton and Tom were changing.
“The Regulation Act,” said Tom, “which in fact makes the king the government, deprives the people of their liberties.”
“People who abuse their liberties ought to be deprived of them,” Mr. Shrimpton replied.
“We are not allowed to select jurors. The law takes away our right to assemble in town meeting, except by permission, and then we can only elect selectmen to look after town affairs,” said Tom.
“The people have shown they are not fit to govern themselves,” said Mr. Shrimpton. “They allow the mob to run riot. It was a mob that smashed Chief Justice Hutchinson’s windows. Your gatherings under the Liberty Tree are in reality nothing but mobs; you have no legal authority for assembling. It was a mob that assaulted the king’s troops on the 5th ofMarch; a mob threw the tea into the harbor, and I strongly suspect that Tom Brandon had a hand in that iniquity. The king stands for law and order. The troops are here in the interest of good government, by constituted authority, to enforce the law and put down riots.”
“Just who had a hand in throwing the tea overboard no one can find out, but I am glad it was done,” said Tom.
“So you uphold lawlessness, Mr. Brandon?”
“I stand against the unrighteous acts of Parliament. We will not be slaves; we will not be deprived of our liberties. If King George and Lord North think they can starve the people of this town into submission, they will find themselves mistaken,” said Tom.
“I hope he will compel every one of you to obey the laws, and that whoever had a hand in destroying the tea will suffer for it,” Mr. Shrimpton replied.
Tom saw the smile fade from the countenance of Mary as she listened to the conversation. Her quick insight, and acquaintance with her father’s surly temper, enabled her to see what was withholden from Tom’s slower perception.
“Mary,” said Mr. Shrimpton, after Tom took his departure, “I want you to stop having anything to do with Tom.”
“Why, father?”
“Because I don’t like him.”
“But I do like him.”
“No matter. He’s an enemy to the king. I have good reason to believe he had a hand in throwingthe tea overboard. If he did, he is no better than a thief. He willfully, wantonly, and with malice aforethought stole the property of others from the holds of the ships, and destroyed it. It was burglary—breaking and entering. It was a malicious destruction of property of the East India Company. It was a heinous affair—not mere larceny to be punished by standing in the pillory, or sitting in the stocks, or tied up to the whipping-post and flogged, but an offense which, if it could be proved, would send every one of the marauders to jail for ten or twenty years. Now I don’t want the name of Shrimpton mixed up with that of Brandon. So you can cut Tom adrift.”
“But, father”—
“I don’t want any buts. You will do as I tell you if you know what is good for yourself.”
“Have you not, father, said in the past that he was an estimable young man?”
“But he is not estimable now. He meets others in secret to plot mischief. I have had spies on his track. He is a lawbreaker, a mischief-maker, and sooner or later will be in jail, and possibly may be brought to the gallows. Now, once for all, I tell you I will not have him coming here.”
Mr. Shrimpton said it with a flushed face, setting his teeth firmly together as he rose from his chair.
“Very well, father,” said Mary, wiping the tears from her eyes.
She knew how irascible he was at times,—how he allowed his anger to master reason, and hoped it might pass away. Through the night the words wererepeating themselves. What course should she pursue? Give up Tom? What if he did help destroy the tea; was it not a righteous protest against the tyranny of the king and Parliament? He did not do it as an individual, but as a member of the community; it was the only course for them to pursue. Tom was not therefore a thief at heart. Was he not kind-hearted? Was he not giving his time and strength to relieve suffering? Had he not just as much right to stand resolutely for the liberties of the people as her father for the prerogatives of the king? Must she stop seeing him to please her father? It would not be pleasant to have Tom call upon her, and have her father shut the door in his face; that would be an indignity. Should she withdraw her engagement? Should she plunge a knife into her own heart to please her father? Never. Come what would, she would be true to Tom. She would not anger her father by inviting Tom to continue his visits, but there were the elms of Long Acre, Beacon Hill, the market, and other places, where from time to time they might meet for a few moments. True love could wait for better days.
There came a morning when the people saw a handbill posted upon the walls which said that the men who were misleading the people were bankrupt in purse and character. Tom Brandon’s blood was at fever heat as he read the closing words:—
“Ask pardon of God, submit to our king and Parliament, whom we have wickedly and grievously offended. Let us seize our seducers, make peace with our mother country, and save ourselves and children.”
“Ask pardon of God, submit to our king and Parliament, whom we have wickedly and grievously offended. Let us seize our seducers, make peace with our mother country, and save ourselves and children.”
He knew that the sentiments of the handbill were those of Mr. Shrimpton, and suspected that his hand had penned it. The rumor was abroad that the king had sent word to General Gage to seize the two arch leaders of the rebels, Adams and Hancock. The following evening Tom and other Sons gathered at the Green Dragon, laid their hands upon the Bible, and made a solemn oath to watch constantly the movements of the Tories and soldiers, and give information to Samuel Adams, John Hancock, Doctor Warren, and Benjamin Church, and to no others.
There came a day when a great multitude assembled in town meeting, in the Old South Meetinghouse, to listen to Doctor Warren’s oration commemorative of the massacre of the people by the troops. Citizens from all the surrounding towns were there to let General Gage know they had not forgotten it; besides, they knew they would hear burning words from the lips of the fearless patriot.
Tom Brandon and Abraham Duncan, looking down from the gallery upon the great throng, saw Samuel Adams elected moderator. He invited the officers of the regiments to take seats upon the platform. Tom wondered if they were present to make mischief. The pulpit was draped in black. Every part of the house was filled,—aisles, windows, seats,—and there was a great crowd in the porches. Tom was wondering if it would be possible for Doctor Warren to edge his way through the solid body of men, when he saw the window behind the pulpit opened by one of the selectmen and the doctor, wearing a student’s black gown, enter through the window. The audiencewelcomed him with applause. For more than an hour they listened spellbound to his patriotic and fearless words. At times the people made the building shake with their applause. Some of the king’s officers grew red in the face when he alluded to their presence in Boston to suppress the liberties of the people. One of the officers of the Welsh Fusilliers sitting on the stairs was very insulting. Tom saw him take some bullets from his pocket and hold them in the palm of his hand to annoy Doctor Warren, but instead of being frightened, he very quietly rebuked the officer’s insolence by letting his handkerchief drop upon the bullets. Bold and eloquent were his closing words.
“Fellow-citizens,” he said, “you will maintain your rights or perish in the glorious struggle. However difficult the combat, you will never decline it when freedom is the prize. Independence of Great Britain is not our aim. Our wish is that Britain and the Colonies may, like the oak and the ivy, grow and increase in strength together. If pacific measures fail, and it appears that the only way to safety is through fields of blood, I know you will not turn your faces from your foes, but will press forward till tyranny is trodden under foot and you have placed your adored goddess Liberty on her American throne.”
The building shook with applause when he sat down.
“It is moved that the thanks of the town be presented to Doctor Warren for his oration,” said the moderator.
“No, no! fie, fie!” shouted a captain of the Royal Irish Regiment, and the other officers around thumped the floor with their canes.
Tom’s blood was hot, as was the blood of those around him. Some of the people under the galleries, who could not see what was going on, thought the officers were crying fire, to break up the meeting. Very quietly Samuel Adams raised his hand. The people became calm. The officers left the building, and the town went on with its business. The people were learning self-control.
When the meeting was over, Tom and Abraham walked along Cornhill, and turned down King Street on their way home. They saw a crowd around the British Coffee House tavern,—the officers who a little while before had left the Old South Meetinghouse, laughing, talking, and drinking their toddy. Tom soon discovered they were having a mock town meeting. One was acting as moderator, pounding with his cane and calling them to order. They chose seven selectmen and a clerk. Then one went upstairs and soon appeared upon the balcony wearing a rusty and ragged old black gown, a gray wig with a fox’s tail dangling down his back. He bowed to those below, and began a mock oration. He called Samuel Adams, Doctor Warren, and John Hancock scoundrels, blackguards, knaves, and other vile names. His language was so scurrilous, profane, and indecent that Tom could not repeat it to his mother and Berinthia. Those who listened clapped their hands. Tom and Abraham came to the conclusion that most of the officers of the newly arrived regiments were too vile to be worthy the society of decent people.
Tom was boiling hot two nights later, at the treatment given Thomas Ditson of Billerica, who had cometo market. A soldier persuaded the guileless young farmer to buy an old worn-out gun. The next moment he was seized by a file of soldiers and thrust into the guardhouse for buying anything of a soldier against the law. He had only the bare floor to sleep on. In the morning, Lieutenant-Colonel Nesbit ordered the soldiers to strip off Ditson’s clothes, and tar and feather him.
It was a pitiful spectacle which Ruth Newville saw,—Colonel Nesbit marching at the head of his regiment, the soldiers with their bayonets surrounding a man stripped to the waist, smeared with tar, covered with feathers, the fifes playing, and the drums beating the Rogue’s March.
“It is disgraceful,” she said, with flashing eyes, to her mother. “Colonel Nesbit ought to be ashamed of himself. If he ever calls here again, I’ll not speak to him.”
Fast Day came, and again the eyes of Miss Newville flashed when she saw the king’s troops parading the streets; the drummers and fifers taking their stations by the doors of the meetinghouses to annoy the people, playing so loud they could scarcely hear a word of what the minister was saying.
“Do you think, father, that General Gage will win back the affections of the people, or even retain their respect by permitting such outrages?” Ruth asked.
“Perhaps it is not the wisest course to pursue. Quite likely the officers of the regiments did it of their own notion,” Mr. Newville replied.
If Lord North and King George thought a show of military force would overawe the people of Bostontown, they were mistaken. Possibly they did not reflect that military repression might beget resistance by arms; but when the regiments began to arrive, the Sons of Liberty resolved to prepare for whatever might happen. They appointed a committee of safety to protect the rights of the people.
Winter was over, and with their singing the birds were making the April mornings melodious. The Provincial Congress was in session at Cambridge, and Samuel Adams and John Hancock had left Boston and with Dorothy Quincy were with Reverend Mr. Clark in Lexington. Abraham Duncan discovered that General Gage had sent Captain Brown and Ensign De Berniere into the country to see the roads.[53]Sharp-eyed Sons of Liberty watched the movements of the soldiers. They saw Lord Percy march his brigade to Roxbury, and return as if for exercise, with no one opposing them.
“We can march from one end of the continent to the other, without opposition from the cowardly Yankees,” said the boasting soldiers.
Paul Revere, Tom Brandon, Robert Newman, and a score of the Sons of Liberty were keeping watch of the movements of the redcoats. They saw the sailors of the warships, and of the vessels which had brought the new troops, launching their boats and putting them in order. They knew General Gagewanted to seize Samuel Adams and John Hancock, and quite likely the military supplies which the committee of safety had collected at Concord. Paul Revere rode out to Lexington on Sunday to see Adams and Hancock, and let them know what was going on in Boston.
“The launching of the ship’s boat means something,” said Mr. Adams. “It looks as if the troops were going to make a short cut across Charles River instead of marching over Roxbury Neck.”
“We will keep our eyes open and let you know the moment they make any movement,” said Revere.
“Quite likely Gage will set a patrol so you can’t leave Boston,” said Hancock.
“I’ll tell ye what we’ll do. If the troops leave in the night by way of Roxbury, I’ll get Robert Newman to hang a lantern in the steeple of Christ Church; if they take boats to make the short cut across Charles River, I’ll have him hang out two lanterns. I’ll tell Deacon Larkin and Colonel Conant, over in Charlestown, to keep their eyes on the steeple.”
It was Tuesday morning, April 18. Abraham Duncan wondered how it happened that so many British officers with their overcoats on were mounting their horses and riding out towards Roxbury, not in a group, but singly, or two together, with pistols in their holsters.
“We will dine at Winship’s tavern in Cambridge, and then go on,” he heard one say.
He also noticed that the grenadiers and light infantry guards were not on duty as on other days.
He hastened to inform Doctor Warren, who sent a messenger with a letter to the committee of safety.
It was evening when Richard Devens and Abraham Watson, members of the committee of safety, shook hands with their fellow members, Elbridge Gerry, Asa Orne, and Colonel Lee at Wetherby’s, bade them good-night, and stepped into their chaise to return to their homes in Charlestown. The others would spend the night at Wetherby’s, and they would all meet in Woburn in the morning.
Satisfying to the appetite was the dinner which landlord Winship set before a dozen British officers,—roast beef, dish gravy, mealy potatoes, plum-pudding, mince pie, crackers and cheese, prime old port, and brandy distilled from the grapes of Bordeaux.
“We will jog on slowly; it won’t do to get there too early,” said one of the officers as they mounted their horses and rode up past the green, and along the wide and level highways, towards Menotomy, paying no attention to Solomon Brown, plodding homeward in his horse-cart from market. When the old mare lagged to a walk, they rode past him; when he stirred her up with his switch she made the old cart rattle past them. The twinkling eyes peeping out from under his shaggy brows saw that their pistols were in the holsters, and their swords were clanking at times.
“I passed nine of them,” he said to Sergeant Munroe when he reached Lexington Common; and the sergeant, mistrusting they might be coming to nab Adams and Hancock, summoned eight of his company to guard the house of Mr. Clark.
Mr. Devens and Mr. Watson met the Britishers.
“They mean mischief. We must let Gerry, Orne, and Joe know,” Mr. Devens said.
Quickly the chaise turned, and they rode back to Wetherby’s. The moon was higher in the eastern sky, and the hands of the clock pointed to the figure nine when the officers rode past the house.
“We must put Adams and Hancock on their guard,” said Mr. Gerry; and a little later a messenger on horseback was scurrying along a bypath towards Lexington.
In Boston, Abraham Duncan was keeping his eyes and ears open.
“What’s the news, Billy?” was his question to Billy Baker, apprentice to Mr. Hall, who sold toddy to the redcoats.
“I guess something is going to happen,” said Billy.
“What makes you think so?”
“’Cause a woman who belongs to one of the redcoats was in just now after a toddy; she said the lobsters were going somewhere.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes; and they are packing their knapsacks.”
Abraham whispered it to Doctor Warren, and a few minutes later William Dawes was mounting his old mare and riding toward Roxbury. She was thin in flesh, and showed her ribs; and the man on her back, who dressed calf-skins for a living, jogged along Cornhill as if in no hurry. The red-coated sentinels, keeping guard by the fortifications on the Neck, said to themselves he was an old farmer, but were surprised to see him, after passing them, going like the windout towards Roxbury, to the Parting Stone, then turning towards Cambridge, making the gravel fly from her heels as she tore along the road.
Paul Revere’s House.Paul Revere’s House.
Berinthia Brandon, sitting in her chamber, looking out into the starlit night, saw the faint light of the rising moon along the eastern horizon. Twilight was still lingering in the western sky. In the gloaming, she saw the sailors of the warships and transports were stepping into their boats and floating with the incoming tide up the Charles. What was the meaning of it? She ran dowstairs and told her father and Tom what she had seen; and Tom, seizing his hat, tore along Salem Street and over the bridge across Mill Creek to Doctor Warren’s. The clock on the Old Brick Meetinghouse was striking ten when he rattled the knocker.
“The boats are on their way up the river with the tide,” he said, out of breath with his running.
Abraham Duncan came in, also out of breath.
“The lobsters are marching across the Common, toward Barton’s Point,” he said.
“All of which means, they are going to take the boats and cross Charles River, instead of marching by way of Roxbury,” said the doctor, reflecting a moment.
He asked Tom if he would please run down to North Square and ask Paul Revere to come and see him.
A few minutes later Revere was there.
“I’ve already sent Dawes, but for fear Gage’s spies may pick him up, I want you to take the short cut to Lexington and alarm people on your way; you’ll have to look sharp for Gage’s officers. Tell Newman to hang out the two signals.”
Revere hastened down Salem Street, whispered a word in the ear of Robert Newman, ran to his own home for his overcoat, told two young men to accompany him, then ran to the riverside and stepped into his boat. The great black hull of the frigate Somerset rose before him. By the light of the rising moon he could see a marine, with his gun on his shoulder, pacing the deck; but no challenge came, and the rowers quickly landed him in Charlestown.[54]
Robert Newman, sexton, had gone to bed. The officers of one of the king’s regiments, occupying the front chamber, saw him retire, but did not see him a minute later crawl out of a window to the roof of a shed, drop lightly to the ground, make his way to the church, enter, turn the key, lock the door, climb the stairs to the tower, and hang the lanterns in the loft above the bell. It was but the work of a moment. Having done it, he hastened down the stairway, past the organ, to the floor of the church. The full moon was flooding the arches above him with its mellow light; but he did not tarry to behold the beauty of the scene; not that he feared ghosts would rise from the coffins in the crypt beneath the church,—he was not afraid of dead men,—but he would rather the redcoats should not know what he had been doing. He raised a window, dropped from it to the ground, ran down an alley, reached his house, climbed the shed, and was in bed when officers of one of the regiments came to make inquiry about the lanterns. Of course, Robert, being in bed, could not have hung them there. It must have been done by somebody else.[55]
Paul Revere the while is flying up Main Street towards Charlestown Neck. It is a pleasant night. The grass in the fields is fresh and green; the trees above him are putting forth their young and tender leaves. He is thinking of what Richard Devens has said, and keeps his eyes open. He crosses the narrow neck of land between the Mystic and Charles rivers, and sees before him the tree where Mark was hung ten years before for poisoning his master. The bones of the negro no longer rattle in the wind; the eyeless sockets of the once ghostly skeleton no longer glare at people coming from Cambridge and Medford to Charlestown, and Paul Revere has no fear of seeing Mark’s ghost hovering around the tree. It is for the living—Gage’s spies—that he peers into the night. Bucephalus suddenly pricks up his ears. Ah! there they are! two men in uniform on horseback beneath the tree. He is abreast of them. They advance. Quickly he wheels, and rides back towards Charlestown. He reaches the road leading to Medford, reins Bucephalus into it. He sees one of them riding across the field to cut him off; the other is following him along the road. Suddenly the rider in the field disappears,—going head foremost into a clay pit. “Ha! ha!” laughs Revere, as the fleet steed bears him on towards Medford town. He clattersacross Mystic bridge, halts long enough to awaken the captain of the minute-men, and then rattles on towards Menotomy.[56]
It is past eleven o’clock. The fires have been covered for the night in the farmhouses, and the people are asleep.
“Turn out! turn out! the redcoats are coming!”
Paul Revere is shouting it at every door, as Bucephalus bears him swiftly on. The farmers spring from their beds, peer through their window-panes into the darkness,—seeing a vanishing form, and flashing sparks struck from the stones by the hoofs of the flying horse. Once more across the Mystic on to Menotomy, past the meetinghouse and the houses of the slumbering people, up the hill, along the valley, to Lexington Green; past the meetinghouse, not halting at Buckman’s tavern, but pushing on, leaping from his foaming steed and rapping upon Mr. Clark’s door.
“Who are ye, and what d’ye want?” Sergeant Munroe asked the question.
“I want to see Mr. Hancock.”
“Well, you can’t. The minister and his family mustn’t be disturbed, so just keep still and don’t make a racket.”
“There’ll be a racket pretty soon, for the redcoats are coming,” said Paul.
“Who are you and what do you wish?” asked Reverend Mr. Clark in his night-dress from the window.
“I want to see Adams and Hancock.”
“It is Revere; let him in!” shouted Hancock down the stairway.
“The regulars are coming, several hundred of them, to seize you!”
“It is the supplies at Concord they are after,” cried Mr. Adams.
A moment later other hoofs were striking fire from the stones, and another horseman, William Dawes, appeared, confirming what Revere had said.
REVEREND JONAS CLARK’S HOUSE Where Samuel Adams, John Hancock, and Dorothy Quincy were stayingREVEREND JONAS CLARK’S HOUSEWhere Samuel Adams, John Hancock, and Dorothy Quincy were staying
Where Samuel Adams, John Hancock, and Dorothy Quincy were staying
“Ring the bell!”
Samuel Adams said it, and one of Sergeant Munroe’s men ran to the green, seized the bell-rope, and set the meetinghouse bell to clanging, sending the alarm far and wide upon the still night air.
In the farmhouses candles were quickly lighted, and the minute-men, who had agreed to obey a summons at a moment’s warning, came running with musket, bullet-pouch, and powder-horn, to the rendezvous. They formed in line, but, no redcoats appearing, broke ranks and went into Buckman’s tavern.
Silently, without tap of drum, the grenadiers and light infantry under Colonel Francis Smith, at midnight, marched from their quarters to Barton’s Point, together with the marines under Major Pitcairn.
“Where are we going?” Lieutenant Edward Gould of the King’s Own put the question to Captain Lawrie.
“I suppose General Gage and the Lord, and perhaps Colonel Smith, know, but I don’t,” the captain replied, as he stepped into a boat with his company.
It was eleven o’clock when the last boat-load of troops reached Lechmere’s Point,—not landing onsolid ground, but amid the last year’s reeds and marshes. The tide was flowing into the creek and eddies, and the mud beneath the feet of the king’s troops was soft and slippery.
“May his satanic majesty take the man who ordered us into this bog,” said a soldier whose feet suddenly went out from under him and sent him sprawling into the slimy oose.
“By holy Saint Patrick, isn’t the water nice and warm!” said one of the marines as he waded into the flowing tide fresh from the sea.
“Gineral Gage intends to teach us how to swim,” said another.
With jokes upon their lips, but inwardly cursing whoever had directed them to march across the marsh, the troops splashed through the water, reached the main road leading to Menotomy, and waited while the commissary distributed their rations. It was past two o’clock before Colonel Smith was ready to move on. Looking at his watch in the moonlight and seeing how late it was, he directed Major Pitcairn to take six companies of the light infantry and hasten on to Lexington.
From the house of Reverend Mr. Clark, Paul Revere, William Dawes, and young Doctor Prescott of Concord, who had been sparking his intended wife in Lexington village, started on their horses up the road towards Concord. From the deep shade of the alders a half dozen men suddenly confronted them.
“Surrender, or I will blow out your brains!” shouts one of the officers.
BUCKMAN’S TAVERNBUCKMAN’S TAVERN
Revere and Dawes are prisoners; but Doctor Prescott, quick of eye, ear, and motion, is leaping his horse over the stone wall, riding through fields and pastures, along bypaths, his saddle-bags flopping, his horse, young and fresh, bearing him swiftly on over the meadows to the slumbering village, with the news that the redcoats are coming.[57]
“Tell us where we can find those arch traitors to his majesty the king, or you are dead men,” the threat of an officer.
Paul Revere sees the muzzle of the pistol within a foot of his breast, but it does not frighten him.
“Ah, gentlemen, you have missed your aim.”
“What aim?”
“You won’t get what you came for. I left Boston an hour before your troops were ready to cross Charles River. Messengers left before me, and the alarm will soon be fifty miles away. Had I not known it, I would have risked a shot from you before allowing myself to be captured.”
From the belfry of the meetinghouse the bell wassending its peals far and wide over fields and woodlands.
“Do you not hear it? The town is alarmed,” said Revere.
“Rub-a-dub-dub! rub-a-dub-dub! rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub, rub-a-dub-dub!” It was the drummer beating the long roll.
“The minute-men are forming; you are dead men!” said Dawes.
The drumbeat, with the clanging bell, was breaking the stillness of the early morning. The officers put their heads together and whispered a moment.
“Get off your horses,” ordered Captain Parsons of the king’s Tenth Regiment.
Revere and Dawes obeyed.
“We’ll keep this; the other is only fit for the crows to pick,” said one of the officers, cutting the saddle-girth of Dawes’s horse, turning it loose, and mounting Bucephalus. Then all rode away, dashing past the minute-men on Lexington Green.
“The minute-men are forming,—three hundred of them,” reported the officers to Colonel Smith, who was marching up the road.[58]
The bell and the drumbeat, the lights in Buckman’s tavern and the other houses, the minute-men in line by the meetinghouse, had quickened the imagination of the excited Britishers.
“The country is alarmed. It is reported there arefive hundred rebels gathered to oppose me. I shall need reinforcements.” Such was the message of Colonel Smith to General Gage.
He directed Major Pitcairn to push on rapidly with six companies of light infantry.
“Jonathan! Jonathan! Get up quick! The redcoats are coming and something must be done!”[59]
Abigail Harrington shouted it, bursting into her son Jonathan’s chamber. He had not heard the bell, nor the commotion in the street. Jonathan was only sixteen years old, but was fifer for the minute-men. In a twinkling he was dressed, and seizing his fife ran to join the company forming in line by the meetinghouse; answering to their names, as clerk Daniel Harrington called the roll.
John Hancock and Samuel Adams hear the drumbeat; Hancock seizes his gun.
“This is no place for you; you must go to a place of safety,” said Reverend Mr. Clark.
“Never will I turn my back to the redcoats,” said Hancock.
“The country will need your counsels. Others must meet the enemy face to face,” was the calm, wise reply of the patriotic minister.
Other friends expostulate; they cross the road and enter a thick wood crowning the hill.
“Stand your ground. If war is to come, let it begin here. Don’t fire till you are fired upon,” said Captain John Parker, walking along the lines of his company.
The sun is just rising. Its level beams glint from the brightly polished gun-barrels and bayonets of the light infantry of King George, as the battalion under Major Pitcairn marches towards Lexington meetinghouse. The trees above them have put forth their tender leaves. The rising sun, the green foliage, the white cross-belts, the shining buckles, the scarlet coats of the soldiers, and the farmers standing in line, firmly grasping their muskets, make up the picture of the morning.
Major Pitcairn, sitting in his saddle, beholds the line of minute-men, rebels in arms against the sovereign, formed in line to dispute his way. What right have they to be standing there? King George is supreme!
“Disperse, you rebels! Lay down your arms and disperse!” he shouts.
Captain John Parker hears it. The men behind him, citizens in their everyday clothes, with powder-horns slung under their right arms, hear it, but stand firm and resolute in their places. They see the Britisher raise his arm; his pistol flashes. Instantly the front platoon of redcoats raise their muskets. A volley rends the air. Not a man has been injured. Another volley, and a half dozen are reeling to the ground. John Munroe, Jonas Parker, and their comrades bring their muskets to a level and pull the triggers. With the beams of the rising sun falling on their faces, they accept the conflict with arbitrary power.
“What a glorious morning is this!” the exclamation of Samuel Adams on yonder hill.