Paul Revere's Ride

by David Hackett Fischer

Tavernkeeper William Munroe was Lexington’s orderly sergeant, who told Paul Revere not to make so much noise, as people were trying to sleep. Afterward he helped Adams and Hancock find a place of safety, and returned in time to muster with Captain Parker on Lexington Common. This portrait was painted by Ethan Allen Greenwood in 1813, when Munroe was seventy-one. (Lexington Historical Society)

  Unlike his green junior officers, Colonel Smith knew from long experience exactly what to do. He rode straight into the center of the scene, met Lieutenant Sutherland, and asked, “Do you know where a drummer is?” A drummer was quickly found, and ordered to beat to arms. The throb of the drum began to reverberate across the Common. The Regulars had been trained in countless drills to respond automatically to its commands. The British infantry heard the drum’s call, steady and insistent even above the rattle of musketry. Reluctantly, the men ceased firing and turned toward their angry commander. 50

  Smith ordered them to form up. Some of the men responded sullenly. Others did not respond at all. One officer remembered “We then formed on the Common but the men were so wild they could hear no orders.” Another wrote, “We then formed on the Common, but with some difficulty.” Slowly the companies came together, and sergeants prodded the men into ranks. 51

  Militiaman Amos Muzzey mustered on Lexington Green with Captain Parker’s company. This is one of the few surviving paintings of an American private who fought on April 19. One sees in this strong face the seriousness of purpose that contributed to the outcome of that event. Fifty-three years later, Muzzey was buried between his two wives in Lexington. His stone reads, “… reserved for Mr. Amos Muzzey and wives, and no other corpse to be laid there.” In death as in life, Private Muzzey fiercely defends his own turf. (Lexington Historical Society)

  Colonel Smith would have many detractors before this day was done, but one must respect his remarkable performance in recovering control of his men under fire on Lexington common. Many a life was saved by his intervention. He wrote later that “I was desirous of putting a stop to all further slaughter of those deluded people.” To have succeeded in doing so was no small achievement. 52

  While the Regulars shuffled resentfully into line, Colonel Smith ordered his officers to gather round him. At long last he told them of their mission. For the first time they learned that Concord was their destination. The officers were appalled. The thought of marching farther into this hostile countryside with green and undisciplined troops, after the terrible accident that had just happened, filled them with horror. Several junior officers spoke out bravely at risk to their careers, urging Smith to “give up the idea of prosecuting his march.” They reminded him about the “certainty of the country being alarmed and assembling.” They asserted that the original purpose of the mission had become “impracticable,” and recommended a speedy return to Boston. Colonel Smith listened politely and refused. He explained his reasons in terms that any soldier could understand, telling his officers simply that he “had his orders” and was “determined to obey them.” 53

  While the officers met with their commander, the men stood in their ranks. One remembered that “we waited a considerable time there.” At last the officers’ call ended, and the order to march was given. Smith was concerned about the state of his troops. To revive their spirits and empty their weapons, he allowed them to fire a victory salute and give three cheers. A heavy volley of 800 muskets, and the soldiers’ triumphant shouts echoed across the empty Common. Then the sergeants barked their harsh commands, and the column began to move toward Concord.

  In the houses and woods along the road, the people of Lexington listened bitterly to the British cheers and began to count their dead. Seven Lexington men had been killed and also one of the Yankee prisoners taken on the road, the unlucky Woburn man who was shot while “trying to escape.” Nine other Lexington men were wounded, some severely. The toll was heavy in that small town. Eight pairs of fathers and sons had mustered on the Common. Five of those eight were shattered by death. Most families in that small community suffered the loss of a kinsman—if not a father or son, then an uncle or cousin.

  As the British troops disappeared into the west, the people of the town gathered on the Common. There was at first a sense of shock, a terrible numb and empty feeling of cruel and bitter loss. Then there was another raw emotion: deep, consuming, abiding anger. The people of Lexington asked themselves, who were these arrogant men in their proud red coats? By what right did they act as they did?

  Other militiamen were now arriving from the far corners of the town. Those who had slept through the alarm began to appear, weapons in hand. Captain Parker mustered his company once again on the bloody ground. There were not sixty militia as before, but twice that number. The men were silent, grim and pensive. Most had lost friends and relatives only a few minutes before. Some wore bloody bandages. A few had faces and shirts blackened by powder stains. Their weapons were no better than before, but they replenished their ammunition from the dwindling store in the meetinghouse.

  This time, there were no consultations or debates. With a few terse words of command, Captain Parker ordered his company to fall in. The men were no longer in doubt about what to do. They were ready to give battle again, but on different terms.

  THE BATTLE

  A Provincial Protest Becomes a World War

  We saw a large body of men drawn up with the greatest regularity.… with as much order as the best disciplined troops.”

  —British Ensign Jeremy Lister in Concord

  They began to march by divisions down upon us from their left in a very military manner.

  —British Lt. Wm. Sutherland, at the North Bridge

  Whoever dares to look upon them as an irregular mob, will find himself much mistaken. They have men amongst them who know very well what they are about.

  —Brigadier Lord Hugh Percy after returning from Lexington

  AMERICANS HAVE A VIVID IMAGE of the fighting that began on the morning of April 19, 1775. In our mind’s eye, we see a scattering of individual minutemen crouched behind low granite walls, banging away at a disciplined mass of British Regulars along the Battle Road. We celebrate the spontaneity of the event, and the autonomy of the Americans who took part in it. As a writer put it in the 19th century, “Every one appeared to be his own commander.” 1

  That familiar folk-memory contains an important element of truth. One American militiaman testified that many times in the course of a long day “each one sought his own place and opportunity to attack and annoy the enemy from behind trees, rocks, fences and buildings.” But in more general terms, the idea that every minuteman fought his own private war against the British army is very much mistaken. It is wrong in the same way that the myth of the solitary midnight rider is inaccurate, and the legend of the spontaneous Middlesex rising is far off the mark. After close study of this event, the distinguished soldier and military historian John Galvin concludes that the clash at Lexington and Concord is “the least known of all American battles.” Certainly it is one of the most misunderstood. 2

  The fighting on this day was not merely an open running skirmish along the Battle Road. It was also a series of controlled engagements, in which the Middlesex farmers fought as members of formal military units. Here again, America remembers the individual and forgets the common effort. It celebrates the spontaneous act, but shows little interest in its unique heritage of collective action in the cause of freedom. Let us look again at the events of this fateful day.

  At Concord, the town fathers had been awakened by Dr. Samuel Prescott early in the morning of April 19. According to the custom in New England, they went to talk with their minister, William Emerson. In the cautious manner of these communities they decided to muster the militia immediately, and also to confirm the accuracy of the alarm by sending several gallopers to Lexington.

  One of these “posts” was Reuben Brown, a Concord saddler who went riding down the Boston Road toward the first streaks of dawn in the eastern sky. Brown rea
ched Lexington just before the Regulars arrived. He spoke briefly with Captain Parker on the Green, and was present when the firing began. Without waiting to see how it ended, Reuben Brown turned his horse, galloped home, and told Major John Buttrick what he had witnessed. Buttrick asked if the Regulars were firing ball. Brown answered, “I do not know, but think it probable.” 3

  Concord’s men of military age gathered together at the Wright Tavern. Like the Lexington militia, they held an impromptu town meeting among themselves. All agreed that the town should defend itself. The young men of the minute companies wished to march eastward and confront the Regulars outside the town. The men of middle age in the militia preferred to stand and fight in Concord. The town elders on the alarm list thought it wise to wait while their numbers continued to grow. After some discussion, it was decided in the consensual manner of a Massachusetts town that all of these things should be done. 4

  The minutemen marched off, spoiling for a fight. They went to the brow of a hill about a mile east of the town center, and looked out across the open countryside. Suddenly they caught their first sight of the advancing British force. It was a breathtaking spectacle: a long flowing ribbon of scarlet and white and sparkling steel that stretched a quarter mile along the road, and was moving relentlessly in their direction. Militiaman Thaddeus Blood, aged nineteen, wrote, “The sun was rising and shined on their arms, and they made a noble appearance in their red coats and glistening arms.” 5

  The British commander saw the New England soldiers on the hill, and ordered his light infantry to deploy against them. The minutemen watched in fascination as the head of the long red formation suddenly opened outward to form a skirmish line. The young minutemen of Concord counted their own small numbers, and concluded that their elders had been right after all. They decided to withdraw into the town. 6

  The retreat was done in high style. Minuteman Amos Barrett recalled that the Concord men stayed on their hill until the British “got within 100 rods [1650 feet], then we was ordered to about face and marched before them.” He remembered hearing “our drums and fifes a going, and also the B[ritish]. We had grand musick.” The same ritual was repeated several times, as the minutemen retreated slowly before the advancing British troops. 7

  In Concord, the older men of the militia companies and the alarm lists were making ready to receive the Regulars in the village. They took a position on a high hill above the meetinghouse, near the town’s tall liberty pole with its flag flying defiantly in the westerly breeze. 8 The hill was a strong position, with long views to the east. Here the Concord men consulted yet again. Their militant minister William Emerson told his fellow townsmen, “Let us stand our ground. If we die, let us die here!” One man remembered that many others “were for making a stand, notwithstanding the superiority in numbers.” 9

  Some were of a different opinion. The debate continued on Meetinghouse Hill until suddenly the young men streamed back into town. Behind them the British column appeared in the distance, coming on at a quick march. The sun was rising higher in a bright blue sky, and the morning light reflected brilliantly on the burnished weapons of the advancing infantry. Emerson remembered the vivid spectacle of the Regulars “glittering in arms, advancing toward us with the greatest celerity.” 10

  As the Regulars drew near, the throb of their drums began to be heard. William Emerson passed among the militia, speaking words of encouragement to the young soldiers. He came to Harry Gould, eighteen years old, who was “panic-struck at the first sound of the British drums.” Emerson clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Stand your ground, Harry! Your cause is just and God will bless you!” Young Harry Gould took heart from William Emerson’s words, and fought bravely through the rest of that long day. Others did the same, and long remembered the example of the man who had inspired them. After the battle a Concord soldier named his two sons “William” and “Emerson.” 11

  On military questions, the men of Concord tended to defer to a small elite of elected officers who stood with them on the hill. The colonel of the Middlesex regiment was a Concord man, James Barrett, sixty-four years old, a prosperous miller who had held many offices of trust in the town. Concord’s five company captains in 1776 included Barrett’s son-in-law Captain George Minot; his brother-in-law Captain Thomas Hubbard; and his nephew Captain Thomas Barrett. These leaders were respected in the town for their caution and prudence. 12

  But some of the younger men thought them a little too prudent. Their leader was Lieutenant Joseph Hosmer, thirty-nine years old, a prosperous farmer and furniture-maker. Hosmer was not trusted by the town’s elders. His only jobs had been constable and hog-reeve, which went routinely to the newly married man. But in town meeting he was an eloquent and outspoken Whig, one of the few who could get the better of the polished Tory lawyer Daniel Bliss in political debate. In one of their exchanges, a Loyalist watched as lawyer Bliss “frowned, bit his lip, pounded with his boot-heel, and in a word showed marked discomposure.”

  William Emerson, the highly respected minister of Concord, was a militant Whig who stiffened the resolve of his town. This wax portrait is in the Concord Free Public Library

  “Who is this man?” the Loyalist asked imperiously.

  “Hosmer, a mechanic,” Bliss replied.

  “Then how comes he to speak such pure English?”

  “Because he has an old mother who sits in the chimney corner and reads English poetry all the day long, and I suppose it is like mother, like son.’ He is the most dangerous man in Concord. His influence over the young men is wonderful, and where he leads they will be sure to follow.” 13 On April 19, Lieutenant Hosmer and his radical young friends spoke out for strong measures. Colonel Barrett and his kin were voices of restraint.

  The British drums were coming closer, but still the townsmen continued their debate. The men of Lincoln arrived, and joined in. One gestured toward the oncoming Regulars and said, “Let us go and meet them.” Eleazer Brooks of Lincoln answered, “No, it will not do for us to begin the war.” 14

  The drums were now very near. Once again the “more prudent” men repeated that it would be “best to retreat till our strength should be equal to the enemy’s.” Prudence prevailed. It was agreed to abandon the village to the advancing British force. The militia, still heavily outnumbered, retreated north to the next hill. To avoid an incident Colonel Barrett took them across the North Bridge, all the way to Punkatasset Hill, nearly a mile from the town center but overlooking it across the open country. 15

  Colonel Smith led his Regulars into an undefended village. No men of military age remained to oppose him—only women and children and old men. The people of the town had heard the news of Lexington (some of it at least), and they were angry. Two British officers described them as “sulky” and “surly.” One infuriated elder attacked Major Pitcairn with his fists.

  The British soldiers responded with restraint. Colonel Smith strictly enforced General Gage’s orders that the people of Concord were to be treated correctly, and that private property was to be respected. Even so, there was a little looting. One soldier amazed the town by stealing a Bible from the meetinghouse. Another helped himself to a volume appropriately titled Liberty of the Will. Their officers permitted one act of political destruction: the town’s liberty pole was cut down and burned. Otherwise, the troops remained on their best behavior. 16

  The Regulars went speedily about their business. General Gage’s elaborate orders were followed to the letter. Both bridges into town were quickly secured. A single company of light infantry was thought sufficient to hold the South Bridge. A larger force, seven companies of light infantry, went to the North Bridge where the men of Concord had retreated. Four of those seven companies were sent on yet another long march, two miles beyond the North Bridge, to Colonel Barrett’s house and mill, which Tories had reported to hold a great store of munitions. Two companies from the 4th and 10th Foot were ordered to hold the high ground along their route, and a company of the 43rd Foot guarde
d the bridge itself. 17

  The grenadiers remained in Concord center. Their assignment was to search the village, and to destroy any materials of war they found there. All morning they toiled at that thankless task. They worked systematically through the village, entering without warrant the houses that had been reported by General Gage’s spies. No resistance was offered except at the tavern of Ephraim Jones, an innkeeper of outspoken Whig principles who doubled as the town’s jailor. Major Pitcairn went directly to the inn and banged on the door. Jones defiantly refused to open it. A party of grenadiers broke it down. Pitcairn rushed inside, and hard words were exchanged. The angry Marine knocked the infuriated innkeeper to the ground, “clapped a pistol to his head,” and threatened to use it unless information was forthcoming. At pistol-point, Jones led them to three large 24-pounder cannon, buried in his yard. Next door, a Tory was found languishing in the town jail, and speedily set free. Major Pitcairn then released his captive, and surprised him by offering to buy a breakfast for his men, and insisted on paying the bill. 18

  Aside from the three cannon, not much was turned up in the way of munitions. Paul Revere’s repeated warnings had achieved their purpose. Many things of military value had been spirited away in the busy weeks since he had ridden to the town. The English Whig historian George Otto Trevelyan wrote contemptuously that the grenadiers “spoiled some flour, knocked the trunnions off three iron guns, burned a heap of wooden spoons and trenchers, and cut down a liberty pole.” 19

  A cache of lead bullets was also uncovered and tossed into the millpond, from which it would be salvaged the next day. Some of the British Regulars made a pyre of wooden gun carriages, and set it ablaze. The fire spread quickly to the town house and threatened to destroy it. For a moment, in this strange semi-civil war, the soldiers and the townspeople forgot their differences and joined together in a bucket brigade to save the building. The gun carriages continued to burn, sending a cloud of smoke billowing high above the village.