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Chapter One
0n the morning of Tuesday, April 18, 1775, under bright skies and in cool spring temperatures, twenty British officers and sergeants, all mounted, all under the command of the mercurial Major Edward Mitchell of the 5th Foot, rode out of the British army stables in Boston. They traveled down the long thread of land called the Boston Neck, the only land access from the city to the mainland, then, turning north and west, they spread out along the road to Concord.
The preceding winter had been the mildest in New England history. The roads were dry underfoot, and their horses could cover ground quickly. The greenery had begun to grow a month early, and the trees were already budding out.
From their horses, these British soldiers looked. at familiar scenes in a peaceful countryside. Farmers were out in their fields, plowing with oxen from first light to the last peep of sun. On the roads, drovers with. switches and flailing hats were driving animalsever thing from cattle to gabbling flocks of turkeys-to Boston's market. Everywhere, people were doing chores and errands in the urgent business of getting crops started. Countless eyes saw Major Mitchell and his mounted military detachment pass by.
Boston itself was even quieter on that April Tuesday. The port had been closed since the previous June 1 by order of His Majesty King George III until such time as the citizens reimbursed the East India Company for tea that had been dumped into Boston Harbor.
A closed port meant a dead city. Almost all commerce had ceased. No ships came or went. Most businesses were shut down: the rope walks, the sail lofts, the ships chandlers, allclosed; the warehouses empty. Large groups of sullen, unemployed men stood about on the docks or moped in the taverns. The other colonies were sending food to ward off starvation. So far, the city had refused to pay for the tea.
Dr. Joseph Warren was in his Boston medical office but not attending to medical duties. He was spending the day sifting through bits and pieces of information that grew more ominous as the hours, passed. For Dr. Warren was spying on General Thomas Gage and his troop movements.
A leadingphysician, a graduate of Harvard University, and the son of a leading Boston family, Dr. Warren was also a passionate Whig, a leading radical, and one of Samuel Adams's most valued lieutenants. He was also a leading member of the Massachusetts Committee of Safety, an extralegal executive body of the radicals that, had charge of Massachusetts's huge militia.
He had achieved lasting fame among the, radicals when, whileSam Adams was attending the First Continental Congress, he hadwritten the Suffolk Resolves under Adams's instructions. Paul Reverehad carried them to Philadelphia, where they, by providing the defiant tone which Adams pushed through, turned out to be the turningpoint of the First Congress.
Dr. Warren was still weighing an important piece of intelligence. There had been a change of assignment in the British garrison that indicated a potential military maneuver: On April 15, three days earlier, Gage had detached his elite troops-grenadiers and light infantry from their regular duties in order to give them separate training. Lightly equipped, specially trained, and fast moving, these companies could be used to strike into the countryside and return with great speed. All told these units contained 700 men-just the right sizea hit-and-run strike. But when and where were they to be used?
Dr. Warren was one of only a handful of radicals still left in Boston. None were to be found in their shops or countinghouses, or haranguing each other in taverns such as the Green Dragon or the Bunch of Grapes, or in the popular British Coffee House. They had all heard rumors from London that the king's cabinet, out of patience, was demanding results, from General Gage and that the king had ordered him to take sterner actionto confiscate illegal arms, to break up illegal assemblies, and to arrest the radical leaders, especially John Hancock and Sam Adams.
So on April 8, the radical politicians had prudently moved in large numbers out into the countryside, beyond the reach of Gage's long, red-coated arms. In fact, a number of radicals had defiantly attended an illegal Provincial Council meeting in Concord to select delegates to the equally, illegal Second Continental Congress in Philadelphia. They also decided to remain safely outside Boston to watch from afar and await Gage's move.
Dr. Warren had even sent his own family away for their protection, and every military uniform that passed his office windows reminded him that by remaining in the city he was continually in danger of sudden arrest and confinement. But he couldn't leave yet. He still needed one piece of vital information.
Silversmith Paul Revere had also elected to stay in Boston. From his shop on Fish Street, near Hancock's Wharf, he was watching and waiting along with Dr. Warren, secretly gleaning hints and clues from informants all over the city. He, too, believed that the British garrison was on the verge of launching an operation.
To the angry British officials who knew him well, Paul Revere was primarily a post rider for the radical groups and a thorn in their sides. But he was much more than that.
He was a deeply committed radical ready for any assignment. A man with many skillsa gifted silversmith, a goldsmith, a pewtersmith, a maker of false teeth, and an engraverhe was also a political cartoonist, a writer, a newspaper propagandist, a rioter, and an occasional arm bender. The physically powerful Revere was more than Sam Adams's leading post rider. He was his most trusted lieutenant.