Ride of Paul Revere

Paul Revere warns the Colonial Militia

Paul Revere was a silversmith in Colonial Boston.  He was very successful and he was also an American Patriot.  He was tasked with warning the fledgling colonial movement with warning them if the British Army was on the way.  The British had heard (correctly) that the colonials were gathering arms in Concord.  The signal Paul was to look for was by lanterns in the tower of the Old North Church.  One if by land and two if by sea.  The British came partway to Lexington by sea so Paul Revere saw two lanterns in the North Church tower.

Paul was rowed across the river right under the nose of a British Man-O-War.  On the other side he was met with a good horse and off he went in the saddle.  He warned the colonial militia along the way to Lexington and Concord that the British Army was coming.  A small group of colonial militia stood up to the British Army at Lexington and the American Revolutionary War started.  There was one at least one other rider who rode out to warn the colonial militia.   William Dawes and Samuel Prescott also rode out to the countryside to warn of the British approach.

The British Army was hoping to catch some of the leaders of the rebellion.  To the British, the American Patriots were traitors.  Eventually the British ran into a much larger group of colonial militia and the British were forced back.  All the way on their retreat to Boston the British Army suffered casualties from Americans firing at them from behind stone walls, and trees.  Eventually the British or Redcoats as the colonials called them were reinforced.  This became known as the Battle of Lexington and Concord.

More and more American militia showed up as the 700 British Regulars were retreating.  The British commander had sent 1,000 more men as reinforcements and then all the force retreated to Boston... being fired on by american colonial militia the entire way.  By the end of the battle the American forces numbered somewhere around 2,000.  The battle was particularly bad for the British at a couple of sharp turns in the road where they were fired on from the front and side. 

One of the British commanders said that the Americans were not an irregular mob but well trained and knew what they were about.  He noted that they had been employed as rangers against the Indians or Native Americans and the French in the French and Indian War a few years earlier.  In fact, much of the American Militia's tactics they learned from fighting against or with the Native Americans.

A few drawing notes:  

     Remember the sky should be colored dark, and,  I looked it up. . . 

     this is the gibbous non-full moon that was 90% full on that night.

    You might also notice the dust around the horse's hooves.  Paul

    Revere just reined in his horse to talk to the citizens in the doorway.

There is a great poem about Paul Revere's ride called  Paul Revere's Ride.   It was written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.  I posted the poem below.  You will see from the poem, that today, April 18, 2018 is the 243 anniversary of that ride!

Paul Revere’s Ride

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807 - 1882

Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five:
Hardly a man is now alive 
Who remembers that famous day and year.

He said to his friend, “If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch
Of the North-Church-tower, as a signal-light,--
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country-folk to be up and to arm.”

Then he said “Good night!” and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war:
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon, like a prison-bar,
And a huge black hulk, that was magnified 
By its own reflection in the tide.

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street
Wanders and watches with eager ears, 
Till in the silence around him he hears 
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, 
And the measured tread of the grenadiers 
Marching down to their boats on the shore.

Then he climbed to the tower of the church,
Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry-chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,--
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town,
And the moonlight flowing over all.

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, 
In their night-encampment on the hill, 
Wrapped in silence so deep and still 
That he could hear, like a sentinel’s tread, 
The watchful night-wind, as it went 
Creeping along from tent to tent, 
And seeming to whisper, “All is well!” 
A moment only he feels the spell 
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread 
Of the lonely belfry and the dead; 
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent 
On a shadowy something far away, 
Where the river widens to meet the bay, --
A line of black, that bends and floats 
On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, 
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride, 
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse’s side, 
Now gazed on the landscape far and near, 
Then impetuous stamped the earth, 
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search 
The belfry-tower of the old North Church, 
As it rose above the graves on the hill, 
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s height, 
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, 
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight 
A second lamp in the belfry burns!

A hurry of hoofs in a village-street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, 
And beneath from the pebbles, in passing, a spark 
Struck out by a steed that flies fearless and fleet: 
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light, 
The fate of a nation was riding that night; 
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, 
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.

He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders, that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.

It was twelve by the village clock
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock, 
And the barking of the farmer’s dog, 
And felt the damp of the river-fog,
That rises when the sun goes down.

It was one by the village clock,
When he galloped into Lexington. 
He saw the gilded weathercock 
Swim in the moonlight as he passed, 
And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, 
Gaze at him with a spectral glare, 
As if they already stood aghast 
At the bloody work they would look upon.

It was two by the village clock,
When be came to the bridge in Concord town. 
He heard the bleating of the flock, 
And the twitter of birds among the trees, 
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadows brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket-ball.

You know the rest. In the books you have read,
How the British Regulars fired and fled,--
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farmyard-wall,
Chasing the red-coats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.

So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm,-- 
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo forevermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.

NOTE:  This is one of my favorite poems.  You should also look up the song on YouTube called The Ride of Paul Revere by Up With The People.     My family had this record when I was a child.  Also...on the 200th anniversary of the Ride of Paul Revere I jumped out of bed and went running though the house waking up everyone early by yelling:  "The British are coming!"   I was Jr. High age.   Now you know why I fit in for 16 years as a Jr. High teacher!   Here are the lyrics to the song:

THE RIDE OF PAUL REVERE

Words- Paul Colwell
Music- Paul and Ralph Colwell

They saw two lanterns in the North Church tower,
Ride, Ride
They knew this was to be the fateful hour
Ride, Ride

For a man to ride and to alarm
Ev’ry village and ev’ry farm
To awaken them and call to arm,
It was the ride of Paul Revere!

Chorus
Ride! Ride! Tho’ the night be cold.
Ride! Ride! Till the truth be told!
Ride! Ride! Like that man of old!
Ride like Paul Revere!

In seventy five upon an April night,
Ride! Ride!

The air was chilly and the moon shone bright.
Ride! Ride!

They rowed him past the man-of-war
Landed on the Charlestown shore,
Where the finest steed was ready for,
The ride of Paul Revere!

Chorus

Say:  There were many who remained in bed

  Sing: Ride Ride

Say:  But in history, there names are dead

  Sing: Ride Ride

Say:  But the one who history thanks

         started off on Charles River banks

          Twas the ride of Paul Revere!

(Back to just singing)

Chorus

I wonder if, two hundred years ahead,
Ride! Ride!
If they will ride, or if they’ll stay in bed.
Ride! Ride!

When faith and freedom within them die,
And when they hear that midnight cry
And the hoof-beats cross the moonlit sky,
Will they ride with Paul Revere?
Ride with Paul Revere!

Chorus