Harold Titus's Page

     Anticipating better fare at Wright Tavern than Reverend Clarke’s bread and cheese, Revere and Dawes proceeded along the Old Concord road.

     “You or me?” Dawes asked, his close-set eyes, long nose, and grinning mouth presenting a comical look, the rooftop of the house they now approached visible beyond a copse of trees.

     “You.”

     Revere watched Billy Dawes rap on the front door; he heard Dawes shout the alarm to a person at an upstairs window. Much better to share this work, he thought. It made the night seem less perilous. Definitely less lonely. His esteemed friend in Boston would be worrying about them. Here they were, working well together, each beforehand having worked well separately.

     “How far d'you think the redcoats have gotten?” Dawes asked, having returned to the road.

     “What time is it?”

     Dawes removed his watch from his coat pocket. He studied the hands in the moonlight. “'Bout 1:15 a.m.”

     “I would say, … Menotomy.”

     They resumed riding.

     The stillness of the night played upon Revere’s sensibilities. He thought, A blessed tranquility swaddles the land. Weary toiler, rest your head, all is safe. He and Dawes violated that dictum.

     As did another. Dawes heard first the cantering horse.

     “The patrol?”

     “It’s one horse. But be ready.”

     Horse and rider appeared in the bright moonlight. Seeing Revere and Dawes hunched in their saddles, the rider slowed his horse to a walk. He stopped ten feet away.

     “Good evening, gentlemen,” he declared, “or should I say good morning, for it is surely that.”

     Revere nodded. The man was cordial.

     “I’m Doctor Samuel Prescott. On my way home from my fiancée’s house. Which explains my presence at this hour.” The young man beamed. “And you, gentlemen, if I may be permitted to ask?”

     Grinning, Dawes gave his name.

     Transferring his smile, the doctor regarded Revere.

     The silversmith answered. Prescott’s quick change of expression amused him.

     “I am honored, sir! Indeed, … fortunate! I too am a son of liberty! Though admittedly not … Concord is astir because of you! Of the message you so recently delivered.” Prescott leaned forward. “That I should speak to the man who …” Grinning still, he shook his head. “My betrothed, when she hears me speak, will deem me a prevaricator. Would that I have you hiding behind the door!”

     They laughed. The young doctor was engaging, likable.

     “I’m on my way to Concord, sir,” Doctor Prescott stated. “Are you traveling in that direction?”

     “We’re carrying another message, doctor.” Revere paused. Prescott’s responsive face sobered. Revere lengthened the pause. “The regulars are out.”

     “They might be an hour behind us,” Dawes added quickly. The cordwainer repositioned his large, flapped hat.

     Prescott stared. They watched him swallow, grimace. “I wonder why I’m surprised at this.”

     Wanting the conversation to end but exercising patience, Revere stared at the dark tops of two pines.

     “Then may I accompany you, actually assist you? I’m well known here, as a doctor and a patriot.” Prescott looked down the road, looked back at Revere. “I believe that my words would bring special emphasis to your message.”

     Three express riders, to do the job of one. Amused, Revere thought again of his doctor friend. Joseph would want to know everything about this fine young man. “By all means, doctor,” he said, knowing Prescott’s request wanted immediate acceptance. “We welcome your company. But I must warn you. Our work entails risk.” He paused, to elicit a more intense reaction. “Somewhere ahead of us we may yet encounter a British patrol. You accompany us … at your peril.”

     Irises centered, Prescott nodded.

     A half-hour’s riding brought them two miles closer to Concord. Revere had decided he would return to the Clarke house immediately after he had alerted Major Buttrick. He wanted to know what Adams and Hancock had done to protect themselves. After that, … events, not preconceived intentions, determined more often than not his actions.

     The young doctor and Billy Dawes had stopped at the door of another farmhouse. Revere rode contentedly ahead. The stillness, crispness, and clarity of the night braced him. He thought, A city man would do well to take a moonlit ride on such a star-bright, spring night.

     Moon-crafted shadows lay upon the road. High above, tiny beads of light glittered. Revere heard a screech and the flapping of wings. The stillness that ensued seemed otherworldly. He heard faintly the passage of water over rocks.

     Such moments renewed his belief in the Almighty Creator. In six days the Lord had made the world. On the seventh He had rested.

     Man, God’s greatest creation, defiled it. Along this peaceful, illuminated roadway many soldiers would march. Tranquility lost. But not yet. There were moments, he thought, when a man, quite alone, did feel God’s purpose.

     He had stopped his horse at the top of a gentle rise to enjoy the night’s serenity. When he heard the sound of his companions’ horses, he urged his own forward. Having ridden ten rods to a turn in the road, he spied two soldiers on horseback, waiting in the darkness of a large maple.

     This time he was not outnumbered!

     “Dawes! Prescott! Come up! British officers!”

     Mounted soldiers, brandishing pistols, burst forth from shadows behind him!

     Kicking his horse’s sides, shouting, Revere propelled his mount forward.

     “God damn you, stop! If you go an inch farther you are a dead man!” Flanking him, a long-bodied, snarling officer rotated the end of his pistol.

     Revere looked over his right shoulder. Prescott, his whip handle turned about, was rapidly advancing.

     Where was Dawes?

     Seconds later Prescott was abreast of him. Cursing officers, waving swords, accosted them.

     “Into that pasture! Through that space into that pasture!” one of them shouted.

     “Into that pasture now or we will blow your brains out!”

     Revere and Prescott veered through the opening in the rail fence.

     Revere strained to see what lay ahead. Two riders sat motionless under a solitary tree. Beyond appeared to be a dark wood. “Put on!” Prescott shouted. The doctor yanked his horse off course.

     Too late to follow, Revere spurred his horse into a full gallop. If he could but reach the wood! Turning his head, he saw Prescott’s horse leap an obstruction. Prescott’s two pursuers halted.

     The two that had been under the tree were now leading Revere’s chasers. He heard their labored pursuit.

     Just ahead! He searched for an opening where, once within, he would pull up, dismount, and escape on foot. To his dismay out of several openings exited more soldiers! Almost immediately they were about him! He veered away but one, reaching dangerously, seized his horse's bridle. They surrounded him. Stopping him, they aimed their pistols at his breast.

     Placing his hands on his horse’s neck, shutting his eyes, Revere aspirated.

     At least Prescott had escaped.