Characters Mentioned
Clarke, Rev. Jonas – Lexington minister and influential political leader
Browner, Solomon – 18 year old Lexington youth, one of three men sent to scout the road west of Lexington, captured by Major Mitchell’s advance party
Eaton – Lexington militiaman at the meetinghouse
Gage, General Thomas – commanding general of British forces stationed in Boston
Gove – Tory farmer temporarily holding Josiah Nelson captive
Harrington – Lexington militiaman at the meetinghouse
Johnson – Lexington militiaman at the meetinghouse
Loring, Jonathan – One of a party of three Lexington men captured by Major Mitchell’s advance party
Nelson, Josiah – Lincoln farmer captured by Major Mitchell’s party
Parker, Captain John – Lexington militia captain
Patterson, Elijah – Lexington cabinet maker. One of a party of three captured by Major Mitchell’s advance party
Porter, Asahel – Woburn citizen who volunteers to scout the road east of Lexington
Winsett, John – Lexington youth exploding gunpowder outside the town meetinghouse
Chapter 10, “My Name Is Revere,” Section 2
The sound of the bell had brought most of Lexington’s militiamen to the Meeting House. Told by their captain, John Parker, that the redcoats were marching, malcontents had started a contentious argument.
“We don't even know they're marching!” one militiaman shouted, addressing Parker. “It's been what, an hour, since you sent out your last scout? We should have heard something by now!”
“Maybe he was arrested! Think, why don’t you?!”
“We don’t know nothing!”
“I'll send out another scout, right now, if any of you be willing!” Parker answered.
He watched them turn their heads, a curious movement of hats, quick to criticize, not quick to volunteer!
“I will,” a voice sounded. Parker located the young man, Asahel Porter, leaning against the back wall. Porter was from Woburn. He motioned Porter to come forward. As they conferred, the arguers continued.
“We can stay here, and wait. Or we can go over t'the Tavern. It's warm there. It's just one night!”
“Some of us, Jonas, live too far away. Our families are goin’ t’need us, close by.”
“One night! What’s one night?!”
“Say that again, Johnson! These ears don’t believe they heard what you said!”
“I said my wife and children need me, close by.”
“Horse crap! You want t’be gone, before they get here!”
“If you lived where I live, Harrington, you'd do the same! Don’t be so quick to judge!”
“Talk all you want, Johnson. Once you leave here you’re not comin’ back! I’ll wager anyone a crown!”
“Judas, those of you leavin’, you'll all get back! We'll be firin' a musket, beatin' a drum!”
“That’s if'n our scouts do what they’re supposed to do!”
“We'll know soon enough!” Captain Parker bellowed. “Stop all this bickering!”
He witnessed again their redirection of heads. Damn them! He would make them listen! “No more talk about whether they’re coming! They are! When they do, I expect every last one of you to be here waiting!” He dared them to object.
“What I have t'decide,” he said, having daunted them, “is what we do once they get here!” Again, the hats. “Do we form up lines and stand against 'em?” It was the key point the Reverend had told him to advance.
“I say we stay out o' the way and watch 'em! What can we do against five, six hundred?”
“Get ourselves killed! That's your answer!”
“If they molest us, insult us, then we fight! Otherwise, …”
“We should stay over at Buckman's. Then go follow ‘em up the road.”
“That’s right, Eaton. Follow ‘em wagging our tails!”
“Listen! If there’s trouble at Concord, we'll be able t'help! Damn little we can do here!”
“Enough!” Parker’s fierce demeanor silenced them. “Having fought the French,” he roared, “I know better'n most of you what it’s like standing against superior numbers!” He hooked his thumbs over the front of his belt. “When the time comes, we'll see what we have t'do. It seems t'me, though, that we should let them know what we think o' them, what they're doing!”
“You mean fire on them?!”
“No! Stand our ground! Show them we've got principle! We’ll stand aside in good order if they move at us.”
He watched them twist about.
“I'm not for hidin' here or hidin’ at Buckman’s like some cornered weasel!”
“If we just stand there, in plain sight, showin' them we aim not t'shoot …”
“They'll fire on us! Count on it!”
“Ah, go home t'yer wife, Samuel.”
“Go hide under your bed! Like Johnson here!”
Three proponents continued to speak. It was clear to Parker that most, because they were silent, favored watching the redcoats pass leaving open the option to follow at a safe distance. It was what he would have decided, had he …
“As I said,” he shouted, “when the time comes! When our scouts let us know the British are near! Then we'll decide!”
“What good'll that do?!”
“I’m for decidin' now! The hell with all this jabber!”
“All right!” Parker raised his right hand. “All right! Then here it is!” Several standing men sat down. “If we don't change our minds, we'll not meddle with 'em! Sounds t'me that's what most of you want. We'll let them pass, if they don't abuse us.” He looked across the room at their attentive faces. “Those that want t'leave do so now. But listen for a drumbeat! Get back here then as fast as you can! Meeting over!”
He heard the sound of their weight on the plank floor. Sharp words were exchanged as they crowded toward the exit. He had not convinced them, but he still had time. Questions. So many questions. What had happened to Patterson, Loring, and Browner? What would they say, when they returned, that would muddy the water?
Musket shots outside the Meeting House startled him. For an instant the room was deathly quiet. What the hell! he thought. Outside, he found several young men, inside a growing circle, grinning.
“We'll put 'em all on the ground, Captain!” one of them, brash John Winsett, shouted.
“Just a little practice, Captain. Sorry about that,” the boy next to Winsett shamefacedly said.
Josiah Nelson was awakened by his wife Elizabeth shortly before 3 a.m. Twice he rolled over on his right side only to be jabbed by her bony elbow.
“I heard horses,” she said just as he was about to speak.
Nelson rose. Yawning, he guided his callused feet through his farmer’s frock pant legs. A Lincoln minuteman, he had been assigned to watch the Concord road. Upon receiving evidence of a British expedition he was to ride to Bedford to alert that town’s militia. Two hours earlier a young man on a horse had warned him that regulars had crossed the Charles River bound for Concord. Believing that he would be warned a second time, he had returned to his bed to rest.
Opening his front door, he felt instantly the post midnight chill. Men on horseback had indeed stopped. They were wearing dark cloaks. Because they took no notice of him and because there were too many of them, he concluded that they were not express riders but farmers traveling to market. Had they just learned something from a passerby? Hatless, without shoes, he stepped out onto the path to hail them.
“Have you heard anything about Gage’s regulars? Are they coming out?” he asked the closest rider.
Turning his horse around, the man halted Nelson with a menacing stare. “We will let you know,” the man declared. “Be certain of that!” Down upon the top of Nelson’s head came the flat side of the officer’s hanger.
Nelson was aware that he was lying on his back. His scalp throbbed. He reached to touch it. Strong hands grasped his biceps.
They lifted him.
He was bleeding.
His legs labored to support his weight. His mind rebelled. Lie down. Decide what has happened. The hands gripping his arms prevailed.
He remembered.
He willed his body to stand.
“Take him along,” he heard somebody say. They were soldiers. British officers. One of them had tried to kill him.
He was propelled forward. His bare feet found ruts and stones. He fell to his right knee but was lifted, supported, goaded, lifted again, dragged. His right hand stanching his wound, he realized that he was being driven the several miles to Lexington. Why? How much farther would they do this before they abandoned him, believing he would bleed to death?
“I can’t walk as fast as you ride. I’m lame,” he said.
“We’ll not be riding as slow as you walk,” the officer closest to him, refusing to look, said.
“He slows us. Interminably.” The officer that had spoken, the one that had struck him, lowered his bony face. Never had Nelson seen in a man’s eyes such ferocity.
To Nelson’s handlers -- three Tory farmers -- the officer said: “Detain him! After the regulars pass, do what you will with him!”
They escorted him off the road.
The soldiers galloped out of sight.
Hoof-beats sounded behind them. Nelson’s captors pulled him behind two thick pine trees. More soldiers, and three or four county men, galloped past.
He concluded that the county men were clandestine guides. Seated on a flat surfaced boulder, supporting his drooping head with raised hands, he refused to speak.
Minutes passed. The Tory farmers remained silent. Twice he heard them stand and walk about. He sensed a festering irritation. Their leader, a prosperous farmer named Gove, eventually spoke. “You need bandaging.”
Nelson raised his head.
“If you’ll go home and not light a light, we’ll let you go.”
Nelson didn’t answer.
“But if you give any alarm, or light a light, we’ll burn your house down, over your head!”
He heard their departing footsteps. Fawners! Trucklers! Craving their goose-down beds! He stared at the road a good half-minute. Teetering, he stood.
Maybe because they had pitied him, but more probably because they were tired and cold, they had abandoned him, but not so far, he thought, that going back he would faint. Crawl to his door if he had to, he would have his revenge! While his wife bandaged him, he would marshal his strength. Afterward, he would ride to Bedford, to Fitch Tavern, where angry militiamen would thereafter swiftly congregate.
No comments:
Post a Comment