Crossing the River, Chapter 8, Section 3

 

Characters Mentioned

Bentley, Joshua – rowed Revere’s boat across the Charles River

Conant, Colonel William – Charlestown militia commander

Gage, General Thomas – military governor and commanding general of Boston forces stationed in Boston

Lister, Ensign Jeremy – 10^th Regiment. Volunteer replacement of Lieutenant Hamilton

Mitchell, Major Edward – 10^th Regiment. In command of a body of officers assigned to intercept express riders prior to the raid upon Concord

Newman, Robert – Christ Church sexton

Parsons, Captain Lawrence – 10^th Regiment. In charge of a body of companies sent to Colonel Barrett’s farm to search for military stores

Percy, Lieutenant Hugh Earl – commander of the 1^st Brigade. In charge of the relief column that rescued Colonel Smith’s forces

Pitcairn, Major John – commander of the Marines. Second in command of the forces sent to Concord

Pulling, John – Christ Church vestryman

Revere, Paul – Boston silversmith and express rider

Richardson, Thomas – rowed Revere’s boat across the Charles River

Smith, Lieutenant Colonel Francis – commander of the 10^th Regiment. In charge of the expedition sent to Concord to seize rebel stores

Chapter 8, “A Most Delightful Evening,” Section 3

Having dragged his trailing leg awkwardly through his opened bedroom window, Robert Newman lowered himself onto the roof of the abutting shed. For a good twenty seconds he listened. Across and down the roof he then proceeded, slowly -- silently, he prayed -- lest he be heard by the British officers downstairs at their game of whist. He had excused himself from the general company ten minutes earlier, telling his mother that he was tired and wanted to retire. At the edge of the roof, listening, staring, he detected no one in the street. Carefully, soundlessly, he lowered himself, his shoes reaching the top of an upright, empty flour barrel. Crouched atop the barrel, he extended his left leg until the toe of his shoe touched the pavement.

Had they heard him? Stiff as a grave marker, he listened.

The dark shape of Christ Church dwarfed him. He moved quickly across the street into its shadow. A young man, twenty-three, he was the church sexton. His older brother was the organist. Times were hard; Newman did not like his job; too bad. When Paul Revere had explained to him what he had wanted, Newman had been eager to participate. Afterward, he had reckoned the peril.

Hearing footsteps on the cobblestones, he stepped behind the church’s corner. John Pulling emerged from the darkness. “Sssst! Over here!” Newman whispered.

Pulling was a church vestryman. Revere had recruited him to be Newman’s lookout.

“Not here yet?” Pulling asked.

“He didn't say when. Any time, I suspect.” He was right. Soon they heard aggressive footsteps. Paul Revere’s broad figure approached.

“Nervous?” Revere asked, joining them at the church’s darkest corner.

Newman nodded.

“You become accustomed to it.” For perhaps ten seconds Revere gazed at the deserted street.

Newman was taken by the silversmith’s air of confidence.

“The British soldiers are in the boats,” Revere informed. “Go easy. Take your time. But do your work to its completion. If I’m arrested, our fortune may rest entirely upon what you accomplish.” He patted Newman’s left shoulder. “I must prepare to leave. God be with you.”

Newman listened to Revere’s footfalls and then, too soon, but the night sounds.

It was too late to renege.

“All right,” he said, raising angrily his hands. He pulled out of his side coat pocket a ring of keys. He inserted a long key into the lock of the side entrance door. He turned the key and pushed open the door. Pulling nodded. Newman closed the door, locked it, and in darkness felt his way to a closet. Leaving it, carrying two lanterns, he moved to the stairway that led to the belfry.

Past the bell loft he climbed, the eight great bells within somnolent. He reached the highest window. To the north he saw in the moonlight the shoulder of Copp's Hill. Beyond lay the mouth of the Charles River and the glimmering lights of the Somerset, a moving, ethereal flicker.

He reached downward, lit the lanterns, and raised them chest high. Somewhere amid the lights of Charlestown, beyond the Somerset, Sons of Liberty were watching. They would now know that Gage’s soldiers were crossing the Back Bay.

Having counted to twenty, he set the lanterns down below the window. He extinguished them. Such a short while they had glowed, but Mr. Revere had assured him that patriots of Liberty would be watching. He had not wanted others, especially sailors on the man-of-war, to see them!

Other people, however, just might! An officer, taking a brisk walk along Snow Street. Newman imagined others: a soldier at the burying ground engaging a whore, sentries idling at the Charlestown Ferry. How swiftly might the source of that strange illumination be determined? How soon might soldiers be dispatched to investigate?

He heard unnatural sounds in the street! Sounds loud enough to startle him. What was Pulling doing? His heart thumped.

He waited a full minute.

He imagined Pulling arrested, soldiers posted silently outside the main entrance. Impeded by doubt, by anxiety, he tarried.

Ashamed of his cowardice, he willed himself down the dark stairway. He returned the lanterns to the closet. Then, to the opposite end of the church he walked, stopping to listen after each step. Eventually, he reached the window farthest from the main entrance. He opened it, not without some noise, listened again to silence, climbed through it, and placed his shoes on firm soil.

Five minutes later he was standing on the roof of the shed adjacent to his bedroom window. He eased himself soundlessly over the sill. Leaving his outer garments on the floor, he climbed into his bed. For at least an hour he lay still, his agitated mind imagining frightful consequences.

Below, concluding a most delightful evening, the officers jested and guffawed.

“What do we have here?!” Colonel Smith had blocked Lister’s way to the boat. Standing beside Smith, Major John Pitcairn stared. Two aides, behind the officers, squinted. “You shall not accompany us!” Smith raised his chin. “We are not accepting volunteers!”

“Sir, I am replacing a sick officer,” Lister said stiltedly.

“On whose authority may I ask?”

“Captain Parsons, sir.”

“And where is Captain Parsons? I wish to speak to him.”

“I believe he's in one of the boats, sir.”

Colonel Smith glanced, perfunctorily, at the nearest boat. “I see.”

Lister moved his feet.

Smith cleared his throat.

“Simply put, I will not let you go!”

      “But, sir, the company requires my presence!”

“You have not had the necessary training. I think not!” Smith's small, round eyes censured him.

Lister stammered, gestured expansively. “Sir, my absence'll reflect upon the honor of our regiment!”

Again, Colonel Smith raised his chin. Eyebrows high, he stared. “How so, ensign?”

“The 10th'll be the only regiment whose two flank companies will not have their full complement of officers!”

The Colonel touched the base of his chin. He nodded ever so slightly. “I fairly admit that the honor of one's regiment must be preserved!” He glanced at Pitcairn, who had turned his attention to the boats. Smith thereupon straightened. “Seen in that light, ensign, I shall permit you to serve.”

“Thank you, sir.” Lister saluted him. The Colonel turned away.

Lister stepped through the shallow water. His left hand on the gunwale of the nearest boat, he stared at the shoreline. Not counting the two senior officers and their truckling aides, he would be the last soldier loaded. “What a fellow you are,” he muttered.

“How could this be?! I have spoken about it only to you, and my wife!” General Gage resumed his pacing, then stopped. “Colonel Smith does not know! He has sealed orders, which he is to open once he reaches Cambridge!”

“Sir, is there anyone else, someone, maybe an unguarded remark?”

Hands pressed against the small of his back, the General scowled. “Yes. Yes,” he said, nodding, “those officers who must perform special duties. Major Mitchell. He and junior officers of his selection. I sent them into the country to intercept express riders!” Gage's eyes evaded Percy's. “Also, this afternoon, several artillery men on horses, with disassembling tools, to hide in the woods beyond Menotomy, where they are to await Smith’s column. I must emphasize, all of them are loyal soldiers, hand-picked men, sworn to secrecy!”

“Yes sir. Indeed, I take your point.” Percy unclasped his hands, lowered them below his waist. “What I have described to you wears, now that you have spoken, a different aspect.”

“Explain yourself.”

“Rife speculation. Sir, put yourself in their stead. Munitions in Concord. Soldiers embarking in boats. Concord seventeen miles away. The stores common knowledge throughout this city. I find this explanation compelling.”

“Just so.” Gage nodded. “Determined whether by deduction or hard evidence, the horse is out of the barn! The question that is germane, Colonel Percy, is, Do I abort the raid?!” Staring over Percy’s left shoulder, Gage rubbed the joints of his right hand.

Percy gazed through the window that overlooked Orange Street. Expecting the sound of a horse’s hooves or the wheels of a wagon, he heard nothing. “Sir, even if the foray’s advent is common knowledge outside this building,” he said, “it may yet not be anticipated in Concord. You have only this evening deployed the soldiers.”

The General sighed. He stared at the floor. Percy empathized. Often before battle, and most definitely thereafter, plans went awry. Expect the unexpected, the old adage went. Do thereafter what appears right. Still, …

“We can expect now a concerted attempt to alert the militia. Major Mitchell bears a grave responsibility.”

Percy agreed.

Gage crossed the room. For perhaps twenty seconds he stared out the one window. Head raised, shoulders straight, he turned. “Come what may, we shall finish this. An early start on the road to Concord, arrival at dawn, a swift conclusion to our business, it can yet be done. I do not see why this cannot succeed, as planned!”

Percy recalled Colonel Smith's tardy arrival at the shoreline. He visualized the chaotic embarkation.

“I still believe that confronted by our disciplined soldiers the provincial farmer will desist. He is not a coward, but he is practical. At times he is very shrewd.”

“At times, yes. I do agree.”

“So we shall go as planned.” Hands joined, General Gage fixated on two picture frames, slightly off kilter, on the near wall. “I am confident of success,” he declared. Eye pouches visible, he turned to his subordinate. “Notwithstanding, you had best sleep lightly, for I will not hesitate to require your service.”

Softly, softly, the muffled oars dipped into the water. The boat was marking a broad semi-circle about the Somerset, turning ever so slightly against its cable.

The boat’s occupants did not speak. Joshua Bentley and Thomas Richardson were laboring to bring the boat closer to the mouth of the river. Neither man glanced at the Somerset’s dark hull. Paul Revere, motionless as stone, regarded little else.

Up current, longboats were ferrying soldiers to Lechmere’s Point. If he and they in the boat reached the Charlestown landing, he would have little time to act following his conversation with Colonel Conant.

He glanced at the North Boston skyline, confident that the lanterns had been lit and the Colonel and those assisting him had witnessed them. How long would they wait for his arrival before deciding that he had been taken? Because of their hesitancy, how late would be his replacement’s departure?

These questions did not require answers. Having left the Somerset behind, the little boat now approached the Old Battery. He and they at the oars had won. Joy replaced trepidation. Impulsively, Revere lifted Richardson’s feet. The muscular rower let loose a robust oath.

Laughing yet, Revere saw over Richardson’s left shoulder one of Colonel Conant’s militiamen, gesturing at the edge of the Battery dock. Waving his arms, Revere shouted.