Characters Mentioned
Adams, Samuel – Continental Congress delegate. Leader of the rebel patriots of Massachusetts
Browner, Solomon – 18 year old Lexington youth returning from a trip to Boston
Buckman, John – owner of the Buckman Tavern
Church, Dr. Benjamin – Provincial Congress delegate
Clarke, Reverend Jonas – Lexington minister and influential political leader
Dawes, William – express rider
Gage, General Thomas – military governor and commanding general of British forces stationed in Boston
Gerry, Elbridge – Provincial Congress delegate
Hancock, John – rich Boston merchant. Continental Congress delegate
Hancock, Lydia – John Hancock’s aunt
Loring, Jonathan – One of three Lexington men captured by Major Mitchell’s advance party
Lowell, John – John Hancock’s clerk
Munroe, Sergeant William – Lexington tavern owner and militia sergeant
Otis, James – outspoken member of the Provincial Assembly and the Sons of Liberty
Parker, Captain John – Lexington militia captain
Patterson, Elijah – Lexington cabinet maker. One of a party to three captured by Major Mitchell’s advance party
Quincy, Dorothy (‘Dolly”) – John Hancock’s future wife
Revere, Paul – Boston silversmith and express rider
Warren, Dr. Joseph – Second to Sam Adams in the Sons of Liberty leadership
Munroe Tavern
Buckman Tavern
Traveling toward the center of Lexington, a visitor might stop first at Munroe Tavern, (See “William Munroe” on the map) approximately 2 miles outside the center of the town on the left side of the road. Or he might choose instead to spend the night at Buckman Tavern (See “John Buckman” on the map) at the apex of where the highway separates into two roads. If he chooses instead to visit the Reverend Joan Clarke, he would take the right-branching road and travel a short distance to come upon the Clarke/Hancock House on the left side (not indicated on the map).
The Hancock-Clarke House had been the home of the Reverend John Hancock and, afterward, the Reverend Jonas Clarke - two ministers who served the spiritual and secular needs of Lexington for 105 years. Soon after coming to Lexington in 1698 the Reverend Mr. Hancock built a small parsonage on this site and in 1738 his son Thomas, a wealthy Boston merchant, enlarged his parents' home. The Reverend Hancock's grandson John, a frequent visitor to this house, was the first signer of the Declaration of Independence and the first Governor of Massachusetts.
Succeeding
Hancock as minister in 1752, the Reverend Jonas Clarke, who reared
twelve children in this parsonage, was an eloquent supporter of the
colonial cause. The Reverend Clarke's fervent sermons were a source
of inspiration to the citizens of Lexington during the crisis with
Britain.
Chapter 9, “Flawed Expectation,” Section 2
William Munroe was in a foul mood. Told by Solomon Browner that British officers were patrolling the Menotomy/Lexington road, their purpose confirmed by Elbridge Gerry’s messenger, Monroe had posted outside Reverend Jonas Clarke’s house seven militiamen, late evening idlers he had found in John Buckman’s taproom. It was obvious now that Reverend Clarke’s guests, Sam Adams and John Hancock, were entirely safe. Those being made to suffer were the seven and himself. “If there was trouble t’be had, we’d’ve already had it,” Munroe had complained to the militiaman standing closest to him, directing blame not upon himself but flawed expectation.
What good were they doing? he had asked himself. They, and he, were permitting the gentlemen and the ladies in the house to sleep. Nothing else. Protecting them from harm was one thing. This wasn’t. He and his militiamen were nobody’s servants! By God, he was the father of three children, Captain Parker’s sergeant, proprietor of a popular tavern, which was where he wanted to be, there or at Buckman’s, drinking flip!
If Reverend Clarke didn’t notice the service he was performing, didn’t thank him for it, he’d be saying a few choice words right to the minister’s face!
For the umpteenth time Munroe looked at his watch. The hour hand had moved past midnight. Much earlier Mr. Hancock had told him he and the others were “retiring.” Munroe was not to “permit anything to disturb” their rest. This, he had concluded, was because of the women: Hancock's aunt and that young lady that had accompanied her. From Boston. Two weeks ago. High-born women they were, displaying all their airs, demanding special treatment!
Solomon Browner had started the trouble. The group of officers he had seen was probably half way back to Boston. And no one, not Browner, not Patterson, not Loring, had had the courtesy to tell him! They were on the road doing something! He was standing under a tall maple, getting angrier, looking too many times at his damn watch!
He pulled inwardly the lapels of his coat.
The militiaman nearest him straightened, raised his musket. “A horse is comin'.”
Munroe heard it, too, the unmistakable sound of shod hooves striking road.
“Comin' from the Common,” the militiaman said.
“Could be from Captain Parker,” a man farther away said. “Maybe them redcoats are lookin' for trouble after all.”
“Hide yourselves!” Munroe ordered. Crouched behind the maple tree’s thick trunk, Munroe blinked rapidly at the road.
He saw the single horseman. The large-sized man directed his mount into the very yard! Leveling his musket, Munroe stepped forth.
Seeing Munroe, the rider swung decisively out of the saddle. “Put that firearm away!” he shouted.
“Keep your voice down.”
“I will speak with Mr. Adams and Mr. Hancock at once!” The stranger gave Munroe a smoldering look.
“No, by God, you will not!” The impertinence! He would be deciding what happened here!
“Let me pass!” The intruder glowered. “Their lives are in danger!”
“We know that!”
It occurred to Munroe that the rider, a servant or hostler, had been sent by another member of the Congress. With old news. He would now have to suffer the man’s explanation, before sending him off. But, first, Munroe would have this puffed up messenger know who issued the orders here!
“I won't let you in! The family has retired! Say what you've t'say t’me. And keep your voice down. They don't want t'be disturbed by any noise.”
The rider's teeth glinted in the moonlight. “Noise! You'll have noise enough! The regulars are coming out! Here, tend this!” He handed the militiaman standing next to Munroe his reins. Taking long strides, he reached the front door. He pounded on it.
Munroe grabbed the intruder’s right shoulder. “I said not t'disturb them!”
A window opened. Reverend Clarke’s large head protruded. “What’s happening out there?!” the minister demanded.
“I must see John Hancock at once! Let me in!”
The clergyman stared at the messenger. “I don't know you,” he said. “I will not admit strangers to this house at this time of night without knowing who they are and what they want!”
Another window opened. John Hancock’s hostile expression vanished. “Do come in, Revere,” the rich merchant declared, almost laughing. “We’re not afraid of you.”
Will Munroe’s face burned. A tingling sensation sped across his shoulder blades, coursed up his neck bone. He had argued with Paul Revere! As important a patriot, nearly, as the two at the windows. And Mr. Adams, inside. Worse, he had embarrassed himself! In front of his own guard! He'd be the butt of jokes, in his own tavern, for weeks!
Well, he’d have to live with it, wouldn’t he? For awhile. Even though everybody knew he didn’t suffer any man’s ridicule! Few tried! This, however -- damned humilitating, cursed unfair -- he’d have to bear!
It wouldn’t matter that he had had every reason for behaving the way he had. He had not been at fault! Revere hadn’t identified himself! The trouble had been Revere's doing. A name. All he had needed from Revere was his name!
It occurred to him what Revere’s appearance meant. The officers that Solomon Browner had seen had been a reconnaissance patrol. Gage’s regulars were marching! Whatever Paul Revere was about to say he should be hearing! All of which he would be needing to tell Captain Parker. Something definite would then be done, with nobody thinking to have fun at his expense!
Uninvited, he passed through the front entrance, following after the man that had made too much noise.
“John, you must not do this,” Sam Adams declared, his thin mouth and thick jaw sternly set.
“I shall, sir, join my comrades. We shall stand shoulder to shoulder against the invader!”
Seated comfortably in a high-backed upholstered chair, Paul Revere smiled. The richest man of New England, wearing a silk night coat and Moroccan slippers, was expressing egalitarian sentiment.
“John! Be sensible! Attend what I am about to say! You wish to risk your life. In a just cause. I commend you. But consider. If you should die, any townsman owning a musket could replace you on that Common! Anybody! Who could replace you at Philadelphia?!”
Right arm bent, left knee flexed, Hancock contemplated.
Sam Adams’s pulpy face darkened. Palsy! His voice had again betrayed him! Ear drums thumping, he jabbed his elbows against the armrests of his chair.
Those not acquainted with him that first day in Philadelphia might have judged him two steps from the coffin. His body was a vexing impediment! Not so his mind! No man, no accident, no force of nature had the power to alter his will! Like boats commanded by a surging tide men like Otis, Hancock, Warren, and Church adhered!
Excepting Otis, who had gone quite mad, they were whole men. John Hancock was as healthy as a four-year-old colt!
But Hancock lacked intellectual capacity, reasoned judgment. To control him Adams had gratified his appetite for admiration. The recipient of flattery, of meaningless political titles, Hancock reveled in glory. It was because of Hancock’s largess, not just his belief that to prosper the colonies had to be independent of England, that Adams indulged him.
“My leadership, Sam, is required as much this day upon the village common!” Stiffly disposed -- a peacock amid fowl -- Hancock challenged him.
Her nightclothes showing an inch below her cloak, Lydia Hancock entered. “Are you going to keep us up all night, John?” she accused.
“I am! I shall be joining my comrades! We are to stand against tyranny!” He looked through the entryway, beyond which extended the staircase. “Where is Lowell? I must have my sword polished.”
The old woman turned to Adams. “You will dissuade him, Samuel?”
“Ultimately.”
“My mind is set, Sam.”
“Set for what?” The young lady occupying the entryway, Dolly Quincy, had followed her patron downstairs. “What have you set your mind to do? Something silly I imagine.”
“I find it not at all silly to defend one’s property against tyranny!” Dismissing her with a dramatic gesture, Hancock stepped past her. “Where does Lowell sleep? I suppose I shall have to awaken him.”
“The regulars have left Boston, Miss Quincy,” Adams said blandly. “They march for Concord. John wants to be a minuteman.”
“That is silly! John, if you do, I will not stay here another minute! I will return at once to Boston, where I shall be safe with Father!”
“Safe?!” He stepped toward her. “Upon my word, you and Aunt Lydia will go to the closest town! Woburn, I should think. Boston, indeed!”
“Indeed, Boston! I want a chaise prepared now!” She turned upon the inscrutable-visaged Reverend, staring at the ebbing fire.
“No, Madam, as long as there is a bayonet left in Boston you shall not return!” Hands gripping his sides, Hancock dared her to walk past him.
Pushing her left forearm against his chest, she maneuvered by. “Recollect, Mr. Hancock,” she said over her left shoulder, “I am not yet under your control. I shall go to Father tomorrow.”
“I will not permit it!”
A rap upon the front door ended the burlesque.
Adams moved to the edge of his chair. What bad information was he about to hear?
Reverend Clarke opened the door.
“A William Dawes here t’see Mr. Adams an’ Mr. Hancock,” a nervous militiaman announced.
Revere bounded out of his chair. “Let him in!”
It was the other express rider, about whom Revere had voiced concern! Adams watched Reverend Clarke lead the young man and Revere into the kitchen. They will be off to Concord within minutes, he predicted. As must he and Hancock in Hancock’s carriage to Woburn within the half hour!
Yet a part of him declared, beyond all reason, “Stay! Witness your handiwork! Supplement it!” This raid upon Concord, so long anticipated, had ignited in his soul a potent excitement!
Ultimate triumph had alighted within his reach!
How it had eluded him!
Twice he and the citizens of Massachusetts had defeated Parliament’s tax usurpations. After the Boston Massacre, after British troops had been removed from the city, after the repeal of the Townsend Acts, he had been unable to sustain their wrath. Major grievances assuaged, they had considered the tax that had remained on tea -- a tax that they were not forced to pay – inconsequential, not recognizing its existence to be a deliberate statement of Parliament’s authority!
It had been, ironically, the lords and commons of Parliament who had sundered the populace’s indifference. Safeguarding their financial interests, Parliament’s majority had awarded the foundering East India Company a monopoly of the colonial tea trade. Their action had struck colonial merchants like a lightning bolt. Perceiving the seaport tea merchant legislated out of business, American importers of every type, fearing precedence, had remonstrated. Provided again the opportunity to foment revolt, Adams and his valuable associate, Joseph Warren, had contrived the Tea Party. Parliament had harshly retaliated. Mother Country and Massachusetts now confronted each other at the edge of a precipitous cliff.
Fear and the consequent desire to compromise occupied now the minds and hearts of his countrymen. The Continental Congress had vacillated. So, too, had the Provincial Congress, which he and Warren had forced recently to pass resolves that would mean nothing if they were not vigorously enacted. Vile frustration!
Frustration here, now, too, of a different sort. Leave, or remain. That event so rare as to incite diverse men to militant reprisal would within hours transpire! Martyrs! The regrettable but essential homicide of townsmen! What else but an act of war could convince his people that they must create for themselves and for their children a liberty-loving, sovereign nation?
Traveling toward the center of Lexington, a visitor might stop first at Munroe Tavern, (See “William Munroe” on the map) approximately 2 miles outside the center of the town on the left side of the road. Or he might choose instead to spend the night at Buckman Tavern (See “John Buckman” on the map) at the apex of where the highway separates into two roads. If he chooses instead to visit the Reverend Joan Clarke, he would take the right-branching road and travel a short distance to come upon the Clarke/Hancock House on the left side (not indicated on the map).
The
Hancock-Clarke House had
been
the home of the Reverend John Hancock and, afterward,
the Reverend Jonas Clarke - two ministers who served the spiritual
and secular needs of Lexington for 105 years. Soon after coming to
Lexington in 1698 the Reverend Mr. Hancock built a small parsonage on
this site and in 1738 his son Thomas, a wealthy Boston merchant,
enlarged his parents' home. The Reverend Hancock's grandson John, a
frequent visitor to this house, was the first signer of the
Declaration of Independence and the first Governor of
Massachusetts.
Succeeding
Hancock as minister in 1752, the Reverend Jonas Clarke, who reared
twelve children in this parsonage, was an eloquent supporter of the
colonial cause. The Reverend Clarke's fervent sermons were a source
of inspiration to the citizens of Lexington during the crisis with
Britain.
Chapter 9, “Flawed Expectation,” Section 2
William Munroe was in a foul mood. Told by Solomon Browner that British officers were patrolling the Menotomy/Lexington road, their purpose confirmed by Elbridge Gerry’s messenger, Monroe had posted outside Reverend Jonas Clarke’s house seven militiamen, late evening idlers he had found in John Buckman’s taproom. It was obvious now that Reverend Clarke’s guests, Sam Adams and John Hancock, were entirely safe. Those being made to suffer were the seven and himself. “If there was trouble t’be had, we’d’ve already had it,” Munroe had complained to the militiaman standing closest to him, directing blame not upon himself but flawed expectation.
What good were they doing? he had asked himself. They, and he, were permitting the gentlemen and the ladies in the house to sleep. Nothing else. Protecting them from harm was one thing. This wasn’t. He and his militiamen were nobody’s servants! By God, he was the father of three children, Captain Parker’s sergeant, proprietor of a popular tavern, which was where he wanted to be, there or at Buckman’s, drinking flip!
If Reverend Clarke didn’t notice the service he was performing, didn’t thank him for it, he’d be saying a few choice words right to the minister’s face!
For the umpteenth time Munroe looked at his watch. The hour hand had moved past midnight. Much earlier Mr. Hancock had told him he and the others were “retiring.” Munroe was not to “permit anything to disturb” their rest. This, he had concluded, was because of the women: Hancock's aunt and that young lady that had accompanied her. From Boston. Two weeks ago. High-born women they were, displaying all their airs, demanding special treatment!
Solomon Browner had started the trouble. The group of officers he had seen was probably half way back to Boston. And no one, not Browner, not Patterson, not Loring, had had the courtesy to tell him! They were on the road doing something! He was standing under a tall maple, getting angrier, looking too many times at his damn watch!
He pulled inwardly the lapels of his coat.
The militiaman nearest him straightened, raised his musket. “A horse is comin'.”
Munroe heard it, too, the unmistakable sound of shod hooves striking road.
“Comin' from the Common,” the militiaman said.
“Could be from Captain Parker,” a man farther away said. “Maybe them redcoats are lookin' for trouble after all.”
“Hide yourselves!” Munroe ordered. Crouched behind the maple tree’s thick trunk, Munroe blinked rapidly at the road.
He saw the single horseman. The large-sized man directed his mount into the very yard! Leveling his musket, Munroe stepped forth.
Seeing Munroe, the rider swung decisively out of the saddle. “Put that firearm away!” he shouted.
“Keep your voice down.”
“I will speak with Mr. Adams and Mr. Hancock at once!” The stranger gave Munroe a smoldering look.
“No, by God, you will not!” The impertinence! He would be deciding what happened here!
“Let me pass!” The intruder glowered. “Their lives are in danger!”
“We know that!”
It occurred to Munroe that the rider, a servant or hostler, had been sent by another member of the Congress. With old news. He would now have to suffer the man’s explanation, before sending him off. But, first, Munroe would have this puffed up messenger know who issued the orders here!
“I won't let you in! The family has retired! Say what you've t'say t’me. And keep your voice down. They don't want t'be disturbed by any noise.”
The rider's teeth glinted in the moonlight. “Noise! You'll have noise enough! The regulars are coming out! Here, tend this!” He handed the militiaman standing next to Munroe his reins. Taking long strides, he reached the front door. He pounded on it.
Munroe grabbed the intruder’s right shoulder. “I said not t'disturb them!”
A window opened. Reverend Clarke’s large head protruded. “What’s happening out there?!” the minister demanded.
“I must see John Hancock at once! Let me in!”
The clergyman stared at the messenger. “I don't know you,” he said. “I will not admit strangers to this house at this time of night without knowing who they are and what they want!”
Another window opened. John Hancock’s hostile expression vanished. “Do come in, Revere,” the rich merchant declared, almost laughing. “We’re not afraid of you.”
Will Munroe’s face burned. A tingling sensation sped across his shoulder blades, coursed up his neck bone. He had argued with Paul Revere! As important a patriot, nearly, as the two at the windows. And Mr. Adams, inside. Worse, he had embarrassed himself! In front of his own guard! He'd be the butt of jokes, in his own tavern, for weeks!
Well, he’d have to live with it, wouldn’t he? For awhile. Even though everybody knew he didn’t suffer any man’s ridicule! Few tried! This, however -- damned humilitating, cursed unfair -- he’d have to bear!
It wouldn’t matter that he had had every reason for behaving the way he had. He had not been at fault! Revere hadn’t identified himself! The trouble had been Revere's doing. A name. All he had needed from Revere was his name!
It occurred to him what Revere’s appearance meant. The officers that Solomon Browner had seen had been a reconnaissance patrol. Gage’s regulars were marching! Whatever Paul Revere was about to say he should be hearing! All of which he would be needing to tell Captain Parker. Something definite would then be done, with nobody thinking to have fun at his expense!
Uninvited, he passed through the front entrance, following after the man that had made too much noise.
“John, you must not do this,” Sam Adams declared, his thin mouth and thick jaw sternly set.
“I shall, sir, join my comrades. We shall stand shoulder to shoulder against the invader!”
Seated comfortably in a high-backed upholstered chair, Paul Revere smiled. The richest man of New England, wearing a silk night coat and Moroccan slippers, was expressing egalitarian sentiment.
“John! Be sensible! Attend what I am about to say! You wish to risk your life. In a just cause. I commend you. But consider. If you should die, any townsman owning a musket could replace you on that Common! Anybody! Who could replace you at Philadelphia?!”
Right arm bent, left knee flexed, Hancock contemplated.
Sam Adams’s pulpy face darkened. Palsy! His voice had again betrayed him! Ear drums thumping, he jabbed his elbows against the armrests of his chair.
Those not acquainted with him that first day in Philadelphia might have judged him two steps from the coffin. His body was a vexing impediment! Not so his mind! No man, no accident, no force of nature had the power to alter his will! Like boats commanded by a surging tide men like Otis, Hancock, Warren, and Church adhered!
Excepting Otis, who had gone quite mad, they were whole men. John Hancock was as healthy as a four-year-old colt!
But Hancock lacked intellectual capacity, reasoned judgment. To control him Adams had gratified his appetite for admiration. The recipient of flattery, of meaningless political titles, Hancock reveled in glory. It was because of Hancock’s largess, not just his belief that to prosper the colonies had to be independent of England, that Adams indulged him.
“My leadership, Sam, is required as much this day upon the village common!” Stiffly disposed -- a peacock amid fowl -- Hancock challenged him.
Her nightclothes showing an inch below her cloak, Lydia Hancock entered. “Are you going to keep us up all night, John?” she accused.
“I am! I shall be joining my comrades! We are to stand against tyranny!” He looked through the entryway, beyond which extended the staircase. “Where is Lowell? I must have my sword polished.”
The old woman turned to Adams. “You will dissuade him, Samuel?”
“Ultimately.”
“My mind is set, Sam.”
“Set for what?” The young lady occupying the entryway, Dolly Quincy, had followed her patron downstairs. “What have you set your mind to do? Something silly I imagine.”
“I find it not at all silly to defend one’s property against tyranny!” Dismissing her with a dramatic gesture, Hancock stepped past her. “Where does Lowell sleep? I suppose I shall have to awaken him.”
“The regulars have left Boston, Miss Quincy,” Adams said blandly. “They march for Concord. John wants to be a minuteman.”
“That is silly! John, if you do, I will not stay here another minute! I will return at once to Boston, where I shall be safe with Father!”
“Safe?!” He stepped toward her. “Upon my word, you and Aunt Lydia will go to the closest town! Woburn, I should think. Boston, indeed!”
“Indeed, Boston! I want a chaise prepared now!” She turned upon the inscrutable-visaged Reverend, staring at the ebbing fire.
“No, Madam, as long as there is a bayonet left in Boston you shall not return!” Hands gripping his sides, Hancock dared her to walk past him.
Pushing her left forearm against his chest, she maneuvered by. “Recollect, Mr. Hancock,” she said over her left shoulder, “I am not yet under your control. I shall go to Father tomorrow.”
“I will not permit it!”
A rap upon the front door ended the burlesque.
Adams moved to the edge of his chair. What bad information was he about to hear?
Reverend Clarke opened the door.
“A William Dawes here t’see Mr. Adams an’ Mr. Hancock,” a nervous militiaman announced.
Revere bounded out of his chair. “Let him in!”
It was the other express rider, about whom Revere had voiced concern! Adams watched Reverend Clarke lead the young man and Revere into the kitchen. They will be off to Concord within minutes, he predicted. As must he and Hancock in Hancock’s carriage to Woburn within the half hour!
Yet a part of him declared, beyond all reason, “Stay! Witness your handiwork! Supplement it!” This raid upon Concord, so long anticipated, had ignited in his soul a potent excitement!
Ultimate triumph had alighted within his reach!
How it had eluded him!
Twice he and the citizens of Massachusetts had defeated Parliament’s tax usurpations. After the Boston Massacre, after British troops had been removed from the city, after the repeal of the Townsend Acts, he had been unable to sustain their wrath. Major grievances assuaged, they had considered the tax that had remained on tea -- a tax that they were not forced to pay – inconsequential, not recognizing its existence to be a deliberate statement of Parliament’s authority!
It had been, ironically, the lords and commons of Parliament who had sundered the populace’s indifference. Safeguarding their financial interests, Parliament’s majority had awarded the foundering East India Company a monopoly of the colonial tea trade. Their action had struck colonial merchants like a lightning bolt. Perceiving the seaport tea merchant legislated out of business, American importers of every type, fearing precedence, had remonstrated. Provided again the opportunity to foment revolt, Adams and his valuable associate, Joseph Warren, had contrived the Tea Party. Parliament had harshly retaliated. Mother Country and Massachusetts now confronted each other at the edge of a precipitous cliff.
Fear and the consequent desire to compromise occupied now the minds and hearts of his countrymen. The Continental Congress had vacillated. So, too, had the Provincial Congress, which he and Warren had forced recently to pass resolves that would mean nothing if they were not vigorously enacted. Vile frustration!
Frustration here, now, too, of a different sort. Leave, or remain. That event so rare as to incite diverse men to militant reprisal would within hours transpire! Martyrs! The regrettable but essential homicide of townsmen! What else but an act of war could convince his people that they must create for themselves and for their children a liberty-loving, sovereign nation?
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