Uprising: “Let It Begin Here”

By William E. Johnson

A single gunshot had shattered a sinister silence and eight bayonet-bludgeoned militiamen lay dead
on Lexington Green in the early dawn of April 19, 1775. So begins William E. Johnson’s fifth in a series of six historical novels about British subjects discovering they had become Americans. It is another mug of colonial intrigue brimming with sex, scandal, spies, and soldiers. More than ten thousand colonists lay siege to nearly four thousand British soldiers in Boston. Meanwhile, John Hancock and Sam Adams join the Second Continental Congress in Philadelphia where they connive and conspire against the blatant tyranny of the British Crown. When spies and assassins invade Philadelphia, American history stands at a defining moment.

Once again, the heart of this saga lies in the bosom of the common man — candlemakers, cobblers, sailors, soldiers, silversmiths, tailors, trollops, bartenders, ropemakers, doctors, and drunks. Every tyrannical declaration made in London had a disastrous impact on every American colonist. This is their story…and ours.

Travel back in time as you settle back near the hearth in the Snug Harbor Tavern taproom with a mug of hot buttered rum or dark ale. You now witness the bloody beginning of the American Revolution in Lexington in the first page of UPRISING.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Feb 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781665516433

William E. Johnson

William E. Johnson, with a commission in Naval Aviation, was stationed for a time in Boston, MA, where he became absorbed in the rich colonial history of the region. His interest was piqued when immersed himself in the role of John Hancock in the stage play “1776”. These events led him to write his first novel, Snug Harbor Tavern: Shaggin’ for a Shillin’, based on the first rebellious activities of colonial Boston patriots. This was followed by The Seeds of Love—and War, Tea and Tyranny: Still Shaggin’ in Boston, Tyranny and Defiance, and Uprising: “Let It Begin Here". The saga now continues with 1775: Crisis & Chaos. He lives in Latrobe, PA where he conducts seminars nationwide on safety, OSHA compliance, and leadership. In the persona of John Hancock, he speaks nationwide providing a living history of our nation’s founding. His website is www.history1776.com.

Book preview

© 2021 William E. Johnson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  04/22/2021

ISBN: 978-1-6655-1644-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-1642-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6655-1643-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021902570

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in

this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views

expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the

views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Certain characters in this work are historical figures, and certain events portrayed

did take place. However, this is a work of fiction. All of the other characters, names,

and events as well as all places, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel

are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Contents

Prologue

One   Gunfire…In Lexington, Massachusetts

Two   The Battle at Lexington Green

Three   Redcoats Ransack Concord

Four   Warren Makes Plans/Redcoats Invade Concord

Five   Death at the North Bridge

Six   Redcoats Advance/Patriots Prepare

Seven   Concord to Lexington – The Bloody Road

Eight   Lord Percy Takes Command

Nine   Lord Percy Escapes A Trap

Ten   After The Battle – The Siege Begins

Eleven   A Need For Men – On Both Sides

Twelve   Dr. Church Makes Plans/Teezle Gets An Assignment

Thirteen   Teezle Plans A Gaol Break/Trollops Plan A Trip

Fourteen   The Great Queen Street Gaol Break

Fifteen   Press Saved/Bodies Snatched/Reports Dispatched

Sixteen   They Head for Philadelphia/In Pursuit of Cannon

Seventeen   Packing for Philadelphia/Hancock in New York

Eighteen   Teezle Gets A New Assignment/All Board The Vulgar Virgin

Nineteen   Patriots Organize/Ben Franklin and   Trollops Land in Philadelphia

Twenty   The Naughty Nymphs/Franklin Settles In

Twenty-one   The Doll’s Eyes/Washington Arrives/The Virginia Delegation

Twenty-two   Dr. Church Has A Plan/Ticonderoga Taken

Twenty-three   The Game Begins in Congress/Ben Church Takes Action

Twenty-four   A Battleground - In Congress/Gage Plans A Killing

Twenty-five   Teezle Sails/Sam and Ben   Meet/Trollops Scheme

Twenty-six   Teezle Makes A Delivery

Twenty-seven   Lind Gets Evicted/Church Plans A   Trip/News From Ticonderoga

Twenty-eight   Congress Gets The News/Gage Plans A Murder

Twenty-nine   Teezle Plans A Trip/The Grape Island   Raid/Hancock Takes Charge

Thirty   Church and Teezle Head South/Generals Arrive/Angel Gets A Present

Thirty-one   The Generals Gather/Hancock in   Style/Paine Gets Introduced

Thirty-two   The Battle of Noddle’s Island

Thirty-three   Gage Makes Plans/London Gets   News/A Naughty Nymphs Meeting

Thirty-four   Flowers for Hancock/News for the   King/Gun Fire at the Tavern

Thirty-five   Omega Mission Aborted/Sam Presses   For Aid/Burgesses Gather

Thirty-six   Teezle Back Home/Dunmore At   War/Gage Makes Plans

Thirty-seven   London Hears from Gage/The Gage   Proclamation/The High Ground

Thirty-eight   City Tavern – Philadelphia

To Jeanne Johnson, who tolerates my wandering into

the eighteenth century for days and nights on end.

"Stand your ground! Don’t fire unless fired upon!

But if they want to have a war,

LET IT BEGIN HERE!"

- Captain John Parker - Lexington Militia

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Prologue

I invite you to settle once again into the comfort of a captain’s chair near the blazing hearth of the Snug Harbor Tavern. You deserve a mug of hot buttered rum, a pint of dark ale, or a fine glass of Madeira as we take a step back in time.

Take a moment to relish the scent of salt air wafting from the harbor, as you relax in the glow of the fireplace. As you read the Boston Gazette, you learn that John Hancock, Sam Adams, and many others have left town. They are headed to Philadelphia to join others in a Continental Congress to challenge the rule of an oppressive British government. Redcoat patrols fill the streets.

It is obvious that the doctrines of liberty and tyranny are clashing before your eyes. Across the taproom, you hear Tories and patriots, the cultured and crude, the rich and poor debating issues in the news. Every decision coming from the leaders on either side of the argument has a profound effect on candlemakers, cobblers, sailors, soldiers, silversmiths, tailors, trollops, bartenders, ropemakers, doctors, and drunks. It becomes clear that this is their story…and ours.

Between sips of your hot buttered rum, you learn the port of Boston has been closed for a year. In defiance, every town and hamlet has armed a militia and formed a Provincial Congress in the countryside. When the royal governor deployed redcoats to confiscate the muskets and gunpowder of those country farmers, stiff-necked defiance erupted into an UPRISING.

On April 19, 1775, those beleaguered farmers left their plows in the field, grabbed their muskets, and declared an end to tyranny. Shortly after sunrise, one enigmatic gunshot changed everything. The Gazette report gives no hint about who fired that first shot on Lexington Green.

In your quest for facts about a shot that was heard around the world, I invite you to open the first pages of UPRISING. After all, the echo of that shot is still heard today.

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One

Gunfire…In Lexington, Massachusetts

Sunrise – April 19, 1775

Ens. Joshua Simonds, age 35, was prepared to die in the explosion. Standing in the meetinghouse powder magazine, he carefully cracked open a keg of gunpowder and cocked his flintlock.

Minutes earlier, the farmer had been sitting in the taproom of the Buckman Tavern with other members of the Lexington militia. They had been milling around there ever since Paul Revere had awakened the village around midnight.

Capt. Parker’s orders were precise. I need you, Josh, to take charge of our ammunition stores in the meetinghouse. Wait for daybreak, before you fill all the powder horns, and for God’s sake don’t light a candle near that store of gunpowder.

As he stood among the kegs in the upper gallery, he heard the drums—distant at first, then louder and closer. Peering through a window, he gazed in awe as the redcoats filed into three ranks to face Capt. Parker and his militia friends across the village green. It was too late for him to rush out the door with all those powder horns slung over his shoulder.

He had the perfect vantage point, gazing down at the backs of the regulars. His flintlock was cocked and ready, aimed at the powder keg. If a redcoat took one step into the meetinghouse, the explosion would destroy the meetinghouse, killing him and every redcoat within thirty yards.

The curious villagers had already left their homes to gather around the fringes of Lexington Green. Many had never seen a British infantryman. Mrs. Harrison stood on her porch. Come, children. Hurry! The redcoats are here, and your father is out there to stop them.

They had no way of knowing they would witness an event that would change the world. An ominous silence covered the 130 feet separating the Lexington militia from the ranks of redcoat infantry. Then—A SHOT RANG OUT!

Capt. John Parker’s eyes instantly scanned his lines of minutemen. Is anyone hit? he bellowed.

Forty yards away, Marine Maj. John Pitcairn, his crimson uniform seemingly aflame in the rising sun, pulled the reins on his skittish mount as he hurriedly scanned his three ranks of redcoats. Who fired that shot? Is anyone hit?

A menacing stillness instantly overwhelmed the small village of Lexington, and every man holding a musket was frozen in his tracks. Every redcoat, militiaman, woman, and child gazed wide-eyed around the village green, searching for the source of gunfire.

The heavy quiet was deafening. It would be the last solitude and quiet to be enjoyed by anyone for many years to come. No one expected to face deadly gunfire that morning, but the prospect of death now faced every man standing there. Each man’s mind flashed back to how they had gotten mired in this calamity.

It had all started at 10 PM the night before in the cool evening of April 18, 1775, when more than seven hundred redcoats set off from Boston, headed for Concord. Their orders were to confiscate or destroy any weapons and stores of war they could find. Royal Governor Lt. Gen. Thomas Gage was determined to eliminate any colonial threat to Crown domination. Without weapons, the colonial militias would disband. If John Hancock and Sam Adams could be arrested, the mission would be a complete success.

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Snug Harbor Tavern – Boston, Massachusetts Bay Colony

10 PM – April 18, 1775

A gloomy tension filled the air of the taproom; it was akin to inhaling pea soup. Despite a blazing fire in the hearth, Amos, the black barman, felt an ominous chill as he surveyed the sparse crowd. The usual boisterous din and occasional burst of laughter had been replaced with a subdued murmur of whispers among tables filled with redcoats from His Majesty’s army. The Patriot table, as it was known, was vacant, and he wondered where Ebenezer Mackintosh and his crew could be.

Imp Smythe was stacking pewter mugs behind the bar when redcoat Maj. John Stauter arrived, inducing total silence. He whispered to a sergeant, whereupon one table of six redcoats rushed out the door. The major then ambled over to join Amanda Griffith, the owner of the tavern, at the end of the bar. The other redcoats instantly became more animated with laughter, ordering more rum and ale.

Amos, standing six feet four and clearly more relaxed, glanced to ensure his heavy cudgel was still at hand as he began filling mugs. Imp, age fifteen and a mere five feet six, felt a heavy tap on his shoulder. You should get out among those redcoats and help the girls hustle a few mugs of rum, said Amos, giving Imp a conniving wink. I got a feelin’ you might keep your ears open, if’n you get my drift.

Imp nodded with a toothy grin. "You’re right, Amos; I might hear somethin’ for the Boston Gazette. Minutes later, he slammed a few mugs of ale in the middle of a table. I was wonderin’ when the taproom would come alive. It seemed like somebody died in here for a while."

One sergeant chuckled. I suppose it won’t hurt to tell you—now, anyways. We were waitin’ to see who would get called for extra guard duty tonight, and it ain’t me and my men here. That said, everyone at the table burst into laughter.

Imp scratched his head. Why extra guards? There ain’t no trouble in town. He pounded his chest. Us folks at the Snug usually hear about things happenin’ in town before other folks.

The sergeant slapped the table, his voice slurred. There ain’t gonna be no trouble nowhere in Boston tonight; the extra guards are sure to keep the king’s peace. He then wagged his finger. But there ain’t gonna be no peace in farm country. Col. Smith and the grenadiers will see to that. I figure there will be at least a few dead rebels before they arrest John Hancock and Sam Adams. He then waved his hand in dismissal. Now, off with you, lad. We got important matters to discuss—army matters.

Imp rushed back to the bar, taking off his leather apron. He glanced across the taproom, noting Amanda had vanished up to her crib with the redcoat major. "Amos, I gotta get to the Gazette. There’s trouble headed for Mr. Hancock, and I gotta tell Mr. Edes or Mr. Gill."

Amos simply shook his head. You go ahead and play reporter for the newspaper. Leastwise, there ain’t no trouble in my taproom.

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Boston Gazette

10:30 PM – April 18, 1775

After a cursory pounding on the door, Imp rushed up the stairs, panting heavily. He was not surprised to find Ben Edes and John Gill, owners of the Boston Gazette, in the second deck long room, writing and setting type for the next edition. I came as fast as I could.

Slow down, Imp, said Edes. We aren’t going anywhere. What’s on your mind?

It’s the redcoats—they’re on the move. I heard about it at the Snug Harbor.

Gill shook his head. Come now, Imp. You already told us about the Royal Navy longboats moving about in the harbor earlier today.

And we’re setting type about it as we speak, said Edes.

But it’s the army. The redcoats are marchin’. I just saw them in the streets.

How many? Where are they headed? How many regiments?

Imp shook his head. It ain’t nothin’ like that. It’s just small groups, maybe four or five men—but there’s more than usual.

The printers chuckled. It’s probably just a group of drunken redcoats, Imp. You know they roam about town in small packs—for their own protection from us patriots.

This is different. They were braggin’ about arrestin’ Mr. Hancock.

Wiping ink from their hands, they glanced at each other for a moment. Perhaps you should hustle over to Dr. Warren and tell him about this, said Gill.

After Imp scampered from the room, Edes shook his head and gazed at his partner. Our worst fears are coming true, John. Gen. Gage and his redcoats are scheming bastards.

John Gill tossed his quill aside. Maybe we should have listened to Isaiah Thomas and left town days ago.

Ben sat back, gazing mindlessly at the ream of paper on his desk. "He sat right in this room, telling us of his fears. As a fellow patriot, using his poison pen against the Crown in the Massachusetts Spy, he had brought endless threats against his life and one assassination attempt. It is small wonder he moved everything, including his press, as quickly as he did."

At this moment, he is probably sitting easy in the safe confines of Worcester. Meanwhile, we sit here, expecting a gang of redcoats and Tories to kick in the door to bless us with a bucket of hot tar and feathers.

We are more likely to be hanged. Ben shook his head. I suppose you are thinking the same as I, aren’t you?

Gill nodded. Maybe, and maybe not. Thus far, Governor Gage has held a high regard for freedom of the press. Regardless of what happens, we are in a perfect position to print the truth as we see it, and our readers depend on it. We should just stay to see what happens.

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Snug Harbor Tavern – Amanda Griffith’s Crib

10:30 PM – April 18, 1775

Maj. John Stauter, once an aide to Gen. Gage, lay back in Amanda’s bed, his hands clasped behind his head. I tell you, Amanda, it won’t be long, and we can sail out of here—together. I figure to command the detail escorting Mr. Hancock to London for his hanging. By God, you will love London; it is something to behold in the spring along the Thames. Taking the squire to the gallows will probably guarantee a visit to St. James palace and an audience with King George himself. I will probably be promoted to lieutenant colonel; hell, I might even rate a promotion to full colonel. What do you think about that?

Amanda gazed into her looking glass at the dresser while glancing at the reflection of the redcoat officer reclining on her bed. Slowly she slipped out of her red silk dress and shook her heavy mane of black hair, which cascaded over her ample bosom. A Mona Lisa smile filled her face, leaving him wondering whether she savored the proposal or schemed to somehow take advantage. It was a silent game of mental chess.

She abruptly jumped on the bed and ravaged him with kisses. I wondered when you would finally get to the reality of us being together. England sounds wonderful, as I’ve grown so tired of this never-ending strife in Boston. At last, you can take me away from these peasants, who lack the least hint of the class you bring to my crib. When do we leave?

She never heard a word of Stauter’s explanation about delays due to military necessity. Her mind was focused on John Hancock and other patriot leaders abandoning their treasures in Boston and escaping into the countryside. Furthermore, the whole colony was aware the squire and others were destined to attend the Second Continental Congress in Philadelphia. She had every intention of placing informants in that huge Pennsylvania town to keep an eye on him. Furthermore, she knew exactly who could help set things up in the Hell Town district—Big Bessie Clump at the Bunch of Grapes.

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Dr. Joseph Warren House – Boston’s Northside

10:30 PM – April 18, 1775

At the incessant pounding at his door, Dr. Joseph Warren wasn’t sure whether to reach for his medical bag or his flintlock. He peered out the window and, breathing a sigh of relief that the lone intruder was not a redcoat, opened the door. Imp Smythe! Come in! What brings you out this time of night? Is someone injured?

Gripping his tricorn, Imp shook his head. "No problems, doctor. Mr. Gill at the Gazette sent me."

Don’t tell me the redcoats have assailed the newspaper.

No, no! Nothing like that. It’s just that I heard some redcoats talkin’ at the Snug Harbor Tavern about invadin’ the countryside and arrestin’ Mr. Hancock. Mr. Gill figured you should know about it.

A smile creased the doctor’s face. Rest easy, Imp. I personally witnessed a large force of redcoats boarding longboats on the Back Bay. In fact, Mr. Revere left fifteen minutes ago and is on his way to alert Hancock and Adams in Lexington as we speak.

Imp snapped his fingers. I have a pony. Maybe I could ride out and—

Warren held up his hand. It would be better if you sat tight, young man. It is dangerous to be found roaming the streets with all the redcoat patrols.

But there must be something I could do. The way I see it, Mr. Edes and Mr. Gill will be movin’ their presses out of Boston as soon as they can. I’ll be out of a job.

Warren poured himself a glass of claret and sat down at a small desk. He stabbed a quill into an inkwell. If my suspicions are correct, Imp, blood might be spilled before this day is out. I might have to leave if medical help is needed. He signed a short note with a flourish. With the departure of Hancock and Adams, I find myself in the precarious position of leading our Provincial Congress. This note will give you passage when the time comes through any patriot sentry lines you might encounter.

Sentry lines? Do you mean to tell me we have an army?

Warren’s eyes narrowed. If Gen. Gage is doing what I think he is doing, he will pay a heavy price when our men take the field. I plan to be there sooner or later.

He arose, patting Imp on the shoulder. As for you, I will need a set of eyes watching every move the British army and navy make. Since you know most everyone in town, you must find a way to get messages and information to me in Cambridge. You will be our eyes in Boston. Whatever you do, be sure you speak only to people you can trust, and for God’s sake, don’t get caught. He stepped to the door. It would be best if you return to the tavern…and keep your eyes and ears open.

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Province House (Colonial Governor’s Mansion) – Boston

1 AM – April 19, 1775

A blazing fire in the hearth cast a warm glow in the parlor as Gen. Thomas Gage, clad in his buff waistcoat, his scarlet coat tossed aside, reviewed the details of the expedition to the small village of Concord. His deputy adjutant, Maj. Stephen Kemble, who also happened to be his brother-in-law, sat nearby, checking his notes on sentry placements.

Gage sat back, deep in thought as he gazed at the amber Madeira swirling in his crystal tumbler and glistening in the flickering flame of the hearth. A little voice in his head screamed that something was not quite right. It was a voice he had heard before, at the dawn of many military campaigns in his long career. That small voice had kept him alive till now, and he elected to heed its warning.

A soft rapping at the door roused Kemble from his own musings to find a redcoat messenger delivering a note. A smile creased his face. You aren’t the only one concerned about this small foray into the countryside, General. This is a note from Lord Percy. He took the time to observe their departure from the bluffs just south of Mount Whoredom.

Gage grabbed the note. Is there a problem?

None whatsoever, General! Our men were a bit delayed, and more boats would have helped, but the force is well on its way—and secretly, I might add.

Gage sipped his Madeira slowly, and his eyes narrowed. Impulsively he snatched a quill from a small secretary desk. Lord Percy is acting like a mother hen about this, and I feel much the same. These orders are for the 1st Brigade, Brig. Gen. Percy’s command. I’ll sleep better knowing Lt. Col. Smith and Pitcairn have reinforcements on the way. I want the 1st Brigade, with artillery, on the march before dawn.

Taking a moment to stifle a yawn, he folded the document and jabbed the red wax seal with his signet ring. Stephen, it’s time that we both get some sleep. Something tells me it will be a busy day for us both. Have a messenger deliver these orders to the 1st Brigade immediately. I want them under arms at four o’clock this morning. Smith could probably use a bit of help bringing those munitions back from Concord.

Kemble frowned. Don’t you think seven hundred redcoats could easily handle an untrained mob of colonial militia?

Perhaps you’re right, but there’s something about Sam Adams’s boast about having thirty thousand militiamen ready at a minute’s notice. It has me thinking…the worst.

It’s nothing more than idle jabbering from a poor agitator. The bastard has failed at everything he has touched. Hell! He even failed as a tax collector, and Hancock paid handsomely to bail him out of that legal embarrassment.

Nonetheless, I will sleep better knowing Lord Percy is on his way before sunrise. If Smith doesn’t need help, that extra show of force will let these peasants know we mean business. He paused to think a moment. Speaking of business, you can pass the word to open both Boston Neck and the Charlestown Ferry for business as usual. I see no reason to close off the town now that our men are well on their way.

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It was 2 AM. An army courier rushed to the 1st Brigade headquarters with Gage’s reinforcement commands. They were addressed personally to the brigade’s adjutant, Capt. Thomas Moncreiffe. Unfortunately, he was absent from his quarters, attending a small party. Following his orders precisely, the soldier left the sealed orders on the adjutant’s table.

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LEXINGTON

It was 2 AM. The belfry on Lexington Green began to clang, calling the 144 militiamen to assemble. Capt. John Parker, the militia commander at age forty-six, was sitting in the taproom at the Buckman Tavern, across the road from the green, with John Hancock and Sam Adams. Paul Revere, having proceeded onward to Concord, had arrived at midnight, rousing the town with news of a large force of redcoats marching out of Boston. His ride that night had alerted towns and hamlets along the way, resulting in gunfire echoing and church bells ringing from every direction.

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CONCORD

It was 2 AM. Col. James Barrett and Maj. John Buttrick had gathered the Concord militia at Wrights Tavern near the center of town. Dr. Samuel Prescott, having met Paul Revere earlier near Lexington, had awakened the leaders in town, and the church bells had roused everyone else. Concord was twice the size of Lexington, and everyone was aware of the arsenal amassed by the Provincial Congress. There was no doubt the redcoat army intended to take that cache. That could not and would not be permitted.

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THE REDCOAT ARMY

It was 2 AM. Lt. Col. Francis Smith had finally completed the crossing of the Charles River from Boston to Lechmere Point. His patience was wearing thin as his force of more than seven hundred redcoats formed into their companies. The march to Concord could finally begin. Little did he realize Revere had already forewarned the countryside and a multitude of riders had awakened militiamen throughout the colony.

Col. Smith gritted his teeth. He dreaded the sixteen miles of hostile roads between him and Concord. He summoned his second-in-command, Marine Maj. John Pitcairn. Major, you shall command the vanguard of light infantry in advance of the main body. We have lost time crossing the Back Bay, and I expect you to clear away any peasants who dare to slow us down.

As Pitcairn led the way toward Lexington for the next three hours, it became apparent that word of the redcoat mission had become common knowledge. The redcoats could hear church bells ringing in the distance and sporadic gunfire echoing in the darkness. Ever the cautious officer he was reputed to be, Smith sent a mounted redcoat back to Boston. Tell Gen. Gage the secrecy of our mission has been shattered. Not knowing the size of any force ahead of us, I recommend he send reinforcements as soon as possible.

With the first hint of daybreak, Pitcairn could at last see small groups of farmers scampering through distant pasturelands, heading west. Realizing he was getting close to Lexington, Pitcairn ordered Marine Lt. Jesse Adair to advance with a Tory guide and three companies of light infantry to hasten the pace through the small village.

Adair relished the idea of taking command of the small detachment. As he advanced up the small rise into the village, he instinctively reined his mount to a halt at the sight of colonials milling about. His Tory guide pointed straight ahead and to the left. This is the road to Concord, Lieutenant. We should stay to the left of Lexington Green.

The marine lieutenant shook his head. Not quite, my friend! He was concerned about a mob of people standing in front of a small tavern to his right. But more importantly, his eyes were focused on a force of armed militia beyond the meetinghouse on the green. He had little time to think about it, as his advanced force was coming up the rise right behind him.

He drew his sword and pointed to the right, toward the green. Follow me, men! This way; and form up on the other side of this meetinghouse.

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Boston – Province House

5 AM – April 19, 1775

Hubert Slank, the governor’s secretary, rapped gently on the general’s bedroom door. What is it? grumbled Gage, having slept restlessly.

Sorry to bother you, General, but Col. Smith has sent a messenger with urgent news.

Wasting no time to stand on ceremony, Gage opened the door to greet the news in his nightshirt. What news?

Sorry to wake you, General, but Col. Smith said there was no time to write a note. He reports that all secrecy of his mission to Concord has been shattered. The timid redcoat shuffled his feet. Those are his exact words, General. He suggests you send reinforcements as soon as possible. The entire countryside is awake with church bells ringing and signal gunfire coming from all directions. The colonel wasn’t exactly sure what size force he might face farther up the road.

Gage clenched his jaw for a moment and glanced back at the clock on the mantle. Quickly dismissing the messenger, he jabbed Slank in the chest. Tell Maj. Kemble to meet me in the parlor immediately and get messengers ready to go. I expected Lord Percy at 4 AM to tell me he was already leaving Boston. Someone had better have a damned good reason as to why that has not happened.

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Lexington

5:05 AM – April 19, 1775

Lt. Adair smiled as he saw Capt. Parsons and Lt. Gould leading the 10th and 4th Light Infantry units to join him on the green in front of the meetinghouse. The only sound in Lexington was the steady beat of redcoat boots rushing into battle formation to a drummer’s cadence.

Capt. Parker, commanding his militiamen, watched in awe the precise maneuvering of redcoat light infantry. The glare of sunrise gleaming off their burnished bayonets conveyed a strong message of their intent. The incessant clanging of the village alarm bell in the small belfry was a mere memory, and his young militia drummer’s call to arms had abruptly stopped. A menacing silence gripped the green expanse, abruptly broken by an unexpected burst of guttural Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah! from the redcoat ranks.

One man standing close to Parker blurted out to no one in particular, There are so few of us. It is folly to stand here.

Suffering from consumption, Parker spat a bloody gob of sputum into the grass. He gritted his teeth, measuring the redcoat ranks, three lines deep. He stepped forward, gazing down his line of Lexington militiamen. The danger he now shared with neighbors and friends somehow felt like an anvil around his neck. He dreaded his next words. The first man who offers to run shall be shot down. As he stepped back into line, he yelled, Stand your ground! Don’t fire unless fired upon! But if they want to have a war, let it begin here!

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At the side of the Buckman Tavern, huddled next to their wagon, two colonials watched in awe as the two forces faced each other. Zeke Teezle, a small, bony-necked candlemaker, reached into his satchel and grabbed his flintlock as he knelt against a wheel. Ebenezer Mackintosh, a huge Boston cobbler, took his eyes from the opposing forces across the road on the green and glared at his companion. What in hell are you doing, Zeke?

Teezle gritted his five yellow teeth. Everyone here is armed but me. I have been carryin’ this thing for months in my satchel, and I figure it’s time I should figure out how to load it. I just gotta get this powder horn open.

Again, a heavy stillness and quiet filled Lexington Green as every colonial eye came to rest on Capt. Parker. He gazed across the 130 feet at the line of scarlet uniforms seeming to glow in the rising sun. Estimating their number to be at least 240 men…three times his militia muster of nearly eighty, he commanded, Let the troops pass by, and don’t molest them unless they start something first.

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5:06 AM

Adair, satisfied that his men were ready, pranced his horse forward and waved his sword. Throw down your arms, and you shall come to no harm.

Parker reflected that those men he now faced had fought alongside him not long ago against the French. He was aware of their skill, resolve, and brutality. Reluctantly he replied, We should disperse, men, and don’t fire.

A few men began to fall back to a small wall north of the green, but others stood with a fixed glare across the field. Jonas Parker muttered, I’ll be damned if I step back from these bastards.

Capt. Parker pondered for a moment at how he had gotten into this predicament and how to unravel it without bloodshed. Meanwhile, across the green, Maj. Pitcairn, arriving late, took charge of the confrontation and ordered his remaining units to halt along the south road to Concord. He galloped between the forces on the green. Do not fire! he commanded.

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Following Pitcairn’s lead, Maj. Mitchell and Lt. Sutherland cantered to a position in front of the three ranks of redcoats. Again, a unified and loud Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah! resonated from 240 redcoats.

Pitcairn drew his sword and pranced closer to the militia. Throw down your arms and disperse, ye villains, ye rebels.

The farmers shifted their weight from one foot to another, turning their eyes to the captain. Parker eyed Pitcairn with a strange mixture of both admiration and dread. Abruptly he coughed up another small trickle of blood and spat into the field. Everyone took it as a gesture of defiance.

Parker had no way of knowing it was evidence of a dreaded disease with constant chest pains and labored breathing. Within five months, John Parker would die of consumption, later to be known as tuberculosis, leaving his wife Lydia with three sons and four daughters. On this day, however, he would make history as he and his men took the field, telling the British Empire that American colonists would not tolerate tyranny.

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5:09 AM

As more militiamen stepped back to retreat, another taunting cry from the redcoat line filled the green: Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah! The redcoat officers were now concerned they could not be heard over the incessant chants and taunting in the redcoat ranks.

Amid all this banter, Paul Revere and John Lowell, John Hancock’s private secretary, in almost comic fashion, toted and dragged the squire’s heavy trunk from the Buckman Tavern. They stumbled across Bedford Road and onto the green, where they stopped for a moment.

Revere grinned at the realization that no one had fired a musket. Let’s go, John, and let’s be quick about it. The two men needled their way between the two forces and through the militia line, heading north between distant houses and into the woods.

Damn it! Pitcairn muttered under his breath. Do not fire! he yelled to his battle line while others howled similar commands.

Maj. Mitchell, noting Pitcairn’s intent, cantered along the line. Hold your ranks, men.

Pitcairn stopped his horse in the middle of the field, amazed at the stiff-necked militiamen standing against impossible odds. Disperse in the name of the Crown. Throw down your arms, ye damned rebels.

Huzzah! Huzzah! burst the chant from the redcoat line.

What the hell’s wrong with you? yelled Lt. Adair. Throw down your arms! Damn you, disperse!

Again, Pitcairn waved his sword. I said disperse! Lay down your arms, ye damned villains.

Huzzah! Huzzah! Again, insults trumpeted from the redcoat ranks behind him.

Cantering to one side of the field, Pitcairn shook his head in disgust and resignation. Surround and disarm them!

Huzzah! Huzzah! The redcoat ranks advanced slowly, a deliberate step at a time, their bayonets lowered.

In all the confusion, lasting no more than a few minutes, Parker stepped back and ordered his men to back off. In all the Huzzahs and yelling, most did not hear his commands. Others were adamant about standing their ground, and not one man threw down his musket.

At the side of the tavern, Zeke Teezle leaned against the wagon wheel and cunningly smiled. I think I got it, Mac. With the ball and powder in the barrel, all I gotta do is dump a load of powder in the pan, and…I think I finally got this damned thing loaded proper-like, Mac. I was just telling my wife, Gertie, about how I ain’t quite used to priming this flintlock and—

A SHOT RANG OUT!

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Two

The Battle at Lexington Green

Lexington Green

5:15 AM – April 19, 1775

At the sound of that shot, Ebenezer Mackintosh recoiled from his perfect view of the redcoat advance on Lexington Green. He found himself shrouded in a curling cloud of white smoke from Zeke Teezle’s flintlock pistol. What in hell was that? What did you do, Zeke?

The small candlemaker, his lips trembling, had dropped to the ground and was leaning against a wagon wheel. The smoking pistol rested between his knees. I don’t know. I was…er… The powder must have… The trigger was…

His words were muted as gunfire erupted on the green from every quarter and in every direction. Gunsmoke instantly blanketed the small battlefield. In all the calamity, no one could be seen in the maelstrom of screams, shouts, and moans. Mackintosh and Teezle huddled under the wagon as musket balls peppered it and the side of the tavern. Their minds flashed back, reflecting on how they had gotten mired in the deadly situation.

Paul Revere had ordered the pair to wait near their wagon at the side of the tavern. Mackintosh raised his head slowly to see what was happening in an abrupt lull of gunfire. In the time it took a hummingbird to flap its wings, men from both sides again lowered their muskets. In a flash, the entire second redcoat rank fired another deadly volley.

By this time, half of Capt. Parker’s militia was still standing its ground, returning fire. The green was now totally obscured in a white cloud of gun smoke. The moans and shrieks of wounded militiamen mixed with cries of Charge! and Kill them! The redcoats, having fired, bellowed, Huzzah! Huzzah! Despite orders to the contrary from Maj. Pitcairn and other officers, the redcoat ranks lowered their bayonets and rushed blindly through the smoky haze like a marauding horde. Months of pent-up anger and frustration finally erupted. Anyone not wearing a scarlet coat in that blinding cloud was a fair target. A few wounded patriots still on their knees were quickly dispatched with bayonet thrusts into their chests.

What had once been a tranquil village was transformed into a mass of human carnage. Eight militiamen lay dead or mortally wounded. Two were crawling with their last ounce of strength to evade the staggering redcoat onslaught.

Jonathan Harrington, severely wounded and unable to feel his legs, used his arms to crawl across the dirt road to his home at the north end of the green. Minutes later, he died on the steps to his doorway in the arms of his wife.

At his first sight of the slaughter, Lt. Col. Francis Smith, finally arriving with the main redcoat column on the Lexington Road, galloped onto the green. It was nearly 5:30 AM when he found Maj. Pitcairn and his junior officers bellowing commands to control their men, but it was clear they could not or would not hear of it. God damn it! How did this happen? growled Smith.

The damned rebels wouldn’t—

Oh, hell with that! demanded Smith. A drummer! Get me a drummer! He pointed at a young soldier with a snare drum. Beat to arms!

The staccato of that recognizable drumbeat, combined with years of ingrained redcoat training, had the desired effect. Instantly every redcoat halted his advance, raised his Brown Bess, and formed up into ranks. An eerie quiet suddenly filled the green, interrupted only by the involuntary groans of the wounded.

In minutes, Maj. Pitcairn and the junior officers had the vanguard companies of the 4th and 10th Regiments reformed with the main column on the Concord Road. Still restive, the redcoats fired their Brown Bess muskets as they gave a unified Huzzah! Huzzah! Pitcairn, astride his horse, which had suffered two bullet grazes, cantered next to Lt. Col. Smith near the meetinghouse. It was the damnedest thing, Colonel! When I arrived, that company of militiamen had taken the field at our right flank and refused to disperse.

Smith glared with disdain as villagers rushed to the aid of the wounded. Please tell me, Major, it was not our men who triggered this carnage.

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I can say for certain that our men did not fire first. We have one man wounded in the leg and another hit in the hand. He pointed across the green. This peasant rabble, on the other hand, has paid dearly for their defiance. Just look at them nursing the wounded and counting their dead.

Smith jerked his reins. Take the vanguard again, Major. Let us proceed to Concord and finish this business. I only pray this small skirmish has taught these farmers a lesson. The last thing we need is continued slaughter. Nevertheless, they should now realize the British army is not to be provoked.

On the other side of the green, Parker’s militiamen, having been routed and battered, tried to regain some sense of order. Eight men were dead, with ten others wounded. He grimaced at the sight of his cousin Jonas, now crumpled dead in the bloody grass. He had been hit with the second redcoat volley and suffered a bayonet thrust to his chest as he was reloading his musket.

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Concord – Wright’s Tavern

5:30 AM – April 19, 1775

Col. James Barrett and Maj. John Buttrick stood at the bar near a candle, hovering over a small map of the village. News of the redcoats leaving Boston made it imperative they hide their stores of cannons, muskets, and gunpowder; the question was finding the best places to do so. All of a sudden, the door burst open, causing many others to grab their flintlocks.

Everyone relaxed, as it was one of their scouts rushing to the bar. There’s been gunfire up Lexington way; I heard it myself. By my measure, the entire British army opened fire up there. They must be killin’ everyone.

Barrett pounded the bar and stared coldly at Buttrick. There’s no time to waste, John. If they get here before the remaining supplies are hidden, we’ll have nothing to stop the bastards.

Thank God we got started at your farm already. If Dr. Preston hadn’t awakened us, our families would soon be making grave markers.

I’ll get people to stash gunpowder in flour barrels and their muskets in plowed fields. Meanwhile, you should take two hundred fifty men up the road toward Lexington, commanded Barrett. If need be, you could at least slow down their advance into town. He patted his friend on the shoulder. Don’t try to be a hero out there. We’re not even certain how many redcoats are coming. If there are too many, fire warning shots and hasten back to town. With our weapons hidden, we can regroup near our farms on the other side of the North Bridge. If they don’t find anything, they might just turn tail and head back to Boston empty-handed.

Buttrick nodded, heading for the door. I have men to select.

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Lexington

5:35 AM – April 19, 1775

As the last units of grenadiers joined the regiments on the Concord Road, the Lexington villagers rushed from their homes and the tavern to the green. Many men admitted sniping at the redcoat line from their homes. Amid the confusion, Joshua Simonds stepped from the meetinghouse. He had a wry smile on his face as he glanced over his shoulder at the departing scarlet column. I tell you, lads, he whispered, not one redcoat would be on his feet if they dared try to take our powder. I had my musket barrel snug against a powder keg. Those bastards would have all died with me, and I’m sure the Lord would forgive me.

Paul Revere joined Parker on the green as he took a final tally of the dead and wounded. By God, before this day is ended, those redcoats will pay for this. I swear on my father’s grave they will pay dearly, declared the captain.

Paul moved his foot clear of blood-soaked grass. I now ask myself if my ride from Boston last night was worth the trouble. If I hadn’t raised an alarm, these men would now be alive.

This was going to happen sooner or later. Parker rubbed his chin in thought. You did say they were headed for Concord, didn’t you?

There’s no doubt of it!

The tall militia captain glanced momentarily at the dead and wounded and somehow found a way to smile. Then they will no doubt use the same road back to Boston. He summoned William Diamond, his young drummer.

What are you doing? asked Revere.

Parker’s eyes had narrowed, and his jaw had tensed with firm resolve. We know that road to Concord as well as the rooms in our own homes. There is a perfect place to arrange a warm greeting for them on their return; only, this time, there will be no open field. The advantage will belong to the Lexington militia.

Upon hearing the continued roar of distant musket fire awakening the countryside, and seeing armed men rushing through fields far off, Revere grinned. I’ll leave you to your business, Capt. Parker. I must tend to a few things myself. He then halted to watch the last of the redcoat force fade down the road. It just occurred to me that my ride alerted everyone along the Lexington Road, but others were missed. I need you to send a few riders to Cambridge and Watertown. The whole colony should know about this.

Parker grinned. Consider it done…and thanks again.

The silversmith first ensured John Lowell, Hancock’s secretary, was still guarding the squire’s trunk, filled with Provincial Congress documents. He then rushed to the Buckman Tavern, where he found Ebenezer Mackintosh and Zeke Teezle seated at a table in the taproom, nursing mugs of ale. Revere hovered over them, his hands resting on the table. What in hell are you two doing? This is no time to be drinking. In case you didn’t notice, a war has begun.

Mac shook his head. We can’t do nothin’ till Zeke settles himself. All that redcoat chargin’ and firin’ has given him a bad case of the skitters or some such thing.

Revere recoiled for a moment. The skitters, you say? Before this day is finished, most everyone we know will have a case of the skitters.

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Boston – Dr. Joseph Warren House

5:35 AM – April 19, 1775

Dr. William Eustis rapped repeatedly on Joseph Warren’s door at his home on Hanover Street, praying he wouldn’t draw too much attention to himself. In moments, Warren appeared in the doorway in his nightshirt, not waiting for a servant to react. Come in, William. You’re a bit early. We should not expect any patients for at least a few hours.

Eustis rushed in, quickly shutting the door behind him. I have a feeling that patients will be the last thing on our minds this day. The redcoats are on the move. They made a ruckus in the streets outside my door not long ago.

Warren shrugged. We know all about that. You were with me on Mt. Whoredom, watching them board those longboats last night. For your information, I’ve already dispatched riders into the countryside to warn everyone.

This is different, Joseph. As I rushed over here, I heard redcoats grumbling about mustering on the common. This time, they are not quiet about it. The governor is obviously sending more men into farm country.

Within minutes, Warren was dressed, and he joined Eustis in the parlor. The way I figure it, William, something has happened, and Gage is acting on it. Hopefully, he has opened Boston Neck and the Charlestown Ferry. He snapped his fingers. I expected to linger, but now there’s no time to waste. I must get to Menotomy. While I pack a few provisions, I need you to summon Dr. Adams, Sam’s son. And stop by the Snug Harbor Tavern to fetch that young lad Imp. Hurry!

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Lexington

5:40 AM – April 19, 1775

Pulling on the reins of his mount on the Concord Road just west of Lexington, Lt. Col. Smith paused to assess the pandemonium he had witnessed. As women and children had rushed from their homes to tend the wounded and grieve for the dead, there had not been a friendly face in sight. His hope of finding sympathetic loyalists had vanished. It was clear his mission had changed, and not for the better.

Calling a brief halt to the column, Smith gathered his cadre of officers. He nodded toward Pitcairn as the sound of distant gunfire, drums, and church bells filled the air. Gentlemen, heretofore only Maj. Pitcairn and I were privy to the real objective of this expedition. Gen. Gage insisted on absolute secrecy; hence, we were obliged to let you and the men live with rumors and speculations.

He paused at the sound of more distant gunfire. In light of what has unfortunately happened in Lexington and all that clamor surrounding us, it is clear we have lost the advantage of surprise. With that in mind, we shall now act like the British army we know so well. Maj. Pitcairn will once again assume command of the vanguard. I shall remain with the main force in trail. Furthermore, we shall let these rustics know we are coming. The fifes and drums shall set a cadence, Major, with all the fanfare they can muster.

Pitcairn smiled. After word spreads about what happened here in Lexington, and we know it will, these peasants will undoubtedly scurry to the safety of their homes.

Our objective, gentlemen, is to confiscate or destroy all weapons, gunpowder, and militia stores we find in the village of Concord. Gen. Gage has been informed that is where this criminal colonial Congress has set up a base of operations. Without weapons, these rebels will be as dangerous as a gelding with a herd of mares in season.

He glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone dared follow the column. With six miles to cover, I expect to take Concord in about two hours. We can then look forward to a feast this evening in Boston with Gen. Gage. Maj. Pitcairn, lead us to Concord.

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Concord

5:45 AM – April 19, 1775

Maj. John Buttrick sat astride his mount outside Wright’s Tavern, beaming with pride at the sight of more than two hundred militiamen gathered before him. "Men, for the last few years, we’ve been drilling weekly. The days of drilling are over. Heavy gunfire has been heard in the vicinity of Lexington. We are told more than five hundred redcoats are headed to Concord. We can only imagine what they intend, but we are certain they are not coming with gifts from the Crown.

We shall march up the road to determine the size of this force and stop them, if possible. If forced to retreat, we shall regroup at the liberty pole on the rise just behind us. That will give us high ground and the advantage of maneuvering as needed.

Col. Barrett sat mounted at his side. We may not have pretty red uniforms, but I remind you, we fought at their side against the French; hence, we know how they move and fight. Every man here is the equal of their best man. Furthermore, they are invading our land, and we are defending our homes. No one knows this ground better than we do. We plow it, we work it, we have buried our families in it. Now, by God, we will defend it with our last drop of blood. Before you depart, Rev. William Emerson has a few words.

Emerson gave a small prayer and benediction, closing with, May God protect you and bless you this day and all the days to come.

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Boston – Province House

6 AM – April 19, 1775

A massive sense of urgency filled the mind of every man in a scarlet uniform. Redcoat messengers had pounded on every barracks door, commanding every sergeant to be ready…to do something or go somewhere. Governor Gage, now acting more like a British general, paced his office floor as he waited for Brig. Gen. Lord Percy. He cursed that any hope of clandestine military action was gone. Any redcoat not marching with Lord Percy in the relief column had orders to reinforce every fort, battery, and entry into Boston. His mind was on a war footing.

Without fanfare, Lord Percy pushed past Hubert Slank at the doorway and marched into Gage’s office. He found the general standing at the window. Without turning to greet him, Gage seemed fixated on redcoats scurrying about the streets. How is it, Lord Percy, your brigade is still in the warm confines of their barracks? I personally sent orders hours ago with the expectation you would be advancing into the countryside at this very moment.

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I just learned the brigade adjutant, Capt. Moncreiffe, never got the orders, as he was away from his quarters. Furthermore, when the captain returned, his servant failed to tell him about your message. It is no surprise that he, along with the entire brigade, was still asleep until half an hour ago.

Gage spun around. I received a request for reinforcements from Lt. Col. Smith, but we had already anticipated such a need. He is probably in Lexington by now, and we have no idea what he is facing out there.

A look of disquiet filled Percy’s face. Has he met armed resistance? And now that I think on it, how could that be possible? Your command of secrecy was followed to the letter.

Gage raised his hand. To my knowledge, there has been no armed resistance. However, Smith reports hearing church bells and gunfire throughout the countryside. That tells him every village has been alerted to his marching westward.

How could…?

It beats the hell out of me. Gage waved his hand in dismissal. Regardless, I need your brigade ready to march as soon as possible.

Percy gritted his teeth. I’ve already issued orders to all the barracks. However—

Gage simply glared. What is it now?

The marines! Apparently, your orders were delivered to the commander of the Royal Marines, and that is—

Kemble slammed the sideboard with the flat of his hand. And that is Maj. Pitcairn, who just happens to be marching with Lt. Col. Smith at this moment.

Gage pointed at his secretary. Slank, send two messengers to the marine detachment. Find an officer, any officer, and tell him to form up on the common with Lord Percy’s brigade immediately. I want one of those messengers to verify he did, in fact, speak with a living person.

Yes, sir, replied Slank, reflexively saluting, clear evidence of his military training.

As his secretary turned, Gage stopped him. One more thing, Slank.

Yes, sir.

Get yourself into a uniform. Your days as a secretary are officially terminated. I need you more as the sergeant major you were trained to be.

Hubert Slank smiled. With great pleasure, sir; with great pleasure.

Percy rubbed his hands together. Did you say Smith heard gunfire?

Gage nodded. Apparently, the farmers are on the move, and every one of those bastards has a musket. We have no idea how many or exactly where they are headed.

I should remind the general that Sam Adams repeatedly boasted of thirty thousand militiamen ready to take the field, said Kemble.

Percy gritted his teeth. I’m taking cannon with me. If they elect to fight, they will regret it.

You shouldn’t need more than two field pieces. By the time you get there, Smith should have confiscated or disabled any artillery they might have in Concord.

I’ll proceed out of Boston Neck. It will add four miles to the march, but I don’t have time to tarry while the Royal Navy plays around with their longboats.

Gage glanced at the clock by the fireplace. "It is now after 6 AM; I expect your brigade to be on the march not later than 8 AM. Go through Cambridge with all the fanfare you like. The patriots in that den of criminals will probably be hiding in their wine cellars when they see the size of your force.

You will have the 4th, 23rd, and 47th Regiments, in addition to the 1st Battalion of Royal Marines. Those men, plus your own 5th Regiment, will give you close to sixteen hundred men. That should scare the hell out of any farmer in the colony. That force, combined with Lt. Col. Smith’s seven hundred, should make you invincible. He grinned. "I have every confidence this will prove a fine day, Lord