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Now, on the night of the eighteenth of April, 1775, two lanterns swung high in the historic steeple, and off started Paul Revere on the most famous ride in American history. As Longfellow has so vividly expressed it:

A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet;
That was all! And yet through the gloom and the light
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.

With clank of spur and brave use of whip, on he dashed, to waken the country and rouse it to instant action–and as he passed through every hamlet heavy sleepers woke at the sound of his ringing shout:

“The Regulars are coming!”

Then on clattered horse and rider, scattering stones and dirt, as the horse’s hoofs tore into the ground and his flanks were flecked with foam. Midnight had struck when the dripping steed and his breathless rider drew up before the parsonage where unsuspecting Dorothy and Aunt Lydia were sheltered, as well as the two patriots. The house was guarded by eight men when Paul Revere dashed up to the door, and they cautioned him not to make a noise.

“Noise!” exclaimed Revere. “You’ll have noise enough before long. The Regulars are coming out!”

John Hancock, ever on the alert for any unwonted sounds, heard the commotion and recognizing Revere’s voice opened a window and said:

“Courier Revere, we are not afraid of you!”

Revere repeated his startling news.

“Ring the Bell!” commanded Hancock. In a few moments the church bell began to peal, according to pre-arranged signal, to call men of the town together. All night the tones of the clanging bell rang out on the clear air and before daylight one hundred and fifty men had mustered for defense, strong in their desire for resistance and confident of the justice of it.

John Hancock was determined to fight with the men who had come together so hurriedly and were so poorly equipped for the combat. With a firm hand he cleaned his gun and sword and put his accoutrements in order, refusing to listen to the plea of Adams that it was not their duty to fight, that theirs it was, rather, to safeguard their lives for the sake of that cause to which they were so important at this critical time. Hancock was deaf to all appeals, until Dorothy grasped his hands in hers and forced him to look into her eyes:–

“I have lost my mother,” she said; “to lose you, too, would be more than I could bear, unless I were giving you for my country’s good. But you can serve best by living rather than by courting danger. You must go, and go now!”

And Hancock went.

Meanwhile a British officer had been sent in advance of the troops to inquire for “Clark’s parsonage.” By mistake he asked for Clark’s tavern, which news was brought to Hancock as he was debating whether to take Dorothy’s advice or not. He waited no longer. With Adams he immediately took refuge in a thickly wooded hill back of the parsonage. An hour later Paul Revere returned to the house to report that after he left there, with two others, he had been captured by British officers. Having answered their questions evasively about the whereabouts of the patriots, he finally said: “Gentlemen, you have missed your aim; the bell’s ringing, the town’s alarmed. You are all dead men!” This so terrified the officers that, not one hundred yards further on, one of them mounted Revere’s horse and rode off at top speed to give warning to the on-coming troops, while Revere went back to report to Hancock and Adams.