"Listen my friends and you shall hear of the midnight ride of Paul Revere. On the 18 of April in '75, hardly a man is still alive who remembers that famous date and year."
As we travel through this land we are
constantly reminded of the history that forged this country into
the nation it is today. Repeatedly, we have heard discussions and
lectures describing some specific point or time as the
"birthplace of America". For me it has always been the
events that occurred on April 18th in 1775 between Boston and
Concord Massachusetts. I had been looking forward to this stop
ever since we left Cincinnati. Driving into Boston with a 48
foot rig was still on my least desirable activities so we dropped
our jacks at the Salisbury Beach State Reservation in Salisbury
some thirty miles North of Boston. After conferring with the
locals we decided to drive 6 miles to Newburyport and jump on the
Boston Metro. As we bumped along the way, I was entertained by a very lively
conductor and his ingenious ways of telling where people were
going to get off, in case they went further than their ticket
allowed. We walked out of south station and walked the half dozen
blocks to the historic district. The Boston National Historical
Park is a different kind of park than is usually run by the
Department of Interior. Only three of the 16 sites in the park
are owned by the park. The remaining are either owned by Boston
or by private organizations. The park takes the form of a red
brick path several inches wide that is laid into the sidewalk.
After obtaining a walking tour guide at the
visitor's center it was just a matter of following the red brick
road as we wandered through Boston in search of history. First
let me digress to the Boston of 1775. After several years of
excessive taxation implemented by Great Britain, Boston had
become a hotbed of rebellious ideas. A British regiment had been
dispatched to keep the peace. A short time prior to this date, a
dispatch had been received from the King of England ordering the
various military detachments throughout the colonies, to seek out
and confiscate arms and gunpowder in the possession of colonialists as a
preventive measure against rebellion. This order was the fuse
that lit the revolutionary powder keg. The colonialists had been
talking rebellion for some time. They had been stockpiling
weapons and forming companies which drilled frequently. Officers
had been chosen and although no formal organization officially
existed, a functional one was very much alive. There were spies
and counter spies, and intelligence swapped as in any conflict.
Soon the colonialists knew of the order and took action to resist
the action. Paul Revere quietly left his home as he often did,
riding out into the night. He crossed the George River and
rode to the top of a hill overlooking the city where he could
clearly see the steeple of the old North Church. Secreted in the
Church tower, among others was Robert Newman. If the British
marched out of Boston to confiscate a large stash of weapons in
Concord, they would either go around by land or directly access
the George river by boat. It was reported to be a large infantry
regiment. Sometime during the night the word came. 700 British
infantrymen had marched to the docks on the George River and were
preparing to cross. Robert Newman lit two lanterns
and hung them in the steeple, and then quickly departed. When the
two cats eye lights shown out across the George River, Paul
Revere turned and galloped off toward Lexington, which is halfway
between Boston and Concord. These were the thoughts I mulled over
in my mind as we walked along the red brick
path to the old cemetery where Robert Newman is buried. On we
went to the Old North Church which, although now enclosed in
buildings on all sides, is still majestic in appearance. It is a
working church and no pictures are allowed inside. Several blocks
away stands Paul Revere's house. Now owned by a private concern,
there is a gaudy brick wall built up around the property and
there is an admission charge. The trail continues through the old
part of town, covering some two and a half miles and 16 historic stops. It is indeed a strange imagery
of old and new. Street cafes and restaurants abound with the
customary elevated price lists. We walked until we were tired and
then headed back to the Metro and back to the campground. This
was a day of great exercise and a witnessing of a starting point
of a country and a way of life. We will continue the story with
visits to both Lexington and Concord, but that is another story.
* * * THE END * * *