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The Midnight Ride
David Hackett Fischer, Paul Revere's Ride. New York,
Oxford University Press, 1994.
John Bedell
No historical myth touches me like the story of Lexington and Concord. Epic
heroes, artists, soldiers, scientists, philosophers, explorers, inventors,
lovers and pirates catch my attention, but the men whose acts move me most are
the Massachusetts militiamen of 1775. These were not great men in any sense,
but ordinary men proud of their very ordinariness. They did not go in search of
adventure, but when trouble came they left their homes and marched off to meet
it. They did their duty, without posturing or vainglory, and then went back to
their farms and their families. To me, there is no other heroism like this
simple acceptance of an obligation to fight when one's home is threatened, and
no happy ending like going home again, duty done.
The story of Lexington and Concord is a good one, and Fischer here gives it a
spirited telling. I have some qualms about the book, which I'll get to later,
but the scholarship is very sound without being intrusive, the prose is
excellent, and Fischer puts his emphasis on the themes that I find most
compelling myself. Fischer raises some fascinating questions about the
Revolution. He mentions a curious phenomenon we might call inevitability as a
self-fulfilling prophecy, noting that one reason fighting came to America was
that men on both sides came increasingly to see it as inevitable. He explains
how the very men who participated in Revere's warning ride covered up the true
story of it, preferring to present the muster of the militia as a sort of
spontaneous rising of the people instead of a broad-based and carefully
organized plan. The Revolutionary leaders did not want to be seen as
conspirators. They were conspirators, though, and they had brought hundreds of
men into their plot. They had dozens of agents collecting intelligence and
dozens of riders ready to carry it, they were in touch with all the militia
leaders, they had given careful thought to how to raise the whole country
against a British thrust in any direction. At the center of it were Doctor
James Warren and Paul Revere, but they were only two nodes in a vast, carefully
constructed network. Their work paid off on April 19, as they raised in hours a
force several times as large as the British could send against them and chased
the Regulars back to Boston, beginning the Revolution with a stunning victory.
The story is comprised of many, many smaller stories, some of them very
compelling in themselves, and it relates to great events of world history. But
at its heart this is a story of men and how they face a time of great crisis.
Part of the fascination of war is how it brings out the character of those
forced to confront it, the good and the bad, and in this story I see some of the
characteristics I would most want to have myself. Consider, first, the British
soldiers, who showed an astonishing degree of bravery and endurance. The
leading companies began their march in Boston at 10 PM on the evening of April
18 and did not return until nearly midnight on the next day. It was about 20
miles from Boston to Concord by the route they followed, so they marched 20
miles, the first 15 in darkness, fought a brief action in Concord, and then
began their 20 mile retreat, under nearly constant harassing fire from the
militia. The larger column sent to rescue the first marched only 30 miles, but
they traveled at a faster pace and fought almost constantly across the whole ten
miles from Lexington back to Cambridge. Every time the militiamen set an
ambush, the regulars formed up as they had been trained, charged the stone walls
and woodlots where the colonists were hidden, and routed them. Such an action,
even if it lasts only twenty minutes, is profoundly exhausting, and the men of
the 47th Foot and the Royal Welsh Fusiliers did it half a dozen times in the
course of their 30 mile mission. Nor did they slacken their speed along the
way. In fact, they only made it back at all because of the furious pace they
set. The marching regulars left the militia they had fought at Lexington and
Concord far behind, as they passed and left behind every other body of men that
came against them, leaving the road bloody behind them but never faltering until
they reached the safety of Charleston. Their officers for the most part
performed admirably as well, working hard to limit violence against civilians,
exposing themselves to every risk to lead their men to safety. Many of them
disliked the job they had been sent to do and hoped for a peaceful solution, but
they had their orders and they carried them out, like true professionals.
Paul Revere himself is also worth consideration. In the 60s the historical
debunkers brought him into their sights and tried to dismiss him as a bumbler
who never even reached his goal but then stole all the glory for himself. All
false. Revere was the greatest messenger of the age. He was a brilliant rider,
more than once outdistancing younger and better mounted British officers who
pursued him. He had already carried secret messages as far as Philadelphia and
he had carried warnings of two other British attacks, thwarting an attempted
raid on powder stores in New Hampshire. He knew all the roads of Massachusetts,
the houses of all the militia leaders, the gathering places of all the
companies. His plans were laid very carefully on the night of April 18, and
they worked almost perfectly. True, he did not reach Concord, but some of the
many other riders he set in motion did. Far from stealing the glory, he said
almost nothing about his own part, in keeping with the policy of the
Revolutionary leaders.
My heart, though, is with the ordinary soldiers of the militia, not because of
how they fought but because of how they went to war. They were not young men
like the British Regulars, but mature heads of families; most were in their 30s
and 40s. All adult men fit to fight were supposed to be in the militia, and in
fact in times of trouble participation was very high. The militia was the men
of the community, under arms. The Massachusetts militia was not a new
institution in 1775. It had been established at the time of settlement, and it
was based on English precedents centuries older. The militia men were supposed
to meet regularly for practice on the town "Training Ground". In times of peace
they were lax, but when war threatened the pace of their training increased.
They were hard at work throughout 1774 and 1775, much to the amusement of the
professional British officers who observed them. The officers' letters home
were full of jokes at the colonists' expense. "If you ever saw a goose assume
an air of consequence, you may catch some faint idea," wrote one. Major John
Pitcairn of the Royal Marines wrote, "if I draw my sword but half out of my
scabbard, the whole banditti of Massachusetts will run away." But these
officers were mistaken, as some would learn from personal experience. The
militiamen may have been sloppy at drill, but they practiced hard at raising
their rate of fire and improving their accuracy, skills that made them deadly in
defensive fighting. Major Pitcairn was wounded by one of those cowardly
banditti on the road back from Lexington, and killed by another at Bunker Hill.
Fischer is at his most eloquent describing the militia and their attitude toward
war:
The Regulars of the British army and the citizen soldiers of Massachusetts
looked upon military affairs in very different ways. New England farmers did not
think of war as a game, or a feudal ritual, or an instrument of state power, or
a bloodsport for bored country gentlemen. They did not regard the pursuit of
arms as a noble profession.... With a few exceptions they thought of fighting as
a dirty business that had to be done from time to time if good men were to
survive in a world of evil.
What other way to look at war compares to this? What other justification for
fighting is not hollow with selfishness and cruelty? With the world as it is,
sometimes we do have to fight, but we should never forget that killing is wicked
and that war rots kindness and sense from all but the best hearts. It is a
dirty business and should never be thought of as anything else.
In November 1774 the town meeting of Lexington voted to tax themselves "for the
purpose of mounting the cannon, ammunition, for a pair of drums for the use of
the Training Band of the town, and for carriage and harness for burying the
dead." They knew what war meant. They told no reassuring lies about wars
without casualties. They knew fighting meant some of them would die, but they
voted to make ready for war anyway, and when war came, they went.
I find this attitude majestic in its simplicity. I am by this point in my life
well read in the history of colonial America. I know all about the destruction
of the New England Indians and the atrocities committed by the colonists in the
dirty wars of the frontier. I know about the destruction of the land, the
careless farming that denuded the hills. I know about the executions of
witches, the shaming and ostracism of heretics. I know their grasping greed,
the petty insistence on recording every debt, even the loan of a handful of
peas. Yet there is something about the lives of those New England farmers and
their outlook on life that touches me deeply. They were unimpressed by pomp and
glory. Their politics sometimes seem downright paranoid, but they insisted on
controlling their own affairs. They believed in God, work, family, and
community; they had little use for celebrity in any form. When Isaac Davis, one
of the men who died at Lexington, left his home that morning, he said to his
wife, "Take good care of the children." No speeches on duty, no thought of
great deeds, just work and family on one side and the need to defend one's home
on the other. This is the nobility I admire most.
And yet there are things about the Revolution that make me uncomfortable, some
of which are prominent in Fischer's book. To begin with, I have never been sure
that the Revolution was a good idea. The policy of the North government was
stupid and wrong, but their regime fell not long after the war and other men
with different policies took their places. There were many in England who
understood that a status we would call Dominion was the only way to keep the
colonists bound to the crown, and surely that would have happened before too
many years had passed. The British empire ended slavery in 1819; imagine how
different American history would have been if that had come to pass peacefully
here. I don't presume to judge the decisions of the Revolutionary leaders, who
knew their own situation better than I ever can, but I have the benefit of
knowing the whole sad story of slavery, the Civil War, and reconstruction. For
me that story hangs over the Revolution, and makes me wonder.
The Revolution was a war, and although it was cleaner and less morally
outrageous than most wars it was nonetheless a disaster for many. The Iroquois
League was nearly destroyed, the slaves were thrust back into their places,
thousands were killed. Thinking about the war lures us into a different kind of
disaster. Here is Fischer, continuing the passage I quoted above on the New
Englanders' attitude toward war:
The New England colonies were among the first states to recognize the right of
conscientious objection to military service, and among the few to respect that
right even in moments of mortal peril. But most New Englanders were not
pacifists themselves. Once committed to what they regarded as a just necessary
war, these sons of Puritans hardened their hearts and became the most implacable
of foes. Their many enemies who lived by a warrior ethic always underestimated
them, as a long parade of Indian braves, French aristocrats, British Regulars,
Southern planters, German fascists, Japanese militarists, Marxist ideologues,
and Arab adventurers have invariably discovered to their heavy cost.
That, I submit, is the very military vainglory that the Massachusetts militiamen
rejected, the same reveling in force and arms that they abominated. To truly
honor the men of 1775 we should emulate, not just their determination in battle,
but their struggle to avoid vanity and the lust for power. They fought for
their homes, not for geostrategy or to save the world, and they fought with real
reluctance. They were not much on victory parades, medals, or celebrations; all
of that mostly came later, when the Revolution had been won. And they did not
brag about their prowess. To be too proud of them is to misunderstand them,
because they knew that pride is the deadliest sin. That, to me, is their true
legacy, that they could despise the whole business of war even as they waged it,
doing what they could to guard themselves against the sins that always come with
organized slaughter. They were not cowards, but they were not heroes, either,
just men who defended their homes when trouble came.
December 29, 2004
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