Who is this Paul Revere guy and what do we really need to know about him? Is he just a one-hit wonder in American history who transformed an abbreviated horse ride into a ticket to immortality? Or was he actually great?
David Hackett Fischer’s short answer: Yes, he was. The longer answer is this nearly 400-page dive examining his life, world, and central role in helping set the stage for the American Revolution.
Fischer is successful in the main drawing attention to Revere’s personal courage and deeper contributions to his cause, but like with his other histories, the book really shines at taking a broader view. A lot more planning went into April 19, 1775 than how many lanterns to put in a steeple.
It seems in retrospect a fait accompli, but the author explains how radical a matter this sudden breaking away from England was:
We remember that moment as a harbinger of independence. For us, it was an event bright with the promise of national destiny. But at the time it was perceived in a very different way – as a fatal calamity, full of danger, terror, and uncertainty.
Revere was no leader, no politician or even a soldier. During his famous ride, he consciously avoided carrying a weapon. What he was, Fischer explains, was something more commonly known to the 20th century left, a community organizer:
There were no controlling figures in Boston’s revolutionary movement, which was an open alliance of many different groups. Here was the source of Paul Revere’s importance. He knew everyone and moved in many different circles. In Boston this great joiner helped to link one group to another, and was supremely good at getting things done.
There is a lot of rah-rah in Fischer’s narrative, what revisionists would no doubt sneer at in the way of unambiguous admiration for our nation’s forefathers. There are times when he reminds me of Stephen Ambrose in the way he beats the drum on behalf of Revere’s undaunted courage and wily ability to put the Redcoats on the wrong foot. But like any good historian, he uses this investment to enliven his narrative and bring out interpretations that bear up to skepticism.
As Fischer explains it, Revere not only lit the fuse on a restive population to trigger a revolution but set in motion a process that led to its eventual success. He points out something Revere’s many detractors over the years have said, that his plan to spread the word only got him as far as Lexington, short of his goal. Other riders carried the message on that day to Concord, where the battle would be truly joined.
In effect, it was a crowdsourced revolution.
William Dawes and Samuel Prescott are the best known of the other riders, but others too rallied fighters across Middlesex County and beyond. “The more we learn about these messengers, the more interesting Paul Revere’s part becomes – not merely as a solitary courier, but as an organizer and promoter of a common effort in the cause of freedom,” Fischer writes.
The first two-thirds of the book’s main narrative offers an involving if repetitious backdrop on such details as the fates of the various riders and the difficulties the British force had trying to leave Boston unnoticed. Revere’s part in the preliminaries to the ride is pushed more than seems needful. It is only when the book gets to the twin battles at Lexington and Concord that Fischer’s narrative rises to another level.
The Battle of Lexington was not a battle but a preamble. The British purpose was twofold, to secure the capture of rebel leaders John Hancock and Samuel Adams as well as guns and ammunition known to be hidden there. Thanks to Revere, the rebels were gone and only a few cannons were taken. But the presence of several dozen militiamen who had gathered on the town green transformed the encounter into a war.
When ordered to stand down, both by the British and their commander, John Parker, the militia began doing so. But then a shot rang out, and another. The shot heard round the world, it was called. When it was over, eight colonists lay dead, some bayoneted. One British soldier was slightly wounded. Who fired the first shot would be forever a mystery:
It is possible that one of the first shots was fired deliberately, either from an emotion of the moment, or a cold-blooded intention to create an incident. More likely, there was an accident. Firearms seemed to have a mind of their own in the 18th century.
The question of who shot first was not merely academic. For the rebels, it was important not to be seen as the initial aggressor. Fischer notes Parker’s famous command: “Don’t fire unless fired upon. But if they want to have a war let it begin here.” In Fischer’s telling, Parker did this because he and other leaders wanted no responsibility for any bloodshed. Their fight must, and would, be framed as a defensive struggle.
Concord was where the battle became fully joined, and ultimately very deadly for both sides. The British suffered the worst of it. “If I draw my sword but half out of my scabbard, the whole banditti of Massachusetts will run away,” Royal Marines Major John Pitcairn had said beforehand, but here as at Lexington, he was shocked by both the ferocity and the organized resistance he encountered.
So too were the Americans. It was a bold step to draw blood against those still thought of as countrymen, and there were times in the day when rebel soldiers held back from attacking British Regulars in clear view. But when they did fire, the effect was often devastating.
Fischer pushes back hard on the enduring image of Concord, of a solitary man firing a few shots from behind a stone wall:
The fighting on this day was not merely an open running skirmish along the Battle Road. It was also a series of controlled engagements, in which the Middlesex farmers fought as members of formal military units. Here again, America remembers the individual and forgets the common effort.
At Concord, the Minutemen (called that for their ability to gather within a minute) were able to line up quickly and catch the British just as they approached the North Bridge at the Concord River. This was, Fischer points out, “crossing the T” in nautical combat terms. The Regulars retreated pell-mell back to Lexington. Attacks continued at several points on the road, with different militia units taking their licks in turn.
Near Lexington, one of the forces lying in wait was Capt. Parker’s remaining militia, who made the Regulars pay for their assault this time. Other groups made their stands at other points along the road, in combat that often became hand-to-hand. “Altogether, it was an extraordinary display of courage, resolve, and discipline by citizen-soldiers against regular troops,” Fischer writes.
After it was all over, the other battle began, one for the hearts and minds of the people. Not only the American people, either. Fischer notes a sea race to London between a courier sent by Gage and another sent by the rebel leaders. The latter arrived first, and presented the struggle to sympathetic Whigs as one of an oppressed people fighting tyranny.
The message was much the same across the colonies, Fischer notes:
In strictly military terms, the fighting on April 19 was a minor reverse for British arms, and a small success for the New England militia. But the ensuing contest for popular opinion was an epic disaster for the British government, and a triumph for American Whigs. In every region of British America, attitudes were truly transformed by the news of this event.
Revere’s contribution to the cause was very similar, and why Fischer invests him with such importance. As a person, however, he remains an enigma in Fischer’s hands, a mysterious figure who clung to the shadows even during his day in the spotlight. He doesn’t come alive.
Readers of Fischer’s other Revolutionary War history, Washington’s Crossing, should expect a similar experience. The book covers a lot of ground, with generous appendices laying out everything from the local weather to the distribution of forces. You get an engaging narrative, but more enjoyable are the scholarly detours and copious footnotes, which may be hard to believe if you haven’t read Fischer before.
Fischer even has at the myths and legends surrounding the battles, and Revere’s place in them. Did you know the fate of the horse Revere rode to Lexington the morning of the battle? Or how the Rebels knew the British were attempting a crossing by sea? There are times when Fischer seems too content to print the legend, but he is meticulous in his sourcing and careful to separate the facts from the suppositions.
Does he overstate Revere’s importance? I think he does extend a kind of bias of proximity, that because he was on the scene at moments of great consequence he made a unique difference in their outcomes. He got captured before reaching Concord and spent much of the day hiding in the woods. But the boosterism is both enjoyable and credible overall.
All
in all, it is a marvelous way to begin your Revolutionary education, or
reconsider what you thought you knew.
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