At eleven, the moon was risen, and the grim passenger, Paul
Revere, had ridden up the Neck, encountered a foe, who opposed
his ride into the country, and, after a brief delay, rode on,
leaving a British officer lying in a clay pit.
At mid-night, a hundred ears had heard the flying horseman cry,
"Up and arm. The Regulars are coming out!"
You know the story well. You have heard how the wild alarm ran
from voice to voice and echoed beneath every roof, until the men
of Lexington and Concord were stirred and aroused with patriotic
fear for the safety of the public stores that had been committed
to their keeping.
You know how, long ere the chill April day began to dawn, they
had drawn, by horse power and by hand power, the cherished stores
into safe hiding-places in the depth of friendly forest-coverts.
There is one thing about that day that you have NOT heard and I
will tell you now. It is, how one little woman staid in the town
of Concord, whence all the women save her had fled.
All the houses that were standing then, are very old-fashioned
now, but there was one dwelling-place on Concord Common that was
old-fashioned even then! It was the abode of Martha Moulton and
"Uncle John." Just who "Uncle John" was, is not now known, but he
was probably Martha Moulton's uncle. The uncle, it appears by
record, was eighty-five years old; while the niece was ONLY
three-score and eleven.
Once and again that morning, a friendly hand had pulled the
latch-string at Martha Moulton's kitchen entrance and offered to
convey herself and treasures away, but, to either proffer, she
had said: "No, I must stay until Uncle John gets the cricks out
of his back, if all the British soldiers in the land march into
town.
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