While Don was asleep, breathing the damp, fragrant air that blew over the rolling hills and fields round Concord, his friend, Paul Revere, was being rowed cautiously from the vicinity of Hudson’s Point toward Charlestown. It was then near half-past ten o’clock.

Revere, muffled in a long cloak, sat in the stern of the small boat and glanced now at his two companions—Thomas Richardson and Joshua Bentley—and now at the British man-of-war, Somerset, only a few rods off. The tide was at young flood, and the moon was rising. The night seemed all black and silver—black shadows ahead where the town of Charlestown lay, black shadows behind that shrouded the wharfs and shipyards of the North End, and silver shimmering splashes on the uneasy water and on the sleek spars of the Somerset.

The sound of talking came from the direction of the man-of-war and was followed by a burst of laughter that reverberated musically in the cool night air. Revere blew on his hands to warm them. The little boat drew nearer, nearer to Charlestown; now he could see the vague outlines of wharfs and houses. Several times he glanced over his shoulder in the direction of a solitary yellow light that gleamed in the black-and-silver night high among the shadows on the Boston side,—a light that burned steadily in the belfry of the Old North Meeting-House behind Corps Hill as a signal that the British were on their way by land to attack the Colonists.

“Here we are,” said one of the rowers, shipping his muffled oar and partly turning in his seat.

A few minutes later the boat swung against a wharf, and the two men at the oars held it steady while Revere stepped out. A brief word or two and he was on his way up the dock. In the town he soon met a group of patriots, one of whom, Richard Devens, got a horse for him. Revere lost no time in mounting and setting off to warn the countryside of the coming of the Redcoats.

He had not gone far beyond Charlestown Neck, however, when he almost rode into two British officers who were waiting in the shadows beneath a tree. One of them rode out into the middle of the path; the other charged full at the American. Like a flash Revere turned his horse and galloped back toward the Neck and then pushed for the Medford road. The Redcoat, unfamiliar with the ground, had ridden into a clay pit, and before he could get his horse free Revere was safely out of his reach.

At Medford he roused the captain of the Minute-Men; and from there to Lexington he stopped at almost every house along the road and summoned the inmates from their beds. It was close to midnight when he reached Lexington. Riding to the house of the Rev. Jonas Clark, where Hancock and Adams were staying, he found eight men on guard in command of a sergeant.

“Don’t make so much noise!” cried the fellow as Revere clattered up to the gate.

“Noise!” repeated Revere in a hoarse voice. “You’ll have noise enough here before long—the regulars are coming out!”

At that moment a window opened, and Hancock thrust his head out. “Come in, Revere!” he said. “We’re not afraid of you!”

Revere dismounted and hurried inside. In a few words he told his story, that the British were on their way either to capture Hancock and Adams or to destroy the military stores at Concord. While he was talking, William Dawes, who also had set out to warn the people, clattered up to the door.

After he and Revere had had something to eat and to drink they started for Concord and were joined by a Dr. Prescott, whom Don had seen once or twice in company with his uncle. With Revere in the lead the party rode on at a rapid pace.

About half-way to Concord, while Prescott and Dawes were rousing the people in a house near the road, Revere spied two horsemen ahead. Turning in his saddle, he shouted to his companions, and at that moment two more horsemen appeared.

Prescott came riding forward in answer to the shout, and he and Revere tried to get past the men, all of whom were British officers. But the four of them were armed, and they forced the Americans into a pasture. Prescott at once urged his horse into a gallop, jumped a stone wall and, riding in headlong flight, was soon safe on his way to Concord. Revere urged his horse toward a near-by wood, but just before he reached it six British officers rode out, and he was a prisoner.

“Are you an express?” demanded one of them.

“Yes,” replied Revere and with a smile added: “Gentlemen, you have missed your aim. I left Boston after your troops had landed at Lechemere Point, and if I had not been certain that the people, to the distance of fifty miles into the country, had been notified of your movements I would have risked one shot before you should have taken me.”

For a moment no one spoke; it was clear that the Redcoats were taken aback. Then followed more questions, all of which Revere answered truthfully and without hesitating. Finally they ordered their prisoner to mount, and all rode slowly toward Lexington. They were not far from the meeting-house when the crash of musketry shook the night air.

For an instant the major who was in command of the party thought they had been fired on. Then he remarked to the officer beside him, “It’s the militia.”

The officer laughed shortly and glanced at their prisoner. Then the party halted, and the British took Revere’s horse. The major asked him how far it was to Cambridge and, on being told, left the prisoner standing in the field and with the rest of the party rode toward the meeting-house.

A few minutes later Revere crossed the old burying-ground and entered the town. He soon found Hancock and Adams again and told them what had happened, and they concluded to take refuge in the town of Woburn. Revere went with them. He had done his duty.

Perhaps it was a vague feeling of impending danger, perhaps it was the mere twitter of a bird outside his window—at any rate Don awoke with a start. All was darkness in the room. A light, cool wind stirred the branches of the great elm at the side of the house; he could hear the twigs rubbing gently against the rough shingles. He had no idea what time it was; it must be after midnight, he thought; but somehow he was not sleepy. He raised his head a trifle. Down-stairs a door slammed; that seemed strange. Now someone was talking. “I wonder——” he said to himself and then sat bolt upright in bed.

The church bell had begun to ring at a furious rate. Clang, clang! Clang—clang! Don thought he had never before heard a bell ring so harshly or so unevenly. He jumped out of bed and began to dress. Clang! Clang! What in the world could be the matter? He could hear shouts now and the sound of hastening footsteps. In his excitement he got the wrong arm into his shirt. Clang! Clang—clang! He found his shoes at last and with trembling fingers got them on his feet. He unlatched the door and started carefully down the winding stairs. It seemed as if there were a hundred steps to those creaking old stairs. Twice he almost missed his footing—and all the while the bell continued to clash and ring and tremble.

In the sitting-room a single candle was burning. Don got a glimpse of his cousin Deborah, hastily dressed and still wearing her nightcap; she was standing at the door, and his Cousin Eben, with a musket in his hand and a powder horn over his shoulder, was saying good-bye. Don saw him kiss his wife. Then the door opened, the candle flickered, and he was gone.

“Cousin Deborah, what’s wrong?” cried Don.

“The regulars are coming!” And then Cousin Deborah burst into tears.

Don bit his lips; he had never thought of his cousin as being capable of tears.

They did not last long. A few movements of her handkerchief and Cousin Deborah seemed like herself again. “Donald,” she said, “they have begun it, and the good Lord is always on the side of the right. Now I want you to go back to bed and get your rest.”

“Are you going back to bed, Cousin Deborah?”

“No; there will be no sleep for me this night.”

“Then I shall remain up also,” replied Don.

Cousin Deborah made no protest but went to the stove and poked the fire.

The bell had ceased ringing now. The town of Concord was wide awake.

While Don and his cousin were eating a hastily prepared breakfast the Minute-Men and the militia assembled on the parade ground near the meeting-house. Meanwhile other patriots were hard at work transporting the military stores to a place of safety.

Dawn was breaking, and the mist was rising from the river when Don and his cousin finally got up from the table. “Now, Donald,” said Cousin Deborah, “I’ve been thinking all along of your Aunt Martha and blaming myself for my selfishness in having you stay here with me for so long. I’d give most anything if you were back there with her. And yet——” She paused frowning.

“Oh, I can get back all right,” said Don confidently.

“How?”

“Why, by keeping off the roads as much as possible. I know the country pretty well.”

“You’re a bright lad, Donald,” said Cousin Deborah. “You’re a bright lad; and I don’t know but what you’d better start. Your aunt needs you more than I do. But oh, Donald, you’ll be cautious!”

“I don’t think I ought to leave you here alone.”

“Drat the boy!” exclaimed his cousin and then smiled. “Bless you, Donald,” she added, “I’ll be safe enough. I shall go to Mrs. Barton’s until things are quiet again. Now go and get yourself ready.”

Don needed only a few moments in which to get his things together. Then he walked with his cousin as far as Mrs. Barton’s house, which was situated some distance beyond the North Bridge, bade her good-bye and started back. It was growing lighter every minute now, and the birds were singing in all the trees. On the road he met a Minute-Man who was hurrying in the opposite direction, and asked him the news.

“Regulars fired on our boys at Lexin’ton,” replied the fellow as he hurried past. Over his shoulder he shouted, “Killed six of ’em—war’s begun!”

Don said not a word in reply, but stood stock still in the road. For some reason a great lump had come into his throat, and he thought of his Aunt Martha. He must get to her as quickly as possible.

As he came near the North Bridge he saw the Provincial troops—the Minute-Men and the militia of the town and detachments of Minute-Men from some of the outlying towns; and all the while fresh soldiers were hurrying to swell the numbers. The British, he soon learned, were on their way to Concord, and several companies of Provincials had gone out to meet them.

Don left the town and struck off into the open country several hundred yards from the Lexington road. After a few minutes of rapid walking he saw the detachment of Americans coming back. He quickened his pace and finally broke into a run.

He had gone something more than a mile and a half when he suddenly stopped and threw himself on the ground. There on the road, marching steadily in the direction of Concord, was a large force of regulars. He could see the flash of metal and the bright red of their coats. For a while he lay there, panting. Then at last, spying a great rock with a hollow just behind it, he crept toward it and waited.

The long column advanced slowly. Now Don could hear the crunch of their feet on the hard road. He lifted his head cautiously and began to count; there must easily be a thousand Redcoats. The crunching grew louder as the head of the column came almost opposite to him. Now he could hear the rattle of equipment and the occasional jangling of a sword.

It was some time before the rear of the column had passed. He waited until it was perhaps a quarter of a mile up the road and then got to his feet. He ought not to have much trouble in reaching Boston if he started at once. He was about to resume his journey when a fresh thought came to him. Ought he to go without knowing what was to happen to the town of Concord—and to his Cousin Deborah? For at least five minutes he struggled with the question. “No, I oughtn’t!” he declared at last and, turning suddenly, began to retrace his steps.

It was close to seven o’clock when the regulars, in two columns, marched into Concord and sent a party over the North Bridge into the country. Don found a clump of spruces growing on a hillside and climbed into the lower branches of one of them. From that position he could see the scattered houses and the two bridges, though the distance was too great for him to be able to distinguish features or even the outlines of anybody in the town.

Part of the King’s force seemed to have disbanded, and later when Don heard the ring of axes he suspected that they were destroying the stores that had not been carried away. “Well,” he thought, “they won’t be able to destroy much.”

But when he distinguished blue smoke curling upward from several places near the centre of the town he almost lost his grip on the branch to which he was clinging. One of them was the court-house! Where was the militia? Where were the Minute-Men? He made out the peaked roof of his cousin’s house and the great elm standing beside it, and observed with some satisfaction that no Redcoats were close to it. Then a while later he saw the thread of smoke above the court-house grow thinner, and at last it disappeared altogether.

Don held his position in the tree for more than an hour. He ground his teeth as he saw a detachment of soldiers leave the town and cut down the liberty pole on the side of the hill. Where were the Minute-Men and the militia?

The main body of the regulars was well inside the town. At the South Bridge there was a small party on guard, and at the North Bridge was another party of about one hundred. Don was so much occupied with watching the Redcoats that he had failed to observe a long double column of Provincials coming down the hill beyond the North Bridge; they were moving at a fast walk and carried their guns at the trail.

At first glance he thought there were no more than a hundred of them, but as he watched he was forced to conclude that there were at least three hundred. He pulled himself farther out on the limb and waited.

The detachment of regulars, who were on the far side of the bridge, hastily retired across it and prepared for an attack. When the Provincials were a few rods distant the Redcoats opened fire, then waited and fired again, and Don saw two men fall. Then he saw a succession of bright flashes and heard the crash of arms as the Provincials returned the fire. Several of the enemy fell. Then there was more firing, and in a few minutes the British left the bridge and ran in great haste toward the main body, a detachment from which was on the way to meet them. The Provincials pursued the regulars over the bridge and then divided; one party climbed the hill to the east, and the other returned to the high grounds.

Don found himself trembling all over; he felt sick and dizzy. With much difficulty he reached the ground, where he lay for a few minutes. On getting to his feet, he saw the Redcoats who had first crossed the North Bridge returning. In the town there seemed to be much confusion; the sun glanced on red coats and polished trimmings as men hurried here and there.

Don would not trust himself to climb the tree again, but threw himself on the ground at the foot of it. He would rest for a while and then set out on his long journey back to Boston, fairly confident that his cousin had not been harmed. He had not slept a wink since some time between one and two o’clock in the morning; now it was after ten o’clock. So when his head began to nod he did not try very hard to fight off sleep.