Paul Reverse Tells His Story of that Faithful Day, The Day the American Revolution Began

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My name is Paul Revere, and I'm sure you've heard a bit about me — maybe something about a midnight ride? Well, let me tell you my story from the beginning.

I was born in Boston, Massachusetts, in 1735. My father, Apollos Rivoire, was a French Huguenot who came to America, anglicized his name to Revere, and set up shop as a silversmith. I learned the trade from him and became a silversmith myself. In fact, that was my life for many years — working with my hands, shaping fine silver pieces, and making a good living. But Boston in the 1760s and '70s was no place for a man to ignore what was happening around him. The tension between the British crown and the American colonies was growing, and like many Bostonians, I became heavily involved in the cause for liberty.

I joined the Sons of Liberty, a group dedicated to resisting British rule. You see, the British government had imposed a series of taxes and laws on the colonies — the Stamp Act, the Townshend Acts, the Tea Act — and we weren’t having any of it. The crown seemed to believe they could rule us from across the ocean, without allowing us any representation in their Parliament. The Sons of Liberty took action, sometimes quietly, sometimes loudly, to resist these unjust measures. You may have heard of the Boston Tea Party — that was us. A group of us dressed as Native Americans, boarded British ships in the harbor, and dumped crates of British tea into the water to protest the Tea Act.

But my most famous moment came on the night of April 18, 1775. Word had come to us that British troops were planning to march to Lexington and Concord. Their mission? To arrest Samuel Adams and John Hancock, two leaders of the Sons of Liberty, and to seize weapons and ammunition stockpiled by the colonial militias. We had to warn our people.

So I, along with William Dawes and Samuel Prescott, set out that night to spread the alarm. We needed to let the people know that the British — or the "Regulars," as we called them — were on the move. I was given the task of riding from Boston out into the countryside, through towns like Lexington and Concord, calling out the warning to the militia and the people. Yes, I really did shout, "The British are coming!" but not quite as loudly or dramatically as some stories might say. It was more about quietly spreading the word so as not to alert the British patrols.

As I rode through the dark streets and farms, the sense of urgency never left me. We were on the brink of something huge — a revolution. The people needed to be ready. At one point, I was captured by British troops and held at gunpoint. They demanded to know what I was doing. I wasn’t afraid to tell them. I knew they couldn’t stop what was coming. The revolution was already in motion. Fortunately, they let me go, though they did confiscate my horse. I made my way back to Lexington on foot.

The warning was successful. By the morning of April 19th, the colonial militia was prepared, and the first shots of the American Revolution were fired at Lexington and Concord. Those "shots heard 'round the world" sparked the beginning of the war that would eventually lead to our independence.

Now, I didn’t fight in every battle. I returned to my work as a silversmith, but I stayed active in the cause. I helped supply the Continental Army and served in various capacities throughout the war. Afterward, I went back to Boston and lived out my days, proud of my small part in the grand story of American independence.

So remember, even though you might think of me for one famous ride, I was just one man among many who believed that freedom was worth fighting for — and worth warning others about.

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