"Who goes there? Halt!" was their stern com

mand.

Paul Revere looked at them. They were mounted and armed. Should he attempt to dash past them? It was too risky and his errand too important. But there was another road near by, whose entrance he had just passed. With a quick jerk at the rein he turned his horse, and in an instant was flying back at racing speed.

"Halt, or we will fire!" cried the officers, spurring their horses to swift pursuit.

Heedless of this command the bold rider drove headlong back, his horse quickly proving his mettle by distancing those of his pursuers. A few minutes brought him to the entrance to the Medford Road. Into this he sharply wheeled, and was quickly away again towards his distant goal. Meanwhile one of the officers, finding himself distanced, turned his horse into the fields lying between the two roads, with the purpose of riding across and cutting off the flight of the fugitive. He had not taken many steps, however, before he found his horse floundering in a clay-pit, while Revere on the opposite road shot past, with a ringing shout of triumph as he went.

Leaving him for the present to his journey, we must return to the streets of Boston, and learn the secret of this midnight ride.

For several years previous to 1775 Boston had been in the hands of British troops,-of a foreign foe, we may almost say, for they treated it as though it were a captured town. Many collisions had occurred between the troops and the citizens, the rebellious

feeling growing with every hour of occupation, until now the spirit of rebellion, like a contagious fever, had spread far beyond its point of origin, and affected townsmen and farmers widely throughout the colonies. In all New England hostility to British rule had become rampant, minute-men (men pledged to spring to arms at a minute's notice) were everywhere gathering and drilling, and here and there depots of arms and ammunition had hastily been formed. Peace still prevailed, but war was in the air.

Boston itself aided in supplying these warlike stores. Under the very eyes of the British guards cannon-balls and muskets were carried out in carts, covered by loads of manure. Market-women conveyed powder from the city in their panniers, and candle-boxes served as secret receptacles for cartridges. Depots of these munitions were made near Boston. In the preceding February the troops had sought to seize one of these at Salem, but were forced to halt at Salem bridge by a strong body of the people, led by Colonel Pickering. Finding themselves outnumbered, they turned and marched back, no shot being fired and no harm done.

Another depot of stores had now been made at Concord, about nineteen miles away, and this General Gage had determined to destroy, even if blood were shed in so doing. Rebellion, in his opinion, was gaining too great a head; it must be put down by the strong arm of force; the time for mild meas ures was past.

Yet he was not eager to rouse the colonists to hostility. It was his purpose to surprise the patriots

and capture the stores before a party could be gathered to their defence. This was the meaning of the stealthy midnight movement of the troops. But the patriot leaders in Boston were too watchful to be easily deceived; they had their means of obtaining information, and the profound secret of the British. general was known to them before the evening had far advanced.

About nine o'clock Lord Percy, one of the British officers, crossed the Common, and in doing so noticed a group of persons in eager chat. He joined these, curious to learn the subject of their conversation. The first words he heard filled him with alarm.

"The British troops will miss their aim," said a garrulous talker.

"What aim?" asked Percy.

"The cannon at Concord," was the reply.

Percy, who was in Gage's confidence, hastened to the head-quarters of the commanding general and informed him of what he had overheard. Gage, startled to learn that his guarded secret was already town's talk, at once set guards on all the avenues leading from the town, with orders to arrest every person who should attempt to leave, while the squad of officers of whom we have spoken were sent forward to patrol the roads.

But the patriots were too keen-witted to be so easily checked in their plans. Samuel Adams and John Hancock, the patriot leaders, fearing arrest, had left town, and were then at Lexington, at the house of the Rev. Jonas Clarke. Paul Revere had been sent to Charlestown by the patriotic Dr.

Warren, with orders to take to the road the moment the signal lights in the belfry of the old North Church should appear. These lights would indicate that the troops were on the road. We have seen how promptly he obeyed, and how narrowly he escaped capture by General Gage's guards.

On he went, mile by mile, rattling down the Medford Road. At every wayside house he stopped, knocked furiously at the door, and, as the startled inmates came hastily to the windows, shouted, "Up! up! the regulars are coming!" and before his sleepy auditors could fairly grasp his meaning, was away again.

It was about midnight when the British troops left Boston, on their supposed secret march. At a little after the same hour the rattling sound of hoofs broke the quiet of the dusky streets of Lexington, thirteen miles away.

Around the house of the Rev. Mr. Clarke eight minute-men had been stationed as a guard, to protect the patriot leaders within. They started hastily to their feet as the messenger rode up at headlong speed. "Rouse the house!" cried Revere.

"That we will not," answered the guards. "Orders have been given not to disturb the people within by noise."

"Noise!" exclaimed Revere; "you'll have noise enough before long; the regulars are coming!"

At these startling tidings the guards suffered him to approach and knock at the door. The next minute a window was thrown up and Mr. Clarke looked out.