Sound Advice
Volume 11, Issue 2, 2008

Noise: The Sound of Independence

A recent trip to Boston has persuaded me that maybe not all noise is a nuisance. Sometimes, in the best possible way, it can change history. Let’s set the scene. It’s April 18th, 1775. It’s cold out; a shivery, damp Massachusetts spring night and your bed under the eaves of your rural farmhouse feels wonderfully snug. You've tumbled into a deep slumber when suddenly there’s an ungodly banging and shouting at your front door. It’s a man’s voice that sounds vaguely familiar, and he’s obviously very upset about something. Still, it’s warm in bed and you can’t help thinking that whatever his problem is, you wish he’d go away. But the yelling and hammering continue. Begrudgingly, you get up, pull on a robe and stagger down the stairs to the door. You pick up your unloaded pistol, just in case, to wave at the unwelcome visitor and frighten him off. "What's all the banging and shouting about?"

Opening the door, you recognize the man climbing back up on his horse. It's a silversmith you've done business with down in Boston, a short, stocky man in his early 40’s, astride a sweating horse that’s prancing impatiently. The man is unarmed, but has an air of extreme focus and purpose as he bellows something at you, words that force the fog of sleep to instantly evaporate: “The regulars are coming up!”  With a clattering of hooves on cobbles, he turns and gallops away down the lane towards the next farmhouse yelling “Yah! Yah!” urging on his snorting, agitated horse. Suddenly fully awake, you shout your thanks after him as he disappears into the night.  You turn and run up the stairs, rousing your sleeping family: “The British are coming!”

Using the "alarm and muster" practice that's been around since the French and Indian Wars, now it's time for you to get as loud as your silversmith friend. You load your pistol and fire it outside, climb to the highest hilltop on your land beating a drum, and light the warning bonfire at the summit. Your son joins you and sounds a small brass horn to wake the neighbors.

History records that a little after midnight, when that famous silversmith and disturber of the peace, Paul Revere, reached the Lexington parsonage to warn famous patriots John Hancock and Samuel Adams of the British advance, a sentry posted outside the building asked him to stop making so much noise. Revere’s documented response was prophetic:  "Noise!" he cried. "You'll have noise enough before long. The regulars are coming out!"

Just before dawn on the morning of April 19th 1775, the real noise began. Thanks to the early warning, Captain John Parker and 76 other Lexington militia men had gathered on Lexington Green to face down the 700 British troops making their way up to Concord to seize and destroy the colonials’ supplies. Parker ordered his men not to fire unless fired upon, and watched the army approach. Realizing that he was clearly outnumbered, Parker ordered his men to fall back. To this day no-one knows whether the British or the Americans fired first, but we do know that immediately after that first blast, the British opened fire on the retreating militia, killing eight Americans. There were no British casualties. With the colonials in full retreat, the regulars fired a victory volley, re-formed their marching ranks and pushed on towards Concord.

The Lexington deaths would be quickly avenged.  By the time the British reached the Old North Bridge in Concord later that morning, cold, tired and hungry after an all-night march of almost twenty miles, they found hundreds of minutemen and militia roused by the early morning ruckus. The colonials were fresh, waiting, and--having heard what happened at Lexington--ready for a fight. There, by the bridge, with the “shot heard round the world” (the first shot fired by the Americans at the British), the first British lives were lost. 

The Americans stood their ground, shocking the advancing line of experienced British soldiers into full retreat, in a running battle all the way back to Boston. The Revolutionary War had begun. Six long years later in a beautiful open pasture in Yorktown, Virginia, Cornwallis surrendered the British Army to General George Washington.

In the historic Granary Burial Ground in Boston, the grave of Paul Revere is visited daily by hundreds of people wishing to pay their respects. Short but poignant open letters addressed to the world’s most famous express rider rest on top of the humble Revere grave marker, held in place by small rocks. One, written in the spidery print of a young child, says simply: “Dear Mr. Revere, Thank you for your ride. Love, Jennifer.”

Just as there is no way for us to know how our history books would read today had it not been for Revere's long, cold ride, there was no way for the people of Lexington and Concord to appreciate the true meaning of all the noise they endured on April 18th and 19th, 1775.  It was the sound of freedom and independence to come.