Paul Revere’s House.
Berinthia Brandon, sitting in her chamber, looking out into the starlit night, saw the faint light of the rising moon along the eastern horizon. Twilight was still lingering in the western sky. In the gloaming, she saw the sailors of the warships and transports were stepping into their boats and floating with the incoming tide up the Charles. What was the meaning of it? She ran dowstairs and told her father and Tom what she had seen; and Tom, seizing his hat, tore along Salem Street and over the bridge across Mill Creek to Doctor Warren’s. The clock on the Old Brick Meetinghouse was striking ten when he rattled the knocker.
“The boats are on their way up the river with the tide,” he said, out of breath with his running.
Abraham Duncan came in, also out of breath.
“The lobsters are marching across the Common, toward Barton’s Point,” he said.
“All of which means, they are going to take the boats and cross Charles River, instead of marching by way of Roxbury,” said the doctor, reflecting a moment.