It was Nat’s helpless situation, chained, locked in a strong room, guarded by watchful soldiers, that so tinged his thoughts. The truth was that matters were not nearly so hopeless as he pictured them.
The Porcupine, breathless, pale of face, had reached Dr. Warren’s door. Scarcely could he reach the knocker, even by standing upon his toes; but when he did reach it, its “rat-tat-tat” awoke the echoes in Hanover Street. It was the doctor himself, anxious, expectant, who came to the door and received the queer message. As he read it his mouth tightened.
“And where is Nat?” inquired he.
“I think they’ve got him,” said the Porcupine. “They were after him when he passed me this and told me to run.”
Warren said nothing to this. Bidding the dwarf sit down, he scratched off a note and sealed it.
“You’ll take my horse and ride to North Square,” he said quietly. “Mr. Revere will still be at home,” with a glance at the clock. “You’ll give him this note. Don’t fail. A great deal depends upon it.”
In an incredibly short time the dwarf pulled up at Revere’s house, and walking in presented the note, which that gentleman immediately read. It was past dark by this time and some candles burned in the room. Revere twisted the note into a spill, touched it to a flame and watched it turn black and crumble away on the floor.
“I’ll go with you at once,” he said quietly.
So he pulled on his heavy boots, buttoned his surtout, took up his three-cornered hat and started back to Hanover Street with the dwarf. Once there, Warren received them with great eagerness.
“I have just sent off William Dawes by the long way ’round the neck,” said he.