by Kae Wadsworth Longfellow
(Setting: The Charlestown shore, Boston, MA, 18th of April, 1775. A confused Absalom Van Wyck runs into Paul Revere, who, impatient to mount and ride, booted and spurred, with a heavy stride, paces back and forth, looking anxiously into the distance.)
Van Wyck: (on horseback) Pleasant night, isn’t it?
Revere: (his attention elsewhere) I suppose so.
Van Wyck: Signs of an early spring, in all likelihood.
Revere: Could you possibly move a bit in one direction or the other? You’re blocking my view of the belfry arch of the Old North Church just across the bay. Thanks.
Van Wyck: Say, would you look at that ship? It seems to be magnified by its own reflection in the tide. Care for a mint?
Revere: What? No. No, thank you. Really, I-- There it is!
Van Wyck: There what is?
Revere: A glimmer, no-- a gleam of light! Two lanterns! They’ve come by sea, by God! (He jumps on his horse.)
Van Wyck: You seem to be in a hurry.
Revere: Indeed I am, buddy.
Van Wyck: Something important, eh?
Revere: (both he and his horse chafing at the bit) You have no idea. I don’t mean to boast, but the fate of a nation is riding tonight.
Van Wyck: That’s rather poetic.
Revere: Isn’t it, though? But, really, Mr. ---
Van Wyck: Van Wyck.
Revere: Pleased to make your acquaintance. (tipping his tri-cornered hat) Paul Revere. As I was saying, Mr. --
Van Wyck: Call me Abe.
Revere: (both he and his horse circling impatiently) No, I’d rather not. I really have to get going.
Van Wyck: Perhaps we might ride together.
Revere: I think not, Mr.--
Van Wyck: Van Wyck.
Revere: Right. No, I believe I’ll go it alone, if you don’t mind. I figure if I can cross the bridge into Medford town at twelve by the village clock, I can reach Lexington in another hour, and then, God willing, Concord, by one in the a.m. In short, I hope to pass through every Middlesex village and farm and then get back to Boston by the time my wife wakes up. I never told her I was going out.
Van Wyck: Well, I’ll just tag along, if you don’t mind. It’s a free country.
Revere: Actually, no, it isn’t.
Revere yields to his companion, however, and they ride in silence briefly.)
Revere: (sarcastically) Going my way, are you?
Van Wyck: According to my map, yes.
Revere: So where are you headed, Mr.--
Van Wyck: Van Wyck.
Revere: Right.
Van Wyck: I have a dinner engagement with a charming young person.
Revere: A dinner engagement! It’s a little late for dinner, isn’t it?
Van Wyck: Maybe I can catch the tail end of dessert, if you know what I mean. (Winks, though in doing so, loses his sliding temple pince-nez spectacles. The horse immediately crunches them with his front left hoof. Van Wyck winces.)
Revere: So where is this dinner engagement?
Van Wyck: Braintree.
Revere: Great Jumping Beans, man, you’re not even in the right county. This is Suffolk. Braintree is in Norfolk.
Van Wyck: So Braintree is...
Revere: South-southwest, about nine miles.
Van Wyck: Gosh, my horse is pretty worn out. It might take me another day, what with meals and rest stops, to get there. Just as long as I arrive by the 17th, though, I should be okay.
Revere: I hate to break it to you, pal, but this is the 18th.
(Startled, Van Wyck looks at his map, then realizes that even if it could help him with the date, conditions are too dark to see, and furthermore, he has lost his spectacles.)
Van Wyck: By Thunder, next thing you’ll be telling me is this isn’t the Albany Post Road.
Revere: It’s not even the Boston Post Road.
Van Wyck again attempts to look at his map, then gives it up as a lost cause.)
Van Wyck: So we’re in...?
Revere: Massachusetts.
Van Wyck: Golly.
Revere: Listen, I’ve enjoyed the chat, but really, if I’m going to make it to Lexington on time, I have to open up full throttle.
(Revere spurs his horse and gallops into history, leaving Van Wyck to find his way back to either New York or Braintree, whichever is closer.)
(Setting: The Charlestown shore, Boston, MA, 18th of April, 1775. A confused Absalom Van Wyck runs into Paul Revere, who, impatient to mount and ride, booted and spurred, with a heavy stride, paces back and forth, looking anxiously into the distance.)
Van Wyck: (on horseback) Pleasant night, isn’t it?
Revere: (his attention elsewhere) I suppose so.
Van Wyck: Signs of an early spring, in all likelihood.
Revere: Could you possibly move a bit in one direction or the other? You’re blocking my view of the belfry arch of the Old North Church just across the bay. Thanks.
Van Wyck: Say, would you look at that ship? It seems to be magnified by its own reflection in the tide. Care for a mint?
Revere: What? No. No, thank you. Really, I-- There it is!
Van Wyck: There what is?
Revere: A glimmer, no-- a gleam of light! Two lanterns! They’ve come by sea, by God! (He jumps on his horse.)
Van Wyck: You seem to be in a hurry.
Revere: Indeed I am, buddy.
Van Wyck: Something important, eh?
Revere: (both he and his horse chafing at the bit) You have no idea. I don’t mean to boast, but the fate of a nation is riding tonight.
Van Wyck: That’s rather poetic.
Revere: Isn’t it, though? But, really, Mr. ---
Van Wyck: Van Wyck.
Revere: Pleased to make your acquaintance. (tipping his tri-cornered hat) Paul Revere. As I was saying, Mr. --
Van Wyck: Call me Abe.
Revere: (both he and his horse circling impatiently) No, I’d rather not. I really have to get going.
Van Wyck: Perhaps we might ride together.
Revere: I think not, Mr.--
Van Wyck: Van Wyck.
Revere: Right. No, I believe I’ll go it alone, if you don’t mind. I figure if I can cross the bridge into Medford town at twelve by the village clock, I can reach Lexington in another hour, and then, God willing, Concord, by one in the a.m. In short, I hope to pass through every Middlesex village and farm and then get back to Boston by the time my wife wakes up. I never told her I was going out.
Van Wyck: Well, I’ll just tag along, if you don’t mind. It’s a free country.
Revere: Actually, no, it isn’t.
Revere yields to his companion, however, and they ride in silence briefly.)
Revere: (sarcastically) Going my way, are you?
Van Wyck: According to my map, yes.
Revere: So where are you headed, Mr.--
Van Wyck: Van Wyck.
Revere: Right.
Van Wyck: I have a dinner engagement with a charming young person.
Revere: A dinner engagement! It’s a little late for dinner, isn’t it?
Van Wyck: Maybe I can catch the tail end of dessert, if you know what I mean. (Winks, though in doing so, loses his sliding temple pince-nez spectacles. The horse immediately crunches them with his front left hoof. Van Wyck winces.)
Revere: So where is this dinner engagement?
Van Wyck: Braintree.
Revere: Great Jumping Beans, man, you’re not even in the right county. This is Suffolk. Braintree is in Norfolk.
Van Wyck: So Braintree is...
Revere: South-southwest, about nine miles.
Van Wyck: Gosh, my horse is pretty worn out. It might take me another day, what with meals and rest stops, to get there. Just as long as I arrive by the 17th, though, I should be okay.
Revere: I hate to break it to you, pal, but this is the 18th.
(Startled, Van Wyck looks at his map, then realizes that even if it could help him with the date, conditions are too dark to see, and furthermore, he has lost his spectacles.)
Van Wyck: By Thunder, next thing you’ll be telling me is this isn’t the Albany Post Road.
Revere: It’s not even the Boston Post Road.
Van Wyck again attempts to look at his map, then gives it up as a lost cause.)
Van Wyck: So we’re in...?
Revere: Massachusetts.
Van Wyck: Golly.
Revere: Listen, I’ve enjoyed the chat, but really, if I’m going to make it to Lexington on time, I have to open up full throttle.
(Revere spurs his horse and gallops into history, leaving Van Wyck to find his way back to either New York or Braintree, whichever is closer.)