The DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware, makers of better things for better living through chemistry, presents Listen My Children on The Cavalcade of America, starring Robert Ryan as Paul Revere and featuring Kenny Delmar as our storyteller. A hurry of hoofs in a village street, a shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, and beneath from the pebbles in passing a spark, struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet. That was all. So the poet wrote, but that wasn't all. The man who wrote that night lived for all of eighty-three crowded years. Other sounds beyond the beat of horse's hoof might well echo from the days of his years. This sound, for instance. The sound of a silversmith's hammer turning a handful of old coins into an object of beauty. Or this sound. We made this record of a church bell ringing in Boston just a few days back. Yet the bell itself was manufactured in eighteen hundred sixteen, one hundred and thirty-five years ago by the man who once rode through every middle sex village and farm. Here's another sound. That's the fearsome din made in the rolling mill of a modern manufacturer of copper and brass sheeting. One of eleven such mills operated today by a company founded one hundred and fifty years ago by the midnight rider, Paul Revere. So listen, my children, and you shall hear. More than the poet told. Sounds are all well enough. Sounds alone. But we need more direct and articulate testimony. Suppose we could by some magic summon from their scattered resting places a few of the people who actually knew the rider. There was one gentle soul who knew him very well indeed. Are you there, Dr. Joseph Warren? And you will tell us what you know of Paul Revere. That I will. For I loved the man. Indeed my debt of gratitude to him extends quite literally beyond the grave. Oh? And how could that be? Near the slope of Bunker Hill one sultry spring day long ago, a British musket ball put an end to all my mortal care. After the battle I was buried in a common unmarked grave. But there's not a pleasant tale. Please go on, Doctor. Well, when Boston was free again, my brothers sought out my bones among all the rest. Only Paul Revere could give my brother certainty. You see, he had once carved for me two fine false teeth of ivory. This, he said, this was your brother and mine. Yes, he knew me well. And you knew him. What was he like, Doctor? A dark, stocky, sturdy figure of a man he was. Of French blood. With a Latin fire well concealed beneath our common New England coldness of demeanor. Mr. John Singleton Copley has painted him well. With those strong craftsman's hands grasping a silver teapot. Strength, that's it. Strength was the key note of his mind and of his body. He was strong and utterly trustworthy. I remember one rainy April evening in 75 when I called at his workshop on North Square. Well, good evening, Doctor. Do come in. Good evening, Paul. Working late, I see. It takes my mind from Boston's troubles, Doctor. And Master Chambers must have this silver chain for his pet squirrel. Even if Boston blows up on the morrow. The explosion's not far off, my friend. I know. And you'll pardon me, Doctor. Aren't you working late yourself? You think I should leave Boston? Sam Adams and John Hancock have gone. So has John Adams. I saw Isaiah Thomas an hour ago. He's packing up his printing press to leave tonight. I'll stay on. Until I know for certain what the British intend. Paul, is it safe to talk to you? Quite safe. Ike Clemens, the moratorium engraver, he's left for his supper. I've sent the apprentices home. What's up? It's about Adams and Hancock. They've gone away, but not far enough. They're at the Clark Parsonage in Lexington. Yes, I know. Hmm. Apparently everyone knows, including General Gage. Paul's some definite mood is afoot. At midnight last night, all the small boats on the transports in the harbor were unshipped. The grenadiers and the light infantry have been taken off guard duty. Yes, I've been watching them myself. We think they're going after Adams and Hancock in Lexington. And then our stores of war at Concord. Probably sometime during the next three days. Now listen closely, Paul. Yes, Doctor. I want you to ride out tonight to Lexington and give the news to Hancock and Adams. Then to Concord. All cannon and ammunition must be hidden deep in the swamps. On your way back, I want you to see Colonel William Conant in Charleston. Tell him that signal lanterns will be hung in the belfry of Christchurch if the British move as a warning. One lantern if they march by land down the neck, two if they embark in boats for Cambridge. One if by land, two if by sea. Who's to hang the lanterns? Young Bob Newman the sexton. After you return this time and when we know which it's to be, you give Newman the word and then you ride again ahead of the British. Can you do it, Paul? Why yes, Doctor. Mr. Chambers' squirrel chain has all but finished. And I've just assigned my name to the sugar bowl for John Copley. Could I see the bowl? Thank you. Ah, what a little jewel. You know, Paul, when I look these days upon a thing of beauty, I find my eyes are hungry. And something in my mind is saying, look well, Joseph Warren, you may never see this loveliness again. Ah, Doctor, we'll all outlive this trouble. No, no, I've had my own warning lights. Ah, well, when all of us are gone and forgotten, Paul, you at least will be remembered as an artist in silver. Throughout his long life, Paul Revere always possessed a multitude of friends. None of them ever hesitated to ask for favors. But there was one who gave more than she received, his wife, Rachel Walker Revere. Are you there, Mistress Revere? I am indeed. What do you wish, young man? We'd like to know more about your husband, madam. Oh, that precious ride again. I suppose I'll never hear the end of it through all eternity. I tell you this, I tried to stop him. You tried to prevent your husband from, but why, ma'am? Now, what woman could wish her man to place a noose about his neck? Now, Doctor Warren's told you that Paul was strong. He was indeed, but I was stronger. I had to be. I was his second wife, you see, with six of poor Sarah Orne's children to look after, and one of my own in that April of 75. Oh, there were seven children then at the time. His eldest, Deborah, was 17, and the youngest, my own Joshua, was 15 months old. Now, do you wonder I could see little use in desperate night rides? I understand. Oh, he was a good man, my Paul. But he was too competent. Among the lawyers and the dreamers and the wild riffraff who called themselves sons of liberty, he was the one who could do things and do them right, all ship-shape and tidy. And to good advantage, perhaps. Well, things turned out, but how could I know that then? He came back from his first ride to Concord, the one nobody talks about, on the 16th of April, a Sunday. On the next Wednesday evening, Paul left the house and his workshop early. He didn't come back, and he didn't come back. Deborah and I were waiting up for him. Surely, ma'am, we'd best go to bed. He's no doubt gone to a meeting at the longroom club. The longroom argifiers have long since talked themselves out of Boston. They've left, as Paul should do. I'll wait for him. Shall we have to leave town, Mother? Oh, I wish I knew. I wish I knew if your father gets himself in more trouble. What was that? Just Toby barking. Not a greet is master, I hope. Oh, yes. Well, Paul? Well, Rachel, it's come. The British are marching tonight? Yes. And you? I have my orders from Dr. Warren. From Sam Adams, you mean? He twists all of you around his fingers. Paul, I simply won't hear of this mess. Now, Rachel, please. Deborah, please let Toby in, and don't let him follow me when I go out again. Yes, Father. Paul, you're not leaving the house again tonight. I must, Rachel. Quiet, Toby, quiet. Quiet. There. Good dog. Paul, where are you going tonight? Deborah, would you take Toby into the kitchen and keep him there? I'll try, but you know how he hates to leave you. Come along, Toby. Come on. Goodness, he's actually coming. Nice dog, Toby. Paul, I've asked you a question. Where are you going tonight? I'm ordered to ride again. Oh, good. I'll see you tonight. I'm ordered to ride again to Lexington, ahead of the troops, to warn the people. Ordered? Ordered? And by what right do they order you to do these things? They are my friends, Rachel. Friends, indeed. They've used you, Paul. They've honored me with important work. They've used you, these high and mighty long-room lawyers. They've used you because you're respected among the honest workmen here, because the workmen will follow you. They're my friends, I tell you. Dr. Warren's the finest man I've ever known. I'll not speak of our principles. No, let us not talk about liberty and Freeman's rights and such like sacred nonsense. Not with seven children in the house. Yes, I know. Oh, why must you always be the one to risk your neck and you alone? Not me alone. Billy Dawes is riding tonight. He goes the most dangerous way, by land, across the neck. Josh Bentley and Tom Richardson will roll me over to Charleston. Under the guns of the enemy fleet? Oh, no, Paul. We'll be quiet about it. Oh, no. Rachel, you mustn't weep. Please, we've gone over this so many times. They are my friends, Rachel. Yes, and I'm your wife. I know. I know. It's a poor bargain you've made. It was too much for Sarah, heaven-thought. Well, I'll not complain of the bargain. Rachel, if you say the word, I'll go to Warren and tell him he must depend on Bill Dawes alone. You can win, if you will. But think. Think first. Well? I'll not say the word, Paul. You'd hate me then, as long as we should live. Ah, it's settled then. I knew your answer. Yes, it's an old answer among women, folks. And I thank you for it. Well, I came to say goodbye. I'll say it now. No, don't say anything. Go, just go now, Paul, before I change my mind. They'll not catch me. They'll never catch me. Oh, Paul. Mother. Mother, oh dear, he's gone. Yes, Deborah, your father's gone. But I meant Toby. He's gone too. When he heard father go out, he pulled away from me and just bounded out the kitchen door. Well, never mind. He'll come back. But he'll follow father and... Mother, I heard... I heard you talking. I listened at the door. Well, child? At the market this morning, the story was everywhere. The British have posted men on the road to Lexington to stop... to stop a warning rider. Everybody knows about it. Well, then I expect your father knew it too. That it didn't stop him. But why? Why? Yes, my dear. Why didn't you stop him? You could have made him stay. Now he'll be killed. Oh, mother, why didn't you? Why? Because I love him. Someday, child, when you're married, you'll understand. I hope you will. Oh, it's Toby again. I'll let him in. Oh, there's a knot tied to his collar. Let me see. Come here, Toby. There. What does it say? My dear wife, you made me forget my spurs. My spurs? Please tie them to Toby's collar and let him loose. He'll find me ever yours, Paul. Oh, now I am worried it's not like Paul to forget anything. Well, get your father's spurs, child. It was young flood and the moon was rising. So Paul Revere wrote in later years. Their oars were muffled in a frannel petticoat borrowed from Tom Richards and Sweetheart. And still warm, said Paul, when they ripped it apart to find the blades. Past HMS Somerset with her 64 guns, they slipped on the flood tide with petticoat muffled oars. And so on to the Charlestown shore. Who's there? It's Revere. That's you, Colonel Conan? Yes. You saw the signal lantern? We did. So they're taking to the boats? Yes, we've not much time. You have the horse? Yes. Just over here. Come along. Here. It's John Larkin's finest mount. She'll do. Charlestown's best. I'll be off then. Good luck to you, Revere. I'll need it. Up. Slowly at first to the town gates. And then... You are listening to the Cavalcade of America, starring Robert Ryan, sponsored by the DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware, makers of better things for better living through chemistry. Tonight on the Cavalcade of America, Robert Ryan is appearing as Paul Revere in Listen My Children, and Kenny Delmar is our storyteller in a radio portrait of the early American patriot. Paul Revere's long, useful life was just beginning at 40 years. When the Continental Congress needed someone to engrave and print paper currency, the Congress naturally turned to Revere. When Massachusetts needed a commander for the militia defending Boston, Revere accepted the thankless post. And when cannon were needed, he... But let us seek expert testimony on that point. Fortunately, there was an expert about at the time. Are you there, Colonel Ansart? I am here, and I am bursting with world. Ah, you can tell us more about Paul Revere? No, we... I have seen him at work. And I tell you, there never was such a fellow for good hard work as this Bonhomme Revere. I am proud that his father, too, was French. I am proud that I could teach him a little. And I remember the morning he first called upon me. Good day to you, sir. You are, uh, let me see, you're, uh, Louis D. Mar-Goo-Gel? What is that you are reading, monsieur? An order from the Massachusetts Council of War. I've been told to find this, uh, Louis D. uh... Here, you read it. Oh, they have misspelled my name even more violently than usual. I am Louis de Mariquel. But here in your country, I am known as Louis Ansart. It comes more easily to the Yankee tongue. Well, then, Master Ansart, two things. First, I am to inspect the cannon you have made and get them off to Boston at once. Bien, bien. And secondly, I am to learn how to make cannon myself. Oh, uh, my name is Paul Revere. I am delighted to know you, monsieur Revere. You've had experience, then, at the forge, at the foundry. Master Ansart, I have never turned out anything larger than a silver teapot. So I figured it may take me as long as, say, uh, two weeks to learn this new trick. Two weeks? Two weeks? Oh, monsieur Revere, you are mad. I who was born to the art, I who was born and bred in the forge of France, even I am still learning. I beg your pardon, sir. But nonetheless, I believe I can learn what's necessary in two weeks' time. You see, I know metals. Where is your forge? Down at the river's edge, but... All right, let's go there at once. I want to get started. Now. And when the years of peace came, it was much the same. The Second Church needs a new bell. It is Paul who casts it by request. Though nothing more musical than a cowbell has ever been made in Boston before. And still the beautiful silver pours from the little shop. The ornate rococo of pre-revolutionary days gives way to the new, simpler federal design. But Revere is still the master of silver. There are more and more children. Rachel, like Sarah, was mother to eight. The children grow up. There are many in-laws and grandchildren. The year now is 1800. There is a foundry for bell casting now, as well as a silversmith shop. And Paul has a partner in business. A sturdy young son, Joseph Warren Revere. Save for his wife, no one was closer to Paul Revere than this namesake of the doctor who died at Bunker Hill. Are you there, Joseph Revere? I've not been gone so very long, sir. Not gone so long? No, you see, I lived a very long time. I was born in the days of revolution, but I lived to see the end of a civil war. I learned many things in my ninety-one years, most of them from my father. And one lesson stands out among the rest. It was evening, as I remember, at our home in Charter Street. My father had sent for me. Father, aren't you a little tired of bell making? Why, no, father. Everything's going well. We have more orders than we can fill. You remember two years ago, I wrote to the secretary of the Navy, suggesting that we might be able to make copper sheathing for ships of war. Yes, and you had no answer. Thank heaven. The answer has come, finally. We're going to try it, Joseph. But we don't know how to make sheet copper. It's a secret process, a British secret, as you very well know. The SS Constitution will soon need new copper. If things go on as they've been going, we'll not be able to get it from England. And does that concern Revere and Son? It concerns Revere, and I hope it concerns any son of mine. I have been asked to make copper sheathing by my government. I shall make copper sheathing. But father, even if we knew how, we have no space, no room for great movement. I have arranged to purchase a new site up at Canton on the Lynn at Canton Dale. Father, we haven't the money. You know we haven't the money. I know, I know. I've arranged to borrow it. Why must it always be you who takes the risk? Now, Joseph... They'll use you, father, just as they use you to print worthless money. They'll use you up and then forget to pay. I've heard those words before from your mother. They're true enough. Perhaps. But son, well, I've always figured I was sent here into this world to be used, as you put it, to be used up if necessary. I haven't done so badly so far. That's just it. Everything's going along so well. And you'd like to let well enough alone. Is that it? Yes. Yes, I would. Hmm. That isn't the way things work, boy. If this country is going to be a great one, and it will be someday, that will happen because we refuse to let well enough alone. Eh. However... Yes, father? Well, you are my partner, Joseph. I've done nothing final without your consent. If you say the word, I'll refuse the risk. Well, son? I... I can't do that. I can't ask you to quit. Good. Good. Now, about this so-called British secret. It's my belief. It's no secret at all. No magic trick. It's the impurities in the copper that cause brittleness in the sheeting. The trick lies in knowing how much heat to use and how to use it. But how can we find that out? By experiment, son. By doing it over and over. This way, that way, the other way. Until we know how. The log of the USS Constitution under the date of June 26, 1803 reads, The carpenters gave nine cheers, which was answered by the seamen and carkers, because they had in fourteen days completed coppering the ship with copper made in the United States of America. He is very old now, and in the garden of his home at Cantondale there are many children and grandchildren around him as always. When he was courting Rachel, he wrote her a poem, or verses rather, to tell her of his love. And in the quiet evening of his life, he turned again to making rhymes to tell of his content. In my last stage, how blessed am I to find content and plenty by. Under an aged, spreading oak, at noon, I take a favorite book. To shun the heat and feed the mind, in elbow-chair I sit reclined. At eve, within my peaceful cot, sometimes I meet, and sometimes not, the parson, doctor, or some friend, a neighbor kind, one hour to spend. In social chat, our time we pass. Drink all our friends in parting glass, the parson, doctor, neighbor gone. We prepare for bed, and so trudge on. Our thanks to Robert Ryan, Kenny Del Mar, and the Cabellcade Players for tonight's DuPont play, Listen My Children. Next week, the star of the DuPont Cabellcade will be the Dean of the American Theater, Walter Hamden. Our play, sequel at 70, tells of Dr. Benjamin Dugger, who discovered at the age of 70, one of the great medical boons of our time, oriomycin. Be sure to listen. Tonight's DuPont Cabellcade, Listen My Children, starring Robert Ryan and featuring Kenny Del Mar, was written by George H. Faulkner. Robert Ryan appeared through the courtesy of RKO and is currently starring in Flying Levenakes. Music was composed by Arden Cornwell, conducted by Donald Voorhees. The program was directed by John Zoller. This is Cy Harris speaking. Don't forget, next week, our star, Walter Hamden. Our play, sequel at 70. The DuPont Cabellcade of America comes to you from the Velasco Theater in New York and is sponsored by the DuPont Company of Wilmington, Delaware, makers of better things for better living through chemistry. Next, it's Hollywood Theater with Douglas Fairbanks on NBC.
