The shot heard ‘round the world'; the start of the American Revolution. An event that would have profound consequences for world history, especially western democracy. Who’d have thought that something of such magnitude would begin in a small settlement with as many cows as people living in it?Don Wildman hops across the Atlantic from American History Hit to Echoes of History to help Matt Lewis understand how two tiny towns became the spark that lit the fire of the American War of Independence.Sign up to History Hit for hundreds of hours of original documentaries, with a new release every week and ad-free podcasts. Sign up at https://www.historyhit.com/subscribe. You can take part in our listener survey here.All music from Epidemic Sounds/All3 MediaAmerican History Hit is a History Hit podcast.Hosted by: Matt LewisEdited by: Tim ArstallProduced by: Matt Lewis, Sophie Gee, Robin McConnellSenior Producer: Anne-Marie LuffProduction Coordinator: Beth DonaldsonExecutive Producers: Etienne Bouvier, Julien Fabre, Steve Lanham, Jen BennettMusic:Main Menu Theme by Lorne BalfeBurial Mound by Lorne BalfeThe Convoy by Lorne BalfeFort Attack by Lorne BalfeDeadly Performance by Lorne Balfe
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Hello, everyone. Don here. Welcome to American History It. The battles of Lexington and Concord are among the most iconic in American history, marking the beginning of the Revolutionary War. Earlier this year, I had the pleasure of joining Matt Lewis, host of Echoes of History, a Ubisoft podcast brought to you by History Hit.
Stay tuned as Matt and I explore how these quiet rural villages outside of Boston suddenly became the unlikely setting for the famous shots heard round the world as history was about to change forever. Hope you enjoy. Music
The peace of the dawn air is disturbed by the rasp of drums. Their inexorable rhythm is so alien to your rural surroundings that even the pink glow of twilight seems spoiled by the sound. Nearby, you hear the clatter of hooves from a solitary rider. The pace is furious and the heavy panting of the horse is almost as loud as the warning cries from its master.
You wonder for how long and how far the poor beast has galloped through the night. Nevertheless, you understand the rider's hurry. Punctuating the calm morning air, the drums get ever closer. Their snare is unmistakable, and underneath you hear the crunch of marching feet. There can be no doubt what's creating the martial rhythm. As the rider passes each farmhouse, he repeats his warning.
From within the wooden buildings, voices rise in response. A tone of panic dominates. Wives wake their husbands, fathers rouse their eldest sons, and the bustle of urgent activity soon joins the muffled cacophony. You recognise the metallic clack of wrought iron and the thud of walnut wood. The tapping of ramrods confirms your suspicions.
The residents of this normally quiet town are preparing their firearms. The sound of drums is as clear as the sun above the horizon now, as the warmth of the first light of day creeps across the dewy ground, elongating the shadows of the trees into infinite black chasms. You can almost feel the tremors of hundreds of stamping feet and the rumble of cannon wheels on the road outside town.
Yet, already lining up in well-rehearsed formation on the common, seemingly all the adult men and their barely adult sons of the town are gathered to meet the oncoming force. They don't wear uniforms. They don't have standardized weapons or regulation hairstyles. In fact, there's nothing regular about them at all.
They look like nothing more or less than what they are, a militia of citizens ready to defend their families. The drums are in the town, the pounding echoes between the houses, and it sounds as if the drums are all around you. You look over your shoulder instinctively, just in case you really are surrounded. But there is nothing.
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