The chaise which rumbled toward Burlington on April nineteenth carried the two most wanted men in America—wanted not for crime, but by Britain’s king for treason. It was not yet dawn, and neither passenger had slept much before hearing Paul Revere’s warning: British soldiers were approaching.
    
They sat in unbroken silence. Finally, the man sitting on the right of the chaise grumbled, smoothed his brocade coat and lacy jabot, crossed his arms, and said, “I think, Samuel, that I could better serve America by fighting the British, not by fleeing from them in cowardice.”
    
Samuel Adams shook his head. “Not cowardice, Mr. Hancock; merely common sense. We are to represent this colony in the Congress, not to fight and get killed at the first opportunity that arises.”
    
“I’ll show patriotism by marching with the minutemen!”
    
“We must show patriotism in Congress. In battle, the risk of death is too high.”
    
John huffed and rested his chin on his fist. “I still think—”
    
“Silence!” Samuel commanded, putting his hand up and staring intently—almost angrily—southwest.
    
Insulted by the interruption, John began again. Samuel glared and put his finger to his lips. Realizing that Samuel was concentrating, not merely dismissing the argument, John was quiet.
    
A faint, thunder-like explosion resonated across the countryside. John searched for thunderheads, saw none, and wondered, Was that really thunder? He turned to find Samuel, whose hands were quivering from excitement, beaming at him.
    
“What a glorious morning this is!” Samuel announced in a proud but shaky voice.
    
“A thunderstorm’s brewing.”

“The only storm brewing is war. That so-called thunder was actually gunshots, the overture to Independence, the battle in which you hoped to fight.”
    
John, whose heart had been set upon fighting in the battle, frowned.

“Cheer up, John. This war won’t be short. You’ll have many chances to prove your bravery under fire.”
    
“Why does it seem that you’re always right, Samuel?” (Samuel smiled.) “When I’m through with Congress,” John boasted, “I’ll fight—perhaps die—for Independence!”

Another volley of gunshots pierced the air.

“A glorious morning,” Samuel repeated confidently, “for Independence.”