Rush Revere and the First Patriots: Time-Travel Adventures With Exceptional Americans

by Rush Limbaugh

  “Yes, Captain! Seventeen sixty-five Virginia.” He turned to Tommy and Cam and said, “I pay very close attention when Rush Revere announces our future historical destination. In fact, right now my time-travel senses tell me that Patrick Henry is very close by.”

  “Your time-travel senses?” Tommy asked.

  “Yep!” Liberty nodded. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Is it like a tingling feeling at the base of your skull?” Tommy said, curiously.

  Liberty looked surprised and said, “Actually, yes! How did you know?”

  Tommy smiled, “It’s the same kind of feeling that Spider-Man gets when he senses danger. His Spider-Sense gives him a psychological awareness of his surroundings. It sounds like your Time-Travel-Sense gives you a chronological sense of history as well as a keen awareness of the historical figure we’re looking for.”

  “You mean I have a super power?” Liberty asked, like he just found out that school had been canceled. “Wow! I never thought of it like that. Wait, let me try using my super sense!” Liberty closed his eyes as if he were concentrating.

  “Your horse, he really can talk!” said Cam. “And we really did jump through some kind of worm hole to the year 1765!” He laughed and added, “That’s sick!”

  “You’re sick?” Liberty asked. “Maybe you have time-travel motion sickness, you know, like seasickness.”

  “Not sick like ill, he means sick like awesome!” Tommy clarified.

  “That makes no sense at all,” said Liberty. “I would not be feeling awesome if I were sick.” Suddenly, Liberty was distracted by the sound of someone playing the fiddle. “Where is that music coming from?” he asked, listening more intently.

  “I should probably set some ground rules,” I said to Tommy and Cam. “I want us to be extra cautious since we’ve already seen British soldiers, okay? I don’t expect any problems but you never know.”

  “It’s like we’re in a virtual world, isn’t it?” asked Cam.

  “Yes,” I nodded, “except this is not a virtual world. Those Redcoats are real and their swords and bayonets and muskets are real too. So what I’m saying is no goofing off, got it?”

  “Got it,” said the boys in unison.

  “All right,” I said, “it looks like we’re ready to . . . hey, where’s Liberty?”

  “He was here a second ago,” Cam said.

  I cautiously walked around the building to where the front doors were. Across the street was a larger building with a sign that was barely visible. It said Hanover County Courthouse. A few other buildings could be seen up and down the dimly lit street.

  “Hey, there’s Liberty,” said Cam, pointing to the building we were hiding behind. “And it sounds like there’s a party going on inside.”

  Liberty was standing near the front door and bobbing his head to the rhythm of the fiddle. I could also hear several voices talking and laughing from inside the establishment.

  “What kind of building is this?” Tommy asked.

  “My guess is a tavern,” I said.

  “You mean, like a bar?” Tommy asked.

  “Yes,” I confirmed. “No worries. There aren’t any biker gangs in the eighteenth century.”

  Liberty walked back to where we were standing and sighed, “I guess this means I have to stay out here.”

  “We’ll be back soon,” I said. “In the meantime, we need you to keep a lookout for any Redcoats,” I said.

  “That is sort of important,” Liberty said. “I’ve got you covered!”

  I noticed Tommy pull something from his pocket. “Have some bubble gum,” he said as he unwrapped the gum and tossed it to Liberty who snatched it out of the air with his lips.

  “Oh, I’ve always wanted to try this,” Liberty said as he chewed. “How exactly do you blow a bubble?”

  Tommy smiled, maneuvered his own piece of gum in his mouth, and then began to blow.

  “Fascinating!” said Liberty.

  I rolled my eyes and said, “Let’s enter the tavern.”

  As we entered we saw several tables against each wall. Well-dressed men with bright-colored coats and tricorn hats like the one I wore were sitting among the tables. Other men with collarless shirts and vests were seated as well and all the men were wearing breeches, stockings, and leather shoes. Candles flickered at each table as well as in sconces fixed to the walls. Men were telling stories, drinking from mugs, or playing cards. One man sat alone at an empty table playing the fiddle.

  “Let’s join the man with the fiddle,” I suggested. “Perhaps he can tell us which of these men is Patrick Henry.”

  “Wait a second,” said Cam. “Do you mean the Patrick Henry, as in one of America’s Founding Fathers?”

  “The very one,” I confirmed.

  “No way!” Cam beamed. “You know I’m a history buff, right? Patrick Henry is a rock star! Seriously, I’ve read his speeches and he was amazing! He’s the guy who said, ‘Give me liberty or give me death!’ ”

  “That’s right,” I said. “He was one of the most influential champions of the American Revolution. Benjamin Franklin highly recommended that we visit him.”

  “Man, this is an awesome field trip. Thanks for inviting me!” Cam said.

  As we approached the man with the fiddle he stopped playing. He wore a purple vest and linen shirt. His purple coat with gold buttons was thrown over a chair. He looked to be in his late twenties, maybe thirty years old. His hair was neatly combed and pulled back into a short ponytail.

  “Excuse me, sir,” I said, “but can you tell me which of these men is Patrick Henry?”

  “Patrick Henry!” he exclaimed in an animated whisper. “You don’t want to be associated with him. Haven’t you heard? He’s a radical! He’s an outspoken lawyer that says what he will even if he offends the King!”

  I was surprised by the man’s warning and said, “Yes, well, we understand he’s an opponent of the King’s Stamp Act.”

  “Shh,” said the man with the fiddle. “Don’t speak so loudly when you talk about the Stamp Act that way. Do you want the King’s spies to hear you?” The man glanced over our shoulders at the other men in the tavern. “Come, sit with me. You tell me what you’ve heard and I’ll tell you what I’ve heard about that rabble-rouser Patrick Henry.”

  We each grabbed a chair and sat around the table. I glanced at the other men who were talking and laughing. Any one of them could be Henry, I supposed. Unless he wasn’t here, but Liberty seemed so certain about it.

  “Forgive my manners,” said our new host. “You must be parched. What can I get you to drink?”

  “You’re too kind,” I said. “I’d like some tea.”

  “And what would your servants care to drink?” He looked toward Tommy and Cam and said, “I assume these are your servants? Or perhaps one is your son and the other a slave, a well-dressed slave I must say.” He glanced at Cam’s dark skin and clothes.

  Cam was clearly surprised by the comment, and his face contorted into an odd look of calm and consternation that I hadn’t seen in him before. I put my hand on his shoulder and was about to say something reassuring but instead Cam boldly exclaimed, “I understand this is 1765 and you aren’t enlightened to the reality of freedom for all men yet, but I am free and will always be free, just like this country.”

  I was impressed with his strength and composure in a difficult moment.

  The fiddler smiled and looked thoroughly impressed with Cam. He said, “Well, I certainly do apologize, young man. I meant no offense.”

  Tommy looked relieved.

  Suddenly, the fiddler jumped up onto his chair and with a foot on the table and his fiddle underneath his chin he began to play a fervent tune while tapping his foot. I looked at Tommy and Cam, who were all smiles. Tommy looked back at me and mouthed the words, I think this guy is nuts! Cam nodded with enthusiasm and gave me the universal symbol for crazy by twirling his finger near the side of his head. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any stranger, the fiddl
er stopped playing and sprang with both feet on top of the wooden table. That’s when he started singing and acting out his song!

  Our worthy forefathers—let’s give them a cheer—

  To climates unknown did courageously steer;

  Thro’ oceans to deserts, for freedom they came,

  And, dying, bequeath’d us their freedom and fame!

  The room burst into applause and cheers. Some of the men were louder than others but all seemed to applaud the man’s song. The men soon returned to their own conversations and the room became quiet, as it had been before.

  The fiddler stepped down and patted Cam on the shoulder. “We shall all drink to freedom tonight,” said the fiddler. “With whom do I have the pleasure of drinking?”

  I replied, “This is Tommy and Cam, my apprentices. And my name is Rush Revere. I’m a history teacher and I was—”

  “Revere, you say? Hmm, are you related to Paul Revere?”

  “I believe I am!” I exclaimed. “I mean I’ve not actually met him but I’m a great admirer and we fight for the same cause.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” the man said, smiling. “Now then, perhaps Tommy and Cam would enjoy a cup of chocolate?”

  “That’s sounds great!” Tommy said. “Thank you!”

  “Yeah,” Cam said with a wink, “freedom and chocolate are definitely worth fighting for!”

  The man laughed and waved at the barkeep, who walked over to our table and took our orders. When he left I asked, “Where do you think we could find Patrick Henry?”

  “You’d be better off without him,” the man sniffed. “I heard he just gave a speech at the House of Burgesses in Virginia’s capital, Williamsburg. They say he spoke like thunder as he defended the rights of the colonies. He attacked the Stamp Act and said that the British Empire had no right to tax the American colonies. He said if we don’t stop King George III now he’ll keep taxing the people until he has us all in chains.”

  “I’m curious, what did the people say when they heard his speech?” I asked.

  “Ha! The governor of Virginia was furious!” said the man, who picked up his fiddle, again. “Especially when Patrick Henry said the stamp tax was a threat to our liberty! That’s when some of the older men cried, ‘Treason!’ ” The man played a fast and gloomy tune on his fiddle. He stopped playing and continued. “People say Patrick Henry is verbally attacking the King! Would you believe he actually compared King George to Julius Caesar and Charles I.”

  “Wow, that’s harsh,” Cam said. “Julius Caesar was a Roman dictator and King Charles was beheaded for crimes against England. Sounds like Patrick Henry is really going out on a dangerous limb here. He’s putting himself at risk.”

  “Perhaps your Patrick Henry values the cause of freedom more than his life,” said the fiddler.

  “That’s why I like him so much,” said Cam as he looked around the room. “I’d really like to meet him. I was hoping he could give me a few tips on how to speak like thunder! I’m thinking about running for student body president and speaking like thunder could come in handy.” Cam stood up from his chair and mimicked his presidential speech, declaring, “Students of America! You say you want freedom to speak your mind. You say you want your voice to be heard! You say you want a leader who will defend your rights and extend your lunch hour. If you vote for me I promise liberty and justice for all!”

  Liberty must have thought someone called his name because his head briefly appeared in the window and I saw him rigorously chewing his bubble gum. At least he wasn’t getting into trouble.

  As Cam sat down the fiddler stood up and began to applaud. In a booming voice, he said, “You have my vote! You are a most excellent orator, Cam. And you are brave to be so bold. Never let fear stop you from saying what needs to be said.”

  The barkeep of the tavern politely interrupted and set our beverages on the table. Wisps of steam rose from the silver mugs.

  Tommy leaned over his mug and smelled the wafting aroma of chocolate. “Wow, that smells delicious!”

  Cam sipped from his mug and said, “It’s a little different than what we have back home! This is creamier and little bit sour.”

  “And where is back home for you?” asked the fiddler.

  “We just moved from Colorado. My dad is in the military so we move every year or so. I guess I really don’t have a place I call home,” Cam replied.

  “Colorado?” the man asked. “Is this a new settlement in the West? I’ve not heard of it.”

  Just then the door burst open and a young man about seventeen or eighteen burst into the tavern. The men on either side of the room turned to see who or what the ruckus was. The boy took off his tricorn hat and wiped his brow. He scanned the room quickly and then rushed over to our table and tossed several newspapers in front of our host.

  “I brought the newspapers just like you asked, Mr. Henry,” the boy panted. “The other messengers arrived just like you said they would, from Maryland and Rhode Island and Massachusetts and other colonies. They’ve all printed your seven resolutions against the Stamp Act. It looks like the colonies have united in opposing the stamp tax!”

  “Henry?” I asked the boy. “Do you mean Patrick Henry?” I asked again, this time turning to the man with the fiddle.

  Patrick Henry gave a big hearty laugh to match Cam’s wide smile. “I’m afraid you’re sitting with a treasonous radical who defies the King of England!” thundered Patrick with a giant grin.

  I could hardly believe my ears. All this time we were sitting with one of the legendary forefathers of America! I blushed and said, “Forgive me, Mr. Henry. I should’ve recognized you earlier!”

  “Recognized me?” asked Patrick. “Have we met before?”

  I realized I couldn’t tell him that his picture is in every American history book.

  Patrick Henry proposes the Virginia Stamp Act Resolutions to the House of Burgesses in Virginia.

  “He means he should have recognized your voice of thunder,” Cam joked.

  Patrick laughed and said, “Cam, I enjoy your company.” After a moment, he became more serious and exclaimed, “Now that you know who I am I want you to know something about me, something that has troubled me for years.” He turned to look at Cam and said somberly, “The truth is I am very sorry to report that I own slaves.”

  “Why?” Cam asked, sincerely. “How can you say you’re fighting for freedom and still own slaves? Isn’t that hypocritical?”

  “Slavery has become an important part of the economy here in the South,” said Patrick. “But I have felt a great need to change the way things are in these southern colonies. Truly, I have felt tormented as my soul has wrestled with the owning of slaves, and I have come to realize that this wicked practice must come to an end. If we truly want to be a free people, a free land, a free America, then we must free the slaves. God cannot bless a country that allows the bondage and captivity of men, women, and children.” He took a deep breath, sighed, and said, “Indeed, I believe a time will come when we shall abolish this lamentable evil called slavery.”

  Cam said, “That sounds like a very good start!” Then Cam raised his hand and said, “High five!” He prompted Patrick to raise his hand as well. Patrick slowly lifted his hand and Cam slapped his upraised palm.

  Curious, Patrick asked, “You call that a high five?”

  “Yeah,” Cam replied. “It’s a gesture of triumph or success. It also means we’re friends.”

  “I like the high five,” said Patrick.

  “Wait until you learn the chest bump!” Tommy smiled.

  Patrick noticed that the boy who had delivered the newspapers was watching with great curiosity about five feet away. Patrick flipped the boy a large silver coin and the boy caught it in the air.

  “Thank you, Mr. Henry!” said the teenage boy, grinning from ear to ear. “If you will excuse me, sir, there is a peculiar horse out in the front of the tavern that caught my attention.”

  “Why did you say peculi
ar horse?” I asked nervously.

  The boy replied with wonder, “In truth, this horse had a large pink bubble attached to his mouth. It was small at first but then it grew to the size of a cantaloupe until it finally popped. Then the horse used his tongue to lick up the pink sap that stuck to his nose and lips until it was all back in his mouth and he began chewing it. I’m hoping he’ll do it again. I’ve never seen anything like it!”

  “Cam and I will come with you,” Tommy said. “I’m pretty sure I know what it is.” The boys got up from the table, thanked Mr. Henry for the hot chocolate, and exited the tavern.

  As Patrick Henry browsed the first newspaper I took out my phone, slipped it under the table, and typed a quick Facebook entry. Virginia 1765. Sitting here drinking tea with Patrick Henry! Historians say that he was the man who sparked America’s revolution. His seven resolutions to the Stamp Act articulated why America should reject and resist British taxation on the colonies. This brought on the Revolutionary War and finally separated America and England and gave independence to the colonies, which eventually became the United States of America!

  “Listen to this,” said Patrick as he read from the newspaper he was holding. “This writer reports on my speeches and my opposition to the King and his Parliament. He writes, ‘The tendons on Patrick Henry’s neck stood out white and rigid like whipcords. His voice rose louder and louder, until the walls of the building seemed to shake. Men leaned forward in their seats, their faces pale.’ ” Patrick’s laughter seemed to bounce off the walls. When he stopped he said, “They are scared of what the King will do when he finds out the colonies refuse to pay his stamp tax. What the King needs to understand is that before we will obey his laws we must have representation in Parliament. We want to help create the laws for the colonies. We demand the right to have our voices heard in England!”

  I realized my jaw was open as I listened to Patrick Henry defend the colonies. I finally said, “I admire your fearlessness, speaking out against the King. But you realize if your words get back to England the King is bound to send his Redcoats after you for treason. This is serious. They may hang you!”