The Ride Nobody Remembers

Jack Jouett was at Cuckoo Tavern in Louisa County on the night of June 3, 1781, when he saw a column of British cavalry halt for a rest. Tarleton's green-jacketed dragoons were unmistakable, and Jouett knew the only target worth a forced march in this direction was Charlottesville, where the Virginia legislature had reconvened, and Monticello, where the governor lived. He mounted his horse and rode.

The distance was roughly forty miles, much of it through heavily wooded country without proper roads. Jouett took back trails to avoid British patrols, pushing through branches that reportedly left permanent scars on his face. He reached Monticello around 4:30 in the morning, woke Jefferson, and then rode on to Charlottesville to warn the legislators.

His warning gave the government barely enough time. Jefferson lingered, trying to secure papers, and nearly did not make it. Several legislators who were slow to leave were captured. But most of the government escaped, and the legislature reconvened in Staunton a few days later. Without Jouett's ride, Jefferson and much of Virginia's political leadership would have been in British custody.

Paul Revere's ride — shorter, in settled territory, on good roads — became one of the most famous stories in American history, largely because of Longfellow's poem. Jouett's ride was longer, more physically demanding, and had arguably greater strategic significance. But no one wrote a poem about it, and so most Americans have never heard of Jack Jouett.

The Virginia legislature rewarded him with an elegant sword and a pair of silver-mounted pistols. He moved to Kentucky after the war and lived as a tavern-keeper and legislator. A county in Kentucky is named after him. But the national memory never found room for his ride alongside Revere's. History has its preferences, and they are not always fair.