General Washington eyed him sternly. “Very interesting,” he said calmly. “And when is this attack to take place?”
“As soon as Howe’s reinforcements arrive,” Master Richardson answered. “Troops are on their way from Halifax even as we speak.”
Washington nodded, then turned to Old Put. “What say you, general?”
“I say we string him up by the neck.”
Master Richardson stiffened.
“We know, sir, what you have been up to,” Washington said.
“What . . . what . . . do you mean?” the schoolmaster stammered.
I stepped into the room.
He jumped like a startled deer when he saw me.
“I heard everything,” I said. “I was hiding in the attic above Colonel Stockdale’s room.”
He looked as thunderstruck as I had been the day before. Then his expression hardened into a sneer.
“We know of your treachery,” General Lee told him, waving the papers, “thanks to the bravery of this boy.”
“Bravery?” Master Richardson repeated with a laugh. “No doubt the boy is lying to save his own skin. I can tell you of his cowardice, but I have never seen bravery in him.”
“He brought us this,” General Lee said, handing him the report he had given to Stockdale. “Is this not your hand?”
The schoolmaster took the papers from him. “I taught hundreds at the writing school. That could be my hand, or any of my students. No doubt Daniel created this to throw us off his spying activities—or his father’s.”
“These papers were found in your room,” Old Put said. “And this codebook.”
Master Richardson shrugged. “Planted there by Daniel or his father.”
General Washington’s face was stern and angry. I could tell he did not believe the traitor.
Old Put yelled, “Tarnation, man, what were you thinking?”
Master Richardson’s eyes landed on me again. “Thank goodness I’m back in time to stop whatever plan this creature has in mind. You know he and his father feed and house the enemy in Boston, do you not?”
General Washington’s eyes were on fire. He banged his desk. “Do not cast blame on this brave boy!”
“Brave again? Tell them how brave you were last March the sixth,” the schoolmaster sneered. “I saved you—and Dr. Warren and Samuel Adams that day. And you were very happy to accept the tributes for my behavior then, Daniel Prescott. I cannot even guess at what your plan is now.”
He looked around the room, seeking support.
The schoolmaster turned to me again. “I assure you, Daniel, you will fail in this evil deed. As surely as you failed the wounded after the battle on Bunker’s Hill.”
“No one will believe your slander. This boy and his father are loyal Patriots,” General Lee told him. “I don’t know what you are.”
“Some of what he says is true,” I told General Washington. I did not meet his eyes. I was too ashamed. “I was a coward. I did not trip the ensign that day in Boston. Master Richardson pushed me into him.”
I remembered the soldier who had slumped into me, seeking comfort as he crossed into death. “After the battle . . . I got scared . . . so much blood . . .” My voice trailed off. Would my cowardice ruin my chance to expose the schoolmaster? I couldn’t let it. “I ran away then, but everything I said last night is true,” I said in the strongest voice I could muster. “Master Richardson has been selling our secrets to the British. He was in league with Dr. Church, and he continued to betray us on his own.”
I turned to my former schoolmaster. His eyes bore into mine. They were angry and hateful. I held his gaze steady. “Tyranny must be opposed—that’s what you taught me. I don’t understand why you’ve changed,” I said. “I thought you were a true Patriot.”
Master Richardson blinked and turned away.
“Greed,” Old Put roared. “It was simple greed.”
“Greed? Greed, you call it?” the schoolmaster snapped. “I call it survival. I was starving in Boston, and you would have let me. At least the British paid me. I would have died a slave to you and your cause.”
The questioning went on for another half an hour, then the talk turned to punishment. I slipped outside. I had no stomach for their words about hanging. A short time later, Father and I watched three soldiers escort the schoolmaster to the guardhouse.
How I wished I could be home with Mother and Sarah. But I would not be able to go back to Boston. Colonel Stockdale would surely see me shot or hanged.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Redcoats Set Sail
March, 1776
Father and General Washington agreed that I had better stay in camp. The general assured me that he could get news of my safety to Mother. I did not ask how, nor did he tell me.
The next day, Washington praised me in his daily orders to the troops. He thanked me “for gallant and soldier-like behavior in exposing a traitor in our midst.” I tried not to appear boastful when the soldiers patted me on the back and cheered for me, but the general’s words lit a fire inside of me. I could not stop grinning.
Father continued his guard duties. I helped where I could, acting as a messenger for the general. The war council met to decide on a plan of action. They decided to draw the British out of Boston, as they had on Bunker’s Hill. This time, they’d take the even higher and steeper hills to the south—Dorchester Heights.
Although spring was again in the air, the ground was too frozen to build fortifications in one night. The engineers devised a brilliant plan. We were to build wooden forts in camp and carry them to the top of Dorchester Heights in the dead of night.
The soldiers were pleased to have work to do after so many months of waiting. All about me I heard cutting and hammering. Straw and twigs were twisted into tight bundles to fill the wooden frames. In anticipation of the major battle to come, nurses were called in from the countryside, and nearby citizens were asked to make bandages.
One day I was working on some correspondence for the general when I stopped to admire the plans for the fortifications. I remembered how the Patriots had lost the battle at Bunker’s Hill only because they ran out of ammunition. What if there was a way to start winning the battle before the enemy could even advance up the hill?
I dropped my lucky shooter in front of the plans and let it roll off the table.
General Washington looked up from his papers.
“Too bad we don’t have giant marbles to roll down the hill,” I said.
The general picked up my marble and rolled it off the table as I had. “Barrels would do,” he said thoughtfully. “Filled with dirt and rocks.” He rolled the marble off the table again and his eyes lit up. “That’s a fine idea. They’ll fall head over heels.”
On the evening of March the second, General Washington ordered a bombardment of Boston from the Patriot lines that were farthest from Dorchester. The British returned fire. At nightfall the next day, we once again began to fire our cannons. I wondered if Stockdale thought his trick had worked. The British commanders must surely be wondering if an attack was forthcoming.
On the third night our cannons thundered again, but the difference was this—the roar of cannon fire blocked the sound of three thousand soldiers marching to the top of Dorchester Heights. Oxen huffed and wagons groaned with the weight of all they carried up the steep slopes, but the British heard none of it. A full moon guided our way, and Washington moved silently on his horse. His strong presence urged the men to hurry in their work.
The dirt and rocks we dug to put the forts in place were used to fill wooden barrels. They were placed in front of the forts, ready to roll at the first sign of an advance.
I could only imagine the reaction in Boston at dawn. The British woke up to discover that six forts now covered the hills, with cannons aimed directly at the town and at the ships in the harbor. Their big guns shrieked, but the cannon shot simply hit the hill. Our men were safe.
Washington’s soldiers were ready, eve
n eager for a battle. They were confident they had amassed enough powder to stand against the Redcoats. General Washington gave a stirring speech to the Patriots, reminding them that it was March the fifth—the sixth anniversary of the Boston Massacre. A full year had passed since Dr. Warren gave his speech at Old South.
My plan was to run back to Cambridge when the Redcoats advanced. I had no wish to find myself in the middle of another battle. I wondered at the brave men around me and asked Father about it.
“Only the foolhardy are unafraid, Daniel,” he said. “That’s not what bravery is. True courage is moving forward when you’re most afraid.”
“These men are afraid, too?” I asked.
“These men are afraid. But they’re willing to persevere because of the strength of our cause,” Father said.
The general happened upon us. “Perseverance and spirit have done wonders in all ages,” he said. “They’re far more powerful than even the mightiest of armies.”
I pondered their words as I watched the men around me. Father and the general were right. The Patriot soldiers were not fearless, but steadfast. They believed in the cause. That’s where their strength lay—not in fearlessness. No matter what happened in this battle, the Continental army would live to fight on. We would be free of tyranny one day.
We waited for the British to attack. Storm clouds commenced to gather, and then filled the sky. The wind picked up with a howl. What followed was a storm unlike any other I had ever seen. Rain was so thick one could hardly see. The warships along the coast were tossed about like toys.
The Redcoats retreated from the attack position. Our soldiers cheered despite the fearsome weather. The next day, General Howe sent word through the town Selectmen that if he and his troops were allowed to leave Boston unharmed, he would not destroy the town. The storm and the prospect of another battle like the one at Bunker’s Hill had defeated the Redcoats.
Our soldiers’ celebration at the news was hushed. No one trusted the British to keep their word. We were on alert for attack at all times.
Over the next two weeks, we watched the British and Loyalists scurry about Boston, getting ready to leave. I thought often of Josiah Henshaw, certain that I would find his house empty when I returned. Mr. Henshaw would leave with the British and take his son with him. I hoped that Josiah would find his way back to Boston one day, as he had promised. Without his warning I never would have suspected the schoolmaster, and the British might have been able to crush the Patriot army.
I took a good, long look at Boston through General Washington’s spyglass. Much had changed since the siege began. Wharves and buildings were gone—burned for firewood. Many of our citizens had moved to the country, and more would leave with the British. But Boston was still a glorious town, and I was certain it would prosper once again.
One Sabbath morning we watched the troops embark and the warships leave Boston’s wharves. I did not stay in camp for the celebration. I hugged Father good-bye. He would stay with his company and await orders but expected to be home—at least for a visit—very soon.
I headed toward the Neck. When I finally reached Boston, I ran down Orange Street toward Fish Street and home.
Our tavern sign—the blue whale—rocked in the breeze as if to greet me. Mother and Sarah were in the doorway. I threw myself into Mother’s arms. Sarah bounced up and down beside me.
“I’ve missed you, my brave man,” Mother said through her tears. Man, not boy.
I hugged her tighter. Perhaps I was a man now. A free man.
Boston was free!
HISTORICAL NOTE
Daniel Prescott and his family are fictional characters, set in a real historical framework. You might be wondering how much of his story is fiction and how much is fact.
In this novel the generals I’ve named on both sides of the conflict were actual people. Political figures mentioned on both sides were also actual people. Most of the remaining characters, including Lieutenant Colonel Stockdale, are fictional. There were many British officers like Colonel Stockdale in Boston during the siege.
The Siege of Boston lasted for close to a year. The New England militias followed the British back to Boston after the Battle of Lexington and Concord on April 19, 1775, and trapped them in the town. Almost a year later, a “hurrycane” did indeed prevent the British from attacking the Patriots on Dorchester Heights, bringing an end to the siege. On March 17, 1776, 120 British ships sailed from Boston bound for Halifax, Canada, with more than eleven thousand soldiers and Loyalists packed on board.
Except for the Battle of Bunker’s Hill (which really took place on Breed’s Hill), there were no big military battles during the Siege of Boston. The siege gave the colonial militias time to come together and form an army. By the end of the siege, the Continental Congress in Philadelphia assumed command of the army, and most of the thirteen colonies sent men in support.
Sometimes, even in historical accounts, it’s hard to know what’s really true. Stories get passed from person to person, and by the time they’re written down the facts are fuzzy. Small things can be blown out of proportion. The story of the ensign and the egg is one such anecdote. I read about this plan in a book about Paul Revere—a British ensign was assigned to bring an egg to Old South Meeting House on March 6, 1775, in order to start a riot, but he tripped and fell on his way to the meeting.
No one really knows why the British thought throwing an egg at Dr. Warren would be a good signal to use, or how the ensign fell, but I decided it would be fun to give Daniel the job of tripping the ensign and breaking the egg.
There is no evidence that the British poked fun at the Loyalist militia companies in Boston the way they do in the pages of this novel. It is clear that the Redcoats held the Patriot army in low esteem, and later in the war George Washington decided that the fastest way to turn a Loyalist into a Patriot was to send them back to the British. So, while the scene in which Daniel stops Josiah from throwing his drumstick at a Redcoat is not based in fact, I believe it points to a greater truth.
Other events in the book, like the Battle of Lexington and Concord, the beginning of the siege, and the Battle of Bunker’s Hill, are well documented in history books. A group of farmers, fishermen, blacksmiths, and hunters was able to keep the mightiest fighting force on earth trapped in Boston for nearly a year.
Dr. Benjamin Church, a prominent Son of Liberty and the Chief Physician of the Hospital of the Army, did turn out to be a British spy. There were many Patriots and Loyalists who slipped across the lines to bring secrets back and forth. Most of their names are lost to history, but it is likely that more than one boy played a role in these spy networks.
Four months after the British left Boston, a copy of a document from the Continental Congress in Philadelphia made its way to the town. It had been sent to King George in England and declared that the people of the thirteen United States of America had the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. This Declaration of Independence was read to cheering crowds from the balcony of Boston’s State House on July 18, 1776.
Washington marched his army to New York City shortly after the British retreated from Boston. He left behind a small defense force, but the town never saw military action again during the remaining seven years of the American Revolution. Daniel’s father, had he been real and not a fictional character, probably would have been part of that defense force. I like to think that Daniel would have had his father at home with him, or nearby, for the remainder of the war.
CHILDREN’S ROLES in the AMERICAN REVOLUTION
The youngest person in the Patriot camp around Boston was probably ten-year-old Israel Trask. At the outbreak of the war he left his Marblehead, Massachusetts, home with his father to work in the camp as a messenger and cook’s helper.
Boys had to be sixteen to become soldiers, but younger boys often went to war with their fathers to play drums and fifes. Some boys lied about their ages so that they could pick up guns and take their places beside the
soldiers. The Continental army, hungry for fighting men, signed them up without asking too many questions.
Girls helped their mothers take care of wounded soldiers, and washed and mended uniforms for the army when it passed through their towns and their farms. Patriot children collected lead, which was needed to make bullets. Families stopped eating lamb because sheep’s wool was needed to make soldiers’ uniforms.
One Philadelphia family were ingenious secret agents for the Patriots. The Darraghs spied on British officers living in their home. Lydia Darragh wrote down what they learned in code on tiny pieces of paper. Then she put the messages inside her son John’s cloth-covered buttons. Fourteen-year-old John regularly slipped across the British lines and gave his buttons to his brother Charles, a lieutenant with Washington’s army.
The children living in the colonies at the beginning of the war for independence were ordinary children living in extraordinary times. No doubt there were many young spies and soldiers who didn’t make it into the history books. Young people then, like now, were often at the center of events that shaped America.
HISTORIC CHARACTERS
Some of the characters in Daniel at the Siege of Boston,
1776, were real people who played a part in the
American Revolution.
THE BRITISH
Major General John Burgoyne, known as “Gentleman Johnny,” was a leader of the British garrison during the Siege of Boston. He dismissed the Patriot army as a “preposterous parade.” But in 1777, Burgoyne was forced to surrender his own army of 6,000 British troops to those “preposterous” Americans when he was defeated at the Second Battle of Saratoga.
General Thomas Gage fought with George Washington in the French and Indian War. After the Boston Tea Party, King George III named Gage military governor of Massachusetts and sent him to Boston to squash the rebellion. He failed and was replaced as British military commander by General William Howe in October 1775.
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