The Gentle Rebel

by Gilbert, Morris

  He stared at her, then shook his head. “Never mind, Laddie. I’m leaving here. Do you want to go with me or come with the others?”

  “Why—” She stood there confused, knowing that something had happened, but not daring to pursue it. “I’ll go with you—but what about Caleb?”

  “I want him to go with me.” He shook his shoulders, struck his hands together in a sudden burst of impatience, and asked tensely, “Has he been out late like this before?”

  “Well—yes, he has. Guess he got bored watching me work on the books. But he’s never been later than midnight.”

  Nathan stood there, a tall, silent shape, and then he said wearily, “Well, I’m not waiting until morning. Get your stuff ready. I’m going to hitch the horses.”

  He left her then, and she moved quickly to collect her few belongings. She put them into a small bag, then left the room, walking down a short hall to the door that led to the stable. Nathan was busy with the horses, and she said, “I’ll help you.”

  They said nothing, but just as the last horse was harnessed into place the outer door opened, and Caleb walked in.

  He was not alone; a tall man wearing high boots and a dark cloak was with him. Both of them paused abruptly, and Laddie saw the shock on Caleb’s face as he spotted Nathan.

  The tall man said something softly, and Caleb nodded. He walked toward the door to the hall and disappeared. Nathan dropped the lines over a steel ring fixed in the wall and went to stand before the man. “Who are you?” he asked abruptly.

  A pair of steady gray eyes looked out at him from under a tri-cornered hat, then after a pause came the answer in a flat voice. “My name is Dawes.”

  “What’s your business here?”

  “Nothing with you, I think.”

  “I disagree. What are you doing with my brother?”

  “Your brother? I see.” Dawes nodded and said, “I have a little business affair with Caleb. Won’t take but a minute.”

  A sound of footsteps drew Nathan’s head around, and he saw Caleb come out the door with a flat leather pouch in his hand. He didn’t look at Nathan, but simply walked forward and handed it to Dawes. “There you are.”

  “Thank you, Caleb.” Dawes pushed the pouch into an inner pocket, reached out his hand and said, “You’ve been a great help to us. I’ll be sure and tell—” Then he cut his words off, gave a quick look in Nathan’s direction, and nodded as he wheeled and left the stable.

  As the door closed softly, Caleb turned to face Nathan, his sturdy shoulders square in the dim light of the lantern. There was a stubborn look on his face, and he said, “I’ll tell you before you ask, Nathan. I’ve brought those papers from Boston to give to Mr. Dawes as a favor to a friend of mine. That’s all you need to know.”

  Nathan stood there, knowing at once that the “friend” was Sam Adams or Revere. He knew that every colony had formed a Committee of Safety—an armed force to be summoned when called—and it was kept alive by a link of messengers. He’d even heard of Dawes as one of the fire-eaters in the organization.

  But there was nothing to say. Caleb stood there, daring him to speak, but he could not. He finally said, “I’m going back to Boston tonight. I want you to come with me.”

  Caleb shot a glance at Laddie, and she nodded, so he shrugged and said, “I’ll get my things.”

  While he was gone, Laddie came up to stand before Nathan, and spoke quietly. “I can see you’re in trouble, Mr. Winslow. I’m sorry for whatever it is.” She put a light hand on his arm, and added very softly, “I’d help if I could.”

  He stood there trying to fight back the bitterness that welled up in him. His world seemed to have fallen apart, and he wanted to strike out. But he slowly made himself relax, and then he put his hand on her shoulder, feeling a quick rush of gratitude for the sympathy in Laddie’s dark eyes.

  “I know you would, Laddie, and that’s a help.” Then he shook his head. “Man sure does act like a fool sometimes, don’t he now?” He gave her an embarrassed smile, then added, “And I guess I’m a bigger fool than most.”

  She wanted to put her arms around him and comfort him. He was so big—and yet there was something of the hurt child in him, crying out of his eyes.

  But she carefully hugged herself and said, “No, you’re not a fool, Nathan. You’re just a little lost right now.”

  It was the first time he had ever heard Laddie use his given name, and it warmed him. He gave her a rough hug, then with a sharp laugh said, “Laddie, never get messed up with a woman!”

  She looked up at him and smiled, her dark eyes gleaming. “I won’t, Nathan,” she promised.

  CHAPTER NINE

  DEATH AT LEXINGTON

  The earth grew warm in April, and the hot summer winds that thawed the cold ground not only stirred the buried seeds to life, but seemed to kindle the spirits of the men of Boston. The Sons of Liberty, ever-growing flickers of heat lightning that threatened to turn to actual bolts at any minute, were inundated with volunteers, and the Provincial Congress of Massachusetts met illegally but regularly in Cambridge, within sight of General Gage’s sentries. Led by John Hancock, the Committee of Safety formed militia units, the Minute Men, subject to instant call.

  Gage knew most of this, but hoped for something to bring a halt to the activities of the colonists. Instead, the first two weeks of April brought two developments that the general could not ignore. A group of patriots led by Major John Sullivan swept down on Fort William and Mary at Portsmouth, overpowered the guard, and made off with all the ammunition; the next day seventeen cannon were taken by another militant group in Boston itself.

  A week later, on April 14, General Gage and Colonel Smith met to find some solution to the problem.

  “General, we can’t let this rabble build up their arms at the Crown’s expense,” Colonel Smith said heatedly to the commanding officer. “We’ve got to strike—we’ve got to hit hard enough to show them what comes of treason.”

  General Gage stared at Colonel Smith and bit his lower lip nervously. He was now backed into a corner; London insisted he take action, not realizing how volatile the situation was. Now his options were gone, and he nodded wearily, “I suppose we must—but it’s going to be a nasty affair, Colonel!”

  “For them, General Gage,” Smith grinned, “I’m sure it will. Now, where shall we direct the attack?”

  Gage looked at the map on the wall, his mind trying and rejecting possibilities. “We must have an objective, of course,” he said. “I have a bit of information that seems valid. The rebels have purchased a store of arms sufficient for fifteen thousand men, and one of our informers has given us the location.” He stared at the man, grimaced, and said, “They’ve been pretty shrewd about it, I’m afraid.”

  “Shrewd, sir?”

  “Yes. If they’d stored these arms in Boston, we’d nip them up in a lightning raid—they’ve put them far enough away so that a successful raid will be very difficult. You know how they watch our every move—we can’t cross a street without every rebel in America knowing about it!”

  “We can move at night, sir,” Smith said eagerly. “And you haven’t forgotten your promise that I am to lead the men in the first action?”

  “No, I’ve not forgotten.”

  “Well, General Gage, where are these arms? I propose to strike them hard, sir!”

  General Gage stared at the short, fat officer, and wished heartily that he had another man with more balance, but he did not. Slowly he raised his hand and placed a finger on the map.

  “Concord. That’s where we must strike!”

  “We will scotch this snake, General!” Smith cried with excitement.

  “Secrecy is my hope,” Gage said slowly. “The raiding party will be composed of seven hundred men. Every eye in this city will be on them, so we must create a diversion—make them think we’re going where we’re not. Won’t work too well, but I think these militia—what do they call them, Colonel?”

  “Minute Men, sir.”<
br />
  “Well, it’ll take more than a minute to collect an army! You will leave on the night of the eighteenth—but only you and I and Major Pitcairn will know the exact date.”

  “Major Pitcairn? But, sir, there are no Royal Marines here for him to command.”

  “I know, Colonel, but if you go down, there must be a commanding officer.”

  “Very well, sir, but don’t trouble your head about me. I won’t be the one who goes down if that rag-tag bunch of beggars dares to cross our path!”

  * * *

  Gage had been accurate in his prediction that it would be impossible to raise a sizable force without attracting attention. As the tempo of the British forces quickened, so did the eyes and mouths of a myriad of Colonials. Taverns such as The Green Dragon or The Bunch of Grapes hummed with rumors; Gage’s orders detaching the grenadier and light infantry companies for extra maneuvers reached the Colonials almost as quickly as it did the British units. Why? What were these picked troops, the elite, specially trained and equipped units of each regiment, going to do? You don’t create a force of 700 picked men for nothing!

  Warren sent word by Revere to Lexington, where Sam Adams and John Hancock were lodging with the Rev. Jonas Clarke, close to the congress in Concord. Gage might have arrests in mind, and who were better subjects than Adams and Hancock? Lexington passed the word to Concord, and at once the village labored night and day, packing stores and shipping them west to Worcester.

  Then came a new rumor of longboats and barges being made ready—perhaps to float Redcoats across the Charles for a quick landing on the Cambridge side where the roads led north to Lexington and Concord.

  As the night of the eighteenth fell, few slept well on either side; a silence fell with the darkness, but it was the silence that one expects to be broken with the sharp sound of cannon fire or of marching feet.

  Laddie was working late that night, as she had fallen into the habit of doing since the return from New York. Whatever peace she and Nathan had felt in the house of Charles Winslow had since then degenerated. Whenever Paul and Nathan spoke to each other at all, it was with a tight-lipped and sullen sort of formality, and their attitude cast a pall over the others. Laddie watched with disgust as the two of them pursued Abigail with a dogged persistence, and said once to Caleb, “They’re all three acting like fools!”

  Caleb had nodded, but the friction between him and Nathan had grown worse as the spring wore on. Laddie went for solitary walks, and often worked late—anything to keep out of the house. On this night, however, the constant shifting of men along the waterfront and down the dark streets rasped on her nerves. Several times she lifted her head suddenly, her heart beating faster, and went to peer out the window at the flickering lanterns that bobbed along the streets.

  Finally the outer door slammed, and she jumped out of her chair, her fists clenched nervously as she waited for the inner door to open. Quick footfalls then, and when the door opened she saw Major John Pitcairn enter, his face drawn and a frown on his lips.

  “Is Mr. Winslow here?” he said quickly. “Nathan, I mean.”

  “Why, no, sir, he’s not. He went home about five o’clock.”

  The words ruffled Pitcairn’s temper, and he struck his hands together sharply, saying, “Blast!” then turned to go, but he paused and turned to give Laddie a searching look. “You work for Mr. Winslow, don’t you?”

  “I’m Smith, Major. A clerk for Mr. Winslow.”

  He seemed to be weighing her in the balances of his mind; then finally he asked, “Are you a friend as well as an employee, Smith?”

  “Why, yes, sir!”

  Pitcairn bit his lips, and there was an agony of frustration in him, but finally he came close, saying in a low voice, “I want you to get word to Nathan. Tell him that Major Pitcairn said for him to get his brother out of Boston!”

  “Sir—!”

  “That’s all I can say!” the words came out bitterly, and then he took Laddie’s arm and his eyes burned into hers as he said with terrible intensity: “Tell him to get his brother out of Boston if he has to knock the young fool in the head and tie him hand and foot!”

  Then he whirled and ran out of the room. As his footsteps echoed down the outer hall, Laddie stood there, her mind spinning. Then she dropped her ledger on the floor and ran toward the stable. She had obtained the use of a gentle mare to make the journey back and forth, and her first impulse was to get to Nathan, but then as she placed her foot in the stirrup, she suddenly halted. I haven’t seen Caleb all day, she thought abruptly, and slowly she withdrew her foot, thinking hard in the dim lantern light.

  He was around all morning—but after that I didn’t see him all afternoon. Suddenly she knew he was somehow involved in the seething activities that ran along the nerves of the city. But—where can he be now?

  Since their return from New York, Caleb had been morose—mostly with Nathan, but with her as well. He did his work, but the minimal camaraderie that she had shared with him had passed, and now he spent his free time with Moses Tyler. Maybe he’s with him now! she thought, and ran outside and down the street. Moses lived in a single room over a gunsmith shop. There’s a light in his window! she noted with a feeling of hope. She had to pass through the shop, asking the elderly man who sat at a workbench, “Is Moses here?”

  The old man nodded, and she flew up the stairs. At the first knock, the door opened, and Moses stood there. She had shown some friendliness for the boy, but he was surprised at the visit. “Moses,” Laddie said quickly, “I’ve got to find Caleb—it’s very important!”

  Instantly the boy’s lips tightened, and suspicion flared in his eyes. “Don’t know where he is,” he said tightly.

  She knew instantly that he was lying, and she realized that wild horses wouldn’t drag information out of him—especially if he thought Nathan was involved. She knew from conversations with Caleb how much Moses distrusted the older brother.

  “It’s very serious, Moses,” she forced herself to say calmly. “His mother is very ill—in fact, she’s likely to die—and she’s asking for Caleb.”

  The lie was hard for her, even though she was desperate, but she saw that it changed Moses.

  “His ma is dying?” He shook his head and muttered, “Caleb, he sets a heap of store by his ma.”

  “Yes, and he’s got to go to her—soon!”

  Moses swayed back and forth, caught by indecision, and she forced herself to say nothing. Finally he said, “Well, he’s gone—he ain’t here.”

  “Where is he, Moses?”

  He bit his lip, then said, “You can’t tell anybody else.”

  “Where is he?!”

  “Well—he’s gone with his group—the Minute Men, you know?” Excitement lit his eyes, and he said, “The Redcoats is moving out tonight to raid Concord—and we’re all going to see they don’t do it! Caleb and me, we’re in different groups, and he left nearly an hour ago . . . ! Hey, you keep shut, you hear me?”

  But she was gone, down the stairs and out of the shop. Running at full speed, she entered the barn, then leaped into the saddle and drove the surprised animal out into the darkness.

  It was a wild ride, for the streets were crowded, and she was by no means an expert rider. More than once the bulk of her mount sent a man spinning to the side, and curses followed her as she plunged on through the streets, but finally she passed out of the city and pounded wildly down the road toward the Winslow house.

  She passed other riders on the road, and one of them shouted at her to hold up, but she did not pause, driving the mare until she pulled up in the front yard. Falling off the horse, she flipped the reins over a post and ran around the house, going in the back way. The family usually spent the evenings in the library or the small drawing room in the front of the house; through the back way, she might avoid being seen.

  Running up the stairs, she went to the door of Nathan’s room and knocked on it rapidly. His footsteps sounded, and when he opened the door and looked down at h
er, he said at once, “What’s wrong, Laddie? Somebody sick?”

  “Let me come in!” she whispered. She stepped inside and said at once, “I’ve got some bad news—Major Pitcairn just came by and he said to tell you to get Caleb out of Boston if you had to tie him up to do it.”

  “What? Why did he—”

  “He couldn’t say any more, Nathan, because he’s a soldier, I think.”

  “A soldier? What’s that got to do with Caleb?”

  “Well, I guess he’s not supposed to have anything to do with rebels. I—I started out here to tell you what he said; then I remembered that I hadn’t seen Caleb all day. So I went to see Moses and asked him where Caleb was.”

  Nathan stared at her, beginning to understand. “What did Moses say?”

  Laddie stood there, eyes troubled and finally the words came reluctantly, “Mr. Winslow, I know how you feel about the rebels—and I have to have your word that if I tell you what Moses said—you won’t use it to hurt him.”

  “Why, you have my word, Laddie,” Nathan said instantly. “I don’t want any part of this revolution—I just want my brother safe.”

  “It’s not that easy anymore. Moses said that Caleb is with a bunch of militia on the way to Concord to fight the Redcoats.”

  “What?” The news was so much worse than Nathan had expected that his mouth flew open, and he couldn’t speak for a moment. Then he clenched his teeth and said, “All right, Laddie.” He turned to pick up his coat, and headed for the door. She followed him down the stairs and out of the house, and he turned toward the barn. There were always good horses ready, and he started throwing a saddle on a tall bay.

  “I’m going with you.”

  He paused, stared at her, and despite the shock that the news had etched on his lean face, he relaxed and even smiled. “Why, Laddie, I think you’ve done more than enough. And I thank you—but this is bad and likely to get worse.”