“I’m going,” she said stubbornly. “Saddle a horse for me while I go bring the mare in.”
“But you could get shot!” he called as she left. She paid no attention, and Nathan stared at the door, then shook his head, muttering, “What a strange boy!”
In a few minutes they were on the road to Boston, and Laddie asked only one question as they turned toward Concord: “Aren’t you going to take a gun, Mr. Winslow?”
“No, I’m not taking a gun.” He made a big dark shape on the big bay, and she caught the gleam in his eyes as the moonlight shown in his face. “I’m not in this war, Laddie. I’ll get Caleb out of it, and haul him back to Virginia, and that’s all!” Then he drove his heels against the sides of his mount, and Laddie followed him as he raced along the strip of road turned silver by the pale moonlight.
They followed the Charleston road, making good time, but when they came to the spot where the road turned east, Nathan pulled up suddenly. Small groups of men were wandering around the crossroad, and there was an uncertainty about their actions that was disturbing. A tall man with a high-peaked hat was walking by, and Nathan said, “What’s going on, Friend?”
“Why, it’s the King’s troops,” the man said in a high nervous voice. He pointed down the Cambridge road, adding, “The hull army jest went down there—not mor’n an hour ago.” He scratched his backside and looked around at the confusion, then shrugged and said, “I reckoned to get me a Redcoat—but they ain’t no chance, now that they’ve got in front of us. Guess I’ll get home to my woman.”
Nathan started to move down the Cambridge road, but Laddie said, “Wait.” He pulled back on his bridle, staring at her, but she was thinking of a map of the country. She had missed no chances to look at maps, and the Winslow Company had many. One of them was coming into focus in her mind.
“We can take the old road to Watertown. Then we can cut around in front of them where it joins the Cambridge road. That way we’ll get to Concord before they do.”
He stared at her in wonder. “How in the world do you know a thing like that?” he asked.
“Never mind—it’s the only way.”
And it worked exactly as she had said. The old road was overgrown in spots and rutted, but it lay only a quarter mile away from the new road, so they could actually hear the drums of the British as they passed by on their parallel course. Then they cut back two miles farther to the Cambridge road and passed on, coming into Lexington only an hour or so before dawn.
“These horses will never make it, Laddie,” Nathan said. Both mounts were blowing and frothing. “Let’s ask around. Maybe we can find someone to rent us some fresh mounts.”
They tied the horses and walked across the open field where a fairly large number of men were standing around talking. All of them had muskets or rifles, but there didn’t seem to be anyone in charge. Nathan moved around, but nobody was interested in renting horses; every eye was fixed on the road that led into Lexington from Boston.
“What are they doing, Nathan?” Laddie asked finally.
“Well, they’re trying to get their nerve up to fight the Redcoats. But they’ll never do it.”
“Why, there’s not more than fifty of them—and there must be six or seven hundred soldiers.”
“They got more sense than to fight. Look, there’s a farmhouse over there to the east. One of the men said we might get some horses there.”
The two walked over to the house, but the woman who met them said, “Have to ask my man ’bout horses. He’s down there on the green somewhere. Ask fer Malcom Richards.”
“This is no good!” Nathan grunted as they walked back. A pale gray light in the east revealed a line of trees, and he pointed at it. “Be dawn soon. We may have to steal some horses, Laddie!”
After searching for Richards unsuccessfully for forty-five minutes, the false dawn had given way to a red glow, and Nathan said, “We’ll just have to ride our horses till they break down. Come on.”
They had to pass through the field where the men seemed to have drawn together, and suddenly, one of them cried out, “There they are!”
And there was a sound like a bird singing afar off, but it wasn’t a bird. It was a fife, and as they all stood there the sound of the drum’s rattling came clearly on the dawn air.
“Form a line! Form a line!” One of the men on the green called out, and the men moved awkwardly to put themselves in some sort of order. They widened the line and stood there, muskets in their hands, staring at the red flash of uniforms now visible to the east.
Nathan and Laddie moved toward their mounts, but he said, “Let’s rest them as long as we can—maybe we can let them go, then cut around them like we did before.”
“I don’t think there’s a road for that.” Laddie was suddenly cold and hot at the same time, for the column of red-clad troops was coming steadily on, and the rosy dawn touched their scarlet coats and their brass buttons with bright tips of light. Neither Nathan nor Laddie had ever seen trained troops, and they looked invincible as they marched inexorably toward the small bunch of farmers standing awkwardly on the green grass.
“They’ve seen us!” someone in the ranks said, and then two officers on horseback, flanked by two flag-bearers, rode forward. Rank after rank of Redcoats stretched back on the road; they did not quicken their pace but marched up to the edge of the common, stopping about one hundred and fifty paces away from the small group of farmers.
Suddenly Nathan gasped as if he’d been struck in the stomach, and he grabbed Laddie’s arm with an iron grip. “Look! There’s Caleb!”
He moved away toward the group, and Laddie followed. She saw him, then, at the end of a small group a little apart from the main body. He was staring at the British, his musket clasped in his hands, and he didn’t see Nathan until suddenly he stood right in front of him.
“Caleb!” Nathan said with relief. “Thank God we found you!”
The shock of seeing his brother made Caleb’s dark eyes widen, but then he said, “Nathan, get out of here!”
“Not without you.” Nathan made his mistake then, for he put his hand on the other’s arm and tried to pull him out of the line. “Look at that army, Caleb. Don’t be a fool!”
Others in Caleb’s group were watching with one eye, and Caleb yanked his arm away from Nathan’s grip. “This is what I’ve got to do, Nathan. You don’t belong here.” Then he looked around Nathan and cried: “Here they come! Get out of here!”
“Fix bayonets!” came a shrill cry, and sunlight flashed on the metal. Then one of the officers spurred his horse, and Nathan turned with a shock to see Colonel Smith, sneering and calling out, “Column right!” The Redcoats wheeled to face the small group.
“Lay down your arms, you traitors!” Smith screamed. “Do you hear me? Get off the King’s green!”
Then Nathan saw that the second officer was Major John Pitcairn. In the clear light of dawn their eyes met, and Nathan’s lips moved in a prayer: John! Don’t let this happen! You’re my friend!
One of the farmers said, “Steady now. Just hold steady!”
Screaming wildly, Colonel Smith spurred his horse, but the words were not clear. He raised his saber, and Nathan at that instant saw a Redcoat raise his musket and fire. One of the farmers clutched his chest and fell to the ground, coughing. Then as Nathan whirled, the whole British front burst into a roar of sound and flame and smoke, and the ground shook with the fury of it.
Nathan turned in time to see a shot strike Caleb high on the chest. It drove him backward and instantly crimson blood gushed out as he went to the ground.
“Caleb!” Nathan cried out, and then Laddie screamed in his ear, “Look! The soldiers—they’re charging!”
Nathan looked up to see the British advancing at a run through a ragged curtain of smoke. There was nothing to stop them, for the militia had turned and fled. Two Redcoats reached one man who was rolling on the ground and one of them drove his bayonet with all his force into the man’s back.
Nathan ran until he was out of breath, then fell helpless to the ground, and as he looked down into the gray face of his brother, he heard far off, the tinny sound of drum and fife of the British Army.
CHAPTER TEN
THE VOW
Time had passed, but Laddie had no idea how long she sat there watching helplessly as Nathan held the limp body of his brother. She had been vaguely aware of the sound of marching troops, but that had passed and now came the sound of voices floating to her, filtered by the woods.
Stiffly she got to her feet and Nathan raised his head to look at her as she came close. “He’s dead, Laddie.”
“I know.”
“He was just a boy, and they killed him—the butchers!”
“Nathan, we have to leave here.” Then she looked down and suddenly she cried out, “Nathan—look!” She dropped beside the two and put her hand on Caleb’s throat, her eyes wide as she said urgently, “I can feel his pulse—and he’s bleeding!”
Nathan stared at the face of his brother, not able to comprehend. It had never occurred to him that Caleb was alive, but now he saw the bright blood welling steadily from the wound, and he began to tremble. “Caleb!” he cried out, then said wildly, “We have to get a doctor!”
He started to rise, but Laddie said, “Nathan, we have to stop that bleeding or he’ll die.” Seeing that he was helpless with shock, she moved quickly. “Cut a bandage out of your shirt,” she commanded, and she took the wounded boy’s head, as Nathan ripped a strip from his white shirt. “Make a pad of it,” she commanded, and she pulled Caleb’s coat and shirt away, her heart nearly stopping at the sight of the bullet wound steadily throbbing, pulsing out the young man’s lifeblood. Taking the cloth, she placed it on the wound, saying, “Hold it here—tight enough to stop the bleeding.”
“I’ve got to go for a doctor!”
“No, you stay here. Some of the soldiers might still be there. I’ll be back quick as I can.”
His eyes pleaded with her, but she did not pause. As she left, she said, “Pray, Nathan!”
Then she was gone and he was alone. He sat there holding the pad, staring down at Caleb’s pale face—and he tried to pray. His mind was cold with fear, and all he could say was, “God!—God!” over and over again. Time dragged on, and as he tried to pray, he seemed to hear his mother’s voice repeating the last thing he’d heard her say: Take good care of your brother, Nathan!
The tears flowed and the fear grew worse as time went on, and he prayed aloud, “God—let him live—and I’ll do anything you want!” His voice frightened a small gray squirrel that had moved to the ground from the top of a tall pine, and it dashed away, chattering angrily.
Finally, he heard the faint sound of voices coming from the direction of the village, and soon Laddie appeared with several men behind her. “There he is, Doctor!” she cried, and led the way to where Caleb lay.
A tall man gave Nathan a strange glance, then knelt and pulled the bandage back to look at the wound. He laid his head on Caleb’s chest, listened, then stood up. “We’ll move him to the Lewis place,” he said. “Be careful as you can.”
Nathan watched as four men gathered around and carefully picked the wounded boy up. As they moved slowly forward, Nathan asked, “How is he?”
“Very bad.” The doctor shook his head and added, “I cannot offer you much hope, Mr. Winslow.”
“He can’t die!” Nathan whispered, but the doctor only shook his head and followed the others. Nathan stood there helplessly until Laddie came to touch his arm; then they followed. In less than half an hour, they had reached a small house located on a slight promontory overlooking Lexington. Silas Lewis, a thin, silver-haired man, and his wife Sarah lived alone there, and the doctor had Caleb placed in their bedroom.
Nathan and Laddie watched as he cleaned the wound, listened to the heart, then put a clean bandage on. He stood, and looked across the bed at Nathan. “I’m afraid the bullet has pierced the lungs.”
“Can’t you get it out, Doctor?” Laddie pleaded.
He looked at the pair, and there was compassion in his gray eyes. “It would be impossible.” He moved toward the door, and paused long enough to say, “I would to God I could offer you hope, but the only hope now is in God.”
“You’re not leaving?” Nathan exclaimed with a start.
“I must,” the doctor said, then asked with a curious look at Nathan, “You don’t remember me, do you?”
“Why, no.”
“I met you with your brother at a meeting. I’m Dr. Warren.” He hesitated, then said, “He may wake up—or he may not. In any case, I cannot help him—and I am needed for other things. God help you, Mr. Winslow—God help us all!”
Then he was gone. Nathan swallowed hard, then slumped in the chair beside the bed. Laddie’s throat ached, and she went to stand beside his chair. They could hear a clock ticking in the next room. Bright sunlight, like bars of solid gold, fell across the bright counterpane that covered Caleb, and the smell of freshly broken ground from the field drifted into the room. Slowly the hours passed, and Caleb lay there, his eyes closed, breathing so shallowly that at times there seemed to be no life at all. Once Mrs. Lewis came in and brought fresh water to bathe the dying boy’s face, but Nathan did not seem to notice. He was crouched over the chair, his face pinched and thin, his eyes blank.
Laddie went out shortly after noon and stood on the front porch. The yard was filled with men, and their voices were tense and angry. One voice, louder than the rest, came from a powerfully built man with a Kentucky rifle in his hands. “ . . . won’t be no way for them lobster backs to git back to Boston ’cept on the Menotomy Road—and that’s where we’ll catch ’em.”
“There ain’t but a hundred of us—or less!” A thin, angry voice argued. “How we goin’ to face all them Redcoats?”
“There’s more of us than you think, Wilkins,” the big man said slowly, and there was a grim smile on lips. “There’s six assembly points spotted along the road, and the Committeemen west of Sudbury River and west of the Concord River will be at the North Bridge—and besides that, the Minute Men are come in from all over! I’d say we’ll have maybe five hundred by the time them Redbacks come back down that road!”
A shout went up, and for the next fifteen minutes Laddie stood there trying to comprehend what was happening. She had just decided to go in when she heard someone call out “Laddie! Laddie Smith!” and turned to see Moses Tyler running up the hill.
He pulled up in front of her, his face red. “I—I seen Dr. Warren down on the road. He said that Caleb was shot—and he said . . .”
She saw him swallow hard; then when she said, “He’s very bad, Moses,” he began to cry. It was not a graceful crying. He dropped his musket and several of the men looked curiously as he slumped down with his back against the wall, sobbing and choking on the tears.
Finally when he grew quiet, he stood up and said, “I gotta see him, Laddie!”
“He won’t know you, Moses.”
“I gotta see him!”
Laddie looked into the boy’s intense face, nodded, and led him inside. They passed into the room, where Nathan was slumped down, staring at Caleb’s still face. “Nathan, Moses is here.” Laddie was shocked to see hatred leap into Nathan’s eyes. He leaped out of the chair and grabbed Moses by the arm, raising his fist to strike, but Laddie stepped between them, pleading, “Nathan—don’t!”
He stopped, looked down at the small form of Tyler, and said bitterly, “Well, are you satisfied now? You’ve got him killed!” He whirled and plunged out of the
room blindly, his feet echoing on the floor beyond.
“I better go with him, Moses,” Laddie said quickly. “You can sit with Caleb.”
She reached the porch in time to see Nathan walking rapidly across the yard, his head down. She moved quickly, catching up with him as he reached a copse of hickory trees. “Nathan—you can’t leave!” she said.
He stopped abruptly, glared at her with anger lighting his eyes; then it faded and he seemed to sway from side to side, and he whispered, “I can’t stay and watch him die, Laddie! I can’t do that!”
“You’re his brother, Nathan. What if he wakes up—and none of his people are there?”
He shut his eyes, stood there for a long time, it seemed; then he opened them and said, “All right—let’s go back.”
They made their way back to the porch, arriving at the same time as Dr. Warren. He looked at Nathan, then explained, “I thought I’d come back to see the boy.”
Nathan said nothing, but Laddie replied, “Thank you, Dr. Warren.”
They went inside, and Moses looked up with tears in his eyes. “Dr. Warren! He just woke up!”
“Caleb!” Nathan shouldered the doctor aside and knelt beside the bed. “Caleb!”
Laddie could see that Caleb’s eyes were open, and he said weakly, “Nathan!”
The doctor had moved to the other side of the bed, his eyes searching the boy’s face, and he put a hand on the pulse at Caleb’s throat. “Dr.—Warren—” Caleb said, his eyes turning to him. “I knew you’d be in the fight.” Then his eyes shifted back to Moses, and he asked in a reedy whisper, “Did we whip ’em, Moses?”
Moses started to speak, but couldn’t for the tears that choked him. “What’s wrong with Moses?” Caleb turned back to Dr. Warren. “Didn’t we—turn the Redcoats back?”
Warren shook his head, his face a mask, then said, “You’d better talk to your brother, son.” He gave Nathan a warning look and drew back.
Nathan knelt beside Caleb, and heard the labored breath and the rasp in the chest. But Caleb struggled to speak. “Nathan—I’m sorry—about the way it’s been—with us.”
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