The Gentle Rebel

by Gilbert, Morris

  Adam had been there when the Virginia militia companies came out, buzzing furiously over the seizure of Virginia powder and stores by Lord Dunmore, Royal Governor. By sundown of the twenty-eighth, all realized that the trouble was national, not local. Colonel Washington dismissed the militia, but not without the passing of a resolution:

  We do now pledge ourselves to each other to be in readiness, at a moment’s warning, to reassemble, and by force of arms, to defend the law, the liberty and rights of this or any sister colony from unjust and wicked invasion.

  Adam turned his head to watch as Nathan drove the buggy out of the barn, Laddie beside him. “He has to go, Molly.” There was nothing else to say, and Molly put a smile on as Nathan got down and came to stand before them. He stood tall in the bright morning sunshine, a steadiness in his smile, as he said cheerfully, “I don’t know when I’ll be back, but I’ll think of you every day—both of you.” He leaned down and kissed his mother, and she had to fight to keep from holding him and weeping. Then he shook hands with Adam, saying, “Father, you’ll write from Philadelphia?”

  “Yes.” Adam stood there clasping his hand and could have cursed his close-mouthed ways. He had never been demonstrative—except with Molly, who had taught him better—and now he could do no more than hold on to Nathan’s hand and finally clap him on the shoulder, saying, “I think you may want to go there—to give a word to—some of the leaders.” He had not told Molly of the dangerous assignment; she thought he was going back to take up his duties with Charles.

  Nathan turned and climbed back in, but Molly cried out, “Laddie, get yourself down and give an old woman a goodbye kiss!” Laddie hopped down sheepishly, and would have leaned over and given Nathan’s mother a peck, but Molly grabbed her with a laugh, saying, “A good-looking boy like you has got to learn to take his kisses whenever he can—even from an old lady!” She was a strong woman, and she grabbed Laddie and gave her a hearty squeeze, then a resounding kiss on the cheek. “There!” she laughed as Laddie struggled and got free with a red face. “Now you know how it’s done.”

  “Goodbye! God bless you,” Laddie called after she regained her seat, and both of them looked back more than once and waved to the pair who stood at the gate until the buggy dropped over a hill and out of their line of view.

  “They’ll be lonesome with you gone,” Laddie said.

  “They’ll miss you, too, Laddie. I never saw them take to anyone like they did to you.” He gave the horses a touch with the whip and said, “I wish to God I didn’t have to go back!”

  They made the trip quickly, camping out beside small streams the first two nights, and Nathan’s spirits seemed to lift. On the third night, one of the heaviest spring rains of the season caught them at dusk, and Nathan pulled up at a small inn, saying, “We can’t camp out in this toad-strangler, Laddie. I’m ready for a home-cooked meal and a warm soft bed!”

  The meal was good, but after they were finished, Nathan said, “You have a room for us?”

  “That I have, sir!” The innkeeper was a barrel-shaped man with merry blue eyes, and he led them to an upstairs room with a large bed. He cracked the shutter, saying, “This will let some air in, sir, but you’d flood the place if you opened it full. Good night to you both.”

  Nathan stretched, yawned, and said, “I’m tired, Laddie. You must be, too.

  Let’s go to bed.”

  Let’s go to bed!

  Laddie stood there, her heart pounding as Nathan stripped off his shirt; then as he started to remove his boots before taking off his trousers, she said with a gasp, “Nathan—I’m not really very sleepy right now.”

  He had yanked off one boot, and he sat there holding it as he stared at her. “Why not? You’ve not slept any more than I have.”

  “Oh, I don’t sleep much,” she said as he pulled off his other boot and stood to unbuckle his belt. She turned blindly and started for the door, but his voice caught her.

  “Where you going?”

  “I—I think I’ll get my Bible and read.” She caught a glimpse of him in his underwear slipping into bed, and she went on in a rush: “I—I don’t want to keep you awake, Nathan. Maybe I’ll just stay downstairs and read—until I get sleepy.” She snatched up her Bible, which was in the top of her canvas bag, and started for the door.

  “Oh, come on back, Laddie!” came the sleepy answer, and she heard the bed creak as he settled down. “The light won’t bother me. Come on to bed when you feel like it—we need to get an early start tomorrow.”

  “All right, Nathan.” With unsteady hands Laddie drew the single chair in the room next to a weathered oak table that held a single candle and sat down, her eyes fixed on the worn Bible feebly illuminated by the single candle.

  Nathan sleepily looked across the room at the small figure. “You read that book a lot, Laddie,” he observed. “Almost as much as my mother, I think.” When there was only a nod for an answer, he asked, “What’s your favorite book?”

  “I think—Hebrews,” Laddie answered.

  “Hebrews?” Nathan yawned, then said sleepily, “Don’t think I ever knew anyone who had that for a favorite. Why do you like it?”

  “I don’t know, Nathan—maybe because it’s about Jesus being better than anything—better than Moses or angels or Aaron.” She gave him a glance, then said quietly, “My favorite is this verse: ‘For we have not a high priest who cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities, but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.’ ”

  “Why do you like that?” Nathan was almost gone, his voice slurred with sleep.

  “Because—I—I feel so bad sometimes, and I need someone who understands why I’m like I am. Have you ever felt like that, Nathan?”

  But there was no answer, and she saw that he was sound asleep. Her own eyes were heavy, but she settled down in the chair and began to read. Hour after hour went by, and her eyes watered so that the letters swam together. She grew cold, and quietly pulled a coat out of her sack and covered up as best she could. She dozed as the clock downstairs sounded throughout the night, marking the leaden hours.

  Finally, as a gray light touched the room, she painfully got to her feet and stretched her aching muscles. Glancing at the bed, she saw that Nathan was rolled over to one side, but his tossings had rumpled the covers and pillows on both sides.

  A thought came to her, and she quietly put the coat back in her sack, removed her shoes and then rumpled her hair wildly. Holding her breath, she slipped into the bed, feeling the warmth of his body; then she gathered up her courage and gave his broad back a vigorous slap, at the same time saying, “Nathan! It’s time to get up!”

  She sat up and swung out of bed just as he rolled over and stared at her through half-open, sleep-drugged eyes. “Wha—wha’s goin’ on?” he muttered, still not awake.

  Laddie was pulling on her boots as he sat up, and she gave him another slap on the bare shoulder. “I’ll go down and get some hot water for you to shave with,” she said. She stood up, stamped her feet, then made a show out of stretching, adding, “I never saw a man who kicks and talks in his sleep like you do! I’ll never sleep in the same bed with you again!” That’ll take care of that little problem! she thought with satisfaction.

  “What? I don’t talk in my sleep,” he muttered, and then he called after her as she left, “See if you can round up some eggs—and some bacon, if they’ve got it, Laddie!”

  While Nathan shaved, Laddie hitched up the team, and after a fine breakfast, they were on their way. The rains had stopped, and they camped out again for the rest of the trip, but they were both tired as they drew close to Boston.

  “I don’t understand all this,” Nathan said suddenly. They were driving along at a rapid clip trying to make the city before dark, but in the dusk something was different as they topped the heights of Menotomy. “What in the world is that?”

  Laddie looked down on the vast, darkening bowl and saw an immense, glowing horseshoe of scattered lights formi
ng an arc about Charlestown and Boston. “It looks like a terrible lot of campfires,” she answered.

  He stared at the glowing dots that thickened in the central and western parts of the province, and nodded. “That’s the army, Laddie, come from all over the Colonies.” He touched the horse with his whip, and they moved along the road, passing several groups of armed men who seemed to be leaderless.

  Laddie expected him to turn down the pike that led to the Winslow house, but he spun the rig around and made straight for the business district. “Aren’t we going to the house?” she asked.

  “No. I’ve got to talk to Sam Adams,” he answered tersely, then added, “It won’t be possible for me to see him during the day—and I’ve got a message from Colonel Washington for him.”

  The dark had closed across the sky as they pulled up a hundred feet from Adams’ house. “We’ll walk the rest of the way—and if you see anyone keeping an eye on the place, we’ll walk right by the door.”

  “Why, Nathan?” she asked, keeping up with his long strides.

  He thought for a moment, then shrugged as he answered, “I guess you’ll have to know a little about this business, Laddie. I’m doing a job for Colonel Washington.”

  When he explained briefly what he would be doing, Laddie said instantly, “Why, you’ll be a spy, Nathan! They’ll hang you for that if you get caught.”

  “Better not get caught, then,” he grinned at her. “This is it.” He knocked at the door, and it opened almost as if Adams had been waiting for a signal. “Mr. Adams, you may not remember me—”

  “I remember you very well, Mr. Winslow,” Adams said stonily. “What’s your business here?”

  The tone of Adams’ reply revealed his dislike of the elder Winslow brother, and his face was forbidding in the lamplight. Realizing that words would not serve, Nathan plucked a pouch out of his pocket and handed it to him. “I think you’ll recognize this gentleman’s handwriting, sir.”

  “What’s this?” Adams scowled, but he took the pouch and backed into the light, growling reluctantly, “Come in—come in!”

  He broke the seal, pulled out a single sheet of paper, and as soon as his eyes fell on the paper, he gave an involuntary grunt, lifted his eyes to the pair with a new interest, then read the message.

  “You know what’s in this letter?” he asked.

  “Not really, sir. I could guess that it describes the service I’m asked to carry out.”

  “Come into the study.” Adams led them into the same room where Nathan had last seen him, at the meeting of the Sons of Liberty, and he winced as the image of Caleb’s face came to him. “I know about your brother, Mr. Winslow,” Adams said as he motioned to a couple of chairs. “I’m sorry. He was a fine boy.” He sat down and asked, his intense eyes locking on Nathan’s, “Is that why you’ve changed your politics—because of him?”

  Nathan moved uneasily, for the question had no easy answer. He was silent so long that Adams grew impatient; then Nathan shrugged and replied, “I’ll do what I can for the cause, Mr. Adams. To be perfectly frank with you, I’m not satisfied that this country can ever be independent.” He lifted his chin and said steadily, “I made a vow to my brother as he was dying that I’d do the fighting he’d never be able to do—and that’s what I will do, sir. If that’s not enough for you, I’ll trouble you no more!”

  The anger that had leaped into Nathan’s eyes seemed to please Adams, and he said quickly, “It will be enough, Winslow. Others have less determination, I fear.” Then his glance shifted to Laddie. “But who is this? Nothing in the message about two men.”

  “This is Laddie Smith, Mr. Adams. He was Caleb’s friend, and he knows what the situation is. You can trust him—and since we can’t be seen together, he’ll be our point of contact.”

  “That sounds very well.” Adams leaned back in his chair and grew silent. His face was lined with fatigue, and his voice was raspy as if he had been using it too much. Finally he said, “It’s a good plan, Winslow. The Congress will authorize the army, and the commander in chief’s first problem will be to make it work. Did you see the militia as you came through the heights?”

  “Yes, sir. It looks like a heap of men,” Nathan nodded.

  “Lexington brought them here,” Adams nodded. “It’s the beginning. What matters is that a call went out, and men by the thousands from all walks of life answered it. Your brother’s blood on the green of Lexington’s grass isn’t just marked by a day on a calendar, Nathan—it’s a turning point for a whole continent!”

  Adams spoke as if he were before a crowd of five thousand people, and both Laddie and Nathan saw clearly that this man had no reason for living but liberty for America. They sat there while he spoke of the terrible task that lay ahead, and finally he outlined the military situation.

  “Artemas Ward, the senior general of Massachusetts, has been given command. He’s an old man, heavy and with a bad case of kidney stones, but he’s the best we’ve got until Congress appoints a man. And what a job he’ll have!” Adams sighed, and added, “The men are there—thousands of them, but they’re not an army—not yet.”

  “What’s the problem, sir?”

  “Why, most of them have strong local ties. A company from Sturbridge may march beside one from Barre, but they look with suspicion at each other. There are huge problems over rations, rank, pay, and most of these groups elect their own officers.” Adams got up and said sourly, “Whoever the Congress appoints will have to turn all these fragments into an American army!”

  “Who do you think will be commander?” Nathan asked.

  “John Hancock wants it so bad he can taste it. He’s got tons of money—but no military experience. How my cousin John Adams would love the office—but he can’t wear a uniform!” He smiled dryly at this, then added, “I’ll be at that meeting—and I’ve told a few others that choosing a commander in chief may be a harder fight that any battle in the field! But if we get the wrong man, we’re doomed, Winslow.” He shook his head; then for the next ten minutes they spoke of how information should be channeled.

  “I welcome you, Winslow,” Adams said as he led them to the door, “to the revolution.” He shook hands with Nathan, then with Laddie. They made their way back to the carriage, and Nathan headed it toward the outskirts of town.

  They spoke of the affair briefly; then Nathan gave a smile and put his arm across Laddie’s shoulders, saying, “They’ll hang you as well as me, Laddie, if they catch you. You sure you want to be in this thing?” The pressure of his arm gave Laddie a peculiar sensation, and she said quickly, “Yes! I don’t know much about politics, Nathan, but I believe men ought to be free.”

  He seemed to forget that his arm was there, but let it rest on her shoulder for a few moments. Then he moved it, adding, “I guess freedom is a pretty scarce commodity in this world, Laddie—but if it’s to be had, I guess it’s worth fighting for.”

  * * *

  “What’s the matter with you, Major? You’re sober as a Puritan preacher tonight!”

  Major Pitcairn looked up to see Paul Winslow with Abigail Howland on his arm. He stood up at once, saying quickly, “I deny the charge, Winslow! But you’ve kept the most attractive woman at the ball captive all night long, so the fault is yours if I’ve been moping and feeling sorry for myself.”

  The truth was that the officer really was not enjoying the evening. The food and drinks had been excellent, the company drawn from the best in Boston, and there were, in fact, several attractive young women who had put themselves in his way. He was in a bad frame of mind and he knew it, but now he denied all, saying, “I say, Miss Howland, if you can tear yourself away from this fellow, put a poor soldier down for a dance, will you?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me, Major,” Abigail smiled. She had a way of making trivial remarks sound true.

  The baggage can no more help flirting than she can help having hazel eyes! Pitcairn thought. It was common knowledge in Boston—at least in the upper levels of
society—that Abigail was having quite a game with the Winslow cousins. Looks like Paul has won by default, he thought sardonically.

  “I haven’t congratulated you on your gallant conduct, Major,” Abigail said. “Now, I demand that you tell me all the gory details.”

  The words raked across Pitcairn’s memory, and he said a little sharply, “There was no gallantry that day—not on my part, at least.”

  “Why, you defeated the rebels, didn’t you, John?” Paul asked in surprise.

  “If General Percy hadn’t gotten to us with a rescue party,” he said with a tight-lipped grimness, “not a man of us would have lived to see Boston again!”

  “But—I heard that the marksmanship of the rebels was terrible,” Paul put in.

  “It was good enough to beat the King’s troops,” Pitcairn said. “You have to remember, Winslow, these men were farmers and tradesmen, not professional soldiers or frontiersmen.” He shuddered briefly, adding, “They cut us to pieces as it was—what will it be like if they get organized into a regular army?”

  “Oh, they’re a rabble in arms, Major!” Abigail insisted. “It’s unthinkable that England could be defeated by a bunch of shopkeepers and farmers. Why, our armies have defeated Spain, France, and the best of Europe’s trained might.”

  “That’s true,” Pitcairn nodded, “but it’s just as true that these wars have so sapped our strength and scattered us all over the globe to keep the empire together that we have precious little in the way of troops to spare on this little theatre. And I don’t think you realize how far this matter has gone.”

  “What do you mean, Major?” Paul asked.