Prelude to Glory, Vol. 1

by Ron Carter

  John’s eyes narrowed as he followed Matthew into the kitchen.

  “Father, I have asked Kathleen to marry me, and Mother has consented. This morning you approved. Do we have your blessing?”

  John reflected for a moment. “Isn’t this a little abrupt? You have my blessing, of course, but what about Henry and Phoebe?”

  “I plan to ask them tonight, before they leave.”

  Concern showed in John’s face. “Shouldn’t the Thorpes be given a little time to get used to the idea?”

  “Kathleen says it’s all right.”

  John let his eyes drop to the floor for a moment. “Talk with Henry.”

  Matthew brought his eyes to his father’s, and in them he saw the memories that rose in John of a dark-haired little boy at his knee, and then a child, and then a young man who left for college, and returned grown, steady and strong. Matthew thrust his hand forward and John ignored it; he embraced his son, and for a moment they stood in the kitchen, knowing they were closing a precious chapter in life and opening a new one.

  John followed Matthew back into the great room, where Matthew faced Henry Thorpe. “Mr. Thorpe, could I see you and your wife for a moment in the kitchen?”

  Henry glanced at John, and Phoebe walked to her husband and waited, and they followed Matthew into the kitchen.

  “I wish to ask you for the hand of your daughter in marriage.”

  Phoebe’s eyes dropped. Henry stiffened.

  “I have asked Kathleen and she agreed. I have talked with my parents and they have given us their blessing. I know this is usually done at the home of the bride, but I did not want to wait.” He stopped, and for a moment the room was silent.

  Henry cleared his throat and glanced at Phoebe. “This catches us a little unprepared.”

  “I know it does, sir. It caught me unprepared.”

  Henry stared at the floor for a moment. “Yes, I give permission.” He reached with his hand and Matthew shook it warmly, then turned to Phoebe.

  “May we have your blessing too, Mrs. Thorpe?”

  Phoebe’s chin trembled as she nodded. “Yes. Gladly.” She put her hand over her mouth and a sob caught in her throat.

  Instantly Kathleen burst through the doorway, where she had been waiting breathlessly. She threw her arms about her mother, and Phoebe clutched her close and burst into tears. Margaret followed and in a moment joined the other two women, and the three of them stood embracing and dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs.

  Henry cleared his throat. “These things never do work without ten minutes of weeping women.” He glanced at Matthew. “That’s because they’re so happy, you understand.”

  Matthew laughed nervously, and John walked in and shook Henry’s hand. The children clambered into the room and stood aside, eyes wide in wonder at why the women were weeping while they smiled and the men were standing tolerantly, talking among themselves.

  Brigitte herded the children back into the parlor explaining, “They’re weeping because they’re happy.”

  “About what?” Caleb asked.

  “Kathleen and Matthew are getting married.”

  Caleb’s nose wrinkled. “That’s why they’re crying?”

  “Someday you’ll understand,” Brigitte said. “Right now, you stay here and help with these children.”

  Talk went on for fifteen minutes while the two families let the idea grow and take shape and root.

  Henry turned to Margaret. “It’s getting late. We should be going.”

  Margaret brought the coats, and the Thorpes slipped them on, and both families walked outside into the still, cool spring evening, cast in the silver glow of a full moon.

  “Sir, may I walk Kathleen home, alone?”

  “Of course.”

  They opened the front gate, and the Dunson family stood silhouetted in the yellow shaft of light coming from their open door as they waved to the Thorpes until they were out of sight. John watched Matthew and Kathleen disappear into the shadows and turned back. He dropped his arm around Margaret’s shoulders and drew her to him as they walked together towards the open door.

  “It’s been a long day,” he said wistfully.

  “I don’t remember one like—”

  A hiss came sharp from the shadows and they jerked to a stop. Margaret gasped and John peered into the silvery darkness.

  “John. It’s me.”

  John’s eyes narrowed in puzzled surprise. “Tom?”

  “Don’t talk and don’t look. Walk normal on into the house and put out the lights in the kitchen and meet me at the back door.”

  John continued with measured step, Margaret still held to his side, through the open door. The instant it closed he gave hand signals to Margaret to gather the children, trotted into the kitchen and put out all the lamps, and silently opened the back door. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, and he stepped into the yard and closed the door.

  Thirty seconds passed, with only the whisper of nighthawks above and the ships in the Back Bay, before Tom rose from beside the root cellar. “Come with me,” he whispered.

  “Wait,” John answered, and disappeared silently back inside the house to where Margaret was waiting with the children. “I’ll be gone for a while. Put the children to bed.” He turned on his heel and once again disappeared out the back door. He followed Tom over the back fence, through the neighbor’s yard, then south, towards the Neck, to where open fields and woods began.

  Tom stopped at the tumbled-down remains of an old tavern, burned and abandoned years ago. He held his finger to his lips, listened for a moment, and then, satisfied they were alone, faced John. “Sorry for the fright,” he said quietly. “I been followed half the day. Things are happening.”

  He paused, and John peered about for movement in the shadows. There was none.

  “I been watching Gage since before sunup. A civilian went to his living quarters early, and left, and twenty minutes later Gage went to his office at headquarters in a hurry and then on to talk to a major and a captain. Fifteen minutes later the major left with four mounted soldiers headed north at a gallop. The captain went to the barracks and mustered a twenty-man company, armed, ready to fight. They left marching. Then, about noon the same civilian came back to Gage’s office. I don’t know who he was.”

  Tom paused to wipe his sleeve across his mouth. “He left after about ten minutes, and a few minutes later Gage went back to his living quarters. I figured two trips by the same civilian meant he was carrying information.”

  John interrupted. “This morning a British captain and twenty regulars harassed us at church, and he knew about the meeting last night and that Revere’s gone. He knew you were there.”

  Tom’s mouth clamped tight for a moment. “It figures. After the civilian left I waited to see who would come back, but no one did, so I got Abe Cullens. He’s the old cripple that keeps Gage’s headquarters clean. He’s sworn allegiance to the Crown and Gage thinks he’s harmless, so he pretty much comes and goes when he wants and nobody minds, and they don’t know yet he’s with us. Abe rummaged through Gage’s office and found a paper in an envelope in a drawer. The paper wasn’t there yesterday. He snuck it out to me. It’s in French. I took it to Jacque and he translated it.”

  Again he paused, and John didn’t move.

  “Jacque said it was written by an Englishman who knows French but not enough to write it good. He gave me the translation. Here it is.” Tom hunkered down. “Now, get down here and I’m going to strike a light and you’re going to read it.”

  John dropped to his haunches, and Tom struck flint to steel and nursed the spark to life in the tinderbox. John turned the paper to the light, and while Tom watched in all directions, John silently read.

  Four Brass Cannon and two Mortars or Cohorns with a Number of small arms in the Cellar or out Houses of Mr. Barrett a little on the other side the Bridge where is also lodged a Quantity of Powder & Lead.

  Ten Iron Cannon before the Town-House and two within it
which Town-House is in the Center of the Town. The ammunition for said Guns within the House.

  Three Guns 24 Pounders, lodged in the Prison yard with a Quantity of Cartridges and Provision.

  A Quantity of Provision and Ammunition in other Places, the Principal Deposits are the Houses of Messrs. Hubbard, near the Meeting, Butler, Jones the Tailors, near Hubbards, two men of the name of Bond, and particularly at Mr. Whitneys who lives on the Right Hand near the Entrance of the Town, at a House plaistered white a small yard in Front and a railed Fence a large Quantity of Powder and Ball is reported to be deposited in his store adjoining the House.

  Cannon hid in a wood a mile & half from the Center of the Village between the River and Malden Pond. The wood thick a good deal of underwood. The Ground no little wet, but not a Marsh. Three Guns still mounted, the rest dismounted and carefully hid and even buried. In the same place some Boxes of Arms hid like the Cannon.

  The Medicine Chests & Powder Barrells, Tents, etc, distributed in the chief Houses, particularly Mr. Barretts, Capt. Wheelers, Mr. Hubbards Stores and the two Bonds.

  The three Guns in the Prison Court remain there besides many different Articles.

  John’s mind numbed and he lowered the paper, and Tom snapped the lid shut on the tinderbox. They stood and stared at each other in the moonlight while John licked dry lips, his mind reeling.

  “Concord!” he whispered. “This tells where we hid everything at Concord! All of it, in detail! Only the committee knows all this, and we didn’t learn some of it until Friday!”

  He stopped and forced his thoughts into a semblance of order. His mind leaped and he suddenly thrust the paper forward. “Where’s the original of this—the one in French?”

  “Cullens put it back. Gage can’t know we saw it.”

  John exhaled held breath and continued. “One of us at that meeting last night told the civilian you saw and he took it to Gage. It wasn’t you or me. That leaves Revere, Warren, Thorpe, Palmer, Watson, Dawes, and Sheffield. Which one?”

  “I don’t know much about Palmer or Watson,” Tom answered. “And Sheffield isn’t on the committee.”

  “Adams and Hancock vouched for Palmer and Watson before we put them on the committee.”

  “Maybe it’s not one of the committee. Maybe it’s one of their wives or kids who can’t control their tongue, or who is in with the British.”

  “Either way, it comes from the committee.”

  “I don’t know how they’re doing it.”

  John heaved a defeated sigh. “Did Revere get out of town? Did you see him go?”

  “I watched him leave in his boat. He had a horse waiting on the other side.”

  “Any British follow?”

  “Not that I saw.”

  “Have you seen him return?”

  “No.”

  John stared north towards the lights of Boston. “Does Gage know where to find Adams and Hancock at Lexington?”

  Tom saw the thoughts forming in John’s eyes, and John spoke. “If Gage takes Adams and Hancock, and our arms and supplies, we’re beaten before we start.”

  Tom shifted his feet. “That’s why I came to find you tonight.”

  Silence held for several seconds before John held up the paper. “This gives him what he needed. He has enough now to undo us.”

  Tom asked, “What of those muskets under your pantry? You better get them out now, because it will be trouble after this all starts.”

  John nodded. He folded the paper, opened the buttons on the front of his shirt and slipped it inside, and asked the final question. “Did that mounted patrol catch Revere? Does Gage have Revere?”

  Tom shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  In the moonlight Tom saw the faraway look and the heavy questions come into John’s eyes. Who is Gage’s informer, and when will Gage move?

  Tom interrupted his thoughts. “I’ll go wait for Revere. We’ve got to know if he made it, and what Adams and Hancock said.”

  John nodded. “I’ll go tell Warren what we know.”

  Both men melted into the darkness. Twenty minutes later John rapped on Warren’s door, and a light moved inside and the door opened. Thirty minutes passed before the light went out and John slipped back into the night and made his way through the street sounds back to his own home. Lights glowed inside and John slowed, puzzled that lamps would still be burning at this late hour. He paused at the door and heard the voices of Brigitte and Margaret, and he rapped and the door opened and he entered. Brigitte, sitting at the dinner table, leaned forward on her elbows. Margaret closed the door behind John without a word and walked back to the table.

  John glanced at both of them. “Trouble?”

  Margaret shook her head. “No. Just talking. What did Tom want?”

  John shook his head. “It’s moving too fast. Gage knows too much. We’ve got to find a way to slow it down, take control.” He hung his coat on the coatrack. “What are you doing still up, Brigitte?”

  Margaret stood silently waiting, and John looked at her, then back at Brigitte.

  Brigitte finally shrugged. “Just talking.”

  “At midnight? About what?”

  Again Margaret waited, giving Brigitte her chance.

  Brigitte took a heavy breath. “Nothing. I better go to bed.” She stood and started towards the archway to the bedroom wing, and John looked at Margaret, silently inquiring. Margaret shook her head, and John said nothing and waited until he heard the bedroom door quietly close.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked Margaret.

  Margaret pursed her mouth for a moment while she picked her words. “Remember that young lieutenant this morning? the one in the street, and then at the church? the one I mentioned?”

  John’s eyes narrowed as he searched his memory. “Yes. What about him?”

  “Brigitte can’t get him out of her mind.”

  “She told you that?”

  “Yes. She couldn’t sleep. We’ve talked over an hour.”

  John’s eyebrows rose. “Nothing can come of it. Doesn’t she understand that?”

  Margaret shook her head. “What she understands means nothing! For the first time in her life, she is deeply taken by a man. She’s frightened, and she’s ecstatic, and the last thing she wants to think about is, does she understand nothing can come of it? I told you earlier, she will see him again, and I’m telling you the same thing now. She will see him again. Somehow it’s going to happen.”

  John frowned. “She’s young. It’ll pass.”

  “Don’t be mistaken. She’s eighteen, and she’s beyond her years. She has the heart of a grown woman. We better take this seriously, because she certainly is.”

  John’s smile disappeared. “That bad?”

  “Yes, that bad.”

  “She’s only seen him twice. She’s never spoken to him— doesn’t even know his name.”

  “John, sometimes that’s enough.”

  John let out all his breath, and his shoulders slumped from weariness. “We’ll talk more about it. Right now we better get to bed. If this thing with the British goes wrong, we’ll need all the rest we can get.”

  ______

  Notes

  The incident wherein William Dawes thrashes a British soldier for insulting his wife is based on a real event (see French, The Day of Concord and Lexington, p. 77).

  The incident described wherein William Dawes led a group of colonials to steal a cannon from under the noses of British guards—in the process driving a cuff button into his wrist and later needing medical attention from Doctor Joseph Warren, whom he refused to tell how he sustained the wound—is historically accurate (see French, The Day of Concord and Lexington, p. 78).

  The name of the colonial spy who succeeded in penetrating the office of General Thomas Gage to obtain his secrets and messages could not be found; thus the name Abe Cullens is used in this volume. It is not the true name.

  Background concerning the information and documents with which General Gage’s
informers were supplying him at this time can be found in French, General Gage’s Informers. One of those providing Gage with intelligence concerning the colonial weapons stores did write his communications in the French language. (See General Gage’s Informers, pp. 10–14, 28–30.)

  Sunday, April 16, 1775

  Chapter IV

  * * *

  The rapid, insistent rapping came again. Margaret Kemble Gage opened her eyes and for a moment stared into the gray blackness of her second-floor bedroom, caught in the twilight world between deep, dreamless sleep and an awareness that someone was at the downstairs door. She listened and it came again, and she reached to grasp the shoulder of her husband. “Someone’s knocking.”

  His eyes flickered and opened, and for a moment he stared at her while his brain registered her touch and her words. “Who?”

  “I don’t know. I just heard it.”

  He waited and it came again. He glanced at the clock—five-fifteen a.m., Sunday, April 16, 1775—and he threw back the thick comforter and swung his feet onto the round, hand-braided rug. His slippers made a slapping sound as he walked down the hardwood stairs to the back door. He was tying his robe belt when he tugged the window blind to one side and peered out. Instantly he drew the dead bolt, turned the brass key, and opened the door.

  “Come in,” he said with sharp urgency and paused long enough to look beyond the man who entered. Nothing moved in the silent yard. “Sit.” He pointed to the kitchen table, and the small man pulled a chair and dropped onto it, tense, nervous, eyes constantly moving.

  “You know you were never to come here.” Gage was still standing, frowning in hot disgust. The man sat silent while Gage drew out his own chair and settled onto it. “What was so important?”

  “Someone saw the longboats go out to the men-of-war. Within half an hour nine colonials met at Warren’s home.”

  “You saw them?”

  “I saw them.”

  “Who?”

  “Warren, Thorpe, Dunson, Palmer, and Watson, all from the committee, and Revere, Dawes, Sievers, and one other man I didn’t know.”

  “For how long?”