The Drum of Destiny

by Chris Stevenson

  “I’m glad he was able to sneak past the ships and get out of Boston,” Gabriel responded.

  “As am I,” said Ben. “They won the race out of Boston against the British. General Gage’s columns did not leave until a couple of hours after these brave riders had warned the militiamen. About seven hundred regulars marched all night. They reached Lexington Green at about the time the sun was coming up. When they got to the town, right there in front of them at the far edge of the green, stood the militiamen, including my brother, Jacob, guns in hand and standing proud. We should all be proud of these men, Gabriel. My brother and seventy-six men on the Green up against seven hundred of His Majesty’s finest. Those patriots stood their ground. What a sight that would have been . . .” said Ben, trailing off in a trance.

  Through Ben’s words, Gabriel could feel the tension and excitement those militiamen must have experienced. To think, he had not even crossed the King’s Bridge yet, and he was already in the presence of the brother of a patriot who had fought the redcoats. “What happened next?” he asked, anxiously waiting to hear more.

  “Right, right,” said Ben, “What happened next? Well, the redcoats did not turn away, and neither did the militia. A shot was fired. My brother did not know which side fired it, but after those men heard it, they all started blasting away. The Lexington militia couldn’t hold their ground against so many soldiers, so they had to give way. But that doesn’t mean they gave up the fight. Many of those men, including my brother, followed the king’s soldiers all along their march to Concord. After the regulars met heavy fire from the militia in Concord, they turned around to head back to Boston. By then, the men in surrounding towns heard about what was happening and gathered to make the lobsterbacks sorry for firing lead at their friends and neighbors. They chased them back to Boston. Many a redcoat dropped to the ground. It was a bloody day, Gabriel . . .” Ben’s voice trailed off to silence.

  Gabriel sat quietly, waiting for Ben to speak.

  “Well, now, Master Cooper, let me tell you this: War is full of blood and misery. But, you know, there are some things worth fighting for, and freedom is one of them. If we had let those troops march through the Massachusetts countryside, capture Sam and John, and then destroy barns and homes that are rightfully ours, we would be living in fear. And living in fear is . . . well, it’s no way to live. We paid the price in blood to make those lobsterbacks think twice about parading about the countryside.”

  Gabriel knew what Ben was saying. He remembered what it felt like when the soldiers stayed in their bookstore, all by order of the king. A few years ago, he also witnessed a group of the king’s soldiers barge into William Darby’s print shop near the Cooper’s bookstore and tear apart Mr. Darby’s printing press all because he was suspected of distributing papers denouncing the king and calling him a tyrant. He watched poor Mr. Darby plead with the lieutenant, asking him to identify who falsely accused him. The officer only drew his sword and threatened to run him through. Gabriel’s father tried to help Mr. Darby repair the presses, but they were a total loss. Mr. Darby’s livelihood was ruined. He left New York to work on his brother’s farm in West Jersey. Gabriel’s mother cried when Mr. Darby loaded his cart of his belongings and said his goodbyes to his friends. Gabriel never forgot how angry he was about the way good Mr. Darby was treated that day by that officer.

  “Gabriel, mark my words: as long as there are redcoats over here, armed and ready for battle, there will be fear and oppression,” stated Ben. “That is why all the militias are gathered around Boston right now, trying to hold those redcoats to the city. Those militiamen will not leave until the redcoats do.”

  “Then I know that is where I belong,” said Gabriel.

  Ben looked quietly at Gabriel, his eyes fixed on him. “I don’t know you well, Gabriel Cooper, but I would guess there is more to your story than just a boy running away because he wants to see how a battle looks. You seem to have some wisdom beyond your young years. I am not sure where that comes from in such a young lad, but don’t lose it.”

  “It comes from my parents,” answered Gabriel. “They taught me.”

  “If you don’t mind, tell me a little more about your ma and pa.”

  Gabriel smiled. “My mother, Anne, was born in France. When she was nineteen, her family visited London, and that’s where she met my father, James. As you probably can guess, my mother didn’t return to France with her parents. She and my father fell in love and were married. They saved their money and left England to start a new life in New York.”

  “And do you speak French?” asked Ben.

  “Oui, monsieur. Je parle Fancais. My mother taught me,” answered Gabriel.

  Ben chuckled. “Well then, I am impressed. Use whatever skills it takes for you to reach Boston.” Ben leaned across the table and patted him on the hand.

  In that moment, Gabriel thought of how his father used to reach across the dinner table and pat him on the hand while talking to him. A small tear came to his eye. He quickly grabbed his hand away from Ben and wiped the tear that he could now feel tracing down his cheek.

  “Well,” stuttered Gabriel abruptly, “I had better get going. I have a long way to go, and I want to cross King’s Bridge before it gets too late.”

  Just as he began to stand, the front door of the tavern flew open. Two men stood on either side of a teenage boy a few years older than him. The boy had a large cut across his forehead, and his right eye was filled in with swollen purpled flesh. They dragged the battered boy between them, knocking over several chairs and a table as they brought him before the chiseled face of Bradford Grimm. The entire tavern fell silent as Grimm stood from his table. “What do we have here?”

  The two lanky young men holding the boy by the arms stood proudly. The one on the left held his pointed nose in the air and spoke in a nasally tone. “We found him handing out treasonous pamphlets on the north side of the city. He claims he was just doing it to earn a few coppers and that he cannot read. He claims not to know what the pamphlets say.”

  With that, the boy spluttered out his plea, “It’s true, sir. I swear it’s true. I ain’t had no teaching on readin’ and writin’. Oh, please, sir, I ain’t got no ma or pa. I just was looking to earn a little coin, that’s all. That’s all, I swear, I swear.”

  Grimm slapped the boy across the face. Blood spattered on the table, and the boy began to whimper in pain. “Enough!” shouted Grimm with an air of pompous authority. “I do not believe for a second that you had no knowledge of what you were doing. Give me one of your pamphlets.”

  Gabriel’s was furious. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do to Grimm, but he had to do something. These loyalists were beating an innocent boy, who was obviously nothing more than an ignorant street urchin. Gabriel began to stand, but Ben quickly pulled him back down and subtly shook his head, mouthing the word, “No.”

  The squat, toad-like man with the dark pudgy eyes ripped off the boy’s coat and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a handful of papers and gave one to Grimm. Grimm scanned over the paper and then looked around the tavern, transfixing his eyes on every occupant as if he were a stage actor about to deliver the most important lines of a performance. “I read to you now the words of Alexander Hamilton, a known traitor to the crown: ‘No man has any moral power to deprive another of his life, limbs, property or liberty; nor the least authority to command, or exact obedience from him; Our King and his Parliament are subversive of our natural liberty,’” he read with growing anger, “‘because an authority is assumed over us, which we by no means assent to! For such authority can never exist while we have no part in the making of the laws that are to bind us!’”

  Grimm slammed the pamphlet down on the table. “Treason against the king! Treason, I say!” He continued his gaze around the tavern. “Who among you supports this unnatural rebellion — this rejection of God’s will? Who believes that we are to live without the king’s authority over us? Who is willing to stand for this unholy division t
hat leads us down the road to anarchy, to disorder, to chaos, to treason?”

  Gabriel was about to boldly step from the table and confront Grimm. It was no different than standing up against Reverend Loring. Ben’s eyes went wide, and he whispered, “Do not move a muscle. He will kill you.”

  Ben’s words froze Gabriel. Kill him? Would this man really kill him?

  Gabriel stood motionless as Bradford Grimm continued. “This is the New York that I know. You are the people who are loyal to the king. We are the ones that must help to crush this rebellion.”

  Grimm lowered his head, as if his performance was complete. Then he grabbed the boy standing weakly in front of him. With his massive hand, he took the boy’s chin and forced his wobbly head up. “Tell me, boy, who is printing these pamphlets containing the words of a known traitor?”

  The boy cowered, clearly expecting another blow. “I don’t know . . . I don’t know,” he sobbed.

  Grimm leaned over and yanked the bayonet from his musket. He took its gleaming point and held it next to the boy’s throat. “I will ask this one more time. Who is printing these pamphlets?”

  Gabriel could no longer hold himself back. He pushed his chair back and grabbed it firmly in his hands. He was about to fling it at Grimm, when, suddenly, the boy croaked out an answer. “Cavendish. The man where I got the pamphlets . . . his name is Cavendish. He has a store in the city. That’s all I know, I swear.”

  Grimm let the bayonet fall away from the boy’s throat. As he did, Gabriel released his grip on the chair. Grimm reattached his bayonet and then raised his musket in the air. “You will take us to this Cavendish. Who will go with me to weed out this rebel?”

  Grimm’s men whooped around him and. A few other men in the tavern joined the mob and stormed out of the tavern. Gabriel sat at the table, his heart still racing. Ben must have sensed Gabriel’s shock and anger. He spoke in a soothing voice. “I know you wanted to help, but it would not have done any good. Bradford Grimm is a twisted man. There was nothing we could have done to help that boy.”

  Gabriel swallowed hard. “Will they let him live?”

  Ben nodded. “I suspect they will, for now. But I would be lying if I didn’t tell you that traitors are hanged.”

  Gabriel didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He just sat in silence trying to comprehend all that had happened.

  Ben went up to the tavern keeper, said something to the man, and passed him what looked to be some coins. He returned to the table and told Gabriel, “There is a room upstairs for you here tonight. You need a good night’s rest before you set out from Manhattan Island.”

  “But —”

  “But nothing, son. You listen to me. Your journey will be long and full of peril. What you saw here tonight is just a taste of the turmoil that is about to begin. You are among friends here. You need your rest. Now, you get on upstairs.”

  “Thank you, sir,” replied Gabriel in disbelief.

  “No need to thank me. A couple more important things, though, before I leave,” said Ben. “First, there are likely to be loyalists just like Bradford Grimm along the Post Road between King’s Bridge and Boston. When you hear hoof beats approaching, you best get off the side of the road and into the grass or bushes. If they find a young lad toting a drum, they’re not likely to believe you’re just out for a Sunday stroll. They’ll know where you’re headed and with whom you’re aiming to join.”

  “I had been doing this when I first started out, since I was still so close to New York. I will continue to do so, if you think it a good idea.”

  “That I do. Second, I know your ma and pa and the good Lord tell you not to lie, but there are times when a lie can serve a higher and nobler cause. There’s nothing wrong with telling a lie to save your hide, lad, so that you might reach Boston and serve this fight for freedom well. Does that make sense to you, son?”

  Gabriel had never really given any thought to having to lie. His parents had always been honest people. He had heard the Reverend Loring teach that lying lips were an abomination to the Lord. But the Bible also said not to murder one another, and certainly men had to die at the hand of another man in battle. With these thoughts swimming in his mind, he muttered, “I guess it makes sense.”

  “Well, I don’t expect you to understand things that philosophers and theologians have struggled to understand for centuries. Now, there is one more important thing I need to tell you before I leave. There’s someone you need to find when you reach the militia camps around Boston. Ask for a man named Nathaniel Greene. He’s a cousin of mine from Rhode Island, and he’s as cunning as wild turkey, strong as an ox, and courageous as a lion. My brother writes that Nathaniel has his own band of militia — Rhode Islanders — and is headed up to help with things in Boston. You find him and tell him that Ben Daniels sent you to him. Knowing Nathaniel, he’s liable to want some kind of proof that you know me. You tell him that you know he didn’t catch that thirty-pound cod fish out in the bay with his line and bait. Crazy thing jumped in our rowboat. We told everyone in town that he caught it. We were just boys and didn’t think any harm would come of it, but it’s something I’m sure he’s never forgotten.”

  “I will find him, and I will tell him,” said Gabriel, a smile beginning to break out across his face.

  “That a boy. The codfish story is sure to catch his attention. Now, I better get going, young Master Cooper. The missus is probably wondering if I got lost.” Ben stood up, put a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, and patted him on the back. “You’ll be a fine soldier, Gabriel Cooper, but I don’t think you’ll have much use for that drum of yours.”

  Gabriel gave Ben a puzzled look and said, “I’m not sure what you mean, but I do thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

  “I don’t believe there are many things in this life that happen just by chance,” replied Ben. “And our meeting tonight surely was not one of them.” Then he turned and headed out the door into the night.

  Keeping his drum concealed under his coat, Gabriel headed up to his room for the night. As he lay alone in his bed, he thought about Bradford Grimm. Feelings of anger and fear swam in his head. He was angry that loyalists like Grimm could inflict so much pain and loss and then turn around and claim they were carrying out God’s will for the glory of the king. He felt sick to his stomach just thinking about it.

  Despite his rage, he was scared. Opposing loyalists — and the king’s soldiers, for that matter — could mean death. He had never really thought about the danger he placed himself in just by carrying a drum to Boston, but he could see the danger now.

  He thought for a brief moment about going back. It wasn’t too late. He could drop the drum anywhere and head back. But head back to what? There was nothing for him in New York — nothing but painful memories and the detestable Lorings.

  He had no choice but to continue, and with his drum in tow. Despite what Ben said about him not needing it, Gabriel believed it was central to his plan. Without his drum, he had no hope of ever finding a militia that would want to take him on as a recruit. He was too young and too inexperienced.

  He blew out his candle and tried to empty his head of the hundreds of thoughts bouncing around inside. Finally sleep came.

  H 4 H

  THE JOURNEY

  BEGINS

  Gabriel awoke after a good night’s rest and walked over to the window looking out over the road. The King’s Bridge lay below. No king’s soldiers appeared at the bridge, but as he watched, a small group of armed men crossed, heading north on horseback. Gabriel had no way of knowing if they were patriots or loyalists. As the sun began to rise, he knew he would have to take his chance.

  He headed down the stairs with his drum in hand. Instead of the bearded man from the night before, a woman in a brown dress stood behind the bar with a broom. She stopped sweeping and watched him come down the stairs. “You are a fine one that my husband hides up here,” she said.

  “Ma’am,” Gabriel said, nodding his head to
her as his mother had taught him.

  “I am to feed you before you go. Sit down here. I’ll cook an egg for you,” she stated plainly, pointing to the table near the bar.

  He didn’t know what to think but wasn’t going to turn down a meal. He put his drum beside his chair and sat, watching the woman move toward the hearth that had already been warmed by a morning log. The tavern was now empty. The woman cracked the egg on an iron skillet, which rested on a grate over the hot coals. She looked at him silently while she stirred the egg, scraping it onto a wooden plate next to a small piece of bread. “You’ll be wanting something to drink? I will bring you some milk.” The woman walked out the back door.

  Gabriel finished his egg, when the woman brought in a cup of fresh milk, sat it down, and said, “I don’t know what kind of spell you worked on Ben Daniels. You got him to pay for a room and for this hot food. You must be a good boy. Eat, eat!” The woman smiled now.

  Gabriel felt better. He smiled back at the woman. She got up from the table and went to work wiping off tables. He finished his meal and said his thank-yous to the woman. She smiled again and waved goodbye as he walked through the door. Slinging his pack over his back, he put his hand in his pocket and felt his ring and the loose change the tavern owner had given him from his dinner the night before. He liked the feel of coins in his pocket. Jingling his change, he set off for King’s Bridge.

  He had his drum at his side and was trying not to make it too obvious that he was carrying the instrument as he approached the bridge. It was made of stone and wide and fairly long. He would have liked to stop and look over the edge at the Harlem River below, but he thought it would be best not to delay. So he walked briskly across with nobody else in sight. So far, so good, he thought. This may be easier than I imagined.