The Drum of Destiny

by Chris Stevenson

  He again recalled the events of the day before. He thought about Bradford Grimm and the beaten boy in the tavern. Could this old man be another loyalist in disguise? Still, if the man were going to turn him in or do any harm, he would have done so already. Less than certain he was making the right choice, he stayed, as the man told him.

  He sat in the dark barn, waiting. After some time, he gazed through the barn to the house. Nothing. He began to doubt his decision to stay. Maybe the man had gone to alert nearby soldiers of his presence?

  He listened to the rain pelting the roof of the barn. It seemed a little less peaceful now. Again, he looked through the darkness of the barn to the rain outside. About an hour passed when he wondered, What could be taking him so long? Perhaps I should go. But just as he was readying to leave, the barn door squeaked open, and the man entered with his lantern in one hand and something else in the other.

  “Take this with you,” said the man softly. He held out a towel-wrapped bundle.

  Gabriel took it from the man and slowly opened the towel a bit to see what was inside. The smell of food (biscuits and some ham) hit him like an ocean wave. It was so overwhelming he nearly lost his composure and shoveled the food into his mouth right then and there. Instead, he took a deep breath and looked up at the man. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You can thank me by getting out of my barn, laddie,” barked the man. But then, through the rough scowl on his weathered face, he smiled at Gabriel.

  Gabriel picked up his bundle and took a step for the door. As he did, the man suddenly spoke, “Laddie, my son has gone north to Boston to fight. Samuel O’Connor’s his name. I tried to keep him from going. Damn foolishness, I told him. Foolishness. He wouldn’t listen to me. I will give you the same warning I gave him: stay with your family. Leave the fighting to others. They say there’s going to be a great battle soon, just outside Boston. You know what that tells me, don’t ya? Men are going to die, that’s what that means. Go home, lad,” said the man in a shaky voice.

  “I can’t go home, sir. I haven’t got one.”

  There was a moment of silence between them as they just stared at one another.

  “Then go with God, laddie. And be careful.”

  “I will, sir. And thank you for the food.” Gabriel turned and went into the wet darkness.

  H 6 H

  80 CANNON

  Gabriel awoke from a short, restless sleep under a tall pine tree with thick branches that shielded him from the rain. His woolen coat was soaked with the heavy morning dew, and it was cold against his skin. Shivering, he drew his knees in up under his chin as he sat on the ground, trying to warm up.

  He reflected on the kindness shown to him the night before. Perhaps he reminded the old man of his own son leaving to go to Boston. It made him think of his own father again. He wished his father had been there to see him off to fight for freedom, but, then again, he probably wouldn’t have gone if his parents were still alive. He couldn’t begin thinking that way again, though. He had already wasted too many hours thinking about what life should have been like for him, instead of how it was. He had finally come to accept his circumstances and make the best of what he’d been given.

  At the moment, it seemed like he had been given a lot. The thought of the biscuits and ham consumed him once again. He had plenty left for a good breakfast. He set the towel down on the bed of pine needles and couldn’t keep from stuffing his mouth so full of food he could hardly swallow.

  After eating almost every morsel, it dawned on him he should save some of the food for later. Reluctantly, he folded what was left of the meal back into the towel and stuffed it into his rolled-up sack. The sky was still dark, with no sign of a rising sun, so he laid back down, though he was no longer sleepy.

  He thought about starting a fire to warm up and dry out, but he was afraid it would draw too much attention. The best plan was to find his way back to the road and get moving. Walking would help warm him up, and with any luck, the clouds would give way to some sunshine. As soon as he saw the sun start to rise, Gabriel stood, picked up his belongings, and stepped out from under the large pine tree that had been his shelter for the night.

  The sunrise gave some light to the gray clouds above, but Gabriel still didn’t know which way to go. Where was the road? There was no clear way to figure out where he had come from the night before. It had been too dark, foggy, and rainy to have seen much of anything. Still, having heard that soldiers were lurking about, he wanted to get going.

  He noticed a stream of smoke wafting into the air back in the direction of the home of the man who had fed him last night. Getting his bearings, he headed in the direction he thought the road would be. After walking a long time, he mumbled to himself, “I hope I haven’t headed the wrong way. I don’t remember it taking me this long to reach that barn last night.”

  He kept on going in the same direction toward the east. Just to the north, he saw a hill that hadn’t been visible in the dark. I’ll climb to the top, he thought. From there I’ll be able to see the land around me.

  When he first noticed it, the hill looked small. But as he neared, Gabriel realized the climb would be more of a challenge than at first sight. The slopes were steep and rocky, but he was determined to reach the top. He hoped to be able to see the road from there.

  The lower rise of the hill was a meadow with a few trees scattered about. Wildflowers had started to bloom, and their blossoms dotted the green grass with purple, pink, and yellow. As he neared the halfway point, the slope became much steeper and the grass gave way to rocky soil. He slung his drum and sack over his back and began to climb. With each step, his foot slipped on the rocky surface. He grabbed hold of trees and roots to pull his way up. By now, he was breathing hard. The top was in sight, but to reach it, he would have to make one final push over a larger boulder jutting out from the side of the hill. Lying down on his stomach, he crawled up and over this last obstacle.

  Once he reached the top, all he could do was lie on his back and look up at the sky. His arms and legs burned as though they were on fire, and he felt as if he would never catch his breath. The gray rain clouds were beginning to give way to puffy white clouds, with streaks of interwoven blue. Encouraged by the thought of approaching sunshine, Gabriel rose to his feet and looked out.

  The view both captivated and terrified Gabriel. He hadn’t realized he was so close to the sound. He could see the tops of tall trees — oaks and pines, maples and spruce. They seemed to stretch out all around, covering the land all the way to the water. But anchored there just beyond the shoals were two grand ships. These ships were flying the flag with the king’s colors in the canton with a white ensign and St. George’s cross atop their main masts, the colors flapping briskly in the wind. He squinted now, trying to see the details of the ships. They were large, set deep in the water, and appeared to have many openings along the sides, much like windows. He thought for a minute, and then it dawned on him what the openings were. Cannon ports. These were ships-of-the-line.

  While Gabriel had seen plenty of English merchant ships flying the British Red Ensign sail into New York Harbor, he’d never seen ships like these. He tried to count the openings, but he always lost count at about forty or so. If there were forty cannon on one side of the ship, there would have to be forty on the other side, as well. “Eighty cannon,” he uttered in amazement.

  He remembered reading a book about Royal Navy ships in his father’s bookstore and always wanted to see one in person, but now, as he looked out at those two massive ships, his heart began to sink. “They must be headed for Boston!” he said out loud.

  Gabriel spied a much smaller boat that was being rowed out from the docks. He could also see sailors raising and lowering the oars of the boat. The man he had met last night was right. They must be loading up their ships with all available soldiers to send them to Boston. There is only one reason to put all your soldiers in one place, thought Gabriel. Because you are getting ready to attack.

&nb
sp; The thought of the British attacking the militia around Boston without him there to help in the fight was almost unbearable. “The road . . . I have got to find the road,” Gabriel gasped. He took his eyes off the ships and scanned the area. He could not see the road anywhere until he finally looked nearly straight down. There, right at the bottom of the hill, lay a winding strip of dirt road. If he had gone just a few hundred yards farther instead of climbing the hill, he would have been back to the road long ago. Still, if he hadn’t climbed the hill, he wouldn’t have been able to see the awesome scene laid out before him.

  He took it in one last time before turning his eyes back down to the road, carefully looking for redcoats moving along its path and seeing none. As he looked to the east, he spotted a small village in the distance. He could easily reach it in a day’s walk.

  Gabriel was more determined than ever to travel to Boston as fast as he could. It was nearly the end of April, and the British were on the move. He quickly descended the hill, almost sliding straight down along some of the steepest ravines and gullies, grasping at trees and roots to slow him down. When he reached the bottom, he was covered in a brownish mud. But he didn’t care what he looked like. He was back on the road and heading toward Boston.

  Even though Gabriel was still wet and now very dirty, as well, it felt good to be heading in the right direction again. There was very little traffic on the road, and by high noon, he was able to reach the group of houses he saw from the hill. He left his drum covered under some bushes on the edge of the village and walked through the streets, as if he knew exactly where he was going. He decided it was best not to gawk around and wander aimlessly, raising suspicions in observers’ minds. If you did not look suspicious, he concluded, you are less likely to be bothered.

  While he did his best to look like he knew where he was going, he did nothing to mask his muddy, ratty appearance. He strolled confidently down the street, but more than one of the villagers stopped in their tracks to stare at him as he walked. He ignored the attention.

  He noticed a sign above one of the buildings that read, “Fairfield Food & Drink.” He began walking toward the building when a man sitting in a rocking chair just outside the door shouted, “You been wrestling with the pigs, boy?”

  “Who, me?” retorted Gabriel.

  “Yes, you. I saw you coming from all the way down the street. I think half the town noticed you. I’ve seen some dirt in my day, but I would have to say you’re ’bout the muddiest looking wretch I’ve seen.”

  Gabriel now looked down at his pants and coat and realized what a spectacle he really was.

  “Come inside,” said the man in the rocking chair, getting up to stand. “I’ve got a fire going. You can take those wet and muddy things you call clothes off to dry.”

  Grateful to get out of sight, Gabriel stepped inside the building. So much for not drawing attention, he thought. Still, the man did not ask him any questions about who he was or where he was going. He just let him dry out his clothes a bit and buy something to eat and drink.

  “I’ve got a spare room if you need a place to sleep tonight, son.”

  “Thank you, sir,” replied Gabriel, “but I need to get going. I’ve rested here long enough in front of your fire. I have many more miles ahead of me before I reach my destination.”

  “Very well,” said the man. “Looks like more rain rolling in, though. You might want to reconsider.”

  Gabriel was already putting his coat back on and picking up his pack. “I’ll stay dry, thank you.” He headed out the door and waved. He turned as if he was heading on east, but once he was out of sight, he ducked into a back alley and hurried to the spot where he’d left his drum. He found it just as he’d left it, and he was glad to have it back. He was sure this was the only way he was going to be allowed to join the militia, even if he didn’t have any drumsticks.

  Back on the road again, Gabriel was determined to make as much progress as he could. He thought about reaching the militia around Boston and asking for Nathaniel Greene, just as Ben Daniels had told him to. He wondered if the ships in the sound had raised anchor yet. When will they reach Boston Harbor? Or were the soldiers from the ships already on the ground marching against the militia? These thoughts quickened his pace.

  Distracted by his thoughts of reaching Boston, he hardly noticed when the pitter-patter of rain began to fall on his head. The rain quickly turned into a downpour. He ran for cover under a large oak tree, but the rain was coming down hard, and the wind was whipping through the tree so much that the oak did little to shelter him. His woolen coat was soaked again. Soon, the approaching night air would become cooler. He knew he was in for a long night. He thought of the fire he had sat by earlier that afternoon, and it warmed his thoughts.

  That was it — a fire! Gabriel went to gather some small branches and pine needles. He stacked them in a pile and took his flint rock from his pouch. Then he struck his flint with his knife. Sparks flew, but no fire took hold. He struck again and again, but it was simply too wet. With this rain-soaked wood, he wouldn’t have a fire tonight.

  Gabriel leaned back against the base of the oak tree and hung his head. As he did, the cold rain dripped from his black hair onto the ground. He watched it drip, wishing he had stayed in the room the innkeeper offered him. He could be sitting by a warm fire right now, but, instead, he was here in the cold, pouring rain with night falling around him. Uncomfortable as he was, he tried to go to sleep. Dwelling on thoughts of a warm fire would do him no good. Instead, he tried to think about how good his full stomach felt. With the thought of a satisfied belly, he finally fell asleep in the cold rain.

  H 7 H

  NEW HAVEN

  Gabriel awoke cold, stiff, and wet. A gray drizzle filled the sky, and, at first, it was hard for him to tell if it was day or night. With his eyes blurred by the dripping rain, he wiped his sleeve over his face and looked out at the world. He stood and stretched but soon realized stretching would not make him feel any better.

  In fact, the more he moved, the worse he felt. He blamed his lack of energy on his side, which still ached from Hannigan’s kick. He grabbed his pack, left the tree, and wandered back out to the road. As he moved, he felt a funny cringe in his throat. Still, he pressed on for most of the day in the continuous cold rain. He had to reach Boston soon.

  With no sun, he had no idea what time it was. He felt as if he had been walking forever. Suddenly, he felt really warm. The warmth felt good at first, but then it seemed to zap every ounce of energy left in him. He stopped a moment on the road. As he did, the warmth disappeared and he shook uncontrollably. He was so cold he felt paralyzed. He dropped to the ground and tried to warm himself.

  Gabriel realized he was ill. Could he make it back to the innkeeper whose fire he had sat by the day before? No. He would only go forward. He had to press on to get to Boston before the ships.

  He pulled himself up off the muddy road and began to walk again. His head began to pound. He could hardly keep his eyes open, but when he shut them, his mind began to spin.

  All along his route, he’d wanted to avoid other travelers, until now. He would have rejoiced to see anyone coming up the road with a horse and carriage, but no one came. Gabriel slogged on through the muddy road. He had to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. He only hoped that he was headed in the right direction. Not even having the strength to hold up his head, he began to stumble. His drum and pack of belongings hung alongside him, dragging through the mud.

  Gabriel’s foot hit a rock or branch in the mud, and he fell. He was so weak, he couldn’t even bring his arm up to help break his fall. As his face hit the mud, he thought for a brief moment how cool it felt. He didn’t think he could get up. He didn’t want to get up. He couldn’t even muster the strength to raise his head out of the mud. Would he end up like his parents, unable to recover from a sudden, overwhelming sickness?

  Gabriel stretched out his arm and felt something hard. Was this what he tripped over
? He felt it with his hand. It was a stone of some sort. He could feel letters etched in the surface. Was it a gravestone? Had he stumbled into a cemetery? How fitting, he thought.

  His curiosity sparked enough strength that he was able to raise his head. Peering through the murky rain and his dangling wet hair, he pulled his eyes closer to the etching in the stone. He made out the writing. N-E-W H-A-V-E-N.

  New Haven. That’s just what I need, thought Gabriel, a new haven out of this rain and sickness. He saw some more writing . . . 1 M-I-L-E.

  New Haven one mile.

  “One mile . . . one mile.” Mumbling the words to himself over and over again, he finally comprehended the meaning of the stone marker he just tripped over. It was a mile marker along the Boston Post Road, and it was only one mile to the town of New Haven, Connecticut.

  Only one mile. I can’t give up when I’m so close. Gabriel slowly pulled himself up. He grasped hold of the marker to pull himself to his feet, tugged at his drum and pack, and stumbled back onto the road. Through all this, the rain continued, but it didn’t matter to him. He could have been walking through the bottom of the ocean or the driest of deserts. He only had one thing in mind: making it one more mile.

  With blurred vision, Gabriel walked on senselessly. He thought he heard something up ahead. It sounded like voices, but he was unsure of anything now. Then he saw the blurry rain-soaked vision of a building ahead. A house? He careened up to the door and knocked once with every last ounce of strength he could muster. He slid down alongside the door and waited. As he slid down, he prayed the person who answered the door would not be a loyalist. He shut his eyes and leaned against the door.

  He felt his head begin to fall as the door opened. Helplessly, he fell across the doorstep. He looked up, only able to open his blurry eyes halfway, seeing what looked like a girl standing over him.