The Drum of Destiny

by Chris Stevenson

  The man reached the bank, but with blood still coming from his forehead, he could not pull himself up out of the water. Himself exhausted, Gabriel stumbled to his feet and held out his hand to the man. The man weakly grasped hold of Gabriel’s arm just below the elbow. Gabriel pulled, but the man did not budge. He dug his feet in and pulled again. This time, the man rose up onto the bank.

  Losing his balance from the force of the man pulling his arm, Gabriel’s feet slipped in the mud. He tried to grasp hold of something, but there was nothing to grab, and he plummeted into the river.

  The force of the cold river water took Gabriel’s breath away. His head went under. Blindly reaching up, he groped aimlessly. Miraculously, his hand found the tree. Grabbing hold, he began to pull himself up. He got his head up to grab a breath, but in his exhaustion, he was not able to keep his head above the water. Gabriel could feel himself beginning to slip away. His grip was loosening on the tree, his last connection to life fading.

  H 18 H

  FOUND

  Gabriel felt himself falling. He could picture himself hurtling over the waterfall, down to the rocks below. His jacket went tight on his chest, but rather than the sensation of falling he expected, he felt as if he was being lifted. The pressure of the water no longer pressed him to continue to try to hold his breath. He exhaled with great force as a feeling of weightlessness filled his senses, but he couldn’t inhale. His body was thrown down onto something hard. Something like a mallet started beating on his chest.

  He coughed and spewed water from his lungs and stomach and tried to draw a breath but couldn’t. Again he coughed and vomited. He gasped, desperate for air, and then it came. The air filled his lungs as he took a breath and then another. He continued to cough, but his breath had returned.

  Someone was beside him and helped him to sit up. He could not see, but he heard the pounding of the waterfall and the whinny of a horse. Then a voice came. “You’re going to be all right, just try to relax.”

  Gabriel blindly turned his head toward the voice. “Who’s there?”

  “No questions, at least not yet. Just rest,” came a strong but quiet voice. Gabriel lay back down and rested.

  A while later, he was not awake but not quite asleep when he overheard men talking. The same voice that told him to rest said, “You know, Artemas, you are one lucky man to be sitting here alive. After your horse threw you off when we were crossing the river, you plunged into that swirling water and, I hate to say it, but I thought I’d seen the last of you.”

  “I wouldn’t call it luck,” replied a weak voiced man. “More like divine intervention. For this boy to be standing along the bank of the river, see me coming, somehow get ahead of me, and then have brains and courage to pluck me out, it must be one of His miracles. By the grace of God, I owe the young man my life.”

  “How did he do it?” questioned a third man with a deep and clear voice.

  “I’m not sure,” said Artemas. “First time I saw him was when I grabbed onto a boulder in the middle of the river, but the current was too strong, I couldn’t hold on. When I turned back to look for the lad, he was gone. Next thing I know, I see him up ahead of me, jumping at a tree. It falls over and lodges perfectly against a rock in the river. I was able to grab a hold of the tree and pull myself to the shore, but I didn’t have the strength to pull myself up out of the river. That’s when the boy reached down and, bless his courageous soul, tugged on me so hard his foot slipped, and in he went. I reached for him, but I was so weak I was near to useless. My heart sank to think about my young savior meeting the doom meant for me. I saw his head bob up for a moment. He managed to grab the tree, but then his head went back under, and I didn’t see him again. Not until good ole’ Nate here rode up, ran over, and plucked that boy up like a fish on a hook.”

  “That was well done,” came the clear and deep voice again.

  “It was nothing, Your Excellency — nothing compared to what this young man did to save the life of Artemas Greenwood.”

  The man with the deep clear voice chuckled, “Excellency! That’s what you call me now, is it? I must admit, I’m not quite used to that title. General Washington will do when we are out in the field together.”

  “I will try to remember, sir, but having been placed in command over all the troops around Boston, ‘Your Excellency’ is what Joseph Reed told us to call you.”

  “Yes, yes, I know . . . I know. And Reed is a good aide; yet, the burden of this undertaking is already heavy enough. I don’t know whether to call John Adams a friend or the devil for convincing Congress I should be commander over this rabble of men that thinks itself an army.”

  “Well, I didn’t mean it in a bad way, Your Excellency — I mean . . . General. There are plenty of men with ambitious spirits, hungry for power, who would give anything to be called the supreme commander of our army.”

  “Yes, I know you are right. I do cherish this honor, but with honor comes an enormous responsibility. You surely realize this. How are we to drive the regulars from Boston? We have no navy, these militias are disorganized, and many of these men are sick, wounded, or have little ammunition. Franklin even suggested we arm them with arrow and bow. And we have precious few cannon. I would be lying if I didn’t tell you my heart is overwhelmed sometimes, and its only desire is to return to Mount Vernon, the hills of Virginia, and Martha.”

  Artemas responded, his voice sounding a bit stronger, “Well, General Washington, we must convince the men at Cambridge you are the man who can drive Howe’s redcoats from Boston. I believe it, and soon everyone will.”

  Gabriel stirred a little. He had heard everything and, at first, thought it was a dream. Could it really be he was in the presence of the commander over all the troops at Cambridge? This was the general that Charlie the innkeeper spoke of back in Springfield. This man would surely know where to find Nathaniel Greene.

  Gabriel was afraid to fully wake, for fear the voices would vanish and he would be left alone again in these terrible woods. His vision had returned, and he saw the fading sunlight, bright against three shadowy figures next to him. Looking into the sun, squinting his eyes, he caught glimpse of the men before him. They were handsome in their finely tailored uniforms. Blue-tailed coats faced in buff, with gold epaulettes. He sat up. He was in the presence of officers who certainly could take him to camp near Cambridge, where he could look for Nathaniel Greene.

  “Well, it looks like our young hero is awake,” came the voice of the man they called His Excellency, General Washington.

  “Well, young man, do you feel up for a ride?” asked the rider Artemas had called Nate. “We’d like to get back to camp before it’s too late, and we’ll likely be needing to drop you off at your home. I’m sure your Ma’s worried sick about you.”

  Nate’s words about dropping him off at home surprised Gabriel. These men didn’t know how far he’d come to join the militia. But why should they? To them, he was just a boy who happened to be along the river when this militiaman named Artemas Greenwood came rolling down the current. It struck him as a little funny that everyone along his travels knew where he was heading, but now that he was finally at his journey’s end, these soldiers didn’t recognize what he was up to.

  “Can you tell us where your folks are, lad? I can put you on the back of my horse and have you home lickity split,” said Nate, trying to work a response out of Gabriel.

  Gabriel responded, his tongue thick in his mouth. “I haven’t got a home, sir.”

  “Well, I certainly understand that,” said General Washington. “We all feel like we’re homeless, being so far away from our families. Tell me now, though, where are your mother and father, son?”

  “I don’t have a mother or father, sir,” replied Gabriel.

  With this, the three men looked at each other with surprised expressions on their faces. “I’m sorry,” said the general. “could you please repeat that, son?”

  “My mother and father died of the pox a little over a year ag
o. We had a home, but it got sold to pay off debts. My mother was from France and my father from England. I don’t have any living relatives,” said Gabriel plainly.

  “Where did you come from, then?” asked Nate.

  “New York, sir.” replied Gabriel.

  “Good Lord!” came a shout from Artemas.

  “New York?” all three men questioned at once in disbelief. “How did you get here?”

  “I walked,” said Gabriel.

  Washington cleared his throat and began, “Young man, I must be blunt with you. I find this story very hard to believe. You are how old?”

  “I’m twelve, sir . . . almost thirteen.”

  “What is your name, son?” questioned Washington.

  “Gabriel Cooper, sir.”

  “Can you please explain why you have walked nearly two hundred and fifty miles, all the way from New York to Cambridge?” asked Washington.

  “I . . . well, sir, I wanted to join the militia. I thought I could be a drummer boy,” replied Gabriel.

  “That would explain this, then,” said General Washington, reaching down beside him and holding up something to the other men. It appeared to be Gabriel’s drum, but it looked funny —misshapen somehow. “I found this,” continued Washington, looking to Nate, “when I was chasing after you on that trail. Or, should I say, my horse found it.”

  Then Gabriel viewed just enough of the drum in the dim light to see it must have been stepped on by General Washington’s horse. It had a dent in the side, and part of the drum skin on top had been torn away.

  “My drum!” exclaimed Gabriel, unable to control himself. “My drum . . . I . . . how can I . . .?”

  “I’m sorry, young master Gabriel,” responded General Washington. “I certainly did not intend to step on it, and I would gladly repair it. But, honestly, I think it is beyond repair. You must be quite a drummer boy if this drum is so dear to your heart. It’s too bad we could not hear you play it.”

  In an instant, Gabriel’s troubles over losing his drum vanished, and he had to fight back laughter. If these men only knew what kind of drummer boy he really was. Just like that, he realized how fortunate it was that his drum had been destroyed. Its destruction had saved him the embarrassment of being asked to retrieve some sticks from the wood and beat out a tune. The tune, of course, would have been unrecognizable banging that would have certainly made a very poor impression, if not hurt the ears of those listening.

  “It’s all right about the drum,” said Gabriel, “It just meant a lot to me because it came with me all the way from New York. I still want to stay and fight the redcoats, even without my drum.”

  “Gabriel . . . I don’t think we can allow that,” said General Washington. “You are only twelve years old, and how do I know you aren’t telling us a tall tale about journeying from New York to Boston? As far as I know, you may just live around the bend in the river.”

  Gabriel was hurt by these words. Why shouldn’t these men believe him? After all, he just saved one of their lives.

  The man named Nate spoke up, “Gabriel, surely you understand why we’re struggling to accept all you’ve told us as true. It’s not that we think you’re untrustworthy. It’s just . . .”

  Gabriel’s head was spinning. He lost track of what Nate was saying, and he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had walked all the way from New York to Boston by himself and, now he’d reached the very people who could make him part of the militia, they didn’t believe him. “No! I don’t understand why you don’t believe me,” he blurted out rather sternly. “What must I do to make you believe me? I can tell you every town I stopped at along the way; I can tell you about being chased down and kicked by lobsterbacks at King’s Bridge; I saw ships — Royal Navy ships — in the sound. I can tell you about falling ill and being nursed back to health by the Flemings in New Haven. And Mr. Arnold — I spoke to Colonel Benedict Arnold! His voice had risen to almost a shout. The frustration in him was welling up like a volcano ready to blow.

  Artemas broke in, “Now . . . now, Nathaniel, let the boy have a chance to speak before we dismiss him out of hand. He did save my life, after all. What would your dear wife Caty say if she knew how you were treating an orphan? She might not have wanted to marry a Greene, after all. Besides, I’ve brought my boy Jonathon with me to Cambridge. He’s only twelve.”

  Gabriel heard the words come from Artemas, but it took him a while to understand their significance. The men continued chattering in the background about what to do with Gabriel while his mind raced. If Nate was short for Nathaniel . . . and his wife, Caty, had married a Greene . . . this man was Nathaniel Greene. Without even thinking, he shouted out, “NATHANIEL GREENE!”

  The men stopped talking and looked curiously at Gabriel. Nate looked closely at him and said, “Yes, I am Nathaniel Greene.”

  This was the man he was told to seek out when he reached Boston, but this was also the very man who didn’t believe he had walked all the way from New York. Gabriel’s thoughts floated away, back to the King’s Bridge Tavern at the very beginning of his journey, where he met Ben Daniels and was told to look for Nathaniel Greene when he reached Boston. Ben Daniels was the kind man who kept the tavern owner from cheating Gabriel and paid for him to spend the night at the tavern. It was Ben who told him about Lexington and Concord. It was Ben who told him to get off the road when travelers passed in order to avoid the soldiers. It was Ben who said he knew something about Nathaniel that nobody else would know.

  “Gabriel, did you have something you wanted to say?” asked Nathaniel, breaking the silence.

  “I know Ben Daniels,” said Gabriel quickly. “I met him at the King’s Bridge Tavern right after I left New York. Ben is a farmer, and he owns land on the northern part of Manhattan Island.” The words raced out of Gabriel’s mouth in his desperate attempt to convince Washington and Greene he was telling the truth. “He told me to find you when I got to Boston,” continued Gabriel.

  “Well, that is interesting,” said Nathaniel, scratching his chin. “Ben is my cousin, but I am not sure —”

  “I KNOW ABOUT THE FISH!” exclaimed Gabriel, cutting Nathaniel Greene off mid-sentence.

  “The fish?” questioned Nathaniel. “What in heaven’s name are you talking about, boy?” The three men looked at each other in confused disbelief. “Well, I think that settles it,” said Nathaniel. “This young lad has either swallowed too much of the river or is just simply out of his mind. We should be on our way, General. Come now, Gabriel, I think there’s a homestead a few miles from here where we can drop you off. We might be able to spend the night there, considering how late it’s getting.”

  “NO!” shouted Gabriel, as Nathaniel began to grab his arm to lead him to his horse. “I know about the codfish you said you caught out in the bay when you were a boy!” Nathaniel stopped tugging on his arm, and all three men stood silent.

  “You went out on a rowboat with Ben,” he continued desperately, “and you told everyone how you caught an enormous thirty-pound codfish with line and bait. It was all you could do to reel it into your boat, you said. But I know the truth: the crazy fish just jumped into your boat. Ben Daniels told me that story about you. He told me when I met him at the King’s Bridge Tavern. He said you would want proof of who I was and the story about the codfish ought to do.”

  Nathaniel let go of Gabriel’s arm. Gabriel knew his future was at the complete mercy of Nathaniel Greene. It would certainly be easy enough for him to pretend Gabriel’s story was nothing but nonsense, especially since the commanding General of the Continental Army was standing right next to him. All he would have to say is that he didn’t know what Gabriel was talking about. The others would certainly believe him over Gabriel.

  General Washington looked at Nathaniel and then at Gabriel. “Well,” Washington said, “I guess that leaves nothing to doubt . . . a thirty-pound codfish just jumping into someone’s boat? I’ve never heard of such a crazy and outlandish tale. And to think I half believed y
ou’d walked all the way from New York. If it had been true, who knows, I might have asked you to stay. But . . . a thirty-pound codfish jumping into a boat? Well . . .” Washington’s voice was trailing off to laughter. He turned now and grabbed Gabriel’s arm to lead him off to the nearby horses. Gabriel tried to drag his feet, but it was no use.

  They took several steps toward the horses when, all of the sudden, Gabriel heard Nathaniel say, “STOP!”

  Washington and Artemas turned back around and looked at Nathaniel, who had not joined them in making their way to the horses. “It’s true,” said Nathaniel softly. “What Gabriel said is true. A huge codfish did jump into my boat when I was out fishing with my cousin Ben. I must have been about Gabriel’s age when it happened. I went back and told everyone I caught it on my line. Ben knew the truth, but I asked him not to say anything. He didn’t, at least not until he told our young master Gabriel at the King’s Bridge Tavern on his way from New York to Boston.” Nathaniel was now smiling at Gabriel. He reached out a hand and grabbed Gabriel’s shoulder. He gave it a shake and then drew him near.

  Washington and Artemas stood in stunned silence. “You mean a thirty-pound codfish just jumped into your boat?” asked Artemas, chuckling.

  “Yes, a thirty-pound codfish did just jump into our boat,” replied Nathaniel, emphatically.

  “And you just told everyone you caught it?” asked Artemas again.

  “YES!” responded Nathaniel. “It was a lie, and I know it. Ben and I didn’t think anyone would believe the fish just jumped into our boat, so we figured one of us might as well get credit for it. It was the biggest codfish catch on line and bait in my hometown, at least so everyone thought.”