“Well, Mr. Greene, that is quite a story,” said Washington, chuckling now. “And to think I would have never heard of an enormous codfish jumping into a boat if it hadn’t been for Gabriel here.” Washington said, raising an eyebrow to Nathaniel. “Gabriel, I think we owe you an apology. I would certainly like to hear more about your journey from New York, but first, I would like us all to ride back to headquarters in Cambridge. Hop onto my horse. You’ll have to sit behind me.”
Gabriel was speechless. He simply sprang up onto Washington’s stunning white horse and waited for the others to mount.
As he sat there, Thomas Tew’s treasure returned to his mind. He could see shadowy outlines of the great trees lining the banks of the river. One of them might have held the treasure, but he had found something more precious than gold or silver. He had found Nathaniel Greene and General Washington, and soon, he’d be with the militia in Cambridge. It was strange how he’d been seeking one treasure but found another. His mother always told him the best treasures in life are the ones that find you. She was right.
As they rode away from the river, Gabriel put the thought of Thomas Tew’s treasure out of his mind — a treasure that was meant to be found by someone else. He’d found his own treasure — or rather, the treasure had found him.
H 19 H
CAMP AT
CAMBRIDGE
Gabriel could hardly believe he was riding on the back of the commanding general’s horse. He could tell there was something different about the man, so tall he towered over Nathaniel Greene and Artemas Greenwood. Still, Gabriel didn’t know what this man had done to earn the position of commanding general over all of the militias. He had also never heard the militia called the Continental Army before. He knew a Continental Congress had met to decide what the Colonies should do about King George, but he was unsure how this Continental Army had been formed.
These questions rattled around inside his head as they rode through the night. The stars were shining brightly, and Washington, leading the way, seemed to know exactly where he was going. It amazed Gabriel how much faster they traveled by horse. What would have taken hours on foot took only a few minutes by horseback.
He heard the hoof beats of Washington’s horse and those of Nathaniel’s and Artemas’s trailing behind. It had been a long time since Gabriel rode a horse. He’d learned to ride when he was very young. His father had to travel to buy books for his bookstore, and sometimes Gabriel accompanied him on trips to pick them up. He would ride the pack horse down to the docks where they would load books on its back, and then he’d ride home with his father, leading the pack horse along behind. He thought he was a good rider, but this was no pack horse, and General Washington rode swiftly, cutting his path through the trees. He knew he was riding with a master horseman.
After dodging through trees for most of their ride, the horses finally burst out onto a road. Ahead, lights glowed on the horizon. “Is that your camp, Your Excellency?” Gabriel asked.
“Yes,” said Washington. “And you can just call me General, son. No need for the formality between you and me.”
“Yes, sir — I mean . . . General.” Gabriel was still a bit in awe of this grand officer.
As they approached Cambridge, Gabriel could now see some campfires glowing in the night. He looked into the houses, their windows lit by candlelight. As they rode closer now, he could see larger buildings and beautiful stately mansions lying along a river shimmering under the starlight. All were fully lit and buzzing with activity. Gabriel asked, “What are those big buildings, General?”
“That is Harvard College,” explained Washington. “Many of the troops are stationed in the buildings.”
“Where are you staying, sir?” questioned Gabriel.
“In the house straight ahead,” answered Washington.
Just ahead, a large house with several large windows, each glowing with candlelight, sat next to the river. Along the green and the banks of the river, campfires dotted the landscape. Their glowing embers reflected all manner of makeshift shelters. There were stick huts, lean-tos, and canvas tarps all scattered about the many campfires. Gabriel’s heart cheered at the sight of this enormous army gathered in Cambridge, just waiting to fight.
As they rode by, smoke from the surrounding campfires lay heavy in the summer air, and the smell of roasting meat wafted up from the spits turning over the fires. Soldiers stared up from their campfires. Few, if any, had uniforms. Most men were dressed in common ditto suits, with tobacco brown jackets, waistcoats, and breeches, while others wore just their white shirts and trousers. Still others had deerskin jerkins and leggings. Some wore cowhide shoes or moccasins, but several were barefoot.
Men with gray hair, young boys, and all ages in-between surrounded the fires. Most of the older men were clean-shaven, but many had tangled and matted hair. They sat cleaning their muskets and sharpening knives. One man played a fiddle while a woman danced around a fire. Men with bottles in hand cheered and sang along. A few of these soldiers stopped their frolicking as Washington rode by, giving hard, resentful looks. Gabriel wondered what these soldiers thought of this Virginian he was riding behind. But Washington did not seem to care what these men thought. He rode past quickly and quietly, making his way to the large house next to the river.
The horses galloped to the house, and two men immediately came out to grab and halter the horses. In stark contrast to the common soldiers they had just passed, these men were robed in brilliant white, frilled hunting shirts, cocked hats, and brown boots. One had a red cloth tied to his right shoulder. They saluted Washington as he dismounted.
“How was your ride, Your Excellency?” asked one of the men as he took off the saddle.
“It was an adventurous evening, to say the least, Sergeant,” responded Washington. “Where did the boy come from, General?” asked the other man taking Nathaniel Greene’s horse.
“New York,” answered Nathaniel.
“New York?” said the man taking the horse, with complete disbelief.
“Yes, Sergeant, New York,” said Washington. “Don’t ask how he came from New York. You wouldn’t believe the answer, anyway.”
The horses were led away. Washington turned to his companions. “Gentlemen,” he said. “We have had a full day, and I propose we turn in for the night. Artemas, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind accommodating our guest, Gabriel, tonight. Is there room in your tent? I know you have your son Jonathon with you, but I honestly don’t know exactly what to do with the lad. We can talk more about it in the morning.”
“Yes, sir,” said Artemas. “Housing the young man who saved my life certainly won’t be a problem. I’d say it’s the least I can do.”
“Very well, then,” said Washington. “Can we all meet in my office here at the Vassall House at seven o’clock tomorrow morning? I would like to discuss young Mr. Cooper’s future. Nathaniel, I want you and Artemas in the meeting, as well. Your thoughts on the matter are important to me.”
Then men saluted the general. A bit delayed, Gabriel followed suit by flinging his hand up to his cap. Washington gave a hint of a smile directly to Gabriel, returned the salute, and turned. Gabriel was exhausted, and he knew the general must have also been tired. Yet, Washington’s manner of walk seemed more youthful and athletic than that of a man of forty-two years. His long legs strode up the steps to the house. As he entered through the door, the sentries came to attention.
With that, Gabriel felt himself breathe again. He knew he had been in the presence of a great man. While filled with joy and amazement, Gabriel also felt a surge of sorrow, for he wanted to go run and tell his mother and father what just happened. He had just ridden with the Commander in Chief, the man who was in charge of driving the redcoats from Boston. They would have been proud, indeed.
Nathaniel and Artemas led him away toward the tents across the street where several campfires were still aglow. The thought of a warm, bright campfire cheered his spirits. Nathaniel stopped at a large tent
close to Washington’s house. “Good night, Gabriel,” said Greene. “Get a good night’s rest, lad. You’ve had quite a day, indeed.” With that, Nathaniel Greene stepped into his tent.
Gabriel liked Nathaniel Greene. He knew the only reason he was here was because Nathaniel had plucked him from the river and then admitted — in front of George Washington — that he’d lied about catching the fish when he was a boy. Gabriel recognized how easy it would have been for Nathaniel to continue the lie about the fish, but he also recognized how much of Washington’s respect he had earned by telling the truth.
Gabriel and Artemas walked on past several other campsites in Greene’s regiment. Unlike the haphazard shelters they had seen earlier, Greene’s men set their shelters in well-ordered, neat rows. There was a campfire in front of every three or four campsites. A white flag hung by one of the shelters. Its corner held a blue canton filled with yellow stars. The symbol of an anchor was sewn in the middle with the word “HOPE” written above.
A few men sat by their campfires. They were clean-shaven and wore the same white frilled hunting shirts and brown trousers as the sentries at Washington’s headquarters. One soldier smiled at Artemas as he passed. “Got another young one there with you, Artemas? Where did you find this one?”
Artemas chuckled. “It’s a long story. Ask me again in the morning after I’ve had a chance to let these weary bones rest.”
“Fair enough,” answered the soldier.
Gabriel whispered up to Artemas. “These men are dressed all the same. Are they all from the same militia?”
“They are all Rhode Islanders. Fine soldiers, every one of them. If you stick around here long enough, you’re apt to see all manner of men, some good and some not so good.”
Artemas led Gabriel to a tent of white canvas near the end of the row, with a fire glowing outside. There was a boy sitting by the fire. He was about Gabriel’s height, with sandy brown hair and a spindly build. He was wearing a clean, white linen shirt and blue linen breeches and held a piece of meat over the flame with a stick. The boy set the stick down on a rock next to the fire and jumped up. Artemas went over to him and gave him a hug. Artemas Greenwood looked nothing like the boy he embraced. Thick and stocky with dark hair and swarthy skin, he looked as rugged as an old grizzled badger, but his eyes glinted with joy.
“Sorry it took so long to get back, Jonathon, but my horse thought I needed to go for a swim,” Artemas said.
“You look dry to me, Pa. I saved you some meat.” Jonathon held up the stick to his father. Artemas tore the meat in two and gave half to Gabriel.
“Jonathon,” said Artemas, “I would like you to meet Gabriel Cooper. Mr. Cooper has traveled from New York City all by himself to join us in the fight. And bless him, he saved me from being flung over a towering waterfall and dashed upon the rocks.”
Jonathon gave his father a puzzled look and then turned to Gabriel. With a respectful nod of his head, he spoke. “Good to meet you, Gabriel Cooper.”
“Good to meet you, as well.” Gabriel nodded in return.
“You really saved my pa’s life?” asked Jonathon.
“Well . . . I . . . I guess so,” said Gabriel.
“There’s no guessing about it, son,” said Artemas. “Had it not been for the gallant Gabriel here, I would not be standing before you getting ready to partake of this wonderful piece of meat you have saved for me.” With that, Artemas dug his teeth into the meat and sat down by the fire. Gabriel did the same, savoring every bite, since he had not eaten since morning.
“Jonathon here plays the fife,” said Artemas. “He wanted to come along with me when we left Rhode Island with General Greene. ’Course his mum had a fit about him coming along, but I promised to keep him safe and sound and said we’d be back home before the fall harvest.”
“Do you really think the troops will leave Boston by this fall?” asked Gabriel.
“I most certainly do,” said Artemas. “After the licking they took at Breeds Hill, King George will be callin’ them back to the Motherland any day now.”
Gabriel was astonished by Mr. Greenwood’s statement. “Um, Mr. Greenwood,” he said hesitantly, “I heard the patriots were driven from Breeds Hill. The ground was lost.”
“Is that what you heard?” said Artemas. “Well if it is, you heard wrong. His Majesty’s troops lost more soldiers and officers in that battle than they did over the past hundred years. We did lose the ground, that’s true. But this war isn’t about gaining ground. It’s about ridding ourselves of these trespassing lobsterbacks!”
“Did you and Jonathon fight at Breeds Hill?” asked Gabriel.
“We did,” said Artemas proudly. “Jonathon played his fife to keep the men’s spirits up, as the regulars were marching up the hill with bayonets fixed. I was standing beside him, making sure no musket balls came his way. We stood through the first and second charges up to the ramparts. Then, for lack of lead, we had to fall back to Bunker Hill. After that, we retreated to our camp here, but not before we dealt His Majesty’s finest plenty of death and destruction.”
Gabriel looked at Jonathon now across the fire. He imagined himself on top of that hill, beating his drum just as Jonathon had played his fife. It seemed so glorious to Gabriel but truly frightening at the same time. He wondered if Jonathon had been frightened and couldn’t help but asking softly, “Were you scared?”
Jonathon shot a look at his father and then back at Gabriel. “Well, a little,” he said, “but I knew my pa was right beside me, and he’s one of the best shots in Rhode Island. Besides, I knew those soldiers had more important targets on their mind than a twelve-year-old with a fife.”
“We are near the same in years,” said Gabriel, smiling.
“You’re twelve?” asked Jonathon excited.
“Yes,” said Gabriel.
“When is your birth date?”
“The thirtieth of July,” responded Gabriel.
“As is my own!” said Jonathon.
“Well,” said Artemas, “it looks like you two have a lot in common. I’d love stay up and hear it all, but I’m quite tuckered out from my swim in the river today. I think I’ll turn in for the night. Gabriel, I would suggest you do the same soon. You don’t want to be dragging your heels in the morning when you meet with General Washington.”
“Yes, sir,” responded Gabriel.
Artemas Greenwood entered the tent. Despite his father’s advice, Jonathon kept Gabriel chatting by the fireside. Gabriel told Jonathon about his journey from New York. His new friend sat enraptured by his tale of adventure and told Gabriel more about camp life and the battle fought against the regulars on the hill over Boston.
The two carried on for hours until Gabriel’s yawns finally grew so numerous he couldn’t talk any longer. With firelight dimming, Gabriel and Jonathon stuck their heads inside the tent and laid down. Gabriel had not felt this kind of companionship since he left Malinda, Constance, and Mr. Fleming standing by their house in New Haven. He only hoped things could remain just as they were on this most wonderful night. He would have to wait until morning to find out.
H 20 H
THE DECISION
Morning lccanvas tent. Gabriel began to stir and saw he was the only one still in the tent. A horrible thought crossed his mind: had he somehow missed his meeting with General Washington? He quickly stuck his head outside to see Mr. Greenwood stoking the fire. Jonathon, walking toward the fire with a load of wood in his arms, saw him sticking his head out of the tent. “Good morning, Gabriel,” he said.
“Morning,” Gabriel said sleepily. His anxiety melted into relief seeing both Jonathon and Artemas still close-by.
The July air was already warm and muggy. The smoke from the fire seemed to hover just a few feet above the tops of their head, unable to escape the weight of the humid air. “We’ve got some beans to warm once we get the fire going,” said Artemas. “It might do you good to go clean yourself up a bit in the Charles before we go to Vassall House this morning.”
Artemas handed Gabriel a bar of lye soap and pointed toward the river. Gabriel had not washed with soap and water since his time at the Fleming farm. He took the soap from Mr. Greenwood and turned toward the river. “Don’t dilly-dally, lad,” shouted Artemas as he walked away. “You’ll want to have a bite to eat before we report to the general.”
Gabriel turned and nodded to Artemas and then went on his way. As he did, several men who were in earshot of Artemas’s campsite gave him curious looks. He could guess what they were thinking: What would General Washington want with such a young boy, dirty and dressed in rags? He tried to ignore the stares and trudged off toward the river.
Up ahead he could see green sloping banks, and beyond, the murky water of the Charles River. Although the water’s flow appeared gentle, Gabriel was not looking forward to stepping foot into a river once again. In the past few weeks, he had nearly drowned, not once, but twice. Still, he needed to clean himself, and the only way to accomplish this task was to get wet.
As he walked up to the river’s edge, he saw other people near the water. Several women knelt along the bank, scrubbing laundry. They chattered away, paying no heed to Gabriel. Looking for a bit more privacy, he scanned the riverbank. He decided on an area of evergreen bushes clinging to the riverbank. Heading behind the bushes, he pulled off his torn and dirty clothes. The brush pricked at his skin as he walked into the water. As his feet hit the sandy bottom, he realized he was not the only one to pick this spot for a morning bath. Several militiamen were scattered about the river, and a pack of older boys had picked a spot upstream to hang a rope from a tree. They swung out over the water, dropping and splashing, one after another.
Feeling a sudden sense of urgency to get clean and get his clothes back on, Gabriel lathered up the soap. The lye in the soap burnt at every cut and scrape. Still, it made him feel fresh and clean, a feeling he had forgotten over the course of his journey. He rinsed off, hopped back into the bushes, and put his ragged clothes back on. Somehow, he didn’t feel as clean once he was back in his old clothes. Still, he remembered Mr. Greenwood’s words to hurry it up.
The Drum of Destiny Page 14
