Little Spy of Vincennes (Patriot Kids of the American Revolution Book 3)

by Geoff Baggett

  Pierre’s mother, Genevieve, was a spunky little woman. In addition to Pierre, she had two other sons to keep up with. Jean-Baptiste was almost five years old. Then there was the baby brother of the family, a rowdy and adventurous little boy named Charles. He was three years old and always wandering off and getting into trouble.

  Parenting three little boys in the wilderness was a very difficult, full-time job. Pierre had recently heard his parents trading whispers during the night about a baby. He suspected that his mother was expecting another child. The thought of another baby in the house made Pierre smile. He hoped that this one might be a girl. He longed for a quiet, calm baby sister.

  Pierre was just about to give up his search when he spied the handle of his papa’s tomahawk peeking from behind his wool winter coat. The heavy coat hung on a nail beside his parents’ bed. He removed the huge coat from its nail and tossed it onto the bed, revealing the leather belt with its knife and tomahawk hidden underneath.

  He screeched in victory, “Whoopee!” He grabbed the belt and sprinted toward the front door. He was sweaty and red-faced when he emerged onto the porch.

  “Here I am, Papa! I had a horrible time finding your belt.”

  “It was in my trunk, where I always keep it,” responded his father, sounding annoyed.

  “No, it wasn’t, Papa! I looked there first. I finally found it hanging on the nail beneath your winter coat.”

  “Oh!” responded Pierre. “I don’t remember hanging it there. Most strange …”

  “You did not put it there, husband. You left the horrid thing dangling on the back of one of my dining chairs. I accidentally knocked it off one day last week and that gruesome hunting knife popped out of its sheath and almost sliced off my toes.” She shuddered as she remembered the moment of the accident. “I hung it safely beneath your winter coat so that Jean-Baptiste and Charles could not reach it.”

  “Thank you, my dear.”

  “You are quite welcome. You should try putting things in their proper place from now on.”

  “Yes, Mama,” the elder Pierre replied, rolling his eyes at his son. Little Pierre covered his mouth and choked back a giggle.

  “I saw that!” snapped Genevieve. “I think you had better get to the fort before they hang you for mutiny, or before I spank you for making a mess of my house.” She smiled warmly.

  Pierre winked at his wife as he strapped his belt around his waist. He tucked his hunting knife inside the belt on his left side and inserted the handle of his tomahawk on the right. He grabbed his rifle off of the table and popped his cocked hat sportily onto his head. As he shuffled down the porch steps he called over his shoulder, “Woman, I’ll be home at noontime for dinner.”

  “See that you are,” she called back. “And do not be late!”

  Pierre exited the gate and then marched steadily up the street from his house toward Fort Sackville.

  Little Pierre grabbed his own hat from a stool on the porch and took off running toward the gate.

  “Where are you going, young man?” demanded his mother.

  “I am going to find Gaspard and Jean-Luc. We were thinking about trying to catch some frogs at the pond.”

  “That sounds good. Some fried frog legs would be a treat. But do not get into the water with your clothes. And see to it that you are home when your father returns for his dinner.”

  “Of course, Mama.”

  “Come and kiss your mother before you go.”

  Pierre darted onto the porch and kissed his mother’s cheek. “I love you, Mama.”

  “I love you, too, Pierre. Have fun, but be careful.”

  ~

  The frog hunt was not going very well. In just over three hours the boys had only captured two medium-sized amphibians. It was not even close to being enough to provide a good meal of tasty fried frog legs. The three boys lounged in the shade beneath a huge willow tree and stared at their two puny frogs as the critters swam in endless circles inside their wooden bucket. The bored lads chatted, chewed on long blades of sweet grass, and tossed pebbles into the shallow pond. Despite the warnings from their mothers, all three boys were thoroughly soaked with pond water.

  “We need to make a net for gathering frogs,” declared Gaspard. “It’s simply too difficult to capture them with our hands. They’re too slippery!”

  “Or gigs, perhaps,” added Pierre. “Papa told me about them. They are like spears that have little forks on the end. They are for sticking frogs.”

  “Ugh!” wailed Gaspard. “That sounds nasty! Frog guts will get everywhere! I don’t want to poke them. I just want to catch them.”

  “Well, Gaspard, our mothers have to poke them before they skin them and prepare their juicy legs for supper. We could simply save them the trouble,” responded Pierre.

  Gaspard shrugged. “I suppose. Maybe your papa can show us how to make some frog spears.”

  “Frog gigs,” corrected Pierre.

  Jean-Luc, who had been unusually quiet for most of the morning, interrupted their frog hunting conversation with a very strange question. “Do either of you fellows know what a Virginian is?”

  Pierre and Gaspard stared at their friend with looks of confusion.

  “I have never heard that word,” declared Pierre, shaking his head.

  “Neither have I. It sounds strange. Is it some kind of animal?” asked Gaspard. “Like an elk or a buffalo? Or a panther, perhaps?”

  “I don’t think so,” responded Jean-Luc. “They sound very scary, whatever they are. I heard my mother talking about them with Mrs. Descoteaux. She told Mama that Virginians have arrived in Illinois and that they have taken over all of the French towns to the west along the Mississippi River.” He paused and then gave his friends a very serious, frightened stare. “She said that she heard the Virginians are killing all of the men and eating the French children.”

  Pierre laughed out loud. “That is the dumbest thing that I have ever heard! You can’t believe a word that crazy old woman says. You know how she likes to spread gossip and lies. Nothing eats children … except for bears, maybe.”

  “Her story does sound a bit silly,” echoed Gaspard.

  “But it still makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” challenged Jean-Luc. “What could a Virginian be? I don’t know whether to be curious or frightened.”

  “Well, no matter what they are, our fathers will not allow them to harm our families or our homes,” promised Pierre.

  The other two boys nodded and grunted in agreement.

  “Good,” declared Pierre, slapping his hands on his knees. “Enough of this talk about Virginians. I’m hungry. Mama and Mrs. Turpin are cooking a huge meal for our fathers today. They should be home from the fort very soon. Shall we go to my house and get some dinner?”

  “I can’t. I have to go to Bousseron’s store and fetch some salt pork and sugar for my mother,” replied Jean-Luc as he stood and knocked the grass and dust from his breeches. “But you fellows go ahead. I will get my dinner at home and then meet you back here this afternoon.”

  Gaspard proclaimed hopefully, “Maybe we can do a better job at catching these frogs.”

  Jean-Luc chuckled and waved as he ran across the meadow toward his home.

  Pierre grinned at Gaspard. “Let’s go get that food.”

  Gaspard slapped his friend on the knee and shouted, “Race ya!” Both boys jumped to their feet and sprinted around the pond as they raced toward Pierre’s house.

  ~

  “Leave something for your fathers!” scolded Josephine Turpin. “You boys act as though you haven’t had a meal for a week!”

  Pierre and Gaspard laughed at the good-natured teasing from Gaspard’s mother. Though she scolded them and sounded displeased, both boys knew that she was very proud of the growing boys and their hearty appetites. The lads smacked their lips and savored every bite of the tasty stew and fresh bread.

  “This beef stew is wonderful, Mrs. Turpin,” Pierre declared, slurping from his spoon.

 
“It certainly is, Mama!” affirmed Gaspard. He burped loudly. “Is there any fruit?”

  His mother shot him a look of disgust and pointed her finger in shame. “I have taught you better manners than that, Gaspard Turpin!” She winked at her son. “There is some sliced melon in the house. You boys can each help yourself to a piece.”

  Pierre and Gaspard ran inside and grabbed a slice of sweet, pink watermelon. They sucked on the juicy melon as they walked down the stairs from the porch. Moments later they spied several men of the militia walking along the dusty road. Both boys ran to meet their fathers.

  “Papa! Papa!” exclaimed Gaspard. “Mama has been working with Mrs. Grimard to prepare a huge meal for you. It is delicious!”

  “I hope you saved me some,” teased Francois.

  Gaspard teased him back, “There’s a little bit left.”

  Each boy took his father by the hand and escorted him to the bountiful table prepared in front of the Grimard house. There was a large pot of beef stew, a platter stacked high with steaming loaves of fluffy bread, and several bowls of fresh garden vegetables. Cold water and hot tea were available to wash down the hearty food.

  “Gaspard and I have already eaten our dinner, Papa. Will it be all right if we go and play?” begged little Pierre.

  Pierre glanced at Francois, who nodded his assent. He answered, “Of course boys. Have fun, do not wander too far, and stay out of trouble.”

  “Yes, Papa!”

  The two boys took off running toward the frog pond.

  “Let’s go along the south road and stop by Jean-Luc’s house. We can see if he is finished with his dinner,” suggested Gaspard.

  “Good idea!”

  The boys turned left and trotted onto the narrow road that led to their friend’s house. Jean-Luc was the son of a well-known hunter and fur trapper. He did not live inside the town of Vincennes. His home was about a half-mile southwest of town on the banks of a small creek. It was but a short run for two energetic young boys.

  As the boys got close to Jean-Luc’s house they saw dust hovering above the road in the distance far to the west. The road made a wide curve in that direction as it snaked its way toward the westward settlements of Kaskaskia and Cahokia. The boys could see several men traveling on horseback, all of them headed toward Vincennes.

  “There are riders coming from the west,” declared Pierre. “Several of them.”

  “Let’s go and take a look!” urged Gaspard.

  The boys jumped over the ditch into the field to their right and ran through the tall grass toward the oncoming horsemen.

  “Look! One of them is Father Gibault!” shouted Gaspard. The Reverend Father Francis Gibault was the parish priest who supervised the Catholic Church throughout all of the French villages in the territory. Both Pierre and Gaspard had known him all of their lives. He had baptized both boys as infants, as well as all of their siblings.

  “It sure is! And the other two men in black suits are from Kaskaskia. I recognize them. I’ve seen both of them before when I traveled there with Papa on business,” responded Pierre. “But who is that other fellow? The tall one in the buckskin clothes and the black hat is not from around here.”

  “I don’t know, but he’s huge! Look at how tall he is! At least a foot taller than Father Gibault!” exclaimed Gaspard. “And just look at the size of his horse! That is amazing! You’re right. He cannot possibly be from around here!”

  “No, he isn’t from the Illinois Country,” agreed Pierre. “He’s a stranger, for sure. Let’s go tell our fathers that Father Gibault is coming with some visitors!”

  Gaspard slapped Pierre on the shoulder. “Race ya!”

  The energetic boys took off running full-speed toward Pierre’s house.

  chapter three

  listening through walls

  Genevieve Grimard and Josephine Turpin both kissed their husbands and shooed them toward the street. It was time for the men to report back to the fort for militia duty. The men grabbed their hats and weapons from beneath a nearby tree and were just opening the front gate to leave when little Pierre and Gaspard suddenly came sprinting toward home along the south road. The lads were red-faced and out of breath.

  “Papa! Papa!” both boys shouted. “Someone is coming!”

  Gaspard chatted excitedly, “Papa, it is Father Gibault and some men from Kaskaskia. And there is a big, huge, tall, strange man with them! An enormous man! And his horse is magnificent!”

  “What is the Reverend Father doing here today?” wondered Mr. Turpin aloud. “He is not due to visit and administer communion and baptisms for two more weeks.”

  Mr. Grimard shrugged. “I do not know. Let’s go and find out.”

  “Can we go, too?” begged Pierre.

  His father tousled the hair on his head and grinned. “Of course! Come along, boys. Let’s go together and greet our visitors.”

  Both men and their sons ambled down Main Street toward the south, in the direction opposite the fort. Minutes later they saw the small contingent of men on horseback approaching the outskirts of town.

  “The boys are right,” affirmed Francois. “That’s Father Gibault and some of the elders from Kaskaskia. I recognize Dr. LaFont. But who is that tall fellow in the middle?”

  “I told you he was huge, Papa!” exclaimed Gaspard. “And just look at that monstrous horse!”

  Mr. Grimard strained to see the strange man. Even in the saddle they could see that he was a full foot taller than the men of Kaskaskia who accompanied him. The big fellow wore clothing made of buckskin and a black hat cocked only on the left side. The hat was decorated with a fluffy black and white cockade. He carried a long rifle cradled comfortably across his lap.

  “Whoever he is, he is armed extremely well. That appears to be a splendid Pennsylvania long rifle,” observed Mr. Grimard. “Let’s go find out what is going on.”

  The men and their sons walked toward the visitors. When they were about fifty yards away, the Reverend Father threw up his hand in an enthusiastic wave of recognition. They saw the Father turn and say something to his companions. Soon the group of men on horseback picked up their pace to a light trot, throwing up a dim haze of dust in their wake. They quickly reached the humble welcoming committee from Vincennes.

  Mr. Grimard greeted the priest, “Hello, Father Gibault. What brings you to Vincennes at such a curious time?”

  “Hello, Pierre. Hello, Francois. And hello to you, too, Gaspard and little Pierre. It is so good of you to come out and meet us. How are your families?”

  Mr. Grimard responded, “They are well, Father. But tell us please, why are you here? Vincennes is in an uproar. We have heard horrible stories of atrocities to the west. Did you make your escape from the villages there?”

  “Make our escape?” The priest appeared to be confused. “No, Pierre, we are here to deliver information about recent events in our towns along the Mississippi River. I brought along the elders from

  Kaskaskia to share the news of the conditions in that region.”

  Mr. Grimard frowned. “We heard that you were invaded by some bloodthirsty Virginians. Is everyone all right in the river villages?”

  Father Gibault laughed joyfully. His plump belly jiggled and his face turned bright red. “Oh, Pierre, we are just fine! Everyone is well and uninjured.”

  “So, the rumors are not true, then?” asked Mr. Turpin.

  “Rumors?” inquired Dr. LaFont, a local physician from Kaskaskia who served as one of the village elders. “What rumors?”

  “Well … there are all sorts of frightening stories circulating around Vincennes. Some say that the Virginians have killed all of the men, sold all of the women to the Indians, and roasted and eaten the children!” replied Mr. Turpin excitedly.

  His enthusiastic and rather outlandish outburst elicited a loud and boisterous laugh from the strange, tall fellow in the buckskin clothes. The men from Kaskaskia joined him in good-natured laughter.

  Pierre, Francois, and their two b
oys did not laugh. They didn’t think anything that Francois Turpin said was funny.

  “Those are nothing but childish rumors, Francois,” declared the priest. “And they are unfounded rumors, I assure you. Roasting and eating the children! Now that’s a good one! Ha!”

  Mr. Turpin lowered his head in shame. “Well, Father, that’s what we were told.”

  “You should be ashamed to believe and then share such nonsense, Francois. But enough of your silliness … we have important business at hand. Gentlemen, please allow me to make a proper introduction of our guest. Pierre Grimard and Francois Turpin, please extend a hand of fellowship to Lieutenant William Asher of the army of Virginia. He is the representative of his American commander, Colonel George Rogers Clark.”

  Francois Turpin and Pierre Grimard stared with open mouths and wide eyes at the strange, tall Virginian. They were dazed … confused. They offered their hands slowly and with much reservation.

  The fellow spoke with a strange accent as he shook their hands. “I’m pleased to meet you fellows. Now that the introductions are over, we have much to discuss. I need you to take me to see your commander, Captain Bousseron. We must negotiate the immediate surrender of Fort Sackville.”

  The Virginian’s face erupted into an amazingly friendly smile. Pierre Grimard and Francois Turpin simply stared at the man in wide-eyed disbelief.

  ~

  Pierre and Gaspard walked to the fort with their fathers and the four visitors from the west. The lads entered the fort without anyone questioning them. Many of the little boys of Vincennes entered and exited the fort all of the time to visit with their fathers, deliver meals, or carry messages. The French officers paid them little attention. But on this day, when they arrived at Captain Bousseron’s office, their fathers made little Pierre and Gaspard remain outside.

  Mr. Grimard declared, “This is a military conference, boys. These men will be discussing secret matters. You cannot come inside with us.”