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

by Geoff Baggett

  Father Gibault declared, “Very well, then. Men of Vincennes, please raise your right hands.”

  Pierre could hear the pride in the priest’s voice, but he paid absolutely no attention to the words of the oath or the other speeches spoken by the men inside the church. He was too excited, and he was so very proud of his brave father who had spoken out boldly in the middle of all the arguments and confusion.

  Minutes later the meeting was adjourned. Pierre listened silently and gasped for fresh air as he waited for the room to empty. The men signed the roll sheet as rapidly as possible and sprinted for the door, each one in search of fresh air and a drink of cool water. Soon the building was silent and empty. Pierre reached up to pull back the curtain and make his exit, but he froze in horror when he heard the familiar voice of Father Gibault.

  “You can come out now, Pierre. I know you’re in there.”

  Pierre sighed reluctantly and pulled the curtain to one side. The dark brown robe of the priest was the first thing he saw. The clergyman stood just outside the booth with both hands resting on his wide hips. A huge smile filled his face.

  “What’s the matter, Pierre? Did you actually think I did not know that someone was hiding inside my own confessional booth?”

  Pierre grinned mischievously. “I just wanted to be the first one to hear the decision, Father.” He decided to try and change the subject. “Aren’t you proud of my papa? I know I am!”

  Father Gibault threw back his head and laughed. “Get out of here, you little spy! And no more snooping inside my church!”

  He gave Pierre a swat on the backside as the boy darted past him and ran toward the door.

  chapter five

  an almost american flag

  Vincennes - August 25, 1778

  “What is your report, gentlemen?” Pierre demanded with an air of authority. He gazed at the blank, listless stares of his pals Jean-Luc, Adrien, and Quentin.

  Pierre was busy conducting the latest meeting of the secret band of adventurous little spies of Vincennes. The boys were hiding in their old shack beside the river. The mouth of their collapsed tunnel was now covered with a large board. Jean-Luc had painted the words “KEEP OUT” in bold letters on the board back at the beginning of the summer. The boys never again ventured into that dark, dangerous hole in the ground.

  Pierre was asking for a report from the group because the other boys had recently elected Pierre as their “captain of spies.” The mission of their secret organization was to keep watch on all military and war matters within Fort Sackville and the village of Vincennes. As their commander, Pierre led all of their meetings and made duty assignments for the other four boys.

  Thus far their spy business had not been much of an adventure, at all. The boys infiltrated the fort on a regular basis and kept watch along the roads, but nothing exciting ever happened. There were no British soldiers to fight, no shooting, and no battles. Even the Indians seemed more peaceful and rarely caused trouble in the town. There was, basically, no excitement at all to be found in or near the village.

  The simple truth was that nothing had really changed in Vincennes after that dramatic day when the men swore their oaths to Virginia and the United States. The tall American departed on his monstrous horse three days later and had not returned. The Frenchmen of Vincennes continued with their regular jobs and performed occasional militia duties at the fort. But that was it. There was nothing else going on. It was, in a word, boring.

  “Where is Gaspard, anyway?” demanded Pierre. “He’s never been late for one of our meetings.”

  The other three boys looked at one another and shrugged.

  “You fellows sure don’t know much. You can’t even keep up with one of our own gang. I guess that makes you a pretty rotten bunch of spies!” declared Pierre.

  “Well you don’t know where he is, either!” retorted Quentin. “He’s your best friend, after all. It seems to me that the ‘king of the spies’ would know where his best buddy is.”

  The other boys snickered. Pierre was just opening his mouth to respond when Gaspard came bursting through the fragile door of the dilapidated shack. His face was blood-red, sweat poured from his brow, and he could barely breathe.

  “What is wrong, Gaspard?” demanded Pierre. “Were you being chased?” He darted toward the door and glanced outside to ensure that Gaspard had not been followed.

  Gaspard shook his head and attempted to catch his breath. He managed to get out two desperate words: “He’s … back …”

  “Who is back, Gaspard? Who are you talking about?” demanded Pierre.

  Gaspard sucked in a huge breath. “The big … American. Lieutenant … Asher ….”

  “The American has returned?” shouted Quentin gleefully.

  Gaspard nodded. “And two others … are with him.” His breathing was beginning to slow.

  “Two more Americans?” asked Jean-Luc excitedly.

  Gaspard simply nodded. “I need to sit down.”

  “Yes, Gaspard, sit down and rest. Adrien, get him some water!” ordered Pierre.

  The boy fetched a gourd full of water and brought it to Gaspard, who took a long, deep drink.

  Pierre gave the boy a moment to compose himself, then asked, “Where did you see them, Gaspard?”

  “On the road from Kaskaskia. They were almost to Vincennes. They should be arriving at the fort at any moment now.”

  Pierre’s eyes lit up. “All right, fellows. It’s time to get to work! We have to find out what the Americans are doing and why they are here. Gaspard, you stay here and rest a while longer. We will return soon. You can keep an eye on our headquarters. Adrien, you will go with me. We will sneak inside the fort and work our way behind Captain Bousseron’s headquarters so that we can listen through the wall. Jean-Luc and Quentin, we need you to get the attention of the guards at the gate so that we can sneak inside.”

  “How in the world will we do that?” asked Quentin.

  Jean-Luc patted his partner reassuringly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, Quentin. We can do this. Trust me.”

  Pierre asked, “Is everyone ready?”

  The boys nodded and smiled.

  “Good! Then let’s go. We meet back here in one hour!”

  ~

  The Americans had already entered Fort Sackville when the boys made their move at the gate. Pierre and Adrien snuck close to the gate on the east side and hid behind a large pile of logs. They could see the Americans inside the fort as they tied the reins of their horses to a small bush. They could also see Quentin and Jean-Luc walking from one of the stores on Main Street and heading directly toward the gate. The boys simply ambled along like they were out for an ordinary, everyday Sunday walk.

  Suddenly one of the guards challenged the boys. “Where do you two lads think you’re going?”

  “To the fort, of course,” answered Jean-Luc. “We have business inside.”

  The fellow chuckled and looked sarcastically at his friend. “Oh, so you have business, huh? What kind of business would that be?”

  Jean-Luc walked up directly in front of the man and growled, “None of your business!”

  He then kicked the man soundly in the shin with his right foot. The sound of his leather shoe made a loud and distinctive “pop” against the man’s skin bone. The fellow squealed in pain.

  He screamed, “I’m going to get you, you little scoundrel!”

  He lunged at Jean-Luc and tried to grab his arm. The boy jerked away and yelled at Quentin, “Run!”

  The two mischievous boys took off running toward the center of the village.

  The wounded guard shrieked, “Let’s catch those rascals, Lamont!”

  Both men took off running after Quentin and Jean-Luc, abandoning their guard post, and leaving the gate unattended. Pierre and Adrien stepped from behind the pile of logs and ambled nonchalantly through the gate. Once inside the walls they took off running along the familiar route that led them to their secret place behind Captain Boussero
n’s office. In less than a minute they were kneeling at the back wall and listening to the men conversing inside the military headquarters.

  The boys heard the familiar voice of Captain Bousseron. “Captain Helm, gentlemen of Virginia, I welcome you to Fort Sackville.”

  “Ahh … that is incorrect, sir,” an unfamiliar voice responded.

  “Pardon me?” inquired Bousseron.

  “Colonel Clark has discarded that name. He considered it inappropriate for us to continue using a title of British choosing. He has officially renamed this post with the name Fort Patrick Henry, in honor of the great governor of Virginia.”

  “Very well, then, Captain Helm. Fort Patrick Henry it is. I assume that you will want to take ownership of this workspace. I will, of course, vacate my office and surrender it to you as the new commandant of this fort.”

  “Oh, no, Captain Bousseron! I would not dream of displacing you from your headquarters. I am quite sure that we can make other arrangements within the fort. I would like to have a space that could be utilized both for my command office as well as my own personal quarters. Is there such a space available?”

  Captain Bousseron responded, “Certainly, sir. The ground floor blockhouse on the northeast corner is spacious and well-suited for your purposes. We have a few items stored in there, but I can have my men remove them to another location immediately. Now, will you be needing anything else?”

  The newcomer responded, “Yes, Captain. We require a flag for the fort.”

  “A flag?” inquired Captain Bousseron.

  “Yes, Captain! A flag! That’s what this post needs! A unique flag that demonstrates the fort and village’s allegiance to Virginia and the United States.”

  “But we do not have an American flag,” explained the captain. “Frankly, we do not even know what one looks like.”

  “It has thirteen stripes to represent the thirteen states,” answered the man called Captain Helm.

  “That does not help much,” retorted Bousseron. “Besides, colored cloth is very rare here, indeed. And that is what you would need for a flag. We may not be able to find cloth in the colors that you require.”

  Captain Helm responded, “We would need red, white, and blue. Those are the colors of our nation’s flag.”

  Bousseron shook his head. “Impossible. There is no blue to be found here. I can promise you that right now. I have never seen it used in Vincennes. Likely there is no white, either.”

  “Well then, what colors do you think may be available?”

  “Mrs. St. Marie recently completed a project for me using red cloth. That is most likely the color of cloth that will be readily available here in Vincennes. After that, your guess is as good as mine. We may be able to find you some green.”

  “Green?” the man thundered. “There is no green in the American flag!”

  “Maybe so, but those are the two colors that you are likely to find around here. They actually represent our area very well. Local Indian tribes trade in beads that are red and green. They have long represented the colors of the Wabash River.”

  “Is that so?” pondered Helm. “Then that just may be the perfect answer. A simple flag of thirteen stripes of alternating red and green. It will be the Fort Patrick Henry flag!”

  “Are you willing to spend significant money for such a flag? The cloth will be expensive, as well as the seamstress costs.”

  “Of course, of course,” responded Captain Helm. “Whatever it takes. I will issue a certificate of reimbursement, payable by the state of Virginia.”

  “Very well, Captain Helm. I will see that it gets done.”

  “Excellent, Captain Bousseron! Please work quickly. I want to see that flag flying proudly over this American fort by the end of the next week.”

  “Of course, Captain Helm. I will contact the ladies immediately.”

  The boys listened to the sounds of shuffling feet inside the office, then the creaking of the door. The three Americans and Captain Bousseron departed quickly.

  Adrien looked confused. “What was that all about?” he hissed at Pierre.

  “The Americans have taken command of the fort, and they want an American flag to fly on the pole.”

  “But that strange man said that the American flag is red, white, and blue. I have never, ever seen any blue cloth in Vincennes. Have you?”

  Pierre shrugged. “Well, then … I guess that it will be an almost American flag.” He grinned. “Let’s go tell the others what has happened!”

  The boys easily snuck through the gate of the newly renamed Fort Patrick Henry. They made their way back to the secret shack and made their report to the other boys in their secret spy ring. Jean-Luc and Quentin recounted the hilarious story of the two guards, one of them limping horribly from Jean-Luc’s vicious kick to the shin, who chased them for almost a half-hour throughout the streets and alleys of Vincennes. The boys laughed so hard that their sides ached.

  The young spies stayed in their hideout until it was almost dark and then returned to their homes to complete their chores and eat hot, delicious suppers. They slept soundly that night and dreamed about more courageous spying adventures.

  ~

  The following day Captain Bousseron hired Madame Marie Goderre as seamstress for the Fort Patrick Henry flag. He paid her a very good salary in gold coin. She managed to locate plenty of red and green cloth. She also recruited three other women to help in the project. They completed their work in a remarkably short period of time.

  Less than a week later the large, beautiful flag of seven red and six green stripes flew high atop the pole of Fort Patrick Henry. The massive banner measured almost seven feet across. There was even enough cloth left over for a smaller flag, which Captain Helm placed on a pole beside the small dock on the bank of the Wabash River.

  There could be no doubt about it now. Vincennes was an American town. Fort Patrick Henry was an American military outpost. And America was at war with Great Britain.

  But, as usual, the people of Vincennes went about their normal, everyday business. Most of them assumed that the war would never touch their quiet, peaceful town on the frontier. They doubted that they would ever see another British soldier.

  But they were wrong … very, very wrong.

  Part II

  The Redcoats Return

  chapter six

  the missing patrol

  December 1, 1778

  Little Pierre sat on the foot of the bed and watched as his father packed his haversack full of food and supplies. He was very sad. His father was leaving on a militia patrol.

  “How long will you be gone, Papa?”

  “I do not know, Pierre. This is a long-range patrol to the north along the Wabash River. At least a week, maybe more.”

  The boy pleaded, “But why do you have to go?”

  His father stopped putting his belongings into the bag and placed his hand gently on his son’s shoulder. “Because I am a sergeant now. I have responsibilities. I am in command of the men on this patrol.” He resumed his work of packing. “We must be on constant lookout for the British.”

  Little Pierre’s eyes lit up with excitement. “The British soldiers are returning to Vincennes?”

  “We do not know for sure, son, but there are rumors. Some of the Indian tribes to the north have reported a large force of Redcoats headed this way. That is why Captain Bousseron is sending us in that direction on patrol.”

  “I want to go, Papa!”

  Pierre Grimard smiled. “No, son. You must stay here and be in charge of the house. You are nine years old now. I am counting on you to take care of your mother and brothers for me.”

  Little Pierre nodded and rolled his eyes ever so slightly. Fathers always said stuff like that to their sons when they were going away on long trips. But little boys knew full well that their mothers were the ones who were really in charge of things around the house, whether their fathers were home or not.

  “How will you travel? Will you walk?” little Pierr
e inquired.

  “No, son. The forest is too thick and there has been too much rain. We will take two canoes several miles upriver. Francois Turpin will go with me, along with three other men. We will pick a good place to make camp on high ground and then keep watch over the river.”

  “Is that how the British will come? On the Wabash?”

  His father nodded. “Of course. It is the only ‘road’ to Vincennes from the north, and the only way to move an army. So we will keep a sharp eye on the river. If we catch sight of them we will paddle our canoes quickly downstream to warn the captain and the other soldiers at the fort.”

  Pierre listened thoughtfully. He didn’t like the idea of the British returning, but it would certainly be more exciting than the painfully dull boredom of the past several months.

  “Do you really think they will come back, Papa?”

  His father smiled grimly. “I hope not, son. I truly hope not.”

  ~

  “It’s cold in here, Pierre!” complained Adrien. “Hurry up! I want to go home!”

  The five young spies of Vincennes were huddled together in a small circle inside their secret shack. They had just arrived for a quick conference to share news about events around the village. The unusually bitter December cold made their meeting place almost unbearable. They dared not build a fire for

  fear of revealing their secret location. This was, most likely, going to be a very short spy meeting.

  “Has anyone heard any fresh news?” asked Pierre.

  “There are rumors everywhere,” answered Quentin, rubbing his hands together in an effort to keep them warm. “The entire town seems to have gone crazy. Everyone says that the British are coming back. They’re frightened.”

  Jean-Luc nodded. “My Papa has started hiding our things.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Pierre.

  “He’s hiding the furs he has harvested, our food supplies, and all of our lead and gunpowder. He has most of it stashed in a cave that only he knows about, but he buried the powder and lead. He says that’s the first stuff that the Redcoats will try to take when they come back.”