Captain Bousseron turned and stared thoughtfully into the dancing, orange fire inside his tiny fireplace. Pierre could see that he was genuinely considering his suggestion.
Bousseron spun around excitedly. “Leonard, the boy is right! We need to get all of the powder and lead out of the fort and hide it in the village.”
“Hide it? Where?”
“We can bury it. I know of a couple of good places. We can also take all of the food, equipment, and other supplies and distribute them among the households of the village. The people will hide those, as well. The less that we leave inside this fort for the British, the less comfortable and harsher their winter will be. We can recover the gunpowder and supplies when Colonel Clark returns to attack the fort in the spring.”
“Where will you hide everything?”
Bousseron paused. “I think it’s best that you do not know. We would not want the British to interrogate you and find out, would we?”
The American nodded. “You’re right, Francois. It is best that I do not know. The secret will be yours. You must proceed immediately. We do not have a moment to spare.”
“Very well, Captain Helm. I will have this fort cleaned out and all provisions concealed before dawn.”
The men shook hands. Captain Helm smiled. “Thank you, Francois. I am truly sorry for the angry things I said to you.”
Captain Bousseron bowed slightly and then made his way toward the exit. “I understand your
frustration, Leonard.” He snapped his fingers at Pierre. “Come along, son. We have work to do.”
Little Pierre jumped to his feet and followed his captain toward the door.
chapter eight
invaders and prisoners
The British soldiers arrived about an hour after daybreak. There were approximately sixty men in their invasion force. Amazingly, most of the soldiers were actually Frenchmen from Canada. The soldiers grounded their canoes and then spread out along the riverbank before moving toward the village and fort.
Vincennes was curiously silent. There was not a soul to be seen in the streets, shops, or businesses. The only movement within the town was the occasional chicken, dog, or goat that wandered across the otherwise deserted streets. The windows and doors of every home and business were shuttered and silent. There was no sign of life.
Little Pierre had found the perfect hiding place. He lay concealed beneath a huge spruce tree that stood beside the Catholic Church. The bottom branches of the enormous evergreen tree reached all the way to the ground, forming a dense thicket of heavy green needles. Behind those limbs, however, the tree was like a big, open cave. The ground beneath its limbs was clear.
Pierre had a perfect vantage point to observe the action in front of the fort. It was an ideal hideout. The other members of the band of young spies were similarly hidden throughout the town.
The enemy soldiers were spooked by the absolute quiet inside the town. The commander of the British force was an officer dressed in a beautiful red and gold uniform and a large, black cocked hat. He stepped forward into the street and placed himself in full view of the fort and most of the nearby homes. The huge ostrich feather that stuck out of the top of his hat bobbed in the air as he shouted loudly toward the town.
“Citizens of Vincennes! I am Major Jehu Hay of the army of Great Britain! I come from Detroit in the name of His Majesty King George III and his worthy representative, the honorable Lieutenant Governor Henry Hamilton! We have come today to liberate this village and its people from the occupation by the rebels of Virginia! Is there a representative of the people of the village willing to step forward for conference and parley?”
Just a few yards away a door opened at the village store and a tall, distinguished young man stepped out and ambled into the street. He was dressed in a gray and white blanket capote trimmed with a dull red stripe. Fresh, clean buckskin leggings with antler buttons showed beneath the coat. He wore thick, fur-lined moccasins on his feet. On his head he wore a bright red wool cap with the word, “Liberté,” the French word for “Liberty,” embroidered in white across the brow.
It was Captain Francois Bousseron. He waved at Major Hay in a friendly manner and smiled broadly to demonstrate his lack of hostile intent. He could see that at least a dozen muskets were aimed at him.
Captain Bousseron walked to within ten feet of the British officer, stopped, and bowed slightly. “Major Hay, I am Francois Bousseron, captain of the militia and mayor of this village.”
“Then you are authorized to speak for the people?”
“Absolutely, Major. I am the elected spokesman for all citizens of Vincennes, and I come to ease any fears that you may have regarding our intentions.”
The major glared at the Frenchman with a look of confidence and pride. “I am not sure whether to be encouraged or offended by the message written on your cap, sir.”
Bousseron smiled wryly. “Indeed, Major. Well, you may interpret my cap however you wish. But believe me when I say that we have no intentions of resisting your army. We received the dispatch from Governor Hamilton yesterday and have responded as he demanded. The vast majority of the men of Vincennes have laid down their arms and returned to their homes and families.”
“Majority?” questioned the Major.
“Yes, Major. A few men remain inside the fort with the Americans.”
“How many?” demanded the major.
“Perhaps a dozen or so. The remainder are concealed within their homes.”
“And do the men in their homes still have their muskets?”
“Of course. They will need them for hunting and feeding their families.”
Major Hay nodded. “I understand. We would never deprive the men of Vincennes of the ability to provide meat for their families.”
Captain Bousseron bowed respectfully to the major. “Then, Major Hay, I hereby offer you our surrender and declare that the town is yours. I implore you not to unleash your Indians upon our people. We have complied with your governor’s demands.”
“He is your governor now, as well,” Major Hay corrected him.
Bousseron nodded in submission. He appealed to the British officer, “Might I make an inquiry, Major?”
“Of course, Captain.”
“Several of my men are missing. I dispatched them on a patrol to the north two weeks ago and we have not heard from them in several days. Did your party encounter these men?”
Major Hay nodded. “Yes. Our forward scouts captured your patrol two days ago. They are in custody and in good health. We brought them with us this morning, and they are under guard near our boats.”
“That is good news, Major. We were very concerned that they had fallen upon some grave misfortune.”
“As I said, your men are well. It is our intention to release them to you once we are established in the fort … all except one.”
“Excuse me?” asked a confused Captain Bousseron.
“One of the prisoners is under sentence of death. It is the leader of the group, Sergeant Pierre Grimard.”
“Why, on earth, is Sergeant Grimard under such a sentence? What has he done?”
“Governor Hamilton has sentenced him to hang on the charge of murder. I cannot comment further.”
“Murder?” exploded the captain. “Who did he murder?”
“I am not at liberty to discuss the situation with you, Captain!” snapped Major Hay. “It is a matter for the Crown. Now, if you would please return to your home, as well. I will fetch you if I need you. I must send for the governor and prepare to take the fort.”
“But, Major …”
“That is all, Captain. You are dismissed. Please go away.”
Major Hay turned his back to Bousseron and focused his attention on the fort. Captain Bousseron turned and trotted quickly down the street toward the Grimard home.
Little Pierre, still concealed beneath the large tree, could not hear the words spoken by the two men. They were too far away from him. But after their conversation Pi
erre saw Captain Bousseron run down the street and enter the gate to his own home.
Pierre quickly backed his way out from under the tree, ran around behind the church, and sprinted into the alley behind his home. He had to get there quickly and find out what was happening!
~
Pierre ran through the door of his house just in time to hear his mother scream. It was a horrible, heartbroken sound. Pierre was confused.
“Murder? They’ve charged him with murder?” screeched Genevieve in disbelief.
The woman was standing near the fireplace. The combination of cold winter air and disturbing news caused her to be a bit light-headed. She placed her hand on the mantle to steady herself.
“Who, in God’s name, is my husband supposed to have murdered?” she mumbled as she stared at the glowing coals. “The entire notion is preposterous. Something must have gone horribly wrong on that patrol.” She snapped a look of despair at Bousseron. “Francois, you know Pierre better than most of the men in this village. Surely you know that he is not capable of murder.”
“The British major would not give me any other details. He simply said that Lieutenant Governor Henry Hamilton had issued the sentence of death for the crime of murder.”
Genevieve’s head spun when she heard that name … Henry Hamilton. She hissed, “Are you sure that is the name that he said?”
“I am certain … Henry Hamilton.”
Her chin dropped to her chest. She took a deep breath and then looked into the captain’s eyes. “I know that man. Pierre knows him, as well.”
“How could you possibly know a British governor from Detroit?” exclaimed Bousseron.
She answered, “We encountered him during our journey up the Mississippi River almost ten years ago. During a brief stopover at a British fort on the river there was an English soldier who picked a fight with Pierre. My husband had to defend himself. He was forced to draw his pistol and fire. The soldier died.”
“But that was so long ago!” protested the captain.
She replied, “Yes, it was. Henry Hamilton wanted Pierre executed that very night. The British governor at the post found him innocent of any wrongdoing and released him. We left the next morning. I believe that Hamilton was very insulted and his pride was wounded deeply.”
“And so, you think that this Governor Hamilton somehow recognized Pierre and now intends on following through with what he wanted to do ten years ago?”
“There can be no other explanation. It cannot be a coincidence that Henry Hamilton is leading this expedition that now holds my husband as a captive.”
Bousseron whistled and shook his head in disbelief.
Little Pierre stood petrified near the door. He could not believe what he had just heard. He was frantic with worry and fear. He threw open the door and ran outside.
“Pierre! Wait!” his mother yelled. “Come back this instant!”
But it was too late. The lad had already jumped the fence and was running in the direction of the fort.
“Let him go, Genevieve. He is upset and needs to find some friends to console him.”
“But the British!” she protested.
“Do not worry. Not even the British are evil
enough to make war against little boys. Little Pierre will be just fine.”
~
Pierre disappeared for the remainder of the day. Unbeknownst to his mother, he spent the entire afternoon organizing his little band of spies and gathering information on the British. His mother was worried sick about him. He loudly burst through the door of the Grimard house just as the evening sun descended below the horizon. He was breathless and excited.
“I saw him, Mama! I saw him!”
His mother was hovering over a pot beside the mantle and tasting a stew that she had prepared for supper. She turned and placed both hands on her hips and began to scold the boy. “Pierre Grimard, where have you been all the long day? I have been worried sick about you! There are enemy soldiers all over this town! I thought for sure that one of them had captured you!”
“You are not listening to me, Mama. I saw him! I saw Papa!”
She ran to him and placed her hands on his shoulders. There was a glint of hope in her eyes.
“Where, Pierre? Where did you see him?”
“They brought him up from the river about an hour ago. I saw Mr. Turpin and the others, as well. The British released them, but they took Papa into the fort.”
“So then … the fort has surrendered?” she asked.
“Yes, Mama. No one fired a shot. I saw the tall American go out and talk to two British men.” His face became dark and grim. “I heard him call one of them, ‘Governor Hamilton.’”
Genevieve bit her lip nervously. “Well, at least it is over now. Thank God they did not unleash the Indians upon our village.”
“I don’t think they plan to, Mama. The Indians plundered and took lots of things from the fort. After they were done I saw most of them get into canoes and paddle back upriver. All that remains in the fort now are British and some Frenchmen they brought with them from Canada. There might be a handful of Indians, but not many.”
She nodded her understanding. “So, you saw Governor Henry Hamilton with your own eyes? He is here in Vincennes?”
“Yes, Mama.”
Genevieve was trembling. “Did you see where they took your father?”
He shook his head. “No, Mama. But he was most definitely being held prisoner. His hands were tied together in front of him.”
A single tear crept down her cheek. “Was he injured?”
“I do not think so. I saw no blood. He appeared to be in good spirits. He walked with strength and pride.” Young Pierre smiled proudly, himself.
“Why have you waited so long to come home and tell me?” she scolded the boy. “I have been sick to death for news!”
“Because I was hiding, Mama. I was concealed on top of Mr. Pineau’s shed. I had to wait until their patrols went in for the night before I could come down. The fort is locked up tight now. I do not think anyone will be going in or out until morning.”
His mother smiled slightly at him and then tousled his light brown hair. “You are a brave boy, Pierre. Just like your father. Our very own little spy of Vincennes.”
She turned and walked toward the fireplace. “Come and get some stew and bread in your belly. I know that you must be hungry. After you eat you need to go and report what you have seen to Captain Bousseron.”
Pierre smiled sheepishly. “Mama, I went to see him before I came home. He said that he would be here in about an hour. He had to meet someone else first before coming here to make a plan.”
“Make a plan?” she asked, confused.
“Yes, Mama. A plan to get Papa out of that fort.”
chapter nine
a very real spy mission
Captain Bousseron raised his voice. He did not shout, but he spoke with great force and conviction. “Genevieve, this is the only way!”
She shook her head vigorously. “I cannot allow you to use my son in your plans. I may have already lost my husband. I will not sacrifice his oldest son to set him free.”
“But I know that it will work, Genevieve! It is a simple, foolproof plan. We will get Pierre out of his British imprisonment, but first we need to know where he is. We need intelligence from inside the walls of the fort.”
Genevieve, ever the overprotective mother, shook her head in protest. “I cannot send my boy into a fort occupied by the British and their allies on a spy mission! What if he is caught? What if he is arrested? No! No! I simply cannot allow it.”
Little Pierre’s young voice echoed from a dark corner of the cabin near the fireplace. “I can do it, Mama. It sounds easy. I will just deliver dinner for Papa on Sunday, let him know that we are all just fine, and find out exactly where they are holding him. I will also try to see what changes the British are making to the inside of the fort. Afterwards I will come right back home and make my report to the captain.”
Bousseron added, “Father Gibault has already agreed to the plan, Genevieve. He will accompany the boy. He will enter the fort on Sunday in order to administer the Holy Communion to the soldiers and prisoners. The priest will serve as escort for little Pierre and secure permission for him to deliver a hot meal to your husband. The entire visit should take no more than an hour at most.”
“Why do you not enter the fort and see Pierre, yourself? He is, after all, a soldier under your command,” challenged Genevieve somewhat spitefully.
“My dear, they will not allow me into their fort! They consider me to be something of a traitor to their cause. Which I am, by the way!” He winked at little Pierre. The boy smiled. “It will be some time before I will earn enough of Hamilton’s trust to be given access to their fort.”
“Then I, myself, will take him his meal! I will find out what you need to know!”
Bousseron shook his head vigorously. “No, Genevieve. That fort is no place for a young woman. Besides, like you just told me, you and Pierre have some bad history with Hamilton. He may remember you. No, Genevieve. I will not place you in such a dangerous situation.”
“But you will place my boy in danger?” she responded in disbelief.
“Your boy has already proven his worth to our cause. He was able to move throughout this entire town undetected today. As a child he enjoys a degree of invisibility. Besides, the lad wants to help his father! He is a very capable and worthy spy. No one would suspect a young boy,” Bousseron pleaded passionately.
Genevieve buried her face in her hands as she agonized over the entire situation. Her nerves were shattered. She was a very frightened woman. She was physically exhausted. She was barely a month away from giving birth to another child. Her husband was in British bondage and headed for the gallows. And to top it all off her nine-year-old son was eager to act as a spy and perform a secret mission on behalf of the French militia!
Little Spy of Vincennes (Patriot Kids of the American Revolution Book 3) Page 6