Angels & Patriots_Book One

by Salina B Baker

  An hour later, with John and Samuel tucked away in a distant safe house, Seamus, Brandon, Paul, and John Howell returned to Lexington and walked to Buckman’s Tavern. Reverend Clarke and ten other men were standing outside. Seamus and Brandon remained outside with them.

  Paul and John Howell entered the crowded tavern. They slipped through the noise and dim candle light. They found Jeremiah and Ian leaning against a wall near the fireplace.

  “What is happening?” Paul asked Jeremiah.

  “Nothin’ right now. We’re ready ta assemble on the green at the sound of a drumroll.”

  “Where is Liam?”

  Jeremiah tilted his head. “There.”

  Liam was at the bar, drinking rum, and watching every man who passed through the tavern door. He saw Paul and John Howell when they entered, but he chose not to draw attention to himself by acknowledging them.

  A man burst through the door and raised an alarm that the British column of regulars was a half mile from the tavern and marching into town. Captain Parker left the tavern and ordered a roll of the drum. Men poured out of the tavern and rallied to assemble on Lexington Green.

  Paul and John Howell scrambled up the narrow stairs to the tavern’s attic to fetch John Hancock’s huge trunk. Loaded with papers and correspondences from the Provincial Congress and the Committee of Safety, it was the last thing they wanted to fall into British hands.

  Men ran to Lexington Green from all directions. A number of spectators, including women and children, gathered on the edge of the green.

  The angels and Jeremiah moved quickly to muster with Captain Parker’s militia. Reverend Clarke and the ten men with him did the same.

  Prince Estabrooke ran across the green to stand beside Patrick and Michael.

  “We can’t protect ya,” Michael said to Prince. “Ya do understand that?”

  “I understand.”

  As dawn lightened the sky, Major John Pitcairn and his troops in the vanguard approached the intersection adjacent to Lexington Green. The major heard the roll of a drum. This obvious call to battle is not what I expected, he thought. He shouted to his troops. “Halt! Hold your fire!”

  Captain John Parker positioned his men in a line along Bedford Road from the tavern to the Clarke house. He struggled to control his persistent cough before he shouted, “Let the troops pass by, don’t molest them without them being first.”

  In the meantime, Paul and John Howell had lugged John Hancock’s unwieldy trunk out of the tavern and were now passing through the line of Lexington militiamen.

  Neither the rebels nor the British wanted armed conflict. The stand that the men of Lexington made was intended to show the British that they couldn’t march through their town unnoticed and unchallenged.

  “Stand your ground. Don’t fire unless fired upon,” Captain Parker warned his men again. He coughed hard, and then added, “But if they mean to have a war, let it begin here.”

  Major John Pitcairn’s troops continued along the road to Concord under the watchful eye of the Lexington militia and those who had come to spectate. Major Edward Mitchell and his exhausted men scurried on horseback around the advancing infantry.

  Then the vanguard, led by Lieutenant Jessie Adair, veered the wrong way at the intersection and marched up Bedford Road toward Captain Parker’s forces.

  What is Adair doing? Major Pitcairn thought in horror. He spurred his horse and galloped toward the vanguard shouting, “Halt! Adair! Halt the van!”

  In the dim early morning light, it was impossible for Captain Parker and his men to assess how many British regulars were bearing down on them.

  A militia man, Elijah Sommers, fell in beside Ian. He had seen Ian in the tavern and couldn’t shake the feeling that Ian’s presence represented Heaven.

  Prince Estabrooke stepped in closer to Patrick and Michael.

  Seamus moved to shelter Liam.

  Brandon cloaked his yellow aura, entered the woods, and back tracked the road from Cambridge. He took note of Colonel Francis Smith’s infantry and grenadiers, who had not yet entered Lexington. A familiar face rode among the soldiers—Captain Robert Percy.

  A general with yellow-green eyes rode in the rear guard. He surveyed the woods that flanked the road. Brandon stepped back further under the cover of trees. General Henry Hereford and his aide-de-camp would shortly converge on Lexington.

  Brandon prayed to his archangel, “Colm, where are you? Have you forsaken us?”

  As the last of the rear guard passed by, Brandon heard leaves crunch and twigs snap in the woods to his right. A horse with no rider was cautiously moving toward him. When the filly reached Brandon, she snorted and nudged his shoulder with her nose.

  From the look of the horse’s tack, Brandon thought she probably belonged to a local farmer, and she’d been spooked by the noise of the British marching the road. He stroked her nose and took hold of her reins. He led the horse through the woods toward Lexington Green to deliver the news to Seamus that he had seen Henry.

  Twenty

  Ian thought of Sidonie as he watched the misguided Lieutenant Jessie Adair lead his troops toward Buckman’s Tavern.

  In the confusion, Major Pitcairn, Major Mitchell, and demon-possessed Lieutenant William Sutherland, galloped across the line of British troops marching along Bedford Road. The officers spread across the green toward the assembled militia.

  Elijah Sommers would later swear that he saw one of the British officers riding with a pistol in his hand.

  The colonials couldn’t swear which British officer yelled, “Throw down your arms, you damned rebels, and disperse!”

  “Hold your fire!” Captain Parker ordered his militiamen.

  Then a shot rang out.

  The British regulars rushed furiously toward the front line of the dispersing militia.

  Major Pitcairn saw rebels running toward the cover of low stone walls. He shouted to the regulars in the vanguard, “Hold your fire and maintain ranks!”

  But the regulars kept advancing.

  The Lexington militiamen turned to defend themselves.

  Shots were volleyed at close range.

  Paul and John Howell were still hauling John Hancock’s trunk across the green. They dared not stop to ascertain what was happening.

  Lieutenant William Sutherland’s horse bolted at the sound of musket fire. The demon that possessed Sutherland gripped the reins as his horse galloped unchecked along Bedford Road toward the Clarke house.

  The first of Colonel Francis Smith’s grenadiers and infantrymen marched into Lexington. The rebels dashed for the cover of the low stone walls as a new wave of British regulars surged across the green.

  A thick veil of gunpowder, discharged from hundreds of muskets and pistols, settled on Lexington Green. The morning sun was little more than a fuzzy globe of distant light.

  Prince Estabrooke, in his enthusiasm over the angels, and the certainty there was a Heaven, leaped over the wall where he, Michael, and Patrick had taken cover. He ran at the advancing regulars and disappeared into the gloom.

  “Fuck!” Michael shouted. He scrambled over the wall in pursuit of Prince.

  Patrick stood up cautiously. Points of orange light infiltrated the veil of smoke. They bobbed up and down and sideways as the human vessels the demons possessed moved through the battle. He was afraid that Michael had forgotten about the demons in his pursuit of Prince.

  Patrick reloaded his musket, then leaped the stone wall into the pandemonium. With relief, Patrick saw Michael not far from the wall.

  Michael also saw Patrick. He grasped Prince’s wrist and shouted, “Follow me!”

  Anxious, Seamus and Liam had not taken cover. How many demons had Henry sent? The smoke-shrouded green made it difficult to tell if demons were in possession of living or dead human vessels.

  Seamus tried not to lose sight of Liam lest a demon found him unprotected. He thought about his little brother out there somewhere in the fog of gunfire, and hoped that he hadn’t gotte
n separated from Michael.

  A musket ball punched a hole in Seamus’ beaver felt hat. He seized the narrow-edged brim before the hat flew out of his reach. I’m gonna get myself killed because I’m worryin’ too much, he thought.

  Ian and Jeremiah were together near the meetinghouse. They had a cloudy view of the road from Cambridge. Two men with whom Ian had a brief and pleasant exchange with while waiting for Captain Parker’s orders, Asa Potter and Jacob Harrington, were guarding the powder cache in the meetinghouse. They were both shot to death by a British infantryman. Ian didn’t see their deaths, but he felt the struggle their souls endured as their bodies died. He ran blindly toward them to offer comfort as they left their earthbound lives.

  Jeremiah immediately lost sight of Ian. He blinked to clear his eyes of the stinging smoke, and saw two men dressed in redcoats bearing down on him with bayonets flashing in the gloom. A musket fired. The redcoats scattered. A man coughed hard. Jeremiah caught a glimpse of his defender moving away through the haze—Captain John Parker.

  Prince and Michael and Patrick became separated. It was impossible for any of the boys to determine where they were on the green or if they were still on the green.

  Michael stopped to reload. He bit off the top of a cartridge, poured a small amount of gunpowder into the pan, and closed the frizzen. With his musket primed, he lowered it to his left side so he could drop the rest of the powder, paper, and ball down the barrel. He pulled the ramrod from its holder under the barrel.

  As he seated the cartridge, he heard a grunt to his left. The continuous noise of musket fire made it difficult for him to identify the importance of the grunt. He removed the ramrod from the barrel of his musket and returned it to the holder.

  “Michael? Patrick? Can someone hear me?”

  “Prince?” Michael asked. He strained to see through the heavy smoke. “Are ya down?”

  “I’m down. I’m hit in the leg.”

  Michael turned toward the sound of Prince’s voice, took one step, and stumbled over Prince’s wounded leg. Prince grunted when Michael fell on his stomach.

  “FUCK!” Michael said as he got to his knees. Musket balls whizzed through the surrounding air. He crawled closer to Prince’s legs.

  A musket ball had ripped through the tattered stockings on Prince’s left calf. The furrow was bleeding, but Michael didn’t think it was bad enough to cause Prince to bleed out. He removed the filthy sweat-stained scarf from Prince’s neck and wrapped it around the wound.

  “I have to get ya out of danger,” Michael said. “Can ya see Patrick’s aura? I can’t see him.”

  “I can’t see much of anything from here,” Prince said. He was so relieved to have Michael with him that he had little concern about the danger he was in.

  Amid the noise of the battle, Michael and Prince heard the clatter of metal upon metal. Even from his disadvantaged view on the ground, Prince saw the line of British infantry running directly at them with bayonets.

  Prince turned his head and shut his eyes so he wouldn’t see the bayonet that would run him through and leave his guts spilling on the ground. Michael threw his body on top of Prince, and tried to unfurl his wings to frighten the charging infantrymen.

  Prince thought, I’m gonna die with an angel. Thank you, Lord.

  Michael’s extreme distress crippled him, and he was only able to rustle his wings. He braced his vessel for the onslaught. Muskets fired and bayonets clashed. Horse hooves trampled the ground. Hands pulled him to his feet. Hands lifted Prince from the ground.

  Prince shouted, “Patrick!”

  The horse and its rider circled Michael several times. Michael saw that the rider was Brandon.

  Brandon spurred the horse and galloped at what was left of the bayonet- brandishing line of British infantry. They scattered like startled birds.

  Seamus materialized out of the black haze. He shouted, “Fall in!” and motioned for Michael to follow him. They ran toward the buildings on the northern edge of the green. Liam and Jeremiah broke away from the militia ranks and fell in beside them.

  Liam had been firing from his position beside Jonas Parker, Captain Parker’s much older cousin. Jonas remained in the militia ranks with his musket balls and flints on the ground between his feet. Before he had a chance to reload, he was shot. Jonas struggled on the ground as he attempted to reload his musket. William Monroe, who was standing beside Jonas, witnessed two regulars run Jonas through with their bayonets.

  West of the spot Jonas Parker died, the angels and Jeremiah took shelter inside the blacksmith shop located between the two Harrington brothers’ houses, near the edge of the green. They paused to catch their breath in the smoke-filled shop.

  Patrick burst into the shop, panting and coughing.

  “Where’s Prince?” Michael asked.

  Patrick swigged water from his canteen. When his thirst was quenched, he wiped the back of one filthy hand across his mouth, and said, “I got him to a house where they took him in.”

  Seamus tried not to sound worried when he asked, “Has anyone seen Ian? Him and Jeremiah got separated.”

  Patrick, Liam, and Michael shook their heads.

  “Well, I sent Brandon to look for him.”

  “By himself?” Patrick asked, stunned that Seamus would send one of them off alone during a battle.

  “Are you forgettin’ that he’s the only one of us who cain hide his aura from demons?”

  Patrick shook his head.

  “How’d Brandon get a horse?” Michael asked.

  “I didn’t ask him,” Seamus said. He bit the paper off the top of a cartridge and dropped it down the barrel of his musket.

  “The green is crawling with demons,” Michael said. “I know those fuckers did something to Ian! I’m going after them!” He reached into his cartridge box, and began to reload his musket.

  “No, you ain’t,” Seamus warned. “Brandon saw Robert Percy, and who he’s sure is Henry, ridin’ with Colonel Francis Smith’s infantry and grenadiers that’re behind Pitcairn’s van. They’re marchin’ into Lexington as we speak. Me and Brandon think Ian might’ve broke ranks and went to Concord because Sidonie’s there. That’s where Brandon’s headed.”

  Michael plunged the ramrod down the barrel of his musket. His beautiful face contorted with anger and fear. He was angry with Colm for leaving them and was afraid because Colm wasn’t with them.

  “I am not staying with you,” Liam blurted out. “Seamus, I am aware of what you are doing, and I will not let it continue.”

  The men stopped and looked at Liam.

  Seamus looked Liam in the eye and said, “You ain’t leavin’.”

  “Brother? What’s Liam mean?” Patrick asked. “You ain’t doin’ somethin’ stupid just because Colm punished Liam—are you?”

  The Cullen brothers’ eyes met. They shivered as a memory that belonged to the souls of human brothers slid through their angelic spirits and vanished.

  “He is, as you say, doing something stupid,” Liam said. “He is overprotecting me because of the punishment Colm has effected on me. Seamus is afraid that I am too vulnerable.”

  “Where is Colm?” Michael demanded. “Why isn’t he with us?” He stood up and turned on Liam. “Ya knew this was going to happen! Ya were going on about it the day ya went to visit the Adamses in Boston! How we might have to stand on our own without Colm!”

  “Stop actin’ like a baby!” Jeremiah shouted at Michael. “You’ve fought countless battles! I ain’t never been ta war before today, and I ain’t whinin’.”

  Before Michael had a chance to react to Jeremiah’s insult, the rhythm of a beating drum rolled across Lexington Green. Colonel Francis Smith and his regiments had arrived.

  Colonel Smith was aghast when he saw the dead and wounded rebels littering Lexington Green. Major John Pitcairn’s companies of the advanced guard were in disarray. Major Edward Mitchell’s company was in a state of exhausted confusion. The British troops were so wild that they could not he
ar the orders to assemble.

  General Henry Hereford rode out from the rear of the column to survey the shambles beside Colonel Smith. Captain Robert Percy acknowledged General Hereford’s passing by momentarily revealing his orange eyes. Lieutenant William Sutherland rode to meet the colonel and the general near the meetinghouse on the green.

  “Find a drummer and order him to beat to arms,” Smith ordered Sutherland.

  Colonel Smith searched for hope within the dreadful situation and found it. It appears we have suffered no casualties, he thought. In his shocked state, Francis Smith failed to note Henry’s presence.

  Major John Pitcairn arrived on horseback. He raised one blond eyebrow in surprise when he saw General Hereford. John recalled that the general was among the guests at the social he had hosted on March 13. His unnatural yellow-greens eyes were impossible to forget.

  John acknowledged his superior officers by clapping a hand to his hat. Henry felt no obligation to remain while the major attempted to explain his junior officers’ and troops’ conduct to Colonel Smith.

  Henry’s single interest was locating the archangel and his men. He rode back and fetched Robert from his regiment. Together, they returned to the southern edge of the green at a slow pace. The possessed William Sutherland joined them. The three officers carefully watched the movements of the rebels.

  As enlisted officers goaded their men back into ranks, Colonel Smith held commissioned officers’ call. The objective of their march had never been revealed to the colonel’s subordinates, in order to maintain the element of surprise that General Gage had assumed Colonel Smith and he were operating under. That element of surprise had disintegrated with the carnage in Lexington.

  “We are marching on to Concord,” Colonel Smith told his officers. “The true objective of this mission is to capture stores of armaments and powder the rebels have hidden there.”

  “Colonel, you cannot mean to go on with this after what has happened here!” A mortified young captain pronounced. His eyes swept the dead rebels. “We did not come here to kill men, no matter their allegiances to our King!”