The Redcoats are Coming!

by Marianne Hering

  “Uncle Jonas is a minister,” Sybil said.

  “Isn’t it against the Constitution to hide gunpowder under a pulpit?” Patrick asked with a smile.

  Sybil gazed at him. “What’s a constitution?” she asked.

  Beth spoke up. “Patrick means the separation of church and state. You know. Aren’t ministers and churches supposed to stay out of politics?”

  Sybil looked puzzled. “What are you talking about? Why would ministers stay out of politics?” she asked. “Every minister I know is a Patriot. They all preach about liberty. It’s okay to fight for freedom.”

  Patrick shook his head. “I guess things have changed,” he said.

  “Changed?” Sybil asked.

  “Never mind,” Patrick said.

  Beth felt excited. Everyone seemed so involved. Even the ministers. Even a teenage girl like Sybil.

  Beth and Patrick followed Sybil. They walked through the front entrance of the meetinghouse. She led them down a short flight of stairs. At the bottom was a large room.

  Inside, men sat on chairs around small tables. Most of the men wore homemade suits. Their clothes looked like Patrick’s outfit. Several men had long white hair tied in short ponytails. Beth guessed that the men were wearing wigs.

  One important-looking man sat at a table in front of the others. He fiddled with some papers and held a wood gavel.

  The leader cleared his throat and began talking to the men. Beth listened. But she didn’t understand because he used long, unfamiliar words. His message seemed to be about being careful while traveling. And he warned the others to avoid the king’s men. She assumed he meant spies.

  The man looked up and saw Sybil. He smiled at her. Sybil curtsied. Beth curtsied too, and Patrick bowed.

  “My friends and I have fresh quills for the men,” Sybil said and then added, “With your permission, Mr. Hancock.”

  Beth took in a quick breath. Hancock? Is that the John Hancock sitting right in front of me? she wondered.

  “Must we endure another interruption, John?” one of the men asked.

  “Of course,” John Hancock replied. He stood up and hit his gavel on the table.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  “Fresh quills so we may sign this latest proclamation,” he announced.

  Sybil, Beth, and Patrick went from colonist to colonist with quills.

  Beth whispered to the man nearest to her, “Would you like a fresh quill?”

  “Yes,” he whispered back. “And some ink too.” Then the man winked at her.

  Beth smiled. “It will be ready in a minute.”

  She stepped closer and handed a quill to the man. His hand came forward, and she glanced down. He held what looked like small gray marbles. Musket balls.

  The man slipped the musket balls into Beth’s hand. They were heavy. She slid them into her apron pocket and moved on.

  Nobody seemed to notice the exchange.

  Beth went to the man at the next table. She asked him in a soft voice, “Would you like a fresh quill?”

  “Yes,” he said. He picked up his bottle of ink. “And I’m low on ink, too. Do you have any ink?”

  Beth felt the heat rise to her cheeks. He didn’t answer in the secret code, she thought. Or did he?

  The man frowned at her. She was struck by fear. What am I supposed to do? she wondered.

  The Proclamation

  Patrick stuffed a handful of musket balls into his pants pocket. He had already filled up the little inside coat pocket. And the larger pockets on the outside.

  He looked over at Beth. She was standing next to a table. The wigged man in the seat was scowling at her.

  Beth looks scared, Patrick thought. He moved quickly toward her.

  Beth gave him a shaky smile.

  He asked the man, “Do you need a fresh quill?”

  The man turned to him and said, “The young lady already gave me one.” He lifted up his jar of ink. “But my ink is low. Do you have any?”

  Patrick now understood Beth’s expression. Was this man a Loyalist spy? he wondered.

  Patrick glanced down at the table. The man was writing a letter. Patrick struggled to read the small curly writing. Then he saw a large, handwritten signature: Dr. Benjamin Church.

  “We’ll see what we can do about more ink, Dr. Church,” Patrick said. He touched Beth’s elbow. “Move on, Beth.”

  Beth shot Patrick a look of thanks. She walked to another table.

  Patrick moved to the next man. But he kept his eye on Dr. Church.

  John Hancock was reading a proclamation to the assembly. “In times as dark as these,” he said, “it becomes us, as men and Christians, to—”

  Patrick felt his coat pocket move. He looked down. Another man was stuffing musket balls into his pants pocket. Patrick nodded to him and then moved to a different table.

  Bang! The sound of a gavel slammed against wood. It echoed like a gunshot. Patrick turned, startled.

  “Resolved,” John Hancock said loudly. He pounded the table with his gavel again. “This assembly hereby declares a day of public prayer. Let all the good people of this colony seek God together. We set aside for this purpose next Thursday, May 11.”

  “Hear, hear!” the men said. Several of them pounded the floor with their canes.

  Patrick followed their lead. He pounded his cane on the floor too. He marveled that prayer was so important to the colonists. They seemed to understand their need for God’s help.

  Patrick walked up to John Hancock. “Would you like a fresh quill, sir?” Patrick asked.

  John Hancock winked at Patrick and said, “Yes, and some ink too.” He pulled open a small drawer in his table. He picked up two handfuls of musket balls.

  Patrick put them in his pockets. His pockets were very full. He was afraid they might rip.

  Patrick turned to leave.

  “That’s a fine cane you have,” John Hancock said.

  “Thank you, sir,” Patrick said proudly. “Mr. Whittaker gave it to me.”

  John Hancock lifted an eyebrow. “Whittaker of Boston?” he asked. “He makes the finest canes in all the colonies. I can’t say as much for his inventions, though. He and Ben Franklin get involved in the strangest things. Especially when they’re in the same city. Something to do with kites. It’s more than I care to understand.”

  Patrick smiled. Whittaker of Boston must have been an ancestor of Mr. Whittaker back home. The letter and the Bible must have originally belonged to him.

  Patrick needed to empty his pockets. He looked around the room. Beth was handing out quills. Sybil was giving Dr. Church his new bottle of ink.

  Patrick gave a quick bow to John Hancock. Then he hurried from the room. Once outside, he found Sybil’s pony. He took a handful of musket balls out of his pocket. He put them into a saddlebag. Then he emptied the rest of his pockets.

  He began to put the last handful into the saddlebag. Suddenly, a strong hand grabbed his shoulder.

  “Hold on there, young fellow,” a man’s voice said in his ear. “What’s in the saddlebags?”

  Patrick cried out and jumped back in fear.

  Musket balls fell from his hand. They rolled all over the ground.

  Strangers

  A tall, thin man held Patrick’s shoulder. He wore a tan jacket, brown pants, and brown stockings. He had a large hat.

  “Look here, Mr. Brown,” he said to another man with him. “We have an arms smuggler.”

  Patrick felt his stomach twist into a knot. He opened his mouth to speak. But he didn’t know what to say.

  “To be sure, Ross,” said Mr. Brown.

  Ross pulled a quill out of his coat pocket. Then he pulled out a thick wad of papers and a small writing kit. One of the papers looked like a map.

  Patrick watched as he wrote something down with a quill. Ross’s bony fingers were covered with black ink stains.

  Patrick jerked away from Ross. “Leave me alone, or I’ll call for help,” he said.

  “Steady now,
young man,” Mr. Brown said.

  Patrick eyed Mr. Brown carefully. He looked as if he was wearing someone else’s clothes. The sleeves on his coat were too long. His brown pants were baggy.

  Mr. Brown leaned toward Patrick and said in a low voice, “We’re Patriots just like you.”

  Patrick frowned. Something didn’t seem right about these men.

  “Tell us, young Patriot,” Ross said. “Where are you taking this ammunition?”

  “I’m not sure,” Patrick said. He bent over to pick up the musket balls. The letter to Paul Revere slipped out of his pocket. It landed faceup on the ground.

  “Are you taking these musket balls to Paul Revere?” Ross asked.

  “No,” Patrick said. He stuffed the letter back in his pocket. “I don’t know where these musket balls are going. The letter is private.”

  “It’s all right, lad,” Ross said as he wrote something on his papers.

  “What about the cannons?” Mr. Brown asked Ross in a near whisper.

  “The boy is being cautious. And so he should be,” Ross said to Mr. Brown. “One never knows who to trust these days.”

  Mr. Brown began to protest. “But—”

  “You’re doing a good job, lad,” Ross said to Patrick. “Carry on.”

  Patrick stood back up with the musket balls in his hands. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Come along then,” Ross said to Mr. Brown.

  Mr. Brown frowned at Patrick and then hitched up his pants.

  The two men walked off. They disappeared into the woods behind the building.

  Just then, Sybil and Beth came outside. Patrick was relieved. He told the girls about the two men.

  “Did you ask them for the secret phrase?” Sybil asked.

  “The men told me they were Patriots. Why would I need to ask them about quills?” Patrick asked. He felt annoyed.

  “Then you don’t know if they were Patriots or not,” Sybil said.

  “What about the man inside?” Patrick asked. “Dr. Church?”

  “What about Dr. Church?” Sybil asked.

  Beth’s eyes widened. “He didn’t know the secret phrase,” she said.

  Sybil shook her head. “Dr. Church is a leader of the Patriots. He’s a close friend of John Hancock and Paul Revere,” Sybil said.

  “Then someone should make sure he knows the secret code,” Beth said. “It was confusing.”

  “This whole business is confusing,” Patrick said as he dropped the last musket balls into the saddlebags. The man called Ross was right. It is hard to know who to trust.

  “We have to be careful,” Sybil said. She helped Beth put the musket balls into a saddlebag. “If you have any doubt, don’t say anything,” she added.

  Several of the horses stirred. Patrick turned to see the doors of the church meetinghouse swing open.

  The men came out. Some got on their horses and galloped off. Others climbed into nearby carriages and rode away.

  Sybil pulled herself up on her pony’s saddle. “Star is a bit small for the three of us to ride,” she said.

  “Beth can ride with you,” Patrick said. “I’ll walk.”

  “But Lexington is a good six miles from here,” Sybil said.

  “No problem,” Patrick said. He had hiked that far on other adventures.

  John Hancock approached them with another man. The Patriot leader waved his gavel in the air. “Carrying such heavy ‘quills’ all the way to Lexington will make you tired,” John Hancock said, smiling broadly. He winked at Patrick.

  Patrick smiled back.

  John Hancock turned to the other man.

  The new man was dressed in shabby clothes. He was short and round. Thick eyebrows almost hid his calm blue eyes.

  “What say you, Samuel Adams? Do we have room in our carriage for two more?” John Hancock asked.

  “I’ll race you!” Sybil said. She dug her heels into Star’s sides. She was off like the wind.

  “Hurry and climb in,” Samuel Adams said. “We can’t let that young lady beat us.”

  He held open the door to a small black carriage. It had a tall roof and white curtains in the windows. Black cushions covered the seats inside. Six horses stood harnessed to the front of it.

  Patrick waited while Beth climbed in. John Hancock sat down next to her. Patrick slid into the seat next to Samuel Adams. Patrick held his cane tightly in his hand.

  A servant climbed onto the front seat of the carriage. He clicked the reins. “Giddyap!” he shouted. The horses lunged forward at a full gallop.

  The race was on.

  In the Corncrib

  Beth leaned out the carriage window. The horses galloped down the road. She saw Sybil’s pony rushing ahead.

  Closer and closer they got. Then Sybil shouted, “Faster, Star!” The pony suddenly burst ahead with new speed. They disappeared around a bend.

  The carriage finally came to a stop. They were in front of a big house. It was on the edge of a large grassy area. Near the house were several smaller buildings.

  Sybil stood nearby holding Star’s halter. She smiled at them with a smug look.

  A man hurried out of the house. His long white sleeves were puffy. He wore a dark vest over his shirt.

  A little girl ran out behind him, followed by an older boy. He looked to be in his teens. More children swarmed around the man. They were like bees buzzing around a hive.

  The man playfully shooed them away. He walked over to the carriage.

  “Cousin John!” the man shouted.

  John Hancock pushed open the carriage door. “Jonas,” John Hancock said warmly and climbed out. Beth and Patrick followed. Then Samuel Adams.

  The two men shook hands. Reverend Jonas also greeted Samuel Adams. Then he noticed Beth and Patrick.

  “Who are they?” he asked.

  “Reverend Jonas Clarke, meet Sybil’s new friends,” John Hancock said with a sweep of his hand.

  “My name is Beth,” she said. “And this is my cousin Patrick.”

  Sybil stepped up to them. “They have a message for Paul Revere,” she said.

  “Revere is in Boston,” Samuel Adams said. “It’s getting too dark to ride to Boston now. And too dangerous.”

  Patrick groaned. Beth saw the frustrated look on his face.

  “It’s certainly too late for you to leave for Philadelphia,” Reverend Clarke said to John Hancock. “You must stay here tonight.”

  “Thank you, cousin,” John Hancock said.

  “I offer my thanks as well,” Samuel Adams said.

  “Does that include everyone?” Sybil asked and pointed to Patrick and Beth.

  Reverend Clarke said, “We can squeeze in two more. I’ll let my wife know.”

  The Clarke kids sent up a loud cheer.

  “Are all these children yours?” Beth asked. She guessed there were about ten.

  “Every last one,” Reverend Clarke said.

  Reverend Clarke turned to Sybil. “You and your friends can put your collection in the corncrib.”

  Sybil nodded at Beth and Patrick. “Follow me,” she said.

  Sybil led Star and the cousins to a small, unpainted shacklike building. Beth thought it looked like a playhouse. But the walls seemed strange. They had boards with open spaces in between them.

  Sybil took the saddlebags off Star’s saddle. Then she opened the shack door and went inside.

  The cousins followed her inside. A pile of dried corncobs filled half the space. Burlap sacks were on the floor.

  “Why do the walls have spaces between each board?” Beth asked.

  “Don’t you know about corncribs?” Sybil asked in surprise. “It’s to let the air in and keep the corn dry. Otherwise the corn gets moldy and rotten.”

  Sybil put the heavy saddlebag on the floor. She opened one of the burlap sacks. A pile of corn sat on top.

  “Put as many musket balls as you can into these sacks,” she said to Beth and Patrick. “Then cover them up with corn.”

  When they were
done, Sybil led them outside. She shut the door. “We’ll need more potatoes for supper,” she said.

  The cousins followed Sybil around the side of the corncrib. A door lay flat on the ground. Sybil pulled open the door. She led them down the stairs into a dark hole.

  Beth thought it was creepy.

  “Mind the third step,” Sybil said. “The wood’s rotten and will break under you.”

  Beth stepped carefully over the rotten stair. She realized they were going into a cellar. Baskets sat in rows on the floor. They were filled with potatoes, apples, and onions.

  Clatter. Clunk. “Oh no. I dropped my cane!” Patrick said from behind Beth.

  Beth glanced around. “It must’ve fallen underneath,” she said. She crouched and reached into the darkness under the stairs.

  She felt something slimy and cool. She jerked her hand back.

  Beth was face-to-face with a squirming mass of snakes. They were piled together on the floor under the stairs.

  Beth screamed.

  Alone in the Dark

  Sybil rushed over. Patrick clattered down the stairs.

  “Pay no mind to them,” Sybil said to Beth. “They’re black rat snakes. They do no harm.”

  Beth stepped quickly backward. Patrick stood on tiptoe and tried to see through the shadows.

  “Cool!” he said when his eyes adjusted.

  “They’ve been hibernating here all winter,” Sybil said. “They’re still moving a little slowly.”

  “Why do you let them stay here?” Beth asked in a shaky voice.

  “They keep the rats away,” Sybil said.

  “Rats?” Beth said.

  Sybil nodded. “Some of the rats are as big as cats,” she said. “But enough of that. Help me carry potatoes.”

  Patrick grabbed his cane from the floor near the snakes. Sybil gave the cousins armloads of potatoes. They all carried the potatoes back to the house.

  The girls helped prepare supper. Then everyone sat down to eat with the Clarke family. They had a hot meal of potatoes and roast beef.

  Soon it was time for bed.

  “Patrick can sleep in the stable,” Reverend Clarke said. “He’ll be warm enough there.”