The thought had no sooner crossed his mind than he heard hoof beats up ahead on the road. He quickly darted to the north side and down an embankment under the bridge. The horses’ hooves pounded overhead, echoing loudly in his ears. His heart raced, and his breath quickened. He waited, hoping no one had seen him. What if Reverend Loring sends men out looking for me? he thought. What if the Reverend told the loyalists in New York that I am a traitor?
Gabriel tried to push back his fear, but he knew he would have to be cautious on the road. After waiting several minutes, he put his ear to the bottom of the bridge to listen for any sounds of approaching horses. The road above was silent. Cautiously, he climbed back up the embankment. Seeing no one, he ran north along the road, away from the bridge.
As he headed north through Yonkers, it seemed like he heard a horse with a wagon or carriage come beating and rattling along the road every thirty minutes. Each time, he was forced to dive into the grass or bushes along the side of the road and wait. When he emerged, he was a little bit dirtier, and his coat and pants had a few more burrs in them. He even had burrs stuck in his thick black hair.
Gabriel was tired of running off the road for cover in the thickets and bushes. Surely all of these horses and carriages can’t be loyalists or king’s soldiers looking for a patriot to terrorize, he thought. In fact, it is not likely many redcoats would even be on this road. They can’t get into Boston by land without running into the militia surrounding the city. They would have to use a boat, and if they have to go by boat, they would just board a ship at New York and sail to Boston.
As the afternoon sun began to sink in the sky, Gabriel didn’t hear an approaching traveler along the road for some time. Making good time now, he passed taverns at New Rochelle, Larchmont, and Mamaroneck. He saw a few farms off the road in the distance, with cattle grazing and men out working in the fields. As inviting as the taverns and farms appeared, he kept to the road.
He was just thinking about stopping for a quick rest, when he heard approaching hoof beats coming from behind. He began to head for a patch of tall and scruffy grass a few yards off the road, but just as his foot left the rutted dirt path of the road, he changed his mind.
Instead he continued to walk alongside the edge, making sure he was out of the way of the approaching horses. The hoof beats began to grow a little louder now. He thought again of the advice that Ben Daniels gave him back at the tavern about taking to the bushes to avoid travelers. He couldn’t make up his mind, and then, at the last minute, as the horses were now approaching loudly and quickly, he dove into some thick bushes beside the road.
He waited, panting now from the last-minute sprint. Strangely, he now heard nothing but his own breathing, no hoof beats trailing off into the distance — nothing at all. Were the horses going at such a brisk pace that they’ve already passed out of earshot? wondered Gabriel.
The abrupt silence made him uneasy, and he wondered if he should run further into the surrounding trees. Trying to calm himself, he took a deep breath. Dozens of riders had passed on horseback over the course of the day, and none of them had been out looking to capture him and take him back to New York. This is nonsense, he thought. Why am I hiding? He decided to go out and meet whoever might have stopped in the road.
Just as he was about to peak out of the bushes, he heard footsteps approaching and he was suddenly yanked from the bushes. The branches scraped and cut his face, and he was tossed down into the grass alongside the road. He looked up and saw a squat, stocky man standing over him. Dark eyes, framed by even darker fleshy rings, now stared down at him. He let out a gasp. This was Hannigan, Grimm’s helper from the tavern.
A dark shadow of a man sat on horseback, looming over Gabriel and Hannigan. The rider’s voice bellowed, “Well, well, well . . . look what we have here, Hannigan.”
Gabriel squinted up at the rider in his mount. Bradford Grimm himself sat tall and ominous, peering down with a devilish grin upon his face. He still wore his faded red jacket, and his musket was strapped to the back of his saddle. Grimm shook his head and clucked his tongue. “What are you running from, lad?”
Gabriel was speechless.
“What’s the matter, boy, cat got your tongue?” Hannigan laughed. His crooked yellow teeth snarled at Gabriel. “The only people who run from His Majesty’s loyal subjects are those who have something to hide. So let’s have a good look at you, now.”
As Gabriel was now thrown to his feet, his mind began to race. Where was his sack? Where was his drum? Had Grimm or Hannigan seen either of these things yet? He still did not say a word to Hannigan, who was now roughly shaking him, as if to see whether anything loose might fall off of him.
“Let’s have a look in those pockets.” Gabriel felt the ring and the change he had in his pocket. He certainly did not want to hand over his ring, and, even though there wasn’t much change, he didn’t want to turn that over to Hannigan and Grimm, either.
“Hold on a minute, Hannigan,” interrupted Grimm, still seated on his horse. “What’s over there in the bushes?”
Forgetting about Gabriel’s pockets, Hannigan wandered over to the bushes where Gabriel had dove in just a few minutes ago, and pulled out his sack and drum. Gabriel’s heart pounded. Should he run? “Well, I’ll be me mother’s laddie, we caught ourselves a little drummer boy, Grimm.” Hannigan held Gabriel’s drum up high for all to see. “But where is the rest of your army, following along to the beat of your drum? Come to think of it, where are your drumsticks, drummer boy?” Hannigan laughed heartily at his own joke.
Grimm, however, sat motionless, recognition growing across his face. His fierce eyes beat down on Gabriel. “You’re the boy from the King’s Bridge Tavern. You were there. I saw you come in with your drum.”
Hannigan’s laugh trailed off. “Oh, yeah. I recognize him now. I told you we ought to ask him some questions when he came into the tavern. Remember?”
Grimm shot Hannigan a look of disgust. “Of course I remember, you half-wit! Hand me his pack!” commanded Grimm.
Gabriel’s thoughts were spinning. His money was in that cloth pack. He couldn’t lose it. He wouldn’t be able to buy food. How could he make it to Boston with no food? Grimm clutched the bunched-up blanket that served as Gabriel’s sack, his hand like a claw getting ready to rip into it.
Gabriel shouted, “No! Stop! I will give you all the money I have if you will only give me back my sack.”
Hannigan chuckled up at Grimm, “What’ya think, Grimm? Maybe we ought to take all the coppers he has and the sack, too.”
Ignoring Hannigan, Grimm gave Gabriel a curious look. “What’s in the sack that you don’t want us to see, drummer boy?”
Gabriel knew this was his only opportunity to get his sack of belongings back. His mind racing, he tried to think up some story about what was in his sack. Ben Daniels had told him to use his head in a situation like this. Maybe the pack was filled with gunpowder that was about to explode, or snakes full of poisonous venom.
Unable to think of a story that would convince them not to open the pack, he looked Bradford Grimm squarely in the eyes and relied on a truth, “There’s a note from my mother in that sack. You see, she and my pa died of the pox about a year ago, and those words on that paper are the only thing I have to remember her by. I don’t have many coppers, but I’ll give it all to you if you only give my sack back with that note.”
Gabriel put his hand in his pocket, felt the ring his mother had given him, and shifted it to the side. He pulled out the change and held it in front Hannigan and Grimm. It was just a couple of coppers.
Before Gabriel could say another word, Grimm took out a knife and cut away the string on his sack. His heart sank. Grimm dumped out the contents of the sack onto the road. There fell his knife, his flask, his flint rock, and the note from his mother. The small pouch that held his money was missing. Gabriel looked in amazement. Where was his coin pouch?
Hannigan ran over to snatch up the knife, flint rock, and paper,
when Grimm spoke up. “Hannigan, take his coppers for payment for using the King’s Highway without permission, and leave his belongings.”
Somewhat startled, Hannigan dropped Gabriel’s things back to the ground. “But, sir,” questioned Hannigan.
Grimm glared at Hannigan, daring him to say another word. Reluctantly, Hannigan kicked the contents that spilled out of Gabriel’s pack to the side of the road, covering them with dirt.
“Boy,” continued Grimm, in a commanding tone, “I know where you’re going, and I know what you’re going to do with that pitiful drum when you get there. You are headed north on this road to meet up with the rebels and traitors that call themselves a militia. I — and many others — stand ready to do whatever we must to defeat these rebels. At this very moment, I am upon urgent business from the Royal Governor of New York himself. I, therefore, unfortunately do not have time to transport you back to New York, where you would likely be tried and hanged as a traitor to the crown.”
Grimm then paused, reached around to the back of his saddle, and pulled out his musket. Gabriel could only guess what was coming next. Would Grimm choose to stab him with the bayonet or put a musket ball through his head? He closed his eyes tightly, afraid that if he opened them, he might start weeping.
Grimm shouted. “Open your eyes, boy, when an official of the Royal Governor is speaking!” He pointed the musket down on Gabriel and spoke slowly. “You must turn around, return to New York, and give up your rebellious ways. You will never reach Boston. You have no coins, no food, and no gun, and the road up ahead is a wilderness. I will say this only once: if you choose to disobey my orders, you will die. You will either starve, fall ill, be devoured by a wild animal, shot by a bandit, or stopped by my fellow loyalists, who are within their rights to charge you as a traitor and string you up from the nearest tree. Do I make myself clear?”
Gabriel only nodded.
“Very well,” said Grimm, gathering up his reins. Hannigan snatched the coins from Gabriel’s hand and threw his drum back into the thorny bushes as hard as he could. He then pushed Gabriel down into the road and held his face tightly against the dirt. Leaning down, he put his hot, stinking breath next to Gabriel’s face and said, “I hope you heard what Mr. Grimm said. If it was up to me, I’d run you through right here and now.”
Hannigan stood up and kicked him hard in the ribs. He felt as though a spike had been driven into his side. The air was forced from his lungs in a loud gasp, and he writhed in pain.
“Hurry up, Hannigan,” shouted Grimm.
Climbing back on his horse, Hannigan left Gabriel groaning in the road. The loyalists rode off, leaving a trail of dust that began to settle on Gabriel’s already-dirty coat.
Gabriel began to lift himself off the ground and stood in the road, motionless. He tried to comprehend what just happened. He grabbed his bruised side, sorry for the pain he felt, but now he felt more the patriot than he ever had before. He was more determined than ever to stand up and march north.
He gathered up his belongings, and with a pain still stinging his side, he shook out his blanket to remove the dust. There was a large hole ripped down the middle of the blanket. He immediately threw it down and ran over to the bushes where Hannigan found his sack. There, lying on the ground next to the thorny bush that had slashed his face, was his coin pouch. He could not believe his eyes. A thorn must have torn a hole in his blanket when Hannigan had pulled it from the bushes, and the pouch had fallen out. A sense of relief came over him. He picked up the small pouch and kissed it. “Thank you, God. Thank you,” he muttered.
He remembered Ben’s words: I do not believe there are many things in this life that happen just by chance. What other explanation could there be for these loyalists not finding his coins?
With his aching side still shooting pain, he needed to rest. He picked up his drum and tramped through the bushes to find a place to lie down. Once he did, the exhaustion from the day’s turmoil overwhelmed him. He thought about what had happened. Between his pain and his restless thoughts, sleep was allusive yet again. He kept returning to the same question over and over: Why was I spared?
Finally, unable to find an answer, he gave in to his exhaustion and fell asleep among the bushes.
H 5 H
BATTLE BREWING
Gabriel woke up with soreness from the kick to his side and a grumbling sound coming from his stomach. It was damp and dark out, with a thick fog shrouding the moon and stars. His stomach growled again, yet he had nothing to eat to satisfy his growing hunger. The only thing he could do was pack up his things and start walking. At least it was dark and foggy. No chance of being spotted by more loyalists.
He headed back to the road and slowly began to move his stiff and sore muscles, hoping they would limber up as he went along. He had no idea how long he had slept or what time of night it was. He only knew that he was hungry.
To forget about his hunger, Gabriel began to think again about what had happened to him that afternoon with Bradford Grimm. He was thankful his coin pouch had fallen from his sack, but he was also mad at himself for letting the crazed loyalists get hold of him in the first place. The pain in his side reminded him of his mistake. If only I’d taken cover sooner, he thought.
Then he remembered that Hannigan told him they stopped because they took notice of his running. If he had just stood by his decision to continue walking alongside the road, then Grimm and Hannigan might have ridden past without stopping. It was his indecision that just about ended his journey to Boston, and he knew it. He spoke to himself in the cool, foggy night air, “I have got to be able make up my mind and stick with it.”
Gabriel’s stomach growled again, and his mind quickly returned to his hunger. Walking on, he saw a very dim light off in the distance. With the thick fog blurring his vision, he wasn’t sure how far away it was. He left the path and headed toward it. As he stepped through the tall grass alongside the road, small beads of rain began pelting him. He picked up his pace a bit, but it seemed the faster he walked, the harder the rain came down. By the time he could finally see the outline of a house with a faint candle in the window, the rain was pouring down.
He approached the house with caution and carefully stepped onto the front porch. A board creaked, and he was about to turn and run, but nobody came to the door. Slowly and carefully, he peeked in through the candle-lit window. Except for the candle, which was about to burn out, there were no other lights inside. Whoever lives here is probably asleep, thought Gabriel, and would not appreciate me knocking on their door to ask for some food.
He looked around and saw a small barn not too far from the house. He decided to head for the barn to find a place to sleep out of the rain and wait until morning to ask for some food. It was hard to walk away from the house, with the thought of food sitting in a pantry inside, but he made up his mind and was going to stick with it. He left the cover of the porch and briskly walked to the barn. The barn door was unlocked, so he went inside. It was dark — so dark he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face.
Not knowing what animals might be in the barn, he felt his way along the door to the wall. He then felt stall boards. A horse whinnied, and Gabriel felt its warm breath on his hand. “It’s all right, I’m just looking for a place to sleep,” he said to the horse.
A horse could be very useful, he realized. It was night, the barn was unlocked, and he could easily lead it out of the barn and ride off down the road. “No,” Gabriel said to himself. “I may have to tell some lies to get to Boston, but I will not steal to get there.” He could not bear the thought of some poor farmer waking up to find his horse gone and no way to plow his fields.
He looked around. His eyes had started to adjust to the blackness, and he spotted a pile of hay in the middle of the barn. Walking carefully to the pile, he began to arrange some on the floor for a bed. Raindrops pelted the top of the roof. He knew the peaceful sound would soon put him to sleep. He laid his head down on the hay and shut his eyes.
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br /> Suddenly, the barn door flew open with a tremendous crash and a blinding light. It was so bright, Gabriel had to put his arm over his eyes. A shot rang out, and then something hard was thrust into his chest. Taking his arm away from his squinting eyes, he saw a man with a lantern standing over him, poking him in the chest with a musket. The man shouted at him, “State your business! Why are you trespassing in my barn?”
“I was only looking for a dry place to lie down, sir.” Gabriel trembled.
“This here barn ain’t no hotel and my house ain’t no tavern, so get out before I shoot ya full of lead,” shouted the man.
Gabriel stood, his clothes still soaking wet and water dripping from his hair. He picked up his sack and drum and headed for the barn door. Just as he put his hand on the door, he heard the man say, “Wait.” He thought about making a run for it through the barn door and into the darkness but, instead, decided to stop.
“I can’t let you stay here,” said the man. “His Majesty’s soldiers are boarding a boat just off the coast only a few miles from us. Word is, they’ve been inclined to search houses along the road and take things they claim to need. I don’t want them to come into this barn and find me harboring a runaway who, by the looks of him, might be on his way to Boston to fight.”
By now, Gabriel was not surprised this man had figured out where he was going. Everyone else he had met knew what he was up to. “I’ll leave then, sir. I don’t want you to face trouble because of me.”
“Stay put, lad,” said the man, holding the lantern up higher to see his face.
The man had a hard and weathered face and grizzled gray hair. Without saying another word, the man slid past Gabriel with his gun still at his side. The man’s lantern bounced and swayed up to the house. Once he could no longer see the man, Gabriel stepped out through the barn door. He didn’t like the look of him, and the thought of disappearing into the darkness raced through Gabriel’s mind once again. Should he stay or leave?
The Drum of Destiny Page 4