He scrambled back up to the rows of makeshift shelters. While all the militiamen looked so different, the lean-tos and huts all looked the same. He walked up several different rows until he finally saw the smoke hovering over a fire and recognized the Greenwoods’ tent. Nathaniel Greene, in a clean new uniform, had joined Jonathon and Artemas at the fire. Artemas turned and looked at him, handing him a tin cup full of beans. “Well, I’d like to say you look better boy, but I’m not one to fib.”
“I scrubbed myself all over,” responded Gabriel, handing the soap back to Mr. Greenwood.
“I believe you, but you still look like you just crawled out of a hole. Here, put this on,” said Artemas. He gave Gabriel a fresh linen shirt. “This will have to do for now. I don’t have a fresh pair of breeches. Let me look at your shoes.”
Gabriel took the clean shirt from Mr. Greenwood and stuck out his feet. His shoes had holes in them in several different spots. “Those look well traveled, I’ll say that,” said Artemas. “Good shoes are a necessity to staying healthy. If General Washington doesn’t send you back to New York, we will have to look into finding you a cordwainer. Do you have any coin left?” Gabriel looked down at his disheveled shoes and shook his head.
“No shillings, then?” said Artemas. “You made it all the way from New York to here with nary a farthing?”
“No, I had saved up, but, well . . . I, uh . . . lost it,” responded Gabriel.
Jonathon turned to his father to explain. “Gabriel told me last night his coin pouch was swept away when he slept next to a river that flooded in the middle of the night.”
“That’s a story we have yet to hear,” Nathaniel chimed in. “I still haven’t figured out why you were standing next to the Charles River when Artemas was thrown from his horse. How did you end up so far off the road to Boston, anyway? That was a dense wood to be walking through.”
Gabriel had been hoping no one would ask this question. He hadn’t even told Jonathon about his search for Thomas Tew’s treasure or how he’d thought he saw the ghost. He thought for a moment and then responded, “I was lost.”
Nathaniel looked at him quizzically, “Lost . . . Well, how did you get lost?”
Gabriel still didn’t want to tell Nathaniel or Artemas about how he’d left the road in search of Captain Tew’s treasure. They might think he belonged in a hospital for the insane instead of the Continental Army. Still, he had to tell them something. “I . . . uh . . . I just decided to follow the river when I heard it next to the road.”
Nathaniel was growing impatient, “Gabriel, we can be here all morning if you continue to give me half answers. Now, I would like to know the whole story as to why you were standing along that river when Artemas here came floating down.’
“I wasn’t exactly floating,” said Artemas. “It was more like tumbling.”
Nathaniel gave a smirk to Artemas and then said even more impatiently “Floating, flailing, tumbling…whatever it was, why were you there?”
Gabriel knew there was no way to go on giving veiled answers, so he blurted out, “I was looking for Captain Thomas Tew’s treasure. I didn’t have any more coppers and was desperate. A man at a tavern in Marlborough told me he was Thomas Tew’s grandson. He said Captain Tew hid part of his treasure along the Charles River after being chased down by bandits.”
Gabriel waited for Nathaniel’s reaction. There was a moment of sustained silence as Nathaniel Greene sat across the fire, straight-faced. Then there was a slow grin and a slight chuckle. After that, Nathaniel Greene burst out laughing. Artemas soon joined in.
“What’s so funny?” asked Gabriel
“That crazy legend is as old as the hills.” Nathaniel laughed. “I can just picture some old cantankerous devil of a man sitting in that tavern telling you the story of how those bandits chased after Thomas Tew and how he must have buried the treasure someplace before being shot by the bandits. Did he tell you Captain Tew had a peg leg and a parrot on his shoulder, too?” With this snide comment, Artemas and Nathaniel nearly rolled over laughing.
“What about the ghost? Did he tell you Captain Tew’s ghost still prowls the river with his sword drawn, looking for the bandits?” chimed in Artemas, barely able to breathe from his laughter.
Gabriel sat watching in disgust. He was angry at their response. Thomas the Terrible was real, and the ghost of Thomas Tew seemed real to Gabriel at the time.
Finally beginning to catch his breath from laughter, Nathaniel said, “Gabriel, my lad, you’ve got to learn not to be so trusting of strangers. There is no such thing as Thomas Tew’s treasure.”
Gabriel couldn’t hold his tongue, “How do you know?”
“I know because I grew up in Rhode Island. Captain Tew was a real Rhode Islander, all right, but he was a pirate and nothing more than that. He was a thief who stole valuable property from others. His son wasted whatever treasure was left on his own greedy lusts. Lies about what he did with his treasure have filled Rhode Island, and apparently all of New England, with wild stories, including the one you just told us.”
Artemas contained his laughter and caught his breath. “Now, wait a minute, Nathaniel. If Gabriel hadn’t followed that crazy pirate tale, he wouldn’t have been at the river’s edge, and I likely wouldn’t be here today.”
Despite Artemas’s words, Gabriel still felt embarrassed and defensive. Much of what Thomas the Terrible had told him at the tavern was true. There had been a waterfall, a rocky cliff, and a trail around it, and there was an old oak tree with a hollow where a bag full of gold and silver might have been hidden, but none of that mattered now. What mattered were the words of Thomas the Terrible, and the search for Thomas Tew’s treasure had led him here in a turn of events that he could never have even dreamed.
“I can understand why you were taken in,” continued Nathaniel. “However, I would strongly suggest you not mention this search for treasure to General Washington, unless he specifically asks you. He’s a Virginian and no doubt has never heard of the legend of Thomas Tew. He’s liable not to find as much humor in it as do we.” Nathaniel gave one last chuckle as he turned toward the Vassall House to see Washington. As Gabriel rose to follow, Jonathon patted him on his shoulder and gave an encouraging smile.
Gabriel, Artemas Greenwood, and Nathaniel Greene walked toward the large house by the river. Gabriel’s stomach was churning. He said a silent prayer that things would go well. What would General Washington ask him? More importantly, what would he decide to do with him? What if he had found a new drum and drumsticks for him and asked him to play? He would run out of the room before he would beat on a drum in front of these men. What if the General told him he had to go back to New York? He would flatly refuse to do this, and he would find a way to stay.
A sentry stood at the top of the steps by the door to the house. Nathaniel greeted him as he climbed up the steps to the porch.
“General Greene,” said the sentry, “good to see you, sir. General Washington is waiting for you in his office.”
“Thank you,” replied Greene, and the three entered through the front door of the house. There was a large entryway with stairs leading up to a second floor. To the right was an open doorway leading into what looked like a dining room. There was a large wooden table with a candle chandelier hanging over the top. On the other side of the table was a desk with parchment scattered over the top. A quill and inkwell stood in the corner of the desk. Behind the desk sat Washington reading a letter with a troubled look upon his face. His frown disappeared when he looked up and saw Nathaniel, Artemas, and Gabriel standing at the door.
“Gentlemen, come in, come in,” he said happily. “I was catching up on my letters. I’m becoming frustrated with Congress’s inability to provide food and ammunition for this army. That should not concern any of you this fine morning, though. Sit down.”
Three chairs sat in front of Washington’s desk. Nathaniel pulled out the middle chair for Gabriel, while he and Artemas sat on either side. “Now then,�
� began Washington, “What to do with Mr. Cooper here? I had hoped to say I’d given the matter much serious thought over the past twelve hours, but I must admit my failure to do so. Gabriel, you wish to remain here in Cambridge as a part of this army, is that true?”
“Very much so, sir,” responded Gabriel.
“Gabriel,” continued Washington, “we have a battle ahead of us that will kill and wound good men. Men will die, and if you join this army, there’s a chance you could die in its service. Do you understand this?”
“Yes, sir, I know, but I am here to do my part for the cause of liberty,” said Gabriel.
“Do you know how to shoot a gun?” asked Washington.
“Well, sir, I’ve never actually shot one before, but I can learn. I read a book about different kinds of guns and cannon once from my father’s bookstore.”
“I see,” said Washington. “And what do you know about military tactics, young Master Gabriel?”
“Well, sir, I do not know exactly what you mean, but I read a book once about the Battle of Marathon, where the Greeks surrounded and defeated the attacking Persians by using a special military maneuver.”
“Ah, yes, the Greeks and the Persians. Then do you know how to wield a sword?” continued Washington.
“No, sir, I’ve never used a sword, but I also read a book about Japanese knights, called samurai. They carry very large swords to fight off their enemies.”
“And what about military drill, do you know how to march?” asked Washington.
“No, sir, but . . .”
“Let me guess,” said Washington, cutting him off. “You have never actually marched with a group of soldiers, but you read a book about that, too. Is that it?”
“Yes, sir,” said Gabriel, his voice trailing off. His heart was sinking. General Washington had quickly realized he had done nothing to warrant him becoming a soldier in Washington’s army.
“A horse? Do you know how to ride?” asked Washington.
“Yes, sir, I do know how to do that, and I haven’t read any books about it, either,” responded Gabriel eagerly.
“Gabriel, I must be honest with you. You do not fit the description of a soldier capable of lending support to this army,” stated Washington. “What made you want to leave New York and walk to Boston in the first place?”
Gabriel swallowed hard and tried to think of a way to explain what had compelled him to go so far. Finally, he said, “There was not just one thing, sir. It had been building up inside of me. It’s a feeling that is hard to explain, but it has to do with the unfairness of how the king and his men treated my family. Soldiers moved into my father’s bookstore when the king said the colonists had to make their businesses available to his troops. I was much younger then, but I’ll never forget the way they strutted around, proud as peacocks, all the while stealing our food. They said it was the king’s justice, but all I saw was injustice. They treated us like the dirt beneath their feet. It’s the same with the people loyal to the king. They think they are better than everyone else and that the king has been appointed by God as the heir to the throne of England and can do no wrong. That doesn’t make any sense. The king is a man, same as you and I, and he has done wrong.”
“When my parents died, a Reverend Loring brought me in to stay in his house. At dinner one evening, the reverend was going on about how King George was a good and noble leader and deserving of a toast honoring his benevolence. I refused, and called the king a tyrant. Mrs. Loring fainted, and the reverend was so mad he told me to leave his house at once. I left that night. Reverend Loring probably would have taken me back in with a whipping and extra chores, I reckon, but I didn’t want to go back. I thought of my mother and father. I thought of what my father would have done, and he would have fought for our freedom. I know, General, this is what my father would have done. And it is what I must do.”
Washington sat at his desk in silence and then smiled, “Did Mrs. Loring really faint when you called the king a tyrant?”
“Yes, sir. She fell right out of her chair,” responded Gabriel, smiling.
“Gabriel, I have no doubt your motives are pure and you have the heart of a true patriot,” Washington said, rising from his chair at his desk. “But it takes more than just heart to be an asset to this army.”
“Ahem, Your Excellency? If I may, sir,” Artemas began, clearing his throat, “please do not forget the courage and clearness of mind under pressure that this young man displayed in saving my life.”
“Oh, believe me, Artemas, I have not forgotten. Why do you think I am taking precious time to decide what should be done with young Master Cooper?”
Gabriel was trying to hold back his restlessness and remain still in his chair when someone knocked at the door to the room. A tall, thin man peered in through the crack in the door. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but you have previously asked I bring correspondence from our French contacts directly and immediately to your attention. I have a letter here from a . . .” The man looked down awkwardly at the paper, staring at it, trying to decipher the name. “ . . . a Monsieur Beaumar . . . Chais.”
“Yes, Joseph, please bring it here. Excuse me a moment,” said Washington to Artemas, Gabriel, and Nathaniel. The man marched in quickly, handed the letter to Washington, did an about-face, and was about to leave the room when Washington said, “Joseph, please don’t leave us so quickly. Gabriel, let me introduce you. This is Joseph Reed. He is one of my few aides de camp here at Cambridge. He is a part of what I call my military family, as he resides here at headquarters and plays a central role in all we are trying to accomplish, namely driving the British from Boston. His duties encompass trying to help me with this intolerable task of letter writing, with which he is doing a fine job.”
“Thank you, sir,” responded Reed.
Gabriel felt a twinge of envy well up inside him. To live and work in this wonderful house that served as the headquarters for freedom, thinking of ways to defeat the king, his parents would be so proud.
“Mr. Reed,” continued Washington, “seated on the right is Captain Artemas Greenwood, on the left is General Nathaniel Greene, whom I believe you know, and in the middle is our new young friend, Master Gabriel Cooper of New York. Now, before you scurry off, let me have a quick look at this letter.” Washington glanced down at the letter, his eyes darting quickly all over the page. “Mr. Reed, I’m afraid I can understand but very little of this letter, as it is written in French. Why hasn’t this been translated?”
“Sir,” responded Reed, “it came directly to Cambridge instead of Philadelphia. With all these men here, we surely will find someone who can read French.”
“Well, this won’t do. As you know, Joseph, we are trying to establish contacts in France. Monsieur Beaumarchais is one of those contacts. I must know what this says,” Washington said, clearly frustrated. “I don’t know how Congress expects us to develop an alliance with France when we can’t even read their letters!”
“May I see it, sir?” asked Gabriel, interrupting Washington’s frustrated rant.
“Son, this is not one of your books!” responded Washington, hastily slapping the letter down on his desk.
“General, I would suggest you let him see it, sir,” said Nathaniel.
Washington let out a sigh, slid the letter over to Gabriel, and then sat down behind his desk, slumping in his chair. Gabriel picked the letter up off Washington’s desk, looked it over, and began to read it aloud.
“‘To the commanding chief of the Provincial military at Cambridge, I am Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais. I am a businessman who is very happy’ . . . no, I mean, ‘interested in your fight for freedom.’”
“Sorry, sir, my French is not perfect,” said Gabriel, looking up from the paper.
He continued reading again from the letter, “‘I have been in prison at the hands of corrupt leaders. I am released, but stripped of my civil rights. Although my estate has been taken from me, I know of others here who have the desire, and the resou
rces, to see you succeed in your pursuit of liberty. Should it please the commander who reads this, I wish to establish correspondence. I cannot offer this correspondence on behalf of Our Most Royal Majesty, Louis the XVI. I do have every confidence His Majesty will restore my civil rights, at which time I am sure my associations will look to your favor most kindly. Amicably, Monsieur Beaumarchais.’”
Gabriel put the letter carefully back on Washington’s desk. Silence filled the room. Finally, Washington spoke, “Gabriel, I can’t see the nose in front of my face. You told me your mother was from France when we first met, did you not?”
“Yes, sir,” said Gabriel. “She taught me to read and write French. I can speak a little, but I haven’t had much practice lately.”
“Mr. Reed,” said Washington. “That will do for now. I will draft a response to this letter after I have finished with Master Cooper here.”
“Yes, sir,” said Joseph Reed, leaving the room and shutting the door behind him.
“Gabriel, where did your mother come from in France?” asked Washington.
“I don’t know, sir. She told me very little about her past. Only that she met my father when her parents took her on a trip to England. She was nineteen and decided not to return to France with her parents. That is all I know except what she told me about the ring and what she put in her last note to me.”
“What ring?” asked Washington.
Gabriel hesitated for a moment. No one had ever asked to see his ring before. He always kept it tucked away so no one would know what he was carrying around in his pocket. Despite his hesitation, he knew he could trust Nathaniel, Artemas, and General Washington. He slowly reached into his pocket, pulled out the ring, and handed it to Washington.
Washington looked at it carefully, holding it up to his eyes and turning it over in his fingers. “What did your mother tell you about this ring?”
The Drum of Destiny Page 15