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
