While Gabriel had seen plenty of English merchant ships flying the British Red Ensign sail into New York Harbor, he’d never seen ships like these. He tried to count the openings, but he always lost count at about forty or so. If there were forty cannon on one side of the ship, there would have to be forty on the other side, as well. “Eighty cannon,” he uttered in amazement.
He remembered reading a book about Royal Navy ships in his father’s bookstore and always wanted to see one in person, but now, as he looked out at those two massive ships, his heart began to sink. “They must be headed for Boston!” he said out loud.
Gabriel spied a much smaller boat that was being rowed out from the docks. He could also see sailors raising and lowering the oars of the boat. The man he had met last night was right. They must be loading up their ships with all available soldiers to send them to Boston. There is only one reason to put all your soldiers in one place, thought Gabriel. Because you are getting ready to attack.
The thought of the British attacking the militia around Boston without him there to help in the fight was almost unbearable. “The road . . . I have got to find the road,” Gabriel gasped. He took his eyes off the ships and scanned the area. He could not see the road anywhere until he finally looked nearly straight down. There, right at the bottom of the hill, lay a winding strip of dirt road. If he had gone just a few hundred yards farther instead of climbing the hill, he would have been back to the road long ago. Still, if he hadn’t climbed the hill, he wouldn’t have been able to see the awesome scene laid out before him.
He took it in one last time before turning his eyes back down to the road, carefully looking for redcoats moving along its path and seeing none. As he looked to the east, he spotted a small village in the distance. He could easily reach it in a day’s walk.
Gabriel was more determined than ever to travel to Boston as fast as he could. It was nearly the end of April, and the British were on the move. He quickly descended the hill, almost sliding straight down along some of the steepest ravines and gullies, grasping at trees and roots to slow him down. When he reached the bottom, he was covered in a brownish mud. But he didn’t care what he looked like. He was back on the road and heading toward Boston.
Even though Gabriel was still wet and now very dirty, as well, it felt good to be heading in the right direction again. There was very little traffic on the road, and by high noon, he was able to reach the group of houses he saw from the hill. He left his drum covered under some bushes on the edge of the village and walked through the streets, as if he knew exactly where he was going. He decided it was best not to gawk around and wander aimlessly, raising suspicions in observers’ minds. If you did not look suspicious, he concluded, you are less likely to be bothered.
While he did his best to look like he knew where he was going, he did nothing to mask his muddy, ratty appearance. He strolled confidently down the street, but more than one of the villagers stopped in their tracks to stare at him as he walked. He ignored the attention.
He noticed a sign above one of the buildings that read, “Fairfield Food & Drink.” He began walking toward the building when a man sitting in a rocking chair just outside the door shouted, “You been wrestling with the pigs, boy?”
“Who, me?” retorted Gabriel.
“Yes, you. I saw you coming from all the way down the street. I think half the town noticed you. I’ve seen some dirt in my day, but I would have to say you’re ’bout the muddiest looking wretch I’ve seen.”
Gabriel now looked down at his pants and coat and realized what a spectacle he really was.
“Come inside,” said the man in the rocking chair, getting up to stand. “I’ve got a fire going. You can take those wet and muddy things you call clothes off to dry.”
Grateful to get out of sight, Gabriel stepped inside the building. So much for not drawing attention, he thought. Still, the man did not ask him any questions about who he was or where he was going. He just let him dry out his clothes a bit and buy something to eat and drink.
“I’ve got a spare room if you need a place to sleep tonight, son.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied Gabriel, “but I need to get going. I’ve rested here long enough in front of your fire. I have many more miles ahead of me before I reach my destination.”
“Very well,” said the man. “Looks like more rain rolling in, though. You might want to reconsider.”
Gabriel was already putting his coat back on and picking up his pack. “I’ll stay dry, thank you.” He headed out the door and waved. He turned as if he was heading on east, but once he was out of sight, he ducked into a back alley and hurried to the spot where he’d left his drum. He found it just as he’d left it, and he was glad to have
