Gabriel often wondered about the stars. Why had God put them in the sky? How far away were they? What made them shine? What made them twinkle? He had read some science books in his father’s shop, but nothing about stars.
“You can learn from these.” His father’s voice rang in his mind. He missed his father . . . and then his mother . . . and then Malinda. With these thoughts of stars drifting through his head, he fell asleep, the frogs now chirping a song of peace and contentment.
H 12 H
THE BATTLE
BEGINS
Over the next several days Gabriel covered many miles. His strength and resolve were renewed.
Having left New York in April, it was mid-June when he crossed the river into Springfield. He strolled into town in the late afternoon. The town’s main street was abuzz with activity. It seemed a bit unusual to him. Why would the town be so busy at this hour? he wondered.
Several men rode in on their horses and dismounted. The townsfolk swarmed around them, so Gabriel walked closer to see what the commotion was about. With so many people crowded tightly together, he couldn’t hear what the men were saying. He turned and walked away toward a modest wooden building with a sign out front that said, “Tavern.” When he turned back once more, he saw the riders mount their saddles and gallop off. He peered into the crowd, still trying to figure out what was going on, but he was too far away.
He walked over to the storefront of the tavern and went inside. The room was empty except for a stout, round man standing behind the bar. Gabriel set his things down in a corner and walked over to the man standing at a large wooden table. “I’d like something to eat, sir, and I have coin,” he said.
“Sure, anything you like, young man. I’ve got a fine piece of venison on the fire, and I’ll throw in a drink for free. I’m just glad to have someone here to talk with about the news in Boston. All the town has been clamoring for news and talking at the post office. I haven’t had but a handful of customers all day. Charlie’s my name. What’s yours?” asked the round-faced man.
“I am Gabriel. What news?”
“What news? Where have you been, lad? Why, the whole town is talking about it.”
“No, I haven’t heard, I . . . I’ve been away. What news?” Gabriel asked. Thoughts were flashing through his mind of the warships he had seen. Had they reached Boston? Had they blasted their cannons at the militia?
“Well, a couple of nights ago,” Charlie began, “the men of the village militias moved out onto Charlestown Peninsula, just a stone’s throw from the city of Boston itself. They dug trenches and made walls of dirt, all in the middle of the night. With the rising sun, the King’s troops saw what the militias had done but, by then, they were already dug in. Some Royal Navy ships spotted them, and they tried blasting their cannon at the men, but the militia had dug their trenches on top of a hill. Breeds Hill is what they call it. The Navy couldn’t get their cannon raised up high enough from the ships to reach the top of the hill. I guess they blasted away most of the morning, but they didn’t harm a hair on a single militiaman.”
“How do you know all this?” interrupted Gabriel in disbelief.
“I know it ’cause I heard it from Zachariah Smith. He’s a farmer just east of here, and he heard it directly from a soldier on horseback sent to round up any surrounding militia.”
“What then? Tell me more. What then of the patriots?”
Charlie continued, “Well them lobsterbacks just couldn’t stand having our farmers and fishermen taking ground so close to Boston so, about mid-morning, the navy started pounding the heights in Charlestown, and their flashy officers started to gather up a couple thousand more of their soldiers to take that hill. My guess is they figured they could just walk right up the hill, thinking they’d just scare the militiamen out of their trenches and send them running home.”
Charlie stepped away from the table and walked toward the fire, where he removed a piece of venison for Gabriel. “I’m sorry,” he said. “About forgot I was supposed to be feeding you.” At the moment, though, Gabriel didn’t care about a piece of venison. He was completely focused on finding out what happened on Breeds Hill. The round-faced man stepped away from the table again and reached up on a shelf to pull down a mug. “And I about forgot to give you that drink I promised.” He reached down below the table, pulled up a bottle, and emptied it into the mug. Gabriel didn’t know what it was, nor did he care.
“Please, sir . . . tell me more,” Gabriel’s voice was full of anticipation.
“The story! Ah, yes, the story. Don’t worry now. Where was I?”
Gabriel responded impatiently. “The hill — you said the king’s troops marched on Breeds Hill,”
“The hill, oh yes. The generals didn’t think we’d fight. I guess they didn’t learn anything from Lexington and Concord. Well, the militia boys had their muskets blastin’ all afternoon, and Generals Howe and Clinton and all those fancy uniforms haven’t been able to take the hill yet. Mind you now, this all happened yesterday, and not a word to say otherwise,” said Charlie with a smile beaming across his face.
Gabriel should have been delighted by the news, but he was discouraged. He was missing out. He pictured himself on top of the hill with the other patriots, his drum in his hand, beating a rhythmic cadence to encourage the militias to hold off the soldiers marching up the hill. He had walked close to two hundred miles, and now his
