Then Gabriel viewed just enough of the drum in the dim light to see it must have been stepped on by General Washington’s horse. It had a dent in the side, and part of the drum skin on top had been torn away.
“My drum!” exclaimed Gabriel, unable to control himself. “My drum . . . I . . . how can I . . .?”
“I’m sorry, young master Gabriel,” responded General Washington. “I certainly did not intend to step on it, and I would gladly repair it. But, honestly, I think it is beyond repair. You must be quite a drummer boy if this drum is so dear to your heart. It’s too bad we could not hear you play it.”
In an instant, Gabriel’s troubles over losing his drum vanished, and he had to fight back laughter. If these men only knew what kind of drummer boy he really was. Just like that, he realized how fortunate it was that his drum had been destroyed. Its destruction had saved him the embarrassment of being asked to retrieve some sticks from the wood and beat out a tune. The tune, of course, would have been unrecognizable banging that would have certainly made a very poor impression, if not hurt the ears of those listening.
“It’s all right about the drum,” said Gabriel, “It just meant a lot to me because it came with me all the way from New York. I still want to stay and fight the redcoats, even without my drum.”
“Gabriel . . . I don’t think we can allow that,” said General Washington. “You are only twelve years old, and how do I know you aren’t telling us a tall tale about journeying from New York to Boston? As far as I know, you may just live around the bend in the river.”
Gabriel was hurt by these words. Why shouldn’t these men believe him? After all, he just saved one of their lives.
The man named Nate spoke up, “Gabriel, surely you understand why we’re struggling to accept all you’ve told us as true. It’s not that we think you’re untrustworthy. It’s just . . .”
Gabriel’s head was spinning. He lost track of what Nate was saying, and he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had walked all the way from New York to Boston by himself and, now he’d reached the very people who could make him part of the militia, they didn’t believe him. “No! I don’t understand why you don’t believe me,” he blurted out rather sternly. “What must I do to make you believe me? I can tell you every town I stopped at along the way; I can tell you about being chased down and kicked by lobsterbacks at King’s Bridge; I saw ships — Royal Navy ships — in the sound. I can tell you about falling ill and being nursed back to health by the Flemings in New Haven. And Mr. Arnold — I spoke to Colonel Benedict Arnold! His voice had risen to almost a shout. The frustration in him was welling up like a volcano ready to blow.
Artemas broke in, “Now . . . now, Nathaniel, let the boy have a chance to speak before we dismiss him out of hand. He did save my life, after all. What would your dear wife Caty say if she knew how you were treating an orphan? She might not have wanted to marry a Greene, after all. Besides, I’ve brought my boy Jonathon with me to Cambridge. He’s only twelve.”
Gabriel heard the words come from Artemas, but it took him a while to understand their significance. The men continued chattering in the background about what to do with Gabriel while his mind raced. If Nate was short for Nathaniel . . . and his wife, Caty, had married a Greene . . . this man was Nathaniel Greene. Without even thinking, he shouted out, “NATHANIEL GREENE!”
The men stopped talking and looked curiously at Gabriel. Nate looked closely at him and said, “Yes, I am Nathaniel Greene.”
This was the man he was told to seek out when he reached Boston, but this was also the very man who didn’t believe he had walked all the way from New York. Gabriel’s thoughts floated away, back to the King’s Bridge Tavern at the very beginning of his journey, where he met Ben Daniels and was told to look for Nathaniel Greene when he reached Boston. Ben Daniels was the kind man who kept the tavern owner from cheating Gabriel and paid for him to spend the night at the tavern. It was Ben who told him about Lexington and Concord. It was Ben who told him to get off the road when travelers passed in order to avoid the soldiers. It was Ben who said he knew something about Nathaniel that nobody else would know.
“Gabriel, did you have something you wanted to say?” asked Nathaniel, breaking the silence.
“I know Ben Daniels,” said Gabriel quickly. “I met him at the King’s Bridge Tavern right after I left New York. Ben is a farmer, and he owns land on the northern part of Manhattan Island.” The words raced out of Gabriel’s mouth in his desperate attempt to convince Washington and Greene he was telling the truth. “He told me to find you when I got to Boston,” continued Gabriel.
“Well, that is interesting,” said Nathaniel, scratching his chin. “Ben is my cousin, but I am not sure —”
“I KNOW ABOUT THE FISH!” exclaimed Gabriel, cutting Nathaniel Greene off mid-sentence.
“The fish?” questioned Nathaniel. “What in heaven’s name are you talking about, boy?” The three men looked at each other in confused disbelief. “Well, I think that settles it,” said Nathaniel. “This young lad has either swallowed
