“We are near the same in years,” said Gabriel, smiling.
“You’re twelve?” asked Jonathon excited.
“Yes,” said Gabriel.
“When is your birth date?”
“The thirtieth of July,” responded Gabriel.
“As is my own!” said Jonathon.
“Well,” said Artemas, “it looks like you two have a lot in common. I’d love stay up and hear it all, but I’m quite tuckered out from my swim in the river today. I think I’ll turn in for the night. Gabriel, I would suggest you do the same soon. You don’t want to be dragging your heels in the morning when you meet with General Washington.”
“Yes, sir,” responded Gabriel.
Artemas Greenwood entered the tent. Despite his father’s advice, Jonathon kept Gabriel chatting by the fireside. Gabriel told Jonathon about his journey from New York. His new friend sat enraptured by his tale of adventure and told Gabriel more about camp life and the battle fought against the regulars on the hill over Boston.
The two carried on for hours until Gabriel’s yawns finally grew so numerous he couldn’t talk any longer. With firelight dimming, Gabriel and Jonathon stuck their heads inside the tent and laid down. Gabriel had not felt this kind of companionship since he left Malinda, Constance, and Mr. Fleming standing by their house in New Haven. He only hoped things could remain just as they were on this most wonderful night. He would have to wait until morning to find out.
H 20 H
THE DECISION
Morning lccanvas tent. Gabriel began to stir and saw he was the only one still in the tent. A horrible thought crossed his mind: had he somehow missed his meeting with General Washington? He quickly stuck his head outside to see Mr. Greenwood stoking the fire. Jonathon, walking toward the fire with a load of wood in his arms, saw him sticking his head out of the tent. “Good morning, Gabriel,” he said.
“Morning,” Gabriel said sleepily. His anxiety melted into relief seeing both Jonathon and Artemas still close-by.
The July air was already warm and muggy. The smoke from the fire seemed to hover just a few feet above the tops of their head, unable to escape the weight of the humid air. “We’ve got some beans to warm once we get the fire going,” said Artemas. “It might do you good to go clean yourself up a bit in the Charles before we go to Vassall House this morning.”
Artemas handed Gabriel a bar of lye soap and pointed toward the river. Gabriel had not washed with soap and water since his time at the Fleming farm. He took the soap from Mr. Greenwood and turned toward the river. “Don’t dilly-dally, lad,” shouted Artemas as he walked away. “You’ll want to have a bite to eat before we report to the general.”
Gabriel turned and nodded to Artemas and then went on his way. As he did, several men who were in earshot of Artemas’s campsite gave him curious looks. He could guess what they were thinking: What would General Washington want with such a young boy, dirty and dressed in rags? He tried to ignore the stares and trudged off toward the river.
Up ahead he could see green sloping banks, and beyond, the murky water of the Charles River. Although the water’s flow appeared gentle, Gabriel was not looking forward to stepping foot into a river once again. In the past few weeks, he had nearly drowned, not once, but twice. Still, he needed to clean himself, and the only way to accomplish this task was to get wet.
As he walked up to the river’s edge, he saw other people near the water. Several women knelt along the bank, scrubbing laundry. They chattered away, paying no heed to Gabriel. Looking for a bit more privacy, he scanned the riverbank. He decided on an area of evergreen bushes clinging to the riverbank. Heading behind the bushes, he pulled off his torn and dirty clothes. The brush pricked at his skin as he walked into the water. As his feet hit the sandy bottom, he realized he was not the only one to pick this spot for a morning bath. Several militiamen were scattered about the river, and a pack of older boys had picked a spot upstream to hang a rope from a tree. They swung out over the water, dropping and splashing, one after another.
Feeling a sudden sense of urgency to get clean and get his clothes back on, Gabriel lathered up the soap. The lye in the soap burnt at every cut and scrape. Still, it made him feel fresh and clean, a feeling he had forgotten over the course of his journey. He rinsed off, hopped back into the bushes, and put his ragged clothes back on. Somehow, he didn’t feel as clean once he was back in his old clothes. Still, he remembered Mr. Greenwood’s words to hurry it up.
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
