A sentry stood at the top of the steps by the door to the house. Nathaniel greeted him as he climbed up the steps to the porch.
“General Greene,” said the sentry, “good to see you, sir. General Washington is waiting for you in his office.”
“Thank you,” replied Greene, and the three entered through the front door of the house. There was a large entryway with stairs leading up to a second floor. To the right was an open doorway leading into what looked like a dining room. There was a large wooden table with a candle chandelier hanging over the top. On the other side of the table was a desk with parchment scattered over the top. A quill and inkwell stood in the corner of the desk. Behind the desk sat Washington reading a letter with a troubled look upon his face. His frown disappeared when he looked up and saw Nathaniel, Artemas, and Gabriel standing at the door.
“Gentlemen, come in, come in,” he said happily. “I was catching up on my letters. I’m becoming frustrated with Congress’s inability to provide food and ammunition for this army. That should not concern any of you this fine morning, though. Sit down.”
Three chairs sat in front of Washington’s desk. Nathaniel pulled out the middle chair for Gabriel, while he and Artemas sat on either side. “Now then,” began Washington, “What to do with Mr. Cooper here? I had hoped to say I’d given the matter much serious thought over the past twelve hours, but I must admit my failure to do so. Gabriel, you wish to remain here in Cambridge as a part of this army, is that true?”
“Very much so, sir,” responded Gabriel.
“Gabriel,” continued Washington, “we have a battle ahead of us that will kill and wound good men. Men will die, and if you join this army, there’s a chance you could die in its service. Do you understand this?”
“Yes, sir, I know, but I am here to do my part for the cause of liberty,” said Gabriel.
“Do you know how to shoot a gun?” asked Washington.
“Well, sir, I’ve never actually shot one before, but I can learn. I read a book about different kinds of guns and cannon once from my father’s bookstore.”
“I see,” said Washington. “And what do you know about military tactics, young Master Gabriel?”
“Well, sir, I do not know exactly what you mean, but I read a book once about the Battle of Marathon, where the Greeks surrounded and defeated the attacking Persians by using a special military maneuver.”
“Ah, yes, the Greeks and the Persians. Then do you know how to wield a sword?” continued Washington.
“No, sir, I’ve never used a sword, but I also read a book about Japanese knights, called samurai. They carry very large swords to fight off their enemies.”
“And what about military drill, do you know how to march?” asked Washington.
“No, sir, but . . .”
“Let me guess,” said Washington, cutting him off. “You have never actually marched with a group of soldiers, but you read a book about that, too. Is that it?”
“Yes, sir,” said Gabriel, his voice trailing off. His heart was sinking. General Washington had quickly realized he had done nothing to warrant him becoming a soldier in Washington’s army.
“A horse? Do you know how to ride?” asked Washington.
“Yes, sir, I do know how to do that, and I haven’t read any books about it, either,” responded Gabriel eagerly.
“Gabriel, I must be honest with you. You do not fit the description of a soldier capable of lending support to this army,” stated Washington. “What made you want to leave New York and walk to Boston in the first place?”
Gabriel swallowed hard and tried to think of a way to explain what had compelled him to go so far. Finally, he said, “There was not just one thing, sir. It had been building up inside of me. It’s a feeling that is hard to explain, but it has to do with the unfairness of how the king and his men treated my family. Soldiers moved into my father’s bookstore when the king said the colonists had to make their businesses available to his troops. I was much younger then, but I’ll never forget the way they strutted around, proud as peacocks, all the while stealing our food. They said it was the king’s justice, but all I saw was injustice. They treated us like the dirt beneath their feet. It’s the same with the people loyal to the king. They think they are better than everyone else and that the king has been appointed by God as the heir to the throne of England and can do no wrong. That doesn’t make any sense. The king is a man, same as you and I, and he has done wrong.”
“When my parents died, a Reverend Loring brought me in to stay in his house. At dinner one evening, the reverend was going on about how King George was a good and noble leader and deserving of a toast honoring his benevolence. I refused, and called the king a tyrant. Mrs. Loring fainted, and the reverend was so mad he told me to leave his house at once. I left that night. Reverend Loring probably would have taken me back in with a whipping and extra chores, I reckon, but I didn’t want to go back. I thought of my mother and father. I thought of what my father would have done, and he would have fought for
