Gabriel quickly ducked in along the wall by the barkeep, trying to avoid the prying eyes of these strange men. He covered his drum with his outer coat, sat down at the bar, and tried to look relaxed, despite the quickening pace of his heart. Who were these men who seemed so interested in him and his drum? He pulled out his coin pouch from the rolled-up blanket and reached up to the black-haired barkeep.
“Could I get some meat and bread, please, sir?”
“You got coppers, laddie?” asked the gruff man.
“Yes, sir. I have some coins,” said Gabriel.
“That’ll be six coppers if you want a mug of cider with it.”
Six coppers! Gabriel worked for a whole week for that much. If this was what meals cost, he’d be out of coppers well before reaching Boston.
Gabriel began to reach into his coin pouch to pull out the coppers, when someone’s hand grabbed his shoulder. He turned, half expecting to see the hard man in the red jacket standing beside him.
Instead, he saw a tall man dressed in country clothes leaned up against the bar. “Six coppers for a slice of meat and bread, Henry? Your prices must have gone up in a hurry. As I recall, I’ve been coming in here and ordering meat, bread, and a mug of cider for close to five years, and last time I ordered such a meal, it cost me two coppers. Come to think of it, that’s what I’m eating and drinking now, and I’ll be a horned toad if that meat, bread, and mug of cider didn’t cost me two coppers. Now, unless you’re planning to give this young man a bottle of your finest Madeira wine with his dinner, I think you best charge this here patriotic lad a fair price. Don’t cha’ know he’s clearly headed north to join our troops in the cause of liberty and justice.”
Speechless, Gabriel looked up at this man. Did he know Gabriel somehow?
The man behind the bar glared at the farmer. “And what if I have a different charge for you than I have for strangers traveling through this here tavern?”
“Well then,” said the farmer. “I will just have to let your loyalist guest Bradford Grimm know what you think about the King’s taxes on your tavern and how much you hated having to house the king’s soldiers without getting any pay for their food and lodging. He’s sitting right over there in the faded red jacket. I’m sure he would enjoy finding another patriot traitor to crucify.”
“Now, Ben, don’t ya go doing that. You know what Grimm does to those he don’t think is loyal to the King. We all know he and his gang of loyalist lackeys burnt down old man Newton’s tavern. They’re worse than the lobsterbacks, if you ask me. He and that rat Hannigan sit at that table, just waiting for a reason to pounce on some poor patriot. I don’t like it one bit, but I can’t do a thing about it. Now, I was just having a bit o’ fun with the lad here. I was going to charge him two coppers for his meal all along. Sit down o’er there,” said the man, “and I’ll bring it out to ya, boy.”
Gabriel handed over some coins out of his pouch. The man behind the counter gave him some change, and he stuck it in his pocket. Carefully picking up his covered drum and satchel, he walked to a table across the room, Grimm’s eyes following him the whole way. He thought about running out the door right then and there, but that would only draw more attention.
Instead, he tried to pretend like he didn’t notice Grimm watching his every move. He put his coin pouch back into his rolled-up blanket and set his drum down on the floor beside him. He took a seat, thinking the farmer who helped him would come introduce himself, but the farmer continued to lean against the bar, not even glancing his way.
After a short while, the barkeep brought out a slice of meat, bread, and a mug of cider. Gabriel dug in. He was famished from all the walking he had done that day. Although the meat was a bit dry and the bread was less than fresh, he didn’t care. He needed the nourishment.
When he was nearly finished, the table of farmers got up to head out the door, but the one who had helped him didn’t leave. He shook hands with his friends at the door, then walked over to Gabriel’s table and pulled up a chair.
The farmer just sat without saying a word. Finally, Gabriel broke the awkward silence. “How do you know that I am headed north to join the militia at Boston? Do you know me from somewhere?”
“I know where you’re headed and what you’re up to because I’m not blind,” said the farmer. “My name is Ben Daniels. I farm not far from here. As far as me knowing where you’re headed, you have a drum with you, do you not?”
“Yes,” replied Gabriel.
“You got mud on your shoes, having walked north all day from New York, have you not? Getting ready to cross the bridge, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” replied Gabriel again.
“And north of here lies Massachusetts, where there has been fighting at Lexington and Concord, and where a militia has been gathering to drive the redcoats out of
