“Right, right,” said Ben, “What happened next? Well, the redcoats did not turn away, and neither did the militia. A shot was fired. My brother did not know which side fired it, but after those men heard it, they all started blasting away. The Lexington militia couldn’t hold their ground against so many soldiers, so they had to give way. But that doesn’t mean they gave up the fight. Many of those men, including my brother, followed the king’s soldiers all along their march to Concord. After the regulars met heavy fire from the militia in Concord, they turned around to head back to Boston. By then, the men in surrounding towns heard about what was happening and gathered to make the lobsterbacks sorry for firing lead at their friends and neighbors. They chased them back to Boston. Many a redcoat dropped to the ground. It was a bloody day, Gabriel . . .” Ben’s voice trailed off to silence.
Gabriel sat quietly, waiting for Ben to speak.
“Well, now, Master Cooper, let me tell you this: War is full of blood and misery. But, you know, there are some things worth fighting for, and freedom is one of them. If we had let those troops march through the Massachusetts countryside, capture Sam and John, and then destroy barns and homes that are rightfully ours, we would be living in fear. And living in fear is . . . well, it’s no way to live. We paid the price in blood to make those lobsterbacks think twice about parading about the countryside.”
Gabriel knew what Ben was saying. He remembered what it felt like when the soldiers stayed in their bookstore, all by order of the king. A few years ago, he also witnessed a group of the king’s soldiers barge into William Darby’s print shop near the Cooper’s bookstore and tear apart Mr. Darby’s printing press all because he was suspected of distributing papers denouncing the king and calling him a tyrant. He watched poor Mr. Darby plead with the lieutenant, asking him to identify who falsely accused him. The officer only drew his sword and threatened to run him through. Gabriel’s father tried to help Mr. Darby repair the presses, but they were a total loss. Mr. Darby’s livelihood was ruined. He left New York to work on his brother’s farm in West Jersey. Gabriel’s mother cried when Mr. Darby loaded his cart of his belongings and said his goodbyes to his friends. Gabriel never forgot how angry he was about the way good Mr. Darby was treated that day by that officer.
“Gabriel, mark my words: as long as there are redcoats over here, armed and ready for battle, there will be fear and oppression,” stated Ben. “That is why all the militias are gathered around Boston right now, trying to hold those redcoats to the city. Those militiamen will not leave until the redcoats do.”
“Then I know that is where I belong,” said Gabriel.
Ben looked quietly at Gabriel, his eyes fixed on him. “I don’t know you well, Gabriel Cooper, but I would guess there is more to your story than just a boy running away because he wants to see how a battle looks. You seem to have some wisdom beyond your young years. I am not sure where that comes from in such a young lad, but don’t lose it.”
“It comes from my parents,” answered Gabriel. “They taught me.”
“If you don’t mind, tell me a little more about your ma and pa.”
Gabriel smiled. “My mother, Anne, was born in France. When she was nineteen, her family visited London, and that’s where she met my father, James. As you probably can guess, my mother didn’t return to France with her parents. She and my father fell in love and were married. They saved their money and left England to start a new life in New York.”
“And do you speak French?” asked Ben.
“Oui, monsieur. Je parle Fancais. My mother taught me,” answered Gabriel.
Ben chuckled. “Well then, I am impressed. Use whatever skills it takes for you to reach Boston.” Ben leaned across the table and patted him on the hand.
In that moment, Gabriel thought of how his father used to reach across the dinner table and pat him on the hand while talking to him. A small tear came to his eye. He quickly grabbed his hand away from Ben and wiped the tear that he could now feel tracing down his cheek.
“Well,” stuttered Gabriel abruptly, “I had better get going. I have a long way to go, and I want to cross King’s Bridge before it gets too late.”
Just as he began to stand, the front door of the tavern flew open. Two men stood on either side of a teenage boy a few years older than him. The boy had a large cut across his forehead, and his right eye was filled in with swollen purpled flesh. They dragged the battered boy between them, knocking over several chairs and a table as they brought him before the chiseled face of Bradford Grimm. The entire tavern fell silent as Grimm stood from his table. “What do we have here?”
The two lanky young men holding the boy by the arms stood proudly. The one on the left held his pointed nose in the air and spoke in a nasally tone. “We found him handing out treasonous pamphlets on the north side of the city. He claims he was just doing it to earn a few coppers and that he cannot read. He claims not to know what the pamphlets say.”
With that, the boy spluttered out his plea, “It’s true, sir. I swear it’s true. I ain’t had no teaching on readin’ and writin’. Oh, please, sir, I ain’t got
