The Gentle Rebel (22 page)

Laddie gave a shake of her head, pulled shut the coat that had popped open, and then smiled. “I guess once won’t hurt, Nathan. I missed you, too.”

He grabbed her arm, pulling her to The Blue Boar, and when Nelson saw Laddie, he called out, “Wife, ’ere’s yer old tenant back again,” and he gave Laddie a swipe on the shoulder.

“Bring us the best you’ve got, Nelson,” Nathan smiled; then he turned to Laddie and his eyes, blue as cornflowers, shone as he said, “Lord, I’ve missed you, boy! Now, tell me everything.”

Laddie told it all, and finally Nathan sat back and stared at her. “So Washington is our commander! By heaven, that’s what we’ll have to have if we’re to get out of this thing with our necks whole.”

“What’s wrong? I thought our men had Boston surrounded? That’s the word we got.”

Nathan shook his head sadly, lines of worry creasing his smooth brow. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with the British officers. Guess it pays to court a Tory girl who moves in their circles,” he added wryly, not heeding the sudden frown on Laddie’s face. “And they know about what
we
know about those units around the city.”

“They’re good men, aren’t they, Nathan?”

“Yes, but untrained and unequipped—and worst of all, they’ve got no leadership.”

Nathan had been so glad to see Laddie that it warmed her to think of it, but in the next few days, he grew sober, and she knew he was fearful of a British attack.

When the attack came, it caught Nathan off guard. On the morning of the seventeenth, he was working at the warehouse, and Laddie looked up to see Henry Knox come in, his face tight with anxiety. She had introduced the two men, and there had been a mutual trust almost instantly.

“What’s wrong, Henry?” Nathan asked, moving to meet him.

“There’s the devil to pay, that’s what!” Knox looked around to be sure they were alone, then said with great agitation, “General Ward’s made a bad mistake—and the British are going to cash in on it. Haven’t you noticed all the troops moving to the ships?”

“Why, I didn’t think anything about it,” Nathan said in surprise. “Howe’s always got them doing some sort of training.”

“Well, this is no drill! They’re moving in force to attack!”

“Where?”

Knox shook his head and there was desperation on his round face. “I tried to get Ward to fortify Dorchester. It’s high enough to command the neck of Boston peninsula—but he picked Charlestown across the James River.”

“Why, that won’t do!” Laddie said at once, a clear picture of the map of Boston springing to her mind.

“You see it, too?” Knox nodded with a grim smile. “Nathan is puzzled. Show him what the problem is.”

Laddie took a sheet of paper, drew a rough map, saying, “See this thing that looks like a polliwog? Well, that’s Charleston—there’s Breed’s Hill and Bunker Hill.”

When Nathan still looked puzzled, she said, “Look, this thing sticks out into the water like a polliwog—it’s attached by this little tail.” She pointed to the thin narrow tail that tied the peninsula to the mainland. If our men are on these heights, all the British have to do is put men ashore at this neck—and our men’ll be trapped like rats.”

“Right!” Knox nodded savagely. “
You
see it—and
I
see it—why can’t General Ward see it? By Harry, I wish General Washington were here!”

Nathan stared at him, then said, “What are you going to do, Henry?”

“Going to get myself killed, I suppose,” Knox shrugged. “We’ve got no cannon, not much ammunition, not much of anything—but the fight’s here! It’s time to quit talking and fight, Nathan!”

He wheeled and Nathan caught up with him, his face tense. “I’m going with you.”

Knox stopped, his eyes growing large. “Why, Nathan, you’ll do more good where you are—getting information—”

“Perdition take it all! I’ll not be a spy another day!” His eyes were electric, and stubbornness set his jaw. “I can find my way to Bunker Hill with or without you, Henry—but I’m
going!
”

Knox clapped him on the shoulder and said, “All right—but you need a musket.”

“Right here!” Nathan ran to the small storeroom and came back with his Kentucky rifle, a small bore rifle, and a shotgun.

Knox stared at the weapons, then threw back his head and laughed. “By Harry, we’ll get them far or near, eh, Winslow? Let’s go.”

“I’ll take the shotgun.” Laddie was holding out her hand, and Nathan was taken off guard.

“Why, Laddie,” he said quickly, “you can’t fight!”

“Why can’t I?” There was a stubbornness on Laddie’s full lips that matched Nathan’s own, and there was determination in the dark eyes of the youth.

Knox stood to one side, his blue-green eyes quizzical. He had grown attached to these young people, and he had heard enough of Caleb’s death from Laddie to know that Nathan Winslow was not ready to suffer another loss.
Nathan’s taken Laddie for the brother he lost,
he thought.
Look at him! He can’t bear to think of losing another one.
He said nothing, knowing that it was between the two of them, but he saw that Laddie was determined.

“I can find Bunker Hill, Nathan, just as well without you!”

Knox saw that Nathan was helpless, and he said, “Let the boy come, Nathan. Better with us where we can keep an eye on him, eh?”

Nathan nodded slowly, handing the shotgun to Laddie and the musket to Knox. “I’ll get the powder and balls,” he said quietly, and left Knox and Laddie alone.

“He’s afraid for you, Laddie,” Knox said gently.

“Well, so what?” The dark eyes flashed at him suddenly and Laddie added with just a trace of a quiver: “I’m afraid for
him
—but he can’t see that.”

Knox put his good hand on her shoulder and said quietly, “God will have to take care of you both, Laddie!”

“There’s a lot of them, Nathan.” Laddie looked down from the top of Breed’s Hill, the barrel of the shotgun burning her hands. General Ward’s orders had been to fortify Bunker Hill, the higher peak—but the order was misunderstood and Breed’s Hill had been occupied instead. It was closer to the water, to the guns of the Royal Navy, and to the beaches where hostile troops would be landed.

The perfection of a June day wore on, and there was a
moving blaze of color as the barges and longboats filled with scarlet-clad regulars unloaded one after another. Drums pounded, fifes cut shrill into the warm air, and a floating pageant lurched out across the Charles River to the silver splash of oars. Men in red and blue—the Royal Regiment of Artillery—trundled field-pieces into crafts, and H.M.S.
Lively
and
Falcon
increased their rate of fire.

“There’s the Royal Marines,” Nathan said. And although it was too far to recognize individuals, he knew that John Pitcairn would be leading his troops up the hill.
God! Don’t let him get in front of my gun!
he breathed; then he saw Dr. Warren approaching to speak to Colonel Prescott, who was in charge. They were so close that Nathan heard Prescott say, “General Warren, you’re senior in rank.”

“No, I’m here as a volunteer, Colonel. I’ll take my place with the others.” He had a musket in his hand, and turning he saw Nathan and paused. A light touched his handsome face, and he smiled. “Might I join you, Mr. Winslow?”

“Certainly!” Nathan smiled grimly and said, “I’m in somewhat of a different frame of mind than when we first met at Sam Adams’ home, Doctor.”

“Sam’s talked to me of you, Mr. Winslow. I’m proud to see you here.” He nodded, then glanced down at the troops forming for a charge. “I think Gage must be senile, Nathan. He’s going to make a frontal attack against men in fortified positions.”

“I wonder why?”

“He has a contempt for us,” Warren said, and then he added with a smile, “I think he’ll not feel quite that way later on this afternoon!”

“There they come!” Prescott’s voice cut across the air, and he cried out, “Don’t shoot until you see the whites of their eyes, men!”

The forces on the beaches shifted, reshuffled, and the assault began—long scarlet-and-white lines, three deep, climbing like
a slow surf toward the redoubt. On they came under the hot sun, each man carrying a load reckoned at 120 pounds.

Laddie heard a voice, and turned to see an elderly farmer, his musket steadily aimed at the Redcoats. “I thank thee, Lord, for sparing me to fight this day. Blessed be the name of the Lord.” There was an incredible patience on his face, and Laddie said softly, “Amen!”

Sweat poured down Laddie’s face as the lines came on. She counted ten companies across the broad British front, and ten more right behind—hundreds of red-coated men laboring in slow steps up the hill.

Slowly, inexorably, the grenadiers and Royal Marines came on. A voice said, “No firing—hold your fire!” Laddie’s finger was on the trigger, and there was a taste of fear in her mouth—but it was fear of killing rather than of being killed. She could see their faces clearly now—some of them fat and some thin; some sunburned and some pale, and the whites of nervous eyes were in all the faces.

“Fire!”
came a sudden command, and a ragged sheet of flame belched out from the hundreds of rifles and muskets in the hands of the Americans. As the smoke cleared, Laddie saw that entire ranks were down, men thrashing and screaming, while their comrades stepped over them. She heard balls whistling over her head, and ten feet to her right a man suddenly stood up, shot in the throat. He was trying to speak but only spewed out a ragged stream of bright scarlet blood, fell down, kicked the ground twice, then died.

“They’re retreating!” Dr. Warren cried out, and it was so. The British were scrambling wildly down the hill, leaving their wounded behind.

“They won’t try that again!” someone cried out.

But they were mistaken.

The second attack came with more power than the first, and the first man that Nathan identified was John Pitcairn. Nathan was firing and reloading like a machine, but as he straightened up to fire, he hesitated, for there, right in his
sights was the major. He carried only a saber, and he held it high in the air, crying out encouragement to his men. His face was red with strain, but there was no fear on it, and Nathan found that he could not pull the trigger!

But even as he hesitated, a ball struck Pitcairn in the side, and he fell to the ground, clutching the sudden blossom of blood that appeared on his blue coat.

Men were dropping all along the line, but the toll on the charging Redcoats was terrible. The hill was covered with bodies—some still, and some feebly trying to crawl away, many writhing like cutworms. Time seemed to stand still, and Nathan could not remember a time other than this. He seemed to have been on the hill firing and taking fire forever, and it came as a shock when he heard Laddie crying out, “Nathan! They’re leaving!”

He came out of the red haze of battle to see for the second time the British retreat. Then he heard Dr. Warren say, “I’m out of powder.” Men up and down the line were saying the same, and Warren said, “If they try again, we’re in trouble.”

“They can’t come up that hill again!” Nathan whispered. “It’s like a slaughter pen!” Then he stood, grabbed a water bottle, and suddenly stepped out from the fortifications. Ignoring the startled cry of Warren and Laddie, he moved across the field of broken bodies until he came to where Pitcairn lay. He stopped and saw that the major’s eyes were closed. “John—John!” he whispered, and as he knelt, the eyes suddenly opened, filled with pain.

“Nathan—is that you?” he whispered. He gave a slight cry as Nathan lifted his head and held the water bottle to his lips; then he drank deeply. There was a pale ivory cast to his fine face, and he tried to smile.

“John—I’m sorry!” The tears were running down Nathan’s face, and he held the man as he would have held a child, closely as if to heal the terrible wound that was killing him.

Pitcairn looked up and his smile was gentle. “You must not grieve over this, Nathan. You must not.”

“I can’t help it!”

“You must not!” Then Pitcairn’s body grew tense, and he said in a faint whisper, “The lights are going out—goodbye, my boy . . .” He coughed once, drew a strangled breath, and then relaxed.

Nathan sat there holding the shattered body of his friend, his mind blank and his heart crying out for grief. Finally, he felt a hand on his arm, and looked up to see Dr. Warren, his face stern. “Nathan—they’re coming again!”

He followed Warren back and took his place beside Laddie, and slowly he began to see the field come into focus. He checked his powder, saw that he had only enough for one shot. Then he heard Prescott saying, “We’ll fall back!”

And as the enemy charged, it became a nightmare! Men with no powder and no shot were defenseless against the bright bayonets of the grenadiers. They tried to use their muskets for clubs and took the bright blades in their stomachs; they tried to run, and the marines rammed the thin slivers of steel into their backs.

Nathan had pushed Laddie to the rear and had smashed the skull of one Redcoat when he saw Dr. Warren caught by two soldiers. The doctor raised his musket to use as a club, and both of them drove bayonets through his body. Warren fell to the ground and they plunged the bayonets into him again and again.

The sun was dropping, and the cool air washed over Laddie’s face. “It’s hard to believe we’re alive, Nathan,” she said, taking a deep breath.

“A lot of us aren’t,” he answered. They were sitting beside a small creek on a hill that overlooked Boston, and the paths were crowded with men who were going back to their homes.

They had rejoined Knox, and he looked at the dim forms of men filtering through the woods, many of them wounded. “There goes our army,” he said slowly.

“You think it’s over, Mr. Knox?” Laddie asked quietly. She had never seen the big man discouraged, and it troubled her.

He roused himself, and in the fading darkness, they saw him smile grimly. “They won’t go far, Laddie.”

“We lost, didn’t we?” Nathan said.

Knox swore and said loudly, “No, we didn’t lose! Howe bought that hill at the price of a thousand men, and we can’t have lost more than two hundred. I’d like to sell him another worthless hill at the same price!”