The Gentle Rebel (34 page)

General Howe was awakened abruptly by his aide, who was shaking him by the arm—an unprecedented action!—and saying in an agonized voice: “General—General! Wake up!”

Howe had spent part of the night gambling and part with Mrs. Loring, and his head ached from the prodigious amount of wine he had consumed. He struck out blindly at the aide, muttering angrily, “Get your bloody hands off me!”

But the aide pleaded, “Pardon me, sir, but you
must
come at once!”

“What the devil is it?” Howe demanded. He dragged himself out of bed and glared at the frightened aide; then he pulled himself together, knowing that it had to be serious for the lieutenant to behave so. “Is it an attack?”

“No, sir—”

“Well, let me get my pants on!” Howe dressed rapidly, then walked out of the bedroom where three of his staff officers were standing with ashen faces. “What’s the matter?”

“Sir, look at that hill!”

Howe walked to the door and stared up at the heights; then he gasped, “Impossible!”

He looked up to see a fort on the hill where nothing had been the afternoon before. General Robertson came to stand beside him, and he said in an agitated voice, “General Howe, to do that in one night, the rebels must have had fifteen to twenty thousand men!”

Howe could not speak for a moment; then he said, “We must prepare for action, Gentlemen; the honor of the British Army demands an immediate attack on this rebel position.” All morning he issued orders, and a plan emerged for two forces of two thousand men each to embark on the next tide. That afternoon files of infantry marched down to the longboats.

But at midnight a violent gale swept in from the south, making landings impossible. Windows were blown in, sheds overturned, and rail fences were actually blown away!

Howe had no choice but to cancel the mission, telling his generals the danger of the attack had been in his mind, but that he had thought the honor of his troops was of more concern. He ordered the evacuation of the city, and the boats were made ready.

The Boston Tories descended on Howe’s headquarters. The most illustrious names of Massachusetts—Olivers, Salton-stalls, Mathers, Hutchinsons, Faneuels—gathered what few
valuables they could carry to leave their homes—many never to see them again. Henry Knox’s in-laws, the Fluckers, were among them.

Charles Winslow had stayed in town as this drama unfolded. He called Paul to his side and said with a pale face, “I won’t leave this place.”

“Well, if Uncle Adam will stand beside you, it may be all right. After all, he’s part owner of the business.” Paul grinned, and there was something cruel in his eyes as he added, “Maybe Adam’s got enough honor for all of us, Father.”

Charles turned pale, but did not respond. He asked instead, “What will Howland do? He’s too sick to leave.”

“I’ll go see. He doesn’t have a relative who’s a patriot to stand between him and Sam Adams’ Sons of Liberty.” Then he paused and added, “Well, maybe he does at that.” With this enigmatic word, he turned and left at once.

Charles left the city and went home, where his wife and his mother met him with fear in their eyes. Dorcas was weeping and clinging to him. “What will we do? What will happen to us, Charles?”

Charles Winslow did not answer her, but looked into the eyes of his mother. He said bitterly, “Well, Mother, you’ve hated my brother Adam all his life. You made life miserable for him when he was a child and despised him when he grew up.”

“Charles—don’t . . . !”

“But now this man—the best of the Winslows—is the only hope we have. If he doesn’t help us—we’re lost!”

Martha Winslow seemed to shrivel before his words, and she turned slowly and moved her arthritic joints painfully, leaving the room. Charles watched her, and his heart smote him. He shook his head and moved to go after her. “She’s done no more than I have to Adam.”

Anne clung to her mother, her freckles standing out against the pallor of her face. “Mother—will they kill us—the rebels?”

Dorcas held her tightly and whispered, “No! Your Uncle Adam won’t let them harm us!” And bitter tears flowed down her cheeks as she thought of the meanness she’d always shown toward Adam and his family.

When Paul entered the Howland mansion, he found Abigail alone in the parlor. Her face was serious, but she showed no fear. “Mother’s with Father, Paul.” She bit her lip, and added in a whisper, “I think he’s dying.”

Paul stared at her, then said, “I think you’d all better come with us. Adam won’t let the rebels do anything to us.”

“Father can’t be moved,” she said. “And if we do leave, they’ll take everything.”

He stared at her and she raised her head to meet his gaze. “We’ll be all right, Paul. Don’t worry about us.”

“I see.” He didn’t move, but examined her carefully. Finally he said, “We’re a great deal alike, you and I.”

“Paul, we’ve been very close—”

“Well,
that’s
a strange way of putting it!” he said angrily. “
We’ve been very close.
Can’t you be more honest than that, Abigail?”

She flushed, but held her head imperiously higher, and there was a steely note in her voice as she said, “Paul, you just said that we’re alike—and I agree. The world is coming to an end—our world. Yours is safe because Adam Winslow is going to look after you. My father’s dying and my mother can’t even look after herself—so I’ll look out for us.”

Paul stared at her, then shook his head. “I knew you weren’t all sugar and spice—that image never fooled me for one instant, Abby—but I didn’t look close enough. You’re hard as flint.”

“I’ll do what I have to do,” Abigail said quietly. Then she asked in a gentler tone, “So will you, Paul, won’t you?”

He stared at her, then slowly nodded. “I suppose so—you know me as well as I know you.” He moved his shoulders in some sort of weary gesture, then asked, “If it doesn’t work out, come to me.”

“It’ll work out, Paul.” Abigail smiled at him, and there was an adamantine light in her hazel eyes. She suddenly kissed him and clung to him fiercely, then pulled back and said, “Goodbye, Paul—at least for now!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

OUT OF THE PAST

Howe’s army had not been defeated; it had been out-maneuvered by a larger force. This infuriated the British troops, and in their final days in Boston they took their frustration out on the old town. They broke into many houses, and military supplies that could not be taken aboard the fleet were smashed and thrown into the harbor.

Adam and Nathan spoke of the occupation of the city as the final evacuation of the British took place. Adam had been watching through a spy glass from a high point, and he suddenly snapped it shut and said, “Putnam will go in first. I’m going in with him.”

“The folks who’ve been faithful to the cause have taken an awful whipping,” Nathan commented. “If Charles didn’t get his family away, they’ll probably be ridden out on a rail along with the other Tories.”

“He’s not leaving with Howe,” Adam stated. “I got a message from him two days ago. I’m going in with Putnam to be sure nothing happens to them.”

Nathan broke in quickly, “Father, I hate to ask favors—but I need to go to the Howlands. They’re worse off than the Winslows. Saul Howland died day before yesterday. That leaves Abigail and her mother alone.”

Adam stared long at his tall son before saying, “I guess you have to do this, Nathan. Your mother and I don’t know this woman, but you’re a loyal boy, so we thought it’d be this way.” He sorted out several ideas, then said, “One thing I
can do, and that’s get an official order placing the Howland estate under the protection of the army. The general says he wants law and order, and it’ll just be a piece of paper—but maybe you can make it stick.”

“Thank you, sir,” Nathan said warmly. “It’s what I wanted—but didn’t dare ask.”

Adam stared at him, doubt in his eyes. “Are you going to marry this woman, son?”

“Well, things have been so mixed up that we haven’t talked about it . . .”

Adam wanted to warn him that it would be impossible to be loyal to the Continental Army with a wife who was a Tory, but he thought,
Nathan knows all that,
so he merely said, “I’ll get the order and we can go in together with Putnam.”

When the last Redcoat walked up the gangplank and Howe’s fleet moved out of the harbor, Adam and Nathan were in the first unit that marched into the city. Doors and windows were packed with cheering crowds as they entered to the tune of
Yankee Doodle Dandy.
Back in Cambridge, Rev. Leonard gave a final church service for the siege of Boston, quoting from Ex. 14:25: “ . . . And took off their chariot wheels, that they drave them heavily: so that the Egyptians said, Let us flee from the face of Israel; for the Lord fighteth for them against the Egyptians.”

Adam said as Nathan left for the Howlands’, “Be careful, Nathan. These folks have been hardly used, and they’re liable to shoot first and argue later. You’ve got a piece of paper, but some of them have lost everything, and they see the Winslows and the Howlands as the enemy.” He smiled and reached up to put his hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “We’ve not been close until recently—and I’d hate for you to get killed over a house.”

“I’ll be careful.” Nathan smiled and clapped his father on the shoulder. “You better take your own advice, Father!” He rode away, wondering at the way the war and the loss of Caleb had brought the two of them together.

Abigail and her mother were waiting for him. Mrs.
Howland had aged ten years since the first time Nathan had met her. She was a tiny woman with smallish eyes that had been filled with pride—but now were so full of fear that it was hard for Nathan to look at her. Abigail said quickly, “You see, Mother? I told you that Nathan would come. Now, you go upstairs and try to rest.” A black woman stepped forward quickly, and Mrs. Howland went without protest, pausing only to whisper, “Thank you, Nathan!”

After her mother had gone, Abigail smiled and took Nathan’s arm. Looking up into his face, she studied him, and finally said, “You’ll never believe I care for you, will you, Nathan?”

“Why, of course . . . !”

She suddenly bit her lip and turned from him, her back straight. “No, you won’t—because without you we would be lost. So you’ll always ask yourself,
Does she really love me—or does she just need me?”

He went to her, turned her around and looked into her eyes. “Abigail, you shouldn’t talk like that. You need help right now, and I thank God that I can give it to you.” She was trembling beneath his hands, and he took a deep breath and said, “I think we should get married as soon as possible. I know it’s a bad time—with your father’s death and all the trouble—but I want to take care of you!”

Abigail looked up at him, and there was an enigmatic light in her eyes. For a long moment she stood there, and he fully expected her to say no. Finally, however, she nodded slowly, whispering, “If that’s what you want, Nathan.” Then she raised her lips to him and he held her tightly.

Laddie came to Boston as part of Knox’s staff on the eighteenth, along with Washington. The commander in chief made no dramatic speeches or gestures in taking over the city. When he attended services, the first to be held under the new flag of the Colonies—thirteen red and white stripes with the Union Jack in the corner—he asked Dr. Eliot, dean of the
Boston clergy, to preach a sermon of devout thanksgiving, not of war. Dr. Eliot found his text in Isaiah, and George Washington of Virginia bowed his head to the words, “Look upon Zion, the city of our solemnities: Thine eyes shall see Jerusalem a quiet habitation, a tabernacle that shall not be taken down.”

The next day, Knox called his staff together and put them to work. He was beaming with anticipation and said, “The Redcoats have made us a present of 250 cannon, Gentlemen! Thoughtful of them, by Harry! But we’ve got to train gunners for them—and fast!”

“You think we’ll be going into action soon, Colonel Knox?” asked Lieutenant Harvester, a solid-bodied New Yorker.

“No doubt about it, Tom! Only question is—
where?
I’m no prophet, but I say it’ll be New York. But what matters now is to get men trained.” He gave orders rapidly, and sent the officers away, then turned to Laddie, saying, “I have a special job for you, Sergeant. We’re going to be fighting this war for some time, I think, and all over this country. I want you to make my bookshop your headquarters, and before we leave this place, I want you to secure maps of every kind you can lay your hands on!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Go to every cartographer in Boston—go any place else you need to go. I’ll see that you have leave and money—but I want a map for every place where we might engage the enemy, you understand? Here’s the key to my shop. Mullins has kept it open, but here’s a key for you. I’ll be in and out, but you can fix up some kind of quarters for yourself.”

“I’ll do my best, Colonel,” Laddie said, taking the key. “How long do you think we’ll have?”

Knox shrugged his shoulders and said as he turned to leave, “That’ll depend on how fast Howe and his brother, Richard Lord Howe, can get an army together and get back here! Maybe a month, more or less, is all we can count on, Smith—so get those maps quick!”

Laddie threw herself into the job, and as the days sped by she amassed a small mountain of maps and charts. She went to New York and brought back many more—so many that Mullins complained about the space she had usurped in Knox’s store, but the owner had been highly pleased with what had been accomplished. When Laddie told him that the collection was fairly complete, he said, “Fine! Now you work on them—especially the New York area, because I’ll eat my head if the Howe brothers don’t show up there pretty soon! Washington thinks so, too. He’s sending troops there every day. Better give me what you’ve got on that area right now.”

During those first hectic days, Laddie had spent a great deal of her time alone. She had expected Daniel Greene to return to his home, but he made no move to do so. He had, she discovered, grown quite close to his uncle, General Greene, who evidently found his nephew to his liking. Daniel had brought the general by to meet Laddie, and she had found him to be a charming man. “Friend Daniel and I are in the same boat, Sergeant Smith,” he said with a fond look at his nephew. “We Friends are a hard-headed lot—and the Lord practically sent the angel Gabriel to get me to join the army.”