The Gentle Rebel (30 page)

“They’re not going to make it, General,” Nathan commented. “We’ve got to have some fresh animals. Maybe General Schuyler can help some more.”

General Philip Schuyler, a wealthy New York State patrician, had secured eighty specially built sledges and eighty yoke of oxen. But thawed, mushy ground had hindered the caravan, and finally the snow came. The drivers had had to lash their beasts forward, the sledges slipping and sliding on runners. The capricious weather had tormented them, and now many of the oxen were useless.

“You’ve been here a month, Sergeant,” Knox said. “We
need some patriots to help us get these guns to General Washington. Who would that be?”

Laddie said impulsively, “Captain Knox, I guess you’re looking at him. This is Daniel Greene. I think he could get you some help—and he’s a nephew of General Nathanael Greene.”

“Well! Let me shake your hand, sir!” Knox beamed broadly and pumped Greene’s hand vigorously. “Your relative is, in my opinion, the best of our young generals—I know that His Excellency shares that belief. Now, Mr. Greene, we must have oxen!” He gave the minister no chance to speak, but pulled him along the line of sleds, pointing out their virtues as if they were his beloved children. “We have fifty-eight pieces—four-pounders to twenty-four pounders. Beautiful, aren’t they? And here is my favorite—” He rested his hand tenderly on one giant and said lovingly, “The men call this one The Old Sow—not a pretty name, but she’ll do to shell the Redcoats out of Boston!”

“Sir—” Dan tried to speak, but Knox was a hard man to stop.

“We’ve brought this ordnance two hundred miles through the worst weather and over the worst roads in America! Everyone said it couldn’t be done! And we have twenty-three crates of shot and one barrel of fine-quality British flints—all of which had to be freighted down Lake George in a collection of pirogues and batteaux.”

“General Knox,” Dan interrupted, “I—I must tell you—that I cannot help in this work.” He gave Laddie a reproachful glance, then added, “I am one of the Friends—a Quaker, as you say. And it is against our doctrine to engage in war.”

Knox stared at him steadily, then said, “General Greene is a Quaker, but he has thrown himself into the cause.”

“I cannot answer for him—only for myself.”

Knox’s good-natured faced reddened. “I’m not asking you to
fight
—just to help with freighting equipment.” He had spoken harshly, but he caught himself, and said reasonably, “Two
groups have suffered much at the hands of the English—the Baptists and the Quakers. The Baptists have thrown themselves into this struggle, for they well know that if we do not free this land from English tyranny, they’ll be crushed. Your own sect has been persecuted in England and in this country as well. If you will not fight, I call upon you to at least help in this way.”

“I cannot do it.” Daniel turned and walked away, his back stiff and unyielding.

Knox stared at him, then turned to Laddie. “I don’t know what to make of such men!” Then he shrugged and said, “You two do the best you can. I’ve already sent to the villages close by, but we’ve
got
to have those oxen! If the British decide to attack, it may all be over!”

He stalked away, shouting furiously at a private who had let one of the cannon shift, then called back, “We’ll take two days—have all the oxen you can ready by then. Promise them anything—but get them here!”

“I’ll get my things,” Laddie said, turning to go, but Nathan stopped her. There was a gleam in his light blue eyes and a quirk of humor turned the corners of his generous mouth upward.

“No, you stay there, Laddie. I’ll scout around by myself—but you can do more good where you are. I want you to make that Quaker fight! Somehow there’s got to be a way to make a patriot out of Friend Daniel Greene, and I want you to find it!”

Laddie stared at the words she’d just written despondently; then she gritted her teeth and began to write again, and there was a grim determination in her face.

She laid down the pen, carefully closed the journal, and put it away. It was early, but she knew that Dan and his mother took that time of the day to read the Bible and pray. She found them both in the small kitchen and said abruptly, “I have something to tell you both.” They looked up, startled, and Laddie felt her face flush, but plunged ahead, “Last year my father died and left me in the charge of my uncle, Aaron Sampson . . .”

They sat there staring at her as she narrated her history, including the parts about Caleb’s death, as well as revealing Nathan’s love for Abigail Howland. Finally she said, “It’s been hard, and I should have told you this a long time ago. You’ve been so good to me—even though you both thought I was a lewd woman living with soldiers.”

It was Dan’s turn to grow red, and he glanced at his mother. “I—I can’t deny it,” he said quietly. Then he looked up with a sudden smile that lighted his face, and the load that had burdened him seemed to roll away. “Thank thee for telling us, Laddie,” he said.

“I knew in my spirit thee were not evil,” Sister Greene said, and she rose to come over and embrace Laddie. She held her for a long moment, and when she drew back there were tears
in her eyes. “I don’t fault thee for anything, daughter. God has preserved thee in this strange way.”

She turned and left the room abruptly, and Dan said in surprise, “Mother doesn’t show her feelings much. She’s been more concerned about thee than I thought. Even more than—”

“More than thee?” Laddie smiled quietly.

“That’s what I was going to say.” He had risen and came to stand beside her. Looking into her clear eyes, he seemed to have no words, and she saw the struggle that was going on inside him.

I must not hurt this man,
she thought instantly, and as if he had discerned that thought, he said, “I’ve always been a pretty easygoing chap, Laddie—never had much to do with women. Matter of fact, I’ve had an idea that God wanted me to give my life completely to Him—and that was fine with me. But thee has changed all that,” he finished with a light of wonder coming to his warm brown eyes, and he reached out and took her hand, looking at it as if he had found some strange and wonderful thing.

“Dan . . . !”

She spoke with a breathless quality in her voice, but he paid no heed. He looked directly at her and said evenly, as if he were commenting on the weather: “I love thee, Julie Sampson.”

“You—you mustn’t say that!” she whispered. His words set up an agitation in her heart, and she tried to turn away to hide her face, but he held her fast.

“I know thee love Nathan Winslow,” he said quietly. “But he doesn’t love thee, does he?”

“No! But he doesn’t know I’m a woman!”

“And we both know why thee won’t tell him, don’t we?”

“I—don’t know what you mean!”

“Thee won’t tell him because thee knows thee’ll lose him, Julie,” he said remorselessly. “Thee know he’ll hate thee for
what thee’ve done to him. No man likes to be deceived, and even though thee
had
to do it, it’ll make him feel like a fool!”

She pulled away from him, and the truth of his words stabbed her. She had said the same thing to herself a hundred times, had felt blind rage when she thought of Abigail in Nathan’s arms—but as long as the words were unspoken, somehow she could still dream that he was hers.

Now she nodded slowly, and she looked at him steadily, saying, “I—I know all that—but I’ll never let him know.”

“Thee should,” he insisted. Then he shrugged; suddenly a surprising grin touched his lips. “Well, one good thing will come out of all this.”

“What’s that?” she asked in surprise.

“I’ll help with the guns.” He smiled more broadly at her expression and said, “Thee is not the only one who is self-deceived, Julie. I’ve been saying that I wouldn’t help because it went against my doctrine, but I knew all the time, it was really because I was jealous of Winslow.”

“Oh, Dan, we’re a couple of fools!” She looked at him and the grief in her face was replaced by an anxiety, and she put her hand lightly on his arm. “I—don’t want to hurt you. I’m in love with Nathan.”

He shook his head, a stubbornness in his face as he answered, “Thee thinks so, Julie—and no wonder. A young girl is rescued by a tall handsome young man in a romantic fairy-tale sort of affair—why, it would be more surprising if thee
didn’t
have an infatuation for him!” Then he reached out and before she could stop him, he kissed her lightly, and smiled as her eyes widened. “But when thee kissed me that night, Julie, thee was not thinking of Nathan Winslow—but of Daniel Greene!”

“Why . . . !”

“Just give a little time, Julie,” he said, and though there was a smile on his lips, she saw that he was deadly serious. “I’m coming with thee to Boston, and I’m staying so close that one of these days thee will fall in love with me.”

She shook her head, but there was only wonder in her voice as she said quietly, “I don’t think it will work—but Knox will be happy about the oxen.”

She was right about that, for when the morning dawned for the caravan to leave, Knox was beaming with admiration at the fine array of animals that had been secured.

“By Harry, Friend Greene . . . !” he exclaimed as he looked at the train, all ready to pull out, manned by fresh, strong animals, “You may be a Quaker, but you’ve done more for this war by helping get these guns to Boston than you’ll ever know!”

“I’ve had to bend my doctrine, Captain Knox,” Greene admitted with a shrug.

“What will your fellow Quakers say about this?” Knox asked.

“They’ve already said it, I’m afraid.” He reached into his pocket and pulled a paper out. Unfolding it, he said, “This is an affirmation of the traditional Quaker stand on war. It’s just been sent out to all Friends.” He read from the paper, his voice steady:

Knox stared at him. “Does that mean they’re kicking you out?”

“That’s about it, to put the matter bluntly.”

Nathan had been listening to all this, and he suddenly grinned, saying, “Well, Friend Greene, you can always find a bunk with us! We can use a good man, eh, Laddie?”

Laddie smiled and nodded, but then Nathan added, “Laddie claims I snore too loud, so I reckon you two will have to
share the blankets on the way to Boston. That all right with you?”

“I think it would be fine, Friend Nathan,” Dan said with a smooth expression. What does
thee
think, Friend Laddie?”

But Sergeant Smith had turned and walked away abruptly with a scowl.

Nathan apologized for Laddie’s behavior. “He’s a strange youngster, Dan,” he said regretfully. “I’ve tried to toughen him up, but he’s so blasted
sensitive!
” He clapped the other on the shoulder and grinned. “Well, we’ll make a man out of Laddie Smith, won’t we, Friend?”

The broad-shouldered Quaker looked at Nathan with a gleam in his eyes.

“Such a task may be harder than thee thinks, Friend Winslow!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

MESSAGE FROM BOSTON

General Gage, out of favor in England because of the massacre at Bunker Hill, had been replaced by Sir William Howe, a man who fought and wenched doggedly. In November he had received orders from London to give up Boston and move south to New York, but he could not obtain the shipping to evacuate his men, so he settled back to stay until spring, occupying his time with a certain Mrs. Loring, the wife of his Commissary of Prisoners.

Washington created a small navy of privateers who darted in and out of the rocky harbors they knew so well. They nipped at the slow British merchantmen who came with supplies, and much of the food that did arrive was rotten. Captain John Manley of the schooner
Lee
scored a major coup when he took the British brigantine
Nancy
with her cargo of 2,000 muskets, 7,000 cannon balls, 10,500 flints, and a huge 13-inch mortar, which Israel Putnam christened “The Congress” by smashing a bottle of rum over its gaping muzzle.

Cut off by land and throttled by sea, the British made do with what they had. The Old North Church came down for firewood, as did the Liberty Tree, an arching elm under which Sam Adams and his rowdies had often met. Governor Winthrop’s 100-year-old home in the middle of town went to the flames.

To fight boredom, if not the revolution, the British held elegant balls, and Abigail missed none of them. She was usually accompanied by Nathan’s old rival, Paul Winslow, and
the two of them arrived at Faneuel Hall one evening to attend a farce written by General John Burgoyne. Known to most as Gentleman Johnnie, Burgoyne had arrived in March with Howe and General Henry Clinton and declared, “What! Ten thousand peasants keeping five thousand of the King’s men captive? Well, let
us
in and we’ll soon make elbow room!” He was later to be called “General Elbow Room” by the troops for this remark.