The Cannon of Courage: Gabriel Cooper & the Noble Train of Artillery

By Chris Stevenson

As the Winter of 1775 approaches, the British have taken up residence in Boston. The fledgling Continental Army appears powerless to drive the redcoats back to England. Young Gabriel Cooper, a new aide-de-camp to General Washington, is learning the rigors of army life when he is called upon to journey with Henry Knox to retrieve Fort Ticonderoga’s cannon. Nearly sixty cannons must be sledded through New England’s winter wilderness back to Cambridge. The journey, filled with challenges, will be a daring trek across hundreds of miles to retrieve the one thing that can drive the British from Boston: a cannon! Peppered with historic personality, Cannon of Courage weaves fact with adventure to tell this remarkable story of American military achievement.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Permuted
• Release date: Aug 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781682619582

Book preview

It is not easy to conceive the difficulties we have had in getting them (the cannon) over the lake, owning to the advanced season of the year and contrary winds; but the danger is now past, please God, they must go.

Henry Knox’s December 17th, 1775

letter to George Washington

DEDICATION

To Aaron, Joshua, Caleb, Nathan, and Levi, my boys. You are the reason I started telling stories. Gabriel’s journey began with you.

Love, Dad.

Contents

1: Prospect Hill

2: Lessons in Letters

3: The Coming of the Hounds

4:Henry's Walls

5: Edwin Cresswell III

6: Guns and Game

7: Arnold Returns

8: The Contest

9: The Plan

10: Two More for Ticonderoga

11: On the Way

12: Harvest Party

13: New York and North

14: Best Laid Plans

15: Mohawk Council

16: Boats

17: Ticonderoga

18: The Winds of Lake George

19: South on Foot

20: Christmas in the Cave

21: Ice

22: Return to Cambridge

23: Spies on the Heights

24: Junius

25: Battle Storm

26: In the Storm's Wake

H 1 H

PROSPECT HILL

The campsite seemed to stretch out forever along the banks of the Charles River. Gabriel Cooper stopped to take it all in. This was his home now. This was where his new life would begin. Shelters of every kind and manner were thrown up before him. Lean-tos, stick huts, tents made out of ragged blankets, and sod covered hovels dotted the landscape. They were scattered about like newly sown seeds. There was no order or design. They were just there. Men of all walks of life called these haphazard accommodations their homes. Men with fine woolen coats and others dressed in ragged and dirty farm clothes could be seen milling about their campsites. Some worked over open fires, with black kettles propped up over the flames. Others sat sharpening knives and cleaning their muskets.

Gabriel had no musket to clean. In fact, he had very few possessions to his name. He had even less now that he had tossed his old broken and battered drum into the river. It had been one of his most treasured possessions, but now the dark river waters had claimed it. It rested at the bottom of that murky water. Its skin and casing having been torn and trampled by the galloping horse of General George Washington. The loss of his drum had been bittersweet. It had become part of him on his journey from New York to the outskirts of Boston. He had been driven onward by his dream of becoming a drummer boy with the patriot army. He had never learned to play the drum, and here he stood next to the river, his drum gone, but his dreams of being part of this army still very much alive.

As Gabriel trotted up the slope through the ragtag assortment of campsites, his heart was lighter than it had been in a long time. The sun was high, gleaming with bright June sunlight. For once he had something to look forward to. He had good news to tell. Hopping over a log, he ran on to the Rhode Islander encampment. Unlike the other mass of tents and hovels, these campsites were neat and marked off in orderly rows. This, he knew, was where he would find his new-found friend.

Gabriel ran down the row of tents where he spotted Jonathon Greenwood tending his father’s campfire. A wiry and spindly legged boy sat on a log, a stick poking at the fire. His fife stuck out of his pants pocket. Gabriel wasted no time in proclaiming his news, Jonathon, I can stay. I get to stay!

Jonathon looked up, clearly surprised to see Gabriel back so soon from Washington’s headquarters. That didn’t take long. You must have left a lasting impression on the General when you rescued my father from the river yesterday. I had good coin on you staying put here as a drummer boy. No way, were you going to be sent back to New York. Did you get your drum back? Are you going to be able to drum while I play my fife?

I am not going to be a drummer boy, Jonathon.

What then? asked Jonathon. A wood gatherer? A messenger? A soldier?

No, General Washington made me an aide-de-camp.

An aide-de-WHAT? asked Jonathon, a puzzled expression on his face.

An aide-de-camp. I get to help General Washington at his headquarters with things like writing letters.

Oh, replied Jonathon, trying to hide a disappointed look on his face.

What’s the matter, questioned Gabriel

Nothing, it’s just that being an aide-de-camp … writing letters, well, it sounds kind of boring.

Gabriel was not sure how to answer this. After walking for months by himself to reach the patriot camp at Cambridge, he was just glad he had been allowed to stay. The thought of going back to the Lorings in New York was unbearable, but he had not really given much thought to what it might be like sitting at a desk all day writing letters. Finally, he responded, Well, I am sure there will be other things to do too. I am just not sure what they are right now.

You’re right, replied Jonathon trying to put an encouraging expression on his face. "It will all work out. So, tell me what was it like inside General Washington’s headquarters? Did you see any other important generals?

What other important Generals are there? asked Gabriel.

I heard General Charles Lee rode along with Washington all the way from Philadelphia to Cambridge. He is supposed to be very important, and some people thought he would get the job of Commander in Chief.

I didn’t see any other generals, but I am supposed to go back later to help with a letter, responded Gabriel. What does this Charles Lee look like?

Jonathon squinted his eyes as if trying to recall exact features. I only saw him from a distance when Washington arrived. He was tall and lanky, but I know he had his dogs with him. He takes them with him everywhere he goes. At least that’s what I have heard.

Dogs? Well, I did not see any dogs at headquarters so General Lee must not have been around. Why did everyone think Lee was going to be the commander over the whole army?

Jonathon bent down to add a few more logs to the cook fire. I just heard that he used to be some famous British General. He fought against the French and Indians and recently moved to Virginia. He must have a lot of experience fighting battles, at least more than General Greene has, and maybe even more than Washington.

What do you mean about Greene? asked Gabriel.

Nathaniel Greene just picked up soldiering several months ago, answered Jonathon. He has never fought a battle and all he knows about fighting he has learned from books.

Is that so? smirked Gabriel. He sure didn’t speak up about that when General Washington was asking me what kind of soldiering experience I had, which was none.

Don’t get me wrong, added Jonathon quickly. I think General Greene is a born leader and smart. He is pretty young though. My father said he is only thirty-three, but even the older Rhode Island soldiers treat him with respect.

He is honest, and I like him, said Gabriel. Besides that, he saved my life when he pulled me out of the river before I went over the waterfall. Learning how to fight a war from reading books is fine with me.

The fire had taken to the wood, and Jonathon put a kettle of water over the flames. Come on. Let me show you around camp. It will be a while before this water boils, and it always takes longer if I stand here watching.

I don’t know, responded Gabriel. I have got to get back to headquarters by 3 o’ clock to help respond to a letter.

Jonathon grabbed Gabriel’s arm. We have got time to see a few things. We will not go far, just up toward Prospect Hill a way. Come on now.

Alright, if you’re sure, said Gabriel.

I am sure. Come on.

Gabriel and Jonathon left the Rhode Islander campsite behind and headed north along a well-traveled road. Where are we going? asked Gabriel.

We are headed toward that hill, just north of here. Everyone is busy making sure we are fortified against an attack from the British troops in Boston. They are busy building a fort atop Prospect Hill to help fend off any British attacks from Bunker Hill.

The road to the north was busy. Soldiers on horseback raced along the road headed toward the encampment at Cambridge. A team of oxen were hauling two large tree trunks that had just been felled. Men just to the east of the road were working on a fence. Men lifting shovels from ground to sky let dirt and rocks fly. Gabriel was amazed at the amount of work being done. What are they all doing? asked Gabriel.

Digging in, replied Jonathon, in case of attack.

Oh, right—digging in, said Gabriel knowingly.

The area around Prospect Hill was surrounded with all types of tents, shacks, and lean-tos, much like the campsite near Cambridge. There were a few orderly rows of white canvass tents, but the majority of the buildings were scattered about like driftwood. There was an array of different colors spattered around the campsites. Some buildings had red, yellow or blue blankets hanging as shelter, some had green reeds woven together for roofing, and others had maroon flags flying with the words Appeal to Heaven written in white, flapping in the breeze. It was a patchwork quilt of structures centered around a single hill that pierced the horizon.

Jonathon led the way off the road into the heart of the camp. As they grew closer to the campsites the beautiful patchwork of colors seen from a distance gave way to dirt, grime and filth. Most of the men sitting in front of their shacks wore tattered filthy clothes. Their skin was blackened with dirt. They passed one group arguing over a game of cards. A flask of rum clenched in each man’s hand. Further into the camp, Gabriel saw a man fire a gun into the air for no apparent reason. A few boys about Gabriel’s age chased each other, and then fell over some cooking pots resting near a fire. The soldier sitting by the fire took a stick out from the wood pile and threw it at the boys shouting at them to get out. The boys darted off only to resume their game of chase in a different direction.

Gabriel was overwhelmed by the maddening disorder that surrounded him. He was about ready to say something, when Jonathon stuck up his hand to signal Gabriel to stop in front of a large canvass tent.

What are we stopping for? asked Gabriel. Before Jonathon could answer, Gabriel saw a thick and stout man standing over a skinny soldier who was seated on a stool in front of the tent. The stout man had the skinny man by the shoulder and had him bent back leaning off the stool. Then Gabriel saw the glint of a knife held in the stout man’s hand. The stout man pressed the knife up against the skinny neck of the soldier on the stool. It looked like the man’s throat was about to be slit at any second.

Gabriel, in a state of panic, ran screaming toward the man holding the knife. He grabbed the stout man’s arm holding the knife and yanked with all his might. The stout man’s arm did not move. He stared down at Gabriel. Then he slowly took the knife away, and gruffly said, You need something, boy? I am getting ready to shave this soldier’s beard off his face. A clean-shaven face helps keep the lice away. Do you have a problem with shaving or do you just like the idea of lice scurrying through a man’s beard?

A small crowd had gathered after Gabriel had shouted, and now they all laughed heartily at the words spoken by the stout man holding the knife.

Gabriel’s face flushed with embarrassment. I thought you were getting ready to cut this man’s throat, the way you were holding the knife in your hands up against his neck.

Well that is a courageous and noble thing to do then. Shouting at a man four times your size holding a knife who you think is about ready to slit another man’s throat takes some gumption. While I have been known to nick a soldier or two, I have never intentionally tried to hurt someone I was shaving.

Jonathon had stayed back and not said a word, his jaw was half hanging open from what Gabriel had just done and said. Jonathon now leaned forward and nudged Gabriel, half whispering. The man holding the knife is General Israel Putnam. He was in charge of the troops at the Battle of Breeds Hill.

Gabriel looked more closely at the man holding the knife. His skin was tough as leather. His thin gray hair hung in slender strands from a head that was shaped like a cannonball set upon two broad shoulders. His legs were short yet thick as tree stumps. He had on a ragged uniform that had once been blue, but now was thoroughly stained with black gun powder and brown dirt. This man looked nothing like a general to Gabriel, and so without thinking, Gabriel said, a little too loudly, Jonathon are you sure he is a General? He doesn’t look like one.

Jonathon cringed as Putnam had obviously overheard Gabriel’s comment and now stepped towards the boys. He cleared his throat with a deafening growl and said, Yes, I am a General. Whether I look like a General I suppose is in the eye of the beholder. To these men that saw me turn back wave after wave of the redcoats on Breeds Hill, well, they may have a different opinion as to what makes a General.

The men standing around Putnam all gave a nod of approval and glared at Gabriel. Putnam went on, If we’re making judgments on appearances, I could have a few things to say about you boy. I would guess you are a poor uneducated runaway orphan, who has come to this army because there’s nothing left for you in life. Am I right?

Gabriel stared into Putnam’s flickering sharp eyes. His words had stung and it took Gabriel a moment to respond. You can’t judge a person by their appearance. You have no idea who I am or what I can become.

Putnam laughed. Those, young man, are the truest words you have yet to utter. I do not have any idea who you are or what you may become, but I know other officers in this army will be less forgiving of demeaning comments to officers made by boys like yourself. Now I suggest you find some work to do around here. They could use some help setting timber in the fort on top of the hill. Make yourself busy … and mind your tongue.

Gabriel was about to respond, when a distant boom drew everyone’s attention. It sounded like thunder to Gabriel, but there were no clouds. Gabriel turned to Jonathon. What was that?

Before Jonathon could answer, an ear deafening crack sounded nearby. Gabriel’s ears began to ring. Dirt and wood were thrown into the sky. Men screamed. A cloud of dust filled the air. Confusion set in among the men that had been scattered around Gabriel. Then Putnam’s voice rang out, Form lines! Grab your muskets!

Another boom sounded from afar, and Gabriel could see a puff of smoke from a distant hill. Gabriel instinctively dove to the ground, waiting for what was to come. A shower of dirt and gravel rained down on Gabriel as he cowered on the ground. A strong hand lifted him up and rolled him over. Putnam’s leathery face peered down at him. Are you hit, boy?

Gabriel felt around. His arms and legs were still attached. He did not feel any blood. I’m fine, but what’s going on?

Putnam growled. We are taking a shelling from the British on Bunker Hill, bloody Lobsterbacks. I need you and your young friend to get back to Cambridge to headquarters to sound the alarm. Now run!

Another boom, then a crash, debris was flying. Gabriel stood up. He wanted to fall back down and hug the ground. Instead he grabbed Jonathon’s arm. We need to get back to General Washington. Which way do we go? I can’t see through all of the dust.

Jonathon looked dazed. Gabriel shook him. Which way do we go? You know this camp better than I do.

Jonathon shook his head. Then another thud crashed. A stick shanty burst apart only twenty paces from Gabriel and Jonathon. Wood splinters filled the sky. Gabriel’s ears rang.

Jonathon was frozen. Gabriel could not get him to move.

Men moved around Gabriel. Muskets in hand. Powder horns at their sides. Gabriel kept thinking that these men would soon fire back at the British, but no shots rang out. Men shouted over commotion. He heard Putnam’s booming voice, Are the Regulars marching on us? Somebody get me my spyglass so I can try and see what the bloody Lobsterbacks are up to. It’s one thing to take a shelling. It’s quite another to fend off a wave of British Regulars on the march.

Gabriel turned his attention back to Jonathon. We have to go! I am not leaving you here. I need your help.

Gabriel saw a flash of light. A boom and a blast sent another wave of dirt and debris into the sky. Then all was silent.

H 2 H

LESSONS IN LETTERS

Gabriel wiped away the dirt covering his face. He could not hear, and with all of the dust and dirt hanging in the air, he could only see a few feet ahead. He felt for Jonathon’s hand through the dust. Gabriel looked around him. Broken timber was scattered about. Huge holes had been opened up along the ground. A nearby wall was now a pile of rubble. Gabriel stood, very slowly. He waited for the next blast, but it didn’t come.

Putnam was pacing up and down, surveying the damage, and cursing. Most of his men had formed a fragmented line. They waited. Poised to defend against any further attack.

Jonathon stood next to Gabriel, brushing himself off. I’m sorry, Gabriel, I couldn’t hear you. My ears are still ringing. What were you saying? Jonathon’s words came out as a shout.

Gabriel shouted back. Putnam ordered us to go tell headquarters in Cambridge about the British cannonade.

Jonathon looked back in fear. Then what are we still doing here? If Putnam sees us still here, he’s likely to have us flogged. Come on!

Jonathon grabbed Gabriel’s arm and the two boys ran back down Prospect Hill towards Cambridge. Several riders on horseback passed them as they ran. Out of breath, and still in shock from the destruction they had just witnessed, Gabriel slowed to a walk as they neared Washington’s headquarters on the banks of the Charles River.

Maybe you should go tell your Pa and Nathaniel Greene. I will go tell General Washington, said Gabriel, still panting.

With that, the boys parted ways. Gabriel could not bring himself to run again. He could only muster a brisk walk up to the large house that served as Washington’s headquarters. As Gabriel approached, a horse charged up to the porch. General Washington sat astride a steel gray horse. It was a handsome horse with bright eyes and a thick mane that flowed gracefully as Washington cantered up to headquarters. He turned the horse sharply, telling it Whoa.

Quickly dismounting, Washington motioned to a sentry. Come take Blueskin to the stable and make sure the groom curries and waters him well. He has worked up a good lather.

Washington looked intently at Gabriel. Gabriel, is that you? Good heavens, where have you been? You are covered in dirt. Let me guess. You somehow managed to be atop Prospect Hill when the British opened fire?

Gabriel nodded his head, still breathing heavily. Yes, Sir. Jonathon Greenwood was there too. He left to get his Pa. General Putnam told me to come tell headquarters about the attack. It was horrible. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t hear. Huge holes were opened up. Debris was thrown everywhere. I’m not sure how many wounded there were. Is this it? Is this the battle that will decide the war?

Washington shook his head. Slow down and catch your breath. I am sure it seemed like the world was coming to an end while under the hail of British cannon, but this is nothing more than their artillery showing their superior firepower. The British have their cannon mounted atop the hills around Charlestown, but there is no true attack. There are no British regulars marching against us. My guess is that this will become a regular occurrence over the next weeks. However, we must always be on guard for when the true attack does come.

Gabriel wasn’t sure how to respond. To him, the last thirty minutes of his life had been the most terrifying he had ever experienced. I thought I might die, was all Gabriel could say.

Washington grabbed Gabriel’s shoulder. But you didn’t, and now you’re stronger for it. I remember my first taste of enemy fire many years ago at Jumonville Glen. I will never forget the sound of bullets whistling past my head as we attacked the French and their Indian allies. I lived, and I knew then that I could stand in enemy fire. You did just that today, Gabriel. Be proud.

Gabriel knew that most of his time had been spent hugging the ground atop Prospect Hill, but he liked the mental picture of him standing tall against British cannon better, so he let any more details go unspoken. Still, he could hardly believe that this was not an all-out British attack. Are you sure the fighting is over on Prospect Hill? questioned Gabriel.

Listen, answered Washington. What do you hear?

Gabriel stood quietly. He heard nothing but the ringing in his ears. I don’t hear anything.

Exactly, said Washington. If the men on Prospect Hill were being attacked, we would hear the British cannon booming. I just rode from the hill. I am convinced all is as well as it can be at the moment. Come, brush yourself off and let us go inside. We have a letter to write as I recall.

It seemed strange to go from being blasted by cannon, to the mundane task of letter writing, but Gabriel’s life had been anything but normal since the death of his parents. If Washington wanted to discuss letters, then who was Gabriel to say otherwise?

As he stepped inside the Vassal house, which served as Washington’s headquarters, Gabriel took a moment to take in the grand surroundings. The large entryway and stair case greeted him. A crystal chandelier with dozens of candles hung overhead and polished hardwood floors contrasted the whitewashed walls. A massive wooden table was the centerpiece of the dining room, and just on the other side was a door.

Washington opened the door leading to his office and walked around to a plain oak desk. He took off his tri-corn hat and riding jacket, hanging them on a hook on the wall. Washington’s height, his chiseled face, his broad shoulders, even the way he stood, seemed to fill the room. His reddish-brown hair was pulled back in a queue and set off his deep blue eyes that seemed to pierce one’s very soul. Under his riding jacket he wore a white linen shirt and dark dress breeches. Even though he had just dismounted from a hard ride on his horse, not a hair appeared out of place on Washington. Not a wrinkle could be found on his shirt or breeches. Washington waved his hand to a chair in front of his desk. Gabriel walked over to the chair and sat down.

Now, said Washington, taking a seat behind his desk, before we get to work, I want to know what you thought about the camp at Prospect Hill. Give me your thoughts.

Gabriel was not sure how to answer. He was known for getting himself in trouble for being a little too free with his tongue. Do you want to know what I really think?

Yes, of course, replied Washington.

You mean you want the truth about what I think? asked Gabriel.

Washington paused a moment and then leaned over his desk. Gabriel, let us get one thing clear. You must never be afraid to tell me the truth about what you think, especially if you believe it is something I do not wish to hear. I must hear the truth. Do you understand?

I understand, sir. Even though Gabriel knew that Washington wanted the truth, he was trying to think of a nice way to put things. I do not know much about building defenses, but it looked like the trenches and fences were coming along nicely. Gabriel paused and swallowed hard. But there were some things I noticed about the soldiers.

Go on, prodded Washington.

Well, sir, said Gabriel taking a swallow, They looked more like the beggars I used to see on the streets of New York than soldiers. Their clothes were frayed, torn, and covered in dirt. There was very little order to how things were getting done. Boys ran wild around camp, while their fathers sat around the campfire and smoked their pipes. Men shot guns for no reason and there seemed to be plenty of liquor to go around. I met General Putnam. He looked just like one of his soldiers and did not seem to act any differently either. I guess I had a different picture in my mind on how soldiers dressed and acted. They were brave enough under the fire of cannon, but nobody shot back. I am not sure why.

Upon finishing, Gabriel wished he had not been quite so bold with his negative comments. I am sorry, sir. I should not have said so many bad things about the army.

Gabriel Cooper grinned Washington, I am proud of you. Very well said, indeed.

Gabriel looked confused, What do you mean?

Do you think that the commander in chief of this army would fail to make an assessment of the condition of his soldiers when he arrived in camp? Washington did not wait for an