Chapter ten! The aftermath of the cannon stealing. I apologize in advance, this will be a short chapter.
Washington was as good as his word. That very night, as soon as they were alone in the tent, he launched into a lecture about disobedience, the danger he'd put himself and his friends into, and how they were very lucky to be alive, the absolute miracle that they'd managed to survive dragging a cannon bigger than they were through the streets of New York while bullets whizzed around them, and finished with a 'do you know how much trouble you'd be in if you had been hurt young man.'
What surprised Alexander most was when the General shook his head and told him, "Martha will be absolutely furious with the both of us." He didn't understand. Alex knew that Martha was Washington's wife, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out why she'd be angry. Noting his confused look, the General explained,
"With me for possibly letting you die and at you for possibly dying."
Nodding, Alex was still dwelling on the matter late into the night. Slipping out of bed to get some water, he noticed the papers spread out over Washington's desk. Three words in particular caught his eye.
Our adopted son.
Curse him, but Alexander edged closer to the desk and picked up the letter, careful not to wake the General, who was sleeping but a few feet away. Squinting to read it in the faint moonlight, Alex let his eyes roam over the page.
Dearest Martha, the letter began.
You will not believe the stunt our adopted son pulled off today. Alexander and his three friends actually crept into the midst of a battle and managed to steal a British cannon. It's a miracle that they are alive, to be honest.
No. Not okay. Alex dropped the letter back onto the desktop, closing his eyes as the tent spun about him. He was no one's adopted son, certainly not General Washington's. Except…..he kind of wanted to be. It was nice, to have an adult who cared about him, something he hadn't had since his mother had died. But he would leave, because everyone left eventually, he would leave and Alexander would be alone again, trying to find his footing.
Flopping back down onto his cot, he stared at the roof of the tent, listening to the slow, even breathing of the General. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes as the words from the letter ran around in his head.
Our adopted son, our adopted son, our…. son.
The next morning, he rose pretending like he hadn't seen the letter. When Washington smiled at him and ruffled his hair, he felt a lump grow in his throat, but ignored it. When Tench asked him to draft a few letters because he 'did it better than most of the aides anyways and would probably be one himself if he wasn't too young' he did so, sitting quietly at the desk in the corner. His friends noticed his discontent.
"Mon petit lion, how are you faring on this fine day?" Gilbert inquired as he leaned up against the desk that Alex sat at, penning a letter to Congress. Technically, he wasn't supposed to be writing, but he'd seen the letter on a stack of papers and couldn't resist sharing some of his ideas with the fools in Philadelphia. Alexander tried to wave him away before he knocked over an inkwell or candle. Gilbert was not exactly known for his gracefulness.
"Just fine, Gil, please be careful." The French boy frowned. "Non, you are not. You have been silent and if I say so, rather, ah, 'down', is that how you say?" Alex sighed. There was no deterring Gilbert when he was set on finding something. "How are you and the Millers doing?"
Gilbert frowned. "We are quite well, you have spent many evenings with Mr. Miller as well, so why do you ask?" Alexander shook his head. "I mean as a family. Do you feel like you…. belong?"
A odd look spread over his friend's face. "Well, they certainly do feel less like strangers than they did a few months ago. So, yes, I suppose it does feel a bit more like a family." Ah. Well, Gilbert never seemed to have any problems bonding with people. Maybe it was only Alexander who felt the need to push people away, whether it be for their sake, or his own, or both. He sighed and dipped the pen back into the inkwell.
John had almost immediately regretted the decision to steal the cannon when they got back to the army's camp and saw the expressions on the faces of the General and his father. Washington, on one hand, looked almost pleasantly surprised, if not a bit worried, which was slowly giving way to relief as he saw that they were alive and unscathed. His father, however, looked like there was nothing John could have done to disappoint him more.
And the minute the General had dismissed them for the night, he had all but dragged John back to their tent and gotten worked up in what quickly turned out to be a yelling match.
"What on earth were you four thinking? Not only did you disobey direct orders that came from me and General Washington, you disobeyed those orders to sneak into the middle of a battle to steal cannons from armed, trained British soldiers, when you could have been killed or captured at any moment!"
John groaned internally. He'd heard this lecture before. His father plowed on regardless. "Can you imagine, for a moment, what would have happened in the event you'd been caught? Your friend the French marquis, though just a boy, would be a powerful tool for the British in bartering with the French monarchy. And a spy, well that's essentially handing them the positions of our men, where and how we get our supplies. We'd be dead in weeks! As for you and the other, Hamilton, simply your knowledge of the army would be enough to convince them to torture it out of you on the spot, if I'm not mistaken. If they didn't shoot you the moment they saw you, that is."
"And what of our family, back home in South Carolina? What of your own future? Do you never stop to think, John?" His father shook his head, a scowl on his face. A sudden anger surged through him.
"I don't want to stay behind and wait it out! I want to help, to actually do something for this war! This was a way to do that." he argued. "Anything at all, even running messages would be fine. Or writing! Alexander does that sometimes, I could help him, and the General surely wouldn't mind a few more aides at his disposal."
"The General doesn't need a few boys playing at war to handle his important correspondence!" his father shouted back. "John, you are far too young for this, and so are your friends! It's a miracle that the Mulligan boy is even entrusted with missions of such importance. People in their youth are foolish, you know that as well as I! All you need to do in this war is stay alive, stay alive until you're old enough to actually be of use, and then you can become a soldier or whatever you like, if the war even lasts that long. I don't want to have to tell your siblings that their elder brother is dead, understand?"
John had heard that from his father several times before. It was what he always was told when he eagerly asked if he could join a battalion or take part in the latest campaign. But he remembered his sisters playing in the house, laughter echoing off the walls, and his brothers shouting as they fake- sparred with long sticks from the woods. He nodded. Very well. He would stay alive so he could go home and see them again.
His father sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Good. Now, if you don't mind, I think I'm going to sleep." John didn't mind. He went outside as soon as his father had fallen asleep, sitting a little ways from the earthworks and looking up at the stars. A small cough from behind him caused him to jump a bit. Turning, he caught sight of Hercules Mulligan.
"Hercules! What are you doing out here?"
"I could ask the same of you, John."
The two lay on their backs in the grass, looking up at the constellations. "My dad was pretty angry at me. Chewed me out over the foolishness of our little expedition." John explained. "After he fell asleep, I decided I could do with some fresh air."
Herc nodded. "I know what you mean. Maybe we were a bit foolish, but I think we did it for the right reasons, and so that sort of evens the score, right?" John rolled onto his side to look over at his friend. "You know, I'm starting to think you're a philosopher, Hercules."
His friend grinned and punched his arm playfully. "Yep, that's me. Hercules Mulligan, spy extraordinaire and philosopher. And of course, being a tailor's apprentice in my spare time." The night passed in a blur of conversation until they eventually headed back to their own beds.
Gilbert had been expecting Mr. Miller to shout at him, or at the very least lecture him sternly. What he got when they reached the tent was a fit of laughter, the man's fist banging on the table as he tried to rein in his wild laughing.
"Oh…. God, Gilbert, you….. absolute fool, I can't even …..what on earth were you thinking, young man, you're in such trouble …..just you wait until Rebecca hears about this, she'll …..lose her mind …..you perfect little genius." The rest of his words dissolved into cackling, until he wiped his eyes and took a few deep breaths.
"Seriously, though, don't go putting yourself into such danger again, young man. But oh my God, that was brilliant. Foolish, absolutely, but brilliant nonetheless. Stealing the cannon, that was perfect. Now the British have one less weapon, and we have one more. And, maybe we should just keep this under wraps, until after this is all done? I think Rebecca would probably chew me out for allowing you to go under enemy fire in the dead of night. You know what, we won't tell her any stories from this war until after it's over." John Miller decided. "We wouldn't want her to worry, now would we." He chuckled. "Although it might be a bit too late for that, ay?"
Yes, it likely was. When Gilbert lay down to sleep that night, he could still hear Mr. Miller's faint chuckling a few feet away.
The next morning was cool and clear. Gilbert sauntered through the camp, getting amused glances from soldiers who had no doubt heard about the little raid the three boys had conducted. He even got a few salutes, which he returned in kind. His friends were nowhere to be seen, however, and he began to worry slightly. What if they had been in more trouble than himself? A quick check of the aides' offices revealed at least one other member of their group.
Alexander was hunched over a desk in the corner, writing furiously, occasionally glancing over at the paper beside the letter he was working on. Gilbert trotted up to him, leaning against the desk, careful to avoid the inkpot in the corner. He'd made the mistake of knocking one over once and was nearly chased from the room by a furious Alexander and a Tench Tilghman, who was apparently also using the ink.
"Mon petit lion, how are you faring on this fine day?" he inquired, catching the other boy's attention briefly. Alex waved his hands absentmindedly like he was trying to shoo Gilbert away, and continued working. "Just fine, Gil, please be careful."
No he wasn't. He looked upset, and he was completely silent, which was both a cause for happiness and a cause for concern, as it would usually take something very big to silence the little lion. "Non, you are not. You have been silent and if I say so, rather, ah, 'down', is that how you say?"
A sigh. And then, a question that Gilbert had not anticipated.
"How are you and the Millers doing?"
They were all fine, Alex knew that, he saw them every day. "We are quite well, you have spent many evenings with Mr. Miller as well, so why do you ask?" Alexander shook his head. "I mean like a family. Do you feel like you…. belong?"
Oh. Now that was a different matter altogether. Gilbert slowly though over his answer in his mind, surprised to find that yes, the people he'd only met a few months ago were starting to feel more and more like kin and less like strangers. "Well, they certainly do feel less like strangers than they did a few months ago. So, yes, I suppose it does feel a bit more like a family." Alexander sighed and dipped his pen in the ink again.
Gilbert wondered for a minute if something was wrong with his friend. Did he have anyone he felt close to? Apart from them, of course. He thought about General Washington. He looked up to the man, and knew that Alex did too, even if he wouldn't admit it. Perhaps over time they would grow closer. Gilbert shook his head. Petit lion was certainly very enigmatic.
At first, Hercules was relieved when Matthew said he wasn't mad at them for stealing the cannon. That relief quickly evaporated when the tailor crossed his arms and glared sternly down at him, saying instead, "I'm very disappointed in you, Hercules. You could have been killed, or captured, or worse even, and then I don't know what I would do. I know that you are still young, as are your friends, but please, for their sake, mine, your own, and that of their guardians, you four need to be more careful." A small smile briefly crossed his face. "That was very foolish of you, very foolish indeed, but it was still a, ah, interesting, shall we say, idea."
Nudging the bedpost slightly, Hercules admitted, "It was mostly Alexander's idea. But we all helped." he added quickly. Matthew smirked. "I've heard all about your little friend's crazy ideas, believe me." He turned to get ready for bed, pausing. "And Hercules, some advice. When you four all get together, you should choose a place with less echoing. But I do agree with the kid, at least. Congress is rather incompetent at times."
As he fell asleep that night, Hercules made a mental note to tell the others that they needed to change their meeting place.
Well, he would have fallen asleep, if not for Matthew's infernal snoring. Groaning quietly, he swung his legs over the side of the cot and stood up, he made his way to the tent flaps and pushed out into the cool night.
The stars were bright above him as he made his way about the camp, occasionally dodging the night guards as they made their rounds. At the edge of the thicket of tents, he made his way to a clear stretch of grass out of view of anyone from the camp. A gentle wind was blowing, and Hercules thought that it seemed both melancholy and beautiful. Rather ironic for a war.
Another figure was sitting in the grass, gazing up at the sky, their weight resting back against their hands. Herc recognized the poof of brown hair. It was John. He coughed slightly to alert the other boy to his presence. John jumped slightly, turning quickly, but he relaxed and grinned when he saw Hercules.
"Hercules! What are you doing out here?"
He smiled. "I could ask the same of you, John."
They lay under the stars for a while, just taking it all in, until John broke the silence. "My dad was pretty angry at me. Chewed me out over the foolishness of our little expedition. After he fell asleep, I decided I could do with some fresh air." Hercules could understand that. He nodded, explaining his own reasons. "I know what you mean. Maybe we were a bit foolish, but I think we did it for the right reasons, and so that sort of evens the score, right?" He decided to leave out the bit that he had left the tent mainly because of Matthew's snoring.
John rolled over and met his eyes. "You know, I'm starting to think you're a philosopher, Hercules." Ha. He grinned lightly punched John's arm in a playful manner. "Yep, that's me. Hercules Mulligan, spy extraordinaire and philosopher. And of course, being a tailor's apprentice in my spare time." John laughed at that, and they spoke about whatever came to mind, until the moon was high in the sky and they could scarcely keep their eyes open.
As Hercules slipped back into the tent, he was relieved to note that Matthew's snores had finally abated. Good. His next resort would have been a gag of some sort. Rolling over on his cot, he slipped off to sleep.
This is the product of writer's block, spite, and adrenaline, so I am sorry it is not the best and also rather short. The next chapter will be better. And I'm shooting for an update every Saturday, some time before midnight. Hope you enjoyed it, review please! Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant, ~RedCoatsRedder