Eric Mentzer

Two boys, fishing on the banks of a small stream, threw their poles aside and pushed their bodies flat against the ground. Underneath the mulberry bushes they tried hard to become invisible. To their right, a small group of British soldiers marched up the road in the direction of Philadelphia.

“Look! On the road!”

“Yea, I see them! Redcoats!”  The young boy replied in a hushed, but excited voice.

“What do you suppose they could be up to? Jacob Gable, the older boy, about sixteen, whispered.

“Dunno,” Isaac, his brother, a year his junior replied. “A little bunch like that can’t cause no trouble. There ain’t over a dozen or so….one….two…three…”

“Yep, that’s what it is, I counted them already,” Jacob interrupted.

“Well, we better hightail it on home and tell Pa. He’s gonna wanna tell General Washington!”

“Yeah, but lay still till they get out o’ sight.”

The boys lay frozen under the mulberry bush, making sure not to move a muscle as the soldiers came closer, their vibrant red coats shining brilliantly in the bright sun. They marched in perfect order, two columns of six. Each man carried a heavy field pack and the standard Brown Bess musket.

“Just like they was doin’ a parade,” Isaac whispered. Jacob nudged him gently with his elbow and put his finger up to his lips, motioning for him to be quiet!

The troops, now almost directly in front of the boys’ hiding place were no more than fifty yards away. Isaac’s position allowed him to see down the road for several hundred yards. He had a good view of the soldiers as they came closer, but now, as they marched past, they disappeared from view. He desperately wanted to move his head so he could watch them, but he knew he dare not risk it.

In a moment, he was glad he had not moved. Coming around a bend in the road, at the limit of his view, were more Redcoats!

Careful not to make a motion that would attract the attention of the British, he tapped his brother on his right arm. Jacob motioned for him to be quiet again. Isaac tapped again, more urgently. With that, Jacob risked moving his head enough to make eye contact.

“Shhh!” Jacob said, barely audible.

Isaac rolled his eyes toward the new enemy and pointed in their direction. Jacob’s eyes went wide in horror as he watched in silence.

The first group, past them now, had their backs to the boys. The young lads crawfished down the creek bank and out of sight from the road.

"Let's get out of here!"  Isaac whispered. "We can get across the creek and into the woods 'fore that other bunch gets here."

"No!" Jacob responded. "We know there's a whole passel of 'em. General Washington is gonna wanna know how many. We gotta stay and count 'em."

"We can't do that." Isaac 's voice broke.

"We gotta."

Isaac drew in a deep breath through his nose and crawled back up the bank where he could see the road again. Jacob squirmed in alongside him. They moved to their left, behind thicker bushes.

At the head of the new column, one soldier carried the Union Jack and beside him another held a brigade banner emblazoned with a large '1'.

"Just look at 'em!" The younger boy said. "They're four wide and each bunch has about twenty in a row. That's eighty in a bunch...They's hundreds of 'em!"

"How many bunches are there? Six, seven, ten, fourteen..."

"They's another flag comin' 'round the bend. That one has a '2' on it."

"Yeah," still counting. "Twenty five out there now! And still more comin'! Let's get out of here! We've seen over a thousand already. We gotta get word to Pa."

"Get your fishin' pole, Jacob," the younger boy said. "If they catch us we're just two boys fishin'. Even the Redcoats might let us go."

"Good idea, Isaac," Jacob said. They picked up their poles, and started toward the water.

"HALT! In the name of the king!" Two Redcoats held muskets pointing steadily at the boys. One looked over his shoulder and shouted, "Sergeant! There's two spies over here."

Realizing that the fishing pole idea had little chance of keeping them out of a British prison, both boys turned to run. Isaac splashed across the stream, but Jacob tangled his foot among a part of some exposed roots and fell face down in the mud. Trying to rise, he slipped again, delaying him long enough for the soldier to cover the distance between them and plant a foot squarely on Jacobs's back.

Isaac cleared the creek as a musket ball smacked against a tree trunk beside his head. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jacob go down and he ran into the dense forest. The brush thinned as he increased his distance from the creek. Faster and faster he ran as the trees got farther apart. He didn't look back and his breath came harder as he pushed himself more. Up the slope and through the briars, he scrambled. Unencumbered by a backpack or weapons, as were his pursuers, Isaac felt sure he could outrun the Redcoats. Still he pushed himself on, up the slope and through the woods, his gasps for air becoming more rapid with every second.

Finally, at the top of the rise, the woods gave way to a grassy field, but he had used the last of his strength and could not take advantage of the open spaces. He dropped down behind some bushes at the edge of the forest, panting and looked back for the first time. His lungs burning and his heart pounding, he studied the forest behind him for any sign of the Redcoats. There were none and there was no sign of Jacob, either.

 

 

Back at the roadway, the British sergeant came running up with half of his twelve-man contingent.

"What have you here, private?"

"Two spies, sergeant," the soldier replied. The man laid the musket's barrel against the back of Jacob's neck and grinned. "I've captured one. The other escaped across the creek."

The sergeant looked at the two fishing poles.

"Yes," he said, "I can see that you have captured a dangerous enemy boy, taking the king's fish."

"No, no, Sergeant," the man said. "They were layin' here on the bank. Spyin' on us, they was. I seen 'em. They was countin' our troops."

"Likely story." The sergeant pursed his lips and shook his head. He waved his finger back and forth between the two soldiers, "We have a prisoner, private. You two take him back to General Knyphausen for questioning. Mayhaps, the general will learn how many fish they took."

The two soldiers dragged Jacob to his feet, giving him no chance to wipe the mud from his face. They tied his hands behind his back and pushed him off down the road toward the main body of approaching troops.

"Cox and Williams," the sergeant yelled and pointed to two of the other soldiers. "You take up our left flanking position. We're moving out."

Isaac stayed inside the edge of the forest for no more than ten minutes, while his strength gradually returned. With it came the realization that if Jacob hadn't come up by now, he was not coming. Climbing to his feet, he burst out of the forest and onto the open field.

He was a good runner. Many a time he had raced his older brother. Jacob could outrun him in the short distance, but Isaac had learned to pace himself and at a quarter mile he always left Jacob in the dust. He paced himself now, not at his fastest, but at what he thought was the fastest he could keep up all the way home.

Across the field, Isaac held his pace. Then he took advantage of a few seconds to rest as he climbed through a split rail fence, then on again at his set pace. He passed a cabin where a little girl feeding chickens looked up as he approached.

"The Redcoats are comin'! The Redcoats are comin'!" he yelled, but he didn't slow down.

All along the ridge he ran, holding his speed as his second wind took hold.

“I must be halfway,” he told himself and plunged into another stand of forest. The closely spaced trees slowed his progress, but the slower pace did not help his dwindling strength and air supply.

He turned off the ridge, downhill toward the valley. Here he did get some relief. His lungs burned and his legs ached. It was still hard, but he was covering more distance with each step. Down the hill he plunged, steadying himself by grabbing onto small trees as he went by. Finally, his feet splashed into the water of the creek at the edge of his own pasture. He wanted desperately to stop and drink.

“No, I'll drink after I tell Pa”.

He ran on. The family cow, grazing nearby, looked up and watched for a moment.

"Paaaaaaaaaaaaaa! Paaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Isaac yelled as he crossed the open pasture between the creek and their house. "Pa! The Redcoats are comin'!"

"Whoa! Settle down, Isaac," his mother said, meeting him at the door. "Where's your brother?"

"It's true, Ma," the boy panted. He leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees, gasping for breath. "We seen 'em... They's hundreds of 'em... Maybe thousands... We gotta tell Pa... Where is he?"

"Your pa's not here!" his mother yelled. "Now, where's your brother?"