I Survived the American Revolution, 1776

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  FRONTISPIECE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  A FASCINATING RESEARCH JOURNEY

  MY RESEARCH JOURNEY

  FOR FURTHER READING AND LEARNING

  SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT

  Nathaniel Fox was too young to be fighting in the Revolutionary War. He was only eleven years old. But here he was on a blood-soaked battlefield in Brooklyn, New York. Thousands of British soldiers were on the attack. And Nate was sure that he was about to die.

  Gunfire crackled through the air.

  KI-crack!

  Cannon blasts shook the ground.

  Kaboom!

  Already one of Nate’s friends was lying dead in the dirt, shot through the heart. And now Nate was running for his life. He tore through the thick forest, dodging trees and stumbling over rocks. His mind swirled with fear. Blood pounded in his ears. And then came an even more terrifying sound: heavy footsteps right behind him.

  Nate whipped his head around in panic. Over his shoulder, he saw an enormous soldier chasing after him. The man’s musket was aimed at Nate’s back. Attached to the gun’s tip was a killing sword — a bayonet.

  Nate ran faster, desperate to escape. But he could hear the man’s pounding steps, and his grunting breaths.

  “I’m not a soldier!” Nate wanted to scream.

  But it was too late. The man was closing in.

  Closer, closer, closer.

  Nate braced himself for the killing stab. He was sure this was the end.

  And then came an ear-shattering blast.

  Boom!

  Nate saw flames. A blinding light.

  And then the world went black.

  Nate crawled along his uncle’s vegetable garden, tugging up weeds and flicking away fat green worms. The burning sun cooked his back. His muscles ached from hours of work. But even worse was the sound of his uncle’s voice, barking through the open dining room window. His uncle was talking about the war with England.

  Nate peeked through the window. His uncle, Uriah Storch, was sitting at the fine wooden table. He was eating his noon meal with his best friend, Mr. Marston. Nate breathed in the delicious food smells. But there was nothing delicious about watching Storch gobble the leg of a roasted goose. Storch pretended to be a gentleman. But Nate had seen hogs with better manners.

  “George Washington should be hanged!” Storch was saying, cracking the poor goose’s bone with his large teeth.

  George Washington was the commander of the American army. Most people in Connecticut loved General Washington. They called themselves Patriots, which meant they were rooting for the Americans to win the war.

  But Storch and his pal were on England’s side. Storch hated George Washington more than he hated the fleas that crawled around his curled white wig.

  Storch turned toward the kitchen and bellowed, “More meat!”

  Seconds later Eliza hurried in, carrying a silver platter piled high with fresh goose.

  Eliza stood patiently while the men heaped food on their plates. She’d been up since dawn cooking this meal. But neither of the men thanked her, or even looked at her. Nate hated living here with Storch. But Eliza had it far worse. Nate was his nephew. Eliza was Storch’s slave.

  Nate caught Eliza’s eye through the window. He pushed together his lips and puffed out his cheeks — his best Storch imitation. Eliza raised her eyebrow at Nate, a reminder that he’d better watch himself. Storch was always looking for an excuse to give Nate a whack with his walking stick. He would not be happy to see Nate’s blue eyes peering through the window.

  Nate ducked away. He had hours of work left to do, but he needed a break from the heat. He went to a shady spot under the cherry tree and looked down at the Long Island Sound. He loved watching the ships sailing by.

  Nate closed his eyes and pretended he was on one of those ships, heading out to the open sea. His mind filled up with the sounds of flapping sails and squawking seagulls. He imagined a cool sea breeze ruffling his hair. He could practically feel his father’s strong hand resting on his shoulder.

  Papa had been a ship’s captain. After Nate’s mama got sick and died, when Nate was just four, Papa started taking Nate along with him on his voyages. Nate grew up crisscrossing the ocean with Papa and his crews.

  What a happy life!

  Sure, not every kid would want to grow up on the sea. The creaking wooden sailing ships were crawling with rats. The stale, wormy biscuits could break your teeth. Nate’s bed was a hammock hanging from the ceiling.

  But none of that mattered. Because Nate was with Papa.

  Nate pictured his father’s green eyes flashing from under his old sailing cap, his black ponytail waving in the wind. He’d wrap his arm around Nate’s shoulder as they stood on the deck, looking out at the endless ocean.

  “You never know what’s ahead,” Papa would say, his eyes brimming with excitement.

  But now a wave of sadness crashed over Nate.

  Papa died almost two years ago, while they were sailing home from a trip to the Caribbean islands. The voyage had been smooth, with steady winds, a glassy sea, and a crew of ten men. Nate’s favorite crew member was Paul Dobbins, a joking eighteen-year-old with bright red hair and a gap-toothed grin. He’d sailed with Papa before, and had always treated Nate like a favorite brother.

  They had been halfway through their three-week voyage home when they sailed into the path of a wicked storm. It came out of nowhere, a ferocious squall with swirling black clouds, pounding rain, and lightning that tore open the sky. The winds blew like dragon’s breath. Waves crashed over the deck.

  Papa and the crew worked frantically, sliding across rain-soaked decks and pushing through the whipping winds. Giant, twisting waves spun the ship like a toy.

  The crew managed to take down the sails. But then a twenty-foot wave grabbed hold of Papa and swept him off the deck. In a blink, he was swallowed up by the sea — and gone forever.

  Suddenly Nate was an orphan with just one living relative in the world: the uncle that Papa had always hated. Papa had stayed away from Storch, a man as mean as he was rich. Storch was the last person Papa would have wanted Nate to live with.

  But where else could Nate go?

  Paul had promised to stay in touch. He’d hugged Nate tight and sworn he’d always look after him. “We’re blood, you and me,” he’d said.

  But that was just talk. Nate hadn’t heard a peep from Paul in two years, and he had no idea why.

  Nate knew he should be thankful that Storch gave him a home. Plenty of orphans ended up as beggars. At least Nate had family to take him in. Except Storch had never treated Nate like family. A stray dog was more like it.

  It was Eliza who’d made sure Nate knew he wasn’t alone in the world. During Nate’s first months with Storch, he was tortured by nightmares. He’d wake up and find Eliza sitting by his bed. She’d be gripping his hand tight, like she’d just pulled him out of the churning sea. She was Nate’s family now.

  Nate stood there under the cherry tree, his mind swirling with sad memories. He was so distracted he didn�
��t hear the footsteps creeping up behind him.

  Something poked his back. A voice growled.

  “Back to work or I’ll chop you up!”

  Nate stood very still.

  “Are you a pirate?” Nate asked.

  “Yes,” the voice said. “A pie-wit. I want my tweasure.”

  Nate’s heart lifted up.

  He whirled around to face his attacker: three-year-old Theo, Eliza’s little boy. He was waving his pirate sword — a spindly stick from the cherry tree.

  Theo was supposed to be napping — and out of Storch’s sight. But here he was, wide awake.

  “You are very fierce!” Nate told his friend.

  Theo stood proudly, his brown eyes gleaming like polished gold. He’d been wild about pirates for months now, ever since Nate started telling him stories about his adventures at sea.

  Theo waved his stick sword.

  “Aargh!” he shouted out in his most pirate-like voice.

  Nate grabbed Theo around the waist and picked him up. Theo’s happy giggles rose up, whooshing over Nate like a breeze.

  Seconds later Eliza came rushing out of the house, her skirt swirling around her shoes. Eliza had Theo’s same dark brown skin and big, bright eyes. But unlike Theo, Eliza wasn’t smiling.

  “You both need to hush!” she warned, looking toward the house. “You know what he could do if he hears!”

  He, of course, was Storch. He had no patience for giggling, and even less for Theo himself.

  Eliza’s worst nightmare was that Storch would sell Theo, just like he’d sold Eliza’s husband, Gregory, a few months before Nate arrived. Eliza rarely talked about Gregory — it hurt her too much, Nate knew. But she had told Nate a few things about her husband — that he was joyful like Theo and had those same bright eyes, that not one hour went by without her missing him.

  What a fool Nate was, getting Theo all riled up!

  Luckily Storch was probably too busy cursing George Washington to notice Theo’s giggles.

  “Mama,” Theo said very quietly. “I a pie-wit.”

  Eliza’s eyes softened, and she and Nate shared a little smile.

  “Even pirates have to be quiet,” Eliza said, kissing Theo on the nose. “Or they get into trouble.”

  Storch’s voice bellowed from the house.

  “Cake!”

  “I’ll keep this pirate out of trouble,” Nate promised.

  Eliza rushed inside to serve Storch and his friend.

  Theo put his face close to Nate’s.

  “Tell a pie-wit story!” Theo begged. “Tell about Slash!”

  Slash was Slash O’Shea, the greatest living pirate. Nate had grown up hearing Papa’s stories about Slash. And Nate had shared most of them with Theo. Slash got his name from the dagger strapped to the stump where his hand used to be.

  Some pirates were nothing more than low-life thieves. They captured ships and stole everything they could. They murdered anyone who got in their way. Not Slash. He’d never killed a man. And he gave some of his treasure away — mostly to orphans. He’d sneak into cities disguised in ragged beggar’s clothes and hand out gold coins to kids living on the streets.

  “I’ll tell you a Slash story later,” said Nate. “How about a song?”

  A grin spread across Theo’s face.

  He loved when Nate sang shanties — the songs sailors crooned as they did their work. Nate sang Theo one of Papa’s favorites, about the sun rising up over the sea.

  Soon enough Theo’s eyes were closed.

  Nate gently pried the stick-sword from Theo’s hand. He lifted his little friend up and carried him to a soft patch of grass. Then Nate went back to his weeds and worms.

  Storch and Marston had finished their cake and were puffing on cigars.

  They were still talking about the war.

  “Don’t worry, my friend; this war will be over soon,” Storch was saying. “The king sent hundreds of ships. The big battle is coming any day. Washington and his army of traitors will soon be crushed.”

  Marston nodded his jowly face in agreement.

  Nate didn’t pay much attention to the war. He understood what it was about: whether the thirteen American colonies should stay a part of England or become a country of their own.

  He remembered the late-night talks on Papa’s ships. Nate would lie in his hammock and listen to Papa and the men griping about England and King George.

  There was no mention of a war back then. Most of the men were proud that America was part of England, the most powerful country on Earth. But they hated paying so many taxes — the extra money England made the colonists pay when they bought things like tea and paper. They’d started to see King George as a bully who didn’t care about the people who lived in the colonies.

  Their fiery discussions would last deep into the night. Nate would struggle to stay awake. He never wanted to miss a word of what they were saying.

  But now Nate didn’t care about King George. It didn’t matter to him who won the war. Whatever happened, he was pretty sure Eliza and Theo would still be slaves. Papa would still be gone. And Nate would be stuck here, pulling up Storch’s weeds.

  Nate stopped listening to Storch and Marston. Time crawled by. The front door banged open and Mr. Marston walked out to his waiting carriage. Storch stood outside and waved good-bye as he puffed on a cigar.

  It was right then that Nate realized that Theo wasn’t asleep in the grass anymore. Nate scanned the yard until he spotted the little boy. He was next to the house, just a few yards from Storch. Theo had found a new pirate sword — an enormous stick, almost as big as he was. He was spinning around and around like a top. The stick whipped around with him.

  Storch had his back turned and couldn’t see Theo.

  Just then Theo stumbled. The stick slipped from his hand. It flew surprisingly fast, like a spear.

  And it was heading right for Storch’s head.

  Nate’s heart stopped. He opened his mouth to scream out a warning.

  But it was too late.

  Thwack!

  The stick smacked Storch right on the back of his head.

  He cursed in pain. And then Nate’s uncle fell to the ground like an empty sack.

  Nate’s mind swirled. He was afraid he might vomit. It wasn’t Storch’s moans of pain that sickened him.

  It was knowing what would happen to Theo.

  Storch would sell him for sure. Eliza would lose him forever, just like she’d lost her husband, Gregory.

  Nate rushed over to Theo, who was trying to hide behind the cherry tree.

  Nate lifted Theo up and hugged him close.

  Eliza was on the porch now, bending down to help Storch.

  Eliza looked up. She spotted Nate and Theo. Her eyes locked with Nate’s. And in that split second Nate could see she understood exactly what had happened.

  Nate had to get Theo out of here!

  “Don’t worry!” Nate whispered to Theo. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  But Nate’s words seemed to scatter in the wind.

  Of course he couldn’t just run off with Theo.

  Theo wasn’t just any little boy. He was a slave. To Storch, Theo wasn’t a person. He was valuable property. Storch wouldn’t just let him go. He’d hire slave catchers. He’d offer a fat reward. He’d never stop looking.

  There was nothing Nate could to do help Theo.

  Unless …

  An idea flickered in Nate’s mind like a little flame.

  Storch hadn’t seen Theo throw the stick, had he? His back had been turned.

  What if Nate could trick Storch into thinking someone else had thrown the stick?

  Then Theo would be safe.

  Nate put Theo down.

  “Run behind the barn,” Nate whispered. “Never tell anyone what happened with that stick.”

  “You come, too.” Theo said, clinging to Nate’s arm.

  “Soon,” Nate said, struggling to keep his voice steady.

  He hated ly
ing to Theo. But he had no choice.

  Theo turned and dashed away.

  Nate stood up. With clenched fists and shaking legs, Nate made his way to where Storch was now sitting up. Eliza was pressing a rag to his bleeding head.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “It was an accident. The stick slipped from my hand.”

  “Nate,” Eliza whispered.

  Storch struggled to his feet, glaring at Nate with fury.

  If Storch’s eyes had been cannons, they would have blasted Nate into the sky.

  He lunged forward.

  Smack!

  He slapped Nate across the face. Nate staggered back. His face felt like he had been scalded with boiling water.

  Tears sprang into Nate’s eyes — tears of relief.

  That slap meant that Storch believed him. That Theo was safe, at least for now.

  But Nate was not.

  Storch lunged forward and grabbed Nate by the throat. His hands were like iron claws. With his bulging eyes and blood-smeared face, Storch looked like a sea monster from Nate’s worst nightmares.

  Nate struggled but couldn’t break free from the choking grip.

  Eliza screamed, but the voice inside Nate’s mind screamed louder.

  He’s going to kill me!

  With his last ounce of strength, Nate whipped his arm up and bashed his fist into the side of Storch’s head.

  Storch lost his grip and fell back.

  Nate took one last look at Eliza.

  “Go,” she mouthed.

  Nate turned and ran.

  Nate’s eyes snapped open.

  Hideous pictures flashed through his mind — a blood-streaked face, clawlike hands grabbing for his throat.

  He blinked hard to end this nightmare, to shake himself awake.

  But then Nate understood — he was awake.

  He was hiding out in the woods about three miles from Storch’s house. This is where he’d wound up after his breathless run. He’d sat here under the trees for hours, in a kind of numb shock, trying to figure out what to do.

  Somehow he must have fallen asleep.

  It was now pitch dark. Strange sounds rose up around him. Clicks and buzzes and hoots, the rustling of invisible wings and paws. His jaw throbbed. His neck felt swollen and bruised. But even worse was the loneliness. He felt like a castaway clinging to a barrel in a stormy ocean.