Little Spy of Vincennes (Patriot Kids of the American Revolution Book 3) Read online

  Little Spy

  of Vincennes

  Patriot Kids of the

  American Revolution Series

  Book Three

  GEOFF BAGGETT

  Copyright © 2017 Geoff Baggett

  Cocked Hat Publishing

  P.O. Box 2382

  Cadiz, Kentucky 42211

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 0-9973833-6-2

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9973833-6-2

  DEDICATION

  To all of the brave boys and girls who lived on the Colonial-American frontier. It is because of their courage and sacrifice that we enjoy the great nation that we have today. We must strive to find new and creative ways to honor their memories.

  Cover Design by Natasha Snow - natashasnow.com

  Books for kids

  by geoff baggett

  Patriot Kids of the American Revolution Series

  Little Hornet (Book One)

  Little Warrior (Book Two)

  Little Spy of Vincennes (Book Three)

  Kentucky Frontier Adventures

  A Bucket Full of Courage: Betsy Johnson of Bryan Station

  *This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

  A FORGOTTEN PLACE IN THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION

  In the early 1700’s the vast “Northwest Territories” of Colonial America, known as the “Illinois Country,” stretched across the modern states of Indiana and Illinois. The first Europeans to settle in this region were the French. They established farming and hunting villages near the many rivers that flowed through the region. For the most part, these Frenchmen lived in peace among the Native Americans in the region.

  After the end of the French and Indian War (1763), the British took control of the Illinois Country and established several outposts and forts for their army. They used the area as a “base of operations” to launch attacks against frontier outposts in Kentucky. An American colonel from Virginia, George Rogers Clark, wanted to end the attacks and the British influence upon the natives in the Illinois Country. He led an army to invade the region in 1778.

  This book tells about this invasion from the perspective of some of the French settlers who lived in the tiny village of Vincennes (now in Indiana). It deals with several difficult themes. You will read about the war, violence, guns, and Native Americans (called Indians or “Injuns” in the 18th Century). If you have questions about these things, I encourage you to talk to a parent or another responsible adult in your life. Ask questions. Learn more about your history. If you have difficulty with any of the unique “Revolutionary War words” that you encounter, be sure to check out the glossary in the back of the book.

  Geoff Baggett

  Part I

  Revolution!

  Chapter one

  A secret tunnel

  February 18, 1778

  Vincennes

  A Remote French Village on the Northwest Frontier

  The four boys heard a dull, crunching sound from deep inside the tunnel. A cloudy puff of dust drifted out of the opening. The odd sound was accompanied by a brief scream of fear. Then they heard a frantic call echo from deep inside the tunnel. “Help! Pierre! Jean-Luc! Please help me! I am buried!” The invisible voice screeched and screamed without ceasing from the darkness of the cavern.

  That desperate voice belonged to their tunnel-digging friend, Gaspard Turpin. It launched Pierre Grimard and the other diggers into immediate action.

  “Quickly! We must pull him out!” urged Pierre.

  He and the other three boys each dropped their buckets full of dirt and grabbed the rope that was dangling from the tunnel opening. It was their “safety rope,” and it was always tied to the ankle of the boy who was digging at the far end of their hidden tunnel. The boys had never needed to use the rope before, but now it seemed that their luck had finally run out.

  The frightened, frantic boys pulled with all their might. They were desperate to rescue their friend out of the dark hole. They tugged and strained and grunted, but Gaspard would not budge. He was a very tiny fellow. The four strong eight-year-old boys should have been able to pull him out with ease. Something was horribly wrong.

  “Pull harder!” squealed Pierre. “The sides have collapsed on him! Gaspard could die!”

  The desperate boys strained against the enormously heavy weight at the other end of the rope. Soon they felt the tiniest bit of movement. The rope then began to wiggle and vibrate as Gaspard kicked his leg.

  Pierre hissed, “I think he may be loose! Pull again! Quickly! We must save our friend!”

  Though the situation was urgent and Gaspard was in much danger, Pierre attempted to keep his voice as quiet as possible. He did not want to alert the British soldiers who stood watch atop the walls of nearby

  Fort Sackville. They definitely did not want to get caught by the ill-tempered, suspicious Redcoats.

  The boys were actually digging inside an abandoned shack. It served as their club and hideout. The old building sat hidden in a thick cluster of woods beside the Wabash River, a mere thirty feet from the nearest wall of the fort. It was surrounded by tall bushes and covered with vines. No one from Vincennes but these five little boys even knew that the shack existed. It was their secret hiding place. It was their wonderland of fun and imagination.

  The boys had been working on their underground tunnel for just a little over a month. Their goal was simple. The devious little troublemakers wanted to dig their way beneath the walls of Fort Sackville so that they might “borrow” a few supplies from the “enemy” army. They also wanted to play some tricks and jokes on the unsuspecting British soldiers and cause as much mischief as possible. It would be utterly heartbreaking if the British discovered their little spy game before they were finished.

  The boys did not fully understand it, but the game they were playing was a very dangerous one, indeed. Fort Sackville was the command post of the British Army in the region around Vincennes, and that army was currently at war with the rebel Americans of the United States. The Americans called the war a “revolution.” Because of this ongoing conflict, the British did not trust anyone, not even their longtime French neighbors. They worried constantly about an invasion by the Americans who lived down south in the wild Indian lands of Kentucky. They worried, also, about a possible rebellion among some of the local French people.

  The little fur-trading and farming village of Vincennes had always been a French community. French explorers and settlers from Canada founded the village around the year 1700. But now the entire area officially belonged to the British. It was English land. They took a vast amount of American territory from France after winning the French and Indian War in 1763. The British controlled every one of the tiny French villages and settlements in the region. Their authority reached westward all the way to the mighty Mississippi River.

  There were several dozen British soldiers stationed at Fort Sackville. The commander of the fort was a likable fellow named Lieutenant Governor Edward Abbott. The governor was generous toward the local residents and respected by the men of Vincennes. But the kindly Governor Abbott would not respond favorably to a secret tunnel beneath his fort. If the boys were ever caught they would be in very serious trouble. It could even cause problems for their fathers. All of their dads served in the Vincennes militia under Governor Abbott’s command.

  Of course, the mischievous little boys did not worry about such grown-up things. They just wanted to have some fun, and digging a secret tunnel w
as the ultimate adventure!

  But their current disaster was no fun, at all. Gaspard was caught beneath a mound of collapsed earth. He might be injured. He could even die! Pierre and the other boys were frantic with worry as they continued to pull with all their might on the rough rope. They felt the weight of Gaspard’s body moving steadily in their direction. Soon the boy’s black shoe and white sock came into view at the entrance of the tunnel.

  Pierre dropped the rope and grabbed his friend’s leg. He grunted as he gave it a mighty tug. The other boys continued to pull the rope. Gaspard popped out of the tunnel and landed on his belly on top of a pile of soft dirt. Pierre and the other three boys fell backwards with a loud thud and landed in a messy heap on top of one another. Poor Gaspard lay still and silent. His entire body and head were covered with loose dirt.

  Pierre climbed off of the pile of fallen boys and darted toward his buddy. He shook the boy’s shoulder. “Gaspard! Gaspard, my friend! Speak to me!” Jean-Luc, Adrien, and Quentin scrambled to their feet and joined Pierre at the injured boy’s side.

  Gaspard did not respond. Pierre grabbed his arm and flipped him over onto his back. The boy’s eyes were closed. His face and neck were streaked and stained black from the dark soil of the tunnel. He did not move. He did not even appear to be breathing. Pierre’s heart skipped a beat. He thought for certain that his friend was dead. He wondered how he would ever explain this tragedy to his father. Then he imagined the heartbreak of Gaspard’s parents, Francois and Josephine Turpin.

  Pierre shook his head and cleared those horrible, dark thoughts of death from his mind. He reached down and gave Gaspard a vigorous slap across his cheek. Still, the boy did not move. Pierre leaned close to the injured boy’s face and screamed, “Gaspard! Wake up! Now!”

  Quite unexpectedly Gaspard’s eyes popped open. The whites of his eyes glowed brightly against his gray, dirt-stained skin. Then his mouth expanded into a wide smile, revealing his shiny white teeth.

  “Hello, Pierre,” he mumbled. He coughed and spit some dirt out of his mouth. “What took you fellows so long?”

  Pierre and the other boys collapsed onto the cold ground beside Gaspard. They each breathed huge sighs of relief. They shook Gaspard good-naturedly and punched his shoulder in feigned anger. But really, deep down, they were so very glad that their friend was alive.

  Pierre slapped Gaspard across his belly and then scolded him, “We thought you were dead for sure! We pulled and pulled but you would not budge.”

  “I couldn’t move, Pierre! I had a mountain of dirt and rocks on top of me!”

  “What happened?” Pierre demanded. “What caused the cave-in?”

  “I don’t know. I was digging and making really good progress when the right side of the tunnel suddenly let go and collapsed right on top of me. It snuffed out my candle immediately and everything became pitch-black dark!”

  “How much of the right side collapsed?” asked Pierre.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe a few feet. It covered me from my neck to my knees. It scared me really badly. I had only a very small pocket of air beside my head. I yelled for you fellows, but wasn’t sure if you could hear me.”

  “Oh, we heard you,” responded Pierre.

  “Yes! It sounded like a whole barn full of roosters was buried in that hole with you,” teased Quentin, chuckling. The boys giggled and quietly mimicked his frantic cries from the depths of the tunnel.

  “I guess I was yelling quite a bit, wasn’t I?” Gaspard grinned again. “I knew you fellows heard me, though, when I felt the rope tightening against my leg. When the tugging started I thought you boys were going to pull my leg off! It took me a while to wiggle and move around so I could get some of the dirt off of my back and work myself free.”

  “Well, we got you out. That’s the important thing,” declared Pierre, smiling broadly. “There will be no funeral in Vincennes tomorrow. Your mother will be very happy.” He slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Come, now. We must get you cleaned up. You cannot go home looking like this. We don’t want any extra attention or nosy questions from our parents.”

  For the next half hour the boys helped Gaspard shake and clean the dirt from his clothing. The poor lad had dirt everywhere. It was in his shoes, in the pockets of his weskit, and even inside of his socks. He had to remove every single item of clothing, turn all of his garments inside out, and shake them thoroughly.

  Jean-Luc fetched Gaspard a fresh pail of water from the Wabash River. The frigid river water was all they had available for washing.

  Gaspard stuck his hand into the bucket and quickly jerked it back out. The water was so cold that he gasped. He shook his head. He whined, “No, guys! That’s too cold. Can’t we build a fire and warm the water?”

  Jean-Luc shook his head. “Certainly not! We would be discovered for sure and all of our plans would be ruined.”

  “I think our plans are already ruined,” answered Gaspard. “I don’t think we can ever finish that

  tunnel. I know that I will never go back into that hole again.”

  “You’re probably right. But we can worry about all of that tomorrow. Right now you need to get washed before you go home,” answered Jean-Luc.

  “Look at it this way. At least you don’t have to sit in the water,” encouraged Adrien, grinning from ear to ear as he sloshed the frigid water inside the bucket.

  Gaspard frowned, poked out his bottom lip, and muttered, “That’s easy for you to say.”

  “Well … get on with it,” urged Pierre. “It will be dark soon, and I’m tired of staring at your pale legs. I swear! They are whiter than a baby’s diaper!”

  The other boys snickered and laughed.

  “Yes, hurry up!” urged Jean-Luc. “Mama will have supper ready soon.”

  Gaspard reluctantly grabbed an old piece of cloth that hung on a nail sticking out of a nearby post. He plunged the rag into the water, took a deep breath, and then began to scrub. It was freezing cold, so he worked quickly. His skin turned a pale blue color and his teeth began to chatter. Once he was reasonably clean his buddies helped him get dressed and then wrapped an old wool blanket around him.

  The temperature was dropping quickly with the approach of sunset, so Pierre grabbed a large piece of discarded canvas from the corner of the shack. He shook the dust out of the ancient cloth and declared, “Boys, let’s all get under this and help Gaspard get warm.”

  The five boys sat on the ground and leaned back against the only solid wall that remained in the old, abandoned shack. They scooted close to one another and covered up together beneath the huge piece of canvas. After a few minutes Gaspard’s teeth stopped chattering. It was quite warm with all five boys wrapped up inside the thick cloth.

  The five friends sat quietly and comfortably and waited for the sun to go down. As darkness descended upon the inside of the shack the cloudy sky outside changed to a dark shade of purple. They could see the pink light of the descending sun glistening on top of the waters of the Wabash. It was a beautiful sunset, and a good ending to a fun day.

  Gaspard declared quietly, “I am truly thankful that you guys got me out of that hole. You saved my life.”

  “That’s what pals do,” declared Pierre. “And we are all pals, aren’t we?”

  From the darkness inside the old shack the friendly voices of the other four boys responded in unison with a single word of affection. “Pals.”

  chapter two

  frogs and tall strangers

  Five Months Later - July 20, 1778

  The boys gave up their tunnel-digging endeavors soon after Governor Abbott and the entire garrison of British soldiers departed for Fort Detroit early in the month of March. The British left the fort under the command of Captain Francois Bousseron, the owner of the local general store and the commander of the French militia. With the British gone the notion of digging under the wall became much less intriguing. None of the boys wanted to dig their way into a fort that their own fathers occupied.

  I
t was Monday morning. Pierre Grimard, Sr., was preparing to go to the roll call and muster of the militia at Fort Sackville. He sat outside on the front porch of the Grimard home and quickly polished his rifle with an oily cloth. He was growing impatient with his oldest son, who also happened to be named Pierre. It had been several minutes since he sent the boy inside to get his hat and leather belt. It was taking entirely too long, and the elder Pierre did not want to be late.

  Inside the house little Pierre searched frantically. The boy was frustrated. No matter how hard he tried he could not find his papa’s belt.

  “Where is it?” he wondered out loud. “I know it is somewhere in this house!”

  It was a frustrating mystery. Pierre found the hat easily enough. It was hanging on the back of a chair beside the fireplace. But the belt seemed to have disappeared. He had already searched all of the usual places. The belt was not in his papa’s trunk, which was where he customarily stored it. It was not under the bed or hanging over the fireplace.

  Pierre was getting worried. His father could not report for militia duty without his belt. That dark brown leather strap held his papa’s hunting knife, two leather shooting pouches, and his fearsome Indian tomahawk. There was no way that he could stand guard at the fort or go on patrol without his fighting equipment. So, little Pierre kept searching. The longer he looked, the more worried and annoyed he became.

  Once again, he heard his papa’s irritated voice calling from the front porch. “Pierre! Son! Hurry up! Bring my belt and hat now! I am in a hurry!” Then he heard his father declare to his mother, “I swear, woman, your son moves as slowly as the backwaters of the Wabash River.”

  Little Pierre grinned when he heard his mother chuckle and reply, “The boy moves about as quickly as you do when there is some actual work to be accomplished.”