Patriots: Boston

Chapter Eighteen Doctor Warren

Zeb was gone all day, and I went to work as usual. Nothing too crazy happened because the soldiers were all off at Bunker Hill. I could hear shots and shouts from the hills all day and worried that Zeb might not be doing well in the battle. I came home late that night and gave Isaac my supper, then waited in the store for Zeb because Isaac had already gone to sleep. I waited for about an hour when the clock struck one. There was a knock at the store door. I took a lantern to see who it was. It was Zeb. I opened the door, overjoyed to see him, until I noticed the look on his face. He was ghostly pale, even sick looking.
"Zeb?" I asked.
He looked at me but said nothing. Something was wrong.
"Zeb!" I said more forcefully.
He moved uneasily across the room to a chair, which I helped him into.
"Are you hurt?" I asked.
He seemed afraid to look at me now.
"Zeb, whatever is the matter?! You look sick!" I said.
He refused to look at me still. Had I done something wrong? I had never seen him like this before.
"Zeb, shall I take you to Doctor Warren?" I asked. "You don't seem well."
He didn't respond. He just stared at his own lap for a long time. The silence was killing me, and I was fearing the worst.
"5 cannons!" He whispered, exasperated. "We started with 6, we lost 5! Only one damn cannon left!"
"Cannons," I repeated.
"Our fortifications! All laid waste! Our hard work last night for nothing!" He raised his voice to a normal speaking volume, still sounding a little like a madman.
"Zeb," I said softly.
"In the end they took the hills! Both of them! We were outmatched!" He ranted louder.
"Shhhh," I said, "They're all asleep."
"Liza," he whispered. "I say this with a heavy heart, but..."
Then he couldn't seem to get the words out. I knew something terrible had happened.
"The doctor..." He choked.
"The doctor?" I asked.
"He fought so bravely during the fight! I went over to Breed's Hill with him and just a few others," Zeb began. "He said 'These fellows saw we won't fight! By heaven, I hope I shall die up to my knees in blood!'"
"What words," I said in wonder.
"We were low on powder and bullets and our guns were faulty," Zeb continued, "He lent his powder to a man who had run out. We eventually had to retreat because we were all out of ammunition, and he volunteered to cover it. He was the bravest man I had ever seen, Liza!"
"I know, I know," I whispered.
"But of course the British were too strong and everyone else was retreating," Zeb said, shaking his head. "I stood only a little far back, but close enough to see him-" he stopped suddenly.
"Zeb?" I whispered, terrified at what seemed to be coming.
"He took a musket ball to the head and-" he couldn't seem to get the words out.
"Oh!" I choked in disbelief.
"Liza," Zeb said, barely able to speak, "He's dead."
I felt lightheaded and sick. My heart seemed to have just stopped and broken. I grabbed the counter to keep from fainting.
"It can't be true!" I thought to myself, "It just can't be true!"
Zeb was holding himself together and not crying or anything, but I could tell he felt the same way I did. Tears immediately started streaming down my face uncontrollably. Zeb grabbed my hand and took me on his knee like I was a little child. I buried my face in his shoulder and sobbed. He seemed unable to speak to me, and he refused to cry. This made sense. He was trying to be a man of course, and Doctor Warren was model of strength.
"I know you saw him as a hero, Liza," he said quietly.
"I know you did too," I whispered.
"He was a good man," Zeb said sadly. "I don't know what we'll do now. We lost a great general today."
"Who is going to take care of all of the wounded soldiers from this battle?" I asked, my tears slowing.
"His brother I guess," Zeb said. "Boston will now be without its greatest doctor!"
"This is a tragedy for everyone," I sobbed, "even people who did not agree with him! He would help them just the same! He has offered me so much kindness! He has done so much for me, for you, for Isaac, for my entire family, for the entire city!"
"I know, Liza," Zeb said with more gloom than I had ever heard. "His death is a blow to us all, but he did not die in vain."
I collected myself, but still felt like crying. "H-he gave me a job to do," I choked.
"What would that be?" Zeb asked.
"He wrote letters to his fiancé and children and mother. He gave them to me to give to them if he was to die in battle," I cried.
Zeb stared at me. "Oh, right! Miss Scollay! Good luck with that," he said gravely, "And just think of his children! Losing their mother three years ago and now their father! Hopefully Miss Scollay will take them in permanently. After all, she has been caring for them for quite a while."
"I certainly hope so too," I whispered, fishing the letters from my pocket.
I looked at them. The old parchment,, the familiar handwriting, the sealing wax. One letter had, "To my beloved Mercy and children." written on the outside. The other had "To my beloved mother." I hated to be the messenger of this news, but I was also honored hat he had chosen me, rather than a Son of Liberty.
  "You ought to go to sleep and deliver them in the morning," Zeb said.
"I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight," I said drearily.
"Now, come on, you'll have to," Zeb said.
"You have to," I pressed. "You have been awake since last night building those fortifications and fighting all day. I have just been cleaning and doing nothing to help with the battle."
"I'm not sleeping, Liza. I'm keeping a vigil for Doctor Warren," Zeb whispered, lighting a candle.
"Might I join you?" I asked.
"I guess," he said.
  He pulled a chair over next to his and patted it. I lit a candle and sat down next to Zeb.  He stayed there in silence until the morning light came in. My father walked in.
"What are you two doing up so early?" He asked. "And Zebulun, I'm glad to see you back safe and sound. How did the battle go?"
"Not well, sir," Zeb said sadly. "We were all low on ammunition and horribly outmatched. In the end we lost the hills, and a lot of men."
"How did Major General Warren do?" My father asked, concerned.
Zeb buried his face in his hands. For a minute.
"Don't make him explain it again Papa," I pleaded.
Zeb straightened up. "No, I must be a man like he was. He fought very bravely on Breed's hill, but our forces just we're not strong enough. He was covering our retreat when he was killed." Zeb struggled to say.
My father froze. "What?" He asked in disbelief.
"I'm sorry, sir," Zeb whispered.
My father dropped into a chair. "He was killed?!"
"Musket ball to the head, sir," Zeb said as strongly as he could. "I saw it happen."
"Has his body been retrieved?" My father asked quietly.
"Well, no," Zeb said guiltily. Then he took on the madness he had had when he had first come in from battle. He slammed on the counter and yelled, his eyes aflame, "I was damned coward and didn't retrieve it! It was chaos, but I saw him fall and I ran to save my own life! I am a damned coward!"
"Zebulun," my father said calmly, "Calm down. It's the soul that matters, not the body. It just seems right that a hero like that may have a proper burial."
"Maybe the Sons will go looking for it once they receive the news that he's dead," I said seriously.
"Paul and Sam will probably do it as soon as they know!" My father said.
"Papa, he gave me these letters for his family," I said, almost crying again. "May I go for a ride to Mercy Scollay's house to deliver them?"
"Of course," my father said. "Zebulun, who all knows he's dead?"
"Probably just a few soldiers who saw it happen and who were told," Zeb answered.
"Why don't you ride with Liza over to Edes at the Boston Gazette. Make sure he knows so that he can have an obituary in the paper. His death affects the whole city, and will probably inspire more people to fight," my father said.
"Yes, Mr. Byers," said Zeb.
We walked out to the stable where Agnes was.
"Sorry, old girl," I said as I petted her nose, "It's time to go on another sad journey."
Agnes gave me a look that seemed to say, "Just let me sleep. I've run you sad people to your sad places for a long time. No more sadness, please."
"This is the last one," I lied.
She came reluctantly out of the stall and allowed both Zeb and me to mount her. She lazily trotted the short distance to the gazette building.
"Now, you be careful," Zeb said as he jumped off the horse. "And try not to cry when you are talking to the doctor's family. It might make them feel worse."
"I'll try," I said quietly.
He ran into the gazette building and I kept riding. The place where the Doctor's family was staying was a ways out of Boston. I had almost forgotten how many troops were still in Boston. I came upon the northern entrance and exit of Boston, which was heavily guarded by British soldiers. I quickly stuffed the letters into my petticoat and rode forward, trying not to show any fear. The soldiers eyed me suspiciously. I tried to think up a reason for needing passage that would sound good to them. I was soon close enough. They stopped me. Agnes got restless. She began to shake and kick. I gave her a little kick and tried to steady her. One of the soldier forcefully grabbed her reigns from my hands.
"Get control of your horse, Missy!" The soldier scolded angrily.
"Then give me my reigns back, soldier!" I scolded tersely. "You're spooking her."
The soldier reluctantly let go and I snatched them up. Agnes stopped moving.
"What are you doing so close to the edge of town?" Another soldier asked me.
"I'm visiting my grandfather," I said. "He's ill, and I must visit him."
"Who's your grandfather?" Another soldier asked.
I panicked. I immediately thought of saying General Gage, but I feared they knew where he was and what he was doing. "Thomas," I said the first man's name that came to my head, "Thomas..." I brushed a spider from my saddle, "Webb."
"I assume this grandfather of yours is a good loyal follower of the king?" The soldier who had taken my reigns asked.
"Of course! God save the king!" I said cheerfully, ready to vomit.
"You know, it's not wise for a young girl to go riding without an escort, with all of the rebels around. You wouldn't happen to have a paper allowing you to pass, would you, lass?" A new soldier with a Scottish accent asked suspiciously.
Oh no. Of course not, but I did have a back up plan. I thought of that last look I had at Doctor Warren and real tears came to my eyes. Soon I was crying and I decided to over dramatize it. "I-I just don't understand! I must see my dear grandfather and you are preventing me! He could be dead by the time I get to his house of you refuse to let me pass! I always thought your army was so honorable!"
My drama had obviously attracted others in the camp. A sergeant approached the soldiers and me. "What is going on here?!"
"She wants passage to see her grandfather," one of the soldiers mocked.
"Does your honor mean anything to you gentlemen?! Let her pass!" The sergeant ordered.
The soldiers cleared a path unwillingly and Agnes took off running. She seemed to know the way. She finally stopped at a little house in the country. I was unsure if this was the right house, but I decided to at least try the door and if it was not the right house, maybe the people here could give me directions. I walked slowly up to the door of the house and knocked. The door was opened by a small boy I recognized. It was Joseph (Josie as people called him) Warren, Doctor Warren's 7 year old son. He looked scared to see me.
"Hello, Josie," I smiled sadly.
"Hello, Miss Byers," he bowed respectfully as his father had taught him. "Have you heard news about my father? When will we see him again?" He asked, anxiously jumping up and down.
"I do have news," I said calmly, retrieving the letters from my petticoat.
Josie took them and read who they were addressed to. "Grandmother!" He called, "Miss Mercy!"
The doctor's mother, Mary, came running to the door. "Oh Liza! Come in dear!" She said, worried.
"Thank you, Mrs. Warren," I said politely. I stepped inside, feeling very guilty.
"Grandmother, there's a letter addressed to you! And there is one for Miss Mercy too!" Josie said excitedly.
"News from my son?" Mary asked.
"Yes," I said gravely, "And I am sorry to have to be the one to deliver it. He wanted me to give you the letters."
"Mercy," Mary called, "Will you come in here please? News from Joseph!"
The beautiful, young Miss Mercy Scollay came running in dragging another two little children, Dickie and Polly, and she was followed by Josie's older sister, Elizabeth.
"Josie, may I see that?" Mercy asked, gesturing to the letter.
Josie handed it over and she and Mary exchanged worried glances. Mercy's hands shook as she broke the sealing wax. She unfolded the letter slowly. She began to read the letter to herself. The room watched in silence. Suddenly Mercy screamed as if something had cut her. She turned ghostly white and pressed her knuckles against her mouth. She burst into tears and collapsed into a chair, weeping and screaming. "NO! NO! NO!"
Everyone in the room looked terrified.
"Miss Byers," Josie asked, his eyes wide with fear, "What's happened?"
"When's father coming back?" Elizabeth asked.
"I'm so sorry," I said, a tear escaping my eye, "Your father was killed while defending Breed's hill yesterday."
"My son?" Mary gasped, covering her mouth.
"Yes," I said as gently as I could, "He died a martyr for freedom after fighting more bravely than anyone could have ever imagined."
"My son," Mary breathed in shock, "My Joseph! My son!" She sat down and wept too.
"He's never coming home?" Josie asked.
"I'm sorry," I said, my voice breaking,"but no."
Elizabeth grabbed Josie in a hug and cried. He looked at me for a minute, then the truth of what had happened must have hit him. He began to cry too. The younger two children, Dickie and Polly looked scared, but did not understand. Dickie climbed into his grandmother's lap and Polly into Mercy's. I looked on at the room as I cried silently.
"I ought to get going," I sobbed, "I'm sorry for your loss. It will be a loss for the whole city."
"Goodbye, dear," Mary said between sobs.
I ran out of the house and mounted Agnes. "Come on," I sobbed. "We're going home."
Agnes started back towards Boston. The soldiers let me back into the city without much fuss, especially because I was still crying. I knew we were not the only ones grieving from the battle yesterday on June 17, 1775. Of course I knew our beloved Doctor Warren was gone, but he would remain in our loving memory, and his courage and strength would inspire me and many others.