Rush Revere and the Star-Spangled Banner

  Nick’s superb third-grade book report on Rush Revere!

  Shining the light on history

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  This book is dedicated to Kit Carson and our irreplaceable friends and family who faced terrible illnesses over these past years. They battled heroically with smiles reminding us how precious life is. They, and so many of you in similar circumstances are the definition of courage.

  God bless you.

  Betsy Ross, creator of the first American flag.

  Angelyna, a special young adventurer.

  Foreword

  We live in an incredible country that we are privileged to call home. America is a country to be honored, revered, and appreciated. It is unique. There is no place like America. It is the one country in the history of mankind where the citizens are protected from an overreaching government. We have no king. We have no dictator. We choose those who will govern and lead us. Our founding documents are based on the concepts of individual liberty. America is a phenomenon precisely because of this commitment to freedom. But America is not perfect. No country is, because there is no such thing as perfect.

  I love America, and I stand in awe of those who founded it, created it, defend it, and protect it more and more as I grow older. Our country is young by many measures, but our history is rich! There are endless examples and lessons in our history that may serve as a guide for the future. My hope is to rekindle the American patriotic spirit, the love of country, and have it carry on for generations to come. The early patriots who wrote and created some of the most important documents ever, the Constitution and Bill of Rights, were true geniuses. That they could craft concepts, guidelines, and laws for our country that would stand for centuries, concepts that had never been codified in any other land before, is nothing short of a miracle.

  The American flag is iconic, a symbol of our freedom and strength as a nation. Every time I see the red, white, and blue stripes waving in the wind at a stadium or being escorted into an event by military personnel, my heart skips beats. Sometimes my eyes tear up. Other times I stand and cheer. Those colors, stars, and stripes represent so much, including sacrifices made by so many before us.

  We know that the United States and the early exceptional patriots faced numerous challenges and hardships along the way—hardships we can only imagine today. The founding, building, and formation of our country was not easy, and it took a great deal of patience, wisdom, courage, faith, and inner strength to persevere.

  While we can only imagine the physical hardships our early patriots endured, that is not to say we necessarily have it easier. Life is full of difficult periods, and it always will be. There are times when inexplicable darkness seems to block the light for a period of time. In this past year, I watched dear friends and family face extraordinarily difficult medical circumstances. There was nothing fair about it and the pain was, at times, unbearable.

  Sometimes bad things happen to good people. And just like the early American patriots, these friends and family were so brave and determined through it all, relying heavily on their faith and their families and friends. In many cases, it was the grandparents who possessed the knowledge and wisdom of long lives who helped the children to cope with and understand why these tragedies occurred.

  They all reminded me just how special and precious life is, how lucky we are to have all that we have as Americans, and how each day is truly a gift. They wanted the best for their children and for future generations, as I do. The United States of America offers that opportunity to be the best, discover the best and live the best life possible.

  Rush Revere and crew are ready to go meet more exceptional Americans. So hold on tight . . . and let’s rush, rush, rush to history!

  Prologue

  Shouting and yells could be heard in the distant blackness. Washington City was barely visible as Liberty and I made our way down a winding dirt road.

  “Liberty, I hope you can see better than I can,” I said. “I forgot there are no street lights in 1814.”

  “No worries, Revere. Horses can see very well in the dark,” Liberty said. “And I can smell better, too. Well, not just in the dark but all the time. In fact,” Liberty sniffed, “it smells like someone is cooking dinner. Mmm, a nice carrot and onion stew sounds really—whoa!” Liberty yelled and reared up, flailing his front legs.

  The sound of a woman screaming came from somewhere directly in front of us.

  I hung tight to Liberty’s neck until his front hooves were once again on the dirt road. “What was that all about,” I said.

  “Sorry, but those people spooked me. I didn’t see them until the last second,” Liberty replied.

  “I thought you could see well in the dark,” I said with sarcasm.

  “I can. But I had my eyes closed when I was smelling that delicious . . . oh, never mind. We have company,” whispered Liberty.

  A woman and toddler briskly walked to the other side of the road, moving fast and away from us and the city. They appeared to be carrying their household belongings. Both were covered in dirt and looked exhausted.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, concerned. “I’m sorry my horse spooked you.”

  “All is well, thank you,” the woman replied. “We are tired but we are faring as well as possible under the circumstances.”

  The young girl beside her looked to be around seven years old with long brown hair and a high-collared dress. Her tired eyes brightened when she saw Liberty. “Your horse is so pretty!” she exclaimed. “Can I pet his nose?”

  “Of course you may. He loves that almost as much as he loves carrots,” I said.

  Liberty leaned down and snuggled into the girl’s nose.

  “You are very kind, sir,” the woman said in a weary tone. “Please be careful. The British are on the edge of the city. We were told to evacuate. There are rumors that four thousand Redcoats are marching toward Washington. They plan to burn the city in revenge for their defeat at York.”

  “Thank you for the warning. We will be on the lookout,” I replied, putting a hand to the edge of my tricornered hat to bid them farewell.

  “Bye-bye, horsey,” the little girl said as they walked away into the dark night.

  “Revere, I thought we were going to see the White House,” Liberty said, as we pressed forward on the dusty road.

  “We are, but I’m a bit disoriented,” I replied. I looked down at my map of Washington City in 1814. The Capitol was being built, and the White House is where it still stands today in Washington, D.C. On August 23, 1814, however, the city was still under construction. As we continued to walk we noticed building materials all along the road.

  “I think I can help,” said Liberty. “After all, I do have Spidey-sense for all things American history.” Liberty paused, closed his eyes, and sniffed the air.

  “Well?” I asked. “Which way do we go?”

  “I don’t know,” Liberty said. “The only thing I’m getting is the smell of roasted vegetables and boy, does it smell good!”

  I rolled my eyes. “Look over there,” I said. “I think that’s the dome of the Capitol Building. We’re almost there.”

  After a few minutes, we arrived at our destination. The light from nearby torches reflected off the white walls of the White House. We picked up our pace as we approached. There was nothing around the building e
xcept a road in front and dirt and grass surrounding it. A small gate was left open and we were able to enter the grounds without being stopped.

  A man approached us carrying small items. “President Madison has already left, sir, and I suggest you do the same,” the man said as he brushed past.

  “I am starting to think the same thing, Revere,” Liberty said. “Except that delicious smell is coming from the White House. I’m sure of it. Maybe they’re expecting us for dinner?”

  “Liberty, our mission is to find Dolley Madison, the First Lady.”

  “Right, I know,” said Liberty. “I’m just saying if she invites us to dinner it would be rude to say no.”

  “It’s true that Dolley Madison was said to be an incredible hostess, but that’s not why we’re here.”

  As we turned a corner behind the White House we saw two men helping a woman roll up a large canvas painting. I knew it was the rare and priceless portrait of George Washington by Gilbert Stuart.

  “That’s her!” I exclaimed. “The First Lady of the United States of America.”

  As we approached I saw Dolley place the rolled-up portrait into the hands of a young African-American man.

  “You there, come help us with this painting,” Mrs. Madison said. I knew it was the First Lady because I had studied a painting of her before we left modern day. She had dark hair, dark eyes, and pale skin. She continued to dart back and forth as she gathered and boxed other documents.

  “Yes, Mrs. Madison,” I said, “we are certainly happy to help.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Help us roll this painting so that it is not damaged.”

  I jumped off Liberty and helped the others carefully roll the giant canvas.

  “The President has gone to the battlefield, and everyone is exhausted. I thank you for your help. I suspect the British will be here soon to destroy Washington City, so we are removing the items that are most valuable to the country. It is a small thing, perhaps, but I think it is important,” Mrs. Madison said.

  “Why is the portrait of George Washington so important?” I asked.

  Dolley Madison saved George Washington’s portrait during the burning of Washington in 1814. She is seen here.

  “Because if the British are able to take the painting of George Washington, the hero of the Revolution and the namesake of this city, they will be able to say they have defeated us, both physically and mentally.”

  Mrs. Madison took a deep breath and exhaled. “This feels like the longest day of my life,” she said. “I suppose some may say this is ridiculous, but it is more than a painting. It is a sacred symbol of our freedom, and I cannot leave it to be destroyed by the British.”

  As she spoke, she moved quickly through the grounds and back into the White House. I followed her, nearly out of breath as she moved quickly from room to room.

  “Ask her about dinner,” whispered Liberty as I walked out of the White House, carrying a small, heavy chest.

  As if she heard Liberty, Mrs. Madison replied, “Unfortunately, I was expecting a party of forty dinner guests tonight. The table is set, the food prepared, and now it will be wasted on those British Lobsterbacks!”

  She sighed as she looked at her home, and said, “It is done. My carriage awaits on the other side of the White House. Do not delay your departure, Mr. Revere. I understand the British are boasting that if I am captured they will parade me through the streets of London as a prisoner.”

  “Thank you so much, Mrs. Madison,” I said. “Godspeed.” We went our separate ways and I went outside to find Liberty.

  “Did you save the food?” asked Liberty in desperation.

  “Seriously?” I said. “You’re worried about food when the city is about to be torched and the First Lady is trying to avoid capture by the British?”

  Liberty shrugged.

  “Okay, Mr. Grumpypants. Let’s head back to modern day and get you fed. We need to gather the Crew.

  “Aye, aye, Captain Starve-a-Horse,” Liberty said. “Just give me a second while I muster up enough strength to open the time portal.”

  I laughed and reached into Liberty’s saddlebag for two apples, a large carrot, and a cup of oats.

  Once Liberty finished his pre-jumping snack, I climbed up onto his saddle and said, “Rush, rush, rush from history!”

  At that, the time portal opened, spinning in yellow and purple, and we jumped through to modern day.

  Chapter 1

  Liberty and I walked through a spacious park with tall trees that looked like large bouquets of orange and yellow leaves. On this early fall morning, the grass was still green and the birds chirped in harmony. There was a slight cool breeze and the air was cool as we made our way closer to the hospital.

  “Look, that must be it!” Liberty said looking across the street. His mane was waving gently in the wind.

  “Way to go, Liberty. Sharp eye,” I said. Up ahead, a large American flag waved outside the main entrance of the Veterans’ Hospital. The red, white, and blue colors stood out vibrantly against the overcast sky. It was as if the flag was standing guard.

  “Do I get a treat for being right? I mean that really does seem to be the right thing to do. Don’t you think?” Liberty asked. Food was never far from his mind. Instead of a snack here and there, Liberty preferred a snack here, there, and everywhere.

  I purposely left the first question hanging, but a second soon followed. “By the way, when are we eating lunch?” asked Liberty.

  “It’s not even ten o’clock in the morning,” I said. “Have a carrot.”

  “I ate all my carrots,” Liberty whined.

  “Then have an apple,” I insisted.

  “I ate all my apples, too,” Liberty said, with a shrug.

  “Are you joking around?” I asked. I poked inside Liberty’s saddlebag for something tasty, but there was nothing. “I thought I saw you eating a bunch of grains this morning,” I said.

  Liberty rolled his eyes. “Of course I ate my grains. But you know I’m a very active horse. I burn calories like a race car burns rubber. Do you know how much fuel it takes to launch the space shuttle into orbit? Well, I take a lot of fuel, too, jumping back in time.”

  I sighed and stifled a laugh. Liberty was right. Ever since we first met, Liberty and I have been time-traveling buddies. I teach history and Liberty uses his magic to take us to fun places in American history.

  “Hello, earth to Rush Revere. Come in, Rush Revere,” chattered Liberty. I was lost in thought, remembering how a lightning storm blasted Liberty from the eighteenth century to modern day.

  “I can hear you,” I said, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a breath mint. “Here, suck on this. It’s all I have.”

  “A breath mint? Oh, lucky me. One whole breath mint. I’m stuffed.”

  “Smart aleck,” I mumbled.

  On the way up the driveway, I stopped and asked Liberty to stand by a tree while I went inside.

  “Here’s the plan,” I said. “I am going inside the hospital to speak with Tommy.”

  “What is Tommy doing at the hospital? Is he sick?” asked Liberty.

  Tommy was one of my first students to experience Liberty’s time-traveling ability. He visited the Pilgrims on the Mayflower with us in the year 1620.

  “Tommy texted last night and said he really wanted to speak with me. He said his grandfather is very ill and they admitted him to the hospital. Unfortunately, horses are not allowed inside. Could you wait here for a bit and not get into trouble?”

  “Sure thing, no problem. Say hello to Tommy and tell him that I miss him,” Liberty said. Then he sheepishly added, “And if, by chance, you walk by the snack shop, could you please bring me a treat? Preferably something bigger than a breath mint.”

  I shook my head and smiled. “I promise I’ll get you some food as soon as I finish speaking with Tommy. I’ll be back soon.”

  Liberty nodded with a little grin and looked curiously around the park.

  I looked down at the but
tons on my coat. Knowing that I planned to visit a hospital with combat veterans, I made sure to burnish the buttons on my blue colonial jacket. Also, I shined my black boots and cleaned and ironed my brown knee britches. If someone didn’t know any better, they would think I was from the year 1776. My students learned best, I thought, when they saw me in colonial dress.

  With a deep breath I walked through the hospital’s sliding doors. A security guard asked me to remove my tricorner hat so he could take my photograph. He then handed me a printed identification badge and pointed me down the hall.

  “Just take the elevator to the second floor. The room you’re looking for is past the nurses’ station on your left,” the guard said.

  Everything was white and smelled like cleaning solution as I walked down a long hallway. Parked wheelchairs and transport beds lined both sides. Doctors and nurses passed by, wearing white lab coats and light blue surgery scrubs, most looking at their notes.

  On the second floor, I exited the elevator and followed the numbers until I reached room 224. I knocked softly and slowly pushed open the door.

  I saw Tommy sitting at the side of a hospital bed, floppy blond hair around his ears. He was almost a shadow against the large window.

  “Hello, Tommy,” I whispered.

  At first he didn’t hear me, looking deep in thought. His back was hunched and both hands were holding up his chin. A football rested right beside him on the corner of the bed.

  Moving closer, I tried again, “Hi, buddy . . .”

  Then to my side, a tall blond man approached. He reached out his hand to shake mine and whispered, “My name is Hank. I’m Tommy’s dad. You must be Mr. Revere.” He wore a button-down checked shirt tucked into jeans with loafers.

  Upon hearing my name, Tommy turned around and said in a low voice, “Hi, Mr. Revere.” The room was chilly, with sterile white walls. Several machines beeped and churned rhythmically.