Tale of a Patriot Part One

by Grandpa Casey

CHAPTER TWO

  It took me several days to walk to one of General Washington’s Army Recruitment Office.  The Recruitment Office is in a neighboring town; Lexington has one, but it’s not for Washington’s Army. I walk inside and wait in line for my turn to sign up. There were so many men wanting to join, it seemed like hours before I got my turn.   

  The Officer looks closely at me and asks, “How old are you son?  If you’re too young we can’t give you a musket.” 

  I say, “I just turned thirteen the other day.  How old does one have to be to join?  Last week, I heard that you signed up Shawn Iwanabefree.  I know for a fact; he’s not much older than I am.” 

  For your information, at that time thirteen was not too young. The average life expectancy of a Colonist in 1776 was 35.  This made thirteen close to middle age.  It was common for women to marry by age 14.  Men married later; they needed to be strong enough to provide for their new family.  People thought of teenagers differently in the 1700’s. Now back to the story.

  The Officer replies, “I signed Shawn myself.  If I’m correct, he’s a year older than you.  You know what; to be sure let me look it up.  Somewhere I have the Army’s Recruiting Guide Handbook.  It has all the rules from A to Z.  It will tell me if you’re old enough and what I can sign you up for.  Now where is it; I know I brought it with me.” 

  Before I could say anything else, the Officer reaches under the table and picks up a satchel.  He reaches into the satchel and pulls out a book.  Opening the book, he starts thumbing through the pages.  While I stand there impatiently, he looks for an answer to my question.  It took a while for him to find what he was looking for. After what seemed an eternity, the Officer finally says, “according to this book, if you want to fight, you’re too young; you can join after your next birthday.  However, if you wanted to become a drummer, a bugler, or an orderly; I can sign you up today.” 

  I stare at the Officer and think. None of those alternatives appeal to me.  There’s no glory in blowing a bugle or drumming your way through the war.  I’m positive I don’t want to spend the war shining someone’s boots.  Also, being one of those will not impress the girls back home, or anywhere else.  For some reason, that no one is able to explain to me, only fighting men and Officers catch their eye.

  Once, while in town, I asked my friend Loretta, “why do girls find uniforms appealing?”

  As she walked away, she says; “if you have to ask you’re too young.”   

  Sensing my disapproval the Recruiter says, as he waves me away, “considering your age, I’m afraid those are the only options available to you.  If you don’t like that, then come back next year, and we’ll sign you up.” 

  While walking out of the building, I think, I didn’t want to wait that long. With my luck, the war might be over by then. I was hoping to be in a military uniform before the Town’s Spring Dance. None of the girls will talk to me, at the dance, no matter how good I looked in my Sunday go to meeting suit.

  Just as I reach the center of town, I notice a crowd in front of the town’s message board.  While making my way through the crowd, a picture of a ship intrigues me.  I take a closer look and notice the picture was part of a recruiting poster.  The poster states:

  The American Colonies have officially approved the creation of a Navy and they need sailors, young, old, experienced or not.  Age, color, or creed did not matter.  As long as you have two working arms and legs, they want you.

  As I walk away, I unconsciously start talking, “from what I’ve seen, at the loading docks in Plymouth, most navy uniforms suck; the only decent ones I’ve seen are the Officers uniforms.  Of course, they were Spaniards. Then again, maybe the American ones will look better.  Will I look impressive with a scarf on my head, and a cutlass attached to my waist?  Then again, if I was the only sailor in town, will that be novel enough to impress the girls?  If it does, then I surely will have the girls following me wherever I go.  Oh, why not, what other choices do I have?  I guess it’s the Navy life for me, whether I like it or not.” 

  I decided not to go back home.  I wanted to get to the Naval Recruiting Office as soon as possible.  After going back to the poster and memorizing the address, I head east. 

  It’s a cold and rainy autumn evening in 1775. I’ve been traveling, on foot, for several days. I was cold, tired, and out of money. Being out of money, I can forget about looking for lodging somewhere. While looking for some shelter, I notice a light in the Naval Recruitment Office, which was across the street. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and I can spend the night there. What have I got to lose, I am planning on joining. So why not do it now? I walk up to the building and open the door. Not sure, of what to expect I stand in the doorway. Looking straight ahead, I see a Naval Officer sitting in the middle of a table. The table was in the center of the room. One end of the table has trays of assorted food on it and the other end has a stack of empty cups. In the fireplace, next to the burning wood, is a kettle filled with tea. I don’t know which is more appealing, the food or the warmth of the fire.    

  Seeing me, the neatly dressed Naval Officer rises to his feet and cheerfully says; “come in. Come in. Are you here to sign up? I was just going to lock up for the night, but if you are going to join, then sit down.” Then he points to the food and empty cups. “Forgive my manners, if you’re hungry, have something to eat and drink while I finish putting these papers together.” 

  First, I grab a sandwich, with the sandwich in my mouth; I grab a cup and pour hot tea into it. Taking a sip, the heat of the tea warms my body. After I sit down facing the Officer, I look around the room. The room is full of naval recruits, some look to be my age. Some, of them, are talking to each other, but most are quiet and the rest are huddled in the corner. Eventually, some would become the best of friends. Others will come to dislike, but tolerate, each other. The rest will go through this conflict unnoticed. All will contribute to the Revolution. Their only common bond will be; they are all COMRADS IN ARMS against the British.  

  Once the Officer finishes doing whatever he needed to do with the papers, he hands me one and says; “here, print your name on top then sign on the last line. If you can’t write, make your mark and tell me your name, and I’ll print it on top.” 

  I graciously take the paper and start to read every word while sipping on the tea. Whoever made the tea put some honey in it; it sure tastes good. I pay particular attention to the terms of the enlistment. I want to enlist, but I’m not sure for how long. I didn’t want to mistakenly sign up for life. According to the paper, the enlistment is to be for two years, which seems okay to me. In addition to the paltry pay, I will receive a share of any prize money realized from the sale of the contraband captured by my ship. The paper also states, besides close contact fighting, I will receive training in any position the Navy thinks necessary. The Navy is the only one that will accept me as an equal. No matter what your duties are when someone shouts, “TO ARMS,” everyone joins in the fight. I decide the terms seem fair and print my name on the top line of the paper.   

  As I was about to sign the paper, the Officer stops me and says, “I see you can write. Were you just looking at the words or can you also read? Men who can read and write are hard to find. Can you also add and subtract?” 

  “Yes,” I said proudly before taking another sandwich. “I even know how to multiply and divide. Fractions are a little hard, but I can struggle through them when I have to.” 

  The Officer says, “I see you’re still hungry, help yourself, there’s plenty.” I grab another sandwich and more tea. “You’re too valuable to be washing dishes or mopping the floor. You are ‘Officer Material’ my young friend. Maybe you will become one before the war’s end. For right now, you’ll be trained to be a cabin boy. Don’t worry; you won’t be just a ‘Butler to the Captain’. The Captain will determine if you are ‘Officer Material’. If he feels you are, he will notif
y the Admiralty and continue your training. Before you are assigned to a ship, at the training center, you will receive preliminary training on the sextant. Remember this, the sextant is not easy to learn, but learn it you must. It is the first step to becoming a Naval Officer. It’s more accurate than using the North Star. With the sextant, you can accurately know where you are. Another advantage of the sextant is can be used during the day. You’ve already accomplished the three prerequisites to using a sextant properly, you know math and how to read and write.” After pausing so I can get another sandwich the Officer continues, “One more thing, as a cabin boy your main duty will be to keep the Captain’s Cabin and uniforms clean and neat. You’ll also be responsible for the other Officers Quarters. If you do a good job, they will leave their leftover food for you to eat. Now before you get the wrong idea, the Officers don’t do this to be arrogant or mean. They do this to reward you, for keeping their quarters clean and neat. On a ship, the cook will not waste any food; after you’ve eaten; he adds what’s left to the crew’s meal. Your shipmates know this and understand. This is the way it’s done, in the military, whether on land or sea.” 

  After I finish the fourth sandwich, I say, “well! That’s a big order. Do I want to be someone’s servant, I don’t know? While I’m doing all this, will I still learn how to fire all the weapons on the ship?” 

  “Yes,” the Officer says. “As your training progresses you’ll learn every job on the ship. We can’t expect you to tell someone what to do if you don’t know what it is.” 

  While the Officer is still talking, someone walks in from the cold. A gust of wind, from the outside, causes the pen to roll on the floor. When the Officer stops talking, I grab the pen off the floor, and start to sign the paper.   

  The Officer stops me and says; “don’t use that pen; I see it’s broken, here use mine.” Then he points to the last line, “I just need you to sign there.” 

  While accepting the pen I say, “I wouldn’t mind becoming an Officer someday.” After a long pause, I continue talking, “okay, why not, if it means becoming a cabin boy first so be it.”