Knox looked up, surprised by Will’s impassioned outburst. “My dear lad. I have never entertained the thought of a court martial. I merely thought it necessary to remove you from proximity with Captain Seeley and his fellow officers and to develop a stratagem to resolve this difficulty. Military discipline is often required to maintain good order. Common sense dictates it must never be exercised to remove a brave and courageous fellow from the field of battle. I also rely upon you to teach others how to properly train their horses to maneuver cannons in battle.”
He continued rustling the stack of papers and then threw up his hands in defeat. “ I suppose I must endure this confusion when trying to maintain correspondence without my usual staff. The letter I look for is to General Mifflin, our Quartermaster General. Anyway, here is the sum of it. You will recall Captain Seeley was waiting for an audience. The young man was seeking a letter from me to General Mifflin commending him for service in his corps. The Captain’s father, while himself a man of influence, has not been able to secure his son’s appointment. I have written the General myself on behalf of Captain Seeley. The letter will be sent from here with tomorrow’s dispatches.”
Will did not understand the relevance of this letter to him. All he had heard was the General would not order a court martial.
“In light of my letter, Captain Seeley has acquiesced to my wish and withdrawn his insistence upon your court martial.” He smiled at Will, his eyes bright in the candlelight. “My intuition suggests the good Captain smells opportunity for improving his finances by serving in the Corps and therefore his greed overcomes his pride. I have balanced the risk of turning loose a corrupt scoundrel upon the Quartermaster, with the promotion of an able young man to make our artillery more efficient on the battlefield.”
“Sir,” Will replied. “I am overwhelmed by your kindness. I will do my best to live up to your expectations.”
“You already have, except,” Knox said raising his index finger and wagging it at Will, before chuckling deeply “for your actions at my headquarters. And do not thank me. My dear Lucy has taken an interest in your career, or more particularly the romantic relationship between you and Elisabeth.” Will blushed, hoping the heat of the room concealed his embarrassment.
Knox gestured toward his saddlebags near the closet. “Be a good lad and bring those here. I have opened one of my beloved’s trunks and extracted one or two books for our edification.”
Will lifted the heavy bags, weathered on the outside from the elements and smooth on the underside from rubbing against the horse’s skin. The General undid the buckles, pulled out a leather bound book and handed it to Will.
“This is “The Second Treatise on Government” by John Locke, recently reprinted by Benjamin Edes with whom I hope to do some important business in Boston. 2 I depart tomorrow and anticipate returning in ten days time. In my absence ride out among the contractors, surveyors and others and be observant. At night, read the writings of this brilliant British political thinker and we will converse on his ideas on the journey back to Morristown. And now Sergeant Stoner, if you will excuse me, I must deal with this vexatious issue of Hartford being favored by some in Congress as the location for an arsenal, and complete these dispatches for tomorrow’s rider, including an order for you to be entered in the regimental rolls as Sergeant.” 3
Will stood up. “Sir. I only pray I completely fulfill all that you expect of me. I assure you, if I fail to do so, it will not be for lack of resolve or effort.”
“I know that with a certainty, Will. I fancy myself an excellent judge of character. You are an intelligent lad who acts with courage and honest conviction. I believe there is much you will accomplish in this world, for you have great potential. But for now,” he chuckled, gesturing at the disorderly piles of papers strewn on his desk, “I have my own tasks to complete. Be a good fellow and ask the innkeeper to send up additional candles and more ink. My writing of letters and dispatches will consume much of this night.”
The General and his mounted escort rode out of town shortly after daylight, intending to cover the one hundred and sixty miles to Boston and arrive no later than dusk on the third day. A slow moving, small train of wagons departed later in the morning. Will said farewell to Sergeant Merriam, uncomfortably seated on a large farm wagon carrying barrels of cheeses and butter and other preserves for sale at inflated prices in the Boston markets.
He fed and watered Big Red, cleaned out his stall, brushed his rough winter coat and combed out his mane and tail. Then he rode the horse east on the Upper Post Road from Springfield and circled around to the bluffs overlooking the town where some workmen were filling chinks in the bricks of buildings already rented as temporary laboratories for mixing and testing gun powder. Sounds of hammering and sawing came from within, wagons arrived laden and left empty. The entire area was a veritable beehive of activity.
It seemed strange to him the good people of Springfield went industriously about their business as if there were no war. If the struggle of the Revolution had any impact, it was the opportunities presented by General Knox’s plans for the arsenal. They seemed generally ignorant and unconcerned about the terrible suffering of the ill clothed, poorly fed and diseased troops shivering in their crude log huts in Morristown. The rumor among the patrons of the Inn was General Knox had asked Congress for $50,000 to finance the building of the Springfield arsenal. There was money to be made and none seemed eager to answer the call for recruits for new regiments, despite the substantial bounty of $86 paid upon signing. 4
In the chill of the mid-afternoon, Will returned to the Black Bull for dinner. He was favored by the innkeeper because of his association with General Knox and the payment in advance the General had made for Will’s continued lodging. He ate ravenously and remained near the fireplace, pretending to doze while listening to the talk swirling around him. It was all idle gossip although he paid attention to the rumors of a privateer and its two prize ships docking in New London, with a cargo of muskets, flints and gunpowder. There was much loud discussion about whether the weapons would be transferred to Springfield, necessitating work on more magazines. The talk did not interest him. Instead, he thought of Nat, perhaps at sea at this very moment, or in New London as the captain of the privateer who had brought the prize vessels into the Connecticut port. That night Will began to read Locke by candlelight in his room.
Will estimated three days for General Knox to reach Boston, three days to accomplish his business, without understanding precisely what that business was, and three days to return to Springfield. Therefore, on the ninth day he took to riding Big Red first to the work sites and then out the Upper Post Road that led to Boston in hopes of meeting the General. The fresh air and the sound of his horse’s hooves helped to clarify his thinking about his reading. He avidly accepted Locke’s thesis of the necessity of the consent of the governed and was convinced that the horrors of this war were being visited on the colonists because of the Crown’s obstinate refusal to recognize their basic and time-honored rights. For Will, that he as a patriot possessed these rights was indisputable.
When an occasional gust of bitterly cold wind caused him to push his neck stock tighter to his throat, he abandoned Locke’s philosophy of the consent of the governed and thought of Elisabeth instead. He imagined her sitting demurely with Mrs. Knox and then, as he had last seen her, distraught at his head injury and tearful at their parting.
Riding east from the town, late in the afternoon of the twelfth day, trying to compose a letter to Elisabeth in his mind, he did not notice General Knox and the four cavalry men until they were within hailing distance.
“Halloo, Will,” Knox’s stentorian voice boomed out over the snowy distance between them. Will looked up and waved enthusiastically. He clicked his tongue, dug in his heels and Big Red broke into a gallop until Will was close enough to see the broad smile on the General’s face.
“It is good of you to ride out to greet me, Will. I am truly pleased to see you. It
was a most successful trip to Boston. Brother Billy sends his best and has found for me a gift, a treasure I will show to you in the privacy of my quarters.”
Will had no idea what such a gift might be or for whom. He assumed it was something for the General’s wife.
“Any news from Mrs. Knox about your daughter,” Will asked hoping there might also be a tidbit of information concerning Elisabeth.
“I received one letter while in Boston. Our daughter has recovered splendidly. The ladies have enjoyed the warm hospitality of the prominent patriotic families of Philadelphia. Why not a day passes, my dearest has written, but with teas, dinners, concerts and dances from midday until the wee hours of the morn.”
Will could envision the teas, dinners and concerts with Elisabeth and Mrs. Knox seated together. The image of Elisabeth at a dance, being fawned over by dandies like Captain Seeley and whirled around the floor in their arms, was upsetting. He managed to discard that disturbing scene from his mind by thinking of her knitting a wool scarf for him, as she had promised.
At the Black Bull, despite the cold, the innkeeper, coatless and in shirtsleeves, stood outside to welcome the General. As one man held the reins of his horse, Knox ponderously swung his leg over, stepped on the dismounting block and from there to the ground, with a loud grunt.
“Ahh. It is good to be out of the saddle,” he said, stretching his shoulders. “Will. Bring my saddlebags with you after you have seen to the horses. There are dispatches in there ordering us to make haste and return to Morristown.”
Will led the two horses to the barn. When he returned to the Inn, he found the General holding forth from the head of a crowded dinner table of prosperous local merchants and militia officers about the scarcity of materials for the powder laboratory and ordinance and the difficulties of daily life in Boston. Will squeezed in on a bench at the far end of the table, thinking the wealthy farmers and mill owners would barely be able to disguise their glee at the news of food shortages in Boston. He sensed, from Knox’s volubility and the fawning and appreciative comments offered by the other diners who were impressed at being seated with an intimate of General Washington’s, that more time than food might be consumed. He ate voraciously, careful to avoid the wine and other spirits, drinking only one mug of mulled cider and kept the General’s saddlebags firmly between his feet under the table.
It was well past dark when Knox rose and offered a toast to General Washington, the Cause and the brave men of the Continental Army encamped at Morristown. The Inn’s patrons cheered loudly in response.
“And now, gentlemen, you must excuse me. I have dispatches to write and correspondence to read.” He glanced around the room, saw Will standing near the fireplace, holding the saddlebags.
“Sergeant Stoner. There you are. Bring those bags and accompany me to my quarters.”
Will climbed the stairs to the General’s room, the heavy saddlebags slung over one shoulder, knocked and pushed the door open. Knox was seated on the four-poster bed, attempting to bend down over his large stomach and grab the heel of one boot.
“I normally would not request a battle tested soldier of my own Regiment to aid me with my boots, but as you can see, I am in need of some assistance.”
The General straightened out his legs and Will knelt and wrestled the knee high black boots off and put them at the foot of the bed.
“There, that is much better,” he said rubbing one foot against the other. “It has been a fatiguing and hard ride from Boston. We covered ninety miles yesterday and forty today.” He unbuttoned his waistcoat, tugged his shirt from the band around his breeches and breathed another sigh of relief. The spindles of the chair creaked as Knox stretched back in the chair, his legs out protruding from under the table and wiggled his toes through the stockings. Will deposited the saddlebags next to the General and stood waiting between the four-poster and the desk.
“We must leave early tomorrow for Morristown. General Washington believes the British will soon marshal their forces from Brunswick and urgently requests we make haste to return. He is anxious for me to prepare the artillery for the coming campaign.” 5 He motioned for Will to sit in the chair opposite him.
“This is the prize I spoke of,” Knox said, removing two thick leather bound volumes from a saddlebag and handing them carefully to Will. “It is a gift for His Excellency. General Washington favors books on military matters.” Will looked at the gold embossing on the spine and then the engraved title page- ‘The Military Engineer: or a Treatise on the Attack and Defence of all kinds of Fortified Place.’ Carefully he turned the pages noting the detail of the copper plates illustrating different types of fortifications. Knox placed them on his desk, away from his inkwell and opened his copy book.
“I will send one of the cavalry tomorrow as a courier to Morristown with a letter, advising His Excellency we are making as much haste as possible. However, I cannot in good judgment, nor in the interests of my own domestic tranquility, leave my dearest’s trunks in Springfield in the interests of rapid travel. I can procure another horse to pull the sled if that will be necessary.” He looked at Will, a smile forming at the corners of his mouth.
Will vehemently shook his head. “Big Red will pull it and keep up with you and your escort.”
“Good lad. Ask the innkeeper to provide you with assistance in loading the sled. We shall depart shortly after dawn.”
Will stood up to leave. “And Will,” General Knox said winking at him. “My dearest Lucy shall know her books and particulars arrived with us in Morristown due to your efforts.”
The days were noticeably longer in late March. They rode south through Connecticut, turned well west of the British ensconced in New York City and down into New Jersey, riding at a fast pace, leaving the inns and hospitable homes of local patriots shortly after sunrise and continuing to well after dusk. The General would occasionally ride alongside Will and query him on his understanding of Locke.
“Consent of the people is the essential basis for political legitimacy,” Knox said, at one point after they had crossed the Hudson on a flat-bottomed ferry. “I have turned this idea over in my mind and see no obstacle to its veracity. Will, the only way for you to acquire knowledge of great ideas is to read. You must read everything within your power to do so. Why, I myself learned all about fortifications and artillery from books.” He interpreted Will’s silence as skepticism. “Well not all,” he admitted. “I presumed too much to make the point. Drilling and more drilling taught me the basics of firing cannons. As it has you.” Will nodded thinking of how little he had known when first joining the Regiment. Now, he was training gun crews to unlimber cannons and rapidly move them to support the infantry.
They covered the four hundred miles from Springfield to Morristown in seven days. As the General had surmised, “his dearest love,” as he openly referred to her when talking to Will, their infant daughter and Elisabeth, were still in Philadelphia. It mattered not to Will. Elisabeth was nearby. He knew he would see her again and soon.
James thought spring was the best time of year. The pastures were covered with a blanket of light green, a promise of the oats and wheat to come. The fringe of forest bordering their newly plowed fields came alive with birds- thrushes, warblers, bluebirds and grosbeaks flitted through the early foliage, their twitters, whistles, peeps and trills filling the early morning air. This spring, they would be working in the evenings by moonlight. His father insisted the bridge over the creek and the gristmill must be finished by harvest time although he did not say why. James assumed it was so that other farmers would use the mill to make flour for which his father would be paid. The bridge had to be completed first so they could transport the large water wheel for the mill and the heavy grist stones to the site.
Despite the hard work ahead, James looked forward to laboring through the spring nights. He liked working under the starry sky, amazed at the occasional shooting star amidst the twinkling points of light. He took pleasure in the scratching, scraping,
clicking sounds of the insects and the calls of animals in the woods prowling in the dark, the muskrats, raccoons, black bears and bobcats, the menacing deep cough of a prowling cougar, the shrill cry of the nighthawk rising into the dark sky with a field mouse in its talons or the eerie call of a barred owl piercing the cool air.
Once Georg had recovered his strength, he proved to be strong and capable. Throughout the winter, they had worked as a three person team. James drove their ox Zak pulling the sled with the large rectangular stones to the edge of the abutment. The Hessian levered them with the pry bar guiding them into position as directed by Mr. Kierney. His father then cleverly fitted each stone in place, being renowned in the area as one of the best dry masons. By the end of February, the bridge abutments rose over the brook and were even with the level of the road.
The first clear spring night, James and his father laid out the seasoned beams for the new bridge’s king post trusses, while Georg plowed a nearby field, striding vigorously behind Zak. His father pounded one of the beams into place with the heavy wooden mallet and then handed the beetle to his son. It weighed over forty pounds. James strained to lift it slightly off the ground. He held it with two hands and swung it parallel to his legs, pounding the stringer beam into the pre-cut square in the upright king post. He hit it again taking several shorter swings, and tapped the beam home. James would not admit it but he was relieved when his father took the heavy mallet and handed him the awl to drill the holes for the wooden dowels. James had become proficient in making the “tree nails,” long smooth oak pegs to hold the joints together. Now, careful to hold the awl straight, he bored into the seasoned wood, sweating from the effort, even though the night was cool. He had finished the holes in one beam when Georg drove Zak back from the field.
Blood Upon The Snow Page 13