Lieutenant Hadley pulled back the flap and duck-walked in, taking his blue tri-corn off and shaking it at the narrow entrance. His curly brown hair was coated with granulated snow, as was his cloak. He moved to the back of the small shelter and leaned up against a side box next to Will.
“Sergeant Merriam thought you might be here,” he said, wiping the melting snow from his dripping hair with the back of his hand. “My horse split his front left hoof and is lame. We need to ride to Roxbury and bring food and drink back for the men. Where are your horses?”
They ran down the back of the slope together, the Lieutenant leading his lame horse. He tied it up, un-cinched his saddle and placed it on the mare. Will looked for a tree stump and finding none was about to hoist himself on to Big Red as best he could. Hadley grabbed him by the shoulder to get his attention in the roaring wind. He made a stirrup with his two gloved hands, and Will vaulted onto Big Red’s back. He followed the Lieutenant down the road leading off of the Heights, riding with the wind at their backs. Will was conscious of the snow on Big Red’s back melting from Will’s own warmth and the friction of riding. It soaked his legs and buttocks. They turned off the low Dorchester causeway toward Roxbury and rode straight into the storm. The Lieutenant’s cape blew behind him in the wind like a large, dark blue sail. Pellets of sleet struck Will’s face. His bare fingers, clutching the reins, were frozen in their grip. The wind clawed at his hat and found ways to drive sleet through gaps in his scarf, where it melted on his skin and dripped down his neck. The granules stuck to his coat and the icy wetness permeated his inner layers of clothing that were quickly almost as wet as his outer garment.
They rode past the junction of the Dorchester and Boston Neck Roads and clattered through the rutted streets of Roxbury until they reached the Old Oak Tavern. Will slid off Big Red, cold, wet and stiff. The Lieutenant pointed at the barn and shouted something to him. His words were lost in the storm. Will led the two horses in, grateful to be under cover. Outside, the wind continued to howl and the sleet hammered on the cedar shingled roof. All of the stalls were filled. Several carriages were crowded into the shelter. Will tied Big Red and the mare up temporarily to an iron ring, and pulled one of the carriages outside to make more room. He found a relatively warm place well back from the door and tethered the horses there. Without giving it a thought, he removed a blanket from another horse in a stall and rubbed Big Red down. He un-cinched the Lieutenant’s saddle from the grey, hung it on a wooden peg and rubbed her down as well. Then, he prowled around the shed until he found oats and a bale of hay fit for his horses. Only after he had fed them did he wrap Elisabeth’s scarf tightly around his neck over his mother’s red one and, holding his hat on his head against the strong gusts, run the short distance to the tavern. The candles on the tables flickered as the wind and sleet followed him in, until he slammed the thick wooden door shut behind him.
Will looked around the crowded room, mostly filled with townspeople, merchants and tradesmen, with a few farmers scattered here and there. He sniffed in the mucus running from his nose and inhaled the overwhelming aroma of roasting meats mixed with the smell of wet wool. Lieutenant Hadley had commandeered a snug table near the large roaring fire in the chimney corner. His cloak and hat hung from a hook near the fireplace, dripping water onto the floor beneath them. He was the only man in uniform in the large room. Two prosperously dressed middle-aged men, their vests buttoned and their jackets well tailored, shared the table with the Lieutenant. Their clothes were dry and they seemed to have eaten well, Will thought, judging by the bones of some fish and fowl that littered the plates in front of them.
“Master Stoner. Over here,” Hadley shouted over the noise of the packed room. Will gratefully took off his soggy coat, hung it next to the Lieutenant’s cloak and warmed the wet seat of his pants against the fire. His linen shirt under his short coat was soaked. His fingers tingled as he thawing them out, turning his hands in front of the blaze as if he were cooking them on both sides. He was aware, as he stood close to the endirons, water was leaked out from the seams of his boots. If he could have taken off his boots and dried his stockings by the fire, he would have. Instead, still dripping, he sat down shivering on the oak bench next to Hadley.
“These two fine gentlemen were explaining to me how Divine Providence has intervened by this storm to save General Howe and the Redcoats from certain disaster.”
“That is definitely the fact. Do you not agree, Sir?” the pudgy man nearest to Will said. He moved slightly away from Will as if repulsed by either his smell or his wetness. “We were on the hills behind the Heights and had a grand view of our lines. Impregnable, I must say.”
“Yes,” the other added. “From our vantage point, although we would not have been able to see the devastation as the Regulars charged up the slopes, it was clear to me they would have been slaughtered,” he said with complete conviction.
“Will,” Lieutenant Hadley said, encompassing the room with a sweep of his arm, “these two gentlemen, and most of the others here came out this fine morning to view the battle and our great victory. From a safe distance and afar, it must be noted. No disrespect is intended, gentlemen,” Hadley added politely, noting they had scowled when he had pointed out their distance from the American lines. “You are not soldiers and are not be expected to be in harm’s way.” The two gentlemen nodded their agreement, pleased the Lieutenant understood their position and was not questioning their courage.
“Then the storm came up suddenly and they have been trapped, and I use the word deliberately, confined to this fine tavern, until it abates. This dreadful winter storm deprives them, snug and comfortable as they are here, from loved ones, their homes and the warm hearths that undoubtedly await them.”
A serving girl brought three pewter mugs of hot mulled cider and smiled at the Lieutenant. She curtseyed slightly and put them down in front of Hadley and the two gentlemen. The Lieutenant took one of the mugs from the nearest gentlemen and gave it to Will. He stood up, with his drink in one hand and his right leg nonchalantly resting on the bench.”
“Gentlemen,” he cried in a loud voice. “A toast to the success of our Commander in Chief, General Washington.” Conversation stopped, there were cries of “Hear! Hear!” as the men in the room raised their mugs. “And to Generals Ward and Thomas, who are in command of these Heights.” More cheers of “Hear! Hear!” and “Well done!” echoed around the room.
Hadley took a sip and smacked his lips in pleasure. He stood tall and erect, surveying the room. Even though his uniform was stained with mud and wet in places, he exuded a commanding presence among the civilians in the tavern.
“Gentlemen, I pray your indulgence again. A toast,” he cried, raising his mug in the air. “To the brave men of Massachusetts, of my own Regiment, who man the battlements at this very moment, and stand ready to repel the contemptible Red Coats if they should even dare to attack.” His call was answered by more cheers. Will took a long swallow, savoring the warmth of the hot cider and the heat of the mug in his hands.
“And now, on behalf of my gallant men, I ask for your support. They struggled up the slopes and labored long and hard throughout the night, not ceasing until the dawn broke over Boston. They have stood watch throughout this long day, the sixth anniversary of the most heinous crime ever committed by British troops against innocent civilians.” He paused, scanning the eager faces in the room, attentively watching him. “And now they brave the dangers of this gale to man our batteries and prepare for the battle on the morrow. They are cold and wet and hungry. Their morale is high but it will be improved by hot meats, cider, rum and ale.”
Hadley unbuttoned his buff colored vest and removed a piece of paper from his shirt beneath. He held it high and waved it to the crowded room. “I have an order from General Washington, authorizing me to requisition victuals and supplies for my Regiment. To effectuate this order, the proprietor of the Old Oak Tavern, a good patriot I am certain, will surely comply.” Will saw a s
tout bald man come out from behind the long table where he had been pouring ale, an alarmed look on his face, nervously wiping his hands on a cloth. Will surmised he was the owner. “He will be paid in due course,” Hadley continued. “However, the immediate financial burden will fall solely on his patriotic head. Or should I say, his pocketbook.” There was nervous laughter, as the merchants and tradesmen cautiously waited to see where the Lieutenant was heading.
“Gentlemen. I propose each of you reach into your own purses and purchase the necessary victuals and drink for the gallant and brave men of my Regiment. Who will be the first to do so?” Hadley looked at the two townsmen seated at his table. Under his direct gaze, they both reddened and hurriedly reached into their coats and pulled out some coins. The Lieutenant inclined his head imperceptibly toward Will, who took the coins and stacked them in front of him.
“Well done and most generous, I must say,” Hadley cried out in praise of his two tablemates. “Who is next? Please place your coins on the table for Master Stoner to tally.” There was a general shuffling as men came forward and deposited shillings and pence, mindful of the amounts others were giving. The stacks of coins multiplied as Hadley shouted encouragement and thanks to those giving, however reluctantly. Will divided the shillings, half shillings and pence into stacks until there was a veritable wall of coins, like miniatures of the barrels standing protectively on the parapets in front of the batteries.
The Lieutenant called for the proprietor to step forward. The pudgy man approached the table, unsure of what would happen next, his eyes darting nervously from the Lieutenant to the rows of coins.
“Here is the money generously donated to buy food and drink for my men,” Hadley said towering over the owner and putting his arm around the fat man’s shoulder in a comradely fashion. “Give your fellow patriots a fair price for their contributions and perhaps you can err on the side of more rather than less if the occasion should present itself,” the Lieutenant said, his tone more of a suggestion than an order.
“I certainly will. It will be my honor to be of service,” the owner said pleased he was being paid in coin for provisions which he had earlier feared would be requisitioned. He began sweeping the coins into a pouch he had removed from under his apron.
“Good man” the Lieutenant said clapping him on the back. “I can see you are a fine fellow. Please be so kind as to lend us a wagon to bring these supplies back to my brave men on the Heights. Master Stoner is an experienced teamster. He will return your wagon tomorrow. Unless, of course, General Howe sees fit to inconvenience us by assaulting our positions.” The pudgy man frowned, obviously thinking he might never see his wagon again. He smiled sheepishly at his customers who were anxious to avoid giving up their carriages, as they called out for him to acquiesce.
“Permit me, Lieutenant, to provide you and this young man here with food and drink, at my own expense,” he added quickly, still uncertain if the Lieutenant had finished making demands on him. “Stay in the warmth of my tavern’s fire while the supplies are being prepared and loaded on my wagon,” he said more loudly so the men in the room could hear his offer, emphasizing it was his wagon which would be at risk on the Heights.
Hadley grinned broadly, accepted the invitation and shook the owner’s hand vigorously. “You are a true patriot,” he said earnestly. “A true patriot indeed.”
In a few minutes, the serving girl brought out two steaming bowls of hearty fish chowder, followed by a platter of roast beef, bread and hard cheese. She returned with mugs of spiced cider.
“Please, sir,” she said shyly to Hadley. “I would like to contribute also to purchase food for your men.” She reached out and placed a few small coins in the Lieutenant’s hand.
Will looked at her, comparing her unconsciously to Elisabeth. He guessed she was about the same age. She was much more homely he thought. Her long brown hair was wispy and somewhat unkempt, her figure seemed to him a little on the plump side, and her face was more harried and careworn than welcoming.
Lieutenant Hadley sprang to his feet as if he were greeting Martha Washington herself. He snapped his heels together, bowed low from the waist and kissed the serving girl’s hand.
“I am deeply touched, young lady, by your gesture,” he replied, continuing to hold her hand, while staring into her eyes. She blushed and looked down. “If my duty did not interfere, I would be courting you day and night because you have reached my heart.” He said it with such tender emotion and conviction, Will could see the Lieutenant riding up on his horse and calling on the girl at the tavern. “However, as a gentleman and an officer, I cannot accept your coins. I pray you keep me in your prayers for safe passage through the coming battle. And I will be stronger in knowing you are thinking of me.” With a gesture of great reluctance, he folded her fingers around the coins and released her hand.
Will held the reins in his hands. The Lieutenant sat next to him on the tavern owner’s wagon as they retraced their way through Roxbury, across the causeway and up the slope to the batteries. Behind them, beneath two stout canvas sheets tied down with strong ropes, were kegs of rum and hard cider and wooden crates containing roast beef, venison, chickens still warm from the spits, bread and cheese.
It was close to nine o’clock and the storm had not abated. Sleet and ice pellets drove down at them in the dark. In a matter of minutes Will was soaked through and chilled again. The wind that had been in their faces on the road to Roxbury, was now at their backs, but as soon as they began the ascent, it lashed at them with renewed vigor. The batteries loomed in the dark, a sorry soggy, muddy encampment of drooping canvas and puddles of wind-whipped water. The Lieutenant jumped off and ran from one makeshift shelter to the next. As the men rushed out, Will stood in the back of the wagon, bracing himself against the wind, handing the kegs and boxes into their eager hands.
When the wagon was empty, he drove it down to the same hollow and unhitched the horses. He left Big Red and the mare exposed to the storm, feeling sorry for them as he ran back through the slush and water that flowed downhill in rivulets and small streams. He scuttled into his lean-to, shivering and wet. Hadley was leaning against the side boxes. Will collapsed, exhausted, next to the Lieutenant. The floor canvas was stained from the mud of their boots and the moisture seeping up from underneath. The memory of the brief respite of warmth and food at the tavern was not much comfort to him as he tried to stop his shaking under his waterlogged coat.
Hadley offered Will a piece of ham he had sliced, along with soggy bread. Will took the ham, nibbled on the meat and balled the wet bread in his fist. The dough stuck to his palm as he squeezed it.
“Too bad we could not have brought the men fish chowder,” he said.
Will nodded, thinking of how good it had tasted. A few months ago he had never even eaten it before. Now, he knew a good chowder had more fish than potatoes, with salt pork and onions for flavor.
“General Washington plans for every eventuality,” Will said, trying out a thought. After tonight’s shared experience, he no longer felt shy of Hadley.
“What do you mean?” the Lieutenant asked, chewing thoughtfully on another piece of ham.
“Well, midmorning, we had pots and provisions for the Regiment, and enough food to cook and eat before the transports left the harbor. The General must have foreseen the weather would interfere with their cooking and issued an order to requisition food prepared somewhere else” he paused, “say for example, a tavern.” Will looked slyly at him.
Hadley laughed. He reached inside his coat and handed Will the piece of paper. There was no light for Will to read it. “It’s an order, signed by Colonel Knox directing the Regiment to move from Lechmere Point to Dorchester Heights,” Hadley explained, taking the paper back.
“I cannot abide these pompous civilians who neither join their local militias nor enlist in a Continental regiment and yet have views on every aspect of military strategy although they have never been on a battlefield. Even worse,” Hadley continued, �
��they dare to observe the assault from a safe distance as if it were a theater performance, a show put on for their benefit, when real men will be maimed and killed. It matters not, whether the casualties be Redcoats or Continentals. War is not a event performed for audiences of non-combatants,” he concluded vehemently.
“So you made them pay a price,” Will said after awhile.
“I gave them the opportunity to do their patriotic duty and feed my men,” the Lieutenant acknowledged. “If I could, I would have stuck them for more.”
Will moved his back against the boxes, trying not to think of the numbing cold from the soggy ground, his chilled body and his frozen, raw hands.
“Are you from Boston, Sir,” Will asked. “I was hoping for advice on where to look for my older brother, Johan. He is an apprentice to a merchant.”
“I was born there. I have not been in the city since the end of April of ‘75.” The Lieutenant was in a talkative mood. There was nothing else to do in the darkness, except listen to the storm or try to sleep. “My mother and sister escaped and I escorted them to Worcester, where they now live with my mother’s relatives, my uncle and his family. I hope to return them to Boston and our home once the British have been driven out.”
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