Prelude to Glory, Vol. 7

by Ron Carter

  “That sounds so hard.”

  “It is.”

  “Did you ever regret marrying Father?”

  Margaret smiled, a little sadly. “No. There were things I wish he had done differently, but he was a man and I was a woman, and on some things we had trouble. Men and women always do, because the Almighty made them that way. A woman’s heart, and a man’s head. Sometimes they disagree.”

  “Like what?”

  “John had to go to war. He was a man. I understood that, but I hated it. It terrified me and I told him so. He listened, but he went anyway, and we lost him. He and Tom Sievers. Matthew also had to go. I nearly died when he left. And Caleb . . .” Margaret shook her head and lowered her eyes. “I hope I never have to endure such a thing again. I expect I’ll have tears in my heart to the day I die, over losing your father. He did what he had to do but oh, oh, what it did to me.”

  Prissy whispered, “I never thought about it that way.”

  “You were young. You weren’t ready for it then.”

  “What should we be doing for Brigitte?”

  “Nothing special. Just be yourself. That’s the best thing right now.”

  “How do you think she’ll decide? I mean about Billy?”

  For a time Margaret didn’t answer. “I don’t know. She needs a man like Billy. And he needs a woman like Brigitte. The trouble is, will they see it? I think Billy does, but I don’t know about Brigitte. My own daughter. She gave her heart to Richard Buchanan when she was too young. I don’t know when she’ll get over it. Maybe never. But . . . if she’s put Richard’s things away, it means she’s far enough along to realize no matter how she felt about him, he’s gone, and she has to move on.”

  “To Billy?”

  “Billy is not handsome. Not charming. Richard was. I think Richard had it in him to be a good husband, but his first love was the British army. I doubt Brigitte would have favored being the wife of a military officer. I don’t know. I don’t know if her independent streak will bring trouble to her marriage or not. If anybody could handle that in her, it would be Billy. But . . . handsome and charming? Not Billy. Does Brigitte need that in a husband? She’ll have to answer that.”

  For a time Prissy sat working her hands in her lap, staring at them. “I never knew it was all so complicated.”

  “You’re ready for it. You’ll do fine. Now you better go to bed.”

  Prissy stood and looked at her mother. “You’ve changed everything.”

  Margaret shook her head. “I’ve just told you the best I can. You’re the one who made the changes in yourself. You’re a beautiful, thoughtful girl. You should start trying to see yourself as you are. One day a young man will come along, and he’ll be handsome and charming, or plain and steady, or who knows what, and you’ll start your journey through what Brigitte’s facing now.”

  “It makes me tired to think of it.”

  Margaret chuckled. “If it makes you tired now, wait until it happens.” She stood to face her daughter.

  “You’ll do well. Keep your wits about you. And for now, just be Prissy as she’s always been. Thoughtful, steady, quiet, a decent woman and a born mother.”

  Prissy’s mouth dropped open and she closed it. “A born mother?”

  “There’s a very fortunate young man out there right now, looking for you.”

  Prissy’s eyes widened. “Me? Someone wants me?”

  “More than anything in this world. Now you go on to bed. Come talk to me whenever you wish.”

  Prissy stepped forward and put her arms about her mother’s neck and held her for a moment, and Margaret encircled her and held her close. Then Prissy turned and walked from the room, and Margaret listened until she heard her door close before she lay back down in her bed and turned the lantern off.

  For a time she lay in the darkness while a thousand memories came flooding, of a quiet little girl with great, thoughtful blue eyes who lacked her two front teeth, and then a gangling eleven-year-old who did not know if she were a woman or a child, and then the miraculous blossoming of the child into a beautiful young lady who had come into the complexities of mature womanhood earlier than most, and who loved her older sister enough to sense her confusion, and had the common sense to come to her mother to inquire.

  Margaret reached to touch the pillow next to her and let her hand rest in the place John should have been, and her last clear thought before sleep was of him–I needed you tonight to help with Prissy—needed you as always—some day—some day . . .

  Note

  The characters in this chapter are fictional, as are the events described.

  Boston

  March 1784

  CHAPTER XXVII

  * * *

  The Boston waterfront office door with the sign above announcing DUNSON & WEEMS SHIPPING swung open, and the March gale-force winds howling in from the Atlantic under clear, cold midmorning skies swept into the room. Instantly the fire in the fireplace leaped and danced, and Billy Weems and Thomas Covington slapped hands down on stacks of papers piled on their desks and raised their heads, irritated, to see who had brought the gust. The door slammed shut and Caleb Dunson and Captain Theodore Pettigrew turned to take the single pace to the counter that separated the customer side from the desks and files inside the office. Caleb and Pettigrew raised cold hands to bearded faces to blow into them, then reached to unbutton the top buttons of their heavy, worn seaman’s coats.

  Both Billy and Covington came to their feet and strode quickly to face the two, and Billy wasted no time asking the critical question.

  “You made the delivery in New York?”

  Pettigrew bobbed his head. “Yes. On schedule.”

  “You got the money?”

  “We did.” Pettigrew drew a large leather purse from his pocket and laid it thumping on the countertop.

  Billy was scarcely breathing as he spoke the next question. “Any trouble?”

  “Yes.”

  Billy felt elderly Thomas Covington tense beside him.

  “What happened?”

  “Virginia. Changed their export tariff law on tobacco. They were going to hold the Rebecca. We sailed her out.”

  For a fleeting moment the gray brow of Thomas Covington creased, and then he grinned. “It’s about time.”

  Caleb glanced at Covington, then at Billy. “Matthew around?”

  “Any time now. He’s at the bank.”

  “Trouble at the bank?”

  “Maybe. Neither Virginia nor Maryland would release their tax seizure of the Jessica. The bank wanted a full report from Matthew on his try at getting her released. He’s at the bank now. Due back any minute.”

  Caleb’s face darkened. “You mean Virginia’s still holding the Jessica? And they’d be holding the Rebecca if you hadn’t sailed her out?”

  All four men sensed the deadly spirit that came stealing. “That’s what I mean.”

  Caleb glanced at Pettigrew. “Two ships in trouble. How far from a war between the states are we?”

  Pettigrew’s voice was low. “Not far.”

  The door to the office opened, then quickly closed, and Matthew unbuttoned his heavy coat as he walked to the gate at the end of the counter, speaking as he went.

  “I saw the Rebecca anchored in the harbor. When did you get in?”

  “About twenty minutes ago. Came directly here.”

  “Any trouble?”

  Pettigrew answered. “Yes.”

  Matthew’s hands slowed on his coat buttons as he looked at Pettigrew, probing, and then he swung the gate open. “Come on in and take a seat over there by my desk.”

  The two followed him while Billy picked up the leather purse, hefted it for weight, then followed Covington. They gathered in chairs around Matthew’s desk, and Matthew came directly to it.

  “What trouble?”

  Pettigrew leaned forward. “We were nearly loaded in Jamestown when they told us Virginia had raised the tobacco export tariff from five percent to eight percent. Th
ey weren’t going to let the ship leave without payment. We didn’t have it.”

  For a moment Matthew remained silent while his mind caught up, and then he leaned forward, forearms on the desktop. “So what happened?”

  “We sailed the Rebecca out.”

  “Without paying the tax?”

  “Without paying.”

  Matthew stiffened. “Didn’t they try to stop you?”

  “We did it at night. They had ten of their militia assigned to guard her. We took them with us.”

  Matthew jerked back. “Kidnapped them?”

  “You could call it that. They sent two gunboats after us. Caught up with us after we were out of southern waters. We had those ten militiamen on the rails, five each side. The gunboats didn’t fire on us. They turned back before we reached New York.”

  “Did you deliver the cargo?”

  “Yes. Got the money.” Pettigrew pointed. “Billy has it.”

  “What about the ten militiamen?”

  “We paid them dockhand wages for the time we had them, and paid their passage back to Jamestown, and sent the added three percent export tariff payment with them. All ten of them signed the receipt.”

  “Anybody show up here with any complaints? Warrants for your arrest?”

  “Not that we know of.”

  “Where’s your crew?”

  “I paid them and they went home. The accounting on all this is in the purse with the money. What’s left of it.”

  Matthew’s shoulders slumped and for a moment it seemed all the life went out of him. He turned to Pettigrew.

  “Only recourse I know for Virginia is under Article Nine of the Confederation. You know of anything else?”

  “No. Virginia will have to file a complaint with Congress, and they’ll have to appoint a committee. There’ll be a hearing. That could take a year.”

  “Think Virginia will do it?”

  Pettigrew shook his head. “No. They got their men back, with pay, and with their export tax. And if they did bring a complaint, and if the committee did decide in their favor, there isn’t a word I know of in the Articles of Confederation that gives anyone the power to enforce the decision of the committee. It’s a toothless wolf.”

  Caleb turned to stare at Pettigrew. “Wait a minute. You mean there is no committee, no authority anywhere that can enforce a decision between states?”

  “That’s what I mean.” He turned to Matthew. “You know anything different?”

  Matthew shook his head and remained silent.

  Caleb gaped. “Then who dreamed up this notion of calling them the United States? United in what?”

  Pettigrew’s eyes dropped. “Not much. Maybe just an idea.”

  “Who enforces the idea, whatever it is?”

  Like Matthew, Pettigrew shook his head and said nothing.

  Caleb turned to Matthew. “Just so no one misunderstands about the Rebecca, Captain Pettigrew was not responsible for what we did. I was. If anything bad comes of it, he’s not at fault. I am.”

  Pettigrew looked at Matthew. “That’s only partly true. I was in command. I’m responsible.”

  Matthew licked dry lips. “Anybody get hurt?”

  “No.”

  “How did you manage it?”

  “Waited until dark. Hid some whale oil and a small keg of gunpowder at the west end of town, away from the river, and stacked a lot of scrap wood on top. Set it all on fire, and when the gunpowder blew, sparks and wood went everywhere. The whole town went down to put out the fire, and while they were busy at the west end of Jamestown, we sailed out the east end.”

  For a time Matthew stared in near disbelief. “You started a fire? Blew it with gunpowder?”

  “Yes.”

  “The militiamen?”

  “Came in behind them. Disarmed them and took them on board.”

  “Weren’t other ships tied to the docks? Anchored in the harbor?”

  “Yes. But we worked our way through.”

  “At night?”

  Pettigrew grinned. “Yes. Good crew.”

  Matthew leaned back in his chair. “You were insane. You know that.”

  Pettigrew stifled his smile. “It felt a little insane when we did it.” He paused for a moment. “If what we did was bad enough, I’ll expect you to discharge me and file a complaint against my commercial captain’s license.”

  Covington spoke for the first time, his high, piercing voice rising. “Nonsense. If what you did brings about a battle between Massachusetts and Virginia, so much the better.” He shook a bony forefinger at the ceiling. “Right now none of us, not one shipping firm, has any committee or court that can resolve these disputes and enforce their decision. We don’t know what we can do, and what we can’t do. We don’t know who has the rights to navigation in the major rivers, or the tax laws of each state, or what rights they have to seize our ships, and common sense has long since been forgotten. What we need is for two states to start shooting. Something—anything—serious enough to force an answer to the sick mess this country is in.”

  Billy spoke up.

  “Our job is to keep this company in business. It seems to me the question is, how do we get the Jessica released, and then how do we get more shipping contracts?” He turned to Matthew. “What did the bank say?”

  “They wanted to know why neither Virginia nor Maryland would release their tax seizures. I told them. After six days arguing with the harbor authorities of both states, the only answer I got was that each claimed navigation rights to the Potomac River, which gives them taxation rights, and neither one is going to do anything to change that. Until the taxes are paid, the Jessica remains under seizure.”

  “Will the bank pay the taxes to get the ship?”

  “Not one dollar.”

  “And if we don’t pay it?”

  Matthew took a great breath and his words were measured. “We’ve got eight weeks. Then they declare our deal with them in breach and they seize the shipping firm to force a sale of enough ships to take care of it, and that’s the end of Dunson and Weems Shipping.”

  For a time the only sound was the moaning of the March wind at the windows and doors, and the heavy draw at the chimney. Frustration became anger as the five men let their minds run with it, probing for a ray of light, no matter how small, that could lead them to an answer to the tangled confusion that brooded over the office like a great, black pall.

  Billy broke the silence. “If we went to the Massachusetts legislature, could they send a delegation, or a committee, or someone, to Virginia?”

  Covington answered. “The answer is no. Half the states in the Union have already tried that. The states are independent. One can’t force another to do anything. Border wars, river wars, new territory wars—no end to it.”

  Billy went on. “Isn’t there something in this Article Nine that will help?”

  Covington shook his head. “No. That article provides for a committee that can hear, and decide, but it can’t enforce anything.”

  Caleb interrupted. “If that’s true, then it must cut both ways. If they can’t enforce their own orders, then they can’t punish anyone, no matter what they do.” He glanced at Matthew. “Say the word and I’ll take the crew back down there and bring the Jessica home.”

  Matthew heaved a tired, weary sigh. “I’ve talked to the Virginia and Maryland authorities. Only thing I can think of is to go to the Massachusetts legislature with it.”

  Covington’s voice rang out. “You’re not thinking high enough. Go see Thomas Jefferson. James Madison. George Mason. Go see General Washington himself! They’re all Virginians! What do you have to lose? The worst they can do is turn you away! The most they can do is send some letters to the right people. Something! Anything!”

  For a time the men sat in silence, looking from one to the other while their minds raced with the startling thought. Jefferson? Madison? Mason? Washington? General George Washington? Could they do that? Could they?

  Matthew broke the sile
nce. “Billy?”

  “Can’t hurt. Might help. We’ll not know until we try.”

  He glanced at Pettigrew, and Pettigrew shrugged. “I’d never have thought of it, but I agree with Billy.”

  Matthew turned to Caleb. “You?”

  Caleb’s eyes narrowed. “Didn’t you complete two or three missions for General Washington?”

  Matthew nodded.

  Caleb turned to Billy. “You, too? You and Stroud?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shouldn’t Washington remember those missions? Shouldn’t he remember both of you?” He gestured to both Billy and Matthew.

  Billy answered. “He should. Yes. He will.”

  Caleb got to his feet. “I think Covington’s got a point. Start with Jefferson, and go from there. If it leads to Washington, go see him.”

  Notes

  The speaking characters in this chapter are fictional, as are the events described.

  However, the Articles of Confederation agreed to by Congress on November 15, 1777, and ratified by the United States on March 1, 1781, consisted of thirteen articles covering many pages. Article IX, critical to this chapter and following chapters, consisted of seven lengthy paragraphs covering several pages, far too long to set forth verbatim herein. In essence, said article established the governmental machinery for hearing disputes between states, which included provisions for the filing of complaints, appointment of authorized representatives, hearings, and decisions and final judgments. But remarkably, there was no provision for enforcement of such decisions or judgments.

  For a concise explanation of the Articles of Confederation, with some of them quoted verbatim, see Bernstein, Are We to Be a Nation?, pp. 27–28.

  Northern Vermont

  April 1784

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  * * *

  Eli heard the rustle in the greening foliage to his left at the same instant he saw the man forty yards ahead, moving through a small clearing in the thick growth of oak and pine. And then came the great, roaring bawl of an enraged sow black bear ahead of him and to his right, ripping headlong through the early spring growth. Eli only had time to shout “Run!” before the frenzied, seven-hundred-pound mother tore into the clearing, slowing only long enough for her weak eyes to locate movement, and then she came at the man with her claws throwing dirt and decay from the forest floor at every stride while her bellowing silenced every other sound in the forest and echoed for miles.