“Of course we will. He’ll be home from the conference tomorrow. I’ll call you then. You know we can only do but so much, but this is the best tribute possible.”
Marshall and Paul thanked her as Harry bid the three men goodbye. She walked down the few outside steps, the wood reverberating.
Tucker always stuck close to Harry in crowded areas and by roads. Once in the truck, the tough little dog stared at Harry. “Something’s not right.”
“We’ll be home soon.” She half-fibbed.
“Pay attention, Mom!”
April 7, 1780
Two miles east of the prisoner-of-war camp, Charles West, Thomas Parsons, Edward Thimble, Samuel MacLeish, Macabee Reed, Karl Ix, and Hans Wistan worked under the eye of Captain Schuyler at Ewing Garth’s ever-growing estate. Before the men rode off toward the farm, Captain John Schuyler had been given strict instructions to keep Old Man Garth happy. Ewing Garth, a shrewd businessman, owned land throughout Virginia, much of it south of his showplace estate, which sat above Ivy Creek. He grew tobacco on the southern acres, hemp near Williamsburg, more tobacco on his lands in North Carolina. Ewing Garth owned hundreds of slaves scattered among his holdings, but he needed more hands for his dreams, and the few available prisoners at The Barracks were manna from heaven. Free labor. Ewing Garth didn’t have to feed them, clothe them, see to their health, or house them. Granted, he did feed them when they were on his land, and he did pay special courtesy to the imprisoned British Captain Graves due to his rank.
In exchange for the prisoners, Ewing Garth offered foods and other necessities to the camp for sale at reduced rates. Well, his idea of reduced rates. Neither brutal nor devoid of feeling, money still came first for the medium-sized man in his fifties.
The eight prisoners possessed useful skills. Corporal Ix, a Hessian, had engineering abilities. He and Charles West studied a steep incline ending at Ivy Creek, and an equally steep incline on the other side. A dirt road was the only path east to Charlottesville, or heading west toward the Blue Ridge Mountains, Staunton miles on the other side. The steep grade, difficult enough in good weather, was impossible in bad. Many a carter had turned over, tangling traces, sometimes even breaking up the cart, and there went the money from hauling goods.
Ewing Garth rightly surmised that an improved road would increase his profits; he could then sell surplus from his farm in both directions. The tobacco and hemp farms made the large profits, but he was determined to show he could make money here as well. His eye was on apples. This area’s elevation, soils, and temperature were perfect for apples, and two years ago he had planted his first orchard from bare root. So far, so good, but the trees needed more years to produce a larger amount of fruit. That first orchard on the hillsides evidenced the earliest sign of green buds.
“Corporal.” Captain Schuyler stared out at the problem. “A higher bridge?”
The sturdy Hessian shook his head. “Nein. No.” Descending sideways for a better foothold, he made it halfway down the grade, pointing to the left of the existing dirt track. “Come to here, then to there.” Leaning, he walked at a right angle to where he had been standing.
Captain Schuyler couldn’t grasp what Karl intended.
Charles brought forth and opened a thin, light wooden case. Small chains held the lid upright. He pulled out paper, a thin, round piece of charcoal, and sketched what he thought the Hessian meant. Then he too crabbed sideways down to Ix.
Karl looked, nodded, then took the charcoal from Charles’s hand and drew over the base idea. “See?”
“I think so.” Charles flipped over the paper, too expensive to waste, and drew to the corporal’s instructions. The precise drawing began to make sense.
Karl pointed to the spot on the creek. “Bridge here, raised up. Verstehen sie, ja?”
Charles drew a wide bridge with a grade to make entering and exiting it easier, especially for a carter with a heavy load. Both men then climbed up to the captain.
Taking the case from Charles, the Continental officer studied the drawing. Looking about for a place to sit, to really look at this, he moved over to a large log. With a prisoner on each side of him, he settled in to examine the drawing.
Karl Ix traced his new route, which incorporated parts of the old road. “If a wagon slides, it slides to here.” He marked a small landing. “Better this way.”
“Yes, yes, I see that.” Captain Schuyler squinted, looking at the old roadway. “What do you think, Ix? Looks like almost a forty-five-degree angle.”
“We can lessen the grade.”
“And build a new bridge?” Schuyler asked.
When the Hessian nodded, the handsome young captain looked to Charles. The two of them, nearly equal in height and broad-shouldered, were handsome men. They liked each other, despite their separate stations.
Charles agreed. “What’s down there must get swept away every time the water rises. Raise the bridge, and only the most severe of storms will destroy it.” He looked across Schuyler to Karl. “Yes?”
“Yes,” Karl replied, but with his accent his “yes” lacked the sibilant ending.
“All right. I will take this up to Mr. Garth.” He handed the case to Charles, who folded it down. “Both of you, come with me. Karl, you might need to explain. He will have questions, and I am sure the first one will be how much will it cost.” A wry smile crossed the captain’s lips.
They walked to a large brick house built in the Georgian manner, very modern and very expensive. At the stables, Captain Graves and the other prisoners were fixing broken stable doors. A fractious horse cursed inside.
Piglet, always at Charles’s heels, murmured, “Hot temper.”
At the grand house, a large brass pineapple knocker rested in the center of the wide wooden door painted glossy navy blue. The woodwork trim around the door and windows was white, but the shutters matched the door. Charles wondered how these raw people managed to ape European fashions. Well, some Americans had traveled abroad before the war. They learned quickly.
The door opened to an impeccably turned-out butler, Roger. A proud light-skinned man in middle years, he smiled and bowed slightly to usher them into the huge center hall. He had obviously been told that the officer in charge was welcome.
“The Master will be with you in a moment, gentlemen.” The butler, Roger, then turned, walking down the long hall to fetch Ewing Garth.
Charles sensed that both the Continental captain and the Hessian corporal were uneasy. Ewing Garth approached from the opposite end of the hall, walking toward them. Charles swept off his hat, tucking it under his arm. “Pssst.” He hissed the sound through his teeth. Awkwardly, John Schuyler did the same while Karl Ix pulled off his own tattered cap.
“Ah. My good Captain, what can I do for you?” Ewing Garth inclined his head slightly.
“We have studied your road, Sir, and would like to show you a possible solution.”
Charles quickly opened his drawing case.
“Here, here.” Interest high, Garth took the box in his own hands and placed it on a long, exquisitely graceful hall table, a large display of dried flowers in the center flanked by a small marble bust of Apollo on one side, Artemis on the other. “A new bridge? What’s this?” Garth noted the landings.
“Sir, if Corporal Ix might explain. He studied as an engineer before the war.” Captain Schuyler smiled, nodding to the Hessian, who stepped forward.
“The road is too steep.” The man’s accent was noticeable, but he spoke good English. “Change the grade with a catch point on the other side.”
“Yes.” Ewing Garth was listening intently.
“Bad weather, failed brakes, the landing can catch them. That is why the road goes at an angle and emerges at an angle. Safer.”
“Yes, I see.”
“This way, one moves heavier loads, fewer wagons, fewer men off the farm,” said Captain Schuyler, and as an afterthought, “It could accommodate cannons as well. We will widen the road.”
“Yes
, yes. I see.” Ewing Garth’s bright brown eyes lit up. “Costly.”
“With your permission, Mr. Garth, I can supply men such as Corporal Ix, who have had to build all manner of things, pontoon bridges, palisades, during their service. And if you are willing, you have hardwoods which we could use to construct a sturdier, higher bridge.” As these words left John Schuyler’s mouth, he knew he would have to convince the commandant he had done the right thing, and that such efforts would certainly also benefit the commandant. Captain Schuyler was learning politics.
The key would be to convince his superior that he had to strike while the iron was hot. To bring this up the chain to the commandant’s superiors would take a flock of letters and waste time. To just go ahead, then alert the various colonels and generals to the speedier transport route, would be a feather in the commandant’s cap. He would appear far more decisive than subordinate. Ewing Garth could be useful to all. Captain John Schuyler, born and raised in rural western Massachusetts, was not a political creature, but the war was teaching him a great deal about how the world really worked.
“Who did this sketch?”
“I did, Mr. Garth.” Charles smiled.
“H-m-m.” The wheels were turning, but Garth said nothing for a moment as he studied the road. “Captain, this is an excellent idea, and a benefit to commerce as well as military matters, as you noted. I will visit your commandant myself in a few days to fully discuss the matter. Of course, I am at his service in the prosecution of the war.”
He walked them to the front door, Roger hovering, in case of need. As the door opened, a tremendous uproar from the stable area caused them all to fly down the stairs.
Piglet, who had been left outside, rose from his curled-up position, alarmed, as a horse, a young woman on sidesaddle, bolted toward them. The out-of-control animal charged while its rider gamely stayed on, trying to check and release the reins. Running on foot behind were two grooms from the stable, as well as Captain Graves and Samuel MacLeish. Captain Schuyler dashed across the yard toward the enraged animal. Handing his case to Karl, Charles, too, ran forward.
A lovely young woman, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, ran from the barn on foot, with plainly no hope of catching up. Landowner Garth, clearly not built for speed, moved toward the horse, which now attempted a terrific buck. Still, the rider stayed on. Coming out of the buck, the big bay leapt up, straight for Captain Schuyler. Without flinching, the American soldier stood in front of the horse. Just as its front hooves reached forward, Schuyler nimbly stepped to the side, jumped up, and grabbed the bridle. With all his might and weight, he pulled the horse’s head downward and forced it to stop. As he did so, Charles grabbed the bit on the other side.
“I have him!” Charles yelled.
Releasing the bridle, Captain Schuyler put his large hands around the rider’s waist and lifted her off the horse. He held her tight for a moment, her arms circling his neck.
Catherine Garth had never been so close to any man other than her father. Even through the sleeves of his coat, she could feel huge, powerful muscles.
The fearless man set her down and found himself looking into the eyes of a goddess. John Schuyler had never beheld so beautiful a woman in his life. Thunderstruck, he said nothing.
As one of the grooms reached the horse, Charles came around the other side, saw the two, paralyzed by the sight of each other. With good humor, he swept off his tricorn in a flourish, bowed low. After rising, he removed Captain Schuyler’s hat from his head, handing it to the man. Finding his voice, Captain Schuyler rasped, “At your service, Madam. I hope you are unharmed.”
Face flushed, her father finally reached the scene. Grasping her hands, kissing her cheeks, Ewing Garth was nearly undone with terror. “Oh, my darling, my angel! Come into the house. You must rest,” he babbled.
“Father, it was my fault,” she coolly said. Turning, she called over her shoulder. “Jeddie, don’t punish him. It was my fault.”
“Yes, Miss,” the groom called back.
Rachel Garth, obviously Catherine’s younger sister by the strong resemblance, was now also by her side. The teenage girl smiled up at the captain. “I thank you, good Sir.”
The American officer was awestruck at Catherine’s equestrian skills. “You rode him like, like…” He struggled.
Charles said, “A Valkyrie.”
Captain Schuyler swallowed, grateful to the Englishman.
Catherine laughed. “You flatter me, Sir. I so hope none of us wind up in Valhalla soon.”
Ewing Garth patted her hand. “My dear, my dear, please come into the house!”
“Father, I am quite fine. I was a fool. Had I been hurt, I would have deserved it.”
Rachel, eyes wide, remained silent.
Regaining some possession of his emotions, Ewing Garth smiled. “Gentlemen, my elder daughter, Catherine, much like her late mother, and my younger daughter, Rachel, also a reflection of my wife.” He paused, looked at his elder child, high color in her face. “Headstrong, my dear, headstrong.”
With a tilt of her head and a mischievous grin, she said, “And, Father, the apple does not fall far from the tree.”
Charles quipped, “So many apples,” as he swept his hand toward the new orchards. At this, they all laughed.
“My angel, please, don’t get on that beast again.”
“Father, all the work and noise at the stable has unsettled him, and when I mounted, I was a bit lazy, and hit the poor dear hard in the ribs. It really was all my fault.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Garth said, not at all convinced. “Well, gentlemen, I must return to my labors, and you to yours.”
Catherine cast her warm, luminous brown eyes up at the tall captain. “I do so hope I shall have the pleasure of repaying your courage and kindness.”
“I…”
Charles, half bowing, said, “What he means to say, Mistress Garth, what we all say, is that just to look upon you is repayment enough.”
At this, Rachel giggled. Catherine playfully swatted her sister. The two made their curtseys and walked toward the house.
As Schuyler, West, and Ix headed toward the stables where the other prisoners were working, Charles exclaimed, “A woman like that in England would be the mistress of a king.”
“Then I would kill the king!” blurted out Captain Schuyler.
“Well, you would anyway, would you not?” Charles could not help but tease.
Some of his emotion calmed, Schuyler replied, “Ah, Lieutenant, you are too quick for me.”
Karl Ix had been amused by the drama, and happy the gorgeous woman hadn’t been injured. “Smooth, our lieutenant. Ah, well, he is high born, you know.”
“I could not think of anything to say,” bemoaned Captain Schuyler. “I stood there like a dumb beast myself. She must think me a fool!”
A silence followed this outburst. Karl Ix left to join the barn crew. Jeddie could be seen nearby, hot-walking the horse, now untacked.
“Captain, if you help me, I will help you,” said Charles. As the love-struck man looked at him, he continued, “I can show you the small and varied courtesies you need properly to address Mistress Garth. In return, I ask for more straw to bolster our roof. The winter was hard. And I will need other small things from time to time. I must look out for my men, and”—he looked down at Piglet—“my best friend.”
“I’ll look out for you, too,” Piglet vowed.
John Schuyler stopped, looking straight into Charles West’s eyes. “You can make a gentleman out of a farmer’s son?”
“Yes.”
“You shall have whatever you and Private Piglet require.”
“Good.” Charles put out his hand, and the two clasped hands. “Here is your first lesson. You must be as gallant toward the father as the daughter. An admiring word here or there, constant deference to his wisdom. I will show you. And for God’s sake, Captain, learn how to sweep your hat off your head with a graceful arc, just”—he paused—“not when she is riding. Th
en a small tip will do.”
“I have never seen a woman ride like that!” Captain Schuyler inhaled, overwhelmed by Catherine’s skill and tremendous poise.
“Yes. Well, it is not uncommon for English ladies to ride well enough that the Devil himself would sweat chasing them.”
“I will learn, Lieutenant. I will learn!”
April 25, 2015
People stood outside the chapel at the University of Virginia, down the walkway, onto the front lawn. The crush was so great that even the roadside of the Rotunda was filled. Those of all ages stood to bid goodbye to an exciting teacher, an intellectual ornament to the state of Virginia, and a good man.
Every living governor was there, as was every living president of the university. Paying homage were the two United States senators, the representative to the United States congress, as well as their counterparts to the state General Assembly.
Those current students who had read his books and chatted with him during his office hours also attended. The males wore coats and ties. This was UVA, after all.
Sunshine flooded through the chapel windows. The eulogies, succinct and touching, befitted Ginger. Together with her surviving family and Ginger’s, Trudy sat in the front pew. And while some institutions would have paraded the governor first, not so here. Ginger’s former colleagues, the UVA presidents, sat just behind the family.
The football team of 1959 was in the rear, as were Harry, Fair, Susan, and the Very Reverend Herbert Jones with Miranda Hogendobber. Those who had loved Ginger in life came to bid him farewell. It was a mix of sorrow and loss, as well as joy and admiration.
After the dignified service, the crowd moved behind the chapel, then around the Rotunda and down the undulating lawn to the statue of Homer before Old Cabell Hall. The reception was at Pavilion VII. The lawn of this most beautiful of American universities was filled with people.
Tail Gait Page 10