by Tim Black
“Let’s try not to shoot anyone, Minerva,” Bette said.
“I agree. Maybe if we have to, we could fire one in the air. Do you know how to fire it?”
“Well, I’ve got a daddy who took me shooting when I was six. You just cock the hammer, point and pull the trigger.”
“That’s easy enough. I’ve only shot rifles myself.
“It is easy to fire… The pain is in the reloading.”
Minerva felt her heart begin to race. She was anxious. She was scared. A few hundred yards ahead was the outline of Fort Mifflin. Where were the moat and the moat bridge? If this was a fort, there wasn’t much too it, she thought. It appeared that only one side of the fort had a stone wall completed, and another side had mound-like earthen fortifications known as redoubts, but she couldn’t spot a moat.
“Do you think we’re at the wrong fort, Bette?” Minerva asked.
“No, this is the right one. It’s just not finished yet. Are those heads sticking out of the earth?”
About fifty yards ahead, two heads appeared and then disappeared, like Whack-A-Moles at the county fair. Up one moment, gone the next, dirt flying. Then Minerva noticed the shovels beneath the flying dirt. These heads were digging something.
“That’s the twins,” Minerva said. “Justin and Heath. Their heads at least.”
“Well at least they haven’t lost them…yet. Look Minerva, the other guy, the guy wearing a tri-corner hat with the musket?”
Minerva saw a hiding place behind some bushes. “C’mon Minerva, don’t let the soldier see us.”
Minerva wouldn’t advise any girl to run in an 18th century dress, but she and Bette hid behind the bushes until they came up with a plan.
“A diversion might work. Get the guard’s attention while the other sneaks up behind him?” Minerva said.
“Yes, that sounds good,” Bette said. “Flank movement? You play the tramp, Minerva.”
“Me? Why should I be the floozy?”
“Because I know how to use my gun.”
Minerva nodded and placed her pistol on the ground. “I can’t flirt if I’m carrying a pistol, Bette,” she explained.
“Okay,” Bette said and, hunching over, ran around behind where the head of the soldier stood guarding the heads of the Anderson twins.
What were they doing? Minerva wondered as she walked out from the bushes directly toward the soldier. She felt her heart beating faster. Suddenly the ghost of Mary Beard appeared.
“Mrs. Beard, what are you doing here?”
“Well, dear, I went back to Betsy Ross’s house. Mr. Greene told me where you were. Charles didn’t want to leave Carpenter’s Hall, since the First Continental Congress initially met there and well, after a spell, I got a little bored and floated away from him. And, well…here I am. I watched you row across the Delaware and I thought: Minerva crosses the Delaware, just like George Washington did back in the day, as you people say.“
Mrs. Beard was a chatterbox, Minerva thought. She didn’t have time to entertain the ghost, no matter how much the apparition needed attention.
“Mrs. Beard, I’ve got to charm the soldier over there,” she said, pointing to the militiaman’s head.”
“Why don’t I just scare him, dear?”
Yes, Minerva thought, why didn’t Mrs. Beard just scare the sentry? She mused a moment and then said: “Because the guard might accidentally shoot his musket and kill one of the Anderson twins.”
“Yes, Minerva, that is a possibility,” Mrs. Beard conceded.
“Why don’t you float ahead and scout things out for me, Mrs. Beard?” Minerva suggested.
Mrs. Beard agreed and flew ahead to check things out.
Minerva was surprised to feel her anxiety ebb. She could do this, she told herself. Think of Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With the Wind. Act the part of the southern belle.
Mrs. Beard returned and reported the Anderson twins were digging what she assumed would be the moat of Fort Mifflin; there was, indeed, only one guard, and Bette was already in place and waiting for Minerva to cause the distraction.
Minerva came out from cover and walked toward the soldier. She felt her heart begin to race again. “Lord, give me strength”, she whispered.
“It’s too bad you didn’t wear a corset, dear,” Mrs. Beard observed. “You’re a bit lacking topside.”
First Bette and now a ghost, Minerva thought, blushing. “Pretend you are lost, dear,” Mrs. Beard advised.
That was good advice. “Hello there,” Minerva called to the soldier, who turned his head and gave a startled expression, although thankfully he didn’t point his musket at her.
“What are you doing here, miss?” the soldier asked. He didn’t seem older than sixteen. He was a peach-fuzzed boy guarding two other peach-fuzzed boys. How in the world did they ever win independence? she thought to herself. Be Scarlett, she told herself.
“Fiddly dee, I’m lost,” Minerva lied.
“Lost?” the soldier said.
Below Minerva in the partially completed ditch, the Anderson twins smiled. Above the soldier but behind and to his left, Bette cocked her pistol.
“Drop you musket, soldier,” Bette said, pointing her pistol at the guard.
The soldier turned and faced Bette, who was pointing the weapon at his heart. He hesitated, and in that moment Heath grabbed the guard’s musket. Minerva, thinking quickly, turned away from the boys and ripped some cloth from her petticoat. “Tie him up,” she ordered Justin, handing him the cloth. “Do it now, Justin!”
“Where are the other soldiers, Heath?” Bette asked.
“Working on the south wall,” Heath said. “We’d better get out of here quick. Hello, Mrs. Beard,” said Heath, noticing the ghost.
“You boys are real scamps,” she said, but she was smiling.
Sure, Mrs. Beard, Minerva thought, you can smile at their shenanigans: you’re dead. Boys seemed to be able to get away with anything, it was almost as if people expected boys to mess things up and then the girls would come along and fix it or clean up the mess. That’s what her mom always told her. Maybe it wasn’t fair, especially in the 18th century, but so far so good. She and Bette had saved the two boys and that was a great feeling. Of course, they weren’t off the island yet. It was a little early for a victory cheer.
For good measure, Minerva told Justin to stick a bit of petticoat in the soldier’s mouth to keep him from shouting for help. The boys grabbed their hats and the four of them were off, making a path back to the rowboat. Mary Beard floated ahead like a scout on reconnaissance and quickly returned to say the way to the boat was clear. They were two hundred yards from the moat of Fort Mifflin when Minerva heard what sounded like a firecracker as a piece of bark flew off a scrub pine to their right.
“They’re firing on you,” Mrs. Beard said. “The men in the blue coats from the fort, it appears. I think you are still out of range.”
“Blessed Jesus!” Minerva shouted. Mrs. Beard thought they were out of range. This darn dress, Minerva thought, hitching it up to run faster. The boys were fifty yards ahead, Heath carrying the soldier’s musket. Bette Kromer was barely keeping up with Minerva and was beginning to gasp for breath. “I know I should have dressed out in P.E.,” she said, and Minerva laughed. The laughter helped ease her anxiety.
“Bette,” she replied, her adrenalin kicking in. “That is the dumbest thing you have ever said. They’re shooting at us, for heaven’s sake.”
“Yes!” Bette said. “It’s exciting, Minerva,” she replied, catching a second wind.
Minerva stopped at the bushes to catch her breath. Another musket ball whistled by, falling harmlessly in the island sand. At the boat, the boys, standing in the water, were waving their hands, frantically urging the girls on.
“Run faster!” they shouted in unison. “I can see the soldiers behind you. They’re coming!”
“C’mon, girls!”
Minerva was thankful the boys had the good sense to have the boat in the water at least
, ready to push off.
As the girls jumped into the boat and grabbed the oars, the boys pushed the craft away from the shore and jumped into the craft as well.
“Leave the musket, Heath,” Bette ordered.
“Why? It’ll be a great souvenir.”
“We don’t know how it might change history.”
“Okay, but can I at least fire it?”
“In the air,” Bette replied. “Don’t shoot any of the soldiers. We don’t know what that might do.”
“It might slow them down a bit, Bette, geez.” Heath stood up in the boat and aimed the musket at the sky, then slowly dropped it level to take a shot at the soldiers rushing toward the beach. He pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.
“Let me see that gun,” Justin demanded as the girls grabbed the oars.
Heath, wearing a puzzled face, handed the musket to Justin. He examined it.
“It wasn’t loaded,” he laughed.
“What! You mean that one guy held us prisoner with an unloaded rifle?”
“It’s a musket,” Bette corrected.
“What’s the difference?” Heath said.
“A musket has a smooth bore; a rifle has rifled grooves, that’s why it is called a rifle. A musket isn’t accurate over a hundred yards, if that. A rifle can kill a person at long range.” Bette tossed the musket toward the beach, but the girls, fueled by their adrenalin, had already taken the craft fifty yards from the Mud Island shore. The musket landed in the Delaware River.
Amazing. Bette Kromer knew more about guns than boys her age. Minerva had heard Bette even beat the boys at chess.
“Bette,” Minerva interrupted. “Let’s not dawdle, the soldiers are lining up on the beach.”
“That’s their firing position,” Bette said. “We’d better keep low. Keep rowing, Minerva, we’ve got to get a few more yards away. We’re still in range.”
Minerva could hear the officer on the beach call his men into file. She could count six men besides the officer, including the boy who had been guarding the twins. Even at a hundred yards Minerva could see how angry that one boy was.
“We only have a few seconds before they fire,” Bette said. “Let’s get down in the boat and let the river current take us,” Bette suggested. Minerva didn’t need to be told twice—she ducked her body to the flat of the boat. “Boys, get your heads down now!” Bette yelled as the militia officer called, “Ready, aim” and then, finally “fire.”
But at over a hundred yards, they were safe, although one musket ball hit the back of the craft, causing a few splinters, and two balls splashed harmlessly in the water beside the craft.
“Up, Minerva, row like the devil, we’ve got thirty seconds before they reload and shoot at us again. Boys, put up the sail!” Bette barked.
“My arms are sore from digging,” Heath whined.
“Justin?” she asked.
“Me too,” Justin said.
They were both worthless, Minerva thought. Whiney little mama’s boys. Minerva took a deep breath and she and Bette hoisted the shallop’s little sail. The boys were afraid to lift their heads up for fear of being shot. They were crying; they were cowering in the flat of the boat.
“We’re a team,” Bette said to Minerva as the sail went up. She shook her head at the Anderson twins. Sad, her eyes seemed to say to Minerva.
“We are a team,” Minerva agreed, but she was looking back at the shoreline. “Time to duck down again, Bette.”
The officer’s command was becoming fainter to the ear, but they heard the report and saw the smoke from the muskets.
Mrs. Beard floated up to the girls. “May I help, dearies?” she asked.
“We might need a little wind, Mrs. Beard. It’s too calm,” Minerva said.
“I’ll be right back,” said Mary Beard, and she took off like a rocket.
“I didn’t know ghosts could fly so fast,” Heath said, from the safety of the floor of the boat.
You don’t know much about anything, you idiot, Minerva thought, trying not to open her mouth and say some unchristian thing to Heath. Bette, Minerva noticed, was rolling her eyes at Heath.
Cowards, thought Minerva.
Mary Beard, with her husband Charles, reappeared a few moments later.
“Hello, dears,” said Mary cheerily. “I’ve brought Charles. He’s always been a bag of wind. Pretend you are lecturing, Charles,” she teased. “That should get the children back to Philadelphia in no time.”
Charles frowned, but still did not say anything. He huffed and he puffed on the little sail. Suddenly Minerva could feel a slight breeze at her back, and the little rowboat sailed slowly against the current and their rowing became easier, aided by Mr. Beard and the incoming tide as they turned west for the city. In fifteen minutes they were back at the dock in Philadelphia, leaving behind Mud Island and a group of angry Pennsylvania militia, shaking their fists at the four students from the 21st century.
Chapter 11
When Victor arrived at the Ross house, only Mr. Greene and Cornelia Bridges were present. He presented Rodney’s riding crop to Mr. Greene, who thanked him profusely from his sickbed, although by now he was sitting up without assistance.
“Are you okay, Mr. Greene?” Victor asked.
“Yes, the headache is gone,” he whispered to Victor conspiratorially. “Thanks to some aspirin.”
“Aspirin?”
“Victor, I teach high school students. I always carry aspirin.”
“But?”
“No worry, no one from this time saw me swallow them. So tell me, what did you think of Rodney?”
“I heard his speech to Congress,” Victor said.
“Really? How did you manage that?”
“Benjamin Franklin gave me his card and it granted me access to Independence Hall. I heard Rodney’s short speech voting for independence.”
“Franklin, eh? Is it true the old geezer asked Minerva for a date?”
Old geezer? Victor thought, looking at Mr. Greene. It was funny to hear an old man like Mr. Greene call another man an “old geezer.” Mr. Greene had to be forty.
“Yes, he did, Mr. Greene,” Victor said.
“How do you know that, Victor?”
“I was having lunch with Dr. Franklin and Thomas Jefferson.”
“Both of them?”
“Yes, and quite a few of the other congressional delegates including the Adams cousins. Jefferson was upset about all the changes the delegates made to his writing and Franklin talked about a turkey as a national symbol and the delegates raised their glasses to honor the turkey…”
Mr. Greene laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Just Ben Franklin. People never knew when he was serious and when he was pulling their, ah…drumstick.”
“Groan, Mr. Greene,” Victor said, but he smiled.
“You know, if you ever get to Philadelphia in our time, go to the Christ Church graveyard and throw a penny on Franklin’s grave. That’s supposed to be for luck. Benjamin Rush is buried in the same cemetery, so are some of the others. I can’t remember all of them, but I bet you could find that out online when we get home.”
Victor nodded. “Where are Minerva and Bette, Mr. Greene?” he asked.
“They went off to Fort Mifflin to retrieve the Anderson twins.”
“Minerva and Bette? Alone to Fort Mifflin?”
“Yes. They are more than capable, Victor. In fact, I would say they are quite a bit more capable than the Anderson twins. They took off in a rowboat with a sail and the Beards went to help them out.”
“A rowboat? The girls?” Victor said, totally stunned. He couldn’t even row a boat. He had turned his canoe over at Boy Scout camp and said goodbye to a merit badge and his dream of becoming an Eagle Scout.
“Perhaps they swam, Victor. Fort Mifflin is on the Delaware River, about a mile from Philadelphia.
“The river? A rowboat?” Victor said, still amazed. Then he asked: “Where is Mrs. Ross?”
; “She took my glasses frames to be fixed. Some silversmith down the street. The frames were so bent my glasses wouldn’t stay on my nose.”
“Not Paul Revere?”
“No, Victor. Revere is in Boston. He’s not a delegate. Blame that ride legend on Longfellow, the poet, and his ‘listen my children and you shall hear of the midnight ride of Paul Revere’—heck, he was arrested. William Dawes was the clarion who actually completed the ride, but imagine Longfellow writing ‘listen my children and you shall hear…of the midnight ride of William Dawes. Great book, Paul Revere’s Ride, you should read it sometime.”
This is no time to digress, Mr. Greene, Victor thought, no time for one of your strolls down a trivia trail that might be interesting in the classroom. They were living history, he thought, and no story, no matter how interesting, could take the place of actually being there. Those aren’t my words, Victor thought, they are Mr. Greene’s own words, his own rationale for the field trips to the past. The old man was right.
The bell above the front door to the shop rang out and Victor peeked around a doorway to see who had entered the room.
“Benjamin Franklin,” he whispered to Mr. Greene.
“What?” Mr. Greene said. Managing to stand, he winced and hobbled to a Queen Anne chair a few feet away. “I think my ankle is sprained, Victor,” he said. “I can’t walk.”
Oh brother, Victor thought. What next? He was beginning to get worried about getting back to Cassadaga Area High School and the good old 21st century. What could he do in the 18th century? He doubted fly catching was a trade?
Mrs. Ross came into the room ahead of Franklin, as if she were to introduce him.
Benjamin Franklin, upon seeing Victor, smiled and said, “Victor the famous fly catcher!”
Victor saw that Mr. Greene appeared disappointed, for Benjamin Franklin had totally ignored the history teacher. Ouch, thought Victor. That must hurt.