After a mile at that artificial pace, Henry gave the order to resume a standard march cadence. The men all gasped and staggered their way about the road in utter exhaustion. They had spent the last twelve hours marching while carrying heavy packs and weapons. They were spent, and yet still had ten more miles to go before reaching their barracks and beds.
The road took a hard turn to the left through a lightly wooded area, and his men came under another heavy assault from militia, hundreds of them hiding among the trees. Henry repositioned his horse to cover his right side from fire. Just before the animal blocked out his line of sight, his eyes focused on that same man wearing the bright red hat. These were the same men.
The local militia knew the backwoods paths so well that they were able to get ahead of the British to set up another ambush. Henry ordered the drummer boy to signal another fast march. As the footfalls quickened, his men began firing at random without orders. Things were beginning to fall apart on him.
Another five hundred yards further along, the road took a sharp turn to the right. Again, the militia were there to deliver several demoralizing volleys into the British ranks. Once more, Henry’s eyes found the man in the red hat among the ambushers.
The same men were chasing them all the way down the lane, and then crossed the fields to emerge again. Under the trees at every turn of the road, they seemed to pause only long enough to fire and load.
Henry would have ordered another trot if he thought his men were capable, but the desperate gasps for air let him know even their double-time pace would soon falter. He was tempted to order a firing line and hold the position long enough for the men to catch their breath, but most were now out of ammunition.
The situation was such that if it persisted for much longer it would require them to lay down arms or risk the rebels picking them off at their pleasure. A third of his men were lost, and they still had five miles to traverse. When the column neared the village of Lincoln, Henry’s dire mood was lifted by a great cheer that rose from his advanced guard.
The jubilant mood rippled along the marching column and hit home with General Clinton when his eyes spotted a body of redcoats marching toward them. The celebration took true flight when the blast of two cannons from that force sent the projectiles harmlessly overhead, but was enough to send the pursuing militia back into the woods.
Henry took the opportunity to mount his horse and rode ahead to greet the man commanding their reinforcements. Earl Percy greeted him with a crisp salute. “I heard the militia gave you and your men some trouble.”
“They did indeed,” Henry confirmed. “They never formed a proper linear formation like we do in European warfare. They fired at us from behind trees and stone walls. It was so scattered and irregular, yet they showed perseverance and resolution. They knew too well what was proper given the terrain.”
“Their rag-tag tactics may have worked today on a small expeditionary force, but that disorganized mob of misfits will never stand against a proper body of troops,” Earl Percy countered.
Henry shook his head in vehement denial of the statement. “Whoever looks upon them as an irregular mob will find himself much mistaken. They have men amongst them who know the business of warfare very well, having served against the French and the Indians. Plus, this country is covered with woods and hills, and is very advantageous for their method of fighting.”
“Mark my words,” Henry continued. “On parchment this little rebellion should be no concern at all against our forces, but the reality is we will have our hands full.”
“Let’s get you back to the safety of Boston where we can formulate a proper counter to this little insurrection,” the Earl suggested.
Henry thought about mentioning the siege guns his men destroyed and the potential threat the city of Boston faced, but they rendered those weapons useless. Even though the city and neighboring Charlestown lay on a peninsula and easily surrounded on three sides, the fourth lay open to the sea, which the British ruled unchallenged with their warships. Without those big cannons, the rebels would never successfully isolate Boston.
Chapter 28: Let Liberty Ring
Valnor arrived in Philadelphia to far less fanfare than he anticipated. This was the second meeting of the Continental Congress. A collection of learned men were deciding the fate of a potential new nation rebelling against Great Britain. These were the greatest minds and wealthiest men from all the thirteen colonies. This was a once in a millennia event, and nobody seemed to notice.
He would have preferred going to his inn and depositing his travel bags, but he was running late. The three-hundred mile trek from the siege works set up around Boston to Philadelphia was not a smooth one. Heavy rains forced him to seek shelter and then left the roads muddy and slow forcing him to travel all night to arrive in time for the morning meeting of the congress.
Valnor guided his horse up to the Pennsylvania State House and was impressed by what he saw. The gigantic structure featured a central building made of brick with a bell tower and steeple rising almost two-hundred feet into the sky. There were two smaller buildings on either side attached to the main structure by covered walkways featuring decorative arches and support columns.
Throwing off the symmetry was a giant clock on the building’s west end. It had a forty-foot tall limestone base capped with a fourteen-foot wooden case surrounding the clock face and resembled a tall, slender grandfather clock.
Just before Valnor stepped down from his horse, a bell sounded from the tower, bringing the day’s session to order. He could not help but wince at the tone. Most bells drew a glorious pinging sound from the copper metal used in their casting that seemed to float on the air and linger for several uplifting heartbeats. This bell’s tone was more of a dull thump that dropped to the ground and gratefully stayed there.
The boy Valnor handed his reins to had no trouble reading his body language. “Gawd awful noise ain’t it, like two coal scuttles bangin’ together?”
“That about covers it,” Valnor agreed. “Did they spend that much money to build a new state house and bell tower and then chintz on the bell itself?”
“Actually no,” the boy countered, “they spent plenty. It was made by the best company in London and shipped here. Massive thing, biggest I ever saw. So big that when they rang it for the first time it cracked along the rim and halfway up the side. They tried fixing it a few times, even recast it, but nothing seemed to help.”
“That has nothing to do with the size, my boy. The casting company must have used cheap metal like tin or lead instead of pure copper,” Valnor instructed. “That, more than the crack, accounts for the lousy sound. It’s a rather fitting symbol for this congress though. We send good coin back to London and they send us an inferior product and think us too dumb or weak to do anything about it.”
“Hah, I never thought on it like that. It gets better yet since they named it the Liberty Bell,” the boy called after Valnor on his way up the front steps.
“We’ll see about making that dream a reality,” Valnor replied without looking back. The nasty bell toll meant he was late after all.
Valnor quietly snuck his way into the main meeting hall and found a seat along the back wall. Sadly, he was there as an observer and not as an official voting delegate of the Massachusetts colony. Taking part in the pending debates would have been more entertaining, but this still beat the monotony of sitting idle with the other militia forces surrounding Boston. The siege had reached an impasse with the British unable to break free, but the colonials unable to cut off the resupply lines by sea.
Dominating the meeting hall from the front was a large desk situated on an elevated platform two-steps above the main floor. At that desk, Valnor’s friend and voting delegate for Massachusetts, John Hancock, was being sworn in as president of the proceedings.
A distinguished gentleman named Peyton Randolph originally held the position but was recalled to lead Virginia’s legislative body, the House of Burgesses. That decisio
n, in and of itself, was rather telling of how lightly most people in the colonies took this grand meeting of minds. The colonies valued their own independent governance above an aggregated rule of law.
It was a major blow to the prestige of the Continental Congress, but was also a blessing. John Hancock was the quintessential leader of the Sons of Liberty. He believed whole-heartedly in the cause for independence and believed the colonies needed to stand together or else they would fall separately. Plus, the man’s iron will was a force of nature to be reckoned with. He would get things done.
BANG, BANG, BANG, Mr. Hancock smacked his gavel on the table to induce silence in the giant room. “It is my great honor to bring this meeting to order as your newly appointed president. Our first order of business is to recognize the arrival of the voting delegation from the colony of Georgia. Do I have a motion?”
“So moved,” a delegate shouted.
“Second,” another said.
“All those in favor?”
“Aye,” came a unanimous chorus.
“The motion carried. Welcome delegates from Georgia,” Mr. Hancock said and led a round of applause before restoring a quiet order about the chamber once more.
“Our second order is to approve new delegates. Mr. Thomas Jefferson is replacing the departed Peyton Randolph of Virginia. Also, we have Mr. Benjamin Franklin, recently arrived from a diplomatic mission in London, voting for the Pennsylvania colony.”
“All those in favor of their approval?”
Another unanimous vote put that matter to rest, which allowed Mr. Hancock to continue. “Mr. Franklin, would you please give this gathering your first-hand read on the British reaction to the Boston situation. What’s being said about the matter in London?”
“All the wrong things I’m afraid,” Mr. Franklin answered on the way to his feet. “They are intent on, and I quote, ‘breaking the rebellious will of the Massachusetts colony’. I could spend hours recounting the rather colorful metaphors used to describe our fair colonies, but that short quote sums it up quite nicely I think.”
“To be honest with you fine gentlemen, at first I viewed this argument between the colonies and the Home Country as a kind of law-suit over enforcement of legislation. However, after news of the battles of Lexington and Concord reached me, where hundreds died, I have rejected the hardened, sullen-tempered Pharaoh of England forever.”
The harsh critique prompted cheers and a resounding applause. Mr. Franklin waited patiently for the ruckus to die down before continuing. “In that deep rooted desire, nay necessity, for freedom from England, I move that we form a committee and assign them the task to draft a declaration of our independence from the crown.”
The motion drew another round of loud cheers from the delegates. “I second the motion,” any number of men offered.
“Point of order!” a loud voice boomed above the applause to invoke silence. The owner stood to reveal himself as a delegate from Georgia, the last holdout of the thirteen colonies to send attendees.
“The appointment of delegates to this congress was generally by popular convention, or by state assemblies in some instances,” the angry man began. “In neither case can the appointing body be considered the original depository of the power by which these delegates wish to act. These first and second conventions are little more than self-appointed and hastily assembled gatherings, including but a small fraction of the population to be represented.”
“What’s more, the state assemblies have no right to surrender to another body one atom of the power granted to them, nor to create new power to govern the people without their will. This declaration of independence you seek to write will have a profound effect on this entire continent of people. Who are we to decide such a thing?”
“Aye,” a handful of delegates beholden to the tenet that each colony had rights in dire need of protection. In effect, they saw no need or legal right for a central governing body to exist.
“If we do not stand together now, we will most assuredly hang separately later,” Mr. Franklin offered in defense of his motion. “But I digress…back to the motion at hand. This motion only appoints the committee to craft the words. This body will then have the chance to debate and vote whether to use those words and send them out for the world to read. It will give us a head start if that is the path we choose. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“All those in favor?” Mr. Hancock ordered before a possible exchange of more heated words could occur.
To Valnor’s surprise, the motion carried with a unanimous vote. The Georgia delegates were not convinced that independence was the proper course to take, but drafting a document to that effect to give them options was a good idea it seemed.
“Next I’d like our attentions turned to the military situation. For that update, I’ve asked my friend Alexander Hamilton, a colonel in one of the militias surrounding Boston at present, to give a first-hand assessment for us. Sir, the floor is yours.”
Upon hearing the name he used for this lifetime, Valnor got to his feet and paced to the open center of the room. “The situation as a whole can be summed up in one word – uncoordinated. The various militia groups around the region of Boston managed to come together for one night of coordinated actions that sent the British regulars scampering back behind the walls of Boston.”
“Now we sit behind our walls, and they behind theirs,” Valnor went on. “Neither side has sufficient force to move the other, for now at least. The British will send ships with reinforcements eventually. That means we have a narrow window of opportunity to prove to the rest of the world, and ourselves mind you, that this is a conflict we can win.”
“Elsewhere around the colonies, militias in New York, Pennsylvania, and South Carolina have all taken over lightly defended forts from the British. Most notable of these is Fort Ticonderoga in New York where over sixty cannons and mortars of various sizes were captured including several twenty-four pound ‘Big Berthas’.”
“These cannons are badly needed to complete the taking of the British stronghold in Boston, but there is no authority to move them. For the moment, their militia leader, Mr. Benedict Arnold, considers those guns his to hold.”
“In short, the individual militias are accomplishing good things on their own, but it is ad-hoc at best and lacks a coordinated strategy,” Valnor concluded.
“What do you suggest,” Mr. Hancock asked of Valnor, exactly as they plotted a week earlier when John learned he would be presiding over the Continental Congress as its president going forward.
“I suggest this body sanction the creation of a Continental Army commanded by one general,” Valnor offered, knowing full well that the next step would be John recommending Valnor to take command of that army.
“Is more violence really necessary?” the delegate from Georgia challenged. “We’ve made our point. The crown in London has no choice but to take the colonies and our demands seriously now.”
“Further military action is most certainly required at this point,” a soft-spoken voice responded from the back of the chamber. The volume may have been low, but the intensity was undeniable. Valnor turned to locate the owner and barely managed to keep his jaw from dropping open in surprise.
It had been almost twenty years since he last saw the man, but Valnor could never forget the formidable sight of his former commanding officer, George Washington. The confident man stepped forward to take the floor with his towering height on full display. Not only that, everyone else in the room sat dressed in fine suits. Mr. Washington bucked that trend by wearing his formal military uniform, complete with saber and hat, to remind everybody that he was by far the most experienced military mind in the colonies. In doing so, he had the room’s rapt attention.
“The brother’s sword has been sheathed in the brother’s breast. We now have a sad choice. Either we are to live as slaves, or the once happy plains of America must be drenched in blood. The virtuous men among us cannot hesitate in this choice,” Washington concluded.
John Adams added his thoughts on the matter as well. “The Die was cast; the Rubicon crossed with the Lexington and Concord conflicts. There is no going back from this point.”
“The militia around Boston are already massed and grouped in what would easily transition into organized regiments with a ready officer’s corps drawn from the militia leaders,” Washington added. “I volunteer my services to lead this Continental Army that Mr. Hamilton suggests.”
“Aye. Aye,” the room cheered in agreement. “Let General Washington have command.”
Valnor looked to John Hancock to see if he had any flashes of brilliance that would turn the tide of sentiment supporting Washington. They both shared the same expression of resignation to the moment. Things did not work out quite as planned, but Valnor knew Washington to be a good and honorable man; nearly to a fault. He was also a very capable commander and well-regarded throughout the colonies. All was not lost, just switched to plan B, which Valnor needed to come up with and fast.
Chapter 29: Burying the Hatchet
Valnor stood outside Paulson’s Pub for quite some time summoning the nerve to go in. The day’s session of the Continental Congress had adjourned, and most of the delegates ventured across the street to toast General Washington and his new command. Valnor bore no ill will toward the man for disrupting his plans, but the General may very well still harbor a grudge against him.
The last time they saw each other was at Fort McCord following their surrender and forced march out of the French frontier territories. Lt. Colonel Washington, at the time promised, to have Valnor court-martialed and hanged for disobeying orders. Since Valnor was not particularly keen on the idea of taking a swing under the gallows, he made himself scarce.
Origins: Revolution (Crew Chronicles Book 2) Page 17