by John Smolens
“Cut off an army’s food supply,” Ezra said, “and it grows weak.”
“Exactly.” Lumley raised his empty tankard, seeking a barmaid’s attention. “I’m so pleased to be quit of that army and taken in by you provincials, I thought it only just that I offer my assistance.”
“To do what?” Benjamin asked.
“Preemptive military action,” Lumley said. “And, needless to say, I did both of you the honor of volunteering your services as well.” He stripped another chunk of meat off his shank and chewed vigorously.
Ezra leaned across the table. “What exactly did you volunteer us for?”
“Why, shepherding, of course.” Lumley’s eyes were still intent upon his ample bone. “I grew up on a sheep farm and I’ll tell you, gentlemen, the trick is to keep the animals in front of you, and to watch your step.”
Truer words were never spoken, and the following Saturday they marched with a small detachment to Charlestown, where in the early morning hours they ferried across the Mystic River to Hog Island. At low water they forded the tidal inlet between Hog and Noddle’s islands and began herding livestock back toward the mainland—hundreds of sheep and lambs, and a lesser number of cattle and horses. It was one thing to step in it, another to slip and fall in it. Piles of it. This, Lumley informed Benjamin as he helped him up off the ground, was how his own grandfather had died, losing his purchase in mud and dung and cracking his skull open on a rock. Lumley employed a staff, and he implored Benjamin and Ezra to do the same.
By midday, they could see a British schooner and a sloop beating across the harbor from Boston. The Americans continued to herd animals as the ships approached, until the schooner cruised up the inlet at flood tide in an attempt to cut off any provincial retreat. A landing party of redcoats fanned out into the marshes, and their steady fire forced the provincials to take refuge in a shallow ravine. They exchanged sporadic fire into the afternoon, and portions of the hayfields were torched, consuming the island with smoke.
Benjamin lay on the slope of the ravine alongside Ezra and Lumley. They had limited ammunition, so would shoot only occasionally. Late afternoon Lumley’s ball caught a soldier in the thigh. As the man hobbled back to the schooner, which was out of firing range, Lumley handed his gun to Ezra and slid down to the bottom of the ravine. He sat, his arms embracing his knees, staring back toward the burning hayfield.
Ezra and Benjamin began to reload the musket. “He’s got a good eye, a steady hand.”
“That he does,” Benjamin said.
They glanced down at Lumley but he took no heed.
When the musket was reloaded, Ezra and Benjamin crawled up to the lip of the ravine. The redcoats were retreating to the schooner.
“The tide,” Benjamin said finally. “It’s turning.”
For the next hour they watched as the British tried to move the vessel down the creek toward the deep water of the harbor. They kedged with anchors, they put men out in tow boats, while others pulled lines from the shore, yet the hull made little progress downstream. Meanwhile, from the left, perhaps a hundred yards across the hayfield, there was steady report of British firearms, enough to keep the provincials from leaving the ravine and descending upon the ship.
Eventually, Benjamin slid down in the dirt until he was crouching in front of Lumley. Since coming over from Boston, Lumley had been in high spirits, delighted in his newfound freedom. But now the tracks of his tears ran down through the soot and ash that were caked on his cheeks.
“Tide’s falling,” Benjamin offered.
Lumley didn’t seem to hear.
From above, Ezra said, “By nightfall she’ll be grounded, then we’ll take her.”
Abigail had been hanging linens in the dooryard, when boys ran down School Street crying out about a skirmish on Noddle’s Island. She went in haste to the North End, and all along her route Bostonians were crowded in upper-story windows; boys perched on roofs, clinging to chimneys and weather vanes as they gazed toward the harbor. When she found Mariah in her kitchen, oblivious to events, they rushed down to her uncle’s waterside sail loft.
“The Brits have sent acrost the schooner Diana,” Joshua Tigge said. Mariah’s uncle held a spyglass to his eye with a gnarled hand. “She’s gone up Chelsea Creek, meaning to keep our boys from getting back to the mainland. And a sloop has landed a small party of soldiers on the beach at Noddle’s.”
He offered Abigail the glass, and what it bore was quite remarkable. She could make out redcoats, hunkered down in the dune grass. Occasionally there was a burst of white smoke from their guns, and a few heartbeats later she could hear the faint report come across the water, sounding like the crackle from a distant fire. Beyond, the hayfields were in flames, the breeze pushing a column of smoke out over the harbor. “I cannot see our men,” she said as she gave the spyglass to Mariah.
Joshua raked his fingers through the vast gray beard that fanned out on his chest. “Them fools will run aground if they don’t get that schooner back down the creek.”
“I see a puff of smoke—two,” Mariah said. “It must be the Americans returning fire.”
Joshua’s eyes were bright with joy. “The bastards have been raiding the islands for livestock. Our best chance is to drive the flock inland. Deer Island, Pettick’s Island—all grazing pastures. We best remove them all. I’ve been talking with other fishermen. After dark, our smacks will help take sheep off the outer islands.”
Mariah returned the spyglass to him and said, “I wish to assist you, Uncle.” He collapsed the spyglass and thrust it down into a small leather pouch, seemingly an act of refusal. Hotly, she added, “You know how often I put out with my father and helped him haul in his nets. And I know every island shore in this harbor.”
“Mariah, your father will back come to haunt me for putting you in harm’s way.”
“Father, I’m sure, will see to it that we come to no harm.”
Joshua shook his head. “So, I be cursed.”
“Not if we accompany you,” Abigail said, and then Mariah touched her sleeve. “With our help, we can gather sheep faster.”
“We?” Joshua’s rheumy eyes were the palest blue, and they bore in on Abigail with undivided attention. “You have been abroad on the harbor? The currents and the wind, they can be most unpredictable.”
“I have fished and worked the clam beds with my brother oftentimes,” Abigail said.
Only in half jest, Mariah said, “Uncle, think you not this lady too delicate.”
As he lifted his eyes skyward, as if asking forgiveness, the graybeard muttered, “I pray my brother Anse is so preoccupied in heaven that he does not cast an eye upon me this day.” He started for the loft stairs. “I will go down the beach and talk to others. We will make our preparations and push off after sunset.”
The exchange of fire continued through the afternoon, but provincial reinforcements streamed on to the island—hundreds of men, including Dr. Warren and General Israel Putnam, from Connecticut. In the early evening, Old Put climbed up over the lip of the ravine and stood in full view of the British schooner, which was now hopelessly aground in the tidal mud. He was a stout man with an enormous deep voice and he bellowed out that if the crew surrendered, he promised them safe passage off the island. He walked slowly back to the ravine, defiantly, almost taunting the British to fire. None did. Several minutes passed and then the British responded by setting off two of their deck carronades. The balls whistled through the smoky air and fell well short of the ravine, landing in the sand with a dull thud.
Word soon passed down the ravine that they would attack at sunset. The men gathered in small groups. There were cooking fires, the smell of meat roasting on a spit. Some slept, while others preoccupied themselves with betting on caterpillar races in the sand. The heat built through the afternoon, and by early evening the lengthening shadows in the ravine were welcome.
Ezra shared some salt pork with Benjamin and Lumley. “You appear less distracted now.”
&
nbsp; Lumley had been working at his flask of rum since shooting the soldier. “I have much considered my actions, but drawing the blood of one of my own—strange, isn’t it?—this I did not foresee.” He attempted a smile, revealing stained, crooked teeth. “What I truly desire is to live this soldier’s life no more, but it is not time yet.”
“What do you desire, then?” Benjamin asked.
“Land—it’s all you provincials have to offer,” Lumley said. “Land has been promised. I want to farm. Maybe even have a few sheep, eh?”
“You shall, one day when this is finished,” Ezra said. “I hear there is good soil in New Hampshire and Vermont.”
“Do you wish to farm?” Lumley asked him.
“I have considered it,” Ezra said. “What is the future but a dream?”
Lumley nodded. “To good Vermont soil then.” He took another pull from his flask.
“A mite far inland for me,” Benjamin said.
“When the port is reopened, you will go to sea?” Ezra asked.
“I have considered it.” Benjamin smiled. “But there’s ample cod and shellfish right here in the harbor. That would be my harvest. You would go to Vermont, Ezra, rather than remain in Concord?”
Ezra appeared reluctant to answer, but finally said, “It is getting crowded in Concord.” To Lumley, he added, “My mother has removed there from Boston, to be with relatives.”
Benjamin said, “I look to the day when there is not one redcoat in Boston.” When both Ezra and Lumley regarded him with skepticism, he asked “You do not think this can be?”
Lumley regarded him a moment. “He has much youthful hope.”
“Aye,” Ezra said.
“It be no different,” Lumley said, “this soldiering on the one side or the other. Before battle, we would talk of the time when we will soldier no more.” There was some humor in Lumley’s eyes. “And, of course, women.”
Benjamin flushed at the reference.
“You have a girl?” Lumley did not wait for a reply. “Most certainly you do. And does she not treat you well? Does she pull you to her in hot desperation?”
Benjamin turned to Ezra, who also seemed embarrassed, though curious.
“What is her name?” Lumley coaxed.
Benjamin felt his face heat up. “Mariah.”
“Ah. Mariah.” Lumley took another pull. He planted the flask in the sand, an offering the other two had yet to accept. “Would I have a lass named Mariah, I’d think on the lightness of her long tresses, the way it sweeps across my face, gently swinging as she rises and falls on top of me.” His look was of genuine curiosity. “She does come down on top of you? Some women much prefer this, though there is too the way of animals—hands and knees, down on all fours, this serves to good purpose,” he said with delight, reveling in watching Benjamin squirm with embarassment. “It gives your haunch the freedom of full thrust, no? So powerful it seems like you are both about to burst upon each other.” He leaned close, and Benjamin could smell the reek of whiskey. “Do you not think on how she cries out when she reaches her due?” Laughing, he sat back. “But you are young! You will hear many a maiden’s song, Benjamin, and you will find that each bears her own sweet tune. No two songs alike.” And then turning, he said, “That right, Ezra?”
As he unfolded his legs, Ezra said, “I do not speak of these matters.” He got to his feet and walked off a ways, to a small bush where he unlaced his trousers. They were silent, listening to his water drive into the sand.
“Must be descended from these strict Puritans,” Lumley said. “Though I understand that despite their righteous ways, they are wont to procreate a multitude.”
Finished, Ezra climbed up the slope of the ravine, lay down, and peered over the lip toward the tidal creek.
Lumley whispered conspiratorially, “I fear I have insulted him, Benjamin. It is because he has something to conceal, no?”
Benjamin said, “Maybe this is so.”
It seemed Lumley had caught a scent in the air now, and he looked from Benjamin to Ezra as though to identify its nature and source. “Whores?” he said, as though he had come to a great insight. “I know something of your Boston whores—is that what keeps Ezra so silent?’
Slowly, Benjamin said, “I don’t think so.”
But Lumley wasn’t listening. Flask in hand, poised to take another drink, he said, “True, they take your coin, but what they cede in return—now there’s something to think on before a battle. A whore’s fine mouth and obliging tongue—”
A small stone struck him on the neck.
“Enough,” Ezra said, weighing a larger rock in his palm. “Enough of your blather.”
“Before we go into battle, we can—” Lumley began, but he stopped when Benjamin got to his feet. He took another pull on his flask and would not look up.
“Ezra’s right. Speaking of this does not help.”
Lumley continued to study them both with satisfaction, as though he had made some great discovery that he could use to his own purpose. “You two are thick,” he said. And then he lay back in the sand. “Thick.”
Joshua’s smack was piled with nets, so that if they were stopped by a patrol boat they would give the impression of tending to a weir. At sunset, the wind fell off as it turned southerly and warm, but they made good speed on the outbound tide. As the sky darkened, the burning hayfields cast a flickering scarlet glow on the chop. The sound of gunfire from Noddle’s Island was constant, but standing on the deck of Joshua’s boat, Abigail could not determine how the Americans fared. She could see other boats making boldly for the islands, and there was no sight of British patrols on the water. This alone, Bostonian vessels once again abroad on the harbor, seemed a great victory.
Upon reaching Pettick’s Island, Joshua coasted around to the leeward side, and when they neared the shore, Mariah, standing in the bow, suddenly moved with great agility. She removed her petticoat and skirt and stowed them in a locker. “Skirts were not made for boats,” she said. “Since my childhood, Father allowed me to work on the water in my pantaloons.”
Without hesitation, Abigail unfastened her skirt.
“Is that not a welcome relief?” Mariah asked.
“It is indeed.”
They both laughed while, at the tiller, old Joshua rolled his eyes and sighed an oath.
He steered dangerously close to the beach—clearly he knew these depths—and then came up into the wind and eased the mainsheet. Mariah and Abigail slipped over the gunwale, yelping as they entered the cold water that was waist-deep. They waded ashore and climbed a dune, from which they could see across the small island, faintly illuminated by the distant fires on Noddle’s Island. Everywhere in the darkness was the tremulous puling of sheep as men and women herded them toward the beach.
Mariah broke into a sprint, moving in a wide arc, and Abigail lost sight of her, until she suddenly reappeared, a good dozen sheep thundering before her in a panic. When they reached the dune, some lambs tumbled down its face to the beach, and Mariah let out a scream of delight. Then Abigail joined in the chase, her legs, shed of the weight and inhibition of skirts, carrying her swiftly over the sand.
On Noddle’s Island, the exchange of gunfire extended through the night. The British set off their carronades from the decks of the schooner, and the Americans returned the favor with small cannon brought from the mainland. Old Put’s voice could be heard bellowing constantly, telling the men to keep up their barrage. Dr. Warren walked along the ravine, encouraging the men. Such was his reputation that when he drew near a group of men, they often paused to doff their hats and address him respectfully. It was difficult to see in the dark. Still, from the left, British soldiers maintained a regular fire. Yet, because they were hunkered down in the ravine, not one provincial was felled.
By first light, they could see that the schooner was nearly abandoned, despite the fact that she was again afloat on the high tide. Only a few men remained to provide cover while the rest of her crew made their way down t
he inlet to the harbor, where they were taken aboard a British sloop and several longboats. Old Put shouted for a ceasefire. Dr. Warren came down the ravine again, saying that about a dozen volunteers were needed to storm the schooner. Most of the men spoke up, crowding about the doctor. He demanded that they quiet themselves and then began to make his selection.
When he picked Ezra, Benjamin stepped forward, “Doctor, I wish to accompany him.”
“You are my runner, Benjamin.” Dr. Warren seemed both perplexed and amused. “I cannot bear to forfeit your speed.”
“Sir, I will be first to the ship.”
“That I do not doubt,” Dr. Warren said. He turned away and considered other men, pausing in front of Lumley, who was clearly overtaken with drink. “We should send you first,” he said. “Your brethren would concentrate their lead on thee.”
The men laughed.
“I offer my services, sir,” Lumley said. “I will be your decoy.”
Dr. Warren leaned toward him and inhaled, and then waved a hand before his nose. “I think not today, Mr. Lumley. When we require a sacrificial lamb, he must not volunteer under any potent influences. But I thank you.”
“Then I will go,” Benjamin said.
Disappointed, Dr. Warren again regarded him with cold blue eyes. “To what purpose?”
“To see to Ezra’s safety,” Benjamin said. This brought laughter from the men: Ezra was not only older but taller and stronger than Benjamin. Flustered, Benjamin blurted out, “I have promised.”
The men quieted and Dr. Warren appeared curious. “Promised what? To whom?”
“To protect him,” Benjamin said. Laughter, again. “For his beloved.”
This brought a gasp of surprise. One man called out, “That be his beautiful sister, the schoolmaster’s daughter. Doctor, you must not deny the lad such an obligation.”