by Ron Carter
Tom settled to wait.
Inside, the orderly held the door open and Gage stood at his desk to motion Ingersol inside. Ingersol threw the paper on Gage’s desk and stood breathing heavily while Gage seized it with trembling fingers and opened it. He read the brief scrawled message twice, then sagged back into his chair, wild-eyed, while he felt his thoughts disintegrate and fleeting panic seize him for a moment. He took a deep breath and by force of will took charge of himself.
“Orderly!” he barked, and Ingersol recoiled.
The big door burst open and Gage stood. “Get the four officers who previously assembled here today and have them here in five minutes.”
“Yes, suh!” The orderly spun and sprinted.
Gage turned to Ingersol. “You should not be here when they arrive. Use the rear entrance to leave this building, and use the small north gate to leave the compound.”
Ingersol pivoted on his heel and disappeared through the door, and Gage listened for the quiet closing of the rear door.
Five minutes later the officers were seated opposite Gage, backs ramrod straight as they stared, waiting.
Gage’s strained voice sounded too loud in the dead silence. “Gentlemen, you know about the colonial arms cached at Concord. I am informed they are aware of the plan to seize those supplies and are moving them to other locations. So we move now, tonight.”
A forced night march! For a moment none of the officers breathed.
Gage shifted his eyes to Smith’s and continued. “Colonel Smith, you will take command of the operation.” He paused while the men shifted, then settled. “Immediately when we finish here, send out half a dozen mounted patrols with orders to clear the roads between here and Lexington of any colonials. They must not see troops marching at night.”
Smith nodded once, in deep concentration.
“The troops will assemble on the Back Bay at precisely ten p.m. and be towed across in boats. They will land at Lechmere Point and march cross-country, avoiding villages and any place they can be detected. They will take the Lexington Road at Menotomy and move on to Concord, where they will confiscate the munitions.”
“Sir—,” Smith began and Gage cut him off.
“Here are your written orders. Read them aloud.”
Smith broke the seal and unfolded the document.
Boston, April 18, 1775.
Lieut. Coll. Smith, 10th Regiment foot,
Sir
Having received Intelligence, that a Quantity of Ammunition, Provision, Artillery, Tents and small Arms, have been collected at Concord, for the Avowed Purpose of raising and supporting a Rebellion against His Majesty, you will March with the Corps of Grenadiers and light Infantry, put under your Command, with the utmost expedition and Secrecy to Concord, where you will seize and destroy all the Artillery, Ammunition, Provisions, Tents, Small Arms, and all Military Stores whatever. But you will take care that the Soldiers do not plunder the Inhabitants, or hurt private property.
You have a Draught of Concord, on which is marked, the Houses, Barns, &c., which contain the above Military Stores. You will order a Trunion to be knocked off each Gun, but if its found impracticable on any, they must be spiked, and the Carriages distroyed. The Powder and flower, must be shook out of the Barrells into the River, the Tents burnt, Pork or Beef destroyed in the best way you can devise, And the Men may put Balls or lead in their pockets, throwing them by degrees into Ponds, Ditches &c., but no Quantity together, so that they may be recovered afterwards.
If you meet with any Brass Artillery, you will order their Muzzles to be beat in so as to render them useless.
You will observe by the Draught that it will be necessary to secure the two Bridges as soon as possible, you will therefore Order a party of the best Marchers, to go on with expedition for that purpose.
A small party on Horseback is ordered out to stop all advice of your March getting to Concord before you, and a small number of Artillery go out in Chaises to wait for you on the Road, with Sledge Hammers, Spikes &c.
You will open your business, and return with the Troops, as soon as possible, which I must leave to your own Judgment and Discretion. I am,
Sir,
Your most obedient
humble Servant
Thos. Gage.
Smith drew a heavy breath and slowly released it.
“Questions?” Gage asked.
Smith raised his eyes. “Where’s the draught?”
“Here.” Gage spread the map on his desk before them, and instantly all four men hunched over it, silently studying every detail.
Smith asked, “Do we take cannon?”
“No.”
“How many rounds per man?”
“Thirty-six.”
“What other provisions?”
“Haversacks only, with rations for one day.”
Mackenzie straightened. “Am I reading this right? We are taking light grenadiers and marines from eleven different battalions?”
“Yes.”
“Under officers they have never seen before? There will be confusion.”
“I do not think so. The plan is simple. The entire column should be back in their barracks twenty hours after they leave. I see little room for problems of command.”
Mackenzie’s eyes narrowed. “What are our orders regarding engaging the colonials?”
“Avoid confrontation if possible. Do not fire on them unless fired upon. I repeat, fire on them only if you are fired upon. I cannot stress that too much. They must fire the first shot.”
Smith raised his eyes from the map. “Only eight hundred men?”
“Yes.”
“Earlier today the lowest estimate we made of the men they could muster was four thousand; the high estimate was ten.”
“That is correct.”
“That would be five to one at best, twelve to one at worst, and our men would have just thirty-six rounds each and no cannon. There is a possible disaster in those numbers.” Doubt showed in his eyes and his voice, and the other three officers raised their eyes, waiting for the reply.
Gage shook his head confidently. “Speed and surprise are our greatest weapons, gentlemen,” he exclaimed, his voice ringing. He leaned over the map and began thumping his plump index finger repeatedly on the Concord crossroad. “Moving more troops from Boston to Concord will take too much time and rouse the countryside. A small, fast-moving, elite strike force of grenadiers and marines can be at Concord by sunrise, execute the orders, and be back here by sunset tomorrow. It will be over before the colonials can raise any appreciable force. That is the plan.”
He paused for a moment, then continued. “Obviously, secrecy and stealth are the key to success. You must not notify the troops until five minutes before time to march. Have them leave the barracks without lighting any lamps, and waken none of the other troops. They are to move through Boston to the boats on the Back Bay in small groups of three or four, and if they are challenged they are to answer that they are simply a night patrol. Do you understand?”
The officers nodded.
Smith spoke. “I find nothing here about Adams or Hancock. Do we arrest them?”
“Only if you can do so without a major engagement, and I leave that to your discretion. This mission is intended to remove their ability to wage war. Adams and Hancock will come later, once they realize they have an army without arms.”
Tense, focused talk continued for twenty minutes before Smith folded his orders and the map, slipped them inside his coat, and faced Gage. “If there is nothing else, sir, we have much to do.”
“There is nothing else. Have those mounted patrols out clearing the roads between here and Concord in twenty minutes. I will be here or in my quarters until you return.”
The click of boot heels on hardwood floors sounded loud in the silence as the four officers filed out of Gage’s office and through the foyer, then opened the door into the blackness of a night in which the moon had not yet risen. In the seconds they were framed in the yel
low light from the foyer, Tom strained to count them, counted again, and realized the little civilian was not among them. He watched as they closed the door, and he closed his eyes for a second to adjust to the darkness, then opened them again and saw the black shapes moving rapidly in separate directions.
I missed Ingersol! Either he’s still inside or he got out some other way.
He dropped his head forward to stare at the ground in the darkness, his thoughts racing. What were those four officers doing in there so long? Is this the night they go to Concord?
For long seconds he agonized.
I wait. I stay here and wait.
Five minutes later lanterns flickered on in the stables. Ten minutes later light grenadiers in full battle uniform and arms trotted from the barracks and mounted the nervous horses. Tom watched as officers barked orders, and counted as the mounted soldiers divided into squads.
Six squads! Mounted, armed! Why? Where to?
Tom stood stock-still as they separated, half approaching the west gate, half the north. Officers called to sentries, the gates swung open, and the mounted squads raised their horses to the canter, their iron shoes clattering on the cobblestone streets. Tom trotted to the corner to see their direction, but they had disappeared, and once again darkness and silence shrouded the streets and the compound. Tom stopped and by strength of will slowed his thoughts and forced them into some semblance of reason.
Start at the beginning—Ingersol—took something in to Gage—Gage sent him back to get something more—the sausage shop—tavern—bakery—never came out of the bakery—I followed Enid—to Thorpe’s—missed Ingersol—got back to the compound before him—he brought something back to Gage—officers went in—one hour—came out—six mounted, armed squads—what did Ingersol get? from whom? sausage house, tavern, bakery?
Tom took a deep breath and concentrated. Where’s the package Ingersol got at the sausage shop? Who got it? Where did they take it? Did Enid carry something to Thorpe in the bread? Is Thorpe the traitor? Thorpe on the Committee of Safety, is he the one?
Deep in his consciousness a tiny buzz began, and Tom pushed his thoughts aside and gave way to it. It gained and Tom began to work with it, and slowly it took shape and form until suddenly it was there, fully formed, and Tom’s head jerked up and he caught his breath and exclaimed, “It’s Thorpe!”
Movement inside the compound caught Tom’s eye, and once again he squinted into the blackness to make out shapes moving from the officers’ quarters to the dark barracks. He settled, concentrating.
Inside the barracks, officers moved silently down the rows of bunks, pausing to shake the shoulders of sleeping soldiers, then clamp their hands over their mouths while they whispered blunt, abbreviated orders. Startled troops soundlessly dressed in full battle gear and carried their boots out of the barracks to pull them on outside. Officers huddled with them in companies and gave quiet orders, and the companies fragmented into small groups and moved in different directions, towards the gates in all four walls.
Tom breathed light as he counted the shapes he could see. In ten minutes, more than four hundred battle-ready light grenadiers and some marines silently left the compound.
Tom turned on his heel and started for the Back Bay at a trot.
At ten minutes past nine o’clock, a dog growled at half a dozen marines walking soundlessly across the Common, then bristled and broke into barking. The nearest marine unslung his musket and faced the dog and made one swift stroke with his bayonet. There was a loud, startled yelp of pain and whimpering and then silence as the marines moved on.
At twenty minutes past nine o’clock, grenadier Harvey Gibson and four others from his battalion marched past the open door of the Oaks tavern. Inside, lamps glowed yellow, and raucous laughter spilled out into the night. Gibson wiped his sleeve across his mouth and slowed. “Keep movin’, lads. I’ll catch up in a minute.”
“You better stay with us,” Corporal Lee growled. “There’s only trouble in the taverns for us this night.”
Gibson grinned at him rakishly. “Won’t be but a second.” He trotted into the tavern. The pint of dark bitter went down easy, and Gibson slapped his money on the bar, wiped his sleeve across his mouth, and was gone, running to catch up.
“See? Like I told ye, lads, only a minute.”
Lee looked back at the dark shape standing in the doorway, hands on hips, watching the soldiers disappear in the dark. Then the shape disappeared at a run, east and south.
Ten minutes later the man pounded on the door of Dr. Joseph Warren and waited.
Warren threw the door open. “Who’s there?”
“Barkley Walsh. British troops are moving in the streets, towards the Back Bay. Muskets and haversacks.”
Without a second’s hesitation Warren exclaimed, “Get Revere and Dawes here as fast as you can.”
Walsh turned on his heel and was gone.
At nine forty-five p.m. a nearly full moon rose in a clear, black-velvet sky and bathed the Back Bay in silvery shadows. A cool wind rose, blowing in from the ocean to riffle the water. Tom came onto the shore south of Fox Hill, well below the beached boats. On the Back Bay waters he counted the waiting boats offshore where sailors sat huddled with oars shipped, straining to see the troops assembling on the shore twenty yards away, anxious for orders to loop hawser lines over the bow hooks of the boats on the beach and tow them across the Back Bay.
There was no mistaking the tall hats of the light grenadiers as they assembled in the darkness. Tom heard the hushed cursing as the troops sought their own companies in the confused muddle. Lieutenant Frederick Mackenzie of the Twenty-third Battalion counted the boats and shook his head in disgust. Half enough boats. No organization as to where each unit was to assemble. No officers yet arrived to take command. Troops growing rebellious in the disorganized confusion.
Tom silently backed away and ran south along the shoreline, then east.
Far to the east, Walsh banged on the door of Paul Revere.
“British troops are moving across the Back Bay,” he blurted, gasping for breath. “Warren says come.” He turned and sprinted.
Fifteen minutes later William Dawes answered the pounding on his door.
“British troops—moving on the Back Bay. Warren says come.”
Five minutes later Tom slammed through John Dunson’s front gate and pounded on the front door.
______
Notes
The customs of washing on Monday and ironing on Tuesday with flatirons warmed on stoves, as well as other staid Boston habits, are described in Ulrich, Good Wives.
Lieutenant Colonel Francis Smith was the officer in command of the British forces who marched on Lexington and Concord. The officers under his command included Major John Pitcairn and Lieutenant Frederick Mackenzie. Brigadier Hugh Percy was part of the force but was held in reserve in the event of an emergency. Further, the opinions held by these various officers of the capabilities of the colonials is accurately represented in the novel, with Major John Pitcairn showing the highest regard for colonial marksmanship and fighting ability. (See French, The Day of Concord and Lexington, beginning with chapter 9.)
The written orders from General Thomas Gage to Lieutenant Colonel Francis Smith as given in the novel are an accurate and verbatim copy (see French, General Gage’s Informers, pp. 31–32). The written orders refer to a “Draught of Concord,” meaning a draft, or map, of Concord as it appeared on April 19, 1775. A photocopy of the “draught,” or map, or one comparable to it, appears between pages 78 and 79 of General Gage’s Informers.
General Gage was emphatic that the British column was not to fire until fired upon. They were not to fire the first shot. Similarly, the colonial force was under orders not to fire until fired upon. (See French, The Day of Concord and Lexington, pp. 105, 109.)
The true name of the traitor who was on the Committee of Safety was not Henry Thorpe but Doctor Benjamin Church. The specific circumstances surrounding Church’s discovery as a
traitor and the events that followed are different from those surrounding the fictional Thorpe. A copy of a document written by Church in his own hand and which establishes his guilt as a traitor appears in French, General Gage’s Informers, between pages 156 and 157.
The incident wherein a dog detects the British forces gathering at the Back Bay for transportation across to the mainland—which dog barks and is killed by a bayonet—and the incident in which a British soldier named Gibson, in full battle gear, stops at the Oaks tavern for a pint of bitters are accurate (see French, The Day of Concord and Lexington, pp. 75–76).
Tuesday, April 18, 1775
Chapter VIII
* * *
John threw open the door and Tom stood framed in the light, sweating, hair tangled and windblown, chest heaving as he fought for breath. “Five hundred grenadiers and marines moving across the Back Bay,” he blurted before John could speak. “More coming.”
For an instant John stood transfixed as his thoughts ran wild. Behind him Margaret gasped and Matthew raced to his side to stare at Tom.
John’s voice came too high, strained. “Who told you?”
“I was there. I counted.”
“Are they armed?”
“Full battle gear. Haversacks.”
“Have any gone yet?”
“First gathering has gone. Second gathering was getting ready when I left fifteen minutes ago.”
“Gone where?”
“Across towards Lechmere Point. I figure they’re headed towards Concord. They sent out patrols earlier, and I figure they were going to clear the backroads.”
“Who else knows?”
“Anybody who seen them, I guess.”
“Does Warren know?”
Tom shrugged. “I didn’t stop to tell him.”
“We better get over there.”
“Let’s go.”
John spun on his heel to Margaret. “You heard. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
He jerked his coat from the coat tree and Margaret grasped his arm. “Don’t go out in the streets. If they’re marching tonight, there will be trouble.”