SH06_War

by Edward Cline

  As dawn began to give the shapes on the riverbank the substance of buildings, sand, and water, the Sparrowhawk raised anchor and drifted out from the pier. Then crewmen in the masts dropped sail and the vessel began its trip back down the York.

  Hugh watched it diminish until, in the rising sun, the Sparrowhawk was a mere speck of white sail on a false horizon of blue-gray water. All he could hear now were waves lapping on the beach.

  Then a voice queried, “Well, Mr. Kenrick, shall we return to Caxton?”

  He turned to William Hurry. “Yes,” he answered. “Let us depart before anyone here wonders about our presence.”

  As they turned to their mounts, neither of them noticed a lone rider on the bluff above them. This figure turned and galloped off in the direction of the Swan Tavern in Yorktown.

  When the rider returned to his accommodation at the tavern, he quickly penned a note. “Mr. Jack Frake, master of Morland Hall, has boarded the Sparrowhawk with his vigilance gang for a destination one can only presume is Boston to join the rebels there. It is likely the vessel will take them up the Bay to Baltimore. I cannot imagine a more expeditious route. The captain of the Sparrowhawk has obviously conspired with Mr. Frake in the commission of treason, or at least of sedition, for your correspondent observed no sign of commandeering or forced possession of the vessel by Mr. Frake…. ”

  When he was finished, he folded and sealed the letter with wax, and addressed the top fold to “Mr. Jared Hunt, of the Revenue office, in Hampton.” He did not sign it, except as “A Loyal Patriot.” He had brought with him on a separate mount a slave servant from his father’s household staff to act as valet. He instructed this man to ride to Hampton with the note, and gave him money for expenses. “There is a crown in it for you if you deliver this by tomorrow morning,” he said to the man. “Do not return here. Come to Williamsburg, to my cousin’s house. I will be there preparing for the next session.”

  It was Edgar Cullis.

  * * *

  Hugh returned to Meum Hall to finish reading correspondence that had collected while he was in England, a chore he wanted to complete before leaving for the General Assembly in Williamsburg. More letters had arrived on the very vessel that brought him to the York River and Caxton. There were several from Roger Tallmadge in Boston, whose plight he had become familiar with while in London. The top letter seemed to be the most recent missive. He opened it. It was dated April 21.

  “Dear Hugh:

  “It is with some reluctance that I pen this letter, but hope it finds you in good health and imbued with some charity for the revelations I describe here. As you know, I have been detained here in Boston by General Gage for my actions at Morland Hall, and also because Governor Dunmore, Lieutenant Manners and that functionary of the Revenue all wrote unflattering reports of my conduct there and elsewhere, which the General could not but help give some credit, though he is keen enough a judge of character to suspect that personal rancor moved the authors of those reports and colored the thrust of their charges. Else why has he been lenient and allowed me to act as a detached serving officer here, instead of recommending my discharge or a court-martial? He has promised to allow me to return home in October, for he places great importance on the report I handed him upon my arrival here, and cannot think me the caitiff that my informants, in their cat’s-cradle of insinuations, would have anyone believe I am.

  “Still, I now imagine that the penalty could not be harsher, for I took part in the retreat from Lexington and Concord Bridge, at least in the last phase of the encounter. I had not seen such fighting in Europe, when tens of thousands were engaged in the regular style of warfare, but the fewer numbers in this instance do not render the consequences less terrible.

  “I do not know precisely how it began — the stories from officers and ranks wildly contradict each other about what happened on Lexington Green. I was not present there, but either some militiamen fired first on Colonel Smith’s expedition, which was enroute to destroy some martial stores, or his men fired first. I am sure your newspaper there in Virginia has reported the blaming details of the event on the Green that sparked the tragedy, perhaps fairly, perhaps not. Colonel Smith accomplished his task, but his command suffered a great penalty.

  “My company was ordered to escort Earl Hugh Percy’s two guns in the relief foray on the road along which the colonel’s troops were retreating from Lexington. But, about seven miles from Charlestown, and seeing our grenadiers and light infantry being assaulted from both sides, I instinctively saw a means to relieve their agonizing gauntlet, and prevent a rout (which it very nearly became), at least on one side of that road, and offered to lead my company of regimental orphans, whom I had drilled mercilessly during months of idleness, in a defensive flanking of our troops, to drive the militiamen from the woods and hedgerows and fences from which they fired at Colonel Smith’s men.

  “I myself carried a musket, but was so distracted by the tactic that, even though it was primed, I neglected to use it. I advanced the company through fields and over the undulating terrain in good order, having the men in platoons advance several paces to fire, and each platoon then overtaken by the next, so that they fired in turns. We advanced rapidly this way in the opposite direction of the retreat on the road below, and killed or wounded numerous militiamen who would otherwise have pursued our men to inflict more casualties. Appreciating the success of this maneuver, my men were hot for it, and many of them were eager to use the bayonet on wounded militiamen brought down by our fire or from the road, but I forbade it.

  “I do believe that many of our troops were spared death or injury from the action because of my company’s valor, and also that of flanking parties sent by the grenadiers and regulars. When we saw the last of our troops on the road retreating, I retired the company in good, unhurried order as well, retracing our steps, and the militiamen kept their distance for respect for our fire. Two of our company perished, and several were injured but were helped back by their fellows. This action reduced my company from thirty-one to twenty-two effectives.

  “I have been commended by Lord Percy for my diligence, bravery and initiative, and he has sent his remarks up to General Gage. I am of two minds of this development, for it may mean that the General will see my true loyalties and allow me to depart for home and Alice; or he may conclude that I am too valuable an officer to let go. In any event, my company is grateful for my leadership, for they have proven their mettle when other officers disparaged their soldiering. From my own purse, I bought them all extra pints of spirits, and ordered extra rations of victuals for them from the commissary soon after we were ferried back to Boston from Charlestown.

  “I come now to my main point. One incident during my company’s advance will haunt me all my days, I believe, and I have not related this to anyone else but Alice, whom I wrote yesterday. When we had fired our ninth or tenth volley, the platoons advanced again about twenty paces, loading their pieces as they walked, as I had trained them in Boston. The militiamen we had last fired on had fled their cover of trees and boulders in a thin wood.

  “We came upon one of their number, leaning against a tree. There was a gash in his chest, and his coat and shirt were red with blood. One arm, his left, hung inert from his shoulder, though no blood issued from the hole in his coat there. His rifle — not a musket, but one of those hated rifles — had apparently been struck by ball, as well, for the stock had been smashed and severed from the lock. You know the fearsome accuracy of these Pennsylvania rifles, and so very likely that weapon had brought down a dozen of our men on the road. I am not certain if our volley struck him in turn, or one answering from the road. He saw us advance, and I had never seen such a look of defiance in a man’s face, except perhaps on your own, my friend. He sat there, still holding his useless firelock at the ready, as though he would use it.

  “My sergeant cursed and raised his musket and made to run the fellow through with his bayonet. ‘You devil’s spawn! You cowardly villain! I’ll teach
you to fight proper!’ he growled with a hatred I had not before heard in him. But I restrained him from this pointless action before he could take many steps. And, instead of expressing thanks, the wounded fellow shouted — and it must have cost him strength — ‘You damned bloody-backs! Leave our country!’

  “I confess I was startled by his words, but instead of resenting them, I felt some strange pride and respect for the fellow. I ordered my sergeant to advance the men by platoon again, then took my canteen and bent to offer this Yankee some water. But he made no answering gesture, and at that moment, even though he still stared defiantly at me, I knew he had died. With his last breath, he had fired words at us! How can one pity such a man? Pity is such a cheap, cowardly recompense for bravery!

  “As I reached to close his eyes, I felt my own well up with tears. Please credit me with this. I have been in battle, as you know, and seen so many more men die horribly, even needlessly, through incompetence or cowardice, but this was the first time I could not contain my emotion. For a moment, I was oblivious to the roar of Lord Percy’s guns and the musket fire between Smith’s men and the militiamen. Then I rose and wiped my eyes with my sleeve, and followed my company through the woods, and caught up with them.

  “The incident will haunt me, my friend, because this defiant Yankee resembled you in his features and demeanor, so much so that he could have passed for your older brother. No! Let me be frank! In that moment, I imagined I was looking at you! It cannot be said that I am a devout man, but I have prayed to Almighty God that this coincidence is not a portent! A war has begun here, one Lord North cannot forestall, he can no longer act as a broker for peace between the colonies and the mother country, but I most earnestly hope that it is not a war between us.”

  Hugh sighed and put the letter down on his desk. Oh, Roger, he thought: I wish I had a God to pray to for the same purpose. That is the extent of prayer I am capable of.

  Chapter 5: The House

  Hugh read the rest of his friend’s letter, only half focused on its contents, which were estimates of British casualties — one hundred and fifty, with seventy-three dead, and more than twenty missing or captured — and speculation on how long the British army would be arrested in Boston, not daring another attack against the Massachusetts militia until reinforcements arrived, which Roger did not expect to see until the next year.

  He also confided in his letter that Lord Barrington, the Secretary-at-War, had received and read his report on colonial military strengths, and wrote him a letter of thanks and appreciation. Roger related that the Secretary was of the opinion, based on his report and other intelligence, that an army campaign would be too costly, perhaps even futile, and that the best way to subdue the colonies was with a sea war and a naval blockade of all the port towns. The Secretary also wrote that the Adjunct-General, Edward Harvey, the king’s aide-de-camp, had privately dismissed the land war favored by the king and Lord North “as wild an idea as ever controverted common sense.”

  “My friend,” continued Roger, “this is the bleakest spring I have ever known. The troops here, where before they were indifferent to their posting, are now bent on revenge for the Lexington affair. But there are only about four thousand able troops now, and the provincial congress here has approved an army of some thirteen thousand, and appointed a politician and farmer, Artemas Ward, its commander. It has sent appeals to other colonies for volunteers for this army. Our patrols have returned with news that the colonials are truly answering the appeal; bands of armed men have been seen heading from many directions for Cambridge, Ward’s headquarters. Bleak also, is Lord Barrington’s news that the ministry is entertaining the employment of German troops to supplement our own, and, should that expedient be barred, it is even contemplating approaching Empress Catherine of Russia for the loan of her troops…. The talk among officers here is that the ministry is sending some generals to relieve or assist General Gage…. Bells are to be heard ringing in the towns, and today it is not even Sunday…. ”

  Hugh put the letter aside, then rose and left his study. Under the blue, late May sky, he took a tour on foot of the fields, where his tenants were busy with the spring plantings of corn, tobacco, and horse oats. On a few acres he was experimenting with English red wheat, to see if it would come up so early in the year, and stopped long enough to inspect the shoots that were pushing up through the soil. He paused at the special shed constructed to house the disassembled conduit, which was being repaired and readied for the summer by his tenants. As he walked, he nodded in answering greeting to the men and women in the fields, and went on, hands clasped behind his back, deep in thought.

  One thought kept returning to him: Roger, you are dangerous. Or is it our circumstance that is perilous? Will I ever see you again? Can we ever see each other again? And he thought of Reverdy, and the gulf that separated them. Somehow, he thought, the two conflicts were connected. Their commonality eluded him.

  He stopped when he tripped slightly on an object. He looked up to see that he had made a complete circuit of the fields, and was standing before the great house. His only thought now was that in two days, he would be absent from it again, attending the next session of the General Assembly.

  * * *

  The General Assembly that met in Williamsburg on June 1 was a contentious, almost surly gathering of men who, in past times, placed paramount value on decorum and civility. It sat now at the beck and call of a man whom most of its members had come to despise, or at least not trust. It sat because Governor Dunmore wished it to peruse the terms of Lord North’s “Olive Branch” proposals, and then approve of them in the name of loyalty, good will, and peace, so that he could send a report to General Gage, to the Board of Trade, and to the Privy Council as proof of his good governance — and also as a means to reinstate his teetering authority and prestige on more stable grounds.

  The majority of burgesses, however, were in no mood to curry the Governor’s favor by doing his bidding, even though, as a body, they expressed courteous concern for the safety of the Governor and his family, regretting that they had sought refuge on the Fowey. A few of the burgesses wore hunting shirts, and sported tomahawks tucked into their belts. The House no longer sat in awe of his rank, power, and place. It mechanically observed all the formalities and rules of the House, and did not worry whether or not the Palace or the Council would approve or veto any of its business. A handful of the burgesses were certain this was the last time this particular Governor would call for a General Assembly.

  And a few were certain that this would be the last General Assembly to sit under the aegis of the Crown. Hugh Kenrick was one of those few.

  Thomas Jefferson, burgess for Albemarle, preparing to journey to Philadelphia to complete Virginia’s delegation at the Congress, was not. He still held out for “the blessings of liberty and prosperity and the most permanent harmony with Great Britain,” despite the fact that he had been recently informed by Peyton Randolph that, as a consequence of his controversial pamphlet, A Summary View of the Rights of British America, he had been named in a bill of attainder passed by Parliament, together with Randolph, John Adams, Samuel Adams, and John Hancock, among others.

  During a recess on the second day of the Assembly, Hugh found a few private moments with him over dinner in the Blue Bell Tavern. At one point in their conversation, Hugh remarked, “In fact, Lord Dunmore is deposed. Or, rather, he abdicated his office when he sent his family to the Fowey and barricaded himself in the Palace.”

  “You would be hard put to convince him of that, Mr. Kenrick. And many of our colleagues in the House labor under the delusion that His Excellency is merely misbehaving. The act of contrition present in his address to us on the first day here was meant to convey that impression. Well, my friend,” sighed Jefferson, “no more concerts in the Palace! Not because I don’t think His Excellency has a musical ear — I doubt he has — but because I think I would refuse the chance to play for his patronizing delectation.”

  Hugh smiled.
“Could you stay long enough to hear them discussed in the House, would you refuse Lord North’s proposals, as well?”

  “I will postpone my journey to Philadelphia long enough to speak and vote on the matter,” answered Jefferson. “My cousin the Speaker advises me that Mr. Nicholas and Mr. Wormley may concoct a move for approval. As I have grasped their meaning, yes, I would advocate their rejection. Yet, I still hold out hope for a mutually amicable reconciliation. Otherwise,” mused the tall redhead, his expression darkening, “we are docketed for terrible times…and we are at a disadvantage in all respects.”

  “This is true,” agreed Hugh. “But, live free, or die.”

  “A succinct and worthy sentiment,” Jefferson said after some thought. “Did you compose it?”

  “No. It was composed by outlaws in England. It is the motto of my county’s volunteer company.”

  “By English outlaws, you say?” Jefferson chuckled. “How appropriate! Would that it had been adopted as a standard toast, over ‘Long live the king’!” He frowned sternly. “His Majesty is a traitor, a willing partner to Parliament’s depredations, and not worthy of any well-wishing.”

  Hugh smiled again. “That is not the sentiment I read in your Summary View, sir. You had a more generous notion of him in it. You appealed to his reason.”

  Jefferson shook his head. “My premise that if His Majesty has any reason to address, it is whittled down with each passing day. I can no longer rest sole blame on his counselors and ministers.”

  Hugh studied the pensive, freckled face across the table from him for a moment. “Sir, I make this prediction: As Mr. Henry has been called by some the ‘trumpet’ of our cause, some day you shall be called its ‘pen.’”

  Jefferson shook his head again. “You bequeath me too much honor, sir.”

  “No, I do not. That abundance of honor will become evident when you accept that there can be no reconciliation. Then you will find words grander than those in your Summary View.”