Prelude to Glory, Vol. 6

by Ron Carter

  “Be seated.” He gestured, and waited while they took the chairs facing his desk, then sat back down. He wasted no time on formalities.

  “I need some information very badly, and I believe you can get it for me. Corporal, would you bring me that long scroll?” He pointed to the table.

  They unrolled the large parchment on Washington’s desk, and Billy and Eli studied it for a moment, long enough to recognize the city of Philadelphia in the center, with the Delaware River winding past on the east fringe of the town. On Washington’s gesture all sat down, and Washington leaned forward on his forearms to speak.

  “Critically important events are taking shape in Philadelphia, and I must know what they are. Specifically, General William Howe left Philadelphia for England about eight days ago. He was replaced as commander of the British forces by General Sir Henry Clinton. General Clinton tried to draw our army out into a major engagement on his terms, but I refused. From all appearances he is preparing for a major event, perhaps leaving. Now General Howe’s brother, Admiral Lord Richard Howe, has anchored a large number of his fleet’s ships in Philadelphia, on the Delaware. I’ve ordered my agents and informants to discover his intentions, but the reports I’ve received are in total conflict with each other.”

  He paused, then tapped the parchment with a finger. “I have to know what General Clinton means to do. Is he preparing to abandon Philadelphia? If Admiral Howe intends transporting General Clinton’s army down the Delaware to the Chesapeake, where are they headed? North to New York? South to invade the southern states? If he is not there to transport the British army somewhere, then what are his ships for, and, does General Clinton intend moving his army overland?”

  He paused, frustration clear on his face. “I must know so I can make preparations to move the Continental Army to best advantage to maintain contact with the main body of the British military and continue our campaign of steady harassment.”

  Eli rounded his lips and softly blew air.

  Washington continued. “And I need that information immediately.”

  He paused, and for a moment silence held. They could hear birds chirping outside the single window.

  “I believe you are capable of getting it.”

  Eli spoke. “When?”

  “Report back within two days.”

  Billy started. “Two days? Leave when, sir?”

  “Immediately. Within the hour.”

  “How do we travel?”

  “I leave that to you. Should you want horses I can make them available, but there is risk.”

  “Risk?”

  “If a mounted British patrol suspects something, men on horseback cannot disappear as quickly in the forest as men on foot.”

  Eli asked, “Do we take our weapons?”

  “That is for you to decide. I suggest you do, but leave them on the outskirts of the city. You must appear to be citizens.”

  He studied the map for a moment, then traced a line with his finger. “This is a wagon road. It runs from the east end of Valley Forge to come into Philadelphia from the north. Here, about one mile from the city, on the east side of the road, is a farm owned by one of my informants. There’s a pond beside the road, and he’ll have a light in his barn. He’s expecting you at four o’clock tomorrow morning. There will be wagons and carts on the road about that time, loaded with farm produce to be sold to the British military in the city. He’ll have a wagonload of oats. You will pose as his hired men to help unload in Philadelphia.”

  Washington paused to order his thoughts, then proceeded.

  “You will call him Isaiah. That is not his name. It’s a code name by which he will recognize you. He will call you Daniel and Richard.”

  Washington straightened. “You’re soldiers. If you’re caught in civilian clothing you will be considered spies. The penalty is hanging.”

  Neither Billy or Eli spoke nor moved. After a moment General Washington continued.

  “He will drive the wagon through town for you to see conditions there, then turn toward the river and stop at the docks. That’s where you will unload, and Isaiah will leave. From that time, you will have to use your best judgment as to how to get the information I need and return here.”

  Eli pointed at the map. “You want to know which way the British are going? North or south?”

  “Yes, along with other things. I need to know if they are abandoning Philadelphia, and if they are, are they leaving by sea or by land? I need to know the number of effectives they have, their sick, wounded, cannon, horses, ships, wagons, munitions, supplies, everything you can learn about their current state of readiness.”

  Billy interrupted. “Do you have any informants in the town? Anyone we should know about if we need help?”

  “I have informants, but do not contact them. If you lead the British to them, there is no end to the mischief it might cause.”

  “Anything else, sir?” Billy asked.

  Washington shook his head. “Do you want horses? I need to know now so I can order them ready.”

  Billy glanced at Eli who shook his head, and Billy answered. “No, sir. We’ll go on foot.”

  Washington handed Billy a small leather purse. “British money. You’ll need it for food and lodging.”

  Billy thrust it into his shirt.

  Washington collected his thoughts. “When you return, report back to me, no matter the time.”

  “Yes, sir. Is there anything else?”

  “No. You are dismissed.”

  Billy saluted, and Washington rose and returned the salute, but said nothing. Billy turned on his heel and the two walked out the door into the hall. They passed Alexander Hamilton’s desk as they left through the small foyer. He studied them as they closed the door, then leaned back in his chair, wondering for a moment if Eli had saluted General Washington. No, he decided, he’s more Iroquois than white.

  Minutes later, breathing hard, Eli and Billy trotted through the Massachusetts camp, past the evening cleanup crew that was finishing scrubbing out the great black kettles. They slowed, looking for Turlock, and found him with two men hauling firewood from the stacks to the fire. Billy waved him over and they spoke in quiet tones.

  “We’re going into Philadelphia. Be back in two days.”

  “Philadelphia! What for?”

  “Find out all we can about what the British are doing.”

  Turlock jerked. “Spies? Know what happens if you’re caught?”

  Eli nodded, and a smile flickered. “We hang.”

  “Without no hearing, no trial, no nothing!”

  Billy said, “We’ll need some hardtack and cheese. Maybe some meat if you can find it.”

  “When you leaving?”

  “Now. As soon as we get our weapons.”

  “Horses?”

  “On foot.”

  Turlock spun on his heel and was gone. Billy and Eli went to their hut where they buckled on their weapons, and Eli jammed his black tomahawk through his belt. They slung their powder horns, shot pouches, and canteens around their necks. Billy picked up his musket and Eli his rifle, and they paused for a moment to be certain the flints in the huge hammers were sharp. A moment later they were out in the early shades of twilight, walking toward the evening fire, searching again for Turlock.

  The feisty little man came back at a lope, with two small packs wrapped in cheesecloth, and handed one to each man.

  “There’s some hardtack and cheese and dried beef and a lump of maple sugar.”

  Billy smiled. “You got sugar lumps?”

  Turlock ignored it. “You two be careful, hear?” He turned to Eli. “You want me to tell Mary?”

  Eli paused at the sound of the name, and for a moment he saw the dark hair, the dark eyes, the heart-shaped face, and his heart pounded. He took a deep breath. “No need to worry her. We’ll be back.”

  “See to it. That girl would suffer bad if it went wrong. That village’s crawlin’ with redcoats. You get back, you come tell me first. Don’t ma
tter when. Understand?”

  Billy answered. “Take care of yourself.”

  The two men followed the Gulph Road east, then turned south onto the road Washington had traced on the map and settled into the odd running walk known to the Indians, and taught to Billy by Eli. The eternal stars glittered overhead, and an hour later a half-moon rose to cast a faint silver sheen over the black woods on either side of the crooked road. A little after ten o’clock they stopped to drink from their canteens and wait for their breathing to settle before they picked up their weapons and continued south.

  At midnight they judged they had covered fourteen miles, and stopped to drink and eat the cheese and beef and hardtack and thrust the lump of rich brown sugar into their mouth. For a few minutes they worked the sugar while they listened to the frogs in the marshes and bogs and along the bank of the distant river, and an owl in a tall pine asking who they were. They drank again, threw the bit of cheesecloth away, then picked up their weapons and moved on.

  It was half-past three o’clock in the morning when they slowed to a steady walk, watching to their left for the pond and a barn nearby with a light. The steady, loud belching of bullfrogs grew closer, and then the pond was there, glassy in the dead air, reflecting the setting moon. They stopped, peering into the darkness. Billy pointed at the black bulk of a barn, but there was no light.

  “We’re early,” Billy murmured.

  “We wait,” answered Eli.

  They left the road and entered the lane leading to the dooryard of the house and the barn, and sat down in the undergrowth, waiting, watching. Twenty minutes later a light emerged from the house and floated to the barn, disappeared inside, then reappeared in a window facing the road.

  Billy pointed. “Let’s go.”

  They came quartering in on the barn and silently stepped into the shaft of light being cast through the open door. Inside, a husky, bearded man, dressed in homespun and wearing a black, low-crowned flat felt hat was backing a Percheron draft horse on one side of a wagon tongue. He slowed and stopped and turned. His face was a mask of studied indifference.

  Billy spoke. “We’re lost. Looking for a man named Isaiah.”

  The man answered, “Who are you?”

  “Daniel and Richard.”

  The man nodded. “I’m Isaiah.”

  He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Listen carefully. I will drive through the heart of Philadelphia, then turn left, north, to the river. I have three tons of oats for horse feed to be unloaded on the docks. When it’s unloaded, I will leave you and drive back here. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Half a mile this side of the city is a narrow neck of woods. When they cut the road through they blasted out tree stumps. They’re piled on the west side of the road. I’ll show you where. Hide your weapons there. Do not take them into the city. Pick them up on your way back. Are you clear?”

  “Yes.”

  The man bobbed his head, then gestured. “Help harness the horses.”

  In the yellow light of the lantern they led a second Percheron from its stall to the wagon tongue, then a third and fourth. Settling the heavy harnesses on the horses’ broad backs, they buckled the horse collars into place, and finally hooked the chains from the tugs to the singletrees and the singletrees to the doubletrees. The man gestured, and Billy and Eli climbed on top of the one-hundred-twenty sacks of oats, fifty pounds per sack, and covered their weapons. Isaiah stepped from the cleat to the wheel hub, into the driver’s seat, threaded the ends of the long leather reins through the fingers of each hand, clucked, and smacked the reins down on the rumps of the wheel horses, and the wagon groaned as it rolled out of the barn. Three minutes later they turned from the lane onto the road.

  The rumble and creaking of heavily loaded wagons and two-wheeled farm carts, moving along the winding dirt road south toward Philadelphia, was strangely loud in the quiet of the four-thirty a.m. darkness. The light from the stars and the low hanging half-moon shone dull off the Delaware, fifty yards to the east, and the sound of river frogs reached far into the trees and thick growth of the forests. A panther caught the human scent and dropped to its belly to listen, then silently slunk away from the hated sounds and the smells. A fat porcupine waddled noisily through the undergrowth, onto the road, heedless of the carts and wagons and the men driving them. A horse blew and shied at the black apparition crossing the road at its feet, the cart tipped, then slammed back onto its wheels. The driver shouted, and the porcupine walked on to disappear in the forest, oblivious to the cursing behind.

  After a time, the road turned, and Isaiah spoke. “The stumps are just ahead on the right.”

  Billy and Eli gathered their weapons and shifted to the edge of the load. When the piled stumps loomed in the darkness, the two men dropped to the ground, sprinted twenty feet to the tangle of roots and stumps, shoved their weapons belts and guns out of sight, along with their powder horns and shot pouches, then ran to catch the slow-moving wagon and swing back to the top of the load.

  The black eastern sky finally yielded to deep purple. The north star and then the morning star faded and were gone in the blush preceding sunrise. From the top of the load, both men silently studied the road and the traffic of farmers bringing their produce to Philadelphia to be sold to British sergeants responsible for feeding the thousands of red-coated regulars and the livestock occupying the city. Fresh eggs, cheese, flour, beans, bacon, ham, chickens, ducks, beef, pork, mutton for the soldiers, oats, grain, and hay for the livestock—all to be haggled over and bought and paid for in British gold. To ease their consciences, the local farmers assured themselves only a foolish man would sell the fruits of his hard labor to the Americans for worthless Continental paper money when the British would pay in pound sterling.

  The five o’clock a.m. rattle of British drums pounding out reveille broke the quiet that lay over Philadephia, the sound echoing hollow up the cobblestone streets and across the great river and out into the forests. With the coming light of day, the sounds of the river frogs quieted.

  Isaiah spoke without turning his head. “We’re coming in. Watch sharp for patrols and officers.”

  He swung the wagon to the right and gigged the plodding horses toward the scattered homes and barns and outbuildings on the northeast fringes of Philadelphia. Billy and Eli stiffened in stunned disbelief.

  Every fence, every corral pole, every cow or pig or sheep pen had been ripped down by the British and used for winter firewood. All that remained of many barns, most milking sheds, and some homes were skeleton frames, with the walls and roofs torn away and burned in the fireplaces of the town mansions to keep the British officers warm. The putrefying carcasses of cows, horses, sheep, pigs, and chickens lay where they had frozen to death when their shelter against the ravages of winter had been wrecked.

  The wagon rumbled on into the cobblestone streets of the city. In the growing heat of the day, the cloying stink of decaying animal flesh lay on the land like a pall. In some of the larger homes, British officers had stabled their horses in the kitchens and cut holes in the floors to sweep the horse droppings into the cellar below.

  They moved inward toward the center of town, teeth on edge as they saw entire blocks of homes leveled to the ground for firewood. They passed the cemetery marked POTTER’S FIELD, where a great mound of dirt covered a mass grave in which the emaciated bodies of two thousand Americans had been discarded, dead of cold and starvation during their winter as prisoners of war. Other cemeteries had been used by the British to exercise their horses, leaving the ground churned into a mix of mud and manure, with gravestones knocked askew, many of them jerked up and piled to one side. Churches had been cleared of all benches and their ornate pulpits, the wood used for fires to heat barracks. Wrecked carriages, with the dead, decaying horses still in their harnesses fouled the streets and alleys. Independence Hall, the cradle of the Declaration of Independence, had been stripped to the bare walls for firewood.

  Sickened by
the sight and stench, they held their rising outrage in tenuous check as the wagon worked its way through the growing street traffic. They watched everything that moved, waiting for the sight of a British patrol with sunlight glinting off bayonets, and they listened for the sudden command of a British officer to halt and identify themselves.

  There were no patrols, no shouted commands. Rather, the streets were bustling with a tumultuous mix of American civilians struggling to conduct their business, and British regulars with muskets, in singles and twos and threes, preoccupied as they pushed and jostled their way through the crowds from one place to another. Officers moved among them, ignoring the fact that none of the enlisted men snapped to attention or saluted at their passing.

  In puzzled silence the two men sat on the top of the load, legs dangling, as Isaiah came back hard on the left reins, and the lead horses made their turn, followed by the wheel horses. The wagon leaned as it followed, then straightened as it came onto the broad cobblestoned waterfront of the Delaware River.

  Both men stood on the load to peer upriver, then down. The wharves and docks were clogged with freight wagons, British regulars, civilians, sailors with long waxed pigtails, horses, oxen, sheep, oats, hay, grain, cannon, thousands of wooden crates of cartridges and supplies, and kegs of gunpowder, stacked not more than ten in any one place. Far to the south were the great shipyards where the keels and ribs and masts of schooners under construction were visible. The sounds of shouting men and nervous horses and terrified sheep filled the air, and the stench of animals and their droppings was overpowering in the rising heat.

  British sailors were systematically loading soldiers into ships, the horses onto barges, and the cannon and munitions into transports, while crews on board made ready to cast off the mooring ropes to transfer their cargo across the broad expanse of the Delaware to the New Jersey side. Watercraft of every description plied the river, moving away from Philadelphia loaded, riding low, returning empty, riding high. Sailors and officers shouted profanities at each other as their vessels bumped and collided in the heavy traffic on the river and next to the docks.