by Oliver North
As we parted, he said, “Good night, Ensign Newman. We shall be here at seven in the morning with two spare mounts. Tomorrow looks to be a very busy day. Pray it doesn’t rain.”
Newburyport, Massachusetts
Friday, September 15th, 1775
During the night a rainsquall passed quickly over Newburyport but by dawn the sky was clear. We left the tavern together and went first to see Captain O’Brien aboard Machias Liberty. As he did every day since we arrived, he reported “no British warships.” He went on to note, “We now have twelve transports. That should be more than enough. Do you know how many wagons Colonel Arnold plans to take along?”
Capt. Febiger replied, “I do not, sir. But he should be at the encampment this evening. Since we hope to sail tomorrow, I will find out as soon he arrives and send an answer with one of the dragoons.”
We then proceeded to Mr. Tracy’s impressive home where both of us thanked him profusely for what he did yesterday to ensure the troops would all have a good fresh meal before departing for the wilderness.
His answer was a revelation. “It wasn’t my idea—it was Sergeant Cady’s. And Captain Morgan’s offer to put on a ‘shooting show’ was icing on the cake—simply brilliant. You know very few folks in this part of the country have ever seen anything like you frontiersmen with your long rifles, fighting knives, and hatchets.
“After you were here at our home the first time—while I was under the weather—my wife asked, ‘Why do they carry hatchets and big knives in their belts? Do they chop down a lot of trees?’
“When I told her you all carry hatchets and big knives because it takes longer to load a rifle than a musket or a pistol and you may need the hatchet and knife to kill an enemy trying to kill you. She pretended to be horrified at the thought. But she wants to come with me this afternoon to see the show.”
By the time we returned to the encampment, Lieutenant Colonel Roger Enos and his Reserve/Rear Guard Force had arrived and were setting up their tents and digging latrines. Capt. Febiger and I joined Captain Morgan and told him what we learned from Messer’s Tracy and O’Brien.
Capt. Morgan said, “I’m glad you are back. According to Lieutenant Colonel Enos, Colonel Arnold should be here by 3:00 p.m.” Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a large key, handed it to Capt. Febiger, and said, “This is the key to the front door of the farmhouse. Mr. Tracy gave it to me yesterday. Please give it to Colonel Arnold when he arrives.”
He looked at his watch and said, “twelve-thirty. We’re going to have a lot of company here very soon, bringing all manner of food. I have Captains Hendricks and Smith and their two Pennsylvania Rifle Company contingents preparing targets over there,” he said, gesturing to the open field to the west.
“Our company working parties are setting up the range, measuring distances and preparing, with the help of the carpenters, places to stage the food prior to cooking and serving it after it’s prepared. As you know from Wednesday night, our Advance Guard has some very good cooks posing as Riflemen. I asked for volunteers to assist our cooks this afternoon and fifty men from other units volunteered. I also turned down the idea of opening one of our barrels of rum. We only have sixteen left to last us all the way to Quebec.”
It was a spectacular event. Nearly 400 Patriots—over 100 families—showed up with food. They brought everything from freshly butchered beef, pork, lamb, turkey, and quail to scores of just-caught fish, oysters—even several dozen lobsters. There were potatoes, tomatoes, cabbage, cucumbers, corn, and squash. People brought freshly baked cakes, apple pies, and countless loaves of bread. One of the cooks made a half-barrel of delicious beef gravy.
Colonel Arnold and an eight-man detachment of Continental Dragoons rode into camp just as the cooks began preparing the feast. Capt. Febiger rushed over to him and escorted him into the farmhouse. Captain Morgan and I joined them in the dining room.
The Expedition commander was clearly agitated. His first questions were, “How much did all this cost and who is paying for it?”
His anxiety was instantly relieved by the answer, “It is all donated by generous Patriots.” When Captain Morgan told him the Rifle marksmanship competition was about to begin and reminded him about the “test fire” question from Major Meigs back in Cambridge. Colonel Arnold nodded and said, “Just one round each, right?”
Capt. Morgan’s reply was spot-on: “Yes, sir. I have already placed a wager. Would you care to bet?”
“When does it start?”
“As soon as you get to the firing line, sir.”
Now smiling, he said, “Let’s go.”
Firing his one shot at a 300-yard target, Corporal Sullivan won hands down.
After the Riflemen, the infantry companies—all nine of them—each did an impressive demonstration of 3-rank volley fire with their muskets. Thankfully, they were downwind of the camp, for each volley created an immense plume of dense white smoke that would have made cooking or eating impossible. It was during the volley firing when Nathanael Tracy and his wife came up to see their old friend. Colonel Arnold turned, embraced them both, and they retired to the farmhouse.
The crowd loved it all. Several youngsters brought kites and ran across the hay field trying to launch them in the faint onshore breeze. Capt. O’Brien and several of his crew from Machias Liberty said it was all like an enormous family picnic. By 6:00 p.m. the visitors were heading home, the troops were policing up the area, and like Jesus with the loaves and fishes, there were lots of leftovers.
As the camp began to quiet, Capt. Morgan came to me and said, “This is likely your last night at the Tavern. Tomorrow morning, bring all your gear and the saddlebags full of money to give to Colonel Arnold. If our original plan holds, we will all move from here to the harbor around noon and set sail after dark tomorrow night. You and Capt. Febiger will have to keep manifests of each vessels’ passengers and a list of equipment taken aboard each ship. When you see Captain O’Brien in the morning, it looks like we will have five wagons total.”
I said, “Aye, sir,” saluted, mounted, and rode back to the Tavern with Sgt. Cady and two of his dragoons.
Newburyport, Massachusetts
Saturday, September 16th, 1775
When the knocking on the door awakened me, it was too dark to see my watch. I struck a match, lit the candle on the table next to my bed, noticed it was 4:30, and opened the door to see Sgt. Cady and one of his dragoons. Both were holding lanterns.
“Sorry to bother you, sir. But Captain O’Brien sent one of his mates summoning us to meet him aboard Machias Liberty as soon as possible. If you wish, I can leave Corporal Thompson here with the saddlebags.”
I slipped on my shoes, lit my small windproof oil lantern with the candle, put on my backpack, grabbed my rifle, knife, hatchet, powder horn, and cartridge box, and followed Sgt. Cady downstairs and out the front door. The fog was so thick we couldn’t see the cobblestones beneath our feet.
Instead of a five-minute walk to the harbor, it took us a quarter hour to arrive at Machias Liberty’s gangway. Through the mist we could barely see a flicker of light emanating from the porthole in Captain O’Brien’s cabin.
One of his mates escorted us below, knocked on the hatch, and announced us. There was a gruff “Just a minute . . .” as a key turned and the portal opened. The captain turned up the wick on the lantern to give us better light, motioned us to the stools next to his desk, and sat on the only chair in the cabin. He wasted no time getting to the point.
“With this dead calm and heavy fog, there is no way we are going to be able to load this little flotilla today and get underway tonight. Unless we get a good steady offshore breeze, this fog could be with us for days. The sun will burn some of it off by noon, but we still need a steady wind out of the west or south to sail northeast from here to the mouth of the Kennebec.
“Tell your commanders out there, this kind o
f weather rarely lasts more than two or three days. The good news in all this is the British Navy patrols and Revenue Cutters won’t be casting off their lines to hunt us down.
“As soon as you safely can, get to your encampment and tell Colonel Arnold to start sending wagons and other heavy equipment down here so we can load it, but the troops should not strike their tents until we know we can sail.
“By the way, that was a great show and wonderful chow yesterday. My sailors loved it. Now, one last item: how many wagons will we have to load?”
“Five, sir.”
It was 10:00 a.m. before the fog thinned enough for Sgt. Cady and me to mount up at Wolfe’s Tavern and head out to the encampment accompanied by one of his dragoons and an extra saddled mount for Capt. Morgan. We put the saddlebags on the spare horse.
The trip, at a slow walk, took a half-hour longer than usual. Once inside the perimeter we proceeded directly to the farmhouse so we could give Colonel Arnold the saddlebags full of hard currency.
Captain Febiger was standing on the porch and said, “Nathanael, your timing is impeccable. Colonel Arnold has just called for a commanders meeting. As usual, Captain Morgan is already here and very agitated we’re not already loading the transport ships. As you know, he is very concerned about the delay.”
“Oh yes, I know. The approach of winter is paramount on his mind.”
While we were talking, Sgt. Cady tethered the horses, removed the saddlebags full of cash, placed them on the porch, and asked, “Captain, are the dragoons who accompanied Colonel Arnold from Cambridge still here? If so, I should speak with them to see if there is any change in our orders. When my detachment came here with you and Ensign Newman, I was instructed to stay with you until the Expedition sails.”
The captain motioned and said, “The dragoons are in the white canvas headquarters tent directly behind the farmhouse. They have water for your horses.”
As we picked up the saddlebags and walked into the farmhouse, Captain Febiger said, “The meeting starts in fifteen minutes. As I walked out on the porch, Colonel Arnold and Captain Morgan were talking and you were the subject of their conversation.”
During the hour-long meeting, I was asked to report on what Captain O’Brien told me about how long it might be before we could sail. I could see from the expression on his face Captain Morgan was very upset.
The only ones in the meeting happy about our delayed departure were Lieutenant Colonel Greene and his deputy, Major Bigelow. The fifty-seven infantrymen given passes to visit their families in the vicinity of Newburyport were to have returned to the encampment before dark on Friday, September 15th. Only four were back in camp.
At the close of the meeting, Colonel Arnold announced, “According to Ensign Newman’s report, Captain O’Brien wants us to move our wagons to the wharf as soon as possible because they will take the longest to load when we embark. As soon as the fog lifts sufficiently, the wagons will proceed from here to where Captain O’Brien directs. Two dragoons will escort and post guard on each wagon and its contents until we deploy for Maine. The officer in charge of this movement is Ensign Newman.”
Hearing this, I looked at Captain Morgan who responded with a very subtle nod of his head.
Colonel Arnold concluded, “One final note, if we are still here tomorrow night, we have been invited to dine with Mr. Nathanael Tracy and his wife at their beautiful home in Newburyport. Mr. Tracy is Chairman of the local secret Sons of Liberty Committee. It is he who arranged for the ships which will take us to Maine.”
At 3:00 p.m., a slight northeast breeze dissipated enough of the fog to see about a half mile. 1st Lt. Humphrey and I agreed we should take the opportunity to move the wagons. He set out to inform the teamsters to harness up their draft teams and I sought out Sgt. Cady and told him we would be leaving in a quarter hour with the ten dragoons he chose to escort and post watch on the wagons. He bellowed, “Dragoon detachment! In fifteen minutes, be saddled and mounted!”
By 5:30 p.m. the five wagons were lined up on the wharf abreast Machias Liberty. The draft horses were all in a paddock with plenty of hay and water behind the barn where the dragoon horses are stabled.
Each wagon is being guarded by a dragoon while his relief rests until he takes over the watch at midnight. I repaired back to my room at Wolfe’s Tavern.
Newburyport, Massachusetts
Sunday, September 17th, 1775
Sgt. Cady met me at 8:00 a.m. in front of Wolfe’s Tavern with a single dragoon holding the reins of two saddled horses. The fog is gone. The sky is clear. The sun is bright yellow. A crisp steady breeze is rattling the halyards on every ship in the harbor.
As has become our custom, we headed down to Machias Liberty to get a sail report from Captain O’Brien. It wasn’t what any of us wanted to hear.
“Tell Colonel Arnold we won’t be going anywhere today. The wind is at least fifteen knots straight out of the nor’ east—precisely the direction we must sail to reach the mouth of the Kennebec River. There are two pieces of good news though. The Royal Navy ‘square rigs’ in Boston can’t sail into this wind either. And we will have these five wagons loaded on five different vessels before noon.”
Hearing that, I asked, “Do you have any white paint and a brush aboard?”
“Yes, how much do you need?”
“Not much. Just enough to paint a number on the sides and rear of each wagon.”
In less than a half hour each wagon had a number, and I recorded it in the log I carried in my backpack. Beside each number, I made a notation: #1 – Virginia Rifles; #2 – Penn. Rifles; #3 – 1st Inf. Bn; #4 – 2nd Inf. Bn; #5 Rear Guard.
Then I asked, “Captain O’Brien, when the wagons are loaded, would you be so kind to make a list of which wagon is loaded aboard which vessel?”
“Certainly. That’s very wise young man.”
“Thank you, sir. If I may, I will retrieve that list this evening.”
“Of course,” the Captain replied. He then posed a question of his own: “Will you be taking all twenty draft horses?”
“I don’t know, but I will find out.”
“Good. I need to know before we load the wagons aboard the transports. Some of the ships have holds large enough for both horses and a wagon. Others do not.”
“I will send a messenger back as soon as I have an answer.”
I found Capt. Febiger as soon as I arrived at the encampment, delivered Capt. O’Brien’s sail report, and asked him the question about the draft horses. He went into the farmhouse and swiftly returned with the answer: “Yes. Take both.”
Rather than risk a garbled message, I found Capt. Morgan and 1st Lt. Humphrey sitting on camp stools outside our headquarters tent to let them know I was heading back to the Machias Liberty to inform Captain O’Brien that Colonel Arnold wants to take both the wagons and the horses.
The captain looked at me and asked, “When are we leaving here?”
I told him exactly what Captain O’Brien told me. When I finished, he said, “Thank you,” stood, and walked off toward the tree line.
William looked downcast, so I asked him, “What’s wrong?”
He looked around to ensure no one could hear us and said, “Captain Morgan is deeply concerned about the delays. He told me this operation has far too many moving parts, too little intelligence about the terrain and enemy, and the constant delays put everyone at risk from what he believes will be a fierce winter.
“He’s not concerned about himself or his reputation—but for our men. An hour ago, Lieutenant Colonels Greene and Enos informed him the enlistments of over half their Militiamen expire on December 31st. ”
I was alarmed at what I was hearing and said, “I must deliver Colonel Arnold’s decision about the draft horses and will return immediately. When I get back, let’s try to cheer him up.”
The “cheer him up” part didn’t w
ork but we did convince him to ride with us to the dinner on horses provided by Sgt. Cady. Their home and gardens are certainly beautiful. The food was very good. The rum, cider, and wine flowed freely. A three-piece string ensemble played music throughout the meal. They invited to the party several very attractive young women who were virtually surrounded throughout the evening by young men dressed far more appropriately for the occasion than our Rifle officers.
But like so many people on the periphery of actually fighting in this war, Mr. Tracy took pains to describe how close he is to General Washington and of his importance to our Expedition. He even passed around the table copies of a letter from the Commander-in-Chief as proof of his significance:
To Nathanael Tracy Esq. Newbury Port
By His Excellency George Washington Esq
Commander in Chief of the Army of the United States
To Nathanael Tracy Esq.
You are hereby authorized and impowered to take up for the Service of the sd. Colonies so many Vessels as shall be necessary for the transporting a Body of Troops to be detached from this Army on a secret Expedition: Freight of such Vessels to be paid in such a Manner and at such a Rate as is indorsed hereon: And in Case of Loss or Damage to such Vessels or any of them such Loss or Damage to be compensated by the Publick according to an Estimation to be made before the sd. Vessels proceed in the above Service.
Head Quarters, September 2, 1775. G. Washington
After dessert, Mrs. Tracy urged us all to join her husband in the lantern-lit garden for brandy and cigars. I watched as Colonel Arnold flirted with our hostess and then recalled he lost his wife to some terrible malady1 just three months ago.
At 9:30, Capt. Morgan signaled with a look and a tilt of his head that it was time to go. With all the gracious civility of a well-polished gentleman, he took Mrs. Tracy’s hand gently in his great big paw, bent, kissed it, stood erect, looked her in the eye, and said, “Thank you, Mrs. Tracy, for a wonderful evening. We shall forever recall your gracious hospitality. We would very much like to stay longer but duty calls my officers and me back to our encampment.”