by Ron Carter
She jerked awake at a sudden shuddering of the boat and the sound of pounding and twisted to peer at the gangplank. Jennings stepped off onto the deck and started back toward the tiller, followed by five of the crew, who picked up their long poles and took their positions on the sides of the boat. Mary stood and waited for Jennings to take his seat beside the tiller. He called, “All clear!” and the sixth man, still on shore, cast off the line and trotted up the gangplank as the boat began to drift backward with the current. On deck, the man grasped the gangplank and pulled it on board, then picked up the last pole and took his place.
With the mosquitoes rising from the marshes and the river, and the sun one hour high, Jennings passed out hardtack and cold, fried sowbelly, and the men ate while continuing their rotation. Mary kept her place near the tiller and ate when the men did. When they finished, Jennings rationed out one cup of rum each, and the men took turns to stop and savor it. Mary drank from a water canteen. At one o’clock, with the sun pounding down, they tied up for their midday meal, and the men again sought shade to escape the withering heat.
At half-past three, with the crew running sweat, Jennings stood, hand on the tiller. His arm shot up, pointing. “Around the next bend, two hundred yards. The pier. The wagons have got to be there.”
Mary stood, balanced against the rocking of the boat in the current, watching as the crew slowly drove the boat onward. They passed the bend, and Jennings pushed the tiller to the right. The nose of the boat swung eastward, and suddenly the pier was there, dead ahead. The only sound was the lapping of the river against the boat as all eyes counted the wagons.
There were four, with sixteen thick-necked, heavy-legged horses hobbled nearby, muzzles thrust into the grass. Jennings’s pulse quickened. “We made it! They left four wagons for this load!”
But while he watched, the wagoneers, who had been sitting in the shade of the great freighters, rose to come to the pier, and Jennings counted but three. His face fell, and he counted again. There were only three.
The boat bumped the pier, two of the crew jumped to tie it fore and aft to the pilings, and Jennings climbed over the gunwales onto the rough planking and trotted to meet the wagoneers. He spoke to one of the men.
“You the wagonmaster?”
“Yes. Name’s Gerhardt.”
“You only got three drivers?”
Gerhardt nodded. “We waited for you, but this morning one driver pulled out. Said he had to get home. Left a wife and sick baby six days ago. I told him to wait, but he wouldn’t.”
“Four wagons and three drivers. How’re you going to get that fourth wagon to Morristown?”
“We aren’t, at least not this trip. We could try to rig it behind one of the others, but the Morristown road has eight or ten turns too tight to let them both pass. We’re going to have to leave it and come back for it.”
Jennings’s voice raised in fear and anger. “Four days? It won’t be here when you get back.”
Gerhardt asked, “Can one of your men stay?”
“No. We’ve got the next load waiting.”
The leader shrugged. “Then we leave it.”
“Who stands the loss of the freight if it’s gone?”
“You. You were late getting here. I stand the loss of the wagon, but I got insurance.”
Pain showed in Jennings’s face as he glanced at his crew, then back at Gerhardt. “You can’t load heavy? Get it all on three wagons?”
Gerhardt shook his head vigorously. “A storm hit and turn the road to mud, we’d mire to the axles. Have to sit there ’til the roads dried out. Can’t risk it.”
Jennings’s shoulders sagged in resignation. “Let’s get at it. We can have you loaded by dark if we start now.”
The men hit a pace, a rhythm, and the crates and barrels in the hold of the boat steadily moved up and out, down the pier, to the wagons, where two men loaded them, packed tight. The sun set, and they stopped to drink cold water, wipe the sweat, and then continue. It was fully dark when the last of the freight was in the wagons, covered with heavy tarps, tied down so the loads could not shift. Their work finished, the men boiled coffee over a small fire and warmed strips of salt beef on sticks, ate it with stale bread and cheese, and chewed on dried apple slices. Jennings brought out a small keg of rum, and they took their rations in wooden cups, sitting cross-legged around the fire, silent, each with his own thoughts while they sipped at it, nursing it, savoring it. They rinsed their utensils in the river, spread their blankets, and then laid down facing the fire. Within minutes they were breathing deeply, and Mary could hear the snoring from her place on board the River Belle.
She let an hour pass before she dipped a bucket of river water, washed herself, tugged on fresh clothing, and sought the quiet solitude of sitting alone on the gently undulating deck. Tomorrow, and then the next day, and we’ll be there—two more days—two more days. It repeated in her head like a chant. Everything inside her was gathered in anticipation. Eli. Billy. They understand. Things will be all right. Her head slowly settled forward and she slept.
She was up and waiting before the morning star began to fade, standing on the deck beside the gangplank, luggage packed. She watched the spark struck in the pitch black of the forest to light the morning campfire, and watched the dim shape come to the river to scoop water for coffee and mush. Jennings brought her a wooden bowl of oatmeal, sweetened with brown sugar, and strong, steaming coffee, and she ate. She peered into the darkness as the wagoneers hooked up twelve horses to three wagons, puzzled that four horses were left hobbled to graze, and one loaded wagon still stood with its tongue on the ground. She walked to the gunwales and turned her head to listen.
Jennings voice was raised. “There’s three thousand dollars worth of flour and blankets in that wagon. Sure you can’t rig it to another wagon and hook up the last four horses to pull the double load?”
The wagonmaster shook his head violently. “There’s no hope of getting both wagons around some of the bends in that road. There’s two places it’s hard getting one wagon through—takes good drivers to make it. I hate the risk of losing the load and the wagon to thieves, but I don’t know what else to do.”
Jennings shook his head. “I’d leave one of my crew, but five men can’t handle this boat. I’ve got another load waiting in New York in two days, and I can’t be late without taking a chance on losing the contract.” He pulled off his narrow-brimmed, battered felt hat and nervously scratched his head, then his beard. “Never lost a load in my life, and now here I sit, about to walk away from one.” He shook his head. “Well, I’ll help your passenger get loaded. I better tell you, she’s without money—can’t pay her fare. Says she’ll have to sell her luggage at Morristown to pay you. She’s been a good passenger. I think she’ll do it.”
The wagonmaster blew air through rounded lips. “Another one that can’t pay? That’s four so far this summer.” Disgust was plain on his face as he looked toward the boat. “All right. Let’s move. We can be gone by sunrise.”
The men started to move their separate directions, then stopped at the sound of firm footsteps rattling the gangplank, and turned to look. Mary strode down, onto the riverbank, and over to the surprised group of men. They stood without speaking, startled at her sudden appearance in the gray of morning. Mary stopped six feet in front of Gerhardt.
“Sir, do I understand you lack a driver for the fourth wagon?”
Gerhardt glanced at Jennings before answering. “Yes, ma’am. That’s a fact. Left to tend a sick wife and baby.”
“You will have to leave the fourth wagon and the freight here for a few days until you return?”
“Looks that way.”
Mary’s expression did not change as she said firmly, “I’ll drive it. I have no money to pay you for my passage, so I’ll expect teamster’s pay. That way I can pay you and maybe have a little left.”
Gerhardt’s mouth dropped open for a split second before he clacked it shut and blurted, “You? You’re
going to drive that wagon?” His eyes worked up and down Mary and her expensive clothing. “You ever drive a wagon before? A loaded freight wagon that size?”
Mary’s answer was firm, measured. “Many times. Six-horse teams, eight-horse teams. Twelve tons of ammunition one time to the magazine on Manhattan Island. A seventeen-ton load from Manhattan Island to Long Island the night General Washington crossed the East River to prepare for the battle he lost. I can drive those four horses and that wagon easily.” She pointed at the wagon without looking.
Every man gaped. Buzzing broke out, then subsided.
Gerhardt looked at Jennings in bewilderment. “Want to trust your freight to this woman?”
Jennings wiped his sleeve across his mouth and looked at Mary. “Yes, I do.”
Gerhardt shrugged. “I’m good for it if you are.” He looked at Mary. “We’ll get the horses hooked up.”
Mary bobbed her head. “I’ll help.”
The man froze. “You’ll what?”
Mary did not answer. She walked to the horses, talking softly as she came in from the side where they could see her. She touched the neck of the nearest one, then rubbed it, then reached to handle its ears briefly. She worked her hand down, onto its near front leg, and to the buckles of the leather hobbles. Gerhardt stood in dumbstruck silence as she deftly removed the hobbles and moved to the next horse. Then he hurried to help her.
The light wisp of clouds in the eastern sky were shot through with color when Mary and Gerhardt snapped the last traces to the doubletrees and wound the eight, long leather ribbons around the brake pole. Mary didn’t hesitate. She pulled her skirts high enough to reach the front wheel hub with her right foot, grasped the wheel, and pulled herself up, then reached with her foot for the cleat and stepped into the driver’s seat. She unwound the reins, sorted them out, and threaded them through her fingers, four to each hand. She took up the slack, adjusted them for even tension, then slapped the long leather ribbons down on the rumps of the horses and called, “Giddap.”
The four horses leaned into their collars, and their iron shoes dug into the earth as they started the load moving. Mary threw her weight against the reins in her left hand, and the horses started into their turn with the wagon complaining all the way. Her jaw was set, feet spread and planted, and her eyes shining in the sunrise as she kept the pressure on the left reins. She swung them in a half circle and brought the leaders up behind the wagon in the rear of the column before she leaned back and seesawed on the reins as she called, “Whoa,” and the horses came back against the load. The wagon came to a rocking stop with the noses of the lead team ten feet behind the next wagon, lined up perfectly.
She turned to call to Gerhardt and the other two grinning teamsters, “Ready when you are.”
All ten men came at a high trot. The three teamsters climbed to the boxes of their wagons, while Jennings and his six rivermen loaded Mary’s luggage in the driver’s box next to her and gathered around, looking up at her. Jennings had his hat in his hand.
“Ma’am, you are sure full of surprises. I don’t know how to thank you. I will not forget you, Mary Flint. I hope you find whoever it is you’re looking for.”
“I’m happy I could help. Thank you for everything. All of you.”
The other six rivermen nodded up to her, suddenly feeling awkward, self-conscious. Gerhardt gigged his team into motion, and then the two wagons ahead of Mary creaked forward. She waited a few moments, then slapped the reins down on the rumps of her team and clucked them ahead. Mary turned to look over the top of her load once, to see Jennings and his crew waving, and then the forest closed in.
Midmorning they stopped at a stream to water the horses. At one o’clock they pulled their wagons in while they drank canteen water and Gerhardt doled out bread and meat. They each took their ration and climbed back to the wagon boxes to set it on the seat, and the little column moved on, the teamsters eating as they drove.
Twice in the late afternoon they came to switchbacks in the narrow, rutted, dirt road, lined with trees, stumps, and boulders. Each time, Mary slowed her team long enough to make calculations, then swung them wide into the turn, to bring them back sharply while she watched the inside rear wheel to be sure it cleared the rocks and stumps at the edge of the road. Both times she straightened her team and looked ahead to see the other three drivers all turned, watching her, grinning.
With coffee boiling over a low campfire and mutton slices sizzling in a big, black, cast-iron frying pan, Gerhardt came to her, seated in the grass near her horses. He pulled his ragged hat from his head. “Ma’am, it would be good if you’d come take supper with us. I’ll bring it to you if you want, but the men and me talked it over, and it seems right you ought to be with us, since you sure done your share today. You needn’t have any fears about us, ma’am. Not after what you done today.”
He stopped and worked his hat with his hands for a moment, not knowing what to say or do next. Mary looked up at him, then rose to her feet. He turned and walked back to the fire while she followed.
* * * * *
The teams were hitched up and the teamsters were in their wagon boxes before the morning star had faded. At one o’clock, beneath an overcast sky, they hauled the wagons to a halt to let the horses water from a wide, shallow stream. They climbed down to get their ration of tough brown bread, cheese, and dried peach slices, and to drink from a big, two-gallon canteen before they remounted to gather up and sort their reins once more. The sun was two hours past its zenith before the wagonmaster pointed, then turned his head to call back above the creaking of the wagons and the steady, muffled rhythm of the horses’ hooves.
“Morristown dead ahead. Watch for American patrols.”
Ten minutes later movement in the trees to her right brought Mary’s head around, and she saw indistinct forms moving in the forest. Two minutes later they broke into the roadbed, and Gerhardt came back on his reins to stop the column.
Mary heard muffled words, then Gerhardt said, “We’re bringing contract supplies in for General Washington’s army.” Seconds later, the lead wagons moved on, and Mary stirred her team to keep her interval. She passed four men with muskets, standing on the right side of the roadbed. They wore the clothes of common colonials, and each had a musket with bayonet mounted.
Her breathing quickened. American patrol—we’re getting close—will they be here?
They did not reach Morristown. They drove their wagons into the sprawling American camp, one quarter mile from the edge of the neatly built village, and soldiers waved them in to the freight depot, half of them stopping to stare at the beautiful, dark-eyed woman, wearing a dress and bonnet, sitting straight in the last wagon box, handling a four-up as though she were born to it. Gerhardt stopped the column and waited while the quartermaster strode quickly to the lead wagon. The man wore a New York militia tunic, a tricorn hat, and carried a sheaf of papers in one hand. He faced Gerhardt.
“I’m Quartermaster Buttars. You’re bringing freight from who?”
“From Jennings. River Belle. Got a contract for flour, shoes, blankets, salt beef.”
The officer scanned his papers and then pointed. “Flour and blankets over there, salt beef and shoes over there.”
The other two teamsters came to Mary’s wagon and helped her to the ground, then set her suitcases beside her and waited while Gerhardt came striding and pointed. “We unload over there.” He looked at Mary, then reached inside his shirt for a sweat-stained leather purse. He drew out four gold coins and dropped them into her hand. “That’s standard teamsters wages for two days. Take it with our thanks.”
Mary reached to extend two coins back to him. “That’s for my passage.”
Gerhardt shook his head. “No, ma’am. There’s no way you can get me to take it. Me and the boys don’t pay for our passage, and it’s sure you aren’t going to either. What you done was worth more than the pay. Take it, and our thanks.”
Mary accepted the coins, then thrust her hand ou
t to Gerhardt. “Thank you. Good luck to each of you.”
The men all mumbled their thanks, then turned to begin the work of unloading thirteen tons of army supplies. Mary stood long enough to locate the quartermaster, then moved quickly to catch him.
“Sir, I’m looking for two of your soldiers. Who should I talk to?”
“What regiment?”
“I suppose Boston, if there is such a thing.”
“There’s a Massachusetts battalion.” He studied Mary. “Aren’t you the one who was driving that last wagon that just came in?”
“Yes.”
His eyebrows arched for a moment. “The Massachusetts camp is about two hundred yards to the west, over there.” He pointed. “Stop and ask.”
“Thank you.” She walked back to her luggage, lifted one bag in each hand, and started west, working her way through the mix of soldiers and civilians. She stopped every fifty yards to set the heavy luggage down and give her hands and arms a rest. Soldiers slowed to covertly stare at her as she moved on. She came abreast of two young officers, set her suitcases down, and spoke.
“Sir, is the Massachusetts camp close by?”
“Yes, ma’am. You’re in it. Can we be of help?”
“Yes. I’m looking for two soldiers.”
“Do you know their names?”
“Billy Weems and Eli Stroud. Would you know where I might find either one of them?” Her breathing slowed and her heart pounded as she waited for the answer. They have to be here. Must be here!
“No, ma’am, but we might be able to find someone who does.” The young lieutenant turned to look about, then called, “Sergeant, would you come here for a moment?”
A bandy-legged, hawk-nosed little man left a crew of men loading sacks of oats onto a slip and walked over. He eyed Mary before he spoke. “Yes, sir?”
