Late in the afternoon, an eighteen pounder broke through the ice and sank into the river. Colonel Knox was furious, because the crossing had almost been successfully completed and it was getting dark. The raising of the cannon was postponed until the next morning.
1 Shortly after dawn Colonel Knox himself directed the construction of pulleys over the now-frozen fourteen-foot-wide hole beneath which the precious cannon lay. Luckily, it was close to land and in fairly shallow water. Will wandered down to the shore to watch. Many of Albany’s menfolk had crossed the Hudson to help with the effort. The teamsters gladly let the self-righteous overweight burghers and the young dandies do the heavy lifting. By mid-afternoon the cannon was on shore.
Will scanned the growing crowd of people for a glimpse of Elisabeth, but she was not among the women who had arrived on the far shore to watch the activity. His disappointment turned to self-pity and the realization that he was not deserving of even her scarf, let alone her affection. He would be turning back at the Massachusetts border, returning to his father’s farm. The adventure of her chivalrous knight would be over.
The Colonel, never one to miss a moment for an inspiring speech, christened the resurrected eighteen pounder “The Albany” and promised the good citizens it would boom out their response to the British when it arrived in Boston. The remainder of the train crossed that afternoon. By midday Monday, under an ominous grey winter sky, the wagons and sleds were five miles south of Albany on the Post Road to Kinderhook. They traveled together, as they had done since Half Moon Landing, the Colonel in the vanguard followed by fourteen sleds, the Continental Captain in the middle section of about thirty sleds pulling the heaviest cannon, approximately half a mile behind the lead, with William Knox bringing up the rear. Most of the soldiers from Fort Ticonderoga had been left behind in Albany to join General Schuyler’s troops. The more fit of them, about twenty, trudged alongside the train, their bodies bent into the brutally cold wind that blew almost due north.
Nat, having spent the previous night and much of the morning with the Colonel, was with Will in the first group, on the sled now carrying a six pounder. The much-prayed-for hard frost had arrived with a vengeance. It was bitter cold and the solid grey sky promised nothing but more snow later in the day. Will wore his mother’s red scarf under his hat around his forehead to keep his head warm. Elisabeth’s dark blue one protected his throat and neck. He had tucked the end sentimentally over his heart.
“I see you have a lady friend,” Nat said poking Will in the ribs. “She is fair-looking, that is for sure. And the name of your lady love?” he asked, grinning and nudging Will again with his elbow.
Will blushed. “Elisabeth. I only know her first name,” he blurted out.
“Ahh, Will. Then I know more about her family than you. For it was I who arranged for you to be billeted at the house of Mr. Luykas Van Hooten. He is, as you can judge from the substance of his house, a man of property, a merchant and land owner. He has his own riverboats, which carry goods back and forth on the Hudson to the city of New York. And you seem to have won the heart of his youngest daughter.”
Will remained silent, which Nat interpreted as pining for his lady love. Instead, Will was depressed, knowing that this adventure would soon end and it was highly unlikely that he would ever return to Albany and see Elisabeth again.
Chapter 3 - A New Bargain at Great Barrington They spent the night in the sheds, barns and homes of the citizens of Kinderhook, a small inland farming community. Will was thankful for another warm meal and a dry place to sleep. Snow fell that night and continued into the next morning. The snow began as light fine flakes that the strong wind blew into drifts on the Post Road. By mid morning it had become a heavy snow, blanketing the sleds, wagons, cannons, gun carriages, boxes and baggage until all looked alike. Will assumed they had remained in Kinderhook because of the weather. Nat disabused him of this when he found Will in a shed, feeding Big Red and the mare.
“The Colonel has ridden ahead with his brother the nine miles to Claverack to arrange for more teamsters to travel with us to Massachusetts. We are to wait here for his return. I would have thought we would move down the road and meet him there, rather than his riding back.” Nat shrugged.
Nat was about to leave when Will’s father entered the shed, brushing the snow from his shoulders. He shook his hat to clear the brim.
“Well, Wilhelm. How many shillings do you have for me from the crossing? Or were you too tongue-tied to even ask for payment?”
“I asked for and received some food, which I thought would be of use for the rest of the journey,” he said sullenly. He decided not to mention Elisabeth’s blue scarf. It belonged to him, not his father.
His father snorted derisively. “You can see we are not in want of food. The Post Road is well populated and the taverns are stocked. It is not that far from Claverack to the Massachusetts border before we turn for home. You think we need provisions for that journey?” He shook his head in disgust. “Another opportunity to make money lost. I should have known. I am cursed by your stupid Dutch breeding.”
“I do not wish for it,” Nat interrupted, “but if Providence should continue to send us heavy snows, the slog from Claverack to Massachusetts may take us longer than you think.”
George Stoner looked at Nat shrewdly. “Perhaps, Ensign Holmes,” he said with some deference. “And then perhaps this caravan will not make it to Massachusetts if the winter weather is so bad.” He put his hat back on, paused at the shed entrance and turned back to Will.
“Go down to the barn adjacent to the tavern and see to my horses,” he ordered. “Clean the hooves of the big bay. He has a stone in one.”
“Not a very optimistic man, your father,” Nat said when George Stoner had left. “I put my confidence in the Colonel’s judgment and his horsemanship in returning through this heavy snow from Claverack.” He walked over to Will and put his arm around his shoulder. “I’m surprised at how wealthy Luykas Van Hooten is, given his Dutch heritage,” Nat said, squeezing Will’s arm and winking. Will smiled, appreciating the joke at the expense of his father, who would never be a quarter as rich as Van Hooten. “Besides,” Nat said, “better than precious gems is having a jewel of a daughter. Right, Will?” Will nodded, admiring how well his friend spoke. His thoughts returned to Elisabeth sitting next to him on the sled, his arm around her and her shoulder against his. That memory, and her scarf, were his and his alone.
Colonel Knox arrived after dark and went straight to the tavern. Those teamsters who were not already there drinking soon arrived, having heard the Colonel had returned. The tavern, a two-story stone building, its cedar shingled roof now covered by three feet of snow, was adequate for the normal post road traffic. The main room, with its low, thick-beamed ceiling, was filled with the smell of unwashed men, crowded against the walls with their mugs in hand. Those who were not already boisterous from the rum were surly and cantankerous. They pretended not to be curious as the Colonel sat down at the rough wood table adjacent to the fireplace. William Knox and Nathaniel were on either side of him. William, to the right, rested his hands on the familiar closed leather roster book, with a quill pen and inkwell before him.
“Now then, men,” Knox’s voice boomed out over the noise. “I have been to Claverack and returned in one day.” He paused, waiting for their attention. “The road is good but the way east to Massachusetts from there is not. We need not go further south to turn east. I plan, instead, to leave from here for the Massachusetts border.” There were grumbles of general dissent from the teamsters. Some of the men, emboldened both by the rum they had already imbibed as well as by their numbers, which seemed greater in the small tavern, muttered angrily. There were cries of “No! No!”
Knox, pushed back his chair, stood and held his hands up for silence. “You have just reason to complain,” he acknowledged. “Many of you have signed up only so far as Claverack. If you wish to terminate your service in this noble train of artillery here, in Kinder
hook, I will adjust your amounts for not traveling the nine miles to Claverack, and Brother Billy will pay you off forthwith. Additional teamsters with their sturdy sleds will arrive here the morrow.”
There was more general murmuring and calculation of just how many wagoners would be in Kinderhook tomorrow, something the Colonel had not mentioned. The teamsters waited for his offer, knowing that the roster in front of his brother contained their names and the pay due them.
“If you come with me as far as the town of Great Barrington, on the border of the Bay Colony of Massachusetts, I will increase the rate from seven pounds per ton to seven and a half,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. Will noticed his father standing on the right side of the room.
“That is very well, Colonel,” George Stoner said loudly. “But what about the daily rate per span of horses. Many of us have multiple teams and are paid by the day for the use of our animals, not by the ton.” He had stepped forward out of the shadows. Although he had addressed his remarks to Colonel Knox, he looked directly at the Colonel’s brother.
“Yes, yes,” other teamsters echoed the question, shouting out the number of horses or oxen pulling the sleds and wagons. “And tell us Colonel, how far is it from here to Great Barrington?” another shouted.
“Gentlemen,” the Colonel called, again raising his arms for silence. Will noticed Knox had a handkerchief wrapped around his left hand. He wondered if the Colonel suffered from frostbite. It seemed unlikely since he wore gloves.
“You are entitled to all necessary information and you shall have it,” he paused, smiling at the men as if they were his partners instead of mercenary laborers. “If we adhered to the original route, it will be twenty miles or so to Great Barrington. By turning east from here, the angle saves us a few miles, and I am willing to share the monetary savings with you. I offer to increase the daily rate from twelve shillings per span to fourteen, and leave to you to calculate how many days it will take us to reach Great Barrington, giving Providence its due for the weather,” he said, glancing upward at the smoke blackened beams. He sat down, filling the chair behind the desk with his large bulk, and waited for their reaction. Will watched Nathaniel whisper something to Knox. The Colonel shook his head in the negative.
Some of the teamsters, weaker in arithmetic than others, consulted with their better-educated brethren. There was much loud talk about the depth of the snow and how it would impede their progress, to their financial benefit. Will was not surprised it had been his father who had asked for an increase in the daily rate. With five teams in the train, he stood to earn an extra ten shillings per day, based on the Colonel’s initial offer. George Stoner, Will thought, usually managed to benefit, while letting others take the risks of confronting those in authority. He had seen it before. This time, motivated by a desire to get even with William Knox, his father had stood up and provoked the others.
“Well, Colonel,” one teamster said. He was short man with thick hairy arms protruding from his dirty grey linen shirt. “You have generously offered to pass along your savings by leaving from here and not Claverack, as was part of the original bargain. As I see it, we’re entitled to that money anyway.” There were shouts of “Hear! Hear!” and “You tell him, Josiah.”
Will saw his father smirk as the controversy he had stoked heated up.
“I say,” Josiah continued, “you add the half you offered to the seven and half for the tonnage rate and two more shillings to the fourteen daily rate, so we get eight pounds sterling tonnage or sixteen shillings per span per day.” He paused. “And you pay in advance,” he said pointing his finger at the Colonel. The men roared approval for his proposal.
Knox rose from his chair to respond. Will leaned against a roughhewn upright beam, idly rubbing his fingers along the marks left long ago by the carpenter’s broad axe. The Colonel and the teamsters went back and forth. It took almost another hour. Knox knew how to deal with men without offending them. He defused their hostility and turned the discussion into good natured bargaining. In the end, the Colonel graciously conceded to pay eight pounds per ton or fifteen shillings for each span of horses, per day, but nothing in advance.
With agreement reached, each teamster willing to proceed to Great Barrington stepped up and signed the roster with the new rate written next to his name by William Knox. Although Will was listed, it was his father who signed for both of them. He swaggered up to the table, confident he was cleverer by far than the next man, and certain he had outsmarted both the Colonel and his brother.
The Colonel, to the acclamation of all, paid for one round of rum for everyone in the room, including the nine teamsters who were terminating their service at Kinderhook. Someone called for three hearty cheers for the Colonel. Will joined in the cheering with the others but refrained from drinking the free rum. He didn’t like the way his head buzzed afterwards, and tonight his thoughts were of Elisabeth.
Early the next morning seven teamsters arrived from Claverack. It took until noon before the cannons were transferred from the sleds and wagons of those who were leaving to the newcomers. Nat was in charge of this. He had combined some of the lighter cannons, the brass mortars and the three pounders to make up for the loss of two teamsters and sleds - as more had left than had joined them. Will had finished lashing down a brass Coehoorn mortar and the six pounder when he heard his father call him.
“Make sure it is done right, Wilhelm. You must not make any mistakes today,” he said, standing with his arms crossed next to the sled. He saw Nat walking down the line on the road.
“Hello, Ensign Holmes. Over here, if you please.”
Nat scraped the snow off his boots on one of the runners. Will looked enviously at his friend’s boots and imagined having dry feet all day, every day.
“You usually ride with my son,” George Stoner said. “I would like your company myself, to learn more about events in Massachusetts. It never harms a man of business to know of things that may affect his economic well-being.”
“Wilhelm,” he commanded. “Today, you drive my sled with the fortification gun. Mind the four-span team now. Keep them in their traces and not too fast on the downhill slopes. It has weight to it.” He turned to Nat. “Now Ensign, whenever you’re ready, we can move out on this sled,” he said as he jumped up on the seat and untied the reins. “Here’s your bag,” he said to Will tossing the leather haversack on the ground.
Will trudged back along the line of waiting wagons and sleds, the snow slick underfoot from being trod upon by men and horses during the loading process. He checked the four teams, their tack, harnesses and traces, then the lashings of the thick ropes holding the two-ton artillery piece. He ran his bare hands along the cold metal and the worn wood of the gun carriage. It was an ugly piece of metal, not graceful and lithe like the six pounders. He hoisted himself on to the seat, buried his chin in Elisabeth’s scarf and wondered what his father was up to. He would butter up Nat to get to the Colonel, but for what purpose, Will could not figure out. Nat would be smart enough to see through him, though.
The next morning Nat walked down the line and stopped briefly at Will’s wagon.
“Nothing much to report,” he said conspiratorially. “Your father seems most interested in how the blockade will interrupt trade from the coast to Albany and concerned with the well-being of your brother in Boston.”
Will frowned. “He is angling for something. He always looks for the advantage and definitely has no concern for either my brother or me. Be on your guard, Nat,” Will cautioned, surprising himself with his audacity. Nat smiled good naturedly.
“Do not worry yourself, Will. Think of your fair lady, instead.”
Will did think of Elisabeth that day, but his thoughts were not pleasant. Instead, he was gloomy at the prospect to returning to his father’s farm from the Commonwealth border and never traveling anywhere again.
It took the caravan almost three days, heading east through bitter cold weather under clear skies, through light fore
sts and over frozen streams, to reach Great Barrington on the Housatannack River. Will found himself quartered in the Court House, together with other teamsters who had the misfortune of not being lodged at the tavern, although they were there drinking now. Every room, shed and barn were filled by the wagoners from the train or the teamsters from Massachusetts, recruited in advance and now ready to begin the trek from Great Barrington to Cambridge.
Will unharnessed the first two spans and led the four horses into the stable adjacent to the Court House. He turned up his nose at the distinctive, pungent cattle smell of oxen, stolid, stupid-looking, shorthorned beasts, tethered in every stall. He remembered Nat’s comment when they had ridden together. It was more pleasant to ride behind horses than oxen. Unfortunately for Nat, the Massachusetts wagoners who would replace Will and his father and the others from New York favored oxen.
Will stepped over a pile of steaming manure and maneuvered two of the oxen into a stall with only one. He led his father’s first span and then the second into the now-empty stall, the four horses crammed together and showing their evident distaste for the overpowering cattle smell by flaring their nostrils and pawing the sparse straw bedding. He tethered the other four horses in the narrow lane between the stalls. Satisfied it was the best he could do for them, Will walked the short distance to the Court House.
Inside, he wandered through the high-ceiling courtroom, which was almost as cold as the outside. He explored the building, looking for a place for his blanket, and found a series of small rooms at the back. A glow of light shone through a partially opened door.
“Come in, whoever you are,” a gravelly voice invited him into the room. A small candle, set low in a pewter holder on the mantle, cast light on an elderly man with scraggly gray hair, wrapped in a blanket in front of a fireplace. The heat from the small fire was barely enough to warm the room.
Cannons for the Cause Page 6
