War

by Edward Cline

As Massachusetts, Connecticut and New Hampshire militiamen gathered around the Virginians in curiosity, Jack went inside the house. Here he found several “Yankee” commanding officers, including Ward, of Massachusetts and nominal commander of the gathering colonial army; Brigadier Israel Putnam of Connecticut; Colonel William Prescott of a wealthy Massachusetts merchant family; and Colonel John Stark, of New Hampshire.

  Dr. Joseph Warren of the provincial congress sat in a corner, puffing on a pipe. It was he who two months before had sent Paul Revere and other riders to alert the country west of Cambridge of the British expedition to seize and destroy colonial military stores in Concord. He was awaiting appointment as major general and a command from Ward.

  Jack Frake introduced himself, and the other men reciprocated.

  “Any battle experience, Captain?” asked Ward, who sat at a table made of rough planks resting on wooden horses. The table was smothered with papers, two lanterns, and tankards of ale. Ward noted the faint scar to the side of the Virginian’s forehead, and did not think it the result of a mishap with a plough or cooperage tool. Like Putnam and Stark, he was a veteran of the French and Indian War, and had seen that kind of healed wound before.

  “I was with General Braddock at Monongahela, sir. In the thick of it. So, I believe, was General Gage. And Colonel Washington.”

  “Gage, too? I didn’t know that,” said Ward. “Well, he’s been recalled, apparently. Lexington and Concord were his Monongahela. Three generals have come to replace him. They came on the Cerberus late last month with reinforcements. William Howe, John Burgoyne, and Henry Clinton, major generals all. Howe’s in command here now. We expect that Clinton and Burgoyne will have their own commands. Then we have Admiral Graves with his warships down there, ready as vultures, with over a hundred guns. We have only six.”

  “We don’t know for sure that Gage has been recalled,” ventured Putnam. “He is still governor and he could be planning the mischief they’re up to. He outranks the other three, anyway.”

  Ward shrugged. “What about your men?” he asked Jack Frake. “How many in your company?”

  “Fifty, sir. Half of them saw action in the last war, as well.”

  “Good. Then they won’t bolt when the British jump on them?”

  “I don’t think they will, sir.”

  “Why not, sir? It’s not French or Indians they’ll be asked to fire upon, but their own kith and kin. Their countrymen.”

  Jack Frake frowned. “They don’t think they are, sir. Not any more.”

  Ward smiled, pleased with the answer. Then his brow furled, and he asked with undisguised suspicion, “How did you know to come up here, Captain Frake?”

  “Newspaper accounts of the action on the Concord road, sir. And, some of my men and I are Sons of Liberty. We received information from correspondents. If anything precipitous was going to happen, it would happen here.” He paused. “It was our Sons of Liberty who prevented the stamps from being introduced into Virginia, together with the citizens of our county.”

  “Precipitous?” scoffed Stark. “What a vocabulary! You must be book-learned!”

  Prescott asked, “Have you brought your own powder and lead, Captain? We are a bit short of them. And of entrenching tools, too.”

  “Yes, sir. About fifty rounds per man. But we brought no tools.”

  Stark, glancing through a window at the new militia waiting outside the house, stared disapprovingly at the ensign that rippled in the warm wind. He narrowed his eyes, though, to read the motto in the canton, “Live Free, or Die.” He pronounced the words once, then addressed the stranger. “Ghastly colors you carry, sir, but the motto is interesting. What inspired it?” Ward, Putnam, Warren all rose and went to the door, which they opened to see the newcomers themselves and the odd ensign.

  “Friends of mine who died by the Crown’s hand many years ago,” answered Jack Frake.

  “Soldiers?” asked Dr. Warren.

  “Smugglers, sir. In Cornwall. They were hanged. I was transported.”

  “So! You’re a damned criminal!” accused Stark.

  “Aren’t we all now, gentlemen?” replied Jack Frake, although it was not a question.

  The American officers all laughed at this remark, because it was true.

  Stark’s compressed lips bent in a reluctant smile. “You Virginians have an answer for everything! You must be a damned lawyer!”

  “No, sir. A planter. I own a thousand acres on the York River.”

  Stark grunted once and regarded the stranger with new interest. Then he pointed out the window to the ensign now resting over Jock Fraser’s shoulder. “You added some stripes to that thing, sir. I guess they represent the colonies, but I count thirteen. Do you include Quebec?”

  “No, sir. Georgia.” Jack Frake added, “We know that is an East India jack. It was found in Louisbourg in a French billet, in the war before last.” He saw the puzzled looks on the officers’ faces. “The tea flag, sir,” he said.

  “The tea flag?” asked Warren.

  “It was East India tea that you fellows tossed into the harbor here, was it not?” asked Jack Frake.

  “So it was,” remarked Putnam. “Never saw the likes of your ensign in any port here. Well, it is as gaudy as the Union Jack. It might be adapted somehow. The British have their crosses, and we’ll have our stripes. Then we’ll know who’s who when it comes to blows.”

  “Georgia!” scoffed Stark. “Those people down there are too slow to see the times. Must be the heat softening their noodles. They haven’t sent anyone to a Congress yet. Quebec is more likely to join us. And if they don’t, well…they might be persuaded to.”

  Ward glanced at Stark and shook his head once. Jack Frake, observing the silent communication, could only sense its significance, and remained ignorant of tentative plans to invade Canada and remove the northern threat to the colonies, should they pursue a course of independence.

  Jack Frake said, “Georgia might join the Congress, in time.”

  Stark said with disgust, “Well, they’d better make up their damned minds!”

  Ward sat down again and volunteered, “They just might, and soon. The other day I received a letter from a committee man in North Carolina, in your parts, Captain Frake. It seems that a convention in Mecklenburg there has already declared that colony’s independence. How stands Virginia?”

  “Governor Dunmore’s likely actions will provoke the same public declaration there, as well.”

  “Likely actions?”

  “He is a Stuart and a lord, sir, and determined to rule. We are quite tired of him, and he of us.”

  Ward studied Jack Frake for a moment, then asked him, “Why do you want to be here, Captain Frake? I’d have thought you would want to stay in Virginia to give Dunmore the same business we plan to give General Gage.” He chuckled. “It isn’t as though there won’t be plenty of fighting to go around, once it begins here. There will be that up and down the seaboard.”

  Jack Frake paused before he answered. Then he smiled. “We Virginians began the business with the Stamp Act Resolves, sir. That was an enfilade of paper. It would only be justice if we contributed an enfilade of lead, as well, since the Crown’s policies and intentions were proof against the paper.” He smiled again. “It is a matter of finishing what we started. That is why we are here.”

  Stark shook his head and bellowed, “The hubris of you Virginians! You even rule the damned Congress! There’s that Randolph fellow, and Henry, and Washington. And that Jefferson puppy with his scrivenings. Talkers and lawyers and scriveners! You all sound alike!”

  Jack Frake was unsure of the intent of Stark’s protestations. He answered lightly, “Well, Colonel Stark, if you don’t take caution, the capital of these united colonies might someday be found in Williamsburg, with Mr. John Adams or Mr. Hancock as president.”

  Stark merely barked with incredulity while the other officers laughed.

  Jack Frake added the remark, addressing the company, “Sirs, revolutions
are not merely a matter of armies and muskets and flouting authority. Lasting revolutions are a matter of minds and ideas. It has always been my premise that this is the kind of revolution we have been making for ten years.”

  To this, neither Stark nor any of the other men had an answer. That was true, as well.

  Ward said, “Well, Captain Frake, why don’t you find your men somewhere to encamp and rest up? And please join me at supper tonight, and bring your second in command. We might have work for you on the peninsula overlooking Boston. You see, we plan to lay a stronger siege to it. Gage knows this, and will try to stop us. He plans to occupy Dorchester Heights that overlooks the harbor, and we hope to beat him to it, as well. Today, tomorrow, next week, we’ll see. I’ll show you the maps at supper.” He rose and extended his hand over the table. He grinned. “Massachusetts welcomes you, Captain.”

  Jack Frake stepped forward and shook it. “Thank you, sir.”

  Prescott said, “We will be digging entrenchments and building a redoubt somewhere on the Charlestown peninsula, Captain. You and your men might find yourselves helping out with that.”

  “We are mostly farmers, sir, and have much experience in digging ditches, as well.”

  Stark chuckled. “You’re the first Virginians we’ve seen who don’t look like they’re dressed for court or out to squire the ladies.”

  Ward added as an afterthought, “We’re only militia here, Captain Frake, so there’s no saluting or any of those other formalities. Not yet, not until Congress gets around to creating a true army. However, orders will be obeyed.”

  “Of course, sir.” Jack Frake inclined his head to the other men, then turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Colonel Stark grinned for the first time, and nodded to the door. “I like that man,” he said to no one in particular. “He talks back, the saucy Virginian!”

  The next day members of the Queen Anne Volunteer Company familiarized themselves with their surroundings and with their comrades-in-arms to be. Jack Frake and Jock Fraser sat on the porch of Ward’s headquarters and studied a map that the commander had loaned them. Then on foot, with John Proudlocks joining them, they reconnoitered the land overlooking the Charlestown peninsula.

  To the east, they saw a small collection of buildings that was Charlestown on the southeast tip. From it led several dirt roads, merging less than a mile in the west into one that crossed the neck that divided the Mystic River from the Charles River, which widened at its mouth to form what looked like a small bay. Farther east, a little beyond Charlestown across a small body of water that was the outlet from the Charles River, sat Boston on its own peninsula, connected to the mainland by a narrow neck, as well. The only vessels they saw at sail in the water were British warships; the port remained closed.

  On the map, they identified Breed’s Hill northwest of Charlestown in the middle of the peninsula, the larger Bunker Hill to the northwest of it near the Mystic, and Moulton’s Hill, also on the Mystic on the northeastern tip. In between Charlestown and the neck they noted fenced pastureland, clay pits and brick kilns, what looked like a swamp, high grass and a few trees. The entire peninsula looked deserted. Jack Frake used the spyglass that Hugh had given him years ago to survey the place, which was only half a mile at its widest. He shared the glass with Fraser and Proudlocks. The only moving things they saw were a few stray livestock, cattle and pigs, searching for forage. Satisfied that they had a grasp of the potential battlefield, the men returned to their camp.

  There were a few other flags or ensigns that marked the campsites of other companies and regiments. Some were green, blue or yellow lengths of cloth hastily knocked together and fastened to pikes, and featured rattlesnakes, pine trees, and other devices. Most of the other men were garbed as the Virginians, in frock coats, waistcoats, breeches, and brimmed and fur hats, much of it homespun and not imported from Britain. A few officers wore uniforms and gorgets from the last war.

  Jack Frake moved around the various encampments and acquainted himself with the northern men. Like his own from Virginia, they were a mixture of shopkeepers, farmers, tailors, mechanics, coopers, wheelwrights, carpenters, teachers and men from many other trades. There were even some students from nearby Harvard. They carried a variety of firearms: muskets, fowling pieces, and some rifles. He noticed a few black men among the Yankees, also bearing arms. These were northern freedmen; they did not behave like servants or slaves, but mingled freely and easily with their white compatriots.

  In the early evening Proudlocks returned to camp from a mysterious quest. A red sash draped from around his waist now, identifying him as a sergeant. He brought three more: one for Jude Kenny, the other platoon sergeant, one for Jock Fraser as lieutenant, and one for Jack Frake.

  “Where did you find these?” asked Jack Frake, astonished as he tied one around his waist. The sashes were of finely made silk, and were regulation British army. Many of the northern militiamen’s officers and sergeants wore them.

  Proudlocks said, “Some of the Massachusetts men here fought the British along the Concord road. They took them from captured sergeants. I traded a few bullets for them.”

  Under a starry night, Jack Frake sat at a campfire with Fraser, Proudlocks and other men. As he listened to them talk, he felt anxious about what would happen tomorrow, and somehow vindicated. He could not help but think of Augustus Skelly and his gang facing British soldiers at the Marvel caves in Cornwall, and how he had wished he had been there to share the moment of supreme defiance. He fought the unreasonable notion that he was making up for that absence now. But the memory would not fade, nor the notion, and he smiled at their tenacity.

  And then he thought of the puzzle that Skelly told him once he was destined to solve. He distinctly remembered the night that Skelly had joined him on the watch above the Marvel caves, and had replied, in answer to his assertion that living the life of an outlaw was more honorable than obeying unjust laws, “‘Honor’ is such an empty notion nowadays. There is a better word for what you mean. The vilest rake in Parliament can claim honor. No, what moves us, Jack, is something more substantial…. I’m sure you’ll find the right word for it someday.”

  Now he wondered if he would live long enough to know the answer.

  At nine o’clock that night, Jack Frake received word from Brigadier Putnam that his company was to join Colonel Prescott and march to Bunker Hill to help fortify it. Before the Virginians could be roused from their sleeping rolls, the order was countermanded by Prescott himself, who rode up to their encampment. “I’ve spoken with General Ward, Captain. We won’t have enough tools, and not enough water in our barrels to spare. It’s going to be dirty, dusty work all night, you see. Thank you for your offer. Your men have traveled far to be with us. Rest them, sir, so they’ll be fresh tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir,” answered Jack Frake.

  Chapter 7: The Hills

  “Stand to arms, men.”

  The sound of guns at dawn had awakened the Virginians. It was distant fire, and as the men of the Company rose and prepared themselves to march, they wondered if the British had stolen up on Prescott, Putnam, and other units that had been sent to Bunker and Breed’s Hills to fortify them. A Connecticut officer rode by and informed Jack Frake that the navy at first light had begun bombarding the peninsula, but that the warships could not elevate their guns high enough to cause much damage.

  “Where do we march, sir?” asked Jock Fraser.

  “Follow the sound of the guns, sir,” said the officer with a smile, pointing in the direction of the peninsula, “and everyone else here, to Breed’s Hill.” He rode off to instruct other units.

  The night had been hot, and the day promised to be hotter. The sky was cloudless and an intense blue. The rising sun promised to bake the heads of the armies and keep their powder dry.

  Cletus stood with his drum by Jack Frake and beat the signal he had practiced so often. Travis Barret stood next to Cletus, nervously fingering his fife. Next to Jac
k Frake stood Fraser with the ensign. The men of the Queen Anne Volunteer Company quickly downed last gulps of coffee and pieces of bread, put out their fires, and rushed to form two lines. They stood at the ready, at attention, muskets shouldered.

  Jack Frake addressed his troops. “We will march as smartly as we practiced in drill back home, men. Mind your sergeants’ commands. They’ll be mine. We will fight as well as any other company here.” He smiled. “Let us show the others that Americans can hale from the south, too.” Then he added, “And be sure to make your first shots a salute from Wendel Barret.” In each of the men’s pouches were two or three lead balls, fashioned from the Caxton Courier’s seized printing type long ago, and on which had been painted in white WB.

  The men answered in unison, “Yes, sir!”

  Jack Frake nodded to Fraser, who yelled, “In columns of twos, right face!” The Company obeyed. Then Fraser turned to Cletus and Travis Barret. “Play the tune that Mr. Kenny taught you, sons.” The young men nodded.

  Jack Frake and Fraser walked to the beginning of the formation. “March!” shouted Fraser.

  The Queen Anne Volunteer Company moved forward in perfect step. “Left wheel!” The Company moved from the encampment onto a path that led into the distance and past other units that were preparing to march. Cletus beat a marching cadence, and Travis Barret, at first haltingly, then with more confidence, played “Yankee Doodle.”

  “Cradle arms!”

  The men swung their muskets around to rest the barrels in the crooks of their left arms.

  Many of the northern men stopped what they were doing to watch the Virginians pass by. “What’s that they’re marching to?” asked a Connecticut militiaman.

  “Sounds like the ‘Anacreon Song,’” answered another. “I sung it often enough in my cups.”

  “No,” said another militiaman. “Not at all. It’s that new song I heard. ‘Yankee Macaroni.’”

  “Look at that ensign!” said the sergeant of a Massachusetts regiment. “As brazen as a Beacon Hill doxy! We ought to get us one of those, and put our name on it.”