Reluctantly, they had followed Colonel Hand’s orders and practiced the fifteen-step drill from priming, loading, ramming the charge home, returning the rammer, aiming and firing. Except they refused to waste any powder as an act of defiance. Their Colonel accepted this in good grace, knowing that Colonel Morgan’s rifle regiment, to the man, had initially refused even to drill. Only after a few of the insubordinate leaders had been court-martialed did Morgan’s men appear sullenly on the parade grounds to learn the marching and maneuvers.
And now, Bant, McNeil and several other volunteers from their company, filling the gaps in Colonel Daniel Morgan’s Rifles due to desertions, disease and death, were marching in step toward Philadelphia with a force of around two thousand men, commanded by the young French General. 1
“What do you think of our savages,” McNeil said, gesturing to a file of Indians loping alongside the road beside the marching troops. Bant kept the cadence of their quick step and studied the Redmen as they trotted silently by in their moccasin-clad feet. Most carried muskets, a few had rifles and some had bows and quivers strapped to their backs. They wore shirts decorated with colorful beads, over breechcloths and leggings that were decorated with dyed tufts of animal fur. He stared at their heads, shaved except for a crest of hair down the middle, topped by a tuft with three feathers, two standing straight up and one drooping down the back of their necks. 2
“They move quickly enough,” Bant replied after a while, as the last of the Indians disappeared around a bend in the road.
“They make me uneasy,” McNeil said. “I do not trust them. Never did back home either. I intend to sleep with one eye open tonight. You will be well advised to do so, too.”
Bant glanced at his friend to see if he was serious. There were no Indians in Morristown and its environs. “These the same kind of Indians you have at home?”
“Indians are Indians,” McNeil replied quickly. “They are treacherous savages. You never know what they are thinking and they covet everything you own.” 3 Bant kept his thoughts to himself. He was more afraid of his recurring nightmares than one of these Indians creeping up on him as he slept.
“And this French General,” McNeil continued. “Rumors in the camp are he is spoiling for a fight. That is music to your ears, right Bant? You need to play a tune with that rifle of yours. Much time has passed since you brought down a Redcoat.”
Bant grunted in reply and shifted his rifle on his shoulder. He preferred to carry it in his hand, with the barrel pointing forward. That had changed with the new close marching in formation. It still did not make sense to him as a rifleman. Better to move quickly in single file as the Indians did. Yet, he admitted, he was eager to be going into battle again. It did not matter how they arrived as long as he was there with his rifle to greet the British.
The entire force camped on a hilltop from where they could see the lights of Philadelphia, less than ten miles away. The men of Morgan’s rifles were sent further forward as pickets and scouts, along with the Indians. They settled in on both sides of a road that led straight to Philadelphia, a partial moon above and the intermittent flicker of fireflies amidst the dark shadows of the bushes. Bant ignored McNeil’s warning when he came off sentry duty and slept soundly enough for him.
He awoke, to find a low-lying fog enveloping the road, the woods and the meadows he knew were off to his right. Bant realized he had been awakened by the sounds of tramping feet and horses’ hooves. As he sat up and grabbed his rifle, he heard several short whoops and then rifle fire. He heard the orders shouted for his platoon to form up, immediately followed by an order to quick march to the front.
Around him, several riflemen ignored the drills, discipline and the first order and simply ran forward toward the sound of gunfire. Bant dashed headlong with them through the woods and positioned himself with a line of riflemen and Indians firing down the road toward an approaching wall of British infantry. Calmly, he sighted on a Redcoat and brought him down with a ball to his throat. The British troops hesitated. The remainder of the two platoons arrived and let loose a concerted volley that decimated the Redcoats’ ranks. Bant could clearly hear the drums and shouted orders to form battle lines as if they were approaching the entire Rebel Army. He reloaded and fired three more times, certain he had killed with each shot. Musket balls whizzed through the tree branches, showering the Americans with twigs and new grown leaves.
There was a brief respite in the musket fire from the British and a troop of dragoons galloped through their lines and charged. Bant aimed at one of the lead troopers, his sabre raised high, his mouth open in an unheard shout. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Indians, about fifty of them, stand up and in defiant unison, issue the most blood curdling sound Bant had ever heard, before unleashing a hail of musket fire and arrows. The dragoons’ horses reared up and bolted. The trooper Bant had targeted was thrown from his horse and turned to retreat on foot. Bant sighted at the rear of his head just below where his death’s head helmet met the hairline, fired and saw the dragoon fall forward and lie still on the ground. 4
The riflemen and Indians slowly retreated, keeping up a steady fire at the advancing infantry marching with fixed bayonets up the road and through the adjacent brush. Bant took in the view from the top of the hill where they had camped the night before. To their rear, the main American column was retreating in close order down the road heading to the ford across the Schuykill. To their front, a mass of Redcoats was advancing in quick march toward the hill.
The one hundred or so riflemen and Indians formed a long skirmishing line and methodically picked off the pursuing Redcoats. Then, with the shouted command coinciding with their instinct, they fell back a distance, and well hidden in the dense brush and woods, laid down their accurate fire to slow the British advance. In this way, they retreated until they reached the last ridge before the bank sloped down toward the river. The ford was no more than thirty feet wide at this point, with clear water running swiftly over a stony bottom. 5
Bant sighted on a tall Sergeant carrying the colors of his Regiment. He fired, pausing long enough to see the man fall, struggling to keep the flag from the ground and, then without reloading, hastily slid down the embankment and sprinted into the water. At midstream, being short, the water rose above his waist. He heard the shouted familiar orders from the drills at Valley Forge - “Fire by Division! Division Make Ready!” coming from the south side of the river. His right foot, in his well-worn moccasin, slipped on a large rounded stone and he felt himself falling. McNeil grabbed him under his arm and pulled him forward until Bant regained his balance. They scrambled up the bank and through their lines as the command was given, “Take Aim! Fire!” The wind blew the smoke back over the Americans and Bant clearly saw several British infantry fall before they loosed their own volley. He rested behind the lines, facing away from the river, his back against a tree trunk, his rear on the ground, protected by the narrow hollow formed by the roots of a tree. The Redcoats fired once more and then, in response to drum signals, reformed their units, pivoted and left the field. Bant heard cannon fire from the direction of Valley Forge and looked quizzically at McNeil, kneeling nearby.
“Signal fire,” his friend said. “I guess the rest of the army will be joining us soon.”
The Lieutenant who commanded the two platoons of Morgan’s Rifles ordered them to form up. “Cross the river, spread out and harass their rear guard as far as their pickets outside Philadelphia.” He pointed at the Oneida who were already wading rapidly across the Schuylkill. “Hurry men. We do not want to be outdone by savages.”
Bant cautiously placed his feet on the stony bottom, holding his rifle and cartridge box above his head. He had to run to catch up with McNeil and the others. He licked his dry lips and realized he had left his canteen on the far side of the river. No matter. He would appropriate a canteen from one of the Redcoats he brought down. Eagerly he ran forward through the trees following the retreating red line of troops.
Fo
r the second time in the same week, Will rode Big Red to General Knox’s house past the junction with Yellow Springs Road. Behind him spirals of smoke rose from the base of Mount Joy where the offal pits were located. Better to have skulls and hooves, guts and bones to burn, he thought, than no meat to eat at all. The twice-weekly incinerations, ordered for sanitary reasons, were a smokey signal that the period of starvation and deprivation were long over.
He dismounted and walked his horse to the adjacent field, now green with the new grass of late May, loosened the saddle cinch and dropped the reins. Big Red would graze and be here when Will returned. Excited and anticipating the good news that he would soon be in Philadelphia with Elisabeth, he took the salute of the sentries and bounded up the porch.
The last time he had been at the General’s headquarters was together with the other officers of Knox’s Regiment, to sign the oath of loyalty to the United States of America. There was talk that by renouncing allegiance to George the Third, the officers were entitled, following the end of the war, to one half their pay for seven years. And there was a pay increase as well. As a Lieutenant, Will would now receive twenty-six and two thirds dollars per month. 6 It mattered not to him. He was in the war of independence for the duration and needed no monetary inducements or oath to ensure his commitment to the cause.
Following the solemn oath signing in the presence of Captain Hadley, and Nat Holmes, recently assigned to Knox’s staff, the General himself told Will privately that information provided by various agents, including Elisabeth, gave every indication the British would soon be abandoning Philadelphia. Will had read her letter, prattling on about some extravagant festival and the crucial message in invisible ink - the army, under the new command of General H. Clinton, would be retiring to New York City.
This morning, Billy, in his capacity as his brother’s secretary, had sent a message asking Will to attend the General at ten. It could only be to inform him when he would ride in the vanguard of American troops triumphantly into Philadelphia and be reunited with Elisabeth. He paced the small room off the alcove, ignoring the looks of other officers waiting for their meetings, and glanced frequently at the uniformed clerk manning the desk. An hour passed and Will was beside himself. One moment he thought he would be mounting Big Red and dashing down the road to Philadelphia to catch the American contingent already under way. The next, he thought the British had decided to force a fight for the city and Elisabeth would be in danger during the ensuing battle. He was lost in these competing visions of the future when Billy called his name from the open door to the General’s office.
Knox was hunched over his writing desk, his copybook off to one side and a stack of letters and papers strewn about. A candlestick with a few burnt stubs of wax lying nearby was evidence he had labored long into the night.
“Ah, Will,” he said greeting him with a smile. “Sit down. Sit down.” Will murmured his thanks and thought the General looked tired and worn.
“How is Mrs. Knox?” he asked.
“My dearest Lucy is well enough. Although heavy with our second child, she has maintained her social schedule with Mrs. Washington and the other wives. She is fond of parties and dinners and will not let her delicate condition inhibit her enjoyment in any way.”
Billy produced a letter from the pile and Knox waved it at Will. “This is good news for you and Elisabeth. The recent dispatches from General Schuyler in Albany included a letter from Mr. Van Hooten - a response to my beseeching his approval for your suit of his youngest daughter.” He flourished the paper dramatically over his short grey flecked hair, his eyes twinkling with delight. “If the young couple is in agreement, it would be my esteemed pleasure to give the bride away.”
“I would be honored, sir, as will Elisabeth. I am most anxious to be reunited with her and I hope our wedding could be as soon thereafter as practicable.”
“Ah, yes, Will. I am mindful of your sense of urgency. Lucy and I were once as eager as you are.” He paused, a slight smile on his face, recalling some intimate incident. “But now we are constrained by our noble struggle for independence.” He smoothed his eyebrows with his fingers and pushed his chair away from the desk. “This war, as you know, has kept me from my beloved Lucy on many occasions. Such separations have been extremely painful for both of us. Now, unfortunately, you and Elisabeth must bear such tender agony for a while longer.”
Will felt as if he had been struck in his chest by a musket ball. His jaw dropped, his throat was dry and his right hand clenched the facing of his jacket. The General, noting his distress, hastened to reassure him. “Elisabeth will be safe with our troops in control. I assure you. They will enter the city to maintain law and order as soon as the British depart.”
Knox hoisted his heavy frame from the chair and motioned Will to approach a map spread out on the adjacent table.
“From the intelligence we have obtained, we believe their army will march overland with their equipment and baggage and not depart by sea. They will be encumbered on their trek through New Jersey to New York by their baggage train. And it will not be the ‘Noble Train of Artillery’ you and I escorted through the snowy Berkshires in the winter of ’75.” He gave Will a friendly nudge in the ribs. Bending over the map, Knox traced a route from the Jersey shore of the Delaware River northeast until his thick finger stopped at Amboy across from Staten Island. “It is General Washington’s intention to pursue them and when the opportunity arises, to strike at their army and achieve a decisive victory.”
Will stood hunched over the table, his eyes following the lines on the thick parchment, seeing only that all roads led away from Philadelphia.
“We will not leave Valley Forge until the Redcoats leave Philadelphia.” He chuckled. “We should designate it properly - a British retreat, an exodus of Biblical proportions of all their Loyalist followers, and abandonment of our capital city.” He traced the short distance from Valley Forge to Philadelphia. “A small body, perhaps two regiments will quick march to Philadelphia and fill the vacuum created by General Clinton’s departure. The bulk of our army, including our artillery, will break camp and cross the river into New Jersey and chase the Redcoats like hounds on a fox, as they were so fond of saying when we were forced to retreat before them. Hopefully, they will turn and give battle before they reach New York.”
Will knew he could ride to Philadelphia, find Elisabeth and bring her back to Valley Forge. She would be safe in Pennsylvania while he joined the army in pursuit of the retreating British.
“Sir. With all the confusion of the Redcoats’ leaving, I could sneak into. . .”
Knox held up his meaty palm, revealing his ink-stained thumb and index finger. “My boy. After General Lafayette’s reconnaissance in force at Barren Hill, the lobsterbacks are more alert than ever. Their patrols have increased and their pickets strengthened. I cannot sanction it and you will not engage in any such individual action.”
The General did not specifically state it was an order, Will thought, as he heard the words. But his meaning was clear. Still, if he left at dark he could be back at Valley Forge with Elisabeth by the morning. It was less than twenty-four miles, and Big Red could easily carry two on the return.
“Will. Be of good cheer. I assure you, within the month, two at the most, you and Elisabeth will be wed in Philadelphia, and Lucy and I could not be more pleased to be present at such a joyous event.” He grabbed Will’s shoulders and with one arm around him escorted him toward the door. Given the General’s height and two hundred and sixty pounds, Will felt himself swept from the room. He was unable to plead his case for dashing to Philadelphia and rescuing Elisabeth. “Be of good spirit, lad. Our forces will win a significant victory. Then the time will come for you to be reunited with your courageous and beautiful Elisabeth.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Will replied quietly. He did not share the General’s optimistic view of his future. Instead, the closure of the door seemed to him the seal of doom and despair for his future happiness. How cou
ld the General be certain he and Elisabeth would ever marry? The thought that something could happen to Elisabeth was frightening enough. With a battle imminent, he could be killed. He thought of Elisabeth alone, unprotected by him after they had declared their love for each other. He choked down a cry of hopelessness.
There was a way to fulfill his overwhelming love for her. The decision was his, he thought, as he walked into the pasture and whistled for Big Red. The horse lifted his head, his ears perked forward and, sensing his master’s indecision, walked slowly forward with his head drooping toward the ground. Will tightened the saddle cinch, put his foot in the stirrup and once seated, remained in the pasture, feeling the sun on his shoulders as he let Big Red nibble the new sprouts of spring grass. All it would take was a click of his tongue and the pressure of his knees for Big Red and he to be on the road out of camp. Then, wait until dark to stealthily enter the city.
He pulled gently on the reins and Big Red stopped. Rider and horse stood undecided and immobile where the road from General Knox’s quarters led either back to camp or to the Gulph Road and beyond to Philadelphia. The consent of Elisabeth’s father seemed worthless to him. If they never were able to marry, the consent mattered not a whit. If he balanced his love for Elisabeth and his fear for her safety against his newly taken oath and more importantly General Knox’s trust and friendship, how did the scales tip? Sadly, he gave one long despairing look in the direction of Philadelphia, turned Big Red’s head and reluctantly took the road that threaded between Mount Misery and Mount Joy back toward the rows of huts of the Artillery Regiment.
Spies and Deserters Page 14
