by Ron Carter
Prelude to Glory
The Times That Try Men's Souls
Volume 2
Ron Carter
© 1999 Ron Carter.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher, Deseret Book Company, P.O. Box 30178, Salt Lake City Utah 30178. This work is not an official publication of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The views expressed herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of the Church or of Deseret Book. Deseret Book is a registered trademark of Deseret Book Company.
All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This series is dedicated to the common people of long ago who paid the price.
* * *
America was discovered, colonized, and made into a great nation so that the Lord would have a proper place both to restore the gospel and from which to send it forth to all other nations. As a prelude to his coming, and so the promised work of restoration would roll forward, the foundations of the American nation were laid.
—Bruce R. McConkie
This volume is dedicated to
Harriette Abels.
Wonderful person.
The Times That Try
Men’s Souls
These are the times that try men’s souls: The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of his country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly:—’Tis dearness only that gives every thing its value. Heaven knows how to set a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed, if so celestial an article as Freedom should not be highly rated.
. . . My secret opinion has ever been, and still is, that God Almighty will not give up a people to military destruction, or leave them unsupportedly to perish, who had so earnestly and so repeatedly sought to avoid the calamities of war, by every decent method which wisdom could invent.
Thomas Paine
The American Crisis I
December 19, 1776
Preface
* * *
The reader will be greatly assisted in following the Prelude to Glory series if the author’s overall approach is understood.
The volumes in this series do not present the critical events of the Revolutionary War in chronological, month-by-month, year-by-year order. The reason is simple. At all times during the eight years of the conflict, the tremendous events that shaped the war and decided the final result were happening in two and sometimes three different geographical areas at the same time. This being true, it seemed to this author that in writing a series of novels about the war it would become extremely difficult to move back and forth between locations without badly confusing the story line.
Thus, the decision was made to follow each major event through to its conclusion, as seen through the eyes of selected characters, and then go back and pick up the thread of other great events that were happening at the same time in another geographical area, as seen through the eyes of the characters caught up in those events.
In all this, the fictional family of John Phelps Dunson, with their friends and loved ones, are the principal people through whom we see these episodes. The reader will recall that in volume 1, Our Sacred Honor, the story of the beginning of hostilities between the British and the Americans in April 1775 was presented through the experiences of John Dunson, his son Matthew, Matthew’s dearest friend Billy Weems, and John’s old and beloved friend Tom Sievers as they went through the battles of Lexington and Concord. From there, the first volume then followed Matthew, a ship’s navigator, through the sea wars to the year 1779.
This second volume, The Times That Try Men’s Souls, now goes back and follows Billy Weems, nearly killed at the battle of Concord in April 1775, from his recovery, through the heartbreaking battles in the area of New York in the summer and fall of 1776, then through the terrible retreat across the state of New Jersey, and finally over the Delaware River to Pennsylvania in December, where General George Washington must face the fact that his army is destitute, sick, starving, freezing, beaten. The reader meets Eli Stroud, the white man raised as an Iroquois Indian, who becomes fast friends with Billy.
Subsequent volumes will cover the extraordinary battles of Trenton and Princeton, the engagements at Germantown and Brandywine, the pivotal battle at Saratoga, the entrance of French troops and ships into the war on the American side, the heartrending hardships at Valley Forge, and so on. Through it all, readers will get an up-close perspective on all of these events through the lives and experiences of the various fictional characters.
Finally, may I take this occasion to address a question that has reached the writer hundreds of times from distraught readers all over the country. Be patient. There is yet good time to tell the conclusion of the Matthew and Kathleen love story.
Chronology of Important Events Related to This Volume
* * *
1775
April 19. The first shot is fired at Lexington, Massachusetts, and the Revolutionary War begins. (See volume 1)
June 15. The Continental Congress appoints George Washington of Virginia to be commander in chief of the Continental army.
June 17. The battle of Bunker Hill and Breed’s Hill is fought, which the British win at great cost, suffering numerous casualties before the colonial forces abandon the hills due to lack of ammunition. (See volume 1)
September. King George III of England and his cabinet agree upon a strategy for putting down the rebellion in the American colonies, as well as the British officers who shall command and the armed forces that will be necessary.
1776
February–March. Commodore Esek Hopkins leads eight small colonial ships to the Bahamas to obtain munitions from two British forts, Nassau and Montague. (See volume 1)
March 17. General Sir William Howe evacuates his British command from Boston. (See volume 1)
June. A plot to assassinate General George Washington, as well as other American officers, and blow up American powder magazines is uncovered. It becomes known as the “Hickey Plot” when Thomas Hickey, personal bodyguard to General Washington and one of the conspirators, is publicly hanged on June 28.
June 25. General Howe arrives in the New York area aboard the British ship Greyhound to take command of all British forces in the colonies.
July 9. On orders of General Washington, the Declaration of Independence (adopted by the Continental Congress on July 4) is read publicly to the entire American command in the New York area, as well as the citizens.
July 20. General Howe sends his adjutant general, Lieutenant Colonel James Paterson, to offer pardon to General Washington and all American Patriots if they will cease the rebellion and swear allegiance to the Crown. The offer is refused.
Late August. The British armada of over four hundred ships and thirty-two thousand troops having arrived in the New York area, a large portion of this force now moves from Staten Island to Gravesend Bay on Long Island, preparatory to attacking General Washington’s forces at Brooklyn.
August 27. The battle of Long Island is fought, with disastrous results for the Americans.
August 29–30. General Washington abandons Brooklyn and moves the entire army from Long Island, across the East River at night, to Manhattan Island.
September 15. The battle of Kip’s Bay on Manhattan Island is fought, resulting in another disaster for American forces.
September 16.
The battle of Harlem Heights on Manhattan Island is fought, in which the Americans prevail.
September 21. An accidental fire burns about one-fourth of the city of New York.
October 11. General Benedict Arnold leads a tiny fleet of fifteen hastily constructed ships to stall the British fleet of twenty-five ships on Lake Champlain. The hope is that Arnold’s forces can at least delay the movement of thirteen thousand British troops south until the spring of 1777 and thus save George Washington’s Continental army. (See volume 1)
October 28. The battle of White Plains is fought, in which the Americans are defeated.
November 16. The battle of Fort Washington is fought on Manhattan Island, resulting in a catastrophe for the Americans, following which the Americans abandon Fort Lee, opposite Fort Washington on the New Jersey side of the Hudson River, surrendering the fort to the British forces without firing a shot.
Early December. General Washington leads the remains of his devastated army in a headlong retreat across New Jersey and crosses the Delaware River into Pennsylvania, opposite the small town of Trenton.
Mid-December. General Washington sends a secret message to John Honeyman, an American spy posing as a British Loyalist, and resolves to take the remnants of his tattered army on the offensive, back across the Delaware River to attack the British forces garrisoned there.
1779
September 23. Commodore John Paul Jones, aboard the Bonhomme Richard, engages the larger British man-of-war Serapis off the east coast of En-gland in the much-celebrated night battle in which Jones utters the now-famous cry, “I have not yet begun to fight!” (See volume 1)
Table of Contents
Part One
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Part Two
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Selected Bibliography
Acknowledgments
Part One
London
September 1775
Chapter I
* * *
Chill rain fell heavy in the night, steadily drumming on the shingles and slates and thatches of rooftops before gathering into puddles that turned the countryside to mud and the dirt roads leading to the great river and London Town into rutted quagmires. The narrow, winding cobblestone streets of the city became channels of water slowly working their way to the Thames. A gray and somber dawn came creeping over the sodden land to find the incoming roads crowded with the great two-wheeled carts loaded with fresh farm vegetables and salted pork and beef for the ever-hungry ships on the deepwater seaport of the river and the merchants in town. By nine o’clock, golden shafts of sunlight came streaming through breaks in the lead-colored overcast; and by ten o’clock, the sprawling, throbbing metropolis was in full sunlight, with steam rising from the puddles and wet cobblestones in the streets.
At ten-thirty, trumpets blasted within the grounds of Buckingham to clear the streets, and the guards threw their shoulders against the massive iron gates. They yawed open, and the guards snapped to rigid attention, shoulders thrown back, chins high. They smartly presented arms as the flawlessly decorated blue and gold royal coach of King George III rumbled past, drawn by six matched white horses. Four of the elite palace guard mounted on the big-boned bay geldings preferred by all light cavalrymen led the coach, with four behind.
The uniformed officer in the driver’s box glanced neither right nor left as he turned the lead horses toward St. James’s Palace and the Whitehall district beyond, with the wheel horses following. The guards at the gate were at rigid attention, with only their eyes moving as they strained to see the king in the dimness inside the coach. The cushioned wheels of the royal coach made little sound as they rolled over the uneven cobblestones.
As if by magic the heavy traffic in the streets opened, and the barking of hucksters and merchants, the rattling of carts on cobblestones, and the sounds of protesting animals quieted as the opulent coach made its unhampered way towards the great tower and the broad stone bridge spanning the dark waters of the Thames.
Inside, King George III sat straight, mouth clenched as he stared unseeing out the coach window, tenuously controlling the hot rage that seethed within. Beside him, his aide sat clutching a large pouch filled with documents, while in the opposite seat were two of the king’s personally selected bodyguards, uniformed, dashing, pistols on their laps while they watched every movement in the passing crowd. Two footmen stood at their posts on the rear platform of the coach, grasping the handrails against the gentle sway.
The coach rolled onward towards the half-mile-long complex of elaborate buildings and lavish courtyards and manicured gardens on the banks of the Thames that formed Whitehall, where those who had clawed their way to the top of the political and military heap lived and kept offices. It was they who made the crucial decisions of who in the empire rose and who fell; of which competing world powers felt the crushing weight of the British army or navy; of which of their colonies shared the wealth or felt the iron hand of discipline of Mother England.
As the coach rolled, King George stared ahead at Pall Mall, where Lord George Germain had taken up residence; St. James’s Square, where Admiral Pallister of the board of Admiralty lived; Duke Street, where Lord Suffolk resided; and Cleveland Row, where the secretaries of the three Departments of State officed, where the commander in chief of the army once resided, and where the lord president of the council, the lord privy seal, and the lord chancellor carried on their business as members of the Royal Cabinet, suitably close to Downing Street and the Admiralty building.
The coach slowed as it approached the aging St. James’s Palace, and King George started as though suddenly realizing where he was. He raised the blind on his window and peered outward as the coach swung left through the high black wrought-iron gates into the palace courtyard and continued on down to stop before the great double doors of the entry. Instantly the footmen dropped from their platform. One unfolded the three steps from beneath the coach while the other opened the door wide, watching while the two bodyguards concealed their pistols beneath royal blue capes and stepped down, heads turning, eyes darting. The aide followed, head bowed while he clutched the pouch of documents to his chest and turned to await the king, furtively watching the face and eyes of His Majesty, hating the anger in the slitted eyes and the white lines around the clenched mouth.
Not quite of average height, round face regular but fleshy, hands soft from a life spent largely in the rich halls and chambers of royalty, King George III descended from the coach. He strode wordlessly to the heavy carved oak doors, and he did not break his stride as the two door guards hastily hauled them open and the king passed through. He turned right and moved down the high-ceilinged hall, past the painted wall murals of scenes of England’s glories, to a highly polished maple door. He pushed through into the room and stopped short while his two elite palace guards walked to chairs on either side of the room and stood waiting. His aide, still clutching the pouch, remained silently behind.
The chandelier above the two-ton polished marble table in the center of the room glittered with 240 candles, whose light was refracted by ten thousand pieces of cut crystal. The draperies were lush, the paintings adorning the walls lavish, the appointments rich. The monstrous fireplace at the far end was dominated by a commissioned portrait of the king, twelve feet high, eight feet wide. The eighteen chairs lining the sides of the table were upholst
ered with royal blue velvet and brass studs, each with the lion and the unicorn of Great Britain delicately carved in the high, arching back. Eight men in powdered wigs sat at the table, four to the left of the great chair at the head, four to the right.
At the moment of the king’s entrance, all eight men leapt to their feet and faced him, each in resplendent court dress appropriate to his position, all with velvet frock coats that dazzled with gold braid at the shoulders and lapels and cuffs. All talk ceased and the room fell into total silence as the king stood stock-still, eyes moving from one man to the next, while the men breathed light, studying the eyes and face of their king. Not a muscle moved as they read the set of his jaw and the points of light in his eyes. King George removed his hat, and for long moments stood with his feet spread slightly as he studied the most powerful group of men in the civilized world—the cabinet of the king of En-gland.
To his left was Frederick, Lord North, first lord of the treasury. His powers were exceeded only by those of the king, and on his shoulders rested the awful responsibility of moving the totality of the far-flung British empire in the direction dictated by the monarch and approved by the cabinet. Success in his position brought immortality and treasure; failure brought dismissal and inglorious anonymity. Large, prominent eyes, wide mouth, thick lips and tongue, heavy jowls, and clumsy movements gave Lord North the aura of a harmless bumbler; in truth he was as shrewd a politician as existed in England. But for all his brilliance in the subtle, deadly arena of world politics, Lord North was totally without qualification to wage war. He knew nothing of the refinements of massive military operations, and he hated them as much as he hated being accountable for the unending sucking of millions of pounds from the treasury to pay for them. Each year the approach of annual Budget day drove him to talk of retiring, and his murmurings had reached the king. Dark whisperings had lately been heard in the corridors of government: Lord North is inept; he has pushed the kingdom into decline—he must go.
In a line behind North stood the three secretaries of state: the earl of Suffolk for the Northern Department; the earl of Rochford for the Southern Department; and for the critical American Department, the newly appointed Lord George Germain.
