Prelude to Glory, Vol. 2

by Ron Carter

  A surprised hush settled over the entire command as the officer unrolled a large scroll and began to read loudly, slowly, enunciating each word with careful precision.

  “ ‘In Congress, July 4, 1776. The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America.’ ”

  A thick silence settled over the parade ground, and no one moved.

  “ ‘When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.’ ”

  The officer paused, then continued.

  “ ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.’ ”

  Billy’s breathing constricted as thoughts he had never heard struck into the very marrow of his being and awakened something that had long slumbered.

  Eli stood ramrod straight, mesmerized, staring at the officer on the platform. Through the agony of his torn childhood, and an alien world ruled by tomahawk and rifle, he had hungered, searched for a life rooted in dignity, justice, compassion. And now, on this parade ground, on the brink of the greatest battle the colonies had ever seen, he had heard in three breaths that for which his heart had cried out from earliest memory. “Endowed by their Creator . . . certain unalienable Rights . . . Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” He dared not breathe as he waited for the officer to read on.

  “ ‘That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, that whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive to these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.’ ”

  No one on the parade ground moved in the grip of the profound silence.

  “ ‘Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes. . . . But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object, evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security. Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies. . . . To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.’ ”

  Billy and Eli were scarcely breathing as the officer read on in the silence of sun in the trees and on the shoulders and heads of the Long Island command.

  Despotism, denial of right to jury trial, taxes, confiscation of private property, corrupt government, denial of representation, burned towns, plundered coasts, fomented insurrection, the wrath of savages upon the citizenry—the list of grievances against King George continued on and on.

  The officer paused for a moment, raised his eyes, and slowly finished.

  “ ‘We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colo­nies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; that they are Absolved from all Allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain, is and ought to be totally dissolved; and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do. And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.’ ”

  The officer stopped. For more than half a minute he stood there, hands trembling, swallowing against the great lump in his throat, eyes too shiny. Behind him, General Nathanael Greene worked his mouth and dropped his eyes to the clean yellow planking of the platform and did not look up for a time.

  In the Long Island command, grizzled old veterans of the French and Indian wars, with battle scars on their weathered faces, wiped at their eyes without shame. Farmers and craftsmen who had left wives and children clamped their mouths shut and dropped their faces to stare at the ground. Young men stood white-faced, aware they had shared a moment that would shine forever in history but unable to understand the breadth and depth of it.

  The officer took charge of himself, and once again his voice reached out over the parade ground. “This declaration has been signed by most members of our Continental Congress, and others will sign soon. At this moment, the Crown has uttered warrants for the arrest of many of these men for treason. May the Almighty grant us the will and the courage to move steadily forward in the course we have now so nobly begun.”

  He rolled the scroll and tucked it under his arm. “Regimental officers, come forward to receive copies of this document, and distribute them among your commands before you dismiss them to their campsites for one hour of further study. God bless you all.”

  For three seconds no one moved or spoke, and then the regimental officers marched to the stand, where the command staff divided out printed copies of the Declaration of Independence. The magic of the moment began to fade, and only then did murmuring rise in the rank and file of the command.

  The regimental officers moved down the lines passing out copies of the declaration to reaching hands, took their positions at the front of their commands, called out “Dismissed,” and stood in surprised amazement as the troops did not leave the parade ground. Instead they gathered into small groups exclaiming, groping to comprehend the unthinkable insult the Continental Congress had hurled in the face of King George and the British empire—the mightiest military force on the face of the earth. At once they were torn between fear of the wrath of the king and proud elation at openly defying him before the world.

  Billy stood stock-still, oblivious to the soldiers and exclamations around him as he read again and again the words that pierced so deep. “Truths . . . self-evident . . . endowed by their Creator . . . unalienable Rights . . . Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness . . . to secure these rights . . . Governments . . . deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.”

  He was unaware when Eli came in from behind and stopped, eyes locked onto a copy of the declaration. Eli placed his finger on the paper and spoke. “What does this word mean?”

  Billy started, then turned, and Eli showed him the marked place. “Unalienable. It means no one can take it away from you.”

  Eli raised his eyes to Billy’s and swallowed. “Life. Liberty. A chance at happiness. Does this say I got them from God and no one should be able to take them away?”

  “That’s what it says.”

  “This part down here. The ‘consent of the governed’ part. Does that mean the ordinary people ought to have a say in who governs?”

  Billy tried to speak and couldn’t, and then answered. “That’s what it says.”

  “Back up here. ‘All men are created equal.’ Does that mean nobody is born higher than someone else?”

  Billy nodded his head and could not speak.

  Eli swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “Who wrote this? These men whose names are at the bottom? They couldn’t—not all of them.”

  Billy shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Eli turned on his heel and was gone, trotting, working his way to find Thompson. He returned in three minutes, breathless. “Thompson says a committee was told by Congress to write this. Benjamin Franklin and Thomas Jefferson were on the committee. Who’s Jefferson?”
>
  “I don’t know. We’ll find out.”

  A faraway look crept into Eli’s eyes for a moment. “I don’t think anybody ever wrote these thoughts the way they did, not even in the Bible.”

  The two walked back to their camp, reading the words slowly again and again, feeling the hair rise on their arms and the backs of their necks as the profound depth and breadth of the simple words reached ever deeper. They settled onto their blankets, and when they were finished they looked at each other, humbled, cowed, small in the bright light the words had brought into their minds and their hearts. For a long time they said nothing because it was beyond their power to speak words that would not diminish the thing that was spreading within, changing both of them.

  They looked about the camp. Men sat or stood quietly, faces cast down as they read, and read again, the words that stirred their souls. A hush settled over the Boston regiment, and a spirit came quietly, surely, lifting them, binding them, raising their thoughts to heights never before known. It broke clear and shining in their minds that a hand mightier than any on earth had chosen them to fight the war that would change the history of the world forever, and it humbled them, frightened them.

  Billy spoke quietly. “Do you feel it? We will answer to the Almighty if we fail him in this struggle.”

  Eli nodded, eyes bright as he whispered, “I know.”

  Half an hour later cannon and rocket fire erupted across the East River in New York City, and all faces in the Long Island command turned to stare in silence as the citizen Patriots across the black waters blew rocket after rocket arching into the brilliant blue sky in wild celebration of the declaration they had just received and that had been read to everyone on the common. Strong hands cast heavy ropes over the two-ton statue of King George mounted on a stylish horse that had been erected at Bowling Green on a six-foot-high marble base but three short years earlier. Willing citizens heaved their weight against the ropes. The statue held, and then it separated from the base, and then it came toppling from its lofty perch. The ground trembled as it struck, the head snapped from the statue, and the body broke into countless pieces.

  Hundreds of hands gathered the shattered lead statue and loaded it into a wagon to be freighted off to the Oliver Wolcott home in Litchfield, Connecticut. There five women would see to it that 42,088 bullets were cast from the lead for Patriot muskets and rifles, to be fired at the red-coated soldiers of King George. The women were Mrs. Marvin, Ruth Marvin, Laura Wolcott, Mary Ann Wolcott, and Mrs. Beach, assisted by a few other Pa- triots.

  They were certain there could be no better use for a statue of King George III.

  ______

  Notes

  Ethan Allen, with his Green Mountain Boys and Benedict Arnold, captured Fort Ticonderoga on the Hudson River on May 10, 1775, “in the name of the great Jehovah and the Continental Congress” (see Higginbotham, The War of American Independence, p. 67; Leckie, George Washington’s War, pp. 120–21).

  Colonel Henry Knox led the expedition that obtained the cannon from Fort Ticonderoga in the winter of 1775–76 and returned it on sleds three hundred miles to George Washington for the siege of Boston (see Higginbotham, The War of American Independence, p. 105; Stokesbury, A Short History of the American Revolution, pp. 60–61).

  Illustrations and an explanation of the parts of a cannon and the process of loading and firing them can be found in Wilbur, The Revolutionary Soldier, pp. 44–46, and Peterson, Round Shot and Rammers, pp. 24–32.

  Illustrations and an explanation of loading and firing the musket and the rifle can be found in Wilbur, The Revolutionary Soldier, pp. 29–31.

  Hell Gate is described and the location explained in Johnston, The Campaign of 1776, part 1, p. 47. A map identifies it in Stokesbury, A Short History of the American Revolution, p. 90.

  The locations of the roads on Long Island that were involved in the imminent battle, including the critical Jamaica Road and Jamaica Pass, are described in Johnston, The Campaign of 1776, part 1, pp. 154–61 (and see particularly the foldout map included in this source).

  The arrival of the British armada at New York began on June 25 or 26, 1776, when General William Howe sailed in aboard the Greyhound with three other British ships, and it continued at intervals thereafter until August 15, 1776 (see Johnston, The Campaign of 1776, part 1, p. 94; see also Higginbotham, The War of American Independence, p. 151, which gives the totals of men and ships).

  General Washington had the Declaration of Independence printed and read to the entire Continental army in and around New York, as well as to the citizens, on July 9, 1776. In New York City the citizens celebrated by pulling down the statue of King George, which was melted down and cast into 42,088 bullets (see Johnston, The Campaign of 1776, part 1, p. 93; Leckie, George Washington’s War, p. 257).

  New York City

  July 20, 1776

  Chapter XII

  * * *

  Sir, General William Howe has sent his adjutant general, who requests an audience with you.”

  General George Washington slowly raised his head, laid down the quill with which he had been writing, and settled back in his chair. Face a passive mask, he studied his adjutant general, Colonel Joseph Reed, for long moments before he spoke. “What name?”

  “Lieutenant Colonel James Paterson, sir.”

  “Alone?”

  “No, sir. Three other officers in his entourage.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “In their boat, sir. We would not let them come ashore without your permission.”

  “Does he have a letter?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Washington rose and leaned forward on stiff arms, hands flat on the top of his massive walnut desk, which was half-covered with neat stacks of the never-ending paperwork that runs an army. His eyes sharpened, became penetrating. “To whom is this one addressed?”

  “To ‘George Washington, Esq., etc., etc.’ ”

  A smile came and quickly passed as Washington spoke. “It appears General Howe has been somewhat educated since his last messenger came calling.”

  A proud grin flickered on Reed’s face. “Yes, sir, it would appear so.”

  Both Reed and Washington were remembering the previous messenger sent by Admiral Richard Howe six days earlier, on July 14, 1776. Commodore Tupper of the nearly nonexistent Continental navy had rowed out in a barge to stop the British longboat as it approached the New York shores and demanded to know the purpose. The British officer in command stated he had been ordered to personally deliver a written document to General Washington and to exchange letters from prisoners. Tupper had reported to General Washington, who sent Colonel Henry Knox and Reed, with a bag of letters from prisoners, down to the bay to investigate. Reed had demanded to meet the British officer, who took hat in hand, bowed politely, and said, “I have a letter from Admiral Howe to Mr. Washington.”

  Reed’s mouth had fallen open for a split second before he snapped it shut. Mr. Washington! Mister Washington! He had drawn himself up to full height and sucked in his chin. Howe refuses to recognize we have an army, or that General Washington’s the commander! How dare he! He had brought his flared anger under control. “Sir, we have no person in our army with that address.”

  The British officer had gaped and stammered, “But . . . but will you look at the address?” as he thrust the sealed letter forward.

  Reed had seized it and glanced at the address. “ ‘George Washington, Esq., New York.’ ” He had shoved it back at the British officer. “No, sir, I cannot receive that letter.”

  The stunned British officer had groped for a way to save his mission. “I, uh, I am very sorry, and so will be my commander, that any error in the superscription should prevent the letter being received by General Washington.”

  Reed had set his chin like a bulldog. “Why, sir, I must obey orders.” Reed had relied on the cardinal rule of the British army, which was that orders would be obeyed first, last, and always. It worked.

  T
he officer exclaimed, “Oh! Yes, sir, you must obey orders, to be sure.”

  Reed had handed him the bag of prisoners’ letters, took the one from the British officer, and climbed from the British boat back into his own barge. The British boat had not gone ten yards before it turned and again approached Reed.

  “Sir,” the British officer had called, “by what particular title does Washington choose to be addressed?”

  There had been fire in Reed’s eyes as he spat, “You are sen-sible, sir, of the rank of General Washington in our army?”

  “Oh, yes, sir, we are. I am sure Admiral Howe will lament exceedingly this affair, as the letter is quite of a civil nature, and not of a military one. He laments exceedingly that he was not here a little sooner.”

  Reed had glanced at Knox, and both men understood. Howe had gotten a copy of the Declaration of Independence, and realized that that single document had opened an irreconcilable separation of the fledgling colonies from Mother England. Howe was too late now in his desperate try at avoiding the holocaust that was coming. The American officers had said nothing, and the British boat had turned south once again, and was gone. Reed had looked at Knox, and both men turned their faces back to their own shore with grim satisfaction in the fact they had preserved the dignity of their young nation and the self-respect of their commander in chief.

  Now, six days later, Washington was still smiling at the remembrance when he straightened and looked at Reed. “What’s your advice? Should we receive this one?”

  Reed thoughtfully stroked his chin. “Yes, sir, I believe the British commander now understands with whom he is dealing.”

  Washington glanced at the large, ornately carved clock on the mantel, then settled back into his great, upholstered chair. “Tell Colonel Paterson I will receive him in one hour, at eleven o’clock, in the offices of Colonel Knox at the Kennedy house. That address is Number One, Broadway. Show him every deference in the meantime. Refreshments—whatever he may want or need. And it will not be necessary to blindfold him. Have Colonel Knox provide a scribe who can copy what’s said. Order my coach, and get two other officers, and prepare to come with me.”