by Oliver North
On our way out the door, Capt. Febiger took me aside and said, “Nathanael, I may have the answer to the map question, but I will need your help. Do you mind if I ask Captain Morgan if he will make you available?”
“No, sir.”
As we all exited the room, I noticed Capt. Febiger was circled with Col. Arnold, Capt. Morgan, and 1st Lt. Humphrey. When our commander and his deputy came outside and we began walking back to our bivouac, Capt. Morgan began, “Nathanael, you recall some days back when your friend William here, suggested your nickname should become, ‘Rat Collector’?”
“Yes, sir, and I am most grateful you rejected Lt. Humphrey’s ill-advised, mean-spirited suggestion—since as you both know, I shoot better than he.”
They both laughed at my light-hearted riposte and the Captain said, “Well, based on the last meeting, William now wants your new nickname to be ‘Map Maker.’
“Sir?”
Lt. Humphrey interjected: “Colonel Arnold’s Adjutant claims your help was very important to getting the rosters for this expedition straightened out. He says your handwriting is better than anyone’s in this organization—though he has yet to see mine. Now Captain Febiger wants you to help make copies of the only map we have for our overland course through Maine to Quebec.”
“Is this the map about which I wrote to my father?”
“Yes,” said Capt. Morgan. “The map may not be accurate, but it’s the only one we have. I and the other commanders have urged that we and our deputies, like William, need copies.
“Why this fellow Colburn didn’t arrange for this with his pal Goodwin is beyond me, but if you can work with Captain Febiger to make copies of that map, it may prove very helpful to me and our Virginia Riflemen since we are to be the vanguard for this entire expedition through the wilderness.”
“Sir, I am here to serve you and, as you direct, my friend 1st Lt. Humphrey. I will do whatever you order—but I would ask, in spite of William’s suggestion, I now be entitled to the nickname, ‘Virginia Rifle Cartographer.’ When do I start?”
“Now, Ensign Newman,” replied a grinning Capt. Morgan. “Report to Colonel Arnold’s Adjutant, Captain Christian Febiger as the ‘Chief Cartographer of Virginia’s Riflemen.’ And when you are finished, bring me the best two copies of the maps you make.”
“Aye, sir,” I said with a smile and a salute as I turned about and headed back to Colonel Arnold’s headquarters.
Arnold Expedition Bivouac,
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Saturday, September 9th, 1775
As directed, the movement of all our units to draw fresh powder, lead shot, waxed patches, and establish new bivouacs this morning actually went flawlessly. Well before dark all our Advance Force was together in two-man shelters, latrines were dug, and watches were set.
Best of all, I am back to being Adjutant for Capt. Morgan’s Rifle Company and the Advance Party.
For nearly every sunlit moment of the past week, Capt. Hans Christian Febiger and I sat wherever the light was best, tracing copies of a map no one believed to be accurate. In a drawer of the Tory house being used as Col. Arnold’s headquarters, Capt. Febiger found fifteen sheets of remarkably thin, almost transparent foolscap and two magnificent silver bodied, gold-nibbed pens.
Over the course of the week, as we dipped our pens and blotted every mark we made on each copy of the map, I learned Hans Christian Febiger was born on an island off the coast of Denmark in 1749, lived for a time on St. Croix, an island in the Caribbean where his uncle was a Danish government official, and came to Massachusetts in 1772.
As our week wore on, he told me how he joined the Sons of Liberty and Mr. Samuel Adams’s Committee of Safety with some Harvard College students in 1774. When I asked if he knew my brother, he answered, “No, but we all knew of him being among the forty-nine killed by the Redcoat bastards on April 19th.”
He also shared, “The fight at Lexington and Concord was what motivated me to join the Massachusetts Militia just a few days later. I volunteered to join Lieutenant Colonel Arnold’s expedition to Ticonderoga but on Monday, May 1st, two days before he and his volunteers left to cross the Berkshires for Ticonderoga and link-up with Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain Boys, a British patrol caught my militia unit fortifying Patriot houses and barricading streets in Charlestown. A Redcoat bayonet wounded me in my left calf and I was prevented from accompanying Colonel Arnold to Ticonderoga.
“On June 17th, when the British decided to break out of Boston, I was still on Charlestown Peninsula, on the southeastern slope of Bunker’s Hill, serving as Adjutant for Militia Col. Samuel Gerrish, commander of the 25th Massachusetts Militia Regiment—who revealed himself to be a less than bold leader.
“As the Naval bombardment increased and the Royal Marines and British infantry started coming ashore, Col. Gerrish sent me forward with a company of fifty men to the southwestern slopes of Breed’s Hill to discern whether the two companies of Massachusetts Militia—one from the 9th Regiment and the other from the 24th—would be able to protect the only six Patriot artillery field pieces on that side of the Charlestown peninsula.
“We took up positions to the left of Captain Nutting’s Company from the Massachusetts 9th. The Patriot artillery pieces were less than fifty yards to our left—and what is now known as ‘Warren’s Redoubt’ was less than 100 yards left of the artillery—which the British did everything in their power to destroy—and finally succeeded, only because we ran out of ammunition.”
“Is this the same ‘Doctor Warren,’ the medical teacher at Harvard, who was actually a Brigadier General, but who fought as a common soldier?” I asked.
“Yes. I saw him fall,” Capt. Febiger replied. “The British assaulted our positions on the southeast side of Breed’s Hill, twice in the space of two hours. But when they came at us the third time, we had no powder or shot remaining. Dr. Warren’s bravery that afternoon—and that of my men—is something I will never forget. The Redcoats not only had ammunition, they had bayonets. We had neither.”
“What did you do?”
“I led my thirty-five survivors back to our original position on the southeast side of Bunker’s Hill. But by the time we got there, Colonel Gerrish had run . . . I’m sorry, he retreated.
“Before nightfall I led what was left of my little company to positions with the remnants of General Putnam’s Connecticut militia and Colonel Prescott’s Massachusetts men to keep the British from crossing Charlestown Neck and reaching any further onto the mainland.
“By dark we were re-supplied with powder, shot, and water. On Breed’s Hill, I lost six killed in action, eight wounded, and one taken prisoner who died of wounds. My little company had no further contact with the enemy. But no one deserted.”
“How did you end up as Adjutant for Colonel Arnold?”
“He knew I volunteered for his Ticonderoga expedition back in May. He heard stories from others about what happened at Breed’s and Bunker’s Hill and sought me out.”
This afternoon, as I made my way to our new “Advance Party Bivouac Area,” I brought with me three things for Capt. Morgan.
First, the background on Colonel Arnold’s Adjutant, Captain Hans Christian Febiger; and his humble description of his own, experience, and courage.
Second, Capt. Febiger’s and my conclusion—the Montresor/Goodwin map we faithfully copied—was hopelessly inaccurate. The scale, routing, and obstacles depicted simply could not match the estimated “200-mile River & Overland” route forecast in Goodwin’s notes. We estimated it might even be twice that distance.
Third, as directed, I brought with me the two best tracings of the original map, “Certified by Capt. H. C. Febiger as, ‘A True Copy of The Original, however inaccurate map, as Prepared by The Virginia Rifle Company Chief Cartographer, Ensign Nathanael Newman.’”
Colonel Arnold’s Headquarters,
Cam
bridge, Massachusetts
Sunday, September 10th, 1775
At 8:00 this morning, Rev. Spring, the Expedition Chaplain, held a prayer service in the center of the encampment. To my surprise, more than half the members of the Expeditionary Force attended. It lasted a little over a half hour and he focused on the courage of Paul in Acts of the Apostles, chapters 22 and 23 of the New Testament—ending with two words from Acts 23:11— “Take Courage!”
To which the crowd responded with a loud, “Amen!” And then, “Huzzah!”
Capt. Morgan, 1st Lt. Humphrey, and I were on our way back to our part of the perimeter when a young messenger, attired in the blue jacket and white leggin’s of the Continental Army, caught up to us and announced, “Sirs, Adjutant General Gates asks that you gentlemen join him immediately for a brief meeting at Col. Arnold’s Headquarters next door to General Washington’s.”
Once again, Capt. Febiger welcomed us and escorted us into the dining room where General Gates was seated next to Col. Arnold. Both men rose and the Adjutant General motioned for us to take seats and began, “Thank you for coming on such short notice. There are three matters that precipitated this meeting.
“First. His Excellency, General Washington, has instructed me to remind all the commanders and Adjutants that this first offensive against our enemy is a historic event and it’s every Adjutant’s duty to carefully document all orders received and given, to maintain a precise record of all personnel, an accurate chronology of events, and the names of all persons—friendly and enemy—killed, wounded, too sick for duty, missing in action, or taken prisoner. He also wants a careful record of all interactions with members of the local populace whether American, British, French, or Indian. Colonel Arnold and I will conduct this briefing this evening.
“Second. Several weeks ago, His Excellency and I met with an Abenaki tribal chieftain who assured us the French-Canadian population and most of the Canadian Indians—not Mohawks, who are allied with the British—will support our endeavor or at least not act against us.
“Early this morning, this same chief unexpectedly arrived here with four young Abenaki Indian braves who have volunteered to serve as scouts and guides for the expedition. They all speak some French and one of them is almost fluent in English. Colonel Arnold has agreed to have them accompany the force. Captain Morgan, if you agree, three of them will be assigned to your Advance Force.”
“That’s fine with me,” our commander replied, “but I would like to have General Washington’s orders on what kind of disciplinary measures I am allowed to use if we have problems. . . .”
“Of course,” General Gates replied. “You will have those instructions in writing before you depart for Newburyport in the morning.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now,” the General continued, “There’s one final matter. His Excellency is very concerned the British may already be aware of our plans. If so, the British fleet may try to blockade Newburyport—or worse yet—intercept the ships required to transport the expedition to Maine—on the way into the port or even more devastating—attack the fully loaded transports with more than a thousand brave Patriot volunteers and all their supplies aboard.
“He has directed Colonel Arnold to dispatch a small reconnaissance party to Newburyport within the next three hours. I will let our Expeditionary Force Commander explain.”
Col. Arnold got straight to the point, looking directly at Capt. Morgan. “Daniel, I want my Adjutant, Captain Febiger and yours, Ensign Newman, accompanied by six mounted Patriot Dragoons, to ride immediately to Newburyport and ascertain whether there is adequate shipping available for us to start moving from here to the port.
“If all is ready, we will be able to carry out our plan. Your Advance Force will depart here tomorrow and the entire expedition will be embarked in Newburyport by Saturday, September 16th and set sail that night.
“The gentleman in Newburyport who has been arranging for our shipping is Mr. Nathanael Tracy, the Chairman of the secret Sons of Liberty Committee in Newburyport. I know him well, but I have not heard from him for three days, creating great uncertainty for there are many Tory sympathizers in the area.
“What is certain are the falsehoods being spread by Tory Loyalists in the area. One is that the British fleet is planning an ambush as we sail for Maine. The second ‘rumor’ is that Patriot sea captains already tied up or anchored at Newburyport will not get paid to carry out their mission of transporting our expedition to Maine. That may be why many of the vessels we need have apparently not shown up there.
“To counter these lies, I am prepared to send in the saddlebags of both Adjutants, Febiger and Newman, hard currency—not paper—British pounds sterling and Spanish dollars—my own money, sufficient for half-payment of the promised fee for transporting our expedition from Newburyport to Gardinerston, Maine.”
Turning to Captain Morgan, he said, “I know your Adjutant, Ensign Newman, is responsible for mustering your entire Advance Force. Can you spare him to accompany Captain Febiger on this mission?”
Capt. Morgan looked at 1st Lt. Humphrey who said, “We know the Riflemen in our company well. If Nathanael gives me a copy of the muster rolls for Captain Stephenson’s company and the two Pennsylvania rifle companies along with the names of the three Abenaki Indians who will be joining us, I will get an ‘All present or accounted for’ report from each commander. We can make this work, sir.”
At that, it was decided. Capt. Febiger and I—accompanied by six Continental horsemen—were ordered to proceed post-haste to Newburyport with 1,000£ in sterling silver coins and 1,500 Spanish silver dollars. Once there, we were to immediately find Mr. Nathanael Tracy, and start handing out “half-pay” to every Patriot merchant captain who signed on to transport the Expedition to Maine. Finally, we were directed to send a messenger back to Colonel Arnold with a daily report on developments.
That’s why I was absent from the new Cambridge encampment on Monday morning—and why we didn’t find out we had two extra “Riflemen” in our Advance Force until we arrived in Maine.
Newburyport, Massachusetts
Monday, September 11th, 1775
Sergeant Steven Cady, the man Adjutant General Gates placed in charge of our Armed Escort is a very big man built much like Capt. Morgan. Atop a bay stallion of at least seventeen hands, he and five well-mounted dragoons rode into our encampment precisely at 12:30 Sunday afternoon.
Each dragoon was armed with a British “Brown Bess” musket, a bayonet, a pistol, and a sabre. They were all attired in what was fast becoming—at least in Cambridge—the Continental Army uniform: a dark blue cocked hat, a matching blue wool jacket over a white shirt or vest, light tan trousers and—for these horse-back soldiers—polished riding boots.
I wore the same “uniform” of all our Riflemen—a homespun linen hunting shirt, deerskin leather trimmed linen leggin’s leather half-boots, and a deerskin cap. I had my long rifle, hatchet, hunting knife, powder horn, cartridge box, and a water bag instead of a canteen. In my back-pack I carried my “mess kit,” three tins of salted beef, a small lantern, a tin of lamp oil, three candles, twenty wax tapers a flint, steel, and tinder fire-starter kit, a traveling inkwell, a leather-bound journal, my dead brother’s cloak—and the gold-tipped pen Capt. Febiger gave me after we finished tracing the notoriously wrong maps.
To my surprise, Col. Arnold’s Adjutant was dressed like me. He admitted to cajoling 1st Lt. Humphrey into raiding one of our supply wagons for the gear that made him look like one of our Virginia Riflemen. To properly equip Capt. Febiger with a hatchet, knife, and rifle with all its accouterments, William convinced his counterpart in Capt. Stephenson’s Virginia Rifle Company to “loan” him the weapons of one of their company mates who died of Camp Fever.
Sgt. Cady and his five Continental Dragoons brought with them three additional steeds—two good-looking, obviously fit geldings for Capt.
Febiger and me, and a “spare mare” carrying the heavy leather saddlebags full of British and Spanish coins. We were underway a half hour later and covered the thirty or so miles to Newburyport well before sunset.
We rode most of the way, with Sgt. Cady leading—at a steady posting trot. It was instantly obvious to all eight of us—and our mounts—we were very comfortable at this gait for long distances. Our only delay was finding a decent ford across a fast-flowing tributary just south of the Merrimac River.
Only twice did we canter—through Medford and Danvers—both places where quarantine signs warned of smallpox. As we entered Ipswich, a militia guard warned the community was enduring “an epidemic of The Pox, and Yellowing Fever.” It was the only time we galloped on the trip.
On arrival in Newburyport, Sgt. Cady led us directly to the very attractive home of Mr. Nathanael Tracy where we discovered why Col. Arnold has not heard from Mr. Tracy for three days. His wife explained, “This is the fourth day he has been suffering from a terrible case of gout. He has taken to bed and is medicating himself with large doses of rum and laudanum.”
“Laudanum,” Sgt. Cady said shaking his head, “where did he get that?”
“I never asked,” she replied with a shrug, “but it probably came from Mr. Arnold’s apothecary when it was open here. My husband used to manage it for Mr. Benedict.”
“Madam, is your husband awake?” asked Captain Febiger.
“Barely.”
“May I speak with him?”
“You are welcome to try. Come, follow me upstairs.”
They were gone less than three minutes. When Captain Febiger returned, he said, “Sgt. Cady, please escort us to the waterfront. We are looking for the sloop Machias Liberty, mastered by Captain Jeremiah O’Brien. We need to speak to him before dark.”
It took us fewer than five minutes to find the ship. She was tied up closest to the tavern at the foot of the wharf.
