Liberty 1784: The Second War for Independence (21 page)
Read Liberty 1784: The Second War for Independence Online
Authors: Robert Conroy
Franklin had enlisted Sarah as a counterpoint for his arguments as he rehearsed them, and she was flattered that he respected her mind and her judgment.
For instance, he’d drawn himself up and asked if she wished to be forced to provide financial support for the Anglican faith, the established church of England? No, she’d answered. Did she agree that only members of an established church could hold political office as was the case in Virginia as well as England? Of course not, she’d responded.
Did she wish the newspapers censored and restricted by the government? No. How could you trust what you were reading if the press was restricted? You couldn’t, she replied.
What about quartering soldiers in her house without her permission? She’d shuddered at the thought of a squad of dirty, muddy Redcoats traipsing through her home and again answered with an emphatic no.
With these and other points that represented a counter to British tyranny, she’d found herself in complete agreement and had discussed them with Will who also agreed. “It defines what we have been fighting for,” he’d said, and she’d laughingly asked what took him so long to figure it out.
John Hancock, in his role as President of the Continental Congress read the proposed document in its entirety while the participants and spectators sat, transfixed. If and when approved, copies of it would be sent to the British-occupied colonies so they could see the difference between a corrupt, distant, and unfeeling British monarchy and a truly American form of government.
According to the new constitution, there would be freedom of speech and freedom of assembly. There would be freedom of religion and minimal restrictions on a man’s right to vote. The press could not be censored.
And slavery was forbidden.
That latter point was finally resolved as Franklin had foreseen. The genie was out of the bottle and could not be returned; nor could the broken egg be made whole no matter how hard one might try. Slaves were free and that was that. England had solved the problem of slavery within the colonies. Rumors had the British backtracking on their promises when faced with economic realities, but that was another matter.
Freedom of religion meant that Jews, Catholics, Quakers, and all other denominations and sects would be permitted to exist, and did not have to either belong to or support the Church of England in Virginia, or the Puritan faith of Massachusetts. Nor did anyone have to declare for any religion. It also meant that the near theocracies that had existed in New England were even less likely to occur again. Some congressmen were uncomfortable with the thought of coexisting alongside Papists, Quakers, Jews, and even atheists, but the diversity of faiths already existing in the colonies made defining these freedoms necessary. It was joked that some Anglican ministers who had been supported by government funds would actually have to go out and work for a living.
The right to vote was another sore point. While most of the congressmen favored some kind of a republic, there was concern that too much democracy wasn’t a good thing. There were strong feelings that only those who owned property and who were educated should vote. It was feared that chaos might ensue if the uneducated and the poor could vote and have their vote count as much as their betters did. While there were still vestiges of this in the new constitution, the result was that most men would be allowed to vote. Education and property requirements would be minimal although voters would, of course have to be able to read the ballot and sign their name.
All of this had deeply upset the handful who had supported the idea of a constitutional monarchy in the colonies. Benjamin Franklin had snorted that perhaps they’d like to borrow some of George III’s unemployed relatives, or even find a home for the luckless king of France here in America. When the laughter subsided, it was determined that there would be no king in the colonies. Had he still lived, George Washington might have worn a crown, but King George’s ax had ended those ideas.
Since one provision of the proposed constitution prohibited slavery and another said that almost all men could vote, did that mean that Negroes could vote? Probably, was the consensus, but not just yet. Will found himself wondering whether his Negro savior, Homer, would have the right to vote. He hoped so. Of course he was biased, but Homer deserved it more than many white men he knew.
The reading of the bill of rights was over and then the structure of government was outlined. There would be a two-house legislature, with an upper house where each colony had one delegate and one vote. There would be a lower house with a limit of a hundred representatives and they would be divided by colony according to each colony’s population. A president would be elected by the two houses and serve a single six-year term.
Hancock droned on, talking about judges and ambassadors and such and, finally, mercifully, was finished. The document was incomplete and everyone knew it. But it was a start. And in the bill of rights, a dramatic statement was made that was so totally different from England’s way of life and rule.
A roll-call vote was taken and the motion passed, and by a considerable margin. The delegates, under the prodding of Franklin and Hancock, realized that they had to do something significant.
One by one, the congressmen from the colonies stepped to a cloth-covered table and signed their names. Will wondered if Franklin and Hancock, the only signers of the Declaration of Independence present, were comparing this signing to that fateful summer in Philadelphia. There were serious doubts about the legitimacy of the Continental Congress back then and there were even more doubts about the current one.
When it was over, there was no applause. Participants and spectators strolled outside. Will shivered. It had been overheated in Congress Hall and the change was too abrupt.
“What did we just witness?” he asked. “And will it last?”
Sarah took his arm and squeezed it. “Ask again in a year.”
Chapter 10
“F
itzroy, you are a bloody goddamned fool and you were totally diddled by that yellow-haired Dutch cunt!”
A drunken and outraged Banastre Tarleton was in rare form and scathingly holding forth on the hapless Fitzroy. It had taken a week before the tow line between Detroit and the Canadian side of the river could be fixed and he could return with the news that Hannah Van Doorn and Abraham Goldman were rebel spies. By that time, Hannah, Goldman, and Goldman’s three associates were well away—along with much of their wealth and inventory. Obviously, they’d realized what Fitzroy would find at the tavern and had someone cut the rope. Still, either she or Goldman had managed to warn the tavern’s owners and coconspirators in time for them to vanish.
“By this time,” Tarleton went on, “the whole bunch of them is either in Fort Washington or back in Albany and gathering up more of their money. I’ve sent riders to arrest and hang them if they show up.”
Fitzroy stood stiffly at attention. “If you wish my resignation, you shall have it.”
“Don’t be silly,” Burgoyne said softly. “What’s done is done, and I still need a good aide, although I’d prefer one that isn’t so gullible. And look at the bright side, Major. You actually did uncover that nest of vipers and send them running. Your personal embarrassment will wear off. After all, I’ve had to endure the slings and arrows of my enemies for years after surrendering at Saratoga and I’ve still survived.”
Tarleton smiled tightly. “Actually, it could have been much worse. What if the silly slut had become my mistress instead of yours as I’d planned? Imagine my embarrassment if that had happened.”
Fitzroy suddenly realized what Tarleton was saying and why he’d been so critical of him. Tarleton had attempted to seduce Hannah and she’d rebuffed him. But why? Bedding a general was a much better source of information than a mere major, even though Fitzroy was Burgoyne’s aide and confidante. If her sole motivation was spying, why then had she stayed with him?
Dismissed, he walked slowly and sadly to the tent he now shared with Danforth. Fitzroy had been evicted from the quarters he’d shared with Hannah almost immediately after he’d reported her treason. Tarleton’s provost had only grudgingly permitted him to take his clothing and other personal effects, including the damned journal that she’d copied.
Inside, he pulled up a stool and opened the journal. A folded up piece of paper fell out. He picked it up and opened it. It was from Hannah.
“My dearest little lordship,”
she’d written.
“By now you have found that I have been reporting everything of import to my fellow Americans at Fort Washington. It was not an easy thing to do as I am deeply fond of you and fervently wish that our lives together could have been otherwise.”
Fitzroy took a deep breath. She hadn’t gone to Tarleton’s bed because she was fond of him and not Tarleton. Or Burgoyne. Was that supposed to make him feel better? Strangely, it did—a little.
She continued.
“I am sure you are angry and outraged by what you consider my treason. However, I am not a traitor. If I were a traitor, then I would have betrayed America because that is my country, not England. I am an American. So too is Abraham Goldman. I know that English law will find my argument specious and call for my hanging, but I don’t care. I can only do what is right and just, and that is to do everything in my power to drive the English, you English, from my land, my country.
“Please understand, my love, that I bear the English people, such as you, no ill. Indeed, it pains me deeply to write this and leave you. I only hate and despise your king and his vile and grasping ministers.
“I find it highly unlikely that we will ever meet again. Should it happen, it will most certainly be because you are a prisoner, as I have no intention of ever being taken alive. Nor does anyone else who call themselves Americans, so tell your beloved generals that they are in for a battle of no quarter, no retreat. It may well be that the winners will be as bloodied and devastated as the losers. It may well be that neither army will exist when the battle is over. If that is God’s will, so be it.
“Good bye, my dear little major and I fervently hope you are protected from whatever terrible things may come. And finally, I had no intention of falling in love with you, but I did. I can only wish that the world had been different.
“Your dearest Hannah.”
Fitzroy folded the paper and put it back in his journal. He felt the tears rolling down his cheeks.
* * *
Will stood with Tallmadge and Schuyler as Glover’s Marblehead Regiment marched slowly in. They were ragged and exhausted and made no attempt at a proper formation. Many were limping, and some men helped others with their muskets and packs, while still others were nearly carried by their comrades. Despite their exhaustion, however, they managed grins and waves which were returned. They had made it and were justifiably proud of themselves.
There were approximately two hundred of the Marblehead men, and they were trailed by about fifty other older men, and a handful of women and children. One of the older civilians was a man who was gaunt and even dirtier and more ragged than the others. He stared at Tallmadge and Will. He had a full nose, a thick white beard, bushy eyebrows, and his hair was long and disheveled.
That man knows us, Will thought, and I think I know him. But how? Had he too served in the army? The man looked out of place with the group of civilians. Despite his physical problems, he carried himself like a soldier. Will thought the old man should be leading the column, such was his presence. Will glanced at Schuyler and Tallmadge. They too stared at the man. Tallmadge seemed to nod slightly. The man turned abruptly and walked away.
It had been an epic journey for the Marblehead Regiment, all the way from the coast of Maine to this place near the shores of Lake Michigan. They had trekked through almost a thousand miles of British-held territory and lived to tell about it. To some of the more historical minded, it was like the journey of Xenophon’s ten thousand Hellenes marching through Asia Minor to their homes. Even though North America wasn’t Asia Minor, Glover’s men had traveled from the seacoast of Maine, overland to the St. Lawrence River, crossed, and then hiked to a point just west of the great falls at Niagara. There they had built boats and sailed or paddled their way to a point south of Detroit, eluded Tarleton’s patrols, and marched the rest of the way to Fort Washington.
To many, their success was no surprise. Though small in number, the Marbleheaders were a superb regiment and had a reputation for doing the impossible. It was they who had saved Washington’s army from being trapped on Long Island. They had commandeered boats and ferried the troops across to Manhattan under the very noses of the British, and, months later they’d help ferry Washington’s men across the Delaware to attack the Hessians at Trenton.
The Marbleheaders were led by their original commander, Brigadier General John Glover. He saluted Schuyler and led his men off to where they could be quartered, rested, warmed, and fed.
“We need more of them,” Tallmadge mused.
“At least they have weapons,” Will said.
Tallmadge laughed. “You’ve been away too long. Franklin’s factories are now making muskets for us. We have far more muskets than we do soldiers to shoot them. Nor are we suffering for lack of powder. Our factories are also turning out pikes, cutlasses, and tomahawks in large numbers. No,” he sighed, “what we need are soldiers.”
“Just curious, General, but do the factories continue to make that weapon I tested, the Franklin?”
“Lord no. That abomination was discarded rather quickly after we couldn’t figure out what to do with it. It was inaccurate at long range, and awkward at short. Thus, we decided to focus on more traditional guns and we are doing quite well. The ‘Franklin,’ however, was not totally consigned to the trash heap. Willy Washington has taken the inventory of a little more than a hundred of the things and further shortened their barrels. He plans to use them as close-up weapons by his cavalry, which will also be armed with sabers and pistols.”
A soldier ran up to Tallmadge, saluted, and handed him a message. Tallmadge unfolded it, crumpled it, and swore.
“More bad news, damn it. The British have found one of my spy centers. Do you recall the King’s Tavern across the river from Detroit? Did you know the name was a joke? The owners were two brothers named King and totally loyal to the American cause.”
“Of course,” Will answered. “I kept some of my men near there while I was at Leduc’s place. I recall you said that the owners were sympathetic.”
“Much more than that. The brothers King and their grubby tavern were the clearing house for many of the messages from Detroit and now they’ve been discovered. The brothers got away, but they’ve been closed down. I can only hope that the people supplying the King brothers with information got themselves away as well.”
“Does that mean nothing more from Detroit?” Will asked.
“Of course not.” He sniffed. “It simply means that the information will come in more slowly and in a less timely manner until I can effect repairs to the system.”
“Which reminds me, General, just how the devil do you get timely information from so far away?”
Tallmadge grinned impishly and punched Will on the shoulder. “When you’re old enough to understand such adult matters, I’ll tell you.”
* * *
Abigail Adams invited a number of women to have tea with her, although the tea was more hot colored water than a proper tea. It was an opportunity to talk about things that were of utmost importance to them. Like the slim possibility that they would even be alive the coming fall.
A good hostess, she waited until the score of women had finished at least a little idle chatter. When there was a lull, she tapped on a cup.
“Ladies, it is time to discuss some serious matters.”
Silence fell. Abigail Adams was the most respected and admired woman at Fort Washington. If she said she had something important to say, then she would be listened to.
“We all know that the summer will bring a bloody end to our stay here. Either we will prevail and return to our homes, or we will be captured and enslaved, if not killed outright.”
There was a mutter that she ignored. “I know that some of you have vowed never to be taken prisoner, never to be enslaved. Some have vowed to fight to the death, while others have decided to flee elsewhere, if there only was an elsewhere. Sadly, there is no elsewhere. We win or lose here. Even if we try to flee, it will be in small numbers and into areas filled with red savages who would like nothing more than to rape us and kill us, if they don’t enslave us themselves. If we lose to the British this summer, our prospects are beneath dismal.”
“Then what do you propose?” asked Sarah. Even though she’d been prepped by Mistress Adams and told when to ask questions, Abigail’s spoken words had chilled her.
John Adams’ wife smiled tightly. “With the blessings of the conniving Doctor Franklin, he has come up with some ideas to help the men in combat and extend their numbers beyond what we have.”
“Would we have to fight?” someone exclaimed in shock.
“Are you afraid to?” Sarah snapped back, causing a momentary uproar.
Abigail Adams called for calm and, after a moment, got it. “I am not proposing that we women actually fight; however, I am suggesting that those of us who feel we can should be prepared to fight. After all, didn’t a few of you say that you’d rather die than be captured, raped, and enslaved? Well, wouldn’t you rather take a few Redcoats with you before death, or were you contemplating heroic suicide?”
The heavyset mistress of General von Steuben rose. “I want to kill the bastards. Any British soldier who thinks he can lie on top of me without my permission will be a dead one.”
Abigail nodded and suppressed a smile. “Good. No matter what happens, we will be terribly close to the fighting, so I am proposing that we involve ourselves in it as much as possible without actually trying to join the ranks of soldiers.”
“But aren’t there women already masquerading as soldiers?” the wife of a colonel asked.
“Likely a few,” Abigail admitted, “although their presence is not officially admitted and their numbers not actually known. However, there have been incidents of women joining the ranks and actually fighting and even becoming casualties, which is how their gender was discovered. And that brings us back to the point. In order to help our men, and help ourselves, we must not just sit idly by while the battle that shapes our futures takes place a few hundred yards away from us.”
Catherine Greene, the general’s widow, spoke up. Grief was still etched in her still lovely face. “What do you want us to do? While there are women here in camp, the men far outnumber us, which means our impact would be small.”
Again Abigail Adams nodded and smiled, this time knowingly. “Of course you are correct. Our actual numbers are fairly small, but, if we are clever, our impact could be enormous. As to what I want from you, perhaps it is what you want from yourselves. I wish you to discuss this with the others of our fairer and so-called weaker sex and find out how many will help. When I have a good number, I will present it to Doctor Franklin and he will confront the generals.”