The Angel of 1776 - A Novella Read online

  The Angel of 1776

  A Novella

  Jeffry S. Hepple

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2010, Jeffry S. Hepple, All Rights Reserved

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This a work of fiction based upon true historical events and a few myths. The reader must decide which is which.

  ~

  Special thanks to Brian Palesch, Mindy Schwartz, Scott Hepple and, as always, Susan Trotter for their help and support.

  ~ 1 ~

  Christmas, 1776

  McKonkey’s Ferry, Pennsylvania

  It was not quite noon, and it was becoming bitterly cold. Dense, dark clouds were hanging low over the Delaware River and the rain was turning to sleet. Colonel John Glover’s Fourteenth Regiment was preparing to move the Continental Army of General George Washington across the ice-choked Delaware River to attack the Hessian troops who were occupying Trenton, New Jersey. One of the three men who were hauling a beached Durham boat from its camouflaged location on the riverbank slipped and went down. The remaining two men latched onto the gunnels and tried to dig their heels into the frozen turf to keep the big boat from sliding into the river. “Watch your fingers, there,” Glover shouted. “The oars are none too secure. I would rather lose a boat than any man.”

  Glover, like most of the men who served in his command, was a fisherman from Marblehead, Massachusetts. In the months after the Declaration of Independence on July 4, 1776, Washington’s army had suffered a series of humiliating defeats, including the nearly fatal battles of Long Island and Brooklyn Heights in August. While Washington’s beaten and bloody troops were pinned against the East River being bombarded by British artillery, John Glover’s Regiment had evacuated the entire force and the camp followers to Manhattan in a seemingly impossible nighttime operation. Glover’s action undoubtedly saved the Continental Army from capture, and the Revolution from extinction.

  Pursued by British General Lord Cornwallis, Washington’s army had then retreated from New York, across New Jersey to the village of Trenton where Glover had commandeered every boat on the Jersey Shore and transported the remnants of the army to Pennsylvania.

  “Keep the dock clear,” Glover shouted. Two of the boats had just arrived from their hiding place on Taylor Island, and their crews were removing the camouflaging tree branches. “God knows we have little enough room on this little dock as it is without cluttering it with rubbish.”

  To say that the hope of an independent American republic was dim on this Christmas Day would be a gross understatement. Only days ago, Congress had fled Philadelphia to Baltimore. Now, with enlistments due to expire on December 31st, with no money to pay for reenlistment bonuses, and with morale at an all-time low, Washington was once again crossing the Delaware. But this time he was crossing in a desperate, last-ditch attempt to keep the fledgling American Revolution alive. His plan was simple: Attack the twelve hundred British-paid Hessian mercenaries at Trenton, defeat them, and take from them the supplies his army so urgently needed. The seeming folly of his plan was that the Hessian soldiers were the best in the world and to date, Washington’s army had not won so much as a single battle, nor had the army ever been the attacker in any conflict.

  “Ahoy, Colonel,” a man’s voice called from the fog near the riverbank, below the dock.

  “Aye,” Glover called back.

  “Boat coming in. A little one. It ain’t the British.”

  “Not one of ours, either.” Glover squinted toward the sound of the voice. Through the mist, he saw a small, birch-bark canoe struggling to land near the dock against the fierce current. “Lend a hand there, boys. Quickly now, before one of those big blocks of ice scuttles that toy boat.” He stepped carefully over the icy ground and onto the rocks to watch his men drag the canoe and its occupant from the water. “Who is it?”

  “A boy,” someone answered. “I think he’s froze to death.”

  “No, he’s alive, Colonel,” another voice countered. “But just barely. He’s covered with ice. Looks like a little snowman. We needs to fetch him a doctor.”

  “No,” Glover shouted. “Somebody run down to McKonkey’s Inn and fetch back one of Washington’s aides. We have an army to transport, and don’t have time for this. Let them sort it all out.”

  “Which aide?” a man shouted back at him.

  “Hamilton, if he is available. Or Fitzgerald. It hardly matters. Just get someone up here to take charge of the boy.”

  “Very well, sir. I’ll go.” The man started toward the inn.

  “They may be in the tavern.” Glover called. “There was to be a meeting there at noon, or thereabouts.”

  ~ 2 ~

  General George Washington, commander-in-chief of the Continental Army, stomped the crystallized mud off his boots and climbed the steps to Samuel McKonkey’s Inn and Tavern. “Good afternoon, Captain Fitzgerald.”

  John Fitzgerald, one of Washington’s aides-de-camp was holding open the tavern door for the general. “Good afternoon, sir.” Fitzgerald looked up at the sky. “It will be snowing soon.”

  “I fear that your forecast is correct, Captain.” Washington removed his hat, ducked his head under the lintel and stepped into the warm, brightly lit room. “Is everyone present?”

  “As you know, sir, General Stephen is in Trenton. Everyone else is here, except General Cadwalader and Captain Hamilton, that is.”

  “Because he has so many new recruits to train, I excused Cadwalader. Where is Alex?”

  “He was here for a short time but he was called away a few minutes ago by one of the Marblehead fishermen.”

  “For what reason?”

  “I cannot say, sir. I did not hear the conversation.” Fitzgerald took the general’s cloak and hat. “Your baggage has been brought over from Barclay’s. Would you care to see your room?”

  “Later. Where are we meeting?”

  Fitzgerald pointed toward the rear of the tavern. “Our table is through that door in a private room.”

  “Not as private as I might have wished.”

  “The tavern is closed, sir. That is, we are the only patrons of the inn and of the tavern. The innkeeper, his goodwife and daughter are the only staff. Mister McKonkey has assured me that the Brown family is completely trustworthy.”

  “And where is Mister McKonkey?”

  “He is supervising the loading of cannon onto the barges and ferries. General Knox said that balance was crucial and that he trusted no one else to oversee the task.”

  “Why is Knox not supervising it himself?”

  “He and Colonel Glover do not get along, sir. Apparently some of the barges and the ferry must share the dock with Colonel Glover’s Marbleheaders and the dock is quite small.”

  “I see.” Washington walked to the huge fireplace. “Let us give Captain Hamilton a few minutes before we begin.”

  “Yes, of course, sir.”

  Washington held his hands toward the blaze. “Nice to be warm.”

  “Indeed it is, sir. Brutal out there. Simply brutal.” Fitzgerald gazed out the window at the darkening day.

  “I feel somewhat guilty…” Washington began, then he shook his head. “Nothing to be done for it.”

  Fitzgerald turned away from the window. “Pardon m
e, sir? Guilty about what, General?”

  “About being warm.”

  “Sir?” Fitzgerald was confused.

  “Some of our soldiers have no coats or shoes. I feel guilty about being warm while they suffer.”

  “Oh. Yes, sir. I understand. We did receive those blankets today. I gave you the bill of lading.”

  “Yes, I saw it. They are better than nothing, but not as good as coats would be.”

  “The wives and the men that can sew are making coats from the blankets.”

  Washington nodded. “Real coats would be better. Shoes too. How does the Congress expect these lads to function without coats and shoes?”

  “A local sail-maker has made hundreds of pairs of canvas shoes. Enough so that no one should be barefoot, I should hope.”

  “Congress,” Washington said, as if the word was bitter in his mouth.

  Fitzgerald tried to think of something else mitigating but quickly gave up.

  James Brown, the innkeeper, hurried from the kitchen to take Washington’s cloak and tricorne hat from Fitzgerald. “Forgive me please, Excellency. I did not hear you come in.”

  Washington nodded to the smaller man. “Good afternoon, Mister Brown.”

  Brown smiled. “Merry Christmas, General.”

  Washington seemed surprised for a moment, then nodded. “Indeed. Thank you. And to you and your family, sir. A very Merry Christmas.”

  “May I offer you gentlemen a toddy?”

  Fitzgerald shook his head.

  “General?”

  Washington was looking through the window at the rapidly deteriorating weather. “What was that you said, Mister Brown?”

  “A toddy?” Brown repeated. “Would you care for one?”

  “Oh. No. A toddy? No, thank you. Not for me. Not today of all days.”

  “Tea, perhaps.”

  “No thank you.” Washington glanced out the window once again, then turned toward the rear of the tavern. “I think we must start without Captain Hamilton.”

  “I will see to your meal then.” Brown half-bowed and hurried back toward the kitchen.

  As Washington walked through the door toward the long table where his staff and a few unit commanders were getting to their feet, he took a folded pamphlet from his coat pocket. “Please keep your seats, gentlemen.” He pulled out the chair at the head of the table, stood in front of the chair but did not sit. “This,” he waved the pamphlet, “was written and published by Thomas Paine a few days ago. He calls it The American Crisis. It is being distributed to our troops as we speak. I want to read the first paragraph of it to you.” He cleared his throat.

  “General,” Fitzgerald interrupted. “Please forgive me, sir, but do you want this door to the tavern closed?”

  “No. I prefer to keep it open so that we can see that no one is lurking out there with his ear to the wall. You might stand there where you can see the room, just to be sure.”

  “Very well, sir.” Fitzgerald backed into the tavern.

  Washington cleared his throat again and began to read. “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 their 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: it is dearness only that gives every thing its value. Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon its goods; and it would be strange indeed, if so celestial an article as freedom should not be highly rated. Britain, with an army to enforce her tyranny, has declared that she has a right (not only to tax) but to bind us in all cases whatsoever, and if being bound in that manner, is not slavery, then is there not such a thing as slavery upon earth. Even the expression is impious; for so unlimited a power can belong only to God.”

  General Washington folded the pamphlet and returned it to his coat pocket. “This is indeed the time, the very moment, to try our souls. What we do here tonight and on the morrow will undoubtedly determine the fate and future of our new nation.” He looked from face to face around the table. “But you all know that. We have discussed it many times. So let us speak of something new. I fear that we have only vague and somewhat unreliable intelligence, but it rings true that General Sir William Howe is now convinced that we are finished. He is so very convinced in fact that he is having the terms of our surrender drafted and has agreed to let Lord Cornwallis return to England.”

  “The damned fool,” General William Alexander, the Earl of Stirling said. “Cornwallis is the only real soldier in the British General corps.”

  “Howe is so deeply enamored with Mrs. Loring that he may not be thinking clearly,” Knox chuckled.

  “Indeed,” Washington said with a smile. “We may in fact owe our continued existence to Mrs. Loring’s charms. Had General Howe kept his entire army in the field to pursue us, our defeat would have been a foregone conclusion.”

  “I have a question, sir,” General John Sullivan said. “About the assault on Trenton.”

  Washington looked toward the door to be sure no one was eavesdropping, then nodded. “Yes?”

  “As you know,” Sullivan continued, “because of the Hessians’ harsh treatment of the citizens in the villages that they have occupied, we have been receiving a steady flow of passionate new recruits from both New Jersey and Pennsylvania.”

  Washington nodded again. “Yes. If there is a positive side to the Hessian occupation, that is most certainly it.”

  Sullivan made room on the table and unrolled a map. “I have recently learned from one of our new recruits that the abandoned River Road, which runs along here, intersects with our planned route of march into Trenton.” He put his finger on the map and looked up at Washington. “I propose that, at this fork, I will take my division up the River Road and attack Trenton from the opposite side. Such a maneuver will almost surround the Hessians yet it will keep our divisions at a distance sufficient to prevent us from shooting each other by accident.”

  “Ah, good,” Washington said. “Very good. My map does not show that intersection. I have been worried all along that the front of our column might engage the enemy before the rear was off the road and able to form into battle formation. Dividing it in half will reduce the time it takes to deploy by half.” He smiled at Sullivan. “Excellent idea. Absolutely excellent.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Sullivan began rolling up the map. “If I may make one more request, please?”

  “Of course,” Washington replied.

  “I would like to have General Cadwalader’s militia accompany my division. Many of the recruits in his unit are friends, family or acquaintances of men who have recently joined me. Having some familiar faces nearby might make their first time to see the elephant a bit less terrifying.”

  “No,” Washington said. “I am sorry, General Sullivan, but General Cadwalader’s militia will be crossing at Dunk's Ferry, near Bristol, to create a diversion to the south.” He glanced into the tavern and lowered his voice. “The reality is that Cadwalader has too many raw recruits. If we were to put them into battle tonight, most would run away.”

  “I have nearly as many recruits,” Sullivan said.

  “But,” Washington countered, “you also have a large contingent of experienced, regular army troops to mother-hen the recruits, where Cadwalader has only militia.” He thought a moment. “Perhaps Glover’s fighting fishermen should go with you. That way you will have benefit of his older and more battle hardened…” He stopped abruptly as the tavern door opened and Captain Alexander Hamilton stumbled in, a young boy cradled in his arms.

  Mr. Brown, who must have seen Hamilton coming through the rear window, rushed from the kitchen to close the door against the swirling, wind-driven snow, then he dragged a chair to the hearth. “Put the boy here, sir,” he said to Hamilton. “I’ll fetch some hot soup.”

  “Thank you.”
Hamilton sat the boy on the chair, then knelt in front of him to rub the small blue hands between his.

  “What have we here?” Washington was the first from the table.

  Hamilton looked up at him. “He apparently staggered into Colonel Glover’s camp looking as if he had been carved from a block of ice, General.”

  “I know this boy.” General Lord Stirling said. “His name is Billy Schmitt. He is a drummer boy in my brigade.”

  “Where did he come from?” Washington asked Hamilton.

  “He told me that he paddled himself across the river and back, sir.”

  “He swam?” Washington asked.

  “No, sir,” Hamilton replied. “He paddled across in a birch-bark canoe, sir.”

  “Impossible in this weather,” General Henry Knox opined.

  “I cannot say more than I have, sir,” Hamilton replied. “I was in a great hurry to get the boy out of the cold, and Colonel Glover was anxious to see me gone from his staging area.”

  “Perhaps the more important question is why would the boy attempt such a thing?” General Nathanael Greene asked.

  “He said that he went to Trenton to obtain information that General Washington wanted,” Hamilton said. “But then he fainted and said no more.”

  “Information that I wanted?” Washington shook his head. “I do not even know this lad.” He looked at Stirling expectantly.

  “I know nothing about this, General,” Stirling said. “Can you help Billy please, General Mercer?”

  “Yes, of course.” Brigadier General Hugh Mercer, who had been a prominent physician before the Revolution, took Hamilton’s place in front of the child and examined his hands, then his face. “Very cold, but no frostbite.” He removed the rags that were wrapped around the boy’s feet and rubbed his discolored toes. “He will be fine once we warm him up.”