The Rebels: The Kent Family Chronicles (32 page)

“Why d’you suppose that major rode over here? You’re to clean up and report to the marquis’ pavilion at six on the dot. And you’d better not forget the Congress just appointed him a major general.”

That touched off an explosion of exclamations. Philip joined in:

“He can’t be more than nineteen!”

“Looks younger, if you ask me. But he’s still a general attached to Washington’s personal staff. And the major passed the word that the old man’s taken a strong liking to him. You’d best be on your good behavior.”

Abruptly, Philip was overcome with apprehension. He was excited at the prospect of a reunion with his boyhood friend. But a meeting between a common private and a freshly commissioned major general—that was something else entirely. He spent the rest of the afternoon nervously washing, shaving, sewing all the ragged places in his best shirt and trousers—and withstanding jokes from the men in his mess.

There were no jokes from Mayo Adams, though. He treated the whole business with silent contempt.

“Uh—sir?”

The young Frenchman seated inside the spacious officer’s tent jumped up from his camp chair and ran around the table where exquisite china, silver and glassware had been set for two. The orderly held the entrance flap aside, but Philip hesitated, uncertain as to whether he should salute.

Gil seized both his shoulders, his face almost glowing as he exclaimed in French:

“My God, Phillipe—it is you! Ranks and titles are forgotten here. It is Gil and—no, no, I was told you were someone else! A new name?”

“Yes. Philip Kent.”

“Gil and Philip, then! Long-lost comrades reunited!”

He embraced Philip so ardently, kissing him on both cheeks, that the orderly blushed.

Gil took Philip’s arm. “Come in, come in—we will dine and talk. But what shall it be? French? Or the English I speak so badly?”

“My French is pretty well forgotten,” Philip said with an apologetic smile. Though several years older than the handsome nineteen-year-old, he still had a feeling that he was the junior in the relationship. Even at thirteen, Gil had been a commanding presence; the tutor who gave Philip his first rudimentary lessons with the musket and spontoon. “But we can try, if you wish—”

“It’s easier, easier,” Gil continued in French as he pulled back a chair for his guest. “Be seated! Tell me everything! Where you live, your fortunes—everything.”

“I’d like to. But honestly, Gil, it—it isn’t necessary for you to entertain me this way—” He indicated the elegant table. “You’re a high-ranking member of the staff. I’m only—”

“Only my friend. My savior,” Gil said with utter seriousness. His hazel eyes held Philip’s. “I remember very distinctly that I would not be here in the glorious new land of freedom if you hadn’t happened along that road near Chavaniac when I was in danger. I’d be a major general of the worms, very likely. So let’s have no more folderol about rank—” He grinned. “That is a direct order.”

Philip laughed. “All right—General. I still have the sword you gave me. It hangs over the mantel in our home in Massachusetts—” The language was slow going, but Philip took his time, translating each phrase carefully out of the more familiar English. Gil’s sandy eyebrows hooked up at the last remark: “‘Our home.’ You are married, then?”

“Yes, to a girl I met in Boston.”

“Children?”

“One son. He’ll be two in September.”

“How marvelous, wonderful!” Gil reached under the bosom of his uniform, pulled out a golden locket on a slender chain. “This is rather a delicate ornament for a soldier. But my own dear heart insisted I bring it with me—”

Proudly, Gil thumbed the locket open to display a beautifully done miniature of his attractive, fragile-looking wife. Philip judged her to be little more than fifteen or sixteen.

The marquis snapped the locket shut, signaled to the orderly, said in heavily accented English:

“Set the meal, please—and the wine. Then leave us.” The orderly wheeled and hurried out.

“Gil, how in God’s name did you get here?”

“Well, service to your new country has become popular in many parts of Europe. The splendid declaration against King George last summer—you’ve no idea how it fired the minds and hearts of Frenchmen!”

“And inspired some private help from your king.”

“The bogus trading company? Yes, I’ve heard of it. Officially, of course, France takes no position in the war. As yet,” he added in a significant way. “One may hope—”

He shrugged. “For the present, it’s enough that volunteers may cross the ocean to offer their swords. In my case, I’m afraid King Louis felt the Lafayette name a trifle too prestigious for even that to be allowed.” He made a face to demonstrate his displeasure.

“You mean it was suggested you shouldn’t come?”

“Suggested
hardly covers it. I was on garrison duty in Metz when word reached me about the noble declaration. I have never been so overcome—so moved. I decided at once to speed here to support your cause.”

Finally relaxing a little, Philip smiled. “I also recall you didn’t think too highly of the British.”

“That’s true—as well as an understatement. Unfortunately, members of my family were determined I should not risk my career in this venture—nor lend the Lafayette name to what remains, in official circles, an illegitimately conceived nation. King Louis even issued a writ forbidding my journey. Had the paper ever caught up with me, I’d have been clapped away in the Bastille until my enthusiasm for America cooled. As it was, I rushed overland in secret—I took ship at
Los Pasajes
in Spain—and I landed early in July in your Charleston.”

“South Carolina?”

“Quite so. Then I traveled nine hundred miles more—in carriages I paid for myself—also on horseback when the carriages broke down. When I reached the Congress in Philadelphia, I was given a decidedly rude reception, at least in some quarters. A Mr. Lovell of that body remarked that French officers had a great fancy to enter American service without being invited. In short, I was treated like the rankest freebooter.”

“We’ve had some of those show up, though.”

“Nevertheless, it was an insult. Since I had come here out of the purest motives, and at my own expense, I demanded two favors of the Congress. To serve at my own cost, and entirely as a volunteer—requiring no rank or command. Though naturally I hope to have the honor of field command at some time in the future. I am well trained for it, after all.” He still sounded a bit miffed. “And training seems sorely needed in this army. I was agog this morning. That is the only word—agog. No uniforms! Merely—forgive me!—those peculiar shirts such as you’re wearing. Then I watched a bit of drill. An absolute shambles! A drillmaster’s badly needed—”

“Gil, I’m afraid Washington has neither the money nor the talent to put together the kind of army you’re accustomed to.”

“Aha, but European officers are arriving who can do something about that! They must be given the opportunity! Else your cause—our cause—is surely lost.”

Glum, Philip told him, “I don’t doubt the general would welcome really good assistance.”

“Yes, a magnificent man, magnificent! I told him I wished for nothing more than to be allowed to serve near his person till such time as he thought it proper to entrust me with a division.” With an emphatic flick of one of his epaulettes, he added, “I did not
insist
upon a major generalship. However—” Another shrug, and a wink. “It is certainly a step in the right direction.”

Philip smiled again. So did his friend. The orderly returned, followed by two Frenchmen: one a cook in a white smock, pushing a wood-wheeled serving cart, the other a liveried waiter who proceeded to serve the meal and decant the wine. Philip discovered that Gil wasn’t exaggerating about paying his own way:

“I want no one in this command to think I am living in my accustomed style at their expense, Philip. Everything you see, I purchased. The venison, the wine—this uniform, the tent, even my horses and wagons. I am of the opinion that perhaps I have more dedication to the American purpose than some of your own rude Congressmen.”

“I don’t doubt it. More money, too.”

“A hit, a most accurate hit!” Gil cried, clapping one hand over his heart in false pain.

There was no longer any barrier of hesitancy between them. Philip’s uneasiness had completely vanished, and he fell to enjoying the excellent meal, the wine and the conversation with unashamed gusto. The talk was virtually continuous because both friends had much to tell.

Philip related all of his up-and-down history since Gil had ridden away from Auvergne that long-ago day. He only omitted the most unflattering parts—his killing of Roger Amberly and his dalliance with Alicia before he finally made up his mind about Anne Ware and the American cause.

For his part, Gil was ready with anecdotes about military life, as well as acid comments about the American commissioner in Paris, Mr. Deane, who was “frantically” issuing letters to European officers, promising them exalted posts and high wages—without specific authorization from the Congress. Presently, when the table had been cleared and a lantern lighted and hung at the open end of the tent, Gil offered a toast with brandy:

“To my comrade Phillipe—ah, I forget so easily. Philip! May he and his country live in liberty forever.”

Unable to think of any appropriate sentiment to offer in return, Philip smiled, raised his glass and drank, supremely content for a few hours in the renewal of a bond that defied explanation or—seemingly—geography.

With a little more of the brandy under their belts, the friends could talk even more frankly:

“Gil, I don’t want to sound pessimistic, but it strikes me that the outcome of this war is as much up to men like Johnny Burgoyne and General Howe as it is to us.”

“Exactly! There has never been an engagement of forces in which that wasn’t so. However, don’t worry—the enemy will make all the incorrect moves, and we shall make all the proper ones.”

Philip sighed. “I wish I shared your confidence.”

Gil grew solemn. “Sham confidence—and a poor joke. Truly, I wish it were so simple. There is much tension and impatience on the general’s staff because of the uncertainty in regard to Howe’s position.”

“He can’t stay at sea forever.”

Gil clapped him on the shoulder, breaking the dour moment:

“He’d better not, with two such stout fighters waiting to engage him!”

The boast was cheerful enough. But Philip was already certain his friend placed little or no confidence in the disreputable-looking American troops he’d reviewed earlier in the day. Philip couldn’t much blame Gil, either.

The two talked late into the night. Tipsy, Philip finally meandered back toward the Massachusetts tents. On the way he took great pleasure in displaying Captain Webb’s signed order to the guards who questioned a private’s right to be abroad after tattoo.

He yawned as he neared his own tent. He was anxious to climb into his bedroll and sleep. But it wasn’t to be. His messmates were still awake, and fired questions at him almost until dawn. They wanted this or that bit of information about Lafayette; a history of his experience; an explanation of how he’d gotten to be a general at age nineteen; his views on the possibilities for victory.

The only one who sat sullen, cursing frequently because he couldn’t sleep, was Mayo Adams. Philip’s evening out with his celebrated friend seemed to have increased the man’s hostility all the more.

On Saturday, August twenty-third, the drummers beat out a different rhythm. The signal to strike camp.

Immediately, the tent city began to come down; the artillery and the Conestoga wagons began to rumble; work replaced indolence. Admiral Howe’s fleet had been sighted off Chesapeake Bay. If the enemy troops landed, less than a hundred miles separated them from the much smaller American force. In between lay Philadelphia, where the Congress still sat in session. Every man in that body was a candidate for a hangrope if he were caught.

The Americans marched south. Philip was in low spirits because he still hadn’t received any new letters from Anne.

On Sunday morning, it rained. But the clouds cleared by noon, in time for a good percentage of the forty thousand people now living in Philadelphia to turn out and watch the American companies march through. Philip didn’t see Gil; he would be riding at the very head of the column, with Washington, and Henry Knox, and other senior members of the staff.

Captain Webb’s command lived up to Gil’s original horrified assessment of it. They were just as ill-clad as the rest of the units from the other states represented in the huge parade of eleven thousand men.

But one visible feature united them—a sprig of greenery, fresh-cut the night before by the carpenters and placed in each man’s hat to signify the army’s vitality—on direct order of the commander-in-chief. Quite a few grumbled that more than a couple of leaves on a twig would be required to bring the quarrelsome, heat-weary citizen-soldiers up to fighting trim.

Webb’s company, where Philip marched, was at present a fifty-man unit, the second in line among four such companies forming the battalion. Two battalions comprised the regiment. And throughout its shambling ranks—marching was too dignified and precise a term—disorder in formation accompanied disorder in costume. Seldom did anyone step exactly in time with the drumbeats. And whenever the fifers struck up one of the popular marching songs of the day, the men bellowed out the words if they felt like it:

“We are the troop “That ne’er will stoop “To wretched sla-ver-ee
—
”

People leaned from windows, huzzahing, fluttering handkerchiefs. They lined the walks of Front and Chestnut Streets that Philip remembered so well from the weeks he’d spent in the city. Now circumstances were much different. Burdened with the equipment of war—canteen, cooking gear, hand-carved wood drinking cup, sheathed hunting knife, cartridge box, lead, ball mold and, most important of all, his Brown Bess with the bayonet in place—he was leaving the great city not to return to Anne but to confront the immense might of Howe’s army. He imagined the foe as a scarlet serpent a thousand times longer than the British columns he remembered from Concord and New York and Jersey.