Authors: Edward Cline
In one of the ironic coincidences of the battle, Major John Pitcairn, whose men had fired on the militia on Lexington Green in April, died with scores of his marines during a second assault on the south slope of Breed’s Hill, while Dr. Joseph Warren, the man who had sent riders to alert the militia of the British march to Lexington and Concord, died while trying to leave Breed’s Hill.
The Queen Anne Volunteer Company had survived almost intact. It marched resolutely back across the Neck, in formation, while hundreds of other Americans dashed across it under further bombardment by the floating batteries on the Charles. Colonel Stark, marching with his own men across the Neck, had observed the coolness of the Company in action, and now in retreat, and it inspired his further admiration.
But the mood inside the Company’s camp at Cambridge was as somber as it was in all the units that camped again near the headquarters. Five more of its number had perished on the peninsula, mostly from musket fire from the pursuing British, including Jude Kenny. Once the fires had been lit to warm their food, hands and souls, a few of the men permitted themselves to cry in relief or in horror. Most men sat around their fires that night and traded anecdotes about close calls and lost friends, and speculated about what would happen next. And all of them regarded Jack Frake with gratitude, for his ruthless leadership during the retreat had more than once saved them from certain death or perilous capture.
What will you do?
Jack Frake asked himself in his mind, over and over again.
“What will you do?” asked John Proudlocks, who sat next to him at one of the fires. He brought two battered pewter mugs of coffee from another platoon’s campfire, and gave one to his captain.
Jack Frake took it and sipped the acrid brew first, before answering. “About what?”
“Captain Tallmadge.”
“Tell him the truth,” replied Jack Frake without emphasis.
“The captain was his friend.”
Will he remain mine?
thought Jack Frake. They were both thinking of Hugh Kenrick.
“Did you know it was him?” asked Proudlocks.
“Not until it was too late.”
“Do you regret it?”
After a moment, Jack Frake answered, “No.”
Not even if he does not remain my friend
, he thought to himself. He paused. “No more about it, John. I am tired.”
“Yes, Jack.” Proudlocks sipped his coffee.
“Thank you for clubbing that Fusilier,” said Jack Frake. “I didn’t see him coming.”
“You already thanked me.”
“Yes, that’s right. I did. On the Neck, on our way back.”
Jack Frake had already tortured himself in wondering if it had been possible — if the fraction of a second could have existed — to lower or shift his musket a fraction of an inch, and simply wound Tallmadge, perhaps in the arm, or in the leg, and stopped him from rallying his troops, but left him alive.
But he knew he was torturing himself needlessly; he knew that the fraction of a second never existed. By the time he recognized the face, the flint and the spark and the powder had already sent the ball on its journey down the barrel and out the muzzle.
But then, he thought, Tallmadge was there, serving the Crown, taking part in an effort to conquer the colonies. He was the enemy. Why was he there? Tallmadge himself had told him, over supper at Meum Hall the previous June, that he planned to sail back to England when he reached Boston, possibly to resign his commission in the army and work at Hugh’s father’s bank, or at least apply for an assignment, possibly as a consular military attaché on the Continent, that did not conflict with his reservations about what Parliament wished to do in the colonies. “It’s plum duty, Mr. Frake,” he heard the voice saying with a gaiety that tried to mask embarrassment.
But Tallmadge was there, and he had died.
No one else in the company but John Proudlocks knew the significance of the incident.
Jack Frake’s gorget now had an indentation. A ball that was deflected from the steel had nearly obliterated
aude
in the inscription. Jock Fraser was the first to notice it, once they had reached their old campground. “God’s oath, Mr. Frake!” he exclaimed as he examined the whorl in the
gorget, “I was only jesting there in Yorktown! Thank God it wasn’t tin or copper! You owe Mr. Kenrick some thanks for it!” Jack Frake smiled humorlessly in reply.
Make up your mind
, he thought to himself:
Thank God, or thank Mr. Kenrick. God, however, might be more forgiving; Mr. Kenrick may wish it had been tin or copper
.
Fraser examined it more closely. There was a patch of blood on the gorget, and then he noticed a cut beneath the stubble on his captain’s chin. “Guess it flew up at you when it was hit, Captain.”
“I guess it did, Jock.”
Jack Frake removed it now from around his neck and examined the gorget. He handed it to Proudlocks. “What does your legal Latin tell you it says now, John?” he asked.
Proudlocks put down his coffee and held the gorget closer to the fire and read the inscription again. “‘
Sapere aude
,’” he mused. Staring into the campfire, he reached back in his mind to the Latin lessons he had taken in order to understand much of the law he studied at the Middle Temple. After a moment, he answered, “The courage has been removed, leaving you your reason.” He scoffed and gave the gorget back to his friend. “Well, I know
that
isn’t true. If it were, we would not be sitting here tonight.”
Jack Frake smiled in acknowledgement. He replaced the gorget around his neck, then put down his own mug. He reached into the pack beside him and found one of the seegars he had brought with him. He would have preferred his pipe, but he had left it at the rail fence, where it was probably ground to pieces under the boots of the attacking British.
Then he remembered that Proudlocks had dropped his there, as well, as they rushed to prepare for the third assault. He took out a second seegar, and offered it to his friend.
Proudlocks nodded in thanks and took it. He reached down into the campfire and took out a burning twig, and with it lit both seegars, Jack Frake’s first, then his own.
Then they sat quietly together, alone in their separate thoughts.
Jack Frake thought of Etáin and Morland Hall, and contemplated decisions he must now make.
* * *
“You and your men are welcome to stay, Captain Frake,” said General Ward the next morning. “We will be moving soon to fortify Dorchester Heights.
We don’t think General Gage has enough strength left to do that now. Then we’ll have him trapped in Boston. He would need to rely on the navy for food and other supplies, for he won’t be able to reach the farms south of him. We’ll be in his way. We’ll either starve him into submission, or force him to leave.”
Jack Frake stood where he stood two mornings ago, in the headquarters, before Ward’s makeshift desk. Prescott, Putnam, and Stark were there, as well.
Ward added, “Colonel Stark here has testified to the bravery and ability of your Company.”
Jack Frake nodded to the colonel, then said, “When word of the battle here spreads, sir, you won’t lack for men to replace us. And when word of it reaches Virginia, we will be needed there, as well. Governor Dunmore is certain to raise hell. So, we would like to return home to make certain he doesn’t raise too much hell.”
The other officers permitted themselves to chuckle at the humor.
Jack Frake added, “My Company did not come here under the authority of a committee or the Virginia convention, sir. We came of our own free will.”
“I know,” said Ward. “Well, perhaps we may take consolation in the possibility that another Virginian may be appointed commander of all our forces by the Congress. At least, that’s the talk in my correspondence from Philadelphia, that he’s the favorite. I have a note from Mr. John Adams that his proposal to the Congress that the army here be regarded as the official army of the colonies was accepted, and that he himself will nominate Mr. Washington to be its commander-in-chief, if no one else will.”
Jack Frake replied, “Should that come about, sir, I am sure that Virginian will more than make up for the absence of my company.” He grinned in recollection. “He and I made a very brief acquaintance at the Monongahela, sir. He saved the British there.”
“Of course,” said Ward. “Well, he pulled their chestnuts out of the fire then. We can only hope now that he will toss them back in!”
Jack Frake grinned again, then said, “Well, sir, with your leave, my company will depart. We have a long march ahead of us.”
Ward rose to shake Jack Frake’s hand. “Thank you, sir.” Prescott, Putnam, and Stark came over to shake his hand, as well.
After Stark was finished, he scrutinized Jack Frake’s gorget, and frowned when he noted the indentation. “What a marksman that lobster-back
must have been!” he exclaimed. “Captain, you and your men can fight alongside me and mine any time!”
“Thank you, Colonel,” answered Jack Frake. “Perhaps we will. We would be honored to.” He stepped back, tipped his hat, and nodded to each of the men, then turned and left the room.
O
n July 5, the second Continental Congress adopted its own “olive branch” petition to send to London, in it professing allegiance to George the Third, hoping for reconciliation, and denying any Parliamentary authority over the colonies. George refused to receive the petition, and although the Commons did recognize it in November, it was subsequently rejected by Parliament as a foundation for reconciliation. The king had already declared the colonies in open rebellion. Congress replied to the proclamation with another expression of loyalty to him, but not to Parliament. George replied to that with a proclamation that closed the colonies to all commerce, effective March 1, 1776.
In the meantime, Washington was appointed unanimously by Congress as commander-in-chief of the army. Congress also voted $2 million in bills of credit to finance that army and naval matters. The “Twelve Confederated Colonies” subsequently rejected Lord North’s “olive branch” on July 31.
The mails, always slow, became slower and unpredictable. Most colonial “post boys,” once hired by royally appointed postmasters, now rode under the authority of a multitude of committees of safety up and down the seaboard, whose own couriers often carried and received mail, as well. Virtually the only item that British merchantmen could bring into the colonies now without it being subjected to taxes, embargos, or nonimportation measures, was mail. In Williamsburg, Alexander Purdie, publisher of one of the several
Virginia Gazettes
that had appeared in the region since the death of Joseph Royle, who published the government-controlled
Gazette
, was soon to be appointed postmaster by the Congress, together with Benjamin Franklin as postmaster general. What the Crown had taken away from Franklin, the Congress gave back.
At the end of the first week of July, a courier from West Point rode into Caxton and left mail at Safford’s Arms Tavern. Safford saw some envelopes addressed to Hugh Kenrick, and sent a serving boy with them to Meum Hall. Word of the battle of Breed’s Hill had traveled faster than the mails, however, and Safford anxiously looked for an envelope addressed to him or anyone else in Caxton from Jack Frake. But, there was nothing.
Hugh was in the fields with William Settle inspecting the reassembled
conduit when Rupert Beecroft came out and informed his employer that several envelopes had arrived. He thanked the man, and turned back to instructing Settle to replace or repair some of the bamboo lengths, which age had begun to crack in many places. He, too, was waiting to hear word from Jack Frake, and also from Otis Talbot and Novus Easley in Philadelphia. He had heard about Breed’s Hill, as well, and half hoped he would hear from Roger Tallmadge.
A letter from him was the first thing Hugh sought when he entered his study and looked at the envelopes. He found letters from Talbot and Easley, but he smiled when he found a letter from his friend. He breathed a sigh of relief, sat in his chair, and broke the seal on the letter. It was dated June 5.
“My dear Hugh,” it began, “something is afoot here, for the Americans have the town surrounded, and General Gage wishes to remove them once and for all. That is necessary because the army here will need fresh food and supplies from the countryside. And, he wishes to demonstrate the Crown’s power and determination. It is thought that the Americans plan to fortify the Charlestown peninsula, directly across from Boston here, and possibly turn one of the hills there closer to the town into a fort. From there they could bombard the town, though I do not think they would do anything that would injure a captive populace who have already suffered much from the port closing.
“Much to my surprise, a triumvirate of generals arrived with reinforcements last week on the
Cerberus
to assist General Gage. Soon after their arrival, I was instructed to have my company of orphans prepared to act as a reserve for an action most officers here can only guess at. It is rumored among the officers here that the ministry is not pleased with General Gage’s performance. He may very well be replaced, which would leave me stranded here. For if he is recalled, the other generals would certainly take no cognizance of my duress or of General Gage’s promise to release me from what has become an onerous duty…. ”
Tallmadge went on to discuss his wife Alice, from whom he had received several letters, and news she had written him about her family and London. Otis Talbot, the Kenrick family’s agent in Philadelphia, wrote excitedly about the Congress, as did Novus Easley, a Quaker merchant there with whom Hugh had done business in the past. And both merchants discussed the various ways they were managing to stay solvent in spite of the nonimportation measures.
The talk in Caxton was that the British had suffered great casualties at
Breed’s Hill. Roger’s letter allowed Hugh a sliver of hope that his friend was not one of them. And the question returned to him, as he read Tallmadge’s letter: Could he permit himself to remain a friend of Roger?
Other incidents filled the talk in Caxton’s shops and taverns: the departure of Arthur Stannard, tobacco agent for the London firm of Weddle, Umphlett and Company. Stannard and his family departed on a merchantman from Hampton in early June because the agent’s business had departed; the hogsheads of tobacco he usually bought and consigned to his firm in London were now going in other directions, all of them illegal by Crown law. And the planters who remained loyal to him were planting less and less tobacco and devoting more of their acreage instead to flax, hemp and various food crops.
The nonimportation measures adopted first by Virginia and other colonies and then by the Congress erased the tobacco trade and any reason for Stannard or any other British agent to remain in the colonies. Stannard wrote to his firm earlier in the year stating his intention to leave Virginia, “for the trade has more than vanished, it is denied me, and my presence is no longer justified. Indeed, my presence is fraught with indignities, for wherever I go now I am treated with a begrudgement that borders on base hostility. I feel fortunate that I have not been made the object of the tar and feather, as some of our countrymen have been in these parts. I must leave with my family before we are perhaps arrested and confined in a jail to await an unknown fate at the hands of reckless outlaws.”
Stannard, now the father of two sons and a daughter, neglected to mention that his family consisted of Winifred, his wife, and the daughter and youngest son. His oldest son, Joseph, graduated from the Philadelphia Academy, had become a lawyer, and was now on the staff of Charles Thomson, secretary to the Congress. He called himself a Virginian. The embittered father disowned him, and refused to discuss him with family or friends.
Stannard had sold his house and the contents of his shop to a merchant in Fredericksburg. Lucas Rittles, the grocer and his next-door tradesman, had bought the valued pattern books that Stannard had used for so many years to sell his stock of miscellanies and domestic wares.
Hugh felt left out of everything. He could not attend the convention in Richmond on July 17, for Queen Anne County had neglected to elect delegates to it. That was the doing of Reece Vishonn, now the senior magistrate of the county court, who exerted great influence among the farmers and
planters, and had discouraged such an election. Hugh could not join Jack Frake and his Company on the march to Boston, for he had only just returned from England, and Meum Hall required his attention.
The next morning, as he was reading account books over breakfast, Ann Vere, the housekeeper, informed Hugh that several gentlemen had arrived and wished to speak with him on “a matter of utmost importance.” She mentioned the names of the visitors.
“Show them into the study, Mrs. Vere,” he answered. “I will be there shortly.”
“Shall I prepare refreshments, Mr. Kenrick?” asked Mrs. Vere.
Hugh thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “No, Mrs. Vere. I suspect it is not a hospitable call.” He was aware that the county’s leading citizens had been avoiding him.
When he entered the study, he saw Reece Vishonn sitting with Edgar Cullis and Carver Gramatan. With them were Moses Corbin, the mayor of Caxton, and Cabal Tippet, sheriff of the county, both of whom continued in their offices in a political purgatory, since Crown authority had been suspended. They stood deferentially at the sides. Hugh went to his desk and sat down. He studied the men arraigned before him. He had the odd but certain sense that they were all cringing in his presence.
After an exchange of cordial greetings, Hugh said, “Come to your business, sirs.”
Vishonn cleared his throat and announced, “We will not send delegates to Richmond for this third convention, Mr. Kenrick. Mr. Cullis here will certainly not attend. When Governor Dunmore reclaims the Palace and his authority, this county, at least, will be spared punishment for rash and treasonous actions, as many others will not be. We have persuaded many freeholders that it is in their best interests to remain loyal, and, to our minds,
patriotic
.” He paused. “We have sent His Excellency a note asserting our sentiments and our loyalty.”
Hugh frowned. He toyed idly with the brass top that was always there. “Was that to forestall an assault on Caxton by one of his warships?”
Carver Gramatan frowned and asked, “Why do you think he would wish to assault us, Mr. Kenrick?”
“Because if he does not reclaim the Palace and his authority, he will become a marauder. No better than a pirate.”
Carver Gramatan merely clucked his tongue in disagreement and in distaste.
“Frankly, yes,” braved Vishonn. “That was one of the purposes of our note to His Excellency. We wish to avoid tragic…confusion. In our note to him we also offered whatever assistance he may require and that is within our power to provide.”
Hugh shrugged, then sighed. “Much of this is not news to me, Mr. Vishonn. And what news it is, does not startle me. You must know that. What is the purpose of this visit?”
Cullis cleared his throat and said, “We are forming our own committee of safety, sir, in order to counter that of the Virginia convention and any in the neighboring counties. Mr. Corbin and Mr. Tippet here have agreed to sit on that committee. We also thought it prudent to advise you that we have begun recruiting men for a militia to oppose the one that departed here some weeks ago, led by Mr. Frake.”
Hugh let go of the top and rose from his desk to pace leisurely behind it. He asked, “Do you know the particulars of the Quebec Act, sirs?”
Vishonn glanced warily at Cullis and Gramatan, then said, “We are acquainted with them. Why do you ask?”
“That Act proclaims Parliamentary supremacy over Canada in all matters whatsoever, grants it no legislative assembly or power, denies Canadians the right of taxation and governance of their internal affairs, authorizes the trial of civil cases without juries, and confirms the Catholic Church as the ‘official’ religion. There is all that, in addition to the Act’s annexation to Quebec of all territory west of the transmontane. Land, I needn’t remind you, Mr. Vishonn, already claimed by Virginia and Virginians. Much of it claimed by you.”
“What is your point, sir?”
“That the Quebec Act is very likely a model for how the Crown wishes to reorganize all the other colonies, so that they will be less troublesome and more servile. Surely, that must have occurred to you. Can you imagine Virginia subjected to the same enslaving strictures?”
“Yes, sir, I do,” said Cullis. The other visitors grunted agreement. “But we would not asperse the Act with such a description as you put on it.”
“I have not aspersed it, sir. I have described it. In the description lies the aspersion.” Before any of his visitors could reply, Hugh asked, “How would you expect to profit from such a usurpation, gentlemen? Perhaps, Mr. Cullis, you still expect to be appointed to a Governor’s Council. And you, Mr. Vishonn? Perhaps the Crown would see its way to recognizing your claims.”
The planter looked at the floor. Cullis looked away. “Our loyalty would be our reward, sir,” he said, “
and
it would be rewarded.”
Hugh stopped pacing, and his glance fell on the caricature that his father and Dogmael Jones had placed in British newspapers years ago that satirized the Stamp Act, pinned to the wall beneath the framed collective portrait of the Society of the Pippin. Cullis had helped him distribute copies of it in Williamsburg during the Stamp Act debates. “Doubtless, a loyalty rewarded with bones, table scraps, and a pat on the head.”
Cullis’s face grew red and he shot up out of his chair.
Hugh shook his head in warning. “Do not challenge me to swords or pistols, sir! I did not invite you here! If anyone is offended by words spoken here, it is I! Every one of you shames the name of Virginia! You are all moved by a Brunswick stew of compromise, fear, and practicality!” Unbidden, but welcome nonetheless, a phrase from long ago flashed through Hugh’s mind, a phrase employed by Patrick Henry in his speech for the Resolves and directed against those men in the House who sat in fear of the Crown. He added with derisive calmness, “I am surprised that none of you has donned the livery of menials. That would be your proper attire.”
Carver Gramatan also rose. “I have had enough!” he said to Vishonn and Cullis. “I warned you it would be useless to come here!” He collected his hat and stormed out of the study.
Sheriff Tippet took a tentative step forward and gestured in supplication with a hand. “Sir, we have only come here to invite you to sit on the committee. You are respected throughout the county, and your presence on the committee would serve to, well…” Tippet stood there, at a loss for words.
Hugh grinned devilishly, and glanced at Vishonn and Cullis. “Serve as a dollop of ‘moderation,’ perhaps, Mr. Tippet?” He saw in Vishonn’s and Cullis’s expressions memory of the day, years ago, when they had called on him here to persuade him to run for burgess. “These gentlemen know too well the consequences of such an invitation. You see them all about you now. I must take some credit for them.” He smiled at Sheriff Tippet. “Invite me at your own risk, sirs.”