Читать книгу Listen, the Drum!: A Novel of Washington's First Command - Robert Edmond Alter - Страница 8

There was the creek and there was the forest, both as old as time itself. Then there was the clearing and the storehouse, but they were only youngsters. The clearing had been cleared by workmen for the Ohio Company, and these men had built the storehouse for that company, and all in the name of trade. But now the scene had changed; now Wills Creek had become an animated camp for warfare.

Shad Holly led his little troop through the forest and into camp. There they paused and looked around with the bright fervent eye of youth.

Next to the storehouse was a small office building, and they were the only two constructions that looked permanent, or even habitable. There was a stretch of hutments—half-formed log cabins chinked with mud and roofed with canvas, and some of them had stubby chimneys made of sticks and mud and some didn’t. Then there was a collection of baggy-looking old tents. And a small artillery park; Matt counted a dozen light cannons, swivel guns mostly.

There were wagons and unmatched teams and profane-mouthed teamsters and greedy-eyed sutlers; soldiers—militia for the most part, backwoodsmen, scouts; here and there your eye would catch a bright dab of blue faced with scarlet—the blue-coated militia officers. And Indians, a spattering of them, feathered, unpainted, inscrutable spectators wondering what the enigmatical white men were up to. Men drilling, sergeants swearing, wagons rolling, riders coming, going . . .

It was a lusty place! Matt loved it. But Harry was not impressed. He grounded his musket and leaned on the barrel, staring at the camp activity with cool detachment.

“There you are,” he said quietly. “Washington’s warriors: illiterate backwoodsmen, as ragged as Falstaff’s army. Trash.”

Anger ignited in Matt’s head and he opened his mouth to admonish Harry, when a blue-coated ensign stepped from the office building and gave them a shout.

“You men! Where do you belong? What company are you?”

Shad, as amiable as a big bear heading for a honeycomb, led his companions over to the ensign. “First Pennsylvania Company, major. Cap’n Holly reporting!” he informed the junior-grade officer.

“Did you say First Pennsylvania?”

Shad nodded gaily. “The last, too.”

“Where’s the rest of you?”

Shad looked behind and around himself and scratched his head, tilting his cocked hat all askew. “You mean there’s supposed to be more?” he asked. “First I heard of it.”

“Come, come, my man!” the ensign snapped impatiently. “What is your business here? What is it you want?”

“Want! Want! We want a help Georgie whip them bug- and frog-eaters, that’s what we want! Ain’t that why all these other fellas is here? Or have we come to the wrong place?” Shad looked at Matt regretfully.

“Maybe we made a mistake, Matty. Maybe we just thought this was an army camp. Maybe it’s only the Ladies’ Wildlife Study Group. Say, you recall them marigolds we seen back in the woods a bit? I bet these here ladies would like to know about them! I bet these here—”

“Well!” a voice modulated with amusement cut in. “I thought I recognized your tone, Master Holly. Have you come to volunteer?”

Washington, in blue and buff and a tricorn hat, stood on the porch of the office smiling down at Shad.

“Colonel, I’m mighty glad to see you!” Shad bawled. “That’s what I been trying to explain to this Tidewater soldier: we’re the First Pennsylvania Volunteers!”

Washington lowered his head, swallowing a smile. “Ensign Peyroney, I’m acquainted with two of these men. I believe we shall accept the services of the First Pennsylvania contingent.”

“One moment,” Harry said sharply. “This man, Holly, has misrepresented himself as our officer. I want it understood that we are not under his command. We are independent volunteers.”

Washington studied the young volunteer for a stilled moment, then nodded abruptly. “Understood,” he said.

But Ensign Peyroney was still far from satisfied. He pointed to Tammy, saying, “Sir, that man’s wearing a sword. We can’t have that. A sword’s an emblem of authority. Only officers can wear swords.”

Tammy moved back a step, clutching the hilt of his old claymore.

“I’ll not give up my father’s claymore,” he murmured adamantly.

Shad gave his cocked hat a dangerous forward shove.

“Now look here,” he demanded. “If that sword was good enough to tan some English at Culloden Moor, it’s good enough to tan some French in Ohio, ain’t it? My goodness, what you expect that boy to fight ’em with—naughty words? daisy stems? dirt clods? That sword belonged to his daddy and—”

Washington held up his hand to stop the hurricane of words.

“One moment. I think I understand the situation.”

Matt had the impression that Washington’s right eye made an imperceptible wink.

“This young man either volunteers to serve us with his father’s sword, or else he refuses to volunteer. Is that correct?”

Shad opened his mouth and blinked. Then he said, “That’s right, colonel!”

Washington turned to the ensign. “Well, Mr. Peyroney, there you have it. We need volunteers desperately, can’t afford to reject a single man; and this young man seems to have us on the spot. I suggest we accept him, sword and all.”

Peyroney attempted to retain the last vestiges of his weakening authority. He pointed to Shad with a beseeching look.

“Well, but surely, colonel, that man’s gorget . . .”

Washington, Matt thought, was a good politician: he knew when to strike and when to pet. He smiled genially at Shad, saying:

“Quite right, Mr. Peyroney. A gorget on an enlisted man is too much. You agree, Private Holly?”

Shad wasn’t a bad politician either. He’d gained a big victory for a friend; he could now afford a minor defeat for himself. He grinned and removed the silver-plated gorget from his throat and offered it to the dour-faced Peyroney.

Washington turned away with a smile. “Let us get on to the Articles,” he said.

Ensign Peyroney sat behind a desk, Washington standing at his elbow, while the Pennsylvania volunteers stood before the desk.

“Name?” Peyroney asked.

“Stefen Caspary,” Stefen said.

Washington raised an eyebrow. “French?” he asked politely.

Stefen grinned. “Twice removed, sir. American born.”

“Sign here,” Peyroney instructed. “Name?”

“Tam—Thomas Ferguson.” And Tammy signed the Articles.

“Harold Curry,” Harry said, reaching for the pen.

Washington studied the somber youth again. “Is General Curry—”

“Yes,” Harry said stiffly. “My father.”

Then Matt signed and then it was Shad’s turn.

“Name?”

“Shad Holly.”

“Full name.”

“Shad Holly.”

Peyroney looked vexed. “No, no. What is the Shad derivative of? I mean, it’s a nickname, isn’t it?”

“Well—” Shad hedged.

“Shadrach, isn’t it?” Washington prompted with a straight face.

“Well—” Shad said reluctantly, “I guess so. Yeah, that’s right.”

Stefen laughed and all of them grinned, except Harry who sniffed disdainfully. Even the sour Peyroney looked happy. “Shadrach,” he played with the name vengefully.

“Officially,” Washington said, “they’ll be posted to Captain Hoag’s company, Mr. Peyroney. But for the moment I want them assigned to special duty.” He turned to the five volunteers.

“The ponderous wheel of army red tape has us bogged down. I was promised enough wagons and teams to transport the army to the Forks. To date I’ve received only a third of what is required. However, there’s no sense in wasting this waiting period in idle time.” His eyes picked out Harry.

“As a soldier’s son you undoubtedly realize the value in having an advanced supply depot ready and waiting for an advancing army. This position, Wills Creek, is the starting point. What we need is a halfway station.” He turned to a large map tacked on the board wall.

“I am desperately short of officers. I need a capable man to lead an advance party, select a site for a supply dump, secure the supplies, and fortify the position if necessary. Can you do that?”

“Of course,” Harry said promptly.

It bothered Matt that Harry never once said “sir” to Washington. There was something almost insulting about his lack of respect.

“You understand this is an impromptu action. I can’t offer you a rating at this time. But perhaps later a field commission might be—”

“That isn’t necessary,” Harry said.

Washington nodded and told Peyroney to draw up a requisition. Then, to Harry, “Report to Captain Stephen, Curry,” he ordered. “He’ll arrange your supply train and assign you your men. Dismiss.”

Harry didn’t offer a salute. He glanced at Matt soberly and walked quickly out of the room. Washington turned to Shad.

“You’re well acquainted with the wilderness between here and the Forks. I want you to select and blaze a trail for me, keeping as near to the Youghiogheny as possible. Understand that whatever course you decide upon will be used by the army. And remember that we will be transporting cannons and wagons. You may take the ‘twice-removed’ Frenchman and the ‘once-removed’ Scotsman as your assistants.”

Shad grunted and pawed at his face and blinked at the wall map.

“I got you, colonel. But you realize that the only known trail is that old traders’ path ’tween here and the Forks, and as a military road it would make a durn fine hairpin for some lady’s coff-your.”

“Yes, I know. But I hope you can find me something better.”

Shad’s gorget was on the desk acting as a paperweight, and Shad absent-mindedly picked it up and dropped it into his capacious pocket, oddly enough, just when Washington and Peyroney happened to be studying the map on the wall behind them. Shad grinned at Matt.

“Well, Matty, it looks like the soft camp life for you. You think of me out in all that rain and muck and whatnot when you’re tucked away cozy-like in one a these nice army cots!”

“Good luck, Shad,” Matt said sincerely. Then he shook Tammy’s and Stefen’s hands, and they all smiled at each other—though Matt’s smile felt a bit forced. It appeared that Shad was right: all his friends were being sent forth into the wilderness to face unknown adventure, while he was to remain in camp and cool his heels. It was a far cry from his youthful idea of stirring warfare.

The three new pathfinders saluted Washington and tramped gaily from the room. Matt watched them go with a contrite sense of jealousy. A moment later, at Washington’s request, Peyroney followed them, and the young colonel sat himself behind the desk and smiled at Matt.

“Well, Burnett, did you think I’d abandoned you?”

“No sir,” Matt lied politely.

Washington laughed. “Don’t try to play the proper British officer; it doesn’t suit you. You’re too much like me—we need action, movement, men on the march and hang the consequences!”

Suddenly he sat up and slapped his hands together fretfully.

“Sometimes I think this waiting game will drive me to insanity! I’m only second in command, you know. And I’m stuck here until Colonel Fry comes with the remainder of the army. Bogged here with one hundred and fifty untrained men, while swarms of French and Indians are piling up at our backs!” Then he sighed and shrugged it off.

“Well, we do what we can. I saved you till last because I want you as my courier. I need a man I can trust, a man of intelligence, and a man who knows this wilderness. You best meet the qualifications.

“You remember Half King? This morning I received one of his wampum runners, with this message: ‘Come to our assistance as soon as possible or we are lost and shall never meet again. I speak it in the grief of my heart.’ ” Washington smiled wryly.

“What this overly dramatic message actually portends is that the French have been seen embarking on the Allegheny at Venango. So, I have two missions for you: one, find Half King and say to him, ‘Your friend and brother is coming; be strong and patient.’ You see, Burnett, to help Half King is to help ourselves. We’re going to need him . . . need everyone we can lay our hands on, before this is over.”

“Yes, sir. And the second mission?”

Washington looked at him soberly. “The second will very possibly drop you right into the lap of the French and Indians. I’m sending you to the Forks of the Ohio, to see if the rumor of the French advance is true or false.”