The Rifleman Read online

  In less than an hour of digging in the frozen rocks we discovered the lead-covered chest described in Lieutenant Colonel ­Newman’s letter. The container, apparently intact, and the document dated 25 August 1814, were delivered to Dr. Scot Marsh, Curator of the Museum of the Shenandoah Valley in Winchester, VA.

  Since then, Dr. Marsh; the Clarke County Historical Association; archivists at Anderson House, Headquarters for the Society of the Cincinnati; and student scholars at Patrick Henry College; the College of William & Mary, and Shenandoah University have helped to interpret Capt. Newman’s hand-written work and the signed affidavits of his fellow Riflemen. With their assistance we have discerned the following:

  1. The lead-clad chest was completely intact and its contents, in good condition, are as described in Lieutenant Colonel Nathanael Newman’s letter dated 25 August 1814.

  2. Lieutenant Colonel Nathanael Newman, the author of the letter, was my great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather. According to family records, he was born in Winchester, VA on 7 August 1758, and is listed on the muster rolls of those who served with Daniel Morgan in the Revolution and afterward. He was left-handed and I am directly descended from his youngest son, Peter.

  3. Early on 26 August 1814, five days after he apparently deposited the lead-sealed container in the “cairn” at the foot of the overlook at Snickers Gap, Lieutenant Colonel Newman, leading a contingent of Virginia Riflemen, was ferried across the Potomac from Mount Vernon to the Maryland shore to help defend Fort Warburton, now known as Fort Washington.

  4. That night, Lieutenant Colonel Newman was severely wounded in the head by shrapnel from British guns or rockets during Royal Navy Commodore James Gordon’s bombardment of the Fort. The following day, after the well-documented, cowardly surrender of the bastion by Maryland Militia Capt. Samuel Dyson, the Virginians who were killed and wounded in the attack were conveyed by British seamen to the western shore of the Potomac at Mount Vernon. Those unscathed were taken prisoner by the British invasion fleet.

  5. On 29 August 1814, the unconscious Lieutenant Colonel Newman was loaded on a wagon for transport to Winchester. He never fully regained consciousness for more than a few minutes at a time. He died at his home in Winchester, VA on 8 January 1815—never knowing of the Christmas Eve Treaty at Ghent, ending what he called the “third British Invasion of our shores”—or Andrew Jackson’s defeat of the “Redcoats” that day at New Orleans; and unwitting that his sons never recovered the lead chest he had carefully hidden in “the cairn beneath Washington’s Lookout atop Snicker’s Gap.”

  6. The Official U.S. Government Documents secured by ­Jonathan Pleasonton, including the “Original Copy of the Declaration of Independence” Lieutenant Colonel Newman had sent to Leesburg with Lieutenant Binns, were recovered by State Department agents in November 1814 and returned to Washington.

  7. When Nathanael Newman drew his last breath, he was not yet fifty-seven years old. Perhaps ironically, the day we discovered his lead-clad chest full of Revolutionary War documents, was the 200th anniversary of his death.

  His story—and riveting accounts of his exploits with those he called his “beloved Riflemen”—are on the following pages, all extracted and edited from the 1,837 pages of Nathanael ­Newman’s contemporaneous journals and notes, his “Record of Service” and the “Sworn Testimony” of sixteen of “The Riflemen” with whom he served during what he called, “America’s Fight for Independence.”

  Lieutenant Colonel Newman’s journals, his “Record of Service,” and the affidavits of his comrades in arms are presented herewith in chronologic sequence and dated as he intended. Though he did not do so, I have assembled them in chapters, with headings I created, and added footnotes so present-day readers can more easily place locations and events.

  Though Nathanael Newman was well educated and articulate, for modern linguistic clarity we updated his grammar, capitalization, punctuation, and dialogue while trying to remain true to his original record. For your understanding as to how our language has evolved, his 25 August 1814 letter to his children is presented as written on the previous six pages.

  We have not yet discovered who sent the unsigned, undated missive addressed to “General Newman: This is important. Please investigate” document to my office on 8 January 2018.

  Peter J. Newman

  Major General, USMC (Ret.)

  Bluemont, Virginia

  5 February 2019

  CHAPTER ONE

  A DEATH IN THE FAMILY

  Winchester, Virginia

  Saturday, April 22nd, 1775

  It was mid-afternoon and the Shenandoah was swollen from three days of heavy rain when a single mud-spattered rider, mounted on a big bay gelding, arrived at the river’s east bank. In a loud voice he hailed us to bring the ferry over from the western shore.

  David Casselman, Jr., just a year older than I, opened the toll ferry service in August ’74 as a means of producing revenue for his large family. The ferry was a profitable venture until this past January when an early thaw flooded the Shenandoah and sent his rafts tumbling in the torrent all the way to Harpers Ferry.

  In February this year, David asked me to help him repair and run the ferry while I waited to start the autumn term at the College of William & Mary in Williamsburg. We reconstructed the pulley system and built two rafts—one small for a horse and rider and another large enough for a wagon and a team of horses or oxen. The fare was one shilling for the small barge, five for the large ferry.

  We were about to tell the rider to wait until morning in hopes the river would subside overnight when I recognized him as one of the Trusted Couriers for the Frederick County Secret Committee of Correspondence and Safety. Though the river was flowing faster than safe passage could be assured, we hitched the two draft horses to their traces and I rode the ferry across while David tended the tow.

  During the transit I introduced myself and asked the messenger from whence he had come, but he only replied, “This is my ninth horse and fourth day and night of hard riding.”

  When we arrived on the western shore, he handed David a shilling for the toll, and asked, “Where are your fathers, lads?”

  David replied, “They are meeting at Glen Owen1 with Pastor John Peter Gabriel Muhlenberg, the chairman of Shenandoah County Secret Committee, and Rev. Charles Mynn Thruston, chairman of our local committee.”

  As he re-mounted his steed, the weary rider shook his head and said sternly, “You should not mention the committees to those you do not know for certain. There are Tory spies everywhere.”

  I interjected, “We understand, sir, but I recognized you as a committee courier.”

  He nodded and said, “Best not mention that to others, either. These are dangerous times.”

  Then turning to David, he asked, “Glen Owen is the place your family bought from Colonel and Mrs. Washington, right?”

  “Yes, sir, just go west on the turnpike. It’s on your right, about three miles. May I inquire, why are you seeking our fathers?”

  “I’m sorry lads, but I cannot speak to others about this matter. Only to them.”

  While David and I used the horse team to drag the ferries out of the water onto the west bank of the river, my curiosity gnawed at me like a hunting dog chewing on a knucklebone.

  We arrived at Glen Owen just after dark. Our fathers were alone, seated before the fire when we entered the home. David’s father immediately said, “Come with me, son,” and they departed the room together with a male slave named Jonathan, leaving my very somber father and me alone.

  My father, at forty-seven, was a much-respected architect and well known from Williamsburg to the Shenandoah Valley. By the standards of the day we were wealthy—with a comfortable home and stable on a cobbled street in Winchester.

  Though he never spoke of it, others told me and my two older brothers, Joshua and Paul, of our father’s cou
rage, tenacity, and skill as a Virginia militiaman on Lord Braddock’s ill-fated campaign to capture Fort Duquesne in the summer of 1755. Perhaps it was that experience that caused him to spend so much time teaching the three of us how to ride, shoot, hunt, and live in the wilderness.

  Our father was known to be a wise and generous man, but his cheerful demeanor diminished considerably following our ­mother’s death from Ague2 in 1771 after returning to Winchester from visiting her sister’s home in North Carolina. Father was in Charlottesville at the time, working with Mr. Jefferson at Monticello. It fell to Joshua to make the mournful ride to deliver the news to Father while Paul and I buried our mother.

  Now, as he motioned me into the chair vacated by Mr. Casselman, I perceived our father was once again greatly saddened.

  Without preamble he said, “Nathanael, I was just informed by the courier you met at the ferry your brother Joshua was killed on Wednesday in a skirmish with British troops in Concord, ­Massachusetts.”

  Denial is the first response to the delivery of terrible news. I recall drawing a deep breath and saying, “Oh dear God. How can this be? In Joshua’s letter we received on Monday he said he was preparing for his final examinations and would be home next month after graduating in just three years from Harvard.”

  Father nodded and said quietly, “All true. But your brother Joshua was more than a student. He was also a secret member of Boston’s Committee of Correspondence. Samuel Adams, the founder of the whole committee network, personally asked Joshua to join shortly after your brother arrived for his first year at Harvard.”

  “Did you know Josh was part of this?”

  “Yes. Joshua told me about it when he came home for Christmas that first year. He brought with him a letter from Mr. Adams—also a Harvard alumnus—urging me to encourage members of our House of Burgesses to form similar committees in Virginia. It took six months for our legislators to bring it to a vote, but thanks to the skills of Messer’s Richard Henry Lee and Patrick Henry, the measure passed and now there are near-identical committees throughout all thirteen colonies.”

  “But how did Josh get killed by British soldiers in this place you called Concord?”

  “Because he could ride and shoot, Joshua was a Trusted Courier for a surveillance group headed by a gentleman named Paul Revere. The messenger you met at the ferry told me that very early Wednesday morning Mr. Revere summoned his couriers to alert Patriots in Lexington and Concord—two towns about fifteen miles west of Boston—700 British troops were coming to confiscate militia supplies of arms, gunpowder, and lead shot.

  “There were two fights, the first in Lexington and a second that afternoon at a bridge near Concord. Joshua was apparently killed in this second engagement. Mr. Adams was kind enough to dispatch the courier with this dreadful message that very evening.” Father then handed me a folded piece of parchment.

  Concord, Massachusetts, 19th, April, 1775

  To Mr. James Henry Newman, Esq.

  My Dear Sir:

  It is my sad duty to inform you that your brave Patriot son, Joshua Newman, was Killed in Action today at Concord, Massachusetts while serving as a Trusted Courier in Mr. Paul Revere’s Special Unit of my Committee. Your son was struck in the head by a musket ball fired by the British Invasion Force at a bridge being defended by our Minutemen.

  I was there and can confirm Joshua died the instant he was shot. He and the other Patriots who fell in Concord will be interred with honors on the morrow at First Parish Church Burial Ground with Rev. William Emerson, Sr. presiding.

  Please know Joshua was a courageous soldier in the cause of Liberty. He will be dearly missed by all who love Freedom.

  With my prayers our Merciful Lord will assuage your grief, I remain,

  Your very humble servant,

  Samuel Adams

  After reading the letter, I could think of nothing to say. So I stood and wrapped my arms around my father and we wept together.

  Since it was late and raining again, the Casselmans insisted Father and I dine with them and remain overnight. When supper was finished, Mrs. Margaret Casselman hustled David’s six younger siblings upstairs, leaving David Sr. and Jr. and my father and me alone at the table.

  After some talk about the ground being too wet to plant and a brief discussion of plans my father drew up for an addition to their home, Mr. Casselman Sr. said, “James, in the morning, let me send a slave and an extra horse with Nathanael so he can get to Williamsburg and tell Paul about Joshua before he learns about what happened from others. Word of what transpired in Massachusetts on the 19th will spread very quickly through the committees.”

  Father thought for a moment, shook his head, and said, “No. Thank you, David. I will go myself. I’ll leave after Rev. Thruston’s service tomorrow. Paul is near to finishing his second year at ­William & Mary and I’m concerned this will be a distraction from his examinations. I will stay there until he completes them and we’ll ride home together.”

  “Do you wish to have me go with you, Father?” I asked.

  “No, Nathanael. We shall go together to Rev. Thruston’s service in the morning and I will ride from there to Williamsburg. I want you to stay here and meet on Monday with the commander of one of our Frederick County militia companies. He was here this afternoon for the meeting with Pastor Muhlenberg,3 and Rev. Thruston4 when the courier arrived to deliver the terrible news of what happened to Joshua in Massachusetts.”

  Despite a gulp from the cup of cider before me, my mouth was dry when I asked, “Does this mean there will be a war?”

  Father nodded and said, “Yes. This means war. And it will require the service of every brave Patriot good with a rifle. You are an expert marksman with a rifle. You are fit. You ride well and have grown up hunting. And now you have reason to fight beyond fidelity to cause or colors. Our enemies killed your brother.”

  “With whom do you want me to meet on Monday?”

  “Captain Daniel Morgan.”

  Endnotes

  1.The Glen Owen Farm owned by the Casselman family in 1775 was, as described here, between the Shenandoah River and what is now Berryville, the Clarke County, VA Seat of Government.

  It should not be confused with Glenowen Farm in Loudoun County, Va.

  2.Ague, and Fever and Ague: archaic terms for what we now call malaria, transmitted by parasitic protozoa carried by infected mosquitos.

  3.Rev. John Peter Gabriel Muhlenberg, ordained Lutheran and Anglican clergyman. In 1775 he was Rector of the Lutheran Church in Woodstock, VA, a Lieutenant Colonel in the Virginia Militia, and the Chairman of the Virginia House of Burgesses Secret Committee of Safety.

  4.Rev. Charles Mynn Thruston, ordained Anglican minister; Rector of Frederick Parish [one church and seven chapels]; Chairman Frederick County Committee of Correspondence and Safety.

  CHAPTER TWO

  FAREWELL AND A CALL TO DUTY

  Battletown, Virginia1

  Sunday, April 23rd,1775

  Father and I arose early to a bright and clear Sabbath dawn. Before the sun crested the Blue Ridge, we thanked the Casselmans for their generous hospitality, saddled our horses, and were headed west for Battletown. There we watered our steeds and headed three miles south for the Chapel at Cunningham’s Tavern where Rev. Charles Mynn Thruston was to preach.

  We arrived a full half-hour before the service was set to begin, but the log structure was already packed to overflowing. Before we could even dismount, neighbors and others we did not know, surrounded Father and me.

  Somehow, all around us had already heard about Joshua’s death in faraway Massachusetts. Along with sincere expressions of condolence, the word “murdered” was oft spoken. Also in the crowd were “Loyalists” muttering that my brother deserved what happened for having joined a “rebellion” against “King George, God’s appointed ruler.”

  Rev. Thruston, garbed in
his vestments, saw the commotion and rescued us from the crowd of mostly well-intentioned, sympathetic parishioners. He escorted us to the tiny vestry just off the chapel’s altar and sent one of his vestrymen to save us seats in the front row of benches.

  The Chapel at Cunningham’s Tavern was in those days a fairly primitive place of worship. Unlike many of the city churches in places like Williamsburg and even Winchester, the chapel did not have a pipe organ. As we entered the nave, two men with fiddles and an attractive young woman with a flute played Charles Wesley’s hymn, “Love’s Redeeming Work Is Done” as the congregation sang the words:

  Love’s redeeming work is done, fought the fight, the battle won.

  . . . Death in vain forbids him rise; Christ has opened paradise.

  Lives again our glorious King; where, O death, is now thy sting?

  dying once, he all doth save, where thy victory, O grave?

  Soar we now where Christ has led, following our exalted Head;

  Made like Him, like Him we rise, ours the cross, the grave, the skies . . .

  The service conducted by Rev. Thruston was unlike any I have ever attended. Here, just one week after Easter, when we celebrated the Resurrection of our Savior, he chose to remind us of “Our Christian Duty.” The Old and New Testament readings weren’t about forgiveness or turning the other cheek. This was both a funeral service for my brother and a call to arms against those who killed him.

  For the Old Testament reading, Rev. Thruston chose chapter 1, verses 6–9, from the book of Joshua, my brother’s namesake:

  Be strong and of a good courage: for unto this people shalt thou divide for an inheritance the land, which I sware unto their fathers to give them.

  Only be thou strong and very courageous, that thou mayest observe to do according to all the law, which Moses my servant commanded thee: turn not from it to the right hand or to the left, that thou mayest prosper whithersoever thou goest.