The Rifleman Read online

  When I hesitated to respond, Rev. Thruston said, “I respect your loyalty and discretion, young man. You have maturity beyond your years. You are wise to keep your father’s counsel to yourself. Let me tell you my assessment—and it’s the same as Patrick Henry’s.

  “The Continental Congress didn’t do as much as many of us hoped. But they did agree to a total boycott of all British goods—which went into effect on December 1st last year in every colony except New York. The Congress also informed Parliament that if the ‘Intolerable Acts’ are not rescinded by September this year, the American colonies will ban all exports to Britain. And finally, the Congress unanimously agreed to meet again next month in Philadelphia.”

  Before I could ask any more questions, we rounded the bend in the road and could see a crowd of about 250 men—and perhaps four-score womenfolk—gathered in small groups talking among themselves on the meadow in front of the Shenandoah Store. There must have been 100 horses tethered to hitching posts and several dozen wagons and several fine carriages being tended by servants and slaves who were carrying water buckets to all the animals.

  As Rev. Thruston and I dismounted, one of Mr. Allason’s Negro servants came up, took the reins of our horses, and said to the pastor, “Captain Morgan wants to see you inside as soon as you arrive, if you please, sir.”

  As we waded through the crowd with my dog at heel, I noticed most of the men were tall, “rangy” fellows, dressed in hunting clothes like my linsey-woolsey blouse, leather leggin’s, and moccasins. There were a few in fine shirts and trousers and wearing shoes and stockings. Those I could see were all armed with muskets or rifles and everyone appeared to be considerably older than I. Though I had never seen any of these fellows in church, they all seemed to know Rev. Thruston.

  We were escorted into the “great room” of the tavern and as my eyes adapted to the darkness, I could see a very tall, powerfully built man seated at a table near the fireplace talking quietly with three others. They were all wearing hunting attire. As Rev. Thruston walked to the table, the big man stood, smiled, shook the pastor’s hand, and said to the others, “The reverend—he pronounced it ‘rev-ar-end’—is here, let’s begin . . .”

  The group stood and spoke quietly among themselves for a few moments while Casey and I waited out of earshot as my father taught me to do. At one point, Rev. Thruston pointed toward me and my dog and everyone glanced in our direction, then everyone chuckled. I was glad it was dark enough the others couldn’t see the color rise in my cheeks.

  As they began to file out onto the porch, I noticed the big man had a tomahawk and a pistol in his belt. He grabbed a rifle propped by the door, put his hand on my shoulder, and said, “So you are Nathanael, James Henry Newman’s youngest son.”

  I nodded and said, “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. You look like your father, only bigger. I’m Captain Daniel Morgan.” He smiled and I could see the scar on his cheek wrinkle as he did so. Then he said, “That’s a good-looking dog. Stay near me, outside on the porch. We’ll talk later, but first, I have some news for everyone.”

  Endnotes

  1.Bricks were often used as ballast in the bilges of wooden sailing vessels. If a ship was deemed no longer seaworthy, before it was broken up the bricks were removed and used to cobble streets and for constructing “fine buildings.”

  2.The town at the intersection of the Winchester Turnpike and Charlestown Road is part of land first granted by the Crown to Captain Isaac Pennington in 1734. George Washington surveyed the property in October 1750. In 1754 Pennington sold it to Colonel John Hite who operated a tavern at the intersection. By 1765 when Hite sold the tract and the tavern to his son-in-law, Major Charles Smith, the little settlement was called “Battletown,” a sobriquet reflecting the behavior of many of the tavern’s rowdy patrons, one of whom was Daniel Morgan. In 1797 Major Smith’s son John sold twenty acres of the property to Benjamin Berry who divided it into lots for a town. He changed the name of the settlement to “Berryville” the following year. In 1836 Berryville was designated as the county seat of Clarke County.

  3.Rev. Jonathan Mayhew, the Congregationalist Pastor of Boston’s Old West Church, first used the phrase “No taxation without representation” in a sermon in 1750. The discourse was subsequently widely printed in the Colonies, London, and Paris.

  4.The “tea dumping” in Boston Harbor on the night of 16 December 1773 was not referred to as “The Boston Tea Party” until after the war of 1812.

  5.Virginia’s seven representatives to what we now call the “1st Continental Congress” were: Richard Bland; Benjamin Harrison [5th governor of Virginia; father of U.S. President William Henry Harrison and great-grandfather of President Benjamin Harrison]; Patrick Henry [1st elected governor of Virginia after independence]; Richard Henry Lee [drafted and moved the resolution for independence from Britain during 2nd Continental Congress in 1776]; Edmund Pendleton; Peyton Randolph [presided over the 1st Continental Congress]; and George Washington.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  A CALL TO ARMS

  Allason’s Shenandoah Store

  Winchester, Virginia

  Monday, April 24th, 1775

  As we moved into the sunlight, while the others were greeting people in the crowd, Rev. Thruston whispered, “Do you know the three men who were seated at the table with Captain Morgan when we came into this place?”

  “Not really, sir. I have seen them at our home for meetings with my father but I have never been introduced.”

  He nodded and continued, “The oldest of the three is Isaac Zane. He’s a ‘fighting Quaker’ who is also a Burgess and serves on our Secret Committee of Safety. He built Marlboro Iron Works and works with your father on forging iron used in Mr. Jefferson’s home near Charlottesville. He is a Patriot and we can trust him with our lives. I hope he will someday marry his mistress, Miss Betsey McFarland, so their son won’t be known as a bastard.”

  This statement made me wonder how many more of my father’s associates were not married to the women with whom they lived. But I didn’t have time to dwell long on the matter, for Rev. Thruston was intent on continuing his post hoc introductions.

  “The one with the Scottish accent, on Captain Morgan’s right, is Militia Major Angus McDonald. He first fought the British Crown in Scotland during the Jacobite Rebellion in 1745 at about your age. He came here to Virginia a year later when the Stuart and McDonald clans lost to King George II. If memory serves me right, Angus McDonald was an officer with Colonel Washington on the Forbes expedition to capture Fort Duquesne in ’58 and was Daniel Morgan’s commanding officer last summer during Lord Dunmore’s expedition against the Shawnee out west on the Ohio.

  “Captain James Wood, the youngest of the three, is the only one who was born here in Virginia. His father was a surveyor for Lord Fairfax and helped Jost Hite found Fredericktown, which we now call Winchester. Young James is also a veteran of Lord Dunmore’s war against the Shawnee and served under Major McDonald. Captain Wood is a member of the House of Burgesses and is part of our Secret Committee of Safety. He’s also the only member of our group who owns no slaves.”

  Rev. Thruston completed his descriptions of the men I met briefly inside while we waited on the porch for three of Captain Morgan’s Negro slaves to push one of his heavy freight wagons up to the front of the store. On the back of the wagon was a half-barrel and stacks of wooden and tin cups. It must have been taken from an icehouse, for the barrel was coated with condensation from the moist air.

  When the wagon was in place, the Captain leapt from the porch onto the wagon. Towering over everyone, he bellowed, “Friends, neighbors, and fellow Patriots, gather ’round for I have news . . .”

  There was an immediate hush as the throng pulled closer to the wagon. He began with a brief preamble: “You have been invited here this morning because you are Patriots. Your loyalty to our country and our people is unquestioned.
Everyone here has been ‘vouched for’ by me and the men you see behind me. I have fought beside many of you in battles against our enemies. You have likely noticed some of our neighbors are not here. That is because their loyalty is not certain and we cannot risk having Tory spies betray us.

  “We asked you here because we are all in great danger. Last Wednesday, British Regulars murdered fifty-five of our countrymen and wounded forty-one more in an unprovoked attack on two towns in Massachusetts Bay Province. Five of our countrymen from this act of war are still missing.1 The Redcoats were on a mission to seize gunpowder and weapons from the local militia and capture two Patriot leaders.2 One of those killed in the defense of our liberty was the oldest brother of this young man—”

  At this he turned and gestured for me to come forward. I grasped my Henry rifle, told Casey to “Stay!” and jumped from the porch onto the wagon to stand beside Captain Morgan. I must confess my first thought was Thank You, Lord, that Father urged me to wear hunting garb to this occasion and not my “Williamsburg finery.”

  The captain put his arm on my shoulder and continued, “This is Nathanael Newman. Many of you know his father, my friend, James, who was twice wounded serving with great courage as an officer in our militia.

  “Nathanael’s brother Joshua was among those killed by his Royal Majesty’s Redcoats last Wednesday in Massachusetts Bay Colony. Nathanael is here because he has vowed to avenge his brother’s murder!”

  At this there were several “huzzahs”3 from the men in the crowd. But as I nodded my head, some of the womenfolk in the crowd who were at church on Sunday, gasped. One of them said, loud enough to be heard, “Oh dear, no!”

  The captain motioned for me to resume my place with the three men on the porch and as I did, he said quietly to the women, “Don’t worry about this lad, dear ladies. He will be with me. This ‘Old Wagoneer’ always brings his soldiers home.”

  After a brief pause Captain Morgan resumed his stentorian tone: “The King of England is no longer our protector. The British Crown many of us fought for in battles against the French and the bloodthirsty Indians is now waging war against us. It’s not just in Boston or New York. His agents, the Royal Governors, including our own Lord Dunmore, are showing their true colors.

  “Just last year, Major McDonald, Captain Wood, and I, and a good number of you, marched all the way to the Ohio to fight the savage Shawnee for Lord Dunmore. But now the Royal Governor has turned against us.

  “Last month his Lordship locked the members of our House of Burgesses out of their hall in Williamsburg. They convened anyway at St. John’s Church in Richmond, where our Patriot friend, Mr. Patrick Henry, introduced a measure putting all of Virginia ‘in a state of defense’ and directing every county to form companies for military service.

  “In urging the Burgesses to vote in favor of the motion, Mr. Henry pledged, ‘Give me liberty or give me death.’ Well, I believe we deserve liberty and life!”

  This prompted another round of “huzzahs” from the crowd. Several men in the back began to shout, “Liberty and Life!” In a matter of seconds, others picked up the chant and soon nearly every man in the meadow was shouting the slogan.

  Never before had I witnessed the power of oratory to raise the passions of a large group of people. It was suddenly clear to me why the men beside me on the porch chose Daniel Morgan to deliver this message.

  When the cheering died down, Captain Morgan continued, “On Thursday, April 20th, the night after the murders in Massachusetts, Lord Dunmore, the governor we willingly fought for, sent British Marines to break into the Williamsburg magazine to steal our gunpowder—the property of our Virginia militia—and transport these supplies, kept for our defense, to a British warship, HMS Magdalen, now at anchor in the James River.

  “Mr. Patrick Henry is also Colonel-­Commander of the Hanover County Militia. Yesterday he sent us a message, warning us to take necessary action to guard our powder supply so what happened in Williamsburg won’t happen here should Lord Dunmore send Redcoats to seize our powder, our supply of lead, and the weapons for our defense.

  “Our Committee of Safety has directed us—Isaac Zane, Major McDonald, Captain Wood, and me—to come up with a plan to protect our county and send reinforcements to Williamsburg if Colonel Henry needs help recovering the powder and shot seized by Lord Dunmore in the dark of night.

  “Our first task is to secure our own gunpowder and shot, presently stored in the stone powder magazine at Lewis Stephens’s place on Cedar Creek. We need nine men to re-build the palisade around the magazine and post three sentinels, day and night, inside and on watch. Captain Stephens has volunteered to supervise the construction and the watchmen.

  “Second, we must re-establish the ‘Alarm and Muster Network’ we had in place during the war against the French and the savages. As before, we will need men and boys who have swift, sure mounts and who know the county well to serve as Reliable Messengers. Because the county now has many more families than in the past, we will need at least fifteen ‘Reliables.’ Captain Wood will command the messenger unit.

  “Third, we are forming a company of 100 Rifleman who have proven themselves to be excellent marksmen, fit for marching great distances, and ready at a moment’s notice to fight. Volunteers for this unit must sign-on for not less than six months of duty. Mr. Patrick Henry has told us the Virginia Convention will pay privates six Milled Spanish dollars per year; sergeants will receive eight dollars; Ensigns will be paid ten dollars; Lieutenants will get fifteen and Captains, twenty.4

  “Every volunteer must provide his own rifle, tomahawk, hunting knife, bullet-mold, canteen, and maintain his own ‘ready kit’ of two hunting shirts, two pair of leggin’s, four pairs of shoes or moccasins, a hunting hat, and a cloak or blanket. Major McDonald will take your names today. We will select members of this unit Friday on the green at the Battletown Tavern. If it rains we will hold the selection on the first fair day after Friday.

  “The Committee of Safety has appointed me to command this company of Riflemen and I have accepted the appointment. Once we have selected the members of the Rifle Company from the list of volunteers, we will hold a vote for the officers.

  “We all know this is planting season for tobacco and corn. We also know volunteering for these duties will work a hardship for all of us who are about to move plants from seedbeds to our fields. Therefore, other than the Rifle Company selection on Friday we will not commence training, drills, and inspections until two weeks from today.

  “Those of you with whom I have served know I have never asked others to do that which I cannot or would not do. I have never asked others to venture where I would not go. My tobacco fields are ready for planting as are yours. If we are called out for any length of service or sent a distance from home, we may not be here when it’s time to pull suckers, top the plants, or harvest the leaves.

  “If that happens, Isaac Zane, Major Angus McDonald, and I are offering to lend you some of our slaves and indentured servants to assist your families. And finally, Thomas, Lord Fairfax, has renewed the pledge he made during our expedition to the Ohio, of a bounty of fifty acres to every man who completes one year of service.”5

  At this, there was another loud “huzzah” from the crowd. Captain Morgan waited for the cheering to subside and pointing to a table on the far side of the porch, he shouted, “Those who wish to volunteer today, line up here, give your name to Major McDonald, put your mark on the muster roll, and have a cold cup of cider on me!”

  There were more loud “huzzahs” as scores of men rushed to get in line. I could not help but notice there were a good number of women and girls in the crowd clinging to their husbands, brothers, and fathers. Not a few of them had tears flowing down their cheeks.

  Captain Morgan watched the tumult for a few moments until Major McDonald gruffly shouted to restore a semblance of order. The Captain then motioned for Rev. Thruston and me to f
ollow him back into the store’s great room. Pointing to a three-legged stool at the table where I first met him, he pulled up a seat across from me. Casey parked herself beside the rector at the end of the table as an unexpected interrogation commenced.

  “I am told you can read and write well and do well with numbers. Is that correct?”

  I nodded and replied, “Yes, sir.”

  “Your father told me you are also a skilled marksman and hunter. Rev. Thruston said on the way here you hit a turkey ‘on wing’ with a single ball from your rifle. Is that all true?”

  “Yes, sir,” I responded, instantly glad the rector had apparently not informed Captain Morgan of my failure to tether my horse before shooting at the bird.

  “I’m also told you know how to navigate and can use a sextant, surveyor’s transit, and a circumferentor.6 How did you learn all that?”

  “My father taught me how to use these devices so I could help him map property boundaries and building sites.”

  “So you can find your way in the wilderness and know how to shoot. What’s the biggest game you’ve bagged?”

  “Last spring, while Father and I were surveying a plat for Mr. Jefferson near Charlottesville, I shot a charging bear.”

  “At what range was the bear?”

  “About seventy yards, sir. Thankfully my one shot felled her for I had no other weapon but my hunting knife. She had two cubs and we had nowhere to run.”

  “What did you do with the cubs?”

  “They were too young to survive—not yet weaned. Father and I brought the meat to Mr. Jefferson. His slaves had them for ­dinner.”

  The Captain nodded, leaned across the table, and quietly asked, “Have you ever shot another person?”