Chapter Twenty-two

Valley Forge winter 1777-1778: Boston late summer 1785

Colin dredged through the fallen snow. “Colin is that you?” A gruff voice called from between shabby leantos behind him.

Colin flinched and nearly slipped on a patch of ice as he turned to see who had called his name. A mass of soldiers huddled together, teeth chattering and dried blood, from their feet wounds, peppering the surrounding snow. They wore tattered uniforms, britches with holes, many were coatless, and a few wore decent shoes. Not a one was dressed for the cold Pennsylvania winter.

“By Gods, it is you.  You have hardly changed.” A round-faced soldier emerged, a broad smile on his face.

The soldier shifted his musket presenting a haphazard salute. His wore a thin wool blanket draped over his shoulders and shivered as a gust of wind ripped through camp. A bright red scarf was tied around the man’s ears for some semblance of warmth. His bare toes were an angry shade of blue against the surrounding snow. Colin returned the salute, shifting from one foot to the other waiting for the man to identify himself.

“It’s me, William Olsen.” The soldier stammered, shaking violently beneath his blanket. “We shared a trench together at Breed’s Hill a few years ago.”

Colin smiled warmly at William. “Yes, of course, I remember now. You were with Isaiah Paige and me.”

“And his unfortunate son,” William whispered.

Colin stamped snow from his boots, glancing from William’s frozen feet to his own. “Yes, poor Remus. Have you seen Isaiah?”

William continued talking, icicles forming on the cold steel barrel of his musket. “Last I saw of him. He was marching off with Colonel Arnold headed toward Danbury.”

Colin’s eyes looked weary. “Wasn’t the Danbury Raid a massacre? If I remember correctly, the American General in charge of the area sent his entire forces to Fairfield. Danbury was left to the mercy of the British.”

“I couldn’t tell you,” William said stamping his feet in the day old snow pack trying to keep them warm. “I am but a private. They keep that kind of information away from us. For morale, you know. There are rumors there were some causalities, but many escaped to Ticonderoga, where many were captured.”

“We can pray Isaiah is safe,” Colin said and patted William on the sleeve. “How are you holding out?”

William leaned against a lean-to, forgetting Colin was his superior. “I am well, as well as can be expected. Isaiah made me promise to look after his daughter after this war is over if it ever ends.”

“Jacqueline? She should be about seventeen by now. She can handle herself.” Colin placed his hands in his pocket.

Shivering and his teeth chattering, William stared Colin in the eye. “I promised I would look after her and by gum, that’s what I intend to do if I survive this damned winter.”

“You will survive. I have it on good authority that the French have plans to aid our cause. I am headed to General Washington’s command post to discuss such matters,” Colin said returning a salute and then thought for a moment. Unbuckling his shoes, he handed them to Olsen. “You need these more than I do.”

“Drop by sometimes, Colin. I will share my fire cakes with you. They are tasteless, but once you get used to them they are still basically tasteless,” William laughed.

Colin trudged on the path, still watching the pathetic troops in his peripheral vision. He could only hope the rumors of the French joining their revolution were true.

General Washington paced back-and-forth in front of an unlit fireplace. His orders were specific. If his troops could not warm themselves, then he and his officers would suffer the same, despite the complaints from his staff. “Unless some significant capital change suddenly takes place, this Army must inevitably starve, dissolve, or disperse, to obtain a substance in the manner they can.” Colin shook his head and rubbed his hands together.

“Begging your pardon,” the aide standing near the wall said. “There have been threats against your leadership. Your officers are unhappy. They believe you are too lax and need to prepare the enlisted men better for the spring campaign.”

Washington turned to Colin. “Captain Harcourt, what is your observance?”

Colin shifted on his feet. Goosebumps rose on his arms. “Clothing is a problem. Long marches have destroyed our men’s shoes. Blankets are scarce. Congress has failed to replace tattered garments. We need help from Congress.”

“We have sent letter after letter pleading but have yet to receive enough help. Our troops continue to struggle,” Washington, yelled, blood rushing to his face. “Doctor Cochrane, what is your report?”

The doctor ruffled a piece of paper, reading from it. “There are four-thousand, or one-fourth of the enlisted men, unfit for duty. The men are undernourished, poorly clothed and living in crowded damp quarters. Typhus, typhoid, dysentery, and pneumonia are killing them faster than I can save them.”

“We must push harder for survival.  I have given orders that the enlisted men’s wives and families be allowed to visit on Sundays. I hope that will spark some relief,” General Washington produced a letter from his pocket “I have here a letter of recommendation from Benjamin Franklin. The letter introduces Baron Friedrich Von Steuben, formerly a member of the Chief of Staff of the Prussian Army. Congress has employed him to train our troops into a proper fighting Army. He will arrive in camp in the middle of February. He will have until spring to accomplish the training. Gentlemen, his authority shall not be questioned.” General Washington refolded the letter and placed it in his pocket. “Dismissed. Colin, may I have a moment?” Washington waited for his aides to vacate his office before he opened a drawer in his desk. He produced another envelope and opened the letter by blowing on the end of the envelope. Handing the letter to Colin, he said, “As you can see the letter was dated New Year’s Day from Paris. The speed letters arrive at their destination is simply incredible. I received the letter just after dinner last night.”

“That means you received a letter from Paris in just over thirty-five days,” Colin said, astonished, as he read the letter to himself.

“Remarkable, isn’t it?” General Washington sat in his chair, stretching his long legs before him. “What do you think about Dr. Franklin’s letter?”

“If there is any truth to this letter, then I am beside myself with joyful anticipation.” Colin wrapped his arms around himself for warmth.

“Don’t get over excited. The letter only indicates that the French are interested in our cause, nothing more.” Washington stated, bringing his warm blanket around his lap.

“That’s enough for me, sir. They are interested enough to send La Fayette as an emissary to investigate our battle against tyranny.” Colin’s smiled. “I find it ironic how a country such as France could join forces with us. They were our sworn enemy twenty years ago.”

“They were England’s sworn enemy, not ours. We were England,” Washington corrected Colin. “I must attend to our camp’s needs and optimistically hope for aide from the French government.”

Colin blew warm air into his cupped hands. “Why didn’t you tell the staff about Dr. Franklin’s letter?”

“I wanted to discuss our options with you first. I have neglected to tell my staff that Baron von Steuben is already in America. Alexander left Boston a week ago and should be in York by today or tomorrow. He will first visit Congress where the Baron will be officially handed his commission. He will then depart for here. I sent Alexander Hamilton to act as his guide. The Baron speaks no English but speaks passable French. Alexander speaks both.”

Colin stood and ambled to the fireplace, looking at his reflection in the mirror. “The French recognized us as an independent country February 6th. Baron von Steuben entered Valley Forge on the 23rd. He quickly searched for our best soldiers, which he called a model company. He then recruited Captain Benjamin Walker as his aide. Captain Walker spoke French. The Baron used Captain Walker as his voice as he spoke a little English. You could often hear the Baron’s obscenities came out of Walker’s mouth.”

“I am familiar with the Baron’s tactics,” Grant said. “He would train the model company, and then the model company would prepare another company, so on and so-forth.”

Colin felt old as he turned from the mirror. “That’s correct General. The results were nothing short of a miracle. We had a unit ready for battle by the time we left Valley Forge. Parliament sent us an Olive Branch peace treaty in August, disguised loosely as the Carlisle Commission. The commission offered self-rule for the Americas within the confines of the Crown. Congress saw this as doubt on behalf of the Crown. There were also rumors that the British were about to leave Philadelphia to fortify New York. Congress told the Commission that the Americas would settle for nothing less than independence. The rest is history. You can read about it in any textbook.”

Bored, Sally, who had been playing with her shoe buckles, raised her eyes upward. “So how did you meet your wife?”

“I am getting to that point. However, there are many years between the end of the war and our meeting. There is one last tale that I feel I must share for you to meet my lovely wife. It was a fine summer day in 1785, I had just re-entered Boston for the first time in many years, and I chose to visit my favorite tavern. I did not expect to see who I found there…”

Colin entered the Green Dragon Tavern in Boston just after noon, his throat parched. He needed a cold drink before his visit to his old friend’s house. He didn’t know what to expect at the house. Did Isaiah survive the war? Was Jacqueline waiting for him? Colin concluded that the best way to visit the house would be intoxicated.

Colin didn’t see Major Dunehirst, sitting arms crossed and scowling at a back table. Dunehirst was once an excellent officer in the ill-fated British Army. A bullet to his shoulder changed his life. He spent years recuperating and healing and remained in America once the war ended, vowing to stop the life of a traitor named Colin Harcourt. Dunehirst changed his identity, soon becoming the talk of the town. He knew how to grease the right palms; he used his family’s vast fortune to his best advantage. He gave to the right charities. Adam Jones, his new name, was the man to see if you were down on your luck. Mr. Jones kept a watchful eye on the house where the family of Colin’s friend Isaiah Paige lived.

Dunehirst had even become friends with Isaiah’s daughter Jacqueline and her new husband, William Olsen. He attended their wedding. He took part in the christening of the couple’s newborn daughter last Sunday.

Dunehirst’s eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a wry smile when Colin entered the tavern.

 “I can’t believe the fly has come to his reward,” a slurred voice behind Colin said. The sharp tipped knife pressed into his rib cage far enough to draw a drop of blood. “You thought me dead, right Captain? Your luck has run out. I have some unfinished business with you. Shall we step outside or shall I slice your traitorous throat where we stand?”

Colin stiffened, gripping an empty glass. “Don’t be a fool, Major. The tavern is full. You wouldn’t get away with it.”

“Aye yes, it’s full of my friends. They would understand if I cut the throat of an infamous British general. I can tell them how many of their brothers, fathers, or friends you sent to the grave, now walk to the door.”

A patron, his skin wreaked of bourbon, his eyes bloodshot, bumped into Dunehirst with a force that made him drop his knife. Colin smashed a bottle on his tormentor’s nose, blood spurting in his face. When Dunehirst cupped his nose, eyes watering, Colin unclipped a knife from his waist, burying the shank into Dunehirst’s chest. The pupil’s of his eyes focused in and out, as he clutched the knife in his chest. Colin twisted the knife deeper and shoved Dunehirst flying into a nearby table.

The drunken patron stared with his mouth open at Dunehirst, bleeding on top of the wobbling table. “He has killed Adam.”

Several patrons glanced up from their tankards, brows furrowed. They scooted their chairs back on the wood floors and lunged at Colin.

Without thinking, Colin ran. He briefly thought about seeking sanctuary from Jacqueline but decided it would be too dangerous for her. The only option was to flee Boston

Chapter Twenty-one

Philadelphia summer 1776

Colin waited nervously outside General Washington’s field command tent. He debated in his mind what he would say to the general. It was difficult to hide his secret from Isaiah and Jacqueline although he was quite sure they had figured out some of it. Would he also need to keep it from his newly appointed commander-in-chief?  He could be lucky, and maybe General Washington would not remember him. After all, it had been almost twenty years since they served together in the French and Indian Wars. Pacing, his mind racing, he thought briefly about running, but the general’s aide-de-camp stepped up to him before he could decide.

“The General will see you now,” the aide said as he held the tent flap open.

Colin thanked the aide but received no response.

General Washington sat behind a clutter-free, small field desk. His sandy brown hair tied neatly at the nape of his neck. While his white powder wig hung on a peg on a wooden post behind him. A sword and hat hung on a peg on a similar post to his right. Washington did not look up when Colin entered the dimly lit tent. He intently read a letter in his hand, shaking his head as he read. “How does the Continental Congress expect me to do my duty without requisitioning what I sorely need?” It was obvious the general was not talking to Colin or anyone.

Standing at attention, Colin cleared his throat. General Washington placed the letter in a neatly stacked pile of papers. He stared at Colin as if he had seen a ghost, and then he interlocked his fingers without standing and peered at Colin. Washington picked up a piece of paper that was in a pile of its own, and he rustled the paper before reading the article to himself. “Do you wonder what this article tells me?” he said looking at Colin once again.

“No, sir, it is none of my business,” Colin said with respect.

Washington smiled for the first time. “Ah, but it is your business. The report states that we have a former British Officer in our midst and fighting as a captain to boot.”

Colin did not know how to answer the general. His heart raced.

“Relax, Captain. This is not an official visit, yet.” The general stood and strode over to Colin with his hands interlocked behind his back. Looking into Colin’s eyes, the general smiled again. “You are the mirror image of your father, Captain Harcourt.”

Colin was speechless.

“How is your father? I hope he is well and living the life of leisure somewhere in the British countryside.” Washington placed his folded hands on his desk.

Colin’s mind flashed. The general thought he was his son. “My father is well, thank you.” He weighed whether he should tell his commanding officer the truth or not. He buried his past and lie to Washington, but the scarab had different ideas.  Instead of the lie, he said, “It's good to see you again, General.”

Washington’s expression changed. He tried to form a sentence, but he glanced at Colin bewildered.

Colin shifted his stance he had suddenly become uncomfortable. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I am Colin.”

General Washington’s eyes narrowed. “You take me for a fool?” he said as he returned to his desk and sat in his chair mindlessly sorting piles of papers. “You’re excused to go back to your unit.”

“May I have a moment of your time before I leave?” Colin swatted at an annoying fly. “I can prove I am who I say I am.”

General Washington looked at Colin dubiously but relented.

“Do you remember when we escorted General Braddock’s body off the battlefield?” Colin waited for the answer.

“I do, but anyone can read facts about the battle.” Washington stood near his desk, looking at Colin.

Colin swallowed hard. “There was another, besides your aide to assist us. Do you remember his name?”

“Vaguely.” Washington was losing his temper, and Colin could tell he was walking delicate ground with him.

“His name was Isaiah Paige.” Colin looked for any sign that the name meant anything to his general.

General Washington’s demeanor changed. “That name is not common knowledge.”

Colin moved closer to the desk. “Do you remember what you told me when I was sent home before the war was over?”

“I do.” The general fell into his chair.

Leaning on the desk, Colin gazed into the General’s eyes. “You told me orders were orders and said you would be remembered as a failure if you were remembered at all. You planned on retiring to Mount Vernon to live the rest of your life in obscurity, but here you are, commanding a small army against the might of the British army.”

The General’s eyes softened as he looked at Colin. “Tell me everything. I do find your claim almost impossible to believe. You would be nearly fifty if your story had any truth to it.”

“I am somewhat older than fifty,” Colin said, producing the scarab necklace from his shirt.

“What is that?” asked the general, peering at the Scarab through spectacles he had produced from a vest pocket.

“That, Sir, is the beginning of my story.” Colin spent the next two hours reciting his past life to the general. He produced a tattered letter from his pocket.

Washington read the letter. “Amazing, simply amazing,” He placed his spectacles on the desk, straightened his coat, and sat in his chair.  “However, I called you here for a reason.”

“And what would that reason be, sir?” asked Colin placing his Scarab under his shirt.

“I thought we could use your expertise to our benefit. When I heard we had a British officer in our midst, I thought this Officer could teach my staff how to think and act like British officers.” Colin couldn’t hide his confused look from Washington. “Let me say it more concise. If we know how a British officer will act in a particular altercation, we can use that to our advantage.”

Colin rubbed his chin in contemplation. “It would be an honor, but alas, I was a poor officer. I failed miserably in my first mission. My superior officer has sworn to kill me because of my actions in Lexington. I fear you have backed the wrong horse.”

Washington, now more relaxed, sat with his hands interlocked behind his desk. “I have confidence in your ability. How did you fail in your first mission?”

Colin shrugged. “I was ordered to arrest Patrick Henry because of his traitorous statements back in 1765, but he escaped.”

Washington sat at the desk, leaning with his chin resting on his thumb and one finger on his jaw. “Then you didn’t fail. You succeeded. Patrick has been instrumental in our fight for colony rights. His ‘give me liberty or give me death’ speech has given us all a reason to continue our struggle.”

“I am just not sure I am the right man for the job. I failed to live up to expectations. I have failed Dr. Franklin.” Colin moved away from the desk and wrung his hands together.

“Do you know Ben?” the general asked surprised. “Oh yes, you met him in Philadelphia years ago. Tell me how you failed his expectations?”

“Yes, I met him in Philadelphia. I also met him in London. He was in the company of William Pitt.” General Washington looked surprised and impressed. “It was Dr. Franklin that helped me decide to come to America. He said that the colonies could use a steady British mind to champion their rights among the less than enthusiastic British officers.”

“That’s all well and good. From all reports, you have been an exemplary inspiration. I don’t see that you have let anybody down,” he said leaning forward.

“Sir, I ran and hid at the first sign of trouble.” Colin was afraid to meet his commanding officer’s stare.

“Hid? It seems you have hidden smack-dab in the middle of the action. I have a position on my staff. If you are willing to accept,” the general said with conviction.

“I joined George Washington’s staff July 4th, 1775, just two days after he was assigned as General in charge of the Continental Army. Six months later the war took a change. It was our purpose to fight for our rights as colonists, but to remain British subjects.”

“What changed?” asked James.

“I believe I know,” Grant confessed. “Was that when John Adams and Congress met in Philadelphia?”

“Not exactly, that was when a British scholar who had been in the colonies less than two years, published a pamphlet advocating independence. Maybe you have heard of him and his pamphlet.” Colin smiled.

“Thomas Paine and Common Sense,” Grant said nodding and stroking his beard.

“Yes, that pamphlet led most of us to believe we could achieve total independence from England. Sure there were those like Adams that advocated independence from the beginning, but Paine helped many to realize it might be possible.”

Colin sipped his coffee and made a face. The coffee had turned cold. “By early summer in 1776 George Washington was in trouble. Thirty man-of-war battleships and nearly four hundred transport ships sat anchored in the New York Harbor. The British had recruited Hessian mercenaries from Germany, American Indians, and black slaves. Washington, now in Brooklyn, ordered his troops to dig in and wait.”

“On June 12th, I was called to the mansion he had commandeered for his command center.” Colin stared at his cold coffee cup.

Colin didn’t have the luxury of wondering why the general had called him to the command post so late at night. He was ushered at the moment he arrived. Washington was not alone. Another officer stood by his side arguing his point. The officer stopped when he noticed Colin step into the room. Colin recognized the officer immediately, even though he had only met him briefly years ago when the officer was a young message carrier. Colin glared at his fellow officer. Something was familiar about him. “Have we met?”

Washington had interceded before Colin had the time to answer. “His father fought with us during the last war. I sent a message to him. You were the carrier if I recall. He is the exact image of his father. We will continue our discussion about West Point later. I have important matters to discuss with Captain Harcourt.”

Arnold hesitated. Colin could tell by his pursed lips that Arnold was not finished with his argument. However, Colin could see that the general who sat at his desk rustling papers, had determined that Arnold would not finish his argument today. Captain Arnold bowed at the waist, collected his sword and hat from a servant, and departed without further acknowledgment of Colin.

Washington waited for his officer to leave before he continued. “Have a seat, Colin. I apologize for cutting you off like that, but the less Arnold knows, the better. Benedict is an excellent officer, albeit too ambitious.” Washington sat on the end of his desk facing Colin. He fumbled through papers to his right, finally settling on a newspaper clipping dated June 7th. “Please read this. It’s from a fellow Virginian by the name of Richard Henry Lee.”

Colin read the clipping and returned it. “The sentiments are very inspirational, sir.”

Washington placed the clipping back onto the pile. “Yes, they are. Lee’s public proclamation that ‘these United States are and of right ought to be free and independent states’ should cause a stir in Parliament, and should get our representatives in Philadelphia off their sorry, lazy butts and react. However, we cannot continue to fight on newspaper clippings and public proclamations. We need supplies and funds. Mr. Paine and Mr. Lee have the knack of stirring a hornet’s nest in Parliament, but we need a hornet’s nest stirred in Philadelphia.”

“How may I be of assistance, sir?” Colin shifted in his chair.

“I need you to go to Philadelphia and stir the nest. Get me supplies and funds. Your friendship with Dr. Franklin will give you all the credentials you will need. That and this letter from me will open the doors for you.” Washington sat back in his chair, his fingertips touching like a steeple. 

“When do I leave?” Colin stood and crisply saluted.

“I have already saddled my finest horse. You leave at once.” Washington slapped his knee and smiled.

“Sounds familiar, isn’t that how your adventure started?” laughed Grant. “I mean, carrying a secret letter to Normandy, with no time to relax before you get underway.”

“I see your point, General. It seems I keep ending up carrying secret letters. However, this time, I had almost no misfortunes on my way from New York to Philadelphia.”

“Almost?” asked Sally.

“Well, I ran into British patrols along the way, but I could convince them I was an undercover agent for the Crown. My knowledge of Major Dunehirst was most helpful. Until I ran into a patrol led by the Major.”

“You ran into your sworn enemy?” asked Grant.

Colin cupped his chin with one hand. “Yes, fortunately, there was a detachment of Colonial militia hiding in the woods poised to ambush British reconnaissance spies. One minute Major Dunehirst has a pistol leveled at my head, and the next minute all hell broke loose. I can still see the hate in the major’s eyes and the wet spot in his trousers when the bullet entered his shoulder. Major Dunehirst slumped to the ground. Thinking he was mortally hit. I galloped away, not looking back.”

“Unfortunately, the major did not die,” Colin said in a half whisper. “I entered Philadelphia the 26th of June 1776. I tried for two days, but Congress would not allow me to present my letter; they were somewhat busy as you might have guessed. The scarab had other plans. It led me to the Blue Anchor Inn, an establishment I had only entered once before. It was the very same inn that I had met Benjamin Franklin in decades ago.”

Benjamin sat facing the door, and his friends sat around the table pounding a beer. Franklin’s jaw dropped as Colin entered. He waved to quiet all discussion.

Franklin jumped up to greet his old friend, “As I live and breathe, I never thought I would see you again, Colin, but you do have a way of popping up at fortunate times. Come in, come in, you haven’t changed at all. The apples have been good to you. I am eager to hear your story. After this little business with Mother Country has been resolved.” Franklin led Colin to his table. “Introductions are in order. Gentlemen, I have the honor of introducing Colin Harcourt, one of his Majesties finest officers.” A hush of secrecy fell over the table.

“I have changed the errors of my ways. I have been fighting on your side since Lexington.” Colin stood with his hat clutched in his hand.

A shorter man with dark brown hair stood up and offered Colin, his hand. “Splendid, John Adams at your service.”

“Don’t get too close to Adams, he is not very well liked by his fellow men,” Ben said, followed by an infectious laugh. “Allow me, that is Roger Sherman from Connecticut,” he said pointing. “This is Robert Livingston from New York. The somber shy one, avoiding eye contact is Thomas Jefferson from Virginia. He’s not in a good mood.”

Colin acknowledged those at the table, “Why is Mr. Jefferson in a somber mood?”

“They crucified his baby today in Congress,” Adams said, pouring wine for the new guest.

“They did what?” Colin said in horror.

“Oh, not literally, figuratively speaking,” Roger, said wiping beer of his lips with a lacy handkerchief.

“No, it was literal,” Jefferson, said pounding his hand on the table. “I told you that you should have written the damned thing, John.”

“Nonsense, first you are a Virginian, and it needed to be drafted by a Virginian. The second reason is I am obnoxious and as Ben has already stated, unpopular. And lastly, you are ten times the writer I am.”

“Can someone please tell me what are we talking about?” Colin asked. “What did Mr. Jefferson write?”

The entire table stared at Colin as if he had food on his face. “Gentleman, we have forgotten that Colin just entered our fair city two days ago,” Franklin said saving Colin from further embarrassment.

“Jefferson has written our Declaration of Independence. We presented it to Congress earlier today. The vultures immediately began revisions.”

“I have a letter from General Washington that needs action from Congress at once,” Colin said, handing Adams the letter.

Adams returned the letter without looking at it. “The letter will have to wait until the Declaration is passed.”

“We are doomed,” Robert said, “that damned fool Dickenson has required that the vote be unanimous, which is doubtful with Caesar Rodney’s failing health, and the other delegate from Pennsylvania too afraid to oppose Dickenson.”

Franklin slapped Colin on the back, “We have a struggle ahead of us. Join us tomorrow and watch how ego can bog down Congress. We will see if we all hang separately or all together,” he said with a smile.

The day was hot and humid. Sweat fell from everyone in Independence Hall. The delegates had voted not to open the windows because the flies were so fearsome. Intense heat added to the tension and electrified the room.

“We are about to brave a storm in a skiff of paper,” Dickinson concluded his argument.

“We are in the very midst of the revolution, the most complete, unexpected, and remarkable of any in the history of the world,” John Adams added in rebuttal.

The clouds thickened, darkened and were more threatening than before. Lightning flashed in the distance. Then a thunderstorm blew in with large rain drops fell with no mercy onto poor citizens that were unable to find safety. The temperature outside lowered by fifteen degrees while the infernal heat in the delegate room raised by what seemed to be twenty degrees.

Rain splashed against the windows as Adams continued, “The object, which is in our view, is great and we must expect a great expense of blood to get it."

Lightning erupted as if on cue from God as Adams finished with his finger in the air

Chapter Twenty

Breed’s Hill June 17, 1775

The sun shone brightly on this perfect day in June. It had been almost two months since the colonists had snatched a victory over the British in Lexington and Concord. Jacqueline Paige sat on the lawn mindlessly pulling blades of grass. Her eyes were puffy and red from tears. Her father, Isaiah, sat on the porch whittling on a piece of wood and humming “Yankee Doodle.” Her brothers wrestled a few feet away. Her neighbor in Boston, the famous silversmith, Paul Revere, lumbered past and waved at her. She smiled but did not return the wave. Colin paced in front of her.

“I am going back to Boston, and that’s final,” he said sternly.

“But you have enemies that will kill you on sight,” Jacqueline pleaded.

“I tend to agree with her,” Isaiah said without looking up. “And then I tend to agree with you.”

“You’re not helping, Daddy,” snapped fifteen-year-old Jacqueline.

“You’re both right. Colin has some powerful enemies in Boston. Guess that’s what happens when you change partners ‘afore the dance is through.’ On the other hand, Colin has no choice but to go back to Boston. Me and the boys are going with him.”

She compressed her lips. “Why are the hills in Charlestown so blasted important? That’s just across Boston on the Charles River, right?”

Colin stopped pacing and smiled at his young friend, “The high points have always been important in any campaign. Those that control the high ground control their fate.”

Isaiah stuck the knife in the wood he was carving and dusted off his hands. “That’s right. Prescott got word that the British plan to occupy Bunker Hill very soon. We plan to occupy the hill first. Prescott asked volunteers to march to Boston to fortify both Breed’s Hill and Bunker Hill ‘afore them Lobster-backs.”

Jacqueline absent-mindedly watched a robin land on the fence. “But why do you and Colin need to go? There are others willing.”

Colin gripped her hand and stroked her long auburn hair. He did love the young girl. Not in the way, she loved him, but still, the love was deep. Staring into her brown eyes, he said, “I’m going because it is the right thing to do. If Major Dunehirst wanted me dead, I’m sure he would have tried to kill me by now. I’m sure he is more bark than bite.”

Isaiah stepped out of the doorway, followed by his two sons. Isaiah carried two muskets and two knapsacks, handing one of each to Colin he said. “We need to be going. Cambridge is a bit of a hike, and we need to be there before the afternoon. Prescott means to leave for Charlestown before nightfall. We will be up to our asses in the dirt before we know it.”

Jacqueline sprang up from the lawn, nearly knocking Colin over, and embraced him. “Be safe,” she said. “I will wait for your return,” she whispered in his ear.

“Please don’t say that,” Colin whispered, his thoughts racing.

It was part of the curse. Colin had stayed too long with the Paige’s, but he couldn’t bear to leave them. He should have left when the family noticed he had not changed. Isaiah never mentioned Colin’s lack of aging, so he stayed. When Jacqueline stated she loved him, he knew the time had come. He pried her from his side, still enjoying the caress.

Jacqueline gazed into Colin’s eyes. “Why should I stop saying that? It’s the truth. I will wait for your return. You know I love you. I don’t care how much older you are than daddy.”

A gentle tap on his shoulder brought Colin back from his memories. “We need to go. We are running late. Girl, stop pestering my friend with your foolish notion of love.” Isaiah handed Colin his musket. Colin stood and patted Jacqueline on the shoulder and half-smiled.

“Go on ahead, Isaiah, I will catch up.” Colin looked into Jacqueline’s eyes. He wished there was another way, but she was so young.  “I’m sorry, but I have a curse. You will never be happy with me. You will find another someday, I promise.” Colin hugged her and kissed her on the cheek before running after Isaiah. Jacqueline gently stroked her cheek as tears rushed down them, washing the kiss away. Colin had decided earlier that day not to return to Lexington after Bunker Hill. There was nothing waiting for him there. He already knew he would survive. The cursed scarab always made sure he survived.

“That was the last time I saw Jacqueline Paige. I went to Cambridge with her father and brothers. From there we marched to the hills overlooking Charlestown and the Charles River. Under cover of night, Colonel William Prescott and his twelve-hundred Massachusetts and Connecticut regulars dug in at Breed’s Hill. By early morning our ranks had risen to four-thousand men.”

“I can’t believe you left her like that,” Sally said stamping her feet.

“Sally, that isn’t important. Let Colin finish his story,” scolded her mother. Sally scrunched her face, folded her arms, and sat down, facing the opposite direction of Colin.

“Sorry, Sally.” Colin bent over and coaxed her to face them. “Sally, I didn’t mean to hurt Jacqueline. Sometimes hurt just happens, and it cannot be controlled.”

“Don’t worry about her. Please continue,” Sally’s mother said, glaring at Sally.

Colin regained composure, “We caught the British, needless to say. General Gage gave orders to his officers to reclaim the hills at all cost and gave Major General William Howe the task of securing the hills. We were fortunate that the British did not have enough boats available to cross from Boston to Charlestown. They had to ferry their troops across on small barges and to do that they had to wait for favorable tides. We used the time waiting wisely by adding more fortification and setting up snipers to pick off the enemy.” A tear formed on Colin’s face. He couldn’t tell the story of the Hill without getting emotional.

Colin shifted a make believe musket to his shoulder, closed one eye and fired. “By 3:30 P. M. the British had ferried enough men across the Charles, and more reinforcements were landing on the shore between Moulton’s Point and Charlestown. The first shot came from a Colonial sniper, followed by a barrage of shots into the ranks of the British standing on the shoreline.”

“Thus Saturday, June 17th, 1775, the Battle of Bunker’s Hill began on Breed’s Hill…”

“My God, they have started to bombard Charlestown,” Isaiah said in horror.

“Relax, Pa. They evacuated the town early this morning. The only ones there are the Tories, too damned stubborn to leave. Them damned red devils are dropping like flies,” Romulus said with a chuckle.

In the distance, Colin could see people sitting on rooftops in Boston. Looking through a spyglass, he had borrowed from the soldier to his left, “There he is. Major General William Howe dressed in all his finery as if he was attending a ball. I could only wish my musket could fire that distance.”

“We have smaller fish to fry,” a corporal from Connecticut said who had mysteriously appeared by Colin’s side. “Corporal William Olsen, Sir,” he said pointing down the hill to the advancing British assault. “Colonel Stark sent me, sir. Colonel Prescott has given orders not to fire until you see the whites of the enemies eyes, sir.”

“At ease, Olsen,” Colin said as a bullet whizzed past their head. “And keep your head down.” Colin could not stop thinking of days gone past. He remembered the day an arrow whizzed by the Duke of Normandy’s head during the crusades. The face of war had changed drastically, but not the outcome. Colin gently reached for the soldier behind William and closed his lifeless eyes.

“I am sorry, sir. I am not acquainted with battles. I am a grocer from Connecticut. I mainly fight carrots and beets,” William said his face paled from the sight of the dead soldier.

“The main thing to remember is to keep your fool head down and your wits calm,” Isaiah said, taking aim at a British soldier cresting the first small hill. The thunder of his musket recoiled, and his bullet struck home. The expressionless soldier fell to the ground while his comrades continued over the fallen combatant.

William grimaced at the sight. “I almost forgot they are seeking sure shot snipers on the left flank, wherever that is. I am anything but a sure shot.”

Without thinking, Remus jolted up. “Me and Romulus are about the surest shots arou—” a bright red splotch erupted in his chest. Remus glanced down at the spot and gave a weary smile before tumbling into Corporal Olsen’s unwilling arms. William’s face turned ashen white. Colin watched William struggle with the dead man in his arms. William then vomited on the dead soldier. 

Isaiah took another shot at a British soldier before he removed his son from Olsen’s arms. Isaiah wiped a tear from his cheek with the back of his dirty jacket. Crossing himself, he closed his son’s blank eyes shut. His brow furrowed. He couldn’t hold back more tears. He cried uncontrollably, his head buried in his trembling hands. He finally rose and with his hand tenderly pushed him to the side and out of the way. “Oh Remus, my loving son, I promise to revenge your death.” Tears continued to flow down his cheek. “There will be time for grieving after this bloody war is over.” Drying another wayward tear, he crouched next to Olson and fired into the British lines. “Welcome to the horrors of war, Olsen. You better learn the lesson quickly.” He turned to his remaining son.

Romulus cowered in the rear of the trench looking at his lifeless brother. His teeth clenched together. He crawled to where Remus lay and cradled his head in his arms, rocking back and forth, and crying.

Colin watched Romulus as he cradled his brother, but a volley of bullets pinned him down, and Colin couldn’t comfort him. Isaiah couldn’t move either. The redoubt popped as bullets fell harmlessly into the dirt in front of William, Colin, and Isaiah.

“Report to the left flank as requested, and for God’s sake try not to get yourself killed.”

The tears stopped. He stared in disbelief at his father but reluctantly left the trench, wiping his brother’s blood from his tattered shirt. By now, more and more Colonial troops had taken position behind the redoubt. The fighting was fierce with heavy casualties on both sides, but finally the British retreated. Colin was thankful but worried about Isaiah and Romulus. He wondered if Romulus made it to safety.

“Looks like them Redcoats are forming up for another assault,” declared Corporal Olsen “Yup, we are ready for them,” a soldier in the rear said.

Isaiah wiped a clog of dirt from his face. He had narrowly missed meeting his maker. Spitting out more dirt, he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “Colin, ain’t that your officer friend, major prancing around on his horse as if he owned the place?”

Colin was relieved to see the major in question was not Dunehirst, but it was his friend, Major Pitcairn, “That’s not him.”

“I thought I recognized the peacock from Lexington,” Isaiah said taking aim at the major with his musket. “How about I put one pesky major out of our hair for the duration?”

“No,” Colin screamed, but it was too late, Colin’s friend slumped in his saddle before falling off.

“Here they come again,” yelled a voice in the crowd.

The second British assault ended much like the first attack, with heavy casualties before a British retreat. A massive sigh of relief came upon the faces behind the redoubt. They had kept the mighty British forces from taking the hill. The Colonial Army was victorious.

“By gods, those damned Lobsterbacks don’t know when to give up,” Isaiah said in disbelief. “They are forming up for a third assault. I am completely out of ball and powder.”

“I am nearly out myself,” a soldier in the front confided. A quick consensus confirmed they didn’t have enough ammunition left for the third round of assaults.

Colin leaned out of the way from as a ball whizzed past, following Colin’s lead Isaiah leaned out of the way also. The ball shattered the face of the soldier standing behind them, splattering them with fragments of skull and pieces of brain matter.

Colin glanced at Isaiah, who had a sly smile on his face, “It’s about time you tell me about your ‘talent,’” Isaiah said to his friend.  “But first I suggest we retreat to Bunker’s Hill and hope for reinforcements.”

As a unit the colonists retreated to Bunker’s Hill, suffering heavy losses on the way. They soon realized that they could not defend Bunkers and fled to Cambridge to regroup.

Once in Cambridge, far away from the madness, Corporal Olsen sat by Colin’s side with his head cupped in his hands. “You did a splendid job, Olsen,” Colin confided. Olsen could only look at his blood-soaked shirt and stare into the void.

Colin patted Olsen on the shoulder and crawled over to his friend Isaiah who was looking intently down the road, checking stragglers and looking for his son. “I’m afraid, Colin, I’m afraid.”       

 

“Isaiah waited patiently for his son, but his son never materialized.”

“That’s terrible,” Sally, said, “I remember waiting for daddy to come home too, but he never came home.”

“I am sorry for your loss, Sally. Isaiah was not the same after that. He put on an act, but I could tell he had changed. Continental Congress assigned a new field General two weeks after the battle to preside over the army. On July 2nd, General George Washington took over as the Colonial’s commander-in-chief. On July 3rd, 1775, I was summoned to the general’s tent. I never saw Isaiah again.”

“What about Olsen?” Grant asked.

Colin smiled. “The answer will spoil the story; let’s just say we became good friends during the winter of '77.”