Michael Fields Book Two Soldier of the American Revolution

Michael Fields

Book Two

Soldier of the American Revolution

By

Daniel J. Cashman

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 1990 Daniel J. Cashman

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CHAPTER SEVEN

THE FUGITIVE

The tall man walking up the path to the Fields home carried a sailor’s sea bag on his shoulder and whistled a mariner’s tune. Elizabeth came slowly to her feet and let the dress she was sewing slip to the ground. Hesitantly, she stepped to the handrail, squinted into the sunlight and murmured, Joshua? Joshua, she said again, half to herself and then cried at the top of her lungs, Joshua! She ran the few steps to him and threw her arms around his neck, hugged him tightly and slipped into tears and sobs.

I took too long to find you, Elizabeth. Now introduce me to that rascal you married.

Two days later, Michael returned from a voyage and entered the house to find his mother and a stranger preparing the evening meal. He paused at the door, unsure of how to react, but after his mother introduced her brother, he relaxed into easy conversation. Over the meal, Joshua told him that he had been at sea for the past years and finally stopped in one place long enough to look up his kin, only to find them in mourning.

Later that night, Elizabeth and Joshua sat by the fire, believing Michael to be asleep, they spoke plainly of the route Joshua had taken to his freedom. Michael lay on his mat, eyes closed, feigning sleep, while they told each other the story of their voyages. Joshua confided that this true avocation is smuggling. Five years ago me mates and me were caught bringing a load of Spanish wine into England. We were sent to the Falmouth Prison for three years. My time there was a terror. They starved us as a matter of course. I had to fight for every morsel or starve. One time I had to kill a man to protect the scrap of food he wanted to take from me. We were beaten for the slightest infraction. Men were wrapped in anchor chain and allowed to smother. By the time we were released, half me mates were dead of disease, starvation, murder or suicide. I made my way to the waterfront and signed aboard a merchantman bound for the New World. When she docked in New York, I jumped ship and began looking for a vessel headed for the West Indies. On my voyages, I heard about this marvelous engine at a mine in Jersey and I remembered that fellow you married worked on one, so, I set out to see if it was you. I'm only sorry, I am too late.

Elizabeth's eyes glistened with a tear, Michael looks very much like his father. Having him around me is a great comfort.

I don’t have to leave immediately, he said, I can stay as long as you need me here.

Thank you, Joshua. Elizabeth hesitated, weighing her duty to a brother and wondering how much his time in prison had affected him. Having you here will help both of us.

As the days passed, Michael found his uncle to be an engaging rascal. He was a man of his word and with a sense of humor that could turn a cloudy day bright. But there was a dark side, attested by the scars on his wrists and back, which he took strained efforts to hide. Together, they undertook the farm chores, uncle and nephew working side by side, and made short work of the springtime planting. Then they turned their attention to a three-day deer hunt in the forest west of the Acquackanunk village. During this outing, while cooking their meal over an open fire, Michael invited Joshua to accompany him on one of his trading expeditions to Secaucus.

The smuggler’s market was no stranger to Joshua and he quickly recognized the genius in Michael’s dealings and the touch of larceny in his heart. Together, they made a deal for a cargo of untaxed whiskey, which they returned to Barbadoes Neck and sold, to the tavern keeper at the PICK AND SHOVEL in a moonlight transaction. Later that night, they sat together on the porch, under the stars and a crescent moon, talking. Joshua related a tale of his smuggling exploits and then of his own youth. I remember when I was just about your age. I put to sea aboard a merchantman as a common seaman and then jumped ship in Philadelphia. The captain called the sheriff to bring me back and I led them on a merry chase across the Jerseys. I ended up in a place called Chestnut Neck in Smuggler's Woods. From there I shipped out to the Caribbean. But enough of that. I have some business n New York City. Can you take me there in your sloop?

Of Course. Calik and I have been planning a trip there for a while and it's high time we did.

Joshua sipped from the cup of wine in his hand and with a wink and a nod

said, It might be better if your friend didn’t come with us. The people I need to see don’t take well to Injins

Michael nodded and agreed. Very well, we sail with the tide.

The wind carried them quickly from the mouth of the Passaic River across the Newark Bay to the Kill Van Kull and swiftly around the tip of Bergen Point. Before them, New York Harbor opened into a forest of masts on every imaginable type of ship. The tiny PASSAIC FALCON wove her way through the anchored vessels, past the harbor fortresses and up the East River. On the east bank of Manhattan Island they docked at Ten Eyke's wharf.

This was not the market area Michael had expected. The buildings were low and dirty looking. Most were in poor repair. The streets were narrow and cluttered with a continual chaos of wagons going to and coming from the docks. Sailors from across the British Empire walked the streets in groups, most of them thoroughly drunk, raucously singing and falling down. Joshua asked directions to Montgomery Street and there found a seedy looking tavern called the MAST AND BASTARD.

This is a real den of inequity and a home of thieves. You don't have to come in if you don't want, he said.

Michael looked around the street and decided it would be safer inside with his uncle than out on the street with ruffians and drunks. Inside, he found himself more insecure than he had ever felt in his life. On past occasions, he found he could look over the people in a particular scene and tell who was untrustworthy, who was sincere, who was insane. But here, all he saw was madness and anger in the eyes of men who were thoroughly unlikable. Gathered around tables, hunched over mugs of grog and ale, were the most unsavory collection of the meanest looking sailors Michael had ever seen. The knife he carried seemed little protection here and he wished he had brought his pistol. Joshua ordered two flagons of ale and motioned Michael to a table where they nursed their drinks and waited. Joshua's eyes searched through the crowd till he recognized a sailor and caught his eye. The man looked around before speaking with Joshua and then departed with a nod after a few brief words. The sailor returned in short order, leading two men to the table where Joshua and Michael sat. With a few words, it was easily ascertained they knew each other. But the greeting was not warm; it was like a meeting of conspirators. Few words passed between them, yet they arranged to meet again, in a fortnight, when a ship they knew of would be in port and looking for experienced hands.

As Joshua rose from the table to leave, he bumped into sailor who turned on him with a growl and swung his fist at his head. Joshua ducked the blow and the man drew a short knife from his belt. Michael froze with fear; the man was insane with liquor. Joshua looked around for a way out but the man was blocking the door. The man hissed, Joshua Raven, time to pay for your sins. Joshua drew his own knife and hunched down holding it out in front of him. The two circled each other. Joshua flicked his blade, feigning a thrust. The man flicked his knife at Joshua’s face then thrust at his midsection. Joshua caught his wrist and turned it with a quick twist and cut across the man’s body from shoulder to hip. He screamed as blood spurt onto the floor. His eyes were wide with anger but he was no match for Joshua so he dropped his knife, slumped back trying to hold the wound together, then turned and ran out the door. Joshua slipped his knife back into its scabbard and motioned to Michael, Come on boy, let’s be gone.

On the way back to Barbadoes Neck, Joshua confessed that the men he has sailed with and contacted today are often known as pirates. My friends’ prey upon the rich bounty of the treasure fleets on the Spanish Main and the Caribbean Sea, he said and launched in tales of his exploits on ships flying the Jolly Roger and owing allegiance to no other flag. Michael sat back and listened raptly as he piloted his craft across the Newark Bay. Tales of pirates like Drake and Morgan had been told and retold across the Colonies. They had always thrilled him. Pirates, he thought. Rough and uncouth, sharing a comradeship based on danger and profit. Michael could relate to that.

-*-

Joshua departed when the weather turned hot. Michael and Calik took him back to New York on the PASSAIC FALCON with a load of copper bars from Schuyler's mine. They stopped only briefly at Ten Eyke's wharf and left Joshua standing on the dock, his hand raised in salute and farewell to his nephew. As the PASSAIC FALCON pulled away, Michael waved in return and watched as his uncle hefted his sea bag and turned toward the beginning of new journey, his last words running through his mind, If you're ever in the market to become a pirate, Michael, come to the MAST AND BASTARD and ask for me. Someone will be there to steer you straight.

Michael and Calik continued on their mission and delivered their cargo and picked up a back-haul of cloth, machine parts and a small packet of documents for Master Kingsland.

-*-

Summer, 1772

Prime Minister Townsend repealed the taxes on most manufactured items that summer. Mainly because the cost of collecting the taxes outweighed the taxes collected. This removed a sore point of contention between the King and his subjects and threatened to ruin the smuggling business. Fortunately, tea was still highly taxed and there seemed to be an unending appetite for it at the Manor houses. There were also plenty of items that needed to be moved from the homes and farms of Barbadoes Neck to the markets in Newark and Elizabethtown and occasionally, the Committee had a parcel or two to be delivered. As the year wore on, Michael became more involved in the discussions taking place regularly in the taverns and market places. Increasingly, the subject of The right of the King to impose rule and the Rights of the colonies sparked fiery debate. Late into the nights, Michael found himself discussing the future of his country and then finally coming to the shocking conclusion that The only thing the king does is make it harder for us to make a living. We can do very well without him, thank you.

Even though the most onerous of the taxes had been removed, new burdens were levied upon the American Colonies to help pay for the King’s European war. These new burdens kept the talk of rebellion alive and fanned the fires of patriotism. Arrests without warrant were common place and while the prisoners were in the hands of soldiers, savage beatings, floggings and mutilations were frequently administered. Neighbors told of friends crippled by tortures inflicted upon them in an effort to extract the names of Patriot ringleaders. Few names were gleaned, and the result was to drive the rebel leaders underground and stiffen their resolve. Then, in order to gather more information about the growing rebellion, the King ordered soldiers to be quartered in the private homes of his American subjects. The quartering was ordered ostensibly, to protect the Colonists but in reality, it was to spy on them and root out the rebel leaders.

On a muggy August evening, Michael returned to Barbadoes Neck to find a detachment of British soldiers had set up bivouac on the Kingsland Green and troopers were quartered throughout the plantation. He looked into the tavern and seeing only soldiers inside, decided to forgo a pint and some conversation. Arriving at his mother’s home, he found two pair of muddy boots standing by the door next to two military packs. Freshly laundered uniforms were hung over the porch railing and inside, his mother was serving a meal to two soldiers seated at her table.

Anger boiled in his brain. He was outraged! What are soldiers doing in my home? In a blind rage he drew his pistols out of his sea bag, paused at the door to check the priming and then crashed into the house. He caught the soldiers off guard. Their mouths full of food, they stared back at him as he thrust the pistols into their faces and demanded, What are you doing in my home?

The stunned look on their faces betrayed their fear. Both men trembled as he ordered them to stand and pushed them against the wall. Elizabeth stood by the fireplace, her hands to her mouth in shock. Michael, she whispered, they have been quartered here by the King.

Don’t move! His voice quivered with anger as he demanded again. What are you doing in my home?

The soldiers trembled with fear, terrified that at any second the pistols might accidentally discharge. We were ordered here by Captain Heathgrove stated one, in a voice tinged with fear.

It’s our orders, sir, said the older man, to live in colonial homes, the better to protect you from Indian attack. Haven’t you heard?

Indian attack? Are you mad? There is no danger from Indians here. The soldier’s statement was a bold lie. There was something more. What else were you told to do?

Only to watch, sir. There are smugglers active in this area and we are to report on any illegal activity we see.

The younger man piped in, Please, sir. Be careful with that pistol.

Michael ignored his plea. Where is your commanding officer bivouacked, he demanded.

The Captain is lodged at the tavern, answered the older man, fear still making his voice quake.

Then that is where we go, said Michael. Keep your hands high over your heads and walk in the middle of the road. I will be behind you, even if you don't see me, I will be there, now move.

Hardly looking back at his mother, Michael slung the muskets over his shoulder and marched the troopers at gunpoint out of the house and down the road to the tavern. The trio gathered a crowd of spectators as he marched the soldiers, barefoot and out of uniform, past the manor house and onto the Green. There, soldiers were roused from their tents and mustered, muskets in hand as he marched boldly into the tavern where the Commanding Officer was headquartered.

Who is in command here, he demanded.

The tavern was unlike he had ever seen it. The tables were no longer set to maximize use of the room. The center of the floor was clear, the tables had been set end to end around the perimeter, in a semicircle open at the tavern door. A British officer rose from the head table. The unmitigated gall of this colonial whelp!

Armed soldiers entered behind Michael and blocked the door. He held his ground, his prisoners in front of him, his pistols pointing at their lower backs, threatening them, keeping the soldiers behind him at bay.

These men were in my home, he stated, without invitation.

It’s Fields, came a whisper from one of the Officers. A cold chill of fear went through him.

I’m returning two of your lost sheep, Captain. They wandered into my home where their presence was neither wanted nor welcome. You will kindly quarter them elsewhere.

The line of soldiers behind him drew closer as he addressed the officer. Their muskets, held at the ready, were clubs that could pummel him into unconsciousness in an instant. His own weapons shrank to insignificance.

The Officer at the head of the table spoke, Michael Fields, you will surrender your weapons and yourself, immediately. Michael cocked the pistol in his right hand then the one in his left. The sound of rifles being cocked around him sounded like a chorus of crickets. Surrender? On what charge?

In the dim light of the tavern fire a Sergeant stepped forward with his hand outstretched. Michael’s breathing was rapid and shallow. Sweat broke on his forehead and he wished he had not been so brazen. He pointed both pistols to the ceiling and lowered the hammers delicately, then turned them around and gave them to the man. The dim light of the tavern exploded in a shock of pain as a musket butt struck the back of his head and he slumped to the floor only to be struck again till he slipped into black unconsciousness.

Michael awoke in the corral at the rear of the tavern with five other men he knew. Two were smugglers, sure enough, but one was a crazy turpentiner and the other two were farmers who felt the same as he did about the King and his taxes. His head ached as he raised himself off the ground and leaned his back against the tavern wall. So, they finally caught up to me, he thought and slipped into a troubled sleep.

Michael was awakened with a kick that left him gasping for breath and brought before the Officer who had demanded his surrender. The military magistrate acted as the prosecutor and accused him of attacking a soldier of His Majesty's Colonial Army, an act tantamount to treason!

Michael pled that he was defending his home from invaders. I had no idea the soldiers had been quartered there by order of the King, he stated. But his words did not impress the Officer. I have been away from Barbados Neck on business! I heard nothing of the decree quartering soldiers in people’s homes!

The officer seemed bored and dismissed Michael’s explanation with a flick of his finger. You threatened His Majesties soldiers. You threatened this court. The verdict is guilty. Take him away.

Suddenly, the door to the tavern slammed open and Master Kingsland barged in, What in thundering hell is going on here? His voice echoed through the building and out on to the Green. Captain Heathgrove, what do you think you are doing? Yesterday you told me you needed quarters for your men before they began a campaign. Today, I find that campaign is being waged against the citizens of Barbados Neck. Explain yourself, sir. Just what are you doing?

Master Kingsland, there is no need for you to be here. This matter is well in hand. The man before you attacked two of His Majesties foot soldiers with a pistol. This is a capital offense.

Nonsense, retorted Kingsland, I've known this boy all his life! I refuse to believe it was an unprovoked attack. And what is this hearing in the middle of the night? Where is his defender? Explain yourself and your charge. We are English citizens, even here in East Jersey, and we are entitled to all the protections guaranteed Englishmen.

The officer leaned back in his chair portraying contempt for the interloper. This matter does not involve you, good sir...

Kingsland cut him off in mid-sentence. The hell it does not! Everything that happens on Barbados Neck is my concern, Captain. The emphasis mocked the officer’s contempt. I know these people. They are my wards. And you will conduct yourself in an appropriate manner, and in keeping with the Great Charter.

This man is charged under military law with a crime against his Majesties troops and thus against His Majesty, himself, stated the officer.

Kingsland exploded, The young man before you is not a soldier. He is not bound by your military law. If you wish to bring a charge against him, get a warrant! If not set him free!

Heathgrove stammered, then collected himself and said, I am the law here. By order of his Majesty.

The hell you are, shouted Kingsland. We are civilians and citizens of the Empire. You have no right to arrest or detain any citizen without warrant.

The power and point of Kingsland’s argument cowed the officers, who huddled together whispering among themselves and casting furtive looks at him. Heathgrove squirmed in his chair. I cannot allow criminals to roam free. He glanced slyly at Kingsland, who was pacing impatiently before him. Therefore, I shall assign them into your trust, until warrants can be brought.

The trap had been sprung. Kingsland felt