Gone For a Soldier
A novel of the birth of the United States of America
By
Jeffry S. Hepple
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2008, Jeffry S. Hepple, All Rights Reserved
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For my mother, Doris Van Buskirk Hepple
Special thanks to Will Cushman and Diane Kathleen Raby-Hill for their help in editing.
June 25, 1774
Bergen County, New Jersey
Minutes of a public meeting held to discuss the recent acts of Parliament and the reactions to those acts in Boston.
Resolved:
This meeting being deeply affected with the calamitous condition of the inhabitants of Boston, and considering the alarming tendency of the acts of the British Parliament for the purpose of raising revenue in America, resolves that this meeting thinks it their greatest happiness to live under the government of the illustrious house of Hanover and that they will steadfastly and uniformly bear true and faithful allegiance to His Majesty, King George III, in the enjoyment of their constitutional rights and privileges, that they conceive it to be their privilege to be taxed only by their own consent, and that they will heartily unite with others in the colony to elect delegates to attend a general congress from the several provinces of America to try to determine upon some effectual amendment for obtaining a repeal of the acts of Parliament, which appear to the meeting so evidently calculated to destroy that mutual harmony and dependence between Great Britain and her colonies, which are the basis and support of both.
December 6, 1774
Portsmouth, New Hampshire
In 1772, Samuel Adams and Joseph Warren formed a Committee of Correspondence in Massachusetts to protest the British decisions that removed from the colony any means of controlling public officials. In the following months, hundreds of similar committees formed in Massachusetts and in every other colony.
John Langdon, a friend of Adams and one of Portsmouth New Hampshire's wealthiest citizens, was trying to recruit Major Thomas Van Buskirk, whom he had known since the French and India War. Now, the two men were sitting in front of the fireplace in Langdon’s Portsmouth town house arguing.
“Independence,” Langdon said vehemently. “If the King will not give us the power to control our own destinies we must declare independence.”
Van Buskirk stared into the fire. “If your revolutionary fervor wasn’t spawned from the fact that British control of the shipping industry is hurting your business I might be more inclined to accept it as heartfelt.”
“Well of course I’m motivated by business. Why should I not be? What are we if not a country of trade and commerce?”
“Perhaps I’ve been a soldier too long.”
Langdon laughed. “Yes. Now that you mention it, you are probably the oldest major in the British army. You’ve been a major since you were a boy.”
Van Buskirk looked at him but offered no response.
“I know your family has more money than Croesus. Christ you must own all of northern New Jersey. Why don’t you buy yourself a higher rank?”
Thomas shrugged. “The Prime Minister and I don’t see eye to eye on the way American militias are conscripted.”
“You see?” Langdon pointed at him. “That’s exactly why we need independence.”
“I’m not ready to give up on the British Empire because of Lord North’s policies, John,” Van Buskirk answered hotly. “Prime Ministers come and Prime Ministers, go but the Empire is eternal.”
Langdon shook his head. “How long has your family been in America?”
“I don’t remember. As long as yours, I suppose. Ask Rachael. She’s the keeper of the family dynasty.”
“Van Buskirks have been here since the Mayflower landed,” Langdon said, answering his own question. “They came with the original Dutch settlers.”
“Not quite that long,” Thomas said with a shake of his head. “In fact we’re Danish not Dutch; the name was Andriessen. Laurens Andriessen changed his name to Van Buskirk then married a rich Dutch girl. We’ve been marrying rich Dutch girls ever since”
“My point being that your family has a substantial investment in America and should have a right to make decisions in American government. Why should some hereditary aristocrat in the House of Lords or someone elected to the House of Commons from Nottingham make decisions that affect our families while we have nothing to say on the subject?”
Thomas shrugged.
“How much longer will you be at Fort William and Mary?” Langdon asked after a long silence.
“I have to be back in Boston by the twentieth and I hope to make it home before Christmas.”
“You are aware that Lord North's ministry has cautioned the colonial governors to secure all arms, powder, and shot?”
“Yes. Your Governor Wentworth has installed a small garrison to guard it.” Thomas turned from the fire and looked at Langdon suspiciously. “I pray that you and your bloody Committee of Correspondence don’t intend to take it.”
“Did
you know that King George has forbidden the export of arms and powder
to America?”
“Yes.”
Langdon got up and knocked his pipe out in the fireplace. “I owe you a great deal, Thomas. If it had not been for you, I would have surely been in a watery grave for the last twenty years. Nevertheless, if you stay on the wrong side of this thing much longer you will become my enemy and the enemy of your countrymen. You must resign from the British army.” He filled his pipe then lit it with a stick, waiting for Thomas to answer.
“My father was a soldier,” Thomas said after some time. “When I was five I went to Von Ruthann’s Military Academy in New York then to Woolwich in London when I was ten. I was commissioned as an ensign when I was fourteen. I’m a soldier John.”
“America is going to need soldiers. Resign your commission now before your sense of duty draws you into this on the wrong side.”
“You really think it will go that far?”
“I don’t think, I know.”
“That bloody fool Samuel Adams is going to stir up a hornet’s nest,” Thomas said loudly. “He thinks he can fight the best army in the world with his Minutemen carrying squirrel guns. He’s mad and so are you.”
“Is everything all right in here?” Mary Langdon asked from the doorway.
Thomas stood up. “Forgive me, Mary. I didn’t mean to shout.”
She walked into the room and patted his arm. “How are you, Thomas? I was afraid you might get away before I had a chance to talk to you.”
“I’m fine Mary; how are you?”
She smiled. “Older and no wiser.”
“But as beautiful as ever.”
“If my pipe doesn’t bother you why don’t you sit with us, Mary,” Langdon suggested. “We could use a woman’s civilizing, I think.”
“John is harping at you to join his Committee?” Mary asked, sitting in the rocking chair.
Thomas resumed his seat. “He’s relentless.”
“That he is,” she agreed. “How are Rachael and the boys?”
“Rachael is always Rachael,” he said with a smile, “and the boys are no longer boys.”
“Soldiers?” she asked.
“Tom tried farming in Kentucky for a time but things went badly and now he’s at loose ends. Robert is still in the British army. As you probably recall, Tom and Robert completed the Royal Military Academy at Woolwich with honors. John however, was recently cashiered for striking an upper classman. I think John may need to follow a different vocation.” He laughed. “Perhaps a pugilist or a lawyer.”
“John was always a wild one, wasn’t he?” Langdon asked.
Thomas shrugged. “He is the youngest and I suppose Thomas and Robert turned him into a fighter by picking on him. I was rarely around, but that’s what Rachael says.”
“He was always reckless, as I recall,” Langdon said.
“Like his namesake?” Thomas laughed.
“His namesake?” Mary asked.
“My youngest son’s name is John Langdon Van Buskirk,” Thomas said.
“Well I declare,” Mary, giggled. “After all these years and I never knew that.”
“I wager you didn’t know that Thomas and Rachael had to get married either,” Langdon said with a twinkle in his eye. “Scandalous.”
She looked at Thomas wide eyed.
“Ignore him, Mary,” Thomas said dismissively. “John thought it was odd that Rachael and I were married by arrangement and apparently he’s never gotten over it.”
“Actually I thought it was odd that you married your cousin,” Langdon chuckled.
“Half the people in New York and New Jersey are my cousins,” Thomas grumbled.
“Only if they’re very rich and Dutch,” Langdon said.
“Is Rachael’s family wealthy? Mary asked.
“Of course; Rachael was a Van Cortlandt,” Langdon said in surprise.
“And still is; Once a Van Cortlandt always a Van Cortlandt,” Thomas added, looking closely at Mary.
Langdon too looked at his wife. “You knew that, Mary.”
“Did I?” She touched her forehead with her hand. “I seem to forget things lately.” She thought for a few seconds then brightened. “Do you see your Uncle Abraham often, Thomas?”
Thomas shook his head. “He’s a flaming Tory to his bones. We see each other during Harvest Home and Christmas and we say all the right things to each other.”
“Oh dear,” Mary said. “Have you and Rachael moved away from Van Buskirk Point?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “We live in Elizabethtown now. What about your children, Mary; don’t you have a grandson at last?”
“Yes at last,” she said with a glowing smile. “I recommend grandchildren. You should have some.”
Langdon cleared his throat. “Perhaps you forgot that two of Thomas’s grandchildren were murdered by savages in Kentucky last year, Mary.”
She put her hand to her throat. “Oh Thomas how callus of me. How did I forget?”
“There’s no harm done, Mary,” Thomas said.
“Tom’s wife too,” she said, shaking her head. “How is he?”
“I don’t think he’ll ever get over it.” Thomas looked at Langdon. “There’s a recruit for your revolution, John. Tom blames the King for the death of his wife and children.”
“As indeed he should,” Langdon said angrily. “The King’s treaty left those unsuspecting settlers unprotected and ripe to be massacred on land that they had been legally granted. Land that you were granted,” he corrected. “But the meaning is the same. They should have been protected.”
Thomas started to reply then changed his mind and nodded.
“Keep your seat please, Thomas.” Mary stood up. “I’ll let you two get back to your arguing. Tell Rachael that I will be in New York over Christmas. If she can come over I would be delighted.”
“I’ll tell her; or you could come to us. We’re just a short trip across the Bay.”
Langdon waited until she was gone. “That was my fault. I should not have teased you about the arranged marriage. Once she gets confused, she seems to forget everything. It’s worse when she’s tired.”
Thomas tried to think of something comforting to say, but failed. “I’m sorry John.”
Langdon looked at the fire. “It’s been a good life, Thomas. But I’m surprised it was so short.”
“She may get better, John; or at least no worse.”
Langdon shook his head then looked at Thomas. “Find an excuse to be away from the Fort in the fourteenth.”
Thomas put his hands over his face. “Think what you’re doing, John.”
“I have thought. This is my country; I’m not giving it up to make the bloody aristocrats richer.”
“If you take the munitions without getting yourself killed we’ll be ordered to fetch them back.”
“Resign and you won’t have to.”
“The British army is not going to resign, John. You’re talking about an act of treason that will rain all the King’s horses and all the King’s men down on your head.”
“Resign, Thomas.”
“Jesus. You’re as stubborn as my son, John.”
“You named him well.”
“John, please don’t do this. They’ll find the munitions within a few days and it will have been for nothing.”
“They won’t find them.”
“Your committee has more leaks than a sieve. You can’t keep secrets.”
“It won’t be a secret. We are taking the munitions to Massachusetts.
“You say Massachusetts likes its some distant fortress. I can nearly spit to Massachusetts,” he said angrily. “If you steal the munitions and send them to Massachusetts they’ll still send me after them and I’ll bring them back.”
“Resign.”
“You cannot beat the British army, with me or without me.”
August 23, 1774
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Colony
The day was uncomfortably hot and a cloud of fine dust filtered in through the open windows of the horse drawn coach to layer the three wool clad, sweltering, passengers in a brownish, gray film.
“God’s teeth,” Anna Livingston pronounced. “I have never been so bloody miserable.” A stunning beauty, Anna expected the world to yield to her wishes and she deeply resented anything that infringed upon her comfort or happiness.
Her father, the right honorable William Livingston, turned to her angrily but then stopped short of chastising her for the blasphemy and gutter language simply because he knew that it would only encourage her.
Anna was William and Susanna Livingston’s tenth in a line of thirteen children and at fifteen years of age, she was their youngest daughter. Three of his daughters, Sarah, Susan, and Catherine, popularly know as ‘the three graces’, had been the toast of New Jersey society, but Anna openly scorned the well born and she behaved so badly that the family had allowed her to withdraw to a private life of her own choosing, where she had become spoiled and sullen. “If this is America's best appointed city I want no part of it,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the view beyond the coach windows.
Her father turned to the third passenger in the coach who seemed enthralled by the view that Anna disparaged. “You do not appear to share my daughter’s views of Philadelphia, Master Van Buskirk.”
John Van Buskirk blushed. He did not want to risk offending Anna but he was enraptured with the city and with the very idea of being included in such an historic event. “‘Tis very large, sir,” he replied lamely and then grinned, anticipating a painful verbal barb from the girl.
“Very large indeed,” Livingston nodded with a smile.
Anna made a snorting sound that indicated her low opinion of John’s reply but she withheld comment.
“Large and very expensive,” Livingston added. “Had I been consulted as to location of this Congress I would have chosen a city less dear than Philadelphia.” At 51 years of age, William Livingston was a tall, thin, impressive looking man who described himself as "a long nosed, long chinned, ugly looking fellow."
“Why was Philadelphia chosen, sir?” John asked.
“Benjamin Franklin,” Livingston said, as if the name explained everything.
John wrinkled his brow. “Do you mean the Governor’s father?”
“On the wrong side of the blankets,” Anna muttered.
Livingston looked at her in shock. “Where do you learn such language?”
“Would bastard be the preferred choice of language, Father?”
Livingston blanched. “’Tis only because of your mother’s ill health that I asked you to accompany me and your demeanor…” He was so flustered that he was unable to finish the sentence.
“In Mother’s absence you have brought me along to serve as your personal maid, Father,” Anna replied. “Why should I not resent being treated as a servant?”
“In your mother’s absence I brought you along to act as my hostess,” he replied in a strangled voice. “That decision, I have discovered, over the course of this journey, was a terrible error in judgment.”
“Hostess,” she sniffed tossing her head. “I was under the impression that this so called Continental Congress was being convened to conduct important colonial business, not some bacchanalian outing for middle aged gentry.”
Livingston made a visible effort to calm himself. “Much of the important business of politics is conducted in a more neutral and relaxed social setting,” he said in his most lawyerly tone. “Each assembly will be expected to entertain. I, however, will beg the assistance of one of the other ladies of our delegation and shall manage perfectly without you.”
“Good,” Anna huffed. Over the course of seven days since the Livingston’s entourage of coaches, wagons, and horses, had departed from Elizabethtown, bound for Philadelphia, Anna had found fault with every inn, tavern and hostelry in which they had stopped and she had insulted everyone within range, making her father’s life miserable. “I shall wither away in some sweltering, Philadelphia, pigsty, while you and Master Van Buskirk engage in your debauchery.”
“In addition to your sleeping chambers, Miss Livingston,” John said, “your accommodations in Philadelphia include a sitting room, a well appointed parlor, a small library and a large office with desks for a staff of four.”
She looked at John as if he had just crawled from under a rock. “Why should I care?”
“When we were in school together I took notice of your fine penmanship,” John continued with a blush, “so I thought perhaps that you might consent to copy my notes at the end of each congressional session. A record of such importance deserves a finer hand than my own.”
She opened her fan and looked out the couch window. “If the accommodations are adequate I might consider your request.”
“I am quite sure you will find them adequate; you shall be staying at the City Tavern, Miss Livingston,” John said, “which, you may not know, is Philadelphia's premiere hostelry.”
“Premier?” she snorted.
“If you do not find the City Tavern to be adequate, I fear that you may never find such a place,” he said calmly.
“And how does one who has never visited the city come by such expansive knowledge of Philadelphia hostelry?” she challenged.
John met her eyes. “I have not been here but I am quite familiar with the city. My family does business in Philadelphia and has done since it was founded.”
The comment was a, not so subtle, reminder to Anna that the Van Buskirks were a very old and important New Jersey family whereas the Livingstons were newcomers.
Anna rose immediately to the insult. “My family would have been in America years and years before your family had it not been for an awful storm at sea.”
“Your family would not have come to America at all if it had not been banished.”
“My family is descended from royalty, not from some common rouge who married money and who has since inbred to the point of imbecility,” she shouted.
“Enough.” Livingston raised his hand to prevent the argument from continuing. “The Van Buskirk family has been most gracious in welcoming us to New Jersey and I am extremely grateful.”
Last year William Livingston had completed the construction of a fifty-room house, called Liberty Hall, on his estate in Elizabethtown where he had planned to retire as a gentleman farmer. However, the events in Boston, in Portsmouth, New Hampshire and The Intolerable Acts of King George III had prompted Livingston to membership in the Essex County Committee of Correspondence where he, with support from the Whig and Presbyterian faction of the Van Buskirk family, had been selected as a delegate to the upcoming meeting of the Continental Congress.
Livingston’s comment about his gratitude to the Van Buskirks prompted John to realize that the verbal arrow he had aimed at Anna had in fact wounded her father, so he quickly changed the subject. “Are you acquainted with a Colonel George Washington, sir?”
“I am indeed,” Livingston answered brightly. “Although I think he has now retired from military life and no longer uses the title of colonel. Why do you ask?”
“My father said that Colonel – that is – Mr. Washington would be here at the congress and he asked me to introduce myself to him. Father and Mr. Washington served in the army together during the Seven Years' War.”
Livingston raised an eyebrow. “Did they serve together indeed? Your father never mentioned that to me.”
John squirmed. “My father is none too proud of the behavior of the British Regulars during the war and he rarely discusses the events. He does however seem to hold Mr. Washington in high regard.”
“Was your father with General Braddock?”
John nodded. “He was a major on the general’s staff as was then Major Washington. Later when Major Washington was promoted to colonel, Father became his second in command.”
“He was Washington’s or Braddock’s executive officer?”
“Colonel Washington’s, sir. My father’s ill feelings of General Braddock and of the Crown’s failure during the war, as well as the King’s betrayal of the Kentucky settlers, are perhaps the root of his division with the Tories in our family.”
“Everyone says that all Van Buskirks are bloody Tories at heart,” Anna said.
Her father glared at her but spoke to John. “Are not the majority of Van Buskirks at Van Buskirk Point Catholics?”
“Lutheran Catholics not Roman Catholics,” John confirmed.
“But your father is, as am I, Presbyterian,” Livingston said, confirming a fact that was not at all in doubt.
John hesitated. “My grandfather did not agree with the church when it refused to conduct services in English so he became a Presbyterian. My grandfather’s brothers remained devout Lutherans.”
“Yet your father and your uncle Abraham seem to have maintained an amicable relationship in spite of their sharply differing religious and political beliefs,” Livingston observed.
John made a wry face. “They certainly have differing opinions when discussing this congress.”
“Are you not, Master Van Buskirk, related to Jacobus Van Cortlandt?” Anna asked.
“Yes. He was my mother’s father.”
“Is
your mother a Tory?”
John hesitated. “She is perhaps more
loyal to the monarchy than my father.”
“Did you know that my brother-in-law is Jacobus Van Cortlandt’s grandson?”
“Yes,” John replied. “I attended the wedding at Liberty Hall as you may recall, and was seated on the groom’s side.”
“I do not recall.”
“Will Sarah be attending the congress?”
“My sister?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“My aunt is also Sarah.”
“Yes I know. She is the wife of Lord Sterling, I believe.”
“You are correct.”
John waited a moment to see if she would say more. “Your brother-in-law, John Jay is a delegate to the congress, so I thought perhaps Sarah might accompany him.”
Anna laughed. “Now I remember. You were quite taken with Sarah.”
John blushed crimson. “I found all your sisters to be charming.”
“Is that why you are always lurking about Liberty Hall? Or are you a relative of ours by marriage through the Van Cortlandt’s? For that matter, exactly why are you accompanying us on this journey?”
“Master Van Buskirk is, and always shall be, a welcome guest at my home Anna, and he has been appointed by the Committee to assist me during the congress,” Livingston interrupted angrily.
“Congress seems an odd choice of words for this event,” Anna said from behind her fan.
“A congress is a meeting of elected or appointed representatives,” John replied. “I cannot think of a more appropriate word to describe this event.”
She smiled at him. “Congress is also the coupling of a man and woman for the purpose of procreation.”
“Oh dear,” John gulped.
“Anna, please,” Livingston begged.
“Very well, Father,” she grumbled. “I was simply trying to pass the time.”
John had become acquainted with the Livingstons because Liberty Hall was near his family’s home and a popular visiting place of young men who were students at near by Francis Barber's academy. William had noticed John among all the other young men and had taken a decided interest in him, suggesting John’s name as an assistant to the congressional delegation.
“I believe my godfather, Mr. John Langdon, is a New Hampshire delegate,” John said to Livingston.
“Master Van Buskirk, how much farther is this epitome of Philadelphia hostelry?” Anna interrupted.
John put his head out of the coach window and looked ahead. “Ten more blocks.”
Anna wrinkled her nose. “And you know this so precisely because your, oh so important, family has done business here for centuries?”
John continued to ride with his head outside the coach window. “What?”
“I asked how you know,” she shouted.
He brought his head in and grinned at her. “I studied the Philadelphia map before we left New Jersey, of course.”
“By studying a map last week you now know that we are ten blocks from our destination.” She made a scornful face.
“We are on Walnut just passing Twelfth Street,” John explained. “City Tavern is on Second Street just above Walnut. That would be about ten more blocks.” He put his head out the window again, looked behind them to count the conveyances in the procession of wagons, coaches and carriages that made up the Livingston entourage then pulled his head inside.
“Does not Master Van Buskirk’s popping in and out of the coach windows put you in mind of Mother’s Bavarian coo-coo-clock, Father?” Anna asked.
Ignoring her, Livingston addressed John. “Is all well back there?”
John nodded. “Yes, sir. It seems to be. At least everyone is still with us.”
“Good. Very good.”
“Other than Colonel Washington, and the delegates from New Jersey, do you know any of the others who will be attending the congress sir?” John asked.
Livingston nodded. “Yes, I am acquainted with several.”
“Are any of your acquaintances interesting?”
“Interesting? Hmm. Let me see.” He smiled. “You might be interested to meet Samuel Adams and his cousin John of Boston.”
“Samuel Adams?” John repeated excitedly. “It is rumored that Samuel Adams was the organizer of the Boston tea Party.” He said this last in a lowered voice as if someone might overhear.
“Rumored?” Anna scoffed. “The King himself knows that the crime was perpetrated by Mr. Adams and his gang of ruffians dressed as Mohawks. The real question is why Governor Gage has not yet arrested and hanged the rogue. A hanging might be interesting; don’t you think, Master Van Buskirk?”
“Who else do you know, sir?” John urged, ignoring Anna.
“Joseph Galloway is interesting. A brilliant mind, brilliant.”
“Is not Mr. Galloway a Loyalist?” John asked.
“He is, yes indeed he is. However, that fact should not be particularly surprising to you. The purpose of this Continental Congress is not to throw off the yoke of England, as Sam Adams has espoused, but to deal intelligently with the issues of taxation, the Quartering Act and the other such intolerable acts, and to then properly make our views on those subjects known to the King.”
“As if the King gives two pins for the continental intercourse between a few self important commoners,” Anna scoffed.
As the coach slowed to a stop, Livingston doffed his hat to two gentlemen who were on the porch of Mrs. Sarah Yard's lodging house. “There, Master Van Buskirk, stand the infamous cousins, John and Samuel Adams.”
John leaned forward to see through the far window but Anna waved her fan at him in annoyance, so he sat back and turned to Livingston. “Will the Tories here in Philadelphia make trouble for them sir?”
“Not yet,” Livingston answered. “Not so long as Tories like Galloway are still agreeing to discussion. Your uncle Abraham had earlier agreed to attend the congress but at the last minute declined.” The coach was stalled near the sidewalk waiting for traffic and he looked out of the window toward the City Tavern. “Perhaps it would save some time if you would be so kind as to organize the servants and to inform the hostelry staff of our arrival, Master Van Buskirk?”
“Of course, sir.” John opened the door. “Will I be joining you for supper sir, or shall I meet you in the morning?”
“Come to my rooms when everything is settled and we shall discuss the scheduled balance of today and tomorrow.”
John leaped to the sidewalk to avoid a foul smelling stream of dark liquid and then leaned back across the odiferous gutter to close the coach door. For a moment, his eyes met Anna’s, but she instantly looked away.
“Does he work for us, Father?” she asked, watching John as he walked back toward the caravan.
“He most certainly does not,” Livingston replied. “He has agreed to accompany me as my assistant without any remuneration. His contract is with the Continental Congress.”
“Then why do you order him about like a servant?”
“Do I? Oh dear I hope not. No, that wouldn’t do.”
John reached the next coach in line, stepped up onto the running board and smiled at the dusty occupants. “As you undoubtedly know, we have arrived at our destination. Mr. and Miss Livingston will have rooms here at the City Tavern and all household servants will be accommodated here as well. The rest of the staff will be housed around the corner at the Two Penny Stables. Mr. Johnson can show you, since he has been here many times before. I shall be rooming in Mrs. Sarah Yard's Lodging House which is directly across the street.” He glanced at the traffic as the coach began to move forward. “After I have seen that the Livingstons are comfortable I shall return to guide you if need be.”
“Need ye shall be, young Master Van Buskirk,” David Cavanaugh called down from the box beside the coach driver. “I’ll not be takin’ yer devil horse off the tether, nor will any of my people.”
“Never fear, Cavanaugh,” John replied to the groom. “I’ll fetch Beelzebub and stable him myself.”
“I ain’t feared of no worldly beast,” Cavanaugh countered, “but that animal should of been put down before he took to the teat.”
“My horse is neither your problem nor your business,” John said calmly. “Leave Beelzebub tied to the string and I shall take care of him when I’ve finished my other duties.”
“If they’ve any sense at the Two Penny stables they won’t allow you to board that bastard there,” Cavanaugh warned.
“You just take care of the Livingston’s horses and tack, Cavanaugh, and I’ll take care of Beelzebub.” John jumped clear of the wheels and joined the foot traffic that was filing toward the City Tavern. He felt truly fortunate to be a small part of, what he expected to be, a momentous event. Contrary to his father’s and Mr. Livingston’s opinions, there was no doubt in John’s mind that this Continental Congress would signify the birth of a new nation and a milestone in human history. Not even Anna’s surly scorn could diminish it.
~
The Livingston’s coach had arrived at the tavern’s doors and to John’s great relief, William and his daughter had already been escorted to their rooms. Before this trip began John had been painfully smitten with Anna, but now he was delighted to be rid of the witch. She was indeed a rare beauty, but her prickly personality, vulgar vocabulary and stinging tongue were loathsome liabilities.
“No, no,” he said to a porter who was unloading the baggage truck, “all the trunks marked with blue ribbons are to go with the servants.”
The man pulled his forelock and began sorting the trunks again.
“Master Van Buskirk!” A boy shouted as he forced his way through the legs of the crowd outside the tavern. “You better come quick.”
“Come where?” John asked. “What’s happened?”
The boy pointed over his shoulder. “The stables,” he panted. “Mr. Cavanaugh. Your horse.”
John had heard enough. He ran into the road to be nearly run down by a trolley before racing through the muddy street and around the corner.
The Two Penny Stables was located on a cul-de-sac at the end of Tuppence Alley, which ran, more or less, parallel with 2nd street. By the time John reached the stable, the cul-de-sac was bedlam. David Cavanaugh, the Livingston’s groom, was lashing the big, black stallion, that the Van Buskirk livery hands had named Beelzebub, with a horsewhip. John rushed past the horse, ignoring the flaying hooves, and threw a punch at Cavanaugh’s chin.
Cavanaugh saw it coming, leaned back to watch the punch go harmlessly by and then delivered a massive blow to John’s midsection. The combination of the power of Cavanaugh’s fist and John’s forward momentum collapsed John’s lungs and he folded, wheezing to his knees. Gasping for breath, John tried to get up but Cavanaugh’s boot caught him above the right eye and spilled him onto his back in the mud, where he laid gushing blood.
Cavanaugh laughed. “Looks to me like you’ve bit off more that you can chew, rich boy.” He aimed another vicious kick at John, but this time John rolled clear, struggled to his feet and backed up, struggling to regain his breath.
“Come on boy; get some more,” Cavanaugh taunted.
John felt neither pain now, nor any sense of injury; only rage. He swiped at the blood that was blinding his right eye, took a deep breath then bellowing like a bull, he charged Cavanaugh.
Once again, the big man stepped deftly aside and hammered John with a fist to the back of his neck. John staggered and went down on his hands and knees. Cavanaugh kicked him in the buttocks. “‘Tis time somebody taught you a lesson.” Cavanaugh shook out the coil of his horsewhip and laid it out with practiced skill.
John raised his arms to protect his face from the whip but the jesses at the whip’s end split the sleeve of John’s coat and the skin beneath it as neatly as if it had been cut with a sharp knife.
“Time to bleed now, boy.” Cavanaugh coiled the whip and raised his arm to strike again.
“Stop.” The voice cracked like a gun and Cavanaugh lowered his arm, turning toward a tall man on a white horse. “Put down that whip.”
“I need no help, sir,” John said. “Thank you just the same.”
“What happened here?” The man pointed his quirt at Cavanaugh ignoring John.
Cavanaugh knuckled his forehead. “The boy attacked me, m’ lord.”
As the killing rage receded, John was beginning to feel the pain and he caught Beelzebub’s bridle. With the horse in tow, he staggered to lean against the fence.
The mounted man rode closer to Cavanaugh. “Why did the boy attack you?”
Cavanaugh was slow to answer. “Because of that devil horse.” He waved the whip toward Beelzebub.
“You’re horsewhipping this man because of what you call a devil horse?”
“Aye. The horse attacked me, m’lord.”
The man dismounted and walked toward Cavanaugh. Tall but slightly paunchy and wide hipped, he was not as impressive on foot as he had been on horseback, but something in his eyes made Cavanaugh back away. “First the young man attacked you then the devil horse attacked you?” he asked, still walking forward.
Cavanaugh nodded and continued backward.
“All of this without any provocation?”
Cavanaugh backed into the stable wall. “It weren’t my fault, yer lordship.”
The tall man held Cavanaugh in a cold stare for several seconds then turned and started toward John but was immediately stopped by Beelzebub who put his ears back and showed his big yellow teeth. The man looked back to Cavanaugh. “Who is your employer?”
“I cannot see how that ‘tis your business, m’ lord,” Cavanaugh replied.
The man walked back to Cavanaugh only stopping when his nose was inches from Cavanaugh’s. “Perhaps you would like to reconsider that remark?”
Involuntary Cavanaugh tried to step backward but he was prevented from doing so by the stable wall. “Mr. Livingston, sir,” Cavanaugh whispered, pressing his back to the boards.
“Mr. William Livingston?”
“Yes, sir, m’ lord.”
“Then we shall leave it to Mr. Livingston to sort this out.” He once again turned away and walked back to his horse then he looked at John. “You are in need of help, which I should gladly provide, if your horse would permit it.”
John, bleeding profusely from his right eyebrow and nose, leaned unsteadily on Beelzebub. “I just need a moment to catch my breath, sir,” John mumbled through rapidly swelling lips.
“I assure you that you need more than that.”
“Please accept my apology for being so ungracious earlier.” John took a ragged breath. “I think you may have saved me from a horsewhipping. I do sincerely thank you.”
“What started this?”
“It was most likely my horse’s fault, sir,” John managed to reply. “He is very bad tempered and refuses to be handled by anyone other than myself.”
“The horse is at fault.”
“As am I, sir. I fear that both my horse and I are ill tempered.”
“I see.”
John tried to wipe the blood from his right eye but it was immediately replaced by the steady flow from his eyebrow. “May I have the honor of your name sir, so that I might thank you properly when I am better disposed?”
“Washington.”
“George Washington?” John asked as he connected the tall pear-shaped gentleman with the description he had heard many times.
“Yes. You know my name?”
“I do indeed, sir. I am John Van Buskirk, son of Major Thomas Van Buskirk of His Majesty’s Army.” He tried to walk forward to offer his hand to Washington but his legs were unsteady and he had to cling to Beelzebub’s mane to keep from falling.
“Thomas’s boy?” Washington beamed and took a step toward John but was stopped once again by a warning whistle from Beelzebub. “That really is a vicious beast, John,” he said with a chuckle.
“He’s a warhorse, sir,” John said. “He’s bad mannered but I can ride him with no hands. Just voice commands or knee pressure.”
Suddenly the crowd that had gathered around him to watch the fight began to stir, and moments later Anna Livingston appeared, pushing and elbowing anyone who failed to move fast enough. “God damn your eyes, move!” she bellowed as she broke free of the crowd and strode toward the scene of the mêlée.
Washington was obviously shocked by her language, but made no comment and bowed formally.
Anna offered a small curtsy to Washington. “I am Anna Livingston, sir. We have met on several occasions, I believe.”
“Yes,” Washington said uncertainly. “William and Susanna Livingston’s daughter I believe.”
“That is correct.” She turned away for Washington and nonchalantly walked unchallenged past Beelzebub to look up into John’s damaged face. ”I saw the whole thing from my window.” She gestured vaguely toward the back of the buildings, “but I was changing my bloody clothes so I had to dress before I could come down to your aid.” She turned her rage on Cavanaugh. “I couldn’t find my bloody pistol; otherwise I would have shot this stinking, Irish, bastard in his stinking, Irish, guts.”
Cavanaugh raised his hands and began moving sideways into the crowd.
“That’s right, slink away, you cur,” she shouted. “My father will deal with you later.” She turned her attention back to John. “You look absolutely awful. Perhaps Mr. Washington would be so kind as to help you to your rooms.”
“Of course,” Washington said. “Come along, John.”
“Thank you sir, but I am quite fine.” John could not see Anna’s face clearly and tried to open his right eye but the swelling or the blood made it impossible. “If you will permit me, Miss Livingston, I must stable Beelzebub.”
“No I will not permit anything of the kind. Go to your rooms and I shall stable Beelzebub for you.” Anna took the horse’s bridle from John. “Go on.”
John looked from her to the horse in amazement.
“Beelzebub and I reached an understanding when he was a colt,” Anna said in answer to the unspoken question. “Go on to your rooms and I shall attend to Beelzebub and then I shall come to you. Do not forget your bag.”
John picked up his carpetbag but continued to stare at her without answering.
“I assure you that I can manage,” Anna said reassuringly.
“Yes,” John said with a painful attempt at a smile. “Yes I think you probably can.” He bowed to Washington. “I most sincerely thank you for your assistance, sir.” He limped toward the main street leaving Beelzebub in the care of the witch.
“You will follow him?” Anna asked Washington.
“Of course I will.” Leading his horse Washington pushed through the crowd behind John.
August 23, 1774
The City of Philadelphia in the Pennsylvania Colony
“Thirty shillings a week in Pennsylvania currency; candles and firewood are extra,” the little round faced man on the huge front porch pronounced as John painfully climbed the steps of Mrs. Sarah Yard's lodging house.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” John removed his hat and dropped his carpetbag by his feet.
The man jumped to his feet and looked toward the street. “Is that you, Washington?”
“Good day, Mr. Adams,” Washington said as he mounted his horse. “I was just seeing our young friend to his lodgings. I now entrust him to your care.”
“Of course, of course.” He glanced toward John then back to Washington. “Shall we meet later?”
“I’m uncertain of the schedule. It may be tomorrow. Good day gentlemen.”
“Thank you,” John called, suddenly feeling very weak in the knees.
Adams waved at Washington then looked at John. “Well, well. What have we here?”
“Have I the honor of the company of Mr. Samuel Adams or Mr. John Adams?” John was feeling decidedly unwell.
“I am almost certainly John Adams. You can tell by the fact that I am fat and relatively jolly where my cousin is thin, dower and usually unpleasant. How did you know that there were two Adams in temporary residence at this establishment?”
“My employer, Mr. William Livingston, pointed you out to me as we arrived.” John gestured toward the more expensive City Tavern across the street and staggered from the effort.
“Ah.” Adams nodded. “And might I have the pleasure of your name?”
“Oh yes of course. Please do forgive me. I am John Van Buskirk of Elizabethtown, New Jersey.” He offered his hand.
Adams looked at the blood-encrusted hand and smiled without accepting the handshake. “You appear to have had a recent and perhaps serious accident.”
“Recent but not serious, sir.” John touched the puffy swelling under his right eye. “Nor was it an accident. I am ashamed to admit that I represent the loosing side of a very short fist fight.”
“One should never be ashamed of losing a fight, Master Van Buskirk; only of not fighting when a fight is warranted or of fighting when a fight was unwarranted.” Adams returned to the porch chair.
John tried to smile but it was too painful.
“Perhaps you will forgive my curiosity, but it does strike one as strange that a young man named Van Buskirk would be employed by Mr. Livingston,” Adams remarked after a moment.
“Why does that seem strange, sir?” John’s head was swimming but he tried to hide his discomfort with a wan smile.
Adams considered his words for a moment. “To my knowledge the Van Buskirks of New Jersey hold particularly emphatic Loyalist beliefs.”
“That would be my uncle Dr. Abraham Van Buskirk of Van Buskirk Point. My father is Thomas Van Buskirk of Elizabethtown.”
“Where exactly is Van Buskirk Point?”
“It is on the peninsula where Kill Van Kull joins Newark Bay to New York Bay. Do you know the area?”
“Only from a distance. Do your uncle and his family have business interests in New York?”
“The family is very large.” John was worried that he might well faint. “If you will excuse me, sir.” He picked up his carpetbag and started unsurely toward the door.
“I gather that your uncle will not be here then?” Adams asked.
“No, sir. My uncle recently expressed his opinion to me that all in attendance here should be hanged.”
“A view I shared myself until recent.” He shook his head. “I had been told that your uncle would be here.”
John shook his head then regretted it because a wave of agony passed somewhere behind his eyes. “I have been told that as well, but he will in fact not be here.”
“You’re certain of that fact.”
“I am indeed quite certain of that fact.”
“That is good news if only because Galloway was counting on Abraham’s presence and support.” Adams smiled. “Come and talk to me when you have cleansed and bound your wounds.”
“Of course I shall, sir.” John once more started for the door but he was once again stopped; this time by another man who appeared in front of him, blocking the doorway.
“What hath God wrought?” the man in the doorway asked as he surveyed John’s gore fouled face and muddy clothes.
“Ah,” John Adams said, “John Van Buskirk please permit me to name my second cousin, Mr. Samuel Adams.”
John tried to smile. “It is my very great pleasure, sir.” He considered offering his hand but decided against it.
“Why?” Samuel was older, taller, grimmer and only somewhat less portly than his cousin was, but they shared the same bright, fierce, intelligent eyes.
“I beg your pardon sir?” John prayed silently for Adams to let him pass.
“Why is it your very great pleasure to know my name?”
John almost groaned. “Why?”
“You must have a reason. Or was your greeting disingenuous?”
“Disingenuous; why no, sir,” John stammered. “I have read many of your articles and papers.”
“What?”
“Sir?”
“What have you read that I wrote and what did you like so much about what I wrote to have made this meeting with me such a pleasure?”
John struggled through the pain to search his memory. “The First Public Denial of the Right of the British Parliament to tax the Colonies without their Consent, and the first Public Suggestion of a Union on the part of the Colonies to Protect themselves against British Aggression.”
“What about it?”
“It was a very important piece.”
“Why?”
“Because it was clear, logical and to the point; even if the title was perhaps overly long.”
John Adams burst into laughter. “You must admire a young man who can remember such a tedious title of such an insignificant document, Samuel.”
“It was not meant to be a quotable title,” Sam Adams replied, “and you are wrong and the boy is correct. It was an important document.” He gave John a scowl. “You must be the son of Major Thomas Van Buskirk.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I think your grandfather is also Major Thomas Van Buskirk.”
“Indeed he was sir. Now deceased.”
Samuel’s scowl increased. “You Van Buskirks have a singularly bad habit of repeating the same Christian names within overlapping generations which makes identifying your family members most difficult.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sam Adams walked to one of the many chairs and sat down. “There must be a dozen Thomas Van Buskirks above the ground and hundreds below it while Peters, Lawrences and Johns abide in legions.”
“Not to mention Abrahams,” John Adams offered.
“Let us not mention any Abrahams,” Samuel agreed looking again at John. “From your condition I gather that you are one of the combatants who livened up the stables a short time ago with some brief entertainment.”
“Yes, sir.” John took a step toward the door. “If you will please excuse me sir. I am feeling a bit worse for the experience.”
“I should be proud to shake your hand after it has been washed,” John Adams said. “Join us when you are ready. And perhaps you could also invite the New Jersey delegation to join us for our informal little chat.”
“The accommodations across the street at the City Tavern might be more comfortable, sir,” John replied.
Adams chuckled. “Right you are. Always try to engage the enemy on your own territory.”
“I do not consider you as an enemy, sir. It is my firm opinion however that any conversation here might be overheard by persons on the street.” He gestured weakly over his shoulder at the busy sidewalk. “Whereas the tavern has private rooms.”
“Point well taken,” John Adams replied. “See if you can arrange that.”
“Let the boy go for the love of God,” Sam grumbled.
John nodded his gratitude and at last crossed the threshold into the rooming house.
“Nice lad,” John Adams said after a moment.
“Tough little bastard.” Samuel shuttered. “He stood here making polite conversation even though he was half dead.”
“He’ll mend.”
“Probably.”
“Washington saw him to the stoop.”
“That’s not particularly surprising. Washington and Thomas Van Buskirk served together for many years.”
“He’s with Livingston.”
“William or Robert?”
“William.”
“Thomas or George?”
“What?”
“Who is supporting Livingston? Thomas or George?”
“No, no neither. I was referring to John Van Buskirk, the boy to whom we were just speaking. He is employed by Livingston.”
“I doubt that Thomas Van Buskirk would permit his son to be employed by anyone.”
“That’s what the boy said.”
“He was probably just being polite.”
“Perhaps the Whig side of the family needs money.”
“Thomas never needed army pay. He owns a substantial farm in Elizabethtown and has other holdings in the south and west. His wife is a Van Cortlandt.”
“Do tell.”
“No son of Thomas Van Buskirk would be an employee of William Livingston. It would not be politic.” He thought a moment. “John Langdon may have told me that Thomas resigned his commission in fact.”
“Whether he needed the army pay or not, if Langdon is correct, the major was a bit hasty in resigning his commission.”
“Why do you say that?”
“In spite of your most fervent belief, our independence from England is not a foregone conclusion.”
“Major van Buskirk’s resignation has almost nothing to do with independence.”
“Enlighten me.”
“As a reward for his service to the King, during the Seven Years' War, Thomas was granted a tract in Kentucky. He had no need of the land but accepted the grant and deeded it to his son. Robert I think. I can never keep those damnable Van Buskirk names straight.”
John made a knowing face. “You’re going to tell me that the granted tract now lies beyond The Royal Proclamation line.”
“Exactly,” Sam confirmed.
“And as one might expect, the major feels that King George has reneged on a bargain and that fealty to such a treacherous monarch is untenable.” John said.
“Yes, but…”
“He is quite correct both morally and legally,” John continued over Sam’s attempt to interrupt, “but before taking the step of resigning his commission Major Van Buskirk should have taken his grievance to court. The Proclamation Line has been moved twice for just such issues. In fact, I have successfully represented several plaintiffs in the cause. If the major had spoken to me first…”
“Let me finish,” Sam complained loudly. “The wounds inflicted on Major Van Buskirk by the King cannot be salved in court. I told you that Thomas’s son lived on the Kentucky settlement.”
“Yes you did but…”
“Wait.” Sam waved his hand in annoyance. “The Proclamation was not just a simple redrafting of property lines; the British Garrison was immediately withdrawn. Before they were even aware of the garrison’s withdrawal, the Van Buskirk homestead was attacked by hostile Indians. Several of Major Van Buskirk’s grandchildren and his daughter-in-law were killed. The son, Robert I think, maybe Thomas Junior, has since returned to New Jersey with his surviving children but he remains bitter. Both he and Thomas want revenge. If Langdon is correct, the only surprise in Thomas’s resignation would be that it didn’t come sooner.”
“And so the King has another fierce enemy.”
“Several more methinks.”
“We can only hope that they will be enough to offset the Van Buskirk Tories.”
“Abraham Van Buskirk is a surgeon who also runs an apothecary shop. He knows nothing of being a soldier.”
“That entire area of New Jersey is Tory infested.”
“As is this area of Pennsylvania,” Samuel added, “but the Sons of Liberty now reckons that over two thirds of the rural Colonial population is for independence.”
“How many of those two thirds are actual Patriots willing to risk their lives and treasure for independence?”
Samuel shrugged. “Patriotism can’t be measured until it has a price on it, but whatever the price, Thomas Van Buskirk and at least two of his sons will pay it.”
“Our list grows longer by three.”
“Thomas is the kind who can inspire other men, so our list grows longer by a thousand. Perhaps even more.”
John looked thoughtful. “What do you know of the others in the New Jersey delegation? Are they patriots?”
Samuel looked at his hands for a moment. “David Brearly’s a lawyer. You should know him.”
John shrugged. “I know he’s practicing law in Allentown. I have no idea if he’ll fight for our cause.”
“He was arrested for high treason, but Thomas Van Buskirk and a group of armed men freed him. He has already proven that he’ll fight for the cause.”
“I’m told that he and William Patterson are joined at the hip in opposition to proportional representation of the states in Congress. They advocate the New Jersey Plan, which our assembly cannot abide.”
“Details.” Samuel brushed away the concern as if it was an annoying insect. “What else do you know about Patterson other than this New Jersey Plan of his? He’s a lawyer too, is he not?”
“Yes. In fact it is noteworthy that he and…” Adams stopped and rose to his feet as Anna Livingston mounted the porch steps in a whirl of skirts and petticoats. “Good afternoon Miss.” Adams bowed.
Anna made a slight effort at a curtsey. “Has Mr. John Van Buskirk arrived yet?”
“He just went to his rooms,” Adams replied, after a brief glance at his cousin.
“Thank you.” Anna started for the door then stopped when Adams cleared his throat noisily. “Did you want something or have you had an attack of phlegm?” she asked.
“I fear our landlady may not approve of an unescorted young lady visiting one of her guests,” Adams said smoothly, ignoring her acid tone. “If you would do me the honor, I shall gladly accompany you.” He walked toward Anna and offered her his arm.
“Is she carrying a weapon?” Anna asked, ignoring his arm.
“Pardon me?”
“The landlady,” Anna said. “Is she armed? Does she carry a gun or a knife?”
“Not that I know of,” Adams said in a confused tone.
“Then her approval is of no consequence to me.” Anna vanished into the door.
John watched her for a moment and turned to his cousin who was sniggering behind his hand. “What an extraordinary young woman.”
“Livingston’s girl,” Samuel chuckled. “The face of an angel and temperament of the devil.”
Ah yes.” John nodded. “We met her quite recently did we not?”
“In Boston.”
“I remember noting her beauty but that’s all.”
“Abigail quite deftly kept the girl cornered and away from you fearing that you would stumble into an attack similar to the one I just witnessed.”
Adams glanced into the boarding house but could see no activity. “I am not certain if I envy or pity young John Van Buskirk.”
Upstairs, John Van Buskirk was slumped on the bed with his shirt half off when Anna burst into his room with the landlady a pace behind her.
“Your horse has been rubbed, fed and safely stabled, but I have befouled a perfectly good frock with mud, blood and horseshit on your account and I expect to be repaid,” Anna said.
“Certainly.” John had to hold fast to the bedstead to stand. “Thank you.”
Anna turned a malevolent glare on the landlady who was hovering just beyond the doorway. “That will be all.”
“You may administer to the young gentleman’s injuries but the door is to remain open,” the woman replied, attempting to maintain some of her authority and dignity.
Anna violently slammed the door and waited to see if she would be challenged by the landlady.
John sank back to the bed. “Miss Livingston, please,” he begged. He was very dazed, confused and not sure if Anna was real or an apparition.
“Shut up.” She looked around the room for a moment. “Who was that clownish fop that accosted me on the porch?” She knelt in front of John and struggled to remove John’s tattered coat.
“John Adams,” he said, submitting to her tugging and pulling.
“I met John Adams in Boston but do not recall his being such a bore. I do however remember his wife quite vividly. Abigail is her name. She is a completely charming, intelligent and accomplished woman who is entirely too good for that moonfaced, simpering dolt. I presume the other man is Samuel Adams the famous dumper of tea, revolutionary and brewer of bad beer?”
“Yes.”
“He looks only slightly more a rogue than his brother.” She began removing the studs from his shirt. “I may have met him as well.”
“Cousin,” John corrected.
“What?”
“They are cousins not bothers.”
“Marshmallows.”
“What?”
“They are marshmallows. At least John. I cannot speak for Samuel.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Marshmallows are a fluffy confection made using the sap of the mallow plant which grows in marshes.”
“I am very tired.”
“John Adams is all puffed up sweetness with no real substance. In point of fact, neither brother looks like a man who could fight.”
“Cousins.”
“Marshmallows.”
“If you say so,” he replied in surrender.
“If you do not agree with my opinion please speak your mind,” she chided.
“Under the circumstances it would be hypocritical of me to find fault with men that you think cannot fight and I myself am entirely too beaten to fight with you. Please may we let the subject drop? Please?”
“At least you shed your own blood in the battles that you start. Adams and Adams esquire will start this fight with England and then they will leave it to brave men like Mr. Washington, my father and you to do their bleeding for them.”
“You’re really not being fair.”
“Why do men always say that when faced with incontrovertible logic?” She pulled his shirt off his arms then dropped to her knees and began to fumble with his belt.
“I shall keep my trousers, thank you,” John said, catching her wrist.
She pulled free of his grip. “Very well; if you like to smell like horseshit, keep your trousers on.”
He grumbled something unintelligible.
“I noted that when you were on the ground Cavanaugh kicked you below your beltline.”