Today, his jaw slightly swollen, Washington seemed even lesstalkative than usual. A dentist had arrived, hoping to bring relief. Washington’s frayed temper likely had more to do with his dental woes than the war. Imposing even when smiling, he wasn’t smiling today.
“We have strong reason to believe the enemy is on the point of making some push. What their objective is remains a matter of uncertainty,” the general said. “They have lately been considerably reinforced in Jersey, and from a variety of accounts are meditating some blow. I am firmly persuaded that they mean to attempt to reach Philadelphia again, as I do not know what other object they have ultimately in view.”
The creak of a door halted his words as an aide-de-camp interrupted. “An express has just arrived, sir, with urgent dispatches from Congress.”
With a nod, Washington adjourned the meeting. The dinner hour was upon them.
“Let’s go below for a toddy,” Bohannon said hoarsely to Rhys and Sperry. He cleared his throat. “I need something warm before I ride back to Chatham.”
“You should never have left Chatham to begin with,” Sperry said, looking askance at him. “You’re ill.”
“Well, it’s not the pox,” Bohannon replied. “Simply an ague of some sort, is all.”
They sought an empty table in the congested taproom, pipe smoke swirling like spent gunpowder above their heads, the reek of ale and spirits foremost. Toddies ordered, they awaited their drinks, taking stock of who came and went. A great many couriers, express riders, and townspeople served Arnold Tavern’s incessant needs with an army in residence, and they made sure the place was never idle.
Just now a colorful delegation appeared at the tavern’s entrance, made up of Oneida warriors and chiefs. They looked much like Rhys’s riflemen in dress, the exception being the Indians’ feathered beaver hats. No better spies or scouts existed.
Sperry followed his intent gaze. “So General Washington is hosting the Oneida?”
Rhys nodded. “They’ve recommended rebuilding Fort Stanwix in a bid to block the British invasion routes from Canada through the Mohawk Valley.”
“The New York frontier is a powder keg, in other words.” Bohannon grimaced. “And I have a feeling we’re headed straight for it once we march.”
“I can’t keep track of all the posts north of us as they change hands and names so often.” Sperry began reciting them as if testing his memory. “Fort Ontario ... Fort Niagara ... Crown Point ... Ticonderoga ... Fort Anne ... Fort Edward. And a number of lesser garrisons.”
Bohannon rubbed his brow as if his aching head denied him his memory. “What did General Washington say about our numbers?”
Rhys looked away from the Oneida. “We’re four thousand strong, a force unequal to a successful opposition.”
Sperry frowned. “The enemy’s number before this last reinforcement was estimated from seven to eight thousand.”
Uppermost in Rhys’s mind was what the general had told him privately.
“All our movements have been made with inferior numbers,and with a mixed,motley crew who were here today, gonetomorrow, without assigning a reason,or even apprising us of it. In a word,I do not think any officer since the creation ever had such a variety of difficultiesand perplexities to encounter as I have. How shall we be able to rub along till the new army israised I know not.”
“Those of us who remain support the general fully.” Bohannon paused as a tavern maid served them toddies. “But once we do break camp again that old fear for his safety will resurface.”
“Aye, he takes little care for himself in any action. His personal bravery and leading by example make him fearless of danger.” Sperry took a sip, the spices turning the stale air pungent. “What did the chaplain say of him last service? That ‘we shall continueto storm heaven, which has been his shield, to continue to guard so valuable a life’?”
Rhys took comfort that heaven could be stormed when all else failed. “We are none of us in control of our lives or the outcome.”
He pulled the printed sermon given to all Jersey soldiers from his pocket. Entitled “For the Love of Our Country” and written by an army chaplain, it raised Rhys’s spirits when his doubts surfaced. He’d begun reciting parts of the sermon around the campfires at night to his men who couldn’t read. Along with a little fiddle playing, it seemed to bolster spirits.
Mae’s gift of her father’s instrument still surprised him, and he vowed to return it when the army broke camp.
Passing the sermon to Sperry, he said, “This reminds us of our mission. I’ve pretty much memorized it.”
“Obliged.” Sperry perused it. “What lines mean the most?”
Rhys took a long drink and weighed the question. “‘If the love of your country is indeed the governing principle of your soul, you will give up every inclination which is incompatible with it; nor will you cherish in your hearts any rivals of the favorite passion.’”
Yet another reason why pursuing Mae was so ill-timed.
Bohannon studied him over his tankard. “My sister asks about you.”
Heat climbed up Rhys’s neck. A timely remark, given he was thinking about her. But he was always thinking about her. “Is she well?”
Bohannon winked. “That would depend on you, sir.”
