In All Cases Whatsoever

In All Cases Whatsoever

Howard S. Ford

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© 2012 Howard S. Ford. All rights reserved.

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Published by AuthorHouse 12/10/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-8051-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-8052-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-8053-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012919129

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Contents

Introduction

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

About The Author

Introduction

WHEN THE THIRD French and Indian war was ended by the Aix-la-Chapelle Treaty in 1748, both sides agreed to return their major conquests to the original owner. Thus, the city of Madras was restored to England and Fortress Louisbourg was retained by France.

The fortress on Cape Breton Island guarded the mouth of the St. Lawrence River and had been used as a haven for the French in their ruinous forays against the New England fishing fleet. Most of the expense of subdueing the fortress in terms of funds and lives lost was provided by Yankees in the joint enterprise with the British Navy. Yet Britain ceded the fortress back to France because retaining Madras was considered more valuable.

Resentment by the colonists was planted by this diplomacy, so insensitive to colonial interests. It was increased by schemes of the ministry to pay down the massive British debt for the fourth and final French and Indian War. Raising taxes on the colonists, enforcing long-neglected anti-smuggling laws, arbitrary acts of trade, the military presence, and the insistence of Parliament’s superiority over colonial legislatures ate away the common bond.

This culminated in the final insult which stated that, though certain obnoxious laws had been repealed or had not been enforced, Parliament had the power to assert its will over the colonists in all cases whatsoever.

Despite these aggravations, separation from the mother country was not seriously considered in the decade before the Revolution and did not jell with the founders until it was well-articulated in Thomas Paine’s Common Sense, first published in January of 1776. Within six months, Congress Declared Independence even when most of the British invasion fleet had already anchored in New York Harbor.

This novel, In All Cases Whatsover, is a sequel to Some Call it Treason and portrays a crucial part of the American Revolution. Following the pivotal battles of Trenton and Princeton, the so-called forage wars grew from the failure of the invading British military to protect non-combatants and deal fairly with loyalists and rebels alike in its constant quest for forage to feed livestock, and for horses for transportation and farming.

The British command did not heed the wisdom of not hurling stones at hornet’s nests. Instead of pacifying New Jersey citizens, the British plundered them, but not without cost. Even loyalists turned rebellious and many redcoats lost their lives in these skirmishes as the war began to favor the colonists.

During the summer of 1777, the British planned two major campaigns which they believed would end the rebellion that year: one to capture Philadelphia, the seat of Congress, and General Burgoyne’s campaign to split the rebellious New Englanders from the rest of the colonies– to divide and conquer. The British under General William Howe won the Battle of Brandywine giving them Philadelphia that September but voluntarily abandoned the city eight months later.

In addition to invading along the Lake Champlain-Hudson River corridor south to Albany, Burgoyne’s plans called for a concurrent flanking move to secure the bountiful Mohawk Valley with the help of local loyalists and the Iroquois who had included the valley as their ancestral home for over two centuries. British spies had opined that the garrison of the twenty-year old Fort Stanwix, at the head of the valley, would offer feeble resistance.

But there were additional factors that British Intelligence had not considered: the untried but steadfast resistance of the fort’s commander, Colonel Peter Gansevoort, and the resourceful and energetic Colonel Marinus Willett, his second in command.

The successful defense of the fort contributed a series of events that helped decide the outcome of the Revolution.

In All Cases Whatsoever

Chapter One

IN THE LATE spring of 1776, I was in New York on my uncle Arthur’s business. The city was under martial law and the army had been desperately building forts and redoubts to defend against impending assault. Curfews, passwords, sentry posts and shortages constrained the citizens. Arthur said that he was not up to the ordeal of riding to Paulus Hook, taking the ferry, and dealing with the myriad annoyances and expense involved when going to the city.

Patriot and Loyalist alike, had, for over a month, nervously looked out to sea for the arrival of British forces. Fueling this anxiety were a series of events which cascaded in quick succession from brave talk about separation from the mother country to the indictment and removal from office of William Franklin of New Jersey, one of the few remaining royal governors, and son of Doctor Franklin.

On the twenty-ninth of June, General William Howe’s flagship, the Eagle, and eleven other war ships appeared in the Lower Bay signaling the beginning of the British invasion. Within a week, more than a hundred ships of the British fleet anchored off Sandy Hook. From Manhattan, the masts in Lower Bay looked like a forest of dead pines in drowned lands.

General Howe’s troops had arrived from Halifax. They would be increased when his brother, Lord Admiral Richard Howe, arrived with an equal number of troops from England. And General Clinton was due back from his unsuccessful attempt to take Charles Town, South Carolina, to add thousands more to the menacing forces. They all camped on Staten Island near the Narrows waiting to be ordered to a landing on Long Island, Manhattan, or New Jersey; we had no clue as to which.

Rumor also had it that an agreement to separate from the mother country was about to be signed by the Second Continental Congress in Philadelphia. That was July fourth. Five days later, Commander in Chief General George Washington, read what Congress called the Declaration of Independence to his troops and the citizenry on Manhattan Common. We were officially at war with the most powerful nation in the world and its military might was at our doorstep.

That evening a group of Sons of Liberty strode to the Bowling Green and there toppled the equestrian statue of George III, chopped most of it into pieces, and later melted it into four thousand pounds of lead bullets (not to mention the ten ounces of gleaned gold gilt). The mutilated head was impaled on a spike and set outside a tavern door.

The crowd was almost as large as that gathered a few days earlier at the Common to watch the grisly hanging of Thomas Dickey of the Washington Life Guards for arranging a plot against Washington. The papers declared that twenty-thousand people attended the execution of the conspirator who had planned an attempt on the life of the man who was expected to bring us safely through the war about to start in earnest. Dickey must have had a few friends for two stepped out of the crowd and yanked on his writhing legs to cut short his final agonies.

In a display of arrogance, the British tested our fortifications by taking advantage of wind and tide and sailing two frigates, HMS Rose and HMS Phoenix, up the Hudson, firing at our river batteries as they passed. To our mortification, they went unscathed except for slight damage to their sails and rigging. Some of our gunners were killed when they mismanaged a cannon which blew up when they were charging it with a second round of powder without sponging the barrel free of sparks from the first round. This was a sad prelude to the tragic days to come.

As I was harvesting the first of the corn on Arthur’s farm a few days later, I was approached by a middle-aged man in careworn clothing. Are you James Claveraque? he asked.

Yes, I am. Who are you and why do you ask?

I am Jedediah Peters. Your friend and mine, Crispin Johnson, has sent me to ask you to meet him at the Silver Swan tonight at six. He said it is important, nothing more. Peters had a sallow complexion and deep wrinkles of sadness which could quickly turn into a pleasant smile when he wanted them to. His dark brown eyes pleaded from under bushy eyebrows for an answer.

I was eager to see Crispin. I’ll be right along, I told Peters.

The Silver Swan was on Seven Bridges Road several miles between my uncle’s farm in Vaux Hall and Newark. If I hurried, I could eat a sandwich on the run and get there on time.

Peters lingered as if he expected a tip, but he impressed me as the sort who would disdain such as an insult to his place in society. He had seen better days, but he had his dignity.

What is it, Mr. Peters?

I will be returning to Crispin and hope that I may accompany you. I have my own johnny cake, sir, he said.

I have no problem with that. If you’re a good friend of Crispin’s I should know you as a friend as well. You can tell me what he’s has been up to for the past month. But let me clean up, get some things and tell my wife that I’ll be gone for the evening. Make yourself comfortable..

Olivia, my bride of six months, said she couldn’t go, she wanted to finish weaving a throw and hoped I would return by ten. She knew I was eager to see my boyhood friend.

Jedediah and I mounted up and turned onto Tuscan Road in silence. When we passed the militia drilling on the Commons, he opened up.

I’ve known Crispin five months, now. I think I am the first American he talked to after he landed in Perth Amboy. I had the pleasure of introducing him to the art world of New York.

I wondered how that came about. Tell me.

A slight smile overcame Jedediah’s dour face. He was alone on the ferry to New York and seemed to be a stranger so I offered to be of service. That’s how I make a living—by providing service—introductions to the right people and where to locate something hard to find.

Has this been your main career?

No, I used to have a general merchandise store in New York but I got in over my head to the London money men. After ten years, I had to quit the business. But I met a lot of people who made that period of my life worthwhile. Now I prefer not having to worry about those cares.

So how did you introduce Crispin to the art world?

He wanted to know where he could buy artist’s supplies so I took him to Maiden Lane where I presented him to Bill Farrell and his shop.

That explanation didn’t seem adequate to me so I inquired further as, I am sure, he wanted me to.

How does that enable a stranger to build an extraordinary reputation as an artist new to such a cosmopolitan city? I knew Crispin was a capable artist—after all, he had sketched the captain and most of the crew on the Raritan while crossing the Atlantic. That’s how he paid his fare.

As soon as Crispin had paper and charcoal in hand, he swiftly drew a remarkably good likeness of Bill Farrell which amazed Farrell and some others who presently came into the shop. One of them was a frequent customer, a noted art collector and critic, who was so impressed, he immediately commissioned Crispin to do portraits of him and his family. That was the beginning of Crispin’s stunning success. Word has gotten around and he has the so-called cream of New York society as his clients—the Livingstons, the De Lanceys, van Cortlandts, Phillips’, Schuylers and so on. Indeed, he now mixes with that cream and has risen to the top.

We noticed, when we saw him on our trip to Philadelphia, his attire was much improved—he’s getting to be a real macaroni. We are delighted with his success and can’t wait to hear what his next venture might be.

I’m not sure what it is, myself. But, in any event, I should leave that story to Crispin.

As we cantered up a hill, Jedediah slowed and asked,If you don’t mind, Mr. Claveraque, I would like to stop and pick up a pair of shoes I had left for repair on the way to your place.

Certainly. But call me Jamie, and allow me to call you Jedediah or whatever your friends call you. I suppose that this is a place that you recommend to your clients?

Ah, yes. A good shoe repair is hard to find.

We soon arrived at the Silver Swan. Crispin, looking splendid in the finest apparel of a gentleman and sporting a carefully trimmed van Dyke beard, waved us to his table. I hoped that he had not been waiting long, but there were several bottles of rum on the table. After greetings, he did not hesitate.

I have good news, Jamie. At least, I think so. I want to know what you think about it. I’m joining the army.

I hope it turns out better than the last time you joined an army.

That was a mistake. But you know why I deserted. I so wanted to get to this country, that I was willing to take the king’s shilling to do it. And then they had me ruining the greenwood—our beautiful greenwood, the best fishing and hunting grounds one could ask for. They included me in the gang that destroyed it. Of course, I broke and ran.

He turned to Jedediah, Jamie saved me, Jedediah. I was guilty of desertion from the British army—not a capital offence—but almost. Five hundred lashes is the penalty. It either kills you or maims you for life. He hid me from capture and brought me to America with his bride on their honeymoon, no less. He turned to me and continued.

No, this is different, Jamie. I will be working for Generals Putnam and Greene, making maps and drawing whatever else they want. They want me at Fort Stirling on Long Island in a few days. So I wanted to see you before I become too immersed in chart work for the army. We don’t know where or when the British will attack, but now that General Howe’s brother has arrived with even more troops, it must be soon. Crispin drained his bottle and ordered another.

Doesn’t the army have enough maps of our own country to tell ‘em how to get from here to there? It sounds like a make-work job.

"No, you don’t understand. I’ll be expected to spy out likely ground for defense or attack, in other words, battle grounds like Long Island and Manhattan, for natural features such as hills, valleys, rivers, and swamps and streams as well as crucial industries or other landmarks which may, or may not, be to our advantage or the enemy’s.

The generals will also be wanting maps of the enemy’s movements for strategic reasons and for historic records. That should put me in the field most of the time. It could be dangerous so I will be trained in the military arts, as you once suggested, and, in the meantime, I’ll be under the protection of veteran troops. But, I’m looking forward to be able to handle myself in the event that I am personally attacked.

That’s wonderful, Crispin. You’ll be doing something useful and interesting and no doubt, meeting substantial and interesting people. It may save your life some day. You’ll be your own man and be proud of it.

Already, I’m scheduled to paint General Greene and several others in my immediate group, presumably my new army mates will be interested, too.

I’ll bet the pay is good, too, Crispin. You deserve it, added Jedediah.

It’s good, but not as much as I have been making. I’ll be able to pick up commissions even when I’m in the army. I’ve wanted to join up but not so I would be in the infantry, hiking all over the countryside, sleeping with only a blanket between me and the ground, if I’m lucky, and getting shot at or stabbed by a bayonet.

I thought, under the circumstances, what a remarkable and naive statement. So must Jedediah have thought, the way he looked at me with a quizzical expression on his face. Crispin will be in the sights of every sharpshooter before the battle even begins. He will be before the vanguard of the infantry.

Well, what are we sitting here for without a drink to celebrate your good fortune? What is it you’re drinking? I offered.

Cold beer from an earthenware mug was my freshener for that hot afternoon, but Crispin stuck with his rum. The three of us relaxed in the tavern’s garden conversing about Crispin’s exciting and promising future.

How did you happen on that job? It seems made just for you.

"In fact, it was. You know that my plan was to marry Annie McLauren, but Trevor Shaw had his eyes on her. In my opinion, Trevor, though he’s a successful merchant, is too old for her. So I have introduced Trevor to a charming lady his own age who is being ignored by her stupid husband. I think Trevor is on to my strategy and he is the one who introduced me to this peculiar position, trying to monopolize my time so I couldn’t pursue Annie.

I am glad to say that Trevor is struck to the heart by this lady and is not pursuing Annie any more. And now, I’m happy to announce that Annie has agreed to be my wife. That’s the other thing I wanted to tell you. If the army doesn’t interfere, we will be married sometime in August. It will be a simple and small ceremony and I want you to be my best man. Agreed?

Of course. Congratulations. I thought you would be successful in your courting. You are both drawn to each other. Crispin, I would be disappointed if you didn’t ask me to serve.

Jedediah broke in, What will be your commission, Crispin? Are you part of the Army or a contractor for your services? And for how long?

Good question. I don’t know. I was offered a choice but I don’t know which would be best. I suppose a commission would be more permanent and carry more weight with those in charge. Army or civilian, we all have to carry out orders. What’s new with you, Jamie?

I have just taken a position with the local militia to design and make wagons, as well as repair them, and to bear arms when called upon. The powers that be like the softer ride my springs provide. Speaking of soft, I am allowed to return home to Vaux Hall Saturday evenings since I live so close. Of course, if they need our squad in an emergency or in the fighting, that arrangement stops. Olivia and I both miss each other during the week but know we’re much better off than most.

I envy you. I have no idea when I’m likely to see Annie again. I have to be available and on call twenty-four hours a day—war waits for no man—you know? Well, Jamie, tell me more.

"I’ve started military training with a squad of men who are mostly artisans. One is a blacksmith and farrier, Hank Pierson, the one who endorsed me and my springs. He was a sergeant in the French war, versed in woodcraft and the use of the bayonet. He is going to be teaching us to thrust and parry. The others are younger men; one is a doctor, really a medical student; a third is, or was, a professor at Princeton, and another is a financial advisor. Quite a diverse mix of men, eh? There are others, but I haven’t gotten to know them as I have these fellows.

Most of them have never fired a gun or had reason to know about hand-to-hand fighting, but they are all smart and eager to learn. I think it will be a crack outfit. The farmers have mostly gotten exemptions—someone has to grow the food. But they too, have asked for training in the arts of war and so they join us at the shooting range. Thank goodness we are now getting a good supply of powder from France. I hear it’s better than our own and what we’ve captured from the redcoats.

I looked at the clock on the wall and was surprised how fast the time had passed. I’ve got to go now, I promised Olivia I would be home by ten. I left the two of them at the table.

August had arrived and along with it, Generals Clinton and Cornwallis and their dispirited army returned after their humiliating defeat by southern Patriots at Charleston. But this infusion of troops gave General Howe even more military weight to throw at Washington’s forces. Yet Howe has made no advance even after establishing camp on Staten Island over a month ago. Our success in ousting Howe from Boston and defeating Clinton and Admiral Parker at Charleston has boosted the morale of our troops despite the massing of the British arms only a cannon shot from one our largest and valuable cities.

During this seeming reprieve, Washington and his generals continued to have their troops dig entrenchments and redoubts on the Brooklyn Heights and across the East River in Manhattan. I later heard from Crispin that he had drawn as many maps as could be needed and had been put to work with pick and shovel working on the earthworks like the rest of the men.

As for me and my squad, we practiced on the rifle range with muskets and ammunition newly arrived from France. Our instructor, a lieutenant Robins, knew little more about shooting than the rest of us and every evening, he studied a manual on the use of firearms. He awkwardly passed on to us the following day what he had learned only the night before.

Evidently, he did not know about the dominant eye and its importance in aiming. I listened to his ineffective explanations for several days as the men’s shots still remained well outside the target.

My patience could endure it no longer and I spoke up to Robins. I am not a good shot, having only a rudimentary experience with firearms, but I remember what a good friend and frontiersman demonstrated regarding aiming with the dominant eye.

Lieutenant Robins had let it be known that he had an extensive education at Princeton. He knew European history, and could read and carry on a conversation in Latin and Greek but his knowledge hardly qualified him for his new position.

What’s that, Mr. Claveraque? Do you have some suggestions to improve our marksmanship? Robins demanded. His manner suggested we not call him Bob.

Maybe some of you have heard of Dan Reittenhaus, otherwise called Chief Honeoye. Let’s have a show of hands. No one recognized the name.

I saw him win the New Town Turkey Shoot back last spring. He happens to be a friend of mine. He showed me a number of things to keep in mind for good marksmanship. I said no more at the moment— I wanted them to ask me—rather than my forcing this on them. I neglected to mention that, in addition to being a crack marksman, Dan was, in the person of Chief Honeoye, a successful snake-oil salesman and a self-educated scholar of many pursuits. But for the moment, that information was beside the point.

Well, what are they, Claveraque? Let us have the benefit of your experience. the lieutenant said with what was becoming a customary snarl to emphasize his sarcasm.

My friend said it was important to know which eye was dominant so that, in aiming, we align the correct eye with the rifle sights. With some people their right eye commands what they see. With others, it’s the left eye. It’s the same as some being right-handed and some left handed. But being right-handed does not mean that you’re right-eyed.

So what difference does it make, Claveraque? Just so long as we see a target and can pick up a gun is all that matters. Ain’t that so? Robins demanded.

No, it ain’t so! Right away I knew I shouldn’t have answered so sarcastically. It mocked him and could set him against me. It was foolish and made my explanation more difficult to sell. But, if our squad was to survive, we had to be good shots.

I carried on. Johnson, hold up your hand so that it lines up with that hanging bird house over on your right.

Claveraque, I’m the one who gives orders here. Johnson, hold up your hand to the bird house.

No one said anything and the awkward silence embarrassed Robins, so that he finally said, Carry on, Claveraque.

I obeyed. Why don’t we all line up our hand with the bird house. Keep both eyes on it. Now, close your left eye or block it with your other hand. Does the bird house seem to jump to the right? Or does it stay still?

Some of them exclaimed that it moved, others said nothing happened. They began arguing.

I waved my arms. If the bird house seemed to move to the right, it’s because your left eye, which you blocked off, is the dominant eye. That means that, even if you are right handed and hold the butt of your musket at your right shoulder, you should switch and hold it to your left so your left eye aligns up strait with the rifle barrel.

A few of the men experimented and held their guns up to their left shoulder.

This is awkward. It doesn’t feel right. was the general expression from the dominant left eyes.

Yes, it will feel uncomfortable for about the first week and then you’ll become used to it and be better shots—half again better than you are now. Maybe even better than that. Remember, this is what a crack shot told me. He makes his extra spending money winning shooting matches.

What if the bird house didn’t move? Does that mean I’m right-eyed?

Good question. Yes, it means you should sight with the gun butt on your right shoulder. The main thing is to easily sight along the barrel. But the truth is in the doing. With the Lieutenant’s permission, bring your muskets up to firing position several times just so the feel of it becomes more comfortable.

For most of them, there was no problem with this for they had little experience with firearms and had developed no bad habits.. A few found it unwieldy and struggled to find the ultimate aiming position.

After several minutes of experimentation, they seemed ready for the next step. I looked at Robins Sir, do you wish the men to practice firing their pieces?

Robins was happy to reassume his leadership role. Men, starting with Carmody, step up to the firing line and begin firing your pieces. He glanced at me and smiled.

From mid-July, through most of August, we practiced firing at the target range and drilling on the parade ground in the New Jersey heat and heavy air. Following the first week after I delivered the ‘dominant eye’ exhibition, the men’s scores rapidly improved. In turn, their morale improved as did their expectation of survival against the formidable odds presented by the close-by mass of British arms.

The British did not stir from their encampment on Staten Island, either to cross the narrow Arthur Kill to New Jersey or to cross the mile-wide Narrows over to Long Island. Word passed along the grapevine that Admiral Lord Howe, who was in charge of a British peace commission, sent a message to Washington via the captain of the Eagle, his flagship. Rumor had it that the message was for the purpose of suggesting some plan of conciliation before serious fighting began after which any hope of peace would be inconceivable.

In any event, the message was addressed to George Washington, Esquire, insultingly ignoring His Excellency’s proper status as commander in chief of American forces. Washington’s aide, Colonel Joseph Reed, upon reading the address, rightfully said that there was no one at headquarters by that name and declined to acknowledge the message. This refusal required the embarrassed British officer to return to his superior officer with the message undelivered.

This insolent delivery was tried a second time with the same results. After more than ten years of enduring condescending correspondence from British authority, this was not surprising to our leaders. No meeting between high officials of their side and ours took place preceding the battle.

As Shakespeare phrased it, tomorrow and tomorrow crept in its petty pace from day to day. Each day dragged on and became hotter and more humid than the previous. On the evening of August 21 a tremendously fearful storm, with never-ending peals of insistent thunder, deluged the area. The next morning blossomed brilliantly clear, making it easy for us to see clouds of black smoke rising on the horizon in the vicinity of the Narrows. Colonel Edward Hand, in charge of three hundred Pennsylvania riflemen on patrol, had seen waves of transports crossing the Narrows and had his men set fire to the ripe wheat and hayfields on the Long Island shore the British needed for flour and forage for their horses.

Transports and landing craft carried redcoats, their artillery, and supplies to land on the shallow beaches of Gravesend Bay beginning at nine in the morning. Americans envied the awesome efficiency of as many as four-hundred vessels as they unloaded troops and supplies with a minimum of confusion and chaos.

There was little resistance at first; it would have been useless and wasteful of men to oppose such a colossus. The loyalists of Kings County were there to greet the invaders and offer their services as spies, guides or in the military. Within three hours, an estimated fifteen-thousand troops had been landed on