Imagine meeting a charming young woman at a dance; you fall in love, marry, and sail with her to America. At the same time you save your best friend from being captured as a deserter from the British army. Mix in literaly stumbling on a gold ingot while fly fishing and smuggling it to New York where you join the rebels. Independence from England has just been declared and the British fleet is in New York Harbor. Your country and your life are in jeopardy. This is the setting for In All Cases Whatsoever. Mr. Ford's plot of battles and unlikely spies dovetails with history, and the book's final event, which occurred in the Mohawk Valley, is so bizarre, one would believe it to be fiction. Chief Honeoye plays an important part. But readers will enjoy sorting it out for themselves.

In All Cases Whatsoever

By Howard S. Ford

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2012 Howard S. Ford
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4772-8051-5

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."

(Continues...)

Excerpted from In All Cases Whatsoeverby Howard S. Ford Copyright © 2012 by Howard S. Ford. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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