Read an Excerpt
Thunder in the Clouds
The Making of America
By Walter W. Golden AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2016 Walter W. Golden
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5049-7491-2
CHAPTER 1
THE FLAG
The night was especially long. The bombardment of Philadelphia had started several weeks before and the sound of distant explosions seemed to magnify the perception that everything was moving very slowly. There was no end to the constant strain of knowing a canon could be aimed directly at someone's house. In the words of Thomas Paine, these were the days that tried men's souls, but then, not knowing what was in store for the city was a blessing. People seemed to be reading their Bibles at every opportunity, and they had great faith in their prayers.
Life was changing for everyone, not just for the soldiers who were on the line fighting the British. The various colony militias that made up the bulk of the continental soldiers were on the verge of quitting the war and going home. They hadn't been paid for six weeks, they had no food or clothing and their ammunition was low. They had been fighting for two years with only limited success. What victories they did have, were not enough to secure independence from Britian.
As Betsy was returning home in the late evening hours, she was remembering Thomas Paine and his pamphlet. This was a period that tried men's souls. The darkness and evening heat made her feel as if there was nothing positive that would happen. The air was saturated with moisture and that depressed her even more. It appeared that the war would go on and on, without any hint of winning the colonies independence. She tried to rebuff her feelings, but on this particular night, it was very hard to do so. She thought of her neighbor being injured by a British soldier and that increased her feeling of frustration. Then she thought of her uncle John who was wounded severely at the Battle of Bunker Hill and little did the family know that he would only live several more days. He died two years ago from battle wounds and they finally received word of his death nearly three months later. She struggled with all of these thoughts and yet, she knew that the colonies had no choice. They had to fight.
She arrived at the corner of Sand Loc Lane, on her way home from visiting her neighbor, she heard someone behind her. As she turned to look just as the assailant started his attack. He grabbed her arms and tried to force her into the deep vegetation along the roadway. She screamed several times and the mugger said, "If you scream any more, I will hurt you." She kicked at him, but was unable to break his grip on her body. She screamed, "Help me, help me," and at the same time, she grabbed the skin around his mouth and twisted it. He yelled "You hurt me." She twisted it again as he struck her face with his fist. He had his arm bent around her shoulders and her mouth was pressed into his skin. She bit into his arm with as much emotion as she could generate and he yelled again, using unflattering words that would embarrass nearly anyone.
Walking back to their ship, the Pelican, two sailors heard her screaming and started to run to give assistance. They had been at one of the taverns for several hours, but grew weary and decided to get some rest before they set sail in the morning. They heard the screaming as they neared Betsy. The assailant saw them and released his grip, bracing for their attack. His weapon was a short wooden stick, which also served as a short dagger. He had the dagger under Betsy's rib, but as the two men came towards him, he raised it high enough in order to bring it down onto the skull of the bigger man.
Beak moved to block his arm swing, while Calli hit him hard in the lower rib cage with his fist. The mugger continued to struggle and attempted another swing, but Calli grabbed his arm and pulled it to his side and backward with force. He dropped his weapon as Calli twisted his arm harder, forcing it backward. As he did, there was a very distinctive pop as the assailant's upper arm bone fractured. He screamed with a blood curdling curse. Beak held him, but before he let him go, he said something that the man heard. "Listen and stop screaming. If we see you again tomorrow or any other time, we will cut your leg off at the knee. Do you understand that?" The assailant kept on screaming and Beak let him go. He took off, running down the street, swearing at them and promised that he would get even.
Beak faced Betsy and said, "That's what all bandits and bullies say when they are defeated. Don't worry about their threats. He won't dare to come back on the streets."
Betsy was sweating and she was breathing heavily from fear and emotion. She was barely able to speak. She moved closer to see who her saviors were but was unable to see their faces with any clarity because sweat was dripping into her eyes and the night air limited her vision.
"Thank you so much. What are you names?" They avoided answering her question.
"We hope you are okay. We're happy we were near you to help out. What is your name?"
She said, "Betsy. My last name is Ross."
"Can we walk you home Betsy, just to make certain that you will be alright?"
"Yes, but I'll be fine. I'm just around the corner. Thank you so much."
After assuring themselves that she was okay, they walked to her home and bid goodnight. They started to walk down the street and the taller gentleman turned and said, "Have a good evening Betsey and watch who is behind you." With that good bye, they turned and walked into the darkness.
Betsy called out again to them. "Hey, what are your names?" There was no reply but the question was whirling in her brain, who were those men? That evening, she was extremely restless and spent most of the night sitting in her chair, drinking tea. The opportunity for sleeping never came. She hoped that someday she would have the opportunity of meeting them again.
* * *
In the early morning hours of August, 1777, General Charles Cornwallis, commander of the British forces in Philadelphia sat at his desk, wondering how he was going to dismantle the American resistance that he faced in the city. He knew that the Royal Crown was not happy with his reports of repeated resistance to new taxes and the confiscation of the local's products, but they didn't have any idea of what to do. The resistance was making a mockery of his army and the implementation of any new ideas that he had. Without any notice the door opened and his second in command, Colonel Peter Rye came in, carrying an urgent message.
"General, this is a message from General Howe. He is forming a task force of 15,000 men and they will be sailing for Philadelphia within the next month. He is determined to put down the rebellion."
In a very soft voice, he whispered, "He wants to take credit for everything."
He then asked in an irritating way, "Does he ask for a reply?" "No sir,"
"That's good. I have a thought and I want your opinion Peter."
"If I can help, I am happy to be at your service."
"We've have been sending out our patrols in a haphazard manner. It's not working. I want to start sending out two man patrols, every hour throughout the entire day and night. They can enter any business or home, if they suspect rebels are present. If they find them, they're to bring those scallywags into headquarters for interrogation. If need be, we will hang some of them. I'll put the fear of God into their lives."
The Colonel was somewhat reluctant to bring up any idea that sounded as if it was critical to what Cornwallis was saying, but he needed to make a suggestion.
"General, you asked for my opinion. May I offer you another thought?"
"Go ahead," Cornwallis replied in a irritable way.
"General Cornwallis, I believe that if you start using force, it will harden the resistance and will make our life in this miserable country more difficult. I believe that a more passive approach would be to disarm the entire population. Enter their homes, find their weapons and take them. If they offer resistance, bring them into our headquarters. They can't fight us without weapons or powder."
Cornwallis listened and said, "Peter, you're right, they can't fight without weapons. We'll do that, but we'll also enter their homes at any hour of the day or night and if we find rebels, we'll shoot them. If it makes the population angry, that's too bad. We are in control and I'll prove it to them. Force is the only answer in this type of occupation."
"But general....."
"That will be all Colonel. See to it that the orders are carried out."
"Yes sir, immediately."
On the way back to his office the Colonel said, "At times, that man is impossible."
The combat patrols started, but the citizens of Philadelphia were in no mood to tolerate the British decree. Word spread quickly and the people took action. They immediately hid all weapons and gun powder. One family even found a way to waterproof their equipment with cow hide, lowered the package into their water well and then offering the British soldiers a drink of cool well water. The intensity of resistance increased as the insurrection became stronger and people found ingenious was of fighting back.
After several weeks of watching the results of this program, Cornwallis decided to back off on his dictates and make life a little easier for Philadelphia. He consented to allow one musket or rifle in each home. Since hunting was an important part of survival, this action would help alleviate the hunger that was apparent. However, if anyone was caught using weapons against his soldiers, they were to be shot immediately and there would be no questioning about the shooting.
Colonel Rye was speaking with one of his company commanders and asked about the status of the patrols. He was receiving weekly reports, but wanted to know firsthand about the strength of the resistance. "Well sir, things are not going that well. The streets are dangerous for our men and I don't believe this is a good plan and it needs to be revised."
"Captain, understand this. This is the general's plan. Make it work. I don't care how you do it, but just get this job done. Is that clear to you?"
"Yes sir, we'll try again, but we are losing men and I'm certain that the general doesn't like that."
"Captain, all we are asking is that you do your job and if you can't, we'll find someone who can."
"Yes sir," and with a smart salute, he turned and walked out of the office.
* * *
The people of Philadelphia were not easily misled by Cornwallis. They were very aware of the brutality of the patrols and they resented it. Small groups formed, which were described as widow-makers, because they would ambush British patrols and usually shoot the officer in charge. They also developed the technique of a rifleman/sniper. They used tactics of hit and run, ambush and concealment and other guerilla techniques. Their weapon of choice was the American long rifle, a 63 caliber weapon that was capable of hitting a target with accuracy at three hundred yards. To the British, the idea of being a sniper was not something they were happy about. Snipers usually took out or killed their officers, which was not the way Europeans fought a war.
When General Cornwallis viewed the reports, he was furious. His face became flushed with an inflow of blood and his neck muscles were very prominent. His speech was more of a stutter and what he was trying to say was lost in his anger. He tried to compose himself, but needed several minutes to calm down. For the moment, he had lost his ability to command effectively. He then re-issued an order that anyone caught with a weapon was to be arrested and judged in a court of English law. At times the prisons were filled with rebels as this decree went into effect and the hatred of the British inquisition grew. It seemed that with each passing week, more British soldiers were ambushed and killed the rebellion became stronger and the American resentment continued to grow.
* * *
The hour was mid-morning and the sun was nearing high noon. The heat was building in the room to point that was unbearable. The two windows facing the east were open as was the front door of the store. A warm breeze was blowing across the room, which didn't make much difference in the room temperature. In anticipation of the heat from mid- afternoon, Betsy opened the back door, hoping to gain a little movement of air to reduce the heat.
She was sitting in a rocking chair, wondering what she should do next. She was already sweating through her dress and felt quite uncomfortable. She moved across the room to a sewing table, picked up a large ruler and then measured and marked on a large piece of cloth. She was making the covering for a large chair. She didn't especially want to do this type of work, but she had no choice. She had to find a way to support two of her nine children, Elizabeth and Susan and this was the only way she could do it. As she was working with the cloth, she kept wondering how much longer this occupation would last. It seemed to her that it would take a life time to resolve, but many people assured her that it wouldn't. They were convinced that the end of the conflict was just around the corner. All they had to do was to wait for the successful conclusion.
The tensions within the city had penetrated every home and business. Even as Betsy worked, she wondered when the next British patrol would enter her small business and search it. She and everyone else lived with this tension daily, but she also knew that life had to go on. She had two girls who needed a home and some experience in making a business work and with that attitude, she was willing to give them anything that she could.
The front door of her shop opened and two British soldiers walked in, looked around and asked, "Is there anybody besides you that lives in this house?"
Betsy's entire persona became tense and her mind flashed back to the time the British soldiers had threatened her father and assaulted him. They had wanted to know if he was in the resistance and when he didn't answer, they used a rifle butt on his legs. She screamed at them and tried to stop their violence, but was unable to. They finally left their home without any evidence of rebel involvement, but the entire family had been terrified. He was unable to walk for nearly one month, but from that time on, she felt terror as she talked to any English soldier. Her body would become weak and she would have tremors. At times, she would be unable to speak and this made the British very suspicious of her. Their questions were more allegations than wanting information and the more they pressed her, the angrier they became.
Over time, she learned how to control her emotions, but the fear and tension was always present when they came into her shop or even said hello to her on the street.
Her answer to their question was, "Just my two daughters.
What do you want?'
They ignored her question and asked, "Show us your weapons."
"I only have a musket and it's over in that corner, pointing towards the door. I use it for hunting."
"You don't hunt. You're not strong enough to hold the musket."
"Do you want to see my latest kill?"
"No, that's not necessary."
The two men walked to the musket and picked it up. They put the barrel to the nose of the one soldier, who smelled for freshly fired gun powder. He said, "It's clear."
Betsy said, "Be careful, it's loaded."
They smiled in a halfhearted way, wheeled around and left the store. She stood there for several minutes, thinking about the British army and how they had total control over this city. She remembered her Quaker training of not hating anyone, but she was very close to that unwanted feeling when she had to deal with the British. She soon had her emotions under control and was able to relax.
* * *
Betsy was raised in a Quaker family. She grew up on the farm, where she learned how to milk cows, ride and harness the horses and tend chickens. She also learned how to sew. At times, she resented the idea that she had to work all of the time, while girls in the city seemed to play. Life just didn't seem fair to her, but she promised herself that someday she would move to the city and enjoy life.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Thunder in the Clouds by Walter W. Golden. Copyright © 2016 Walter W. Golden. 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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