Rev. Thruston walked with us as Father headed for his big bay stallion. Before mounting he turned to us and said to me, “Tomorrow morning Rev. Thruston will accompany you to the Shenandoah Store to meet the best commander in our Virginia Militia. He is seeking men with your skills, great perseverance, and courage to fight for our country. You are the kind of man he needs.”

Then, as though he thought for a moment before putting his left foot in the stirrup, he turned to me, kissed me on the forehead, put his arms around my shoulders, and said, “Godspeed and good hunting.”

I didn’t know it then, but it would be two long years before I would see my father again.

Endnotes

1. Battletown is the archaic cognomen for what is now the town of Berryville, VA.

2. In January 1776, Rev. John Peter Gabriel Muhlenberg would give a similar sermon to his Lutheran congregation in Woodstock, VA, at the end of which he cast off his clerical robes and revealed he was wearing the uniform of a Colonel in the Continental Army. He promptly recruited more than 200 from his parish and his neighbors in the Shenandoah Valley, to enlist in his regiment.

Chapter Three: Listen and Learn

CHAPTER THREE

LISTEN AND LEARN

Winchester, Virginia

Monday, April 24th,1775

In accord with my father’s instructions, before retiring on Sunday night, I put out the clothing and kit he recommended and set the alarm on the pendulum clock our mother inherited from her parents. The chimes awakened me before first light. I arose, put on a linsey-woolsey hunting shirt, linen leggin’s, a good pair of moccasins, and belted on my hunting knife and the steel fighting hatchet Father gave me.

Thus attired, I gathered my journal, two quills, and checked to ensure the lid on the tin travel inkwell was tight. I then collected the equipment Father prescribed: my .45 caliber William Henry rifle, a leather cartridge case with sixty hand-made, paper-wrapped, powder and ball cartridges sealed with bear fat, and a full, goat-skin water bag. I also grabbed the leather case containing my bullet mold, spring vise, wiper, screwdriver, six extra flints, small file, pick, and the ball-puller Father made. All but the rifle, cartridge case, and water skin, I loaded in my saddlebags, stepped out on the porch, and locked the door with the key hanging from a lanyard around my neck.