It was only then I noticed he had a British .54 caliber Sea Service pistol shoved into his belt. As we walked to the gate, he noticed my stare, patted it, and said, “Don’t worry, lad. I’m not a Tory. I came by this honestly.”

“Sir?”

“I stole it from Lord Dunmore’s armory in Williamsburg. Since he stole our powder and shot, it seemed like a fair trade.”

Pieter closed the gate behind him and as the courier rode off, said, “A fair trade indeed. The only question is which was stolen first, the powder or the pistol?”

I took one of the lanterns, went into the house, sat down at the table, and used my hunting knife to open the envelope and preserve the seal.

With the Hanover County Militia

Near Williamsburg, VA

April 26th, 1775

My Dear Son, Nathanael,

Please know how pleased I am Captain Morgan has invited you to serve as his Adjutant.

If it be your want, you have my blessing to accept the appointment. You are bright, brave, and fit. You know responsibility and accountability and possess all the skills, acumen, and tenacity necessary to the task.

These are challenging times. Some of our countrymen are just now trying to decide what to do. I am grateful that my sons are Patriots who have answered the call to duty. The three of you will be forever revered by all who love Liberty.

Be assured Paul and I shall keep you in our prayers and are grateful for being in yours.

I remain your loving father, James Newman

Sic Semper Tyrannis

On Friday morning I arrived at the Major Charles Smith’s Crossroads Tavern in Battletown before dawn. The sun was just a golden glow atop the Blue Ridge when Rev. Thruston appeared out of the mist aboard one of Captain Morgan’s heavy transport wagons, accompanied by Josiah, one of Captain Morgan’s slaves.

After dismounting, he greeted me with a handshake and a smile and said, “Nathanael, you have to see this.”

While Josiah watered the two draft horses, the reverend walked around to the rear of the wagon and threw back the canvas cover.

The contents were far greater than Captain Morgan described on Monday. I counted seven half-barrels stenciled “poudre à canon,” ten stacks of thin lead sheets for casting bullets, four casks labeled “nitre,”2 three marked “sulfur,” five full barrels labeled “salt-pork,” six large cooking kettles, stacks of tin dinner plates, and ten sacks of cornmeal. Bolted to the bed of the wagon was a small anvil. Beside it, open wooden boxes held a small leather bellows, casting ladles for melting lead, and the assorted tongs, hammers, and tools used by blacksmiths.

I was stunned by the quantity of supplies and how well it was packed. “Where did all this come from?”