What was worse, the fresh food we ordered yesterday for the Advance Force was being prepared as this conversation ensued. Everyone in the encampment downwind of us had to be salivating at the scent. Captain Morgan ordered the cooks to feed the privates first, then the corporals, sergeants, and the dragoons. The officers were ordered to eat last.

Our little group billeted in town arrived back at Wolfe’s ­Tavern at 9:00 p.m.—just as the moon rose over the harbor. It was a bit smaller than the night before—and the air was slightly cooler.

Newburyport, Massachusetts

Thursday, September 14th, 1775

I arrived at our encampment at 7:30 a.m. with two dragoons and an extra horse. As I dismounted, Captain Morgan said, “You are early this morning, Ensign Newman. Does that feather bed you are sleeping in have lumps in the mattress? Is it keeping you awake?”

1st Lt. Humphrey was already chuckling but I wasn’t sure the Captain was joking.

“No, sir. Captain Febiger sent me out here to inform you he, Sergeant Cady, Mr. Nathanael Tracy, and several members of his Sons of Liberty Committee are presently out asking every Patriot family in this region to donate whatever they can to feed the whole Expedition tomorrow afternoon. They sent me here to see if you want to accompany them.”

Captain Morgan turned to 1st Lt. Humphrey and said, “Major Meigs and our 2nd Infantry Battalion should be here with the artillery detachment today—probably earlier than the 1st Battalion arrived yesterday. His Vermont and Connecticut boys seem to be in better shape. I’ll be back this afternoon.”

It took us a half hour to link up with the Febiger-Tracy-Cady party and there began a great experience in American generosity. By the time we stopped at the third little farm, I was captivated.

So too was Captain Morgan. The people we were talking to aren’t wealthy—they’re yeoman farmers. There are no large plantations like we have in Virginia. There are no slaves or paid helpers working the land, tending gardens, planting and harvesting crops, repairing barns, feeding livestock. Families—mothers and fathers and their children—were doing all the hard work.

Most, if not all, were known by Mr. Tracy or Sgt. Cady—who it turned out—is a hero of the fight at Lexington in April and Breed’s Hill in June. We didn’t hear that from him. We heard it from many of those who volunteered to help us with food for our troops.

Though nearly everyone who offered, asked for nothing in return, Captain Morgan began telling him or her, “If you can be at our encampment by 2:00 p.m. tomorrow afternoon, my brave Riflemen will demonstrate how accurately they can shoot. Tell your neighbors. It’s quite a show.”