Spirit of the Revolution (20 page)

“Indeed, we have, Sam,” Mathias replied. “We have in our possession Thomas McGregor’s personal journal. I’ve yet to convince Jolena, and believe me I’ve tried, that this manuscript rightly belongs to the McGregor family. Therefore, we have simply returned it to a rightful member of the family. Besides, I don’t think anyone really cares. They had the thing buried beneath layers of dust and junk. From all appearances, no one has looked at this book in decades and I don’t think it’s scheduled for display anytime soon.”

Jo made her way to the sofa, dropped her bag beside it, and sat down. Once she found a comfortable position, she retrieved the journal from inside her notebook and placed it on her lap. She stared at the thing for several seconds in indecision.

Finally, she shook her head slightly and tsked, “Carolyn would kill me if she could see me now, but the gloves are all upstairs and I just can’t wait.” She took a deep breath and opened the cover. All the while, she made sure the delicate pages made very little contact with her bare fingertips.

“In case any of you wondered, it says here, a very lovely lady, by the name of Shirley Hendrickson donated the journal to a representative of the museum in the year 1909. She presented the book to a Mr. George Bond in Lancaster. And I can’t thank her enough for her generosity. Anyway, Thomas begins this journal from Scotland on March 17, 1773 and in this first entry, he records his thoughts about the trip. He says—

“‘I very much enjoyed my visit with James and Anna Watt. As always, they remain gracious and hospitable hosts. James and I enjoyed our scholarly conversations and learned much from each other. But now, alas, it’s time to go home where such conversations are a rarity
.
’”

Jo caught the tip of the next page with her fingernail and turned it over. “Who are James and Anna Watt?”

“James Watt is the man who married my father’s cousin, Anna McGregor. My father corresponded with them a few times, as I remember. I believe they lived in Glasgow much of that time,” Mathias replied. “We considered it a grand event to get a letter from Scotland.”

“I bet.” Jo used the tip of her fingernail to blaze a path down the page. “Let’s see, the next several entries are merely day to day observations of his voyage back to the States. They encountered a rough storm and he records the death of two passengers along the way. As time passed, conditions onboard the ship deteriorated. He says here, toward the end of the voyage, the captain gave them nothing but moldy bread and spoiled cheese to eat. Yuck.” She held her hand to her mouth and shivered at the mere suggestion of eating such fare.

“Not uncommon, really,” Alex said, “if the lack of wind hindered the journey.”

She then turned several more pages in a search for something significant to their quest. “So far, most of the notations on these next pages detail family events. He records their baptisms, marriages, and the like. Thomas also records the sponsors and witnesses to each of those events.”

“Keep searching,” Mathias said as he paced the floor with hands clasped behind his back. “We need to see if there is any mention of the war or any dealings with the patriots.”

“I know and I’m looking,” she replied.

“And don’t forget to look for the sale of his properties,” Sam added. “Or for that matter, anything that might indicate an addition to his wealth.”

“We can already eliminate his property here in America as being the source,” Mathias said. “Jolena found the probate records dealing with his estate after his death and as we concluded, he died about the same time we did. The court documents also show his properties, both here and in Virginia, divided equally between his heirs.

“However, we found no mention of his properties in Scotland in that record. So, that means either he already sold his property there, or the State of Pennsylvania had no jurisdiction over his assets outside of this country.”

“Well then, how do we find out if Thomas sold any of his property in Scotland before his death?” asked Sam, directing the question to her.

“I’m going to write a letter to the Scottish archives and ask a genealogist to search the land records during the years the war took place. Then we’ll just have to wait and see what they find.” She shrugged as she turned a page. “Other than that—”

“I suppose that sounds reasonable enough,” Sam replied.

Mathias halted his steps just in front of where she sat. “Anything else in that book?”

“Be patient, I’m still looking. Oh—” She extended a hand toward him without taking her eyes off the page. “Thomas visited the British Isles again. This entry dated August twenty-third of 1775 mentions another trip to Scotland and a second visit with the Watts family. He writes, ‘I’m very impressed with James’s new shop in Glasgow. The improvement he made to the Newcomen mine pump is most brilliant, indeed.’
Whatever that means.”

Mathias took a seat beside her. “Well, to give you a little history—early on, James studied to become an instrument maker and after a few setbacks, including the rejections from the Clockmakers Guild, he finally set up a shop at the University there in Glasgow. I believe that transpired with the help of some friends who believed in his talent. So, perhaps in this shop someone put him to work on some kind of mine pump. Of course, my cousin having a like mind would find all his inventions fascinating, I’m sure.”

“I’ve no doubt about that,” she said, as she turned several more pages.

“Here’s something a little different and it sounds promising given the date.” Jo pointed to the entry. “He wrote this July 1, 1777. He says, ‘Talked to Joshua Porter. There is progress and I’m much relieved.’ Progress on what? Do you think the entry might have anything to do with the cause of the patriots and our letter?”

“Very possible. Joshua and all his kin supported the patriot cause with each breath they took,” Mathias said. “But I’ve no idea what Thomas’s dealings with the man would entail. I can’t think of anything they shared in common unless it had something to do with farming. But making a connection between progress and farming crops is something that totally escapes me right now. It isn’t as if anyone tried any new techniques in the planting or sowing of their produce.”

“Still, I think I’ll write his name down on our list of possibilities. I don’t think it would hurt to do some research on the man and see what we come up with,” she said as she took a moment to jot his name in her notebook. She returned to the journal and turned the page. “Oh, here he is again. Only this time we have an additional name, this entry, dated March 7, 1778, says, ‘Met up with Porter and Brewster near to Valley Creek. I believe the selected location is an excellent choice for this undertaking. Will begin work immediately.’
Do you know someone named Brewster?”

“Matthew Brewster is again, another staunch patriot, but I don’t know what they would have in common other than friendship.” Mathias glanced at each of the boys, awaiting their input.

Samuel shook his head as he rested an elbow on the mantel and a cheek against his curled fingers. “Joshua owned land near to Valley Creek, so I wouldn’t think it out of the ordinary to meet in that location, but for what purpose I have no idea.”

“You have to remember, Matthew was a blacksmith by trade,” Alexander said. “What would a farmer and a blacksmith together, have to do with your cousin?”

“I don’t know.” Mathias paused. “Nevertheless,
something
progressed nicely, as stated in the first entry and then they discovered an excellent location, where they could undertake that something as so noted in the second entry. Gut feeling tells me those entries are somehow related to Jacob’s letter.”

“I think you’re right about that,” Sam said.

“Could Thomas have bought arms for the patriots and they simply needed a place to hide them, before dispersing them?” asked Jedediah. “That might identify the use of the word ‘contraption’ in Jacob’s letter.”

William shook his head. “All things are possible, Jedediah, of course. But I don’t see the need for a blacksmith if such were the case, unless they needed his wagons to carry them.”

“Still, that’s something to consider, William,” Mathias replied. “But if Thomas bought a significant amount of weapons, I think it would make more sense to get them out to the men immediately, if even just a few at a time. And if you recall, the date for the entry is March of 1778. That’s three months prior to my cousin’s execution. If the ‘something’ is referring to a cache of rifles, surely he would see to it they got into the hands of the patriots. Those men desperately needed them at the time. Therefore, I don’t think he would keep them locked up somewhere over a period of several months. That scenario doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“Unless we’re talking cannon instead of muskets and if they suspected the British of spying on them,” Alexander added. “Perhaps they couldn’t find a favorable moment to relocate something of that size and weight.”

“Well, if ‘progress’ is in reference to the acquisition of weapons, either cannon or rifles, couldn’t we locate a record somewhere for their purchase? Maybe we could even find a ship manifest which notes the arrival of the shipment to the United States and to whom the shipment belonged,” said Jo.

“I think the chances of finding something along those lines are next to impossible.” Mathias shrugged. “The countries sympathetic to our cause and willing to sell armament to the patriots, such as Spain and France, took great care in ensuring England didn’t discover the act. For this reason, we bought most of our supplies with gold or silver from an undisclosed source and then smuggled them into this country via ships that sailed through Cuba and often times even Haiti before they finally made shore here. We used some pretty crafty gunrunners on many an occasion as well and of course, they never left any kind of trail for anyone to follow.”

“Well, don’t forget, we might still be looking for the gold or silver, itself,” William said. “Perhaps the ‘progress’ referred to the accumulation of wealth they needed. And if they planned to purchase some kind of armaments, then the knowledge, by necessity, would only include those taking part in the mission.”

Jo chewed on a fingernail as she looked down at her notebook. “I’m going to go ahead and add the name of Matthew Brewster to our notebook. I’ll see what the genealogical society can find out about either of these men and the part they played during the war. Maybe they can locate a record or two that’ll help us narrow down some of the possibilities. And tomorrow, I’ll get that letter off to Scotland. With any amount of luck, we’ll find out whether or not Thomas sold any of his property there,” she said.

“Is there any further mention of either of the men?” asked Mathias, giving a nod toward the book.

Jo read the last of the pages and then lifted her gaze to meet with his. “There is one entry written on May 21, 1778. He writes, ‘Almost finished. We are optimistic all will run smoothly and as expected.’ The passage sounds like it could easily connect with the other two, but—”

“I’m sure it must,” Mathias said. “They all fit together. We just have to make sense of the pieces. Anything else?”

“There are two more entries regarding family matters. The last one, written on May 31, 1778, notes his first grandson’s day of birth, and then there’s nothing more.” Jo closed the book, placed it on the coffee table, and sighed.

Samuel snorted and waved a hand in disdain. “Well, we all know the reason for that, don’t we.”

The boys discussed the notations of Thomas’s journal long into the night and at one point, Jo finally excused herself from their conversation. The events of the day tired her out and she needed some sleep before morning arrived. Once she entered her bedroom, she placed her bag and notebook down on the bedside table. The pictures Nan sent spilled out of the opening. She intended to show the boys the images when she got home, but in the excitement over the journal, she altogether forgot them.

She gathered the photographs and sat down on the edge of her bed. Once again, she looked through them. She took time to study each one, and found them all remarkable. The boys looked just as normal and real as any other living person did.

She isolated her favorite picture of Mathias and put it on top of the stack. He stood very close to her as they entered Fort Mifflin. As they gazed at each other, he gave her that charming grin that always set a swarm of butterflies soaring through her belly. She couldn’t have asked the camera to capture anything better.

Nan took some great shots of the other boys as well. She noticed something then. Her boys only appeared in photos of historic significance to the Revolution. Could the emotion of such places produce the miracle she held in her hands?

At that moment, an idea found its way into her mind. The perfect Christmas gift to give her boys sat right in front of her. Something so much better than surprising them with a personal Christmas Eve concert that featured their favorite songs.

At a gallery inside the mall, a rather well known artist possessed the ability to paint people as if they hailed from other eras and cultures. A good friend and colleague in the orchestra hired the artist to paint her husband as a seventeenth-century pirate. The painting turned out exceptionally well. Perhaps she could engage the artist to immortalize her boys on canvas, making them Revolutionary War soldiers, of course. She selected her favorite photos of each and then tucked them into her bag before getting ready for bed. Come the morning she could leave early for work and pay the man a visit. She could hardly wait to see the finished product.

****

Downstairs in the family room, after the discussions finally ended, Sam approached Mathias.

“I didn’t want to mention this until Jolena fell asleep. I could see no sense in worrying her over something so trivial,” Sam said. “We had an unexpected visitor while you attended your errand today.”

Mathias narrowed his eyes. “Not Paul Sanders again.”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “Not quite that bad. No, the Parker boy finally emerged from his hiding place in the bushes, crossed the road, and tried the front door.”