Chapter 4—Carrying Independence: Weekly Historical Novel Serialization
Welcome to Week 4 of my Carrying Independence serialization for America250! Each Wednesday morning, I'm sharing another chapter as we count down to the Declaration250 celebrations and America's 250th birthday. Today, Nathaniel and Arthur not only show off their shooting skills, but they learn about how their jobs as Express Post riders might be changing. (Chapter one began here.)
Chapter 4
NATHANIEL'S DESIRE TO DELAY signing an oath—by any one of them—was overwhelming, his heart pounding so hard he was certain everyone around him could hear it. While Kalawi's mouth tightened as he stared at the oath, and he took a step backward, Arthur leaned forward as if leaning toward battle. Toward glory.
"We are Express riders. That's as good as an oath, I think," Nathaniel said.
Bieber shook his head. "Heard rumblings up in Kutztown… they fear spies are riding in and out of Philadelphia. Volunteer Express riders might come under the army. Or be let go."
Nathaniel felt Arthur stiffen. When the county had called for additional Express riders last summer—given that Berks County still lacked its own post office—Arthur took the paid work not only to appease his mother. And not just to help provide for his siblings. Like Peter, Arthur's older brother would inherit his father's land and the sheep upon it. Unlike Nathaniel, Arthur had not been skilled in a trade. If it wasn't the Express, the militia was his only option, and one his fist had been aching to grasp.
Nathaniel stared at the papers with distaste. He did not want Arthur to go soldiering alone, yet he had no intention of picking up a rifle for the militia. Who would he be aiming at exactly?
"We'll take all the bodies we can get," Mr. Anderson said, then he added, "but a better rank awaits those who actually hit the targets."
Nathaniel studied the planks of wood leaning against the trees, a dozen yards from the church. Hardly a hole had been shot through them, despite all the gunfire they'd heard. He looked back over the farmers, tanners, and riders clustered around Bieber near the table. These men were going to fight a trained British Army?
Mr. Anderson put his hands in his pockets and gestured with his belly toward Nathaniel's rifle.
"'Course with them cumbersome things, you might be assigned to muckin' out the privy."
The men around them laughed, but Arthur took a step toward the table.
"I'm a better shot with this here long rifle than anyone with an ol' Brown Bess." Arthur re-cocked his rifle. He tugged down on his hat.
Nathaniel and Kalawi groaned at the familiar gesture. Even Arthur's torn hat was the result of his inability to refuse a challenge. Before the fateful handball game, he'd tugged on that brim after Kalawi claimed Irish boys were given flaming hair because they had no fire in their loins.
"Where is the marked line?" Arthur now asked, his chin high.
"Scraped in the ground, 'bout a hundred yards yonder." Anderson pointed east. "Five targets. Three shots each."
Arthur immediately turned and walked toward the line, saying over his shoulder, "Come on. A little target shooting is not an enlistment."
Nathaniel hesitated. When Arthur kept walking, Nathaniel gave in and waved to Kalawi to come with them.
"Not the barbarian." Mr. Anderson's smile was still in place. Nathaniel stepped toward the man, but Kalawi grabbed his linen sleeve, softly nodding toward their neighbor who had taken a step away from the table.
Though the other men stared at their own boots, Bieber's worried gaze darted between Nathaniel and Anderson with uncertainty.
"You go. I will take the horses back over to the oak." Kalawi turned away and grabbed the reins of Bayard and Arthur's horse. As he mounted his own horse, Kalawi flipped up his loincloth to give everyone a clear view of his bare backside. As he rode away, in Shawnee he muttered, "Moneto."
The Shawnee word meant snake but also devil. Nathaniel's anger subsided into a half-concealed grin, and he turned and ran to catch up with Arthur.
"I won't do anything rash today," Arthur said, when Nathaniel fell in step. Arthur tugged on his brim again. "Except for maybe showing that bastard how to shoot."
Nathaniel laughed and tucked away his fears about oaths with each step they took together. When they found the line the others had used, they winked at each other, and with knees high, they stepped over the deep scrape in the ground and kept walking. They could hear Mr. Anderson and some of the men laughing.
"You'll take the targets from left to right." Arthur's voice was cocksure. He counted off their paces. They had done this plenty of times up in Kutztown. They stopped and turned. The original line was almost halfway between them and the targets. Diagonally across the field, watching from under the Massive Oak, Kalawi waved from atop his mount.
"And you'll take right to left." Nathaniel cocked his weapon, and together they shouldered their rifles. "Nice wind on our backs."
"Yep." Arthur exhaled. "Ready?"
"Yep."
"Fire!"
Ka–crack. Arthur's rifle fired, followed directly by Nathaniel's.
Almost immediately the bullets could be heard hitting the white pine targets and they grounded their rifles and reloaded together. Powder. Ram. Tamp. Their limbs lowered and rose in unison like a coordinated dance. Resheath. Full-cock. Fire! Ka-crack. Ka-crack. Powder. Ram. Tamp. Resheath. Full-cock. Nathaniel pulled the trigger for the third time a split second after Arthur. Ka-crack.
Gun smoke drifted across the field toward the church. They slung their rifles over their backs and walked back to the men who had gathered to examine the boards.
"We heard three shots each." Mr. Anderson pointed to the boards, the stains of sweat having widened under his outstretched arm. "Each board was shot through the center. Nice enough, but only five holes. One of you missed." The other men grumbled their agreement.
Nathaniel strode to the middle board, and tapped the center with a strong, tanned finger. "That hole is bigger than the others."
"We both hit it." Arthur's cheeks rose high as the men gathered around the board.
Mr. Anderson looked out to the field, disbelief and ire rising on his face. "But that was over a hundred and fifty yards."
The other men careened their necks, and several claimed it was farther. Mr. Bieber, who often joined them for target competitions in Kutztown, kept his chin tucked down in his jacket, his shoulders shaking with amusement.
"Definitely closer to one-seventy, right, Arthur?" Nathaniel asked.
"But it probably wasn't our best reloading time. Remember that time we were reloading on the run—"
A high whooshing sound cut him off, and far above the targets, into a nearby tree, cracked Kalawi's iron arrowhead. All eyes flew to the turkey-feather fletching wavering back and forth from the trunk over their heads. Out under the mammoth oak, Kalawi raised his bow in the air and hollered, his warrior call echoing throughout the valley.
Mr. Anderson's face deepened to purple. His hand reached for his pistol, but Arthur grabbed the man's wrist while instinctively pulling out his own hunting knife. Nathaniel stepped between them, his palms up.
"Not necessary. We will go and let you men get back to your trials."
Nathaniel turned slightly to Arthur and whispered, "Please. Let's leave."
Arthur held his gaze, but he let go, and backed away. Nathaniel turned and spoke to the group, but his words were for Arthur. "It might be wise to serve with the Express until we see how this war turns out. This could all be over in a few months."
"You can help ensure it is." Mr. Anderson's face was stern, his tone severe, clipped. "Sign an Oath of Allegiance. Join Colonel Andrew Kachlein to push Howe's army out of New York. Six months' pay could get you a hundred and fifty acres around here. You might even be posted at home to suppress the natives who side with the loyalists. You know the kind." His eyes darted toward Kalawi beneath the tree.
Arthur's mouth twisted as if he had eaten something rotten, and he faced the man squarely. "I'll sort this out with my uncle in Philadelphia, Colonel Bowman."
Now, as always, the mere mention of Arthur's uncle made Nathaniel's heart thump erratically, his mind filling with cobwebs at the image of the man's sweet daughter, Susannah. Nathaniel shook off her visage, and nodded to Arthur. "He will write with advice."
"A letter will only delay the inevitable." Anderson stood taller, as if he alone knew the direction of the war.
"Then don't write," Nathaniel said to Arthur. "Ask him in person. Come with Peter and me. We've a shipment to deliver to Philadelphia the end of the month."
"Ah, that reminds me, Nathaniel. Will you deliver this?" Bieber took a letter from his coat pocket. "Jameson asked me to send a request for a new postmaster for the county until they figure all this out."
Nathaniel took the letter and glanced at the addressee. A small gasp escaped his lips. It was a name as well-known as the moon.
Benjamin Franklin Esquire
Member of the Continental Congress
Philadelphia – Chestnut Street
Franklin's flip-flopping politics had made him both famous and infamous. He had been a major supporter of the British Parliament and Stamp Act, turning pro-American only in the last few years. Nathaniel also knew Franklin was the Postmaster General, and the Express riders came under his command.
Nathaniel looked up from the envelope to find Arthur studying him carefully. Nathaniel tucked the letter into the satchel at his hip, a carrier never divulging the name of a recipient, and assured Mr. Bieber of delivery.
As he strapped the satchel shut, and turned to say his goodbyes, he found Mr. Anderson eyeing him.
"Might be the last letter you deliver."
Nathaniel ignored the warning, and turned to leave with Arthur by his side. As they made their way across the field, Mr. Anderson shouted after them, "If your uncle is a wise man, he'll have you sign an oath! You will suffer the consequences if you end up on the wrong side."
His strident voice faded as they moved toward the horses and rejoined Kalawi. Nathaniel loathed self-righteous men who encouraged action with fear, but still he wondered, would a time come when they'd be forced to pick a side?
That now pressing concern, clearly hung between the three friends as they made their way toward the Shawnee town, evident in the unnatural, uneasy silence lingering between them. The joy of their hunt, lost.
Join us next week as Nathaniel and Arthur visit the Shawnee village where Nakomtha shares wisdom about choosing one's path, while troubling news forces the three friends to confront how war will test their bonds.
Fun Fact
Fun Fact: Berks County was one of the few Pennsylvania counties without a post office in 1776, requiring express riders like Nathaniel to carry mail along post roads that would later become major highways like Route 1 and Interstate 95.
This chapter is part of "Carrying Independence," a historical novel following the journey of the Declaration of Independence as Nathaniel, a reluctant Post rider, gathered the signatures needed to unite America. If you're enjoying Nathaniel's story and don't want to wait for the next installment, autographed copies of the complete novel are available here.