April 7, 1780
Two miles east of the prisoner-of-war camp, Charles West, Thomas Parsons, Edward Thimble, Samuel MacLeish, Macabee Reed, Karl Ix, and Hans Wistan worked under the eye of Captain Schuyler at Ewing Garth’s ever-growing estate. Before the men rode off toward the farm, Captain John Schuyler had been given strict instructions to keep Old Man Garth happy. Ewing Garth, a shrewd businessman, owned land throughout Virginia, much of it south of his showplace estate, which sat above Ivy Creek. He grew tobacco on the southern acres, hemp near Williamsburg, more tobacco on his lands in North Carolina. Ewing Garth owned hundreds of slaves scattered among his holdings, but he needed more hands for his dreams, and the few available prisoners at The Barracks were manna from heaven. Free labor. Ewing Garth didn’t have to feed them, clothe them, see to their health, or house them. Granted, he did feed them when they were on his land, and he did pay special courtesy to the imprisoned British Captain Graves due to his rank.
In exchange for the prisoners, Ewing Garth offered foods and other necessities to the camp for sale at reduced rates. Well, his idea of reduced rates. Neither brutal nor devoid of feeling, money still came first for the medium-sized man in his fifties.
The eight prisoners possessed useful skills. Corporal Ix, a Hessian, had engineering abilities. He and Charles West studied a steep incline ending at Ivy Creek, and an equally steep incline on the other side. A dirt road was the only path east to Charlottesville, or heading west toward the Blue Ridge Mountains, Staunton miles on the other side. The steep grade, difficult enough in good weather, was impossible in bad. Many a carter had turned over, tangling traces, sometimes even breaking up the cart, and there went the money from hauling goods.
Ewing Garth rightly surmised that an improved road would increase his profits; he could then sell surplus from his farm in both directions. The tobacco and hemp farms made the large profits, but he was determined to show he could make money here as well. His eye was on apples. This area’s elevation, soils, and temperature were perfect for apples, and two years ago he had planted his first orchard from bare root. So far, so good, but the trees needed more years to produce a larger amount of fruit. That first orchard on the hillsides evidenced the earliest sign of green buds.
“Corporal.” Captain Schuyler stared out at the problem. “A higher bridge?”
The sturdy Hessian shook his head. “Nein. No.” Descending sideways for a better foothold, he made it halfway down the grade, pointing to the left of the existing dirt track. “Come to here, then to there.” Leaning, he walked at a right angle to where he had been standing.
Captain Schuyler couldn’t grasp what Karl intended.
Charles brought forth and opened a thin, light wooden case. Small chains held the lid upright. He pulled out paper, a thin, round piece of charcoal, and sketched what he thought the Hessian meant. Then he too crabbed sideways down to Ix.
Karl looked, nodded, then took the charcoal from Charles’s hand and drew over the base idea. “See?”
“I think so.” Charles flipped over the paper, too expensive to waste, and drew to the corporal’s instructions. The precise drawing began to make sense.
Karl pointed to the spot on the creek. “Bridge here, raised up. Verstehen sie, ja?”
Charles drew a wide bridge with a grade to make entering and exiting it easier, especially for a carter with a heavy load. Both men then climbed up to the captain.
Taking the case from Charles, the Continental officer studied the drawing. Looking about for a place to sit, to really look at this, he moved over to a large log. With a prisoner on each side of him, he settled in to examine the drawing.
Karl Ix traced his new route, which incorporated parts of the old road. “If a wagon slides, it slides to here.” He marked a small landing. “Better this way.”
“Yes, yes, I see that.” Captain Schuyler squinted, looking at the old roadway. “What do you think, Ix? Looks like almost a forty-five-degree angle.”
“We can lessen the grade.”
“And build a new bridge?” Schuyler asked.
When the Hessian nodded, the handsome young captain looked to Charles. The two of them, nearly equal in height and broad-shouldered, were handsome men. They liked each other, despite their separate stations.
Charles agreed. “What’s down there must get swept away every time the water rises. Raise the bridge, and only the most severe of storms will destroy it.” He looked across Schuyler to Karl. “Yes?”
“Yes,” Karl replied, but with his accent his “yes” lacked the sibilant ending.
“All right. I will take this up to Mr. Garth.” He handed the case to Charles, who folded it down. “Both of you, come with me. Karl, you might need to explain. He will have questions, and I am sure the first one will be how much will it cost.” A wry smile crossed the captain’s lips.
They walked to a large brick house built in the Georgian manner, very modern and very expensive. At the stables, Captain Graves and the other prisoners were fixing broken stable doors. A fractious horse cursed inside.
Piglet, always at Charles’s heels, murmured, “Hot temper.”
At the grand house, a large brass pineapple knocker rested in the center of the wide wooden door painted glossy navy blue. The woodwork trim around the door and windows was white, but the shutters matched the door. Charles wondered how these raw people managed to ape European fashions. Well, some Americans had traveled abroad before the war. They learned quickly.
The door opened to an impeccably turned-out butler, Roger. A proud light-skinned man in middle years, he smiled and bowed slightly to usher them into the huge center hall. He had obviously been told that the officer in charge was welcome.
“The Master will be with you in a moment, gentlemen.” The butler, Roger, then turned, walking down the long hall to fetch Ewing Garth.
Charles sensed that both the Continental captain and the Hessian corporal were uneasy. Ewing Garth approached from the opposite end of the hall, walking toward them. Charles swept off his hat, tucking it under his arm. “Pssst.” He hissed the sound through his teeth. Awkwardly, John Schuyler did the same while Karl Ix pulled off his own tattered cap.
“Ah. My good Captain, what can I do for you?” Ewing Garth inclined his head slightly.
“We have studied your road, Sir, and would like to show you a possible solution.”
Charles quickly opened his drawing case.
“Here, here.” Interest high, Garth took the box in his own hands and placed it on a long, exquisitely graceful hall table, a large display of dried flowers in the center flanked by a small marble bust of Apollo on one side, Artemis on the other. “A new bridge? What’s this?” Garth noted the landings.
“Sir, if Corporal Ix might explain. He studied as an engineer before the war.” Captain Schuyler smiled, nodding to the Hessian, who stepped forward.
“The road is too steep.” The man’s accent was noticeable, but he spoke good English. “Change the grade with a catch point on the other side.”
“Yes.” Ewing Garth was listening intently.
“Bad weather, failed brakes, the landing can catch them. That is why the road goes at an angle and emerges at an angle. Safer.”
“Yes, I see.”
“This way, one moves heavier loads, fewer wagons, fewer men off the farm,” said Captain Schuyler, and as an afterthought, “It could accommodate cannons as well. We will widen the road.”
“Yes, yes. I see.” Ewing Garth’s bright brown eyes lit up. “Costly.”
“With your permission, Mr. Garth, I can supply men such as Corporal Ix, who have had to build all manner of things, pontoon bridges, palisades, during their service. And if you are willing, you have hardwoods which we could use to construct a sturdier, higher bridge.” As these words left John Schuyler’s mouth, he knew he would have to convince the commandant he had done the right thing, and that such efforts would certainly also benefit the commandant. Captain Schuyler was learning politics.