46
Julia reached the sign for McGlinchey’s Plateau and pulled off the road into a crowded parking lot. Families were opening tailgates, taking out wheeled coolers, and slinging beach chairs over their shoulders. Kids squealed, chasing each other, and teenagers grouped together, laughing over phones.
Julia got out of the car and followed the crowd heading from the parking lot to an unpaved trail that rose through the trees, which echoed with their chatter.
She guessed that Glushenko had to be here among his buddies.
She wanted to get eyes on them, take their pictures, and ask enough questions to find out anything she could.
Any information she could turn over to Bennie and her investigator could help the cause.
Julia popped out of the woods onto a large, sunny plateau, among a throng of about a hundred spectators.
She walked up a few paces and lingered under a tree, sussing out the scene.
The regiment was beginning to practice, and the plateau buzzed with activity.
Men holding muskets milled on one side in navy blue jackets, tan britches, and boots, which they wore with hats, anachronistic glasses, and the random cigarette.
On the other side were the British in redcoats with black hats, some marching to a drumbeat and others wiping down muskets.
Julia checked out the other side of the plateau, which was a staging area. People milled around, carrying equipment back and forth in front of parked horse trailers, cars, vans, and pickup trucks. She scanned for the black pickup, but it was too far to see.
Julia spotted an elderly man nearby wearing binoculars, so she went over to him. “Excuse me, may I borrow your binoculars?”
“Of course, I’ve seen it all before,” the man answered, with a gentle smile. “My name’s Herman Newman.”
“Thanks, Herman, I’m Julia Pritzker.” Julia accepted the binoculars and adjusted the focus to see across the plateau. She scanned the faces of the men milling around, but didn’t see Glushenko. She looked at the cars and pickups, but didn’t see a black pickup or a Buckley cruiser.
“I come to all the reenactments. I’m an expert on George Washington.”
“Really?” Julia smiled, keeping an eye on the staging area through the binoculars.
There was a sudden parting of the men as a Buckley police cruiser pulled up, and she wondered if Glushenko was inside.
Then it struck her that Herman could be helpful, given his age.
“Herman, did you know a Bill McKenna, from about thirty, forty years ago? He was in the regiment? A realtor?”
“No, I wasn’t up here then. I lived in Roanoke.
I had a horse I named Blueskin, after one of Washington’s horses.
He was a good old boy. Lived till he was thirty-one.
” Herman shrugged. “I live in Ashland but I come back for the reenactments. We got a big crowd today because Valley Forge is too far a drive for most folks. I can fill you in on what’s going on, if you want to know. ”
“I do, thanks,” Julia answered, knowing she was less conspicuous with him rather than alone. She kept the binoculars trained on the Buckley cruiser. People were walking in front of it, so she didn’t have a clear view.
“Tomorrow’s going to be special at Valley Forge, a celebration of the country’s 250th anniversary.
They’re calling it Really Revolutionary, but that’s a gimmick.
” Herman pursed his lips with disapproval.
“The park is hosting reenactments of the most important battles by regiments from Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Delaware. The first one is the Battle of Trenton, then the Battle of Princeton, which were victories for us. But then there were defeats at the Battle of Brandywine and Paoli. Our regiment is reenacting the Battle of Monmouth.” Herman pointed. “See that lady over there?”
“Yes.” Julia glanced over, where a woman in colonial garb gave a Continental soldier a drink from a canteen.
“She’s supposed to be Mary Hayes, who was the wife of a Continental soldier. It was so hot at the Battle of Monmouth that she had to give the soldiers water, so she became known as Molly Pitcher. She didn’t use a pitcher. She used a canteen. That’s what you learn at an authentic reenactment.”
“Interesting.” Julia raised the binoculars again, but the view of the Buckley police cruiser was obstructed.
“Monmouth was an excellent choice for a reenactment because it was the first battle after Valley Forge.” Herman smiled, warming to his topic.
“We were losing for three years until we got to Valley Forge, and it was a terrible winter at the encampment, as you probably learned in school. We lost a lot of men to dysentery and typhus, but Valley Forge ended up being the turning point of the war.”
“How so?” Julia stayed patient, waiting for the view of the Buckley cruiser to clear. “I should remember, but I don’t.”
“At Valley Forge, General Washington realized our army needed to be retrained. So he enlisted General Knox, General Greene, and Baron von Steuben to whip the troops into shape. We entered Valley Forge a mob, but we left an army.”
“Wow,” Julia said, meaning it. Meanwhile the view of the cruiser had just cleared, and Glushenko was getting out.
On the field, one of the Continental Army officers yelled, “Prime and load!” The men took cartridges from their black pouches, put them in the muzzles, and took aim. The officer yelled, “Ready, Present, Fire!”
Boom! The blast startled the crowd, making people cover their ears and babies cry. Flames sparked from the guns, and smoke puffed from the barrels, hazing the air. The crowd oohed and aahed, clapping and laughing.
Julia lost sight of Glushenko and lowered the binoculars. “Herman, they’re not using real guns, are they?”
“They’re replica guns, so they are real.
But they’re shooting blanks. You have to know what you’re doing.
They have flints and sometimes the flints fall off.
Some have machine flints. You have to keep the prisons dry or they don’t spark.
” Herman glanced at the sky. “I hope the weather holds out for tomorrow. If it rains, we’ll get a lot of misfires.
Water’s no good for a flintlock musket.”
“Where do they get the guns?”
“Collectors, gun shows, or their families.”
“I was at the clubhouse the other night when they were making costumes, and one of the muskets was plastic.”
“What a shame.” Herman frowned. “I don’t approve. We’re trying to teach people history, so we must hew to the authenticity. There was no such thing as colonial plastic.”
“I agree.” Julia kept her tone casual. “Do you know where they get the plastic ones from? Don’t they have to run that by somebody, since it’s not authentic?”
“I’m not sure. They probably got it from the militia. They do explosives, too, for the cannons.”
“Really?”
“Don’t worry. They have experience. You can’t be an amateur, or somebody gets hurt.” Herman pointed. “I think that’s the truck they keep the ordnance in, locked up. You don’t want the kids in there, playing games. It’s not fireworks.”
“Right.” Julia raised the binoculars and looked across the plateau at a boxy U-Haul truck. She tried to see the license plate, but the back end was facing away.
On the battlefield, Redcoats fired, and several Continental soldiers died theatrically. The Redcoats shouted, “Huzzah! Huzzah!” The crowd booed and hissed, then laughed.
“Who are the militia? Is that the same thing as the regiment?”
“No, not at all. The regiment was the regular army.” Herman licked his lips, eager to elaborate. “A militia unit is a group of citizen soldiers.” He pointed across the field to the right. “See, look over there. They’re getting out of the van now.”
Julia looked through the binoculars and saw a group of men in ragtag colonial costumes. She couldn’t see their faces or take pictures from this distance.
“The militia doesn’t have to come to the practices year ’round. That’s why they’re not in uniform. That’s authentic, too. They don’t have to know the formations and commands.”
Julia eyed the militia through the binoculars, and Glushenko emerged into view, talking to them. She felt her heartbeat quicken. It was just what she’d been hoping for. Some of the militia could be his co-conspirators.
“We need a big group today and tomorrow because we outnumbered the British at Monmouth, two to one. The Continental Army didn’t have mercenaries like the British had the Hessians. We had the French and the militia.”
“I see.” Julia kept watching the militia, but she was too far away to see their faces or get decent pictures.
“The Battle of Monmouth took place on June 28, 1778, the longest single-day fight of the war. Stirling’s men were on the left flank, General Greene’s were on the right, and Mad Anthony Wayne’s were in the center. There’s George Washington, charging up the middle, leading the attack. See?”
Julia looked over as a man dressed as George Washington appeared on a white horse. The Continental soldiers surged forward, shouting. The crowd reacted, cheering and applauding.
“Washington lost his temper at General Lee and relieved Lee of his command, then and there.” Herman pointed at the field. “Here they go.”
Julia pretended to watch as General Washington reached General Lee on horseback, shouting. The soldiers stopped, play-acting surprise. General Lee trotted away on his horse, hanging his head. The spectators hooted and clapped.
“Now he’s going to bring on General Lafayette from France. He was only twenty years old and didn’t speak much English, but he inspired the men.”
Julia’s thoughts raced. She had to get over to the staging area. A trailer of Port-A-Johns was parked on the right side of the plateau, halfway to the staging area. It would put her close enough to Glushenko and the militia to get some good pictures.
“The Battle of Monmouth was a draw, but we proved that we were able to take on the British and win. We claim victory because of Washington’s bravery and the bravery of our men. It was his finest moment, in my opinion.”
“That’s fascinating. Excuse me, I think I see a ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.” Julia lowered the binoculars. “May I keep these, just in case?”