Guns for General Washington by Seymour Reit Page B

naught serious,” he said. “He’s throwed his shoulder out I can put it to rights, but he’ll need a sling. Afraid he won’t be able to use the arm for a few days.”
    While the trooper went to work on Mr. Becker, Henry and Will took a look at the sunken cannon. Luckily it had gone down near the bank where the river was shallow, and parts of the gun and cart were showing above the surface.
    Colonel Knox was not about to abandon his finest prize. “Bring plenty of rope and get some teams ready,” he said to Will. “We’re going to haul her out”
    For the rest of the afternoon the men strained and sweated, hauling on ropes, prying at the gun with stout poles, urging the animals on. Little by little the monster crept free of the Mohawk’s icy clutches and came to rest at last on the muddy bank.
    Worn out from the day’s work, the crew camped right there at the river’s edge. Hollow-eyed, they ate supper quickly and were soon asleep. All except J. P. His father now felt better, but the boy sat beside him, keeping a drowsy watch.
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    At dawn the farmer, his arm in a sling, met with Colonel Knox. With the arm strapped, there was no way he could control the horses hitched to the Beckers’ wagon. Henry scratched his chin. His drivers were all needed elsewhere; he had nobody else to spare. J. P., standing nearby, cleared his throat and tugged at his father’s shirt Becker grinned. “I know what’s on your mind, John. You think you can handle four horses?”
    J. P. nodded quickly. “Sure I can, Pa, if you’ll ride next to me. I’ll do everything just the way
you
did.”
    Colonel Knox was anxious to solve the problem, so he smiled his approval. “Fine, son. Fine. Then it’s settled.” With a nod he hurried off to organize the rest of the caravan.
    Minutes later, Henry trotted by on his mare and signaled for the convoy to begin. With his father beside him, J. P. snapped his reins and called to the horses—trying to do it just as the older man had done—and the animals moved ahead obediently. As the long line of vehicles lumbered away from the frozen river, John thought he would burst with pride. He wasn’t an onlooker anymore; he was a real team member now, doing his bit for the great cause.

15
Marking Time
    General Washington stepped back from the flagpole and saluted. Behind him, the regiments were drawn up. A squad fired a volley in the air and the men presented arms. Then the fife-and-drum corps marched smartly across the parade ground. At the edge of the field they turned and broke into a rousing version of the “Liberty Song.”
    The red, white, and blue ensign, just raised by the commander, was the very first flag of the colonial cause. It was called the “Grand Union” flag, and it snapped bravely in the Cambridge breeze, telling the world that the American colonies were now a nation and no longer subjects of Britain’s king.
    The day this ceremony took place was the very day that Henry and his men, far to the north, were dragging their sunken cannon out of the Mohawk River. Back at his desk after the flag-raising, Washington thought about Henry’s artillery train. He reread a report just in from the hardworking colonel. The guns were on their way, but they were moving very slowly. Because of bad weather and worse terrain, Henry wrote, it would take longer to deliver them than he’d thought.
    Washington ran a tired hand over his eyes. It had been a bad winter for the Continental Army, just as it had been for Howe and the redcoats. For one thing, Washington had to deal with thousands of New England troops who were quitting camp. They had enlisted at the beginning of July for six months—now their tour of duty was over. The worried officers tried hard to get their men to reenlist, but only a fraction did, for there was no reenlistment bounty. “The military chest is