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“Dishonorable discharge—what a strange phrase.” – P.D.
Later that night as I packed my belongings in preparation to leave the camp, Marky Lafayette stopped by for a quick visit. “Hallo, Prit-chard, iz me—Mar-ky.”
“I’m heading out tonight, Marky. It was a pleasure playing darts with you even after that one dart ended up in your thigh. Sorry again about that. Sometimes my motor skills disappear for a while.”
“I ahm so very sorry for ah you, Prit-chard. Zee tri-al was a farce.”
“I only understood a few words of that, but I appreciated each of them. I really mean that.”
“Best uv luck to you.” Marky reached out his hand, and we exchanged a drawn-out handshake. As he left my tent, Marky reached down and patted Zippy’s head. That Frenchman was no Cheddar, but he came pretty close on my friendship chart. I just wish I could’ve understood more of his jokes.
Zippy and I surfed from the camp in search of a place where I could pause to think for a while. Thinking has always been a time-consuming endeavor for me. We set our course for the Big Road Apple itself—New York City. After two days of traveling, I remembered that New York had been partly destroyed in a fire and was still crawling with tea-swilling British soldiers. Furthermore, I had no desire to go to one of the colonies’ great cultural centers and have only two choices in entertainment—Shakespeare or twiddling my thumbs. With that, Zippy and I changed our plans and stayed in a delightful hamlet called Larame’s Corner.
I kept a low profile in town, creeping about at night to gather news of the war. To the townspeople, Zippy and I became a sort of legend. When they least expected it, they’d spot us in the shadows, listening intently to their conversations. Then, we’d vanish. We would’ve stayed longer if I hadn’t seen a poster—a sort of notice—hanging on the wall of the local tavern. It said, “Join the Continental Navy and See the Colonies.” A man was painted on the poster. He was smiling and holding a pitcher of some dark brew. That mural could’ve predated the war, but I didn’t care. I may have been dismembered from serving in the Continental Army, but they hadn’t said anything about the Navy.
The next part was tricky. If I was to join the Continental Navy, how would I get to them? At that point, in July 1778, it felt like every other port city in the colonies was under British control. Boston was a safe bet, but I’d have to surf through many British strongholds to get there unless I went the long way. Zippy and I talked it over late into the night from my favorite hiding place—the tavern outhouse. Several bar goers weren’t pleased that the “facilities” had been occupied for so long, but I was busy talking through the pros and cons of uprooting my daughter yet again. I was worried that Zippy might be getting weary of moving around so much. She was pretty noncommittal about me joining the Navy, so we set out for Boston the next afternoon.
These travel interludes are getting pretty boring. Therefore, I’ll be brief. After several weeks of arduous travel and hiding from British patrols, Zippy and I made it to Boston. The city hadn’t changed a bit since the last time I’d seen it. My mule daughter and I surfed through all of our old haunts. I beamed when I spied a notice for an upcoming Jaysons meeting. It’s always nice to see things work out after putting forth only minimal effort toward them. However, I couldn’t let the flier stay on the notice board. It violated the secretive nature of the organization, so I ripped it down and kept it as a souvenir. I made a note to speak with Pat about it.
From a considerable distance, I could make out the white blobs that I knew to be the sails of ships afloat in Boston Harbor. Zippy had grown tired from trundling the whole way to Boston from New Jersey, so I let her take a brief break in my satchel. I waltzed down to the docks. Since I didn’t have a partner, I had to attempt both parts. It proved to be a strange way to get around—and not the fastest, but it was enjoyable all the same.
A row of buildings where captains planned their voyages sat along the docks. The recruiting office for the Continental Navy was one of them. I entered and strode up to a desk where a uniformed man sat writing. He didn’t look up, leading me to believe he hadn’t noticed me or had terrible peripheral vision. I pulled Zippy out of the satchel and plopped her onto the floor next to me. As an aside, why do people sitting at desks pretending to write something important never notice you when you enter the room? Anyway, after I cracked my knuckles, he looked up. “Can I help you?” he asked in a slow voice.
“I’d like to join up, sir, to fight the British and all the rest.” I pumped my arms a few times to show my enthusiasm.
“Have you previously served in any military capacity?” He stared at me blankly.
“I single-handedly saved Washington’s army at Trenton, sir. It was loads of fun. I want another piece of the action.”
“Why did you leave the army?”
“Got boring, sir. I needed to spice things up a bit, and I was inspired by one of your recruiting posters.” He perked up.
“Really, you liked the poster?”
“Loved it, sir! Where should I sign?”
The man reached into a desk drawer and slid a paper over to me. He gestured at a quill which sat in an inkwell in front of him. I too gestured at the quill. He pointed at it. I pointed at the paper and motioned as if I were writing. Finally, he threw the quill at me, and I signed my name—Pritchard Daviess. It’s rather fun to know that I’ve lived my life in a time where there’s no way to check up on information about people like me in situations like this. I could’ve said I was John Adams in the crabby flesh, and the man wouldn’t have known any different.
Zippy coughed. The man sat up and peered over the desk. He was met with Zippy’s wide eyes. “Who’s this?”
“Oh, that’s just my miniature mule, Zippy. She’ll be coming along with me. I’ll need your standard father-daughter living arrangements on the ship.”
“I’m afraid we can’t satisfy that request. There’s no precedent for something as ridiculous as this requiring accommodation. The mule will have to stay behind.”
I picked Zippy up and snuggled her against my face. “How about now?”
“No, it’s still as weird as before.” The man snatched my enlistment paper and leaned over to throw it into an adjoining fireplace.
“Wait!” I had to think on my feet even though I much prefer to think sitting down. “Zippy is a sort of service mule who follows me around and kicks me when I start to... when I start to....” An idea popped into my head which required a great deal of breath to execute, so I paused to inhale for at least ten seconds. I screamed at the top of my lungs, “Talk very loud, sir!”
The force of my exclamation was so tremendous that the man had to fight to maintain the placement of his wig and false eyebrows. Zippy sat next to me on the floor while the man watched her to observe her response. I coughed. She sat motionless. I nudged her with my foot, and she responded by striking me on the shin with one of her hooves. The force of her kick sent me reeling toward the fireplace. Through pain, I spoke in a high voice, “See what I mean? She does the job beautifully.”
“This is highly irregular.... But we could use that voice of yours. How’s your eyesight?”
“Never been better.” I can’t say that I lied because my vision had truly never been better. The man placed my enlistment papers back onto his desk.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Daviess.” The man stood and shook my hand.
“I’ve never been happier in....” I paused and prepared to unleash another onslaught of loud talking, “All my life!” That outburst caused one of his false eyebrows to fly off and sail out the open window behind him. Zippy rapped me on the shin again. She caught on quickly. I was able to walk off her blow by trotting around in circles for a few moments as the officer finished filling out my paperwork.
“You’ve been assigned to the Alliance. It’s due to set sail in two months for France. Report to the captain one week before departure. You’ll be manning the crow’s nest. Until then, enjoy your shore leave.”
And enjoy it I did. I resumed my duties as Ultimate Master of Doctrine and Wellness at regular Jaysons meetings in the area, putting to rest all of the nonsense that Pat had been circulating in my absence. She’d started claiming that she’d had visions of the Big Jay and that, in fact, the patron of our order was subservient to an even larger and more powerful robin. I pointed out a host of contradictions in her “visions” and exposed her for the fraud she was. But we made up in order to heal the rift in our beloved society. I relented on a few points, and she shut up about the robin.
Since I knew I’d be away from the colonies for an extended period, I was able to use those two months to practically drool Zippy dry of invisible ink. Before we set out, I went to the Boston Post Office and mailed each of the bottles individually to different generals, political leaders, and friends who relied on the supply. It was enough drool to supply the Continental Army for two years at least—longer if they’d watered it down a bit. I wasn’t the post office attendant’s best friend that day, I can tell you. After several hours of waiting while he weighed and applied sufficient postage to each of the envelopes, I left the post office with that burden removed from both my chest and my satchel.
The week fast approached when Zippy and I would join the crew of the Alliance and sing rousing sea shanties. It was practically a dream come true. When the recruiting officer told me that we’d been assigned to the crow’s nest, I assumed we would be caring for the ship’s crow mascot or, if the crow was some sort of unfortunate stowaway trapped on the ship, be in charge of shooing it away or trapping it. My guess was only a little off.
