Chapter 12: The Fat's In the Fire

By the time the first signs of 1775's spring thaw reached into the soft hills of the Blue Ridge, both MacCorm and Martz were well pleased with the progress made during the dark, winter months. As the creeks started gurgling with icy runoff, the Baltimore Town Iron Company's second huge furnace in Frederick County was more than half finished and, the foremen estimated, should be charged and fired up before summer arrived to green the meadows and valleys.

While Matthew, Otto and the other cutters chopped their way through the surrounding virgin timberlands, piling up mountains of split billets and untidy piles lapwood for the colliers, the work of the slaves, both masons and iron workers, never stopped, hardly slowed except after the deepest snows or on the coldest days when the woods creaked and limbs snapped.

They had started construction of the new furnace by cutting away a clay hillside and building a strong retaining wall. A cleared field and commodious coal house now stood atop this sheer, red-orange bank ready for the first production of new charcoal. A small shed at the lip of the abrupt defile was under roof and a stack of raw lumber and heavy beams lay near it.

At the base of the steep hill, the work crews had long since grubbed out and leveled off several acres and then built the foundation of the blast furnace itself. It spanned some twenty-five feet on a side. Using locally-quarried stone and deep-fired bricks, the masons carefully laid up the lower section of the furnace with its hearth and casting floor. While this work continued, slowly building up the bosh or inner chamber of fire brick and sandstone and the thick outer walls of native granite, other slaves were raising the wide, stone dam on the nearby creek, constructing a longer millrace and installing an overshoot waterwheel. They had also begun assembling the larger bellows that had been shipped up from Baltimore Town. It would serve both furnaces.

As the egg-shaped chamber where the iron would brew took shape and the massive, inward sloping, stone walls rose around it, workmen in heavy coats and torn gloves filled the space between the two with rubble, loose stones and broken bricks. The masons shaped two graceful arches as the thick walls ascended stone by heavy stone, the larger one, twelve feet high and just as wide, for casting, and the smaller tuyére or tuyers arch on the creek side for the bellow's air pipe. They built a cinder notch in the wall opposite the big arch so that the slag could be drawn off from the top of the hearth.

At about the twenty foot level, the sloping, pyramid shape of fitted granite blocks stepped back two feet and the round chimney or flue rose within the ziggurat. Near the top, on the bank side, another arch of dressed stone led to the opening where the massive furnace would be charged by the sweating fillers. Soon a short, strong wooden bridge connected the stack to the bank, where the coal shed, the two-wheeled barrows and the ore trucks waited.

MacCorm, still on crutches and putting very little weight on his new, wooden leg, looked up at the rough-hewn, multi-colored stone walls with their thick lines of drying mortar. "That's damn good work, first class. We need to get started on the casting house," he said, pushing his chaw into his cheek and spitting off to the side.

Jacob Martz, recently arrived and enthusiastically surprised at how much had been accomplished during what had been a hard winter, nodded vigorously. "Like t'see us put up a finery dis year, vonce your fat monster is running goot."

"That bellows can handle it, but we'll need more labor and a bigger kitchen," MacCorm mumbled, considering all the problems of managing two blast furnaces plus a foundry.

"Vell Mac, you can hire local people, ja?"

"Perhaps, but we'd be better off with another batch of slaves, if you're willin' to get some seasoned men an' not them poor saltwater blacks. You can train 'em down there for six months or so. Georgetown market's your best bet."

"Ja, ja," Martz mumbled, carefully studying the construction details.

"People 'round here dinna cotton to criminal labor much an' there ain't many freeholders lookin' for work. 'Sides they's goin' to open a factory to make fire locks soon as they finish their damnfool chasing 'round lookin' for Tories to throw in jail."

"Principio, dey still uses much white labor, you know, transported criminals undt indentured folk, both." Martz rubbed his gloved hands together. "How is dot big Mattias vorking out and der tinker I got you?"

"Wanted to talk to you 'bout them. Tin smith scampered before the first snow. Run off with a still operator an' a tow-headed gal, somebody's bond servant, way back in the hills so they say. We tried to catch him. Got the constables up here to help, offered a reward. We think he's out in the Skipton district or t'other side of the Potomac, so we wrote him off."

Martz grunted.

"Matthew, on the other hand, an' this won't surprise you none, he's a verra good worker, loyal, you ken, an' ox strong. Knows several jobs now; he can read some, too. But he wants to join the local militia. We once talked 'bout tearing up his contract. I dinna think you've forgot that." MacCorm limped up to examine the unfinished casting floor where two slave masons were on their knees laying the brick forehearth, constantly checking and rechecking the level of their long courses.

"Dot's come up down at d'vorks, in Annapolis as vell, der militia question. A knotty vun, ja. No von vants dere transported people to join, but many who haf taken d'oath vill let an indentured man go to militia and count dat time. Some vill add dos Monat, months he iss avay. Maybe ve get a law soon. Big outfits, like Principio, dey reject dis, altogether, but den look who owns 'em, bloody Loyalists."

"You expecting real trouble?"

"Oh, ja, ja. Trade iss down to nothing, nicht." He swung out both arms, hands down, as if clearing the table. "The gofernor undt his people are, what, determined, fest. Dot second convention, in December I tink, it called for a militia of freemen. Dot vas d'vord, Mac, freemen, so dey vas not tinking bondsmen, ja?" Martz smiled and stroked his stubbled chin. "Dey said it vas so England vould not haf to tax us for defense. Ve could defend ourselves then, a good joke, eh."

"Ha," said MacCorm, "sounds like they're still expecting a battalion of Redcoats camped around the Stadt House."

"Ja, maybe ve get dem, too." Martz's usually happy face looked both sad and worried.

"We could, well, not me, you could make Matthew a free man. He deserves it. We've already gotten more than ten pounds a'work from him. And he did save my skin, most of it."

"I know. I tink about it some more. Tell him, ja, come see me."

"We're 'bout ready to start charcoaling," Matthew said, after George Martz's clumsy embrace and hearty handshake. "You know they use clay up here 'stead a'charcoal dust? Seals the pit up better, fewer mulls. What brings you out to the wilderness?"

"Zome vilderness! You got more hubsch, pretty Frauleins den ve haf in Baltimore Town. You zampled some, ja?"

"Think you're right, a lot of fair-haired beauties hereabouts, but I ain't been with none yet."

Matrz looked at him dubiously, raised an eyebrow and smiled.

"Y'seen our little friend Jean lately?" Matthew asked, returning his grin. "Hain't had a warm bath since we was down there last."

"Ja, I can smell you. True is it, some call you 'the bear'? I tink you maybe smell like von. Haf some schnapps." He poured out two small glasses from a tall stoneware bottle.

"Whew, how can you drink this stuff?" The big man shivered.

"Varms d'blood." Martz downed his drink, smacked his lips and smiled broadly.

Matthew twisted his small glass in his big hands. "You asked t'see me?"

"Ja, Mac vants us to tear up your contract, vipe out dree years. Maybe he ain't a real Scot, ja?"

"I know. He tole me."

"Undt?"

"Got two things on m'mind. One's up front, that's the militia. All the men over sixteen's signed up, less they got some religious reason; then they pays a fine, two shillings a month, not easy on 'em. Makes me feel funny that I can't, 'specially when I works with 'em."

"Ja," Martz nodded and poured himself another glass of the clear liquid. "Ve talk about dat too, der militia, Militar."

"T'other's gettin' married which I can't do less I'm free," Matthew said. He sipped his schnapps and then drank it all down and shuddered. "Well, maybe married, there's this 'ere woman nohow. Got'a obligation you might say. Keeps rolling around in my head, promises I made."

"Married?" Martz sat back and pulled out his old pipe and tobacco pouch. "Du?" he said.

"She's some younger'n me. We come over on the "Lune" together. Friends we was, that's all, jus' friends. She hain't as pretty as some a'these locals, but a good woman, a widow. Damn shame. Her man and my brother, they was friends, too, an' both of 'em died on the ship."

"Undt?" Martz used the lamp to light his pipe and puffed contentedly, linking his hands across his belly.

"Don' know where she is. I promised 'er, well, promised that I'd find 'er when I was free, free t'marry."

"You ask her to marry vith you?"

"No, not really," Matthew scratched his head and tried to remember if he had. He did not think so. He had not taken much time to really think about Elizabeth or his generally dormant feeling of nagging obligation. He had been too busy, learning too much.

"Maybe forgotten you, she has. How young?"

"Maybe. I guess she's eighteen, twenty, 'bout that."

"Vell, dot von you haf by lonesome, but on the militia, ve decided, Mac an' me, now lauchen, BŒr, you listen. You mit a militia company can join, if you vish. Ve haf some muskets. But you vork for us, same contract, ja." He puffed deeply. "If trouble ge-comes undt you haf to go fight somevere, ven you come back, you are a free man, befreien. Ve end the indenture right avay, pay you off. If no trouble, you stays and serve der time you agreed. How iss dat?"

"Good, thank you. That's fair, generous, in fact." Matthew felt an odd lump in his chest that rose to the base of his throat. He swallowed it down.

"Nein, generous," Matrz shook his head vigorously, "generous den now ve free you, but ve need you. You vork hard, ja, do many jobs. Ve up your bonus some, make you a rich bear." He stood and put his bottle back on the shelf. "I'm back to Baltimore Town on Sunday, you haf any messages, things you need, udder den baden? I help you find dis voman, vielleicht?"

"Say hello to Isaac, please, tell him I'm still working on my readin' and writing. Oh, I'll write a note, that's what I'll do, if you'll take it, about Elizabeth, to a 'ouse in Annapolis. It's the only thing I know, the place to start. And tell Jean I've been thinking about a bath, and I'll come see her soon as I can. Damn if I don't miss her, too."

"Vortrefflich, ya, goot, I tell Mac, giff you a veek off soon, schnell."

Matthew borrowed a piece of paper and a lead pencil from the clerk in the foundry office. He sat at a small table, thought a bit and slowly wrote: "To Elizabeth at the Conroy house - I am near Frederick Town - making iron. Hope you are well - where are you. Write to J. Martz at Baltimore Town Iron Cmy - Please. Your friend,"

and he signed his name as Isaac had taught him with a flourish beneath it. "What's the date?" he asked the clerk.

"March 20," the man said without looking up, and Matthew wrote that under his signature.

He folded the paper over and on the outside wrote, all in large, block capitals: MR CONROY ANNAPOLIS STATE~STREET. It was the first letter he had ever written. Writing it made him feel good, but he was not sure why.

Jacob Martz was in an Annapolis coffee house two weeks later when he pulled out the note from his inside pocket while he was looking for his spectacles, which were pushed up on his forehead. He asked his dinner companion about the Conroys. Then he had the waiter fetch a street boy who had been sitting in the doorway. Martz gave him tuppence, the note and directions to the brick house on State Street. The youngster disappeared out the door, and the ironmaster returned to his rare beef and boiled potatoes, glasses well down his nose.

After looking up at the impressive front doors, the young messenger, who made most of his keep by lighting people to their homes late at night, decided to try the back of the house. His knock there was answered by Philippa, who took the note to Mr. Conroy in his small library. He glanced at it and said, "Ask Priscilla to come down." Philippa scurried away, having peeked at the note before delivering it. She had concealed her ability to read since she learned the basics with the help of an itinerant preacher and then had gotten much better while trying to teach her mother the skill. Bess had, after some weeks of patient effort, refused, saying that if she could not tell salt from sugar or sage without looking at letters, she should not be a cook.

Philippa knocked at the door of the girls' room and entered. "Miss Pris," she said, bobbing as usual, "yer Daddy wants to see you. He in the li'bary."

"What for?" asked Priscilla looking up from her novel.

"Got a letter for you."

"Who's it from?" Anne asked, licking the tip of her waterpaint brush.

"Matthew," Philippa answered before she could catch herself and claim ignorance, her chief armor as a slave.

"Who?" said Priscilla.

"It is!" cried Anne. She tossed her brush, lifted her skirt and ran for the steps. The maid and Priscilla followed at an easier and more decorous pace as the younger girl clattered down the long staircase, barely touching some treads.

"Let me see, Daddy, let me see," Anne demanded, flapping her extended hand.

"It is addressed to me," said her father with a smile, "but here. Won't take long to read."

Anne scanned through the note and then read it all again. "I think he spelled everything right if he got this man's name, and that's 'company' I suppose." she said, handing the unfolded half sheet to her sister. "Are we going down to the farm this week? The roads look good enough to me."

"Yes," said her father, enjoying his younger child's flushed enthusiasm," I think we shall. I would like to see the young woman, too, and the governor has little work for me just now. In fact, I fear the government is just about played out."

Priscilla furrowed her brow and fluttered the note in her hand. "Who is this Matthew person?"