Liberty 1784: The Second War for Independence (3 page)

Once again Will did as he was told.

* * *

Sarah Benton and her cousin Faith hugged each other and waited for the dawn. They were in the small western Massachusetts town of Pendleton’s one prison cell as guests of Charles Braxton, the sheriff. They were to be punished by spending a day in the stocks for speaking ill of the king. The population of Pendleton was only a couple of hundred, but many of them were Tories and most would be there to watch the two women’s discomfort and humiliation.

Sarah Benton was twenty-six and ten years older than Faith. She felt guilty for her cousin. It was Sarah’s sharp tongue that had said that the king was responsible for the war and the death of Tom, the fine man who she considered to be her husband. Faith just happened to be standing by when she made the comment, but that meant nothing to Sheriff Charles Braxton. His authority included the ability to punish minor offences, and a day in the stocks for Sarah’s impertinence was what she and Faith would suffer.

Sarah was certain she could handle it, but she less was less so regarding her cousin. Plump little Faith looked terrified. Why, Sarah wondered? It couldn’t be all that bad, could it?

She’d known little about Pendleton. She and Tom had lived somewhat closer to Boston, but after his death in the war, and with Boston being a virtual British garrison, she’d decided to move west to her cousins. A woman alone, especially the widow of a rebel, was not safe with so many angry and vengeful British soldiers roaming around. The British and Tories were in a vengeful mood.

Of course, it now seemed that sleepy little Pendleton, with a population of about two hundred living in clean, well-appointed homes, wasn’t all that safe either. Sheriff Braxton was a virtual dictator appointed by the British in Boston to control this area and he did so with a hard and often cruel hand.

“Come on out for your day in the sun,” exclaimed Sheriff Braxton with a sarcastic laugh. Deputies came in and separated the two women. A sobbing and unprotesting Faith was led down a hallway to another room. Sarah was led by the arm to Braxton’s office where she was pushed against a wall. She heard voices through it, but nothing to cause her concern.

Braxton glared at her. “A day in the stocks is not pleasant, Sarah Benton.”

“I think I will survive. Would it help if I apologized for my wicked tongue?” She did not offer to pay a fine. She had no money, and the sheriff knew it.

“No. What’s said cannot be unsaid, any more than water can be put back in a bucket after its spilled. You must be punished.”

“I see.”

“But your punishment can be changed. You’re an attractive woman, Mistress Benton.” He reached out and touched her light brown hair. Sarah gasped in surprise. “And a pleasant figure, too. Nice and firm and trim, not soft and plumpish like your cousin.” His hand slipped into her dress to her breast and squeezed, while his other hand groped between her legs.

“Stop that,” she said weakly. His hands hurt her. Braxton was a very large and strong man and she could not break his grip as he continued to paw at her. He could overpower her with ease if he wished to. His pelvis was against her and she could feel his erection straining against her.

The sheriff laughed. “Don’t protest your virtue, Mistress Benton. You claim you’re a widow, but you’re a whore since your so-called husband was a rebel. It also means you are no silly little virgin. But don’t worry; it’ll be nothing like what you’re worrying about. I won’t rape you. Last thing I need is some bitch like you going to the parson saying I’d forced her to spread her legs for me, or worse, winding up with a little bastard running around town and looking like me.” He laughed again. “Christ, my wife would kill me slowly if that happened.”

“What then do you want?” she asked.

He took her hand and put it on his erection. “You take this in your mouth and do what comes naturally.”

She pulled her hand away. “I won’t.”

“Your cousin is doing it right now.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He spun her around and clamped his hand over her mouth. He opened a sliding window separating the two rooms and pushed Sarah to it. Faith Benton was naked to the waist and kneeling between the knees of one of the deputies. His pants were at his ankles. He was grinning hugely and groping Faith’s full young breasts as her head pumped up and down over his groin. Faith’s eyes were closed as if she was hoping this was all a nightmare.

“Your cousin will milk all three of my deputies and then be sent on her way. All you have to do is service just one person, me, and then you can go home as well.”

Sarah wanted to cry and throw up. Pendleton wasn’t a refuge. Instead, it was a newer form of hell. “Never,” she said in a voice that was almost a whimper.

Braxton laughed, “Your choice.”

Within moments, Sarah was locked in the stocks. Her legs and arms were spread out in front of her and her bottom was on a rail. Discomfort quickly turned to pain. Worse, the sun was rising and she was already sweaty and thirsty. But at least she had her pride, but she was beginning to wonder the price of her pride. Out of the corner of her eye, she’d seen Faith running down the road to her uncle’s home. Faith hadn’t turned to look at her.

Minutes became hours and her position became agonizing. Braxton came by and smiled down at her. “Too bad it’s too late to change your mind.”

“I would never change my mind,” she said with difficulty. Her tongue was dry.

Braxton laughed and walked away. He turned back to her. “Next time you might not think that way, and, trust me, there will be a next time. Even if you don’t say something slanderous, I can always find a half dozen people in this happy little town who’ll say you did. You’ll either do what I wish or you’ll spend many days in my stocks.”

Sarah felt a wave of growing despair. When she got out of the stocks—if she got out of them—she would have to find another place to live and do so quickly. Some place far, far away from a monster like Braxton. She looked up as two young boys laughed and ran up to her. They pulled her skirt up above her thighs and roared with glee as her bare legs were exposed. One of them knelt between her legs and looked while the second pinched her breast until someone hollered and chased them away. She thought the voice sounded like her aunt. Other citizens of Pendleton amused themselves by pelting her with rotten vegetables.

A woman stopped beside her and leaned over. “Here, take this.” It was a pitcher of water and the woman held it to her mouth. Sarah thanked her and gulped eagerly. The woman stepped away and began to laugh. It was Sheriff Braxton’s wife and she began to cackle loudly.

A moment later, Sarah’s stomach churned and cramped. She would have doubled in agony, but the stocks held her firm and she couldn’t move. Another cramp and her bowels released, sending a torrent of brown filth gushing through her dress and onto the ground. The half dozen people still gathered around the stocks howled in laughter.

The sheriff’s wife grabbed Sarah’s hair, pulled her head back, and glared at her. “You refused my husband, didn’t you?” she hoarsely whispered. “That means he’s gonna be angry and take it out on me. I’ve got to suffer because of
you
, you arrogant bitch. So now you get to suffer.”

The agony grew even more intense. Sarah passed in and out of consciousness. She thought she heard her uncle’s voice and then Sheriff Braxton’s.

“You have to set her free.”

“It’s not sunset yet.”

Braxton eyed her uncle carefully. Even though Braxton was strong and an experienced fighter, Sarah’s uncle Wilford was a blacksmith and had a reputation of his own for settling issues.

“That’s blood on the ground below her. She’s bleeding from her insides. She may be seriously hurt by that concoction your witch of a wife gave her. If she dies, I will accuse the two of you of murder and I will have more than enough witnesses to satisfy a court, even a British one. For God’s sake, Sheriff, you’ve proved your point.”

There was silence and she felt hands fumbling at her wrists and ankles. Sarah fell free of the stocks. Hands eased her to a lying position on the ground. She cried out as her muscles protested and her stomach spasmed again. She was lifted up and placed on something firm, wooden. She felt motion as her uncle’s wagon took her away.

* * *

Will held the bowl of broth in his hand and savored the warmth and the exquisite odor. It was chicken. He loved it. It was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. He held it to his lips and drew in a swallow. It was his third bowl of the day and he felt his strength returning with each sip.

It had been a week since his escape. Homer, the middle-aged colored man who had rescued him had fed him a steady diet of broth and vegetables with an occasional piece of fruit. Not only was Will’s strength returning, but his teeth were no longer loose and aching. He felt he could walk for miles although he knew that was a fantasy. It would be a long time before he could hike anywhere. He relished his freedom even though he was a fugitive in hiding and had even less space in Homer’s basement than when he’d been in the hold of the
Suffolk
. He concluded that freedom was a state of mind, of the spirit, and had nothing to do with wealth or the size of a dwelling. Homer lived in little more than a hovel and seemed to be quite content. For the moment, so too was Will.

They were in the basement of a building that had burned during the great fire that had ravaged much of New York when the British took it over in the early years of the war. If he looked out through a crack in the building’s foundation, he could see the charred remains of old Trinity Church, which helped him place himself. He’d been to New York on a number of occasions both before and during the war. Before the war, it had been on business or pleasure, but during the war it was to gather intelligence from the occupying British.

Even though he was an officer in the Continental Army, his real skill was as a spy.

Homer usually disappeared during the day and occasionally at night. Once he returned with a collection of clothing that more or less fit Will. It included several pairs of boots that Will tried on before finding a pair that were comfortable.

“What do you do for a living?” Will asked.

“I fix things. I’m very handy. I don’t take work from carpenters and such so they leave me alone, except sometimes when I help them with carrying and lifting. But if some old lady needs a leaking roof fixed, or somebody needs a stable cleaned, or something like that, I fix it.”

Will fingered his shirt. It was a little large, but maybe he’d gain weight and grow into it. “Do they pay you in clothing?”

Homer shrugged. “Sometimes they don’t pay me at all. Sometimes they think they can just fuck the nigger because the British aren’t going to make them pay up.”

Will grinned. “So you take what’s owed you?”

“Yes.”

“So that makes you a thief, doesn’t it?”

Homer grinned back. “Not in my book. Besides, you want me to return them clothes and maybe turn you in just as naked as they day I found you?”

Will returned to his broth. “So why didn’t you? Turn me in, that is. After all, didn’t the British abolish slavery? I would’ve thought you would be a supporter of theirs.”

“I was never a slave, so they didn’t do nothing to free me. They couldn’t give me something I already had. All they can do is take it away—and that concerns me. See, I was born of free blacks, who were also born free. Nobody in my family was ever a slave, at least not that I know of. I even served in the British Army along with a lot of other colored men because we thought the British would be better for us then you rebel people. Of course, the British lied. Now they’re trying to forget every promise they made to colored folk, and they’re even letting slave catchers from the south look for so-called escaped slaves. The British are gonna keep peace with the southern planters by ignoring the existence of slavery. The slave catchers ain’t too particular who they catch. I ain’t gonna be caught.” He smiled grimly as he patted the hilts of the large knives he had in his belt and his boot. “I’ve defended myself before and will do it again. In my world, killing to keep your freedom ain’t a crime.”

Will was not surprised by Homer’s statement that he had served the king. The British had raised several detachments of militia consisting of black soldiers, but with white officers, of course.

“So why did I save you? Because what they was doing to you prisoners was as wrong as slavery is to black people. I saw how they jammed you all into them big boats and I saw how they carried dead people out. That was wrong, evil. They call themselves Christians, but they aren’t if they do that to other people.”

“So you’re a Christian?”

Homer shook his head. “Didn’t say that. I am what I want to be and I ain’t seen nothing in Christianity that makes me want to be one.”

Will put down the now empty bowl. His hunger was satisfied for a while. Perhaps soon he could try some meat. His body had begun craving it. “All right. What do we do now?”

“They’ve stopped looking for escaped prisoners. Good news is they’ve taken them all off the other boats and put them in warehouses. I’ve heard that General Cornwallis is furious that so much of the money intended for the prisoners has been stolen. At least warehouses don’t sink. Still the prisoners are starving, just not as badly. But they don’t know who’s missing because they don’t know who was on the
Suffolk
in the first place.”

Will exulted. They weren’t looking for him. Hell, they didn’t even know what he looked like, much less what is name was. “I want to get out of New York.”

Homer laughed. “Can’t say as I blame you. I do have an idea. When you’re stronger and things are really quiet, we will rent a horse and wagon like I’d done when I picked you up, and take it north across the Harlem River. You need a pass to get out of this town, but that’s no problem. After that there’s no British patrols, at least none that will pay any attention to a white man and his slave. You will pretend to be my master and I will be the lowly slave riding in the back of the wagon. No one will suspect a thing.”

Will thought the plan had the virtue of simplicity. But he had been caught by a random patrol. The letter “R,” for rebel, had been branded on his buttocks, and if caught and stripped, he’d be hanged. And so would Homer who was willing to risk his life to help him.