Liberty 1784: The Second War for Independence (30 page)

“You’d think we were searching for the Northwest Passage,” Danforth muttered. The Northwest Passage was the legendary and likely mythical waterway that supposedly connected the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans via Canada. Its lure had drawn many explorers in earlier years, but few now thought it existed.

“Instead, we are looking for a piddling little river,” Danforth muttered to his new friend. The
Snake
was in sight and approaching Arnold’s Armada.

“Can’t be too careful, now can we,” Rudyard said. “Can’t risk the rebels finding us.”

Danforth thought that Rudyard had been drinking again. He was slurring his words, and one whiff of his breath confirmed it. Lord, and it was still early morning. How did the man do it and still function? Danforth liked to drink as much as the next man and then some, but Rudyard was something else, and he was afraid Rudyard’s hobby would result in tragedy. At least his two companies of infantry weren’t onboard to see their commander in his cups. They had been distributed among the barges.

A signal flag from the
Snake
indicated that they had found the mouth of the river and a chorus of sarcastic cheers came from the ships. Even the usually dour Arnold managed a laugh. How the devil does one lose a river?

A few hours later, the convoy entered the wide mouth of the St. Joseph River and anchored a little ways upstream and, hopefully, out of sight of the prying eyes of Americans who would be on canoes or small sailing boats. Rudyard’s two companies of infantry disembarked and began patrolling the coast, while the
Snake
again sailed upstream with Rudyard on board. Danforth envied him. The urge to explore a strange land was strong. He was concerned that Rudyard was so drunk he might miss a herd of elephants, but was confident that his subordinate officers would be up to the task.

After several hours, the
Snake
returned and signaled that all was safe. As arranged, the sailing barges were anchored in the middle of the river, lined up three abreast and lashed to each other for security. In effect, they became a floating fort.

Rudyard’s report to Arnold was simple—while there was obvious evidence that people, both red and white, had camped along the banks of the river, there was nothing to indicate any recent or current enemy activity.

“In my opinion, General, what little signs there were came from stray Indians or trappers, and not the rebels.”

“And you saw this from the ship or by patrolling the land?” Arnold asked.

“Both, sir,” Rudyard said confidently. “Where the forest permitted, we swept about a mile inland on both sides and found nothing to worry about.”

Arnold accepted this and set about preparing defenses. The eight-gun
Viper
was sent to patrol along the coast, while the four-gun
Snake
waited in the mouth of the river. Rudyard’s infantry dug earthworks facing the lake that both he and Danforth thought would be useless if someone attacked in force, but they had to do something. He made sure the works were covered with brush and tree limbs to disguise their presence.

Danforth was concerned that they were now vulnerable sitting in the river. He also had his doubts as to how far Rudyard had taken the schooner, and how far inland his men had actually patrolled. But then, how far was realistic? An old map showed that the river wound inland for a hundred miles or more. Certainly, they could not patrol all of it, and, besides, any rebel activity would be near the coast and not inland. The forest along the river seemed impenetrable and someone who went ten feet into the woods would be invisible.

Certainly, he repeated to himself, people had been there before and would be there again, but not until the rebellion was over.

In fact, all they had to do was exist in the river for a few days and Burgoyne would be joining them with the main army. So why was he at all concerned about the results of Rudyard’s alcohol-soaked patrol?

* * *

Faith hurled herself on Owen’s prone body, both waking him and sending a wave of pain through his body that caused him to cry out. He had left his hard and uncomfortable wooden slatted bed in the hospital and had gone into the woods where he found the sunlight and soft grasses far more comfortable and conducive to healing.

“Jesus, woman,” he gasped. “You almost killed me. You want to finish what the bloody savages started?”

Faith was immediately contrite. “I was so afraid when I heard you’d been hurt,” she cried. “I thought I was going to lose you and I couldn’t stand the thought of it.”

Owen grinned. “Does this mean you truly care for me?”

She smiled impishly. “It does.”

“Love me?”

“Yes,” she said softly, “but only if you love me too.”

“I love you, Faith, and I will love you for the rest of my life.” He laughed harshly and winced at the pain from his chest. “Of course, the way I’m feeling that might not be all that long.”

She touched his mouth to silence him and then lay down beside him with her head on his shoulder. “For us, forever might only be a few weeks, dear Owen, I think we should make the most of it.”

As she said this, her hands went to his waist and loosened the drawstrings of his pants. She reached in and found an old friend rising to meet her. She knelt and pulled his pants down. Then she straddled him. “It’s time to finish what we’ve always started, dear Owen.”

For his part, Owen loosened her bodice and pulled it down, exposing her exquisite breasts. “Are you certain, dear little Faith?”

“As certain as I am of anything,” she said as his hands and lips caressed her nipples until she thought she’d go mad.

As always and like many women, she wore nothing underneath her skirts and he entered her easily. They both gasped. Faith was mildly surprised that there was none of the pain she’d heard about, but then realized that their several mutual explorations had doubtless resolved that little problem.

“I love you,” Owen said as she rocked him gently, taking care not to touch his ribs. His hands grasped her bare buttocks and pressed her more tightly to him. He wanted to say something far more eloquent but couldn’t. They both groaned and climaxed within seconds of each other.

“I thought you were afraid of the consequences of doing this,” Owen finally managed to say as they again lay beside each other.

Faith kissed him on the cheek. “I was. Then I realized that, come the worst, I wanted to have this memory of you, of us.”

“What now?” Owen asked.

Faith giggled. “Well, dear Owen, for the short while, let’s just rest a wee bit and do it all over again.”

* * *

Benedict Arnold’s sailing barges remained anchored in the river and lashed together for safety. They resembled nothing more than a giant raft. The majority of their crews had joined Rudyard’s infantry in preparing defenses facing outward from the mouth of the river and towards the lake. They’d been told that the rebels had nothing larger than canoes, but Arnold disagreed and Danforth concurred. If the British could make ships like the
Vixen
or even the sailing barges, then so could the rebels. They were also reminded that canoes came in a variety of sizes and some could hold more than a score of men.

Even though Danforth agreed, he wasn’t totally comfortable with this decision to fortify the lake front. But General Arnold had been adamant—the danger would be from the lake if it came at all. Danforth didn’t like putting all their defensive eggs in one basket and had gotten Arnold’s grudging permission to send a handful of men up the river to warn against any surprise attacks. Rudyard had laughed at Danforth’s cautious nature. However, he had agreed to keep half a dozen men on guard duty on the rafts at all time.

Still, Danforth was worried. Rudyard was drinking ever more heavily and his men had taken their cue from him and had become slovenly and lazy in their duties. Worse, Rudyard had confided that most of the men who appeared to be British regulars were nothing more than the scrapings from the various communities in the area, such as St. Ignace, Sault St. Marie, Detroit and Pitt, and had gotten little training as British soldiers. They were Redcoats in name only.

He’d thought about discussing Rudyard’s drinking problems with Arnold, but decided against it. For all his flaws, Rudyard was the closest thing to a friend Danforth had. Arnold was also drinking heavily, apparently depressed by the fact that his attempts to find glory and wealth had so far failed.

The hell with Arnold, the hell with Rudyard, and the hell with the rebels, Danforth finally decided. He rolled into a blanket and quickly went to sleep.

* * *

Only a couple of miles upriver, Brigadier John Glover and the remnants of his Marblehead Regiment waited. At first they’d been shocked when the British began to sail up the river they’d chosen as a point from which to attack the rear of Arnold’s Armada as it passed. They had arrived in canoes, which were not their craft of preference, but they were justifiably confident that they could handle anything that floated.

Still, they’d had to paddle furiously to stay ahead and out of sight of a very slow moving British patrol probing up the river that was clearly wary of an ambush. When they’d gotten far enough ahead, Glover had sent scouts downstream who had reported that the British had stopped and pulled back to a point closer to the mouth of the river.

When scouts confirmed that the British defenses faced west towards the lake and not up the river, Glover realized that he’d been handed a golden opportunity. He’d stroked his broad jaw and finally smiled. He had fewer than two hundred men and was outnumbered and outgunned, but then, the damned British didn’t know he was here.

Glover waited until night was almost dawn, the time when everyone would be either asleep or groggy. Then silent as a mild breeze, his canoes moved down the dark river, hugging the north shore. A mist hovered over the water and provided more protection. A campfire’s dim glow told him that the handful of British sentries on the shore were as stupid as he’d been told.

Glover signaled and several canoes peeled off and landed softly. Their men slipped into the water and moved through the woods while Glover waited and watched. The anchored sailing barges were dim shapes only about a hundred yards away. He could rush past the guards, but didn’t want them in his rear.

A scream was followed by the sound of a musket. Glover cursed. His men were magicians on the water but lumbered like elephants on land. Surprise was lost. “Go!” he yelled and his men paddled their canoes with desperation and fury.

* * *

At first Danforth was uncertain whether he’d actually heard the sound of gunfire or he’d dreamed it. He stood up and looked around. Like everyone else, his gaze was towards the lake which was empty.

“What the devil is that?” Rudyard screamed and pointed upriver where shapes could be discerned behind the barges.

Boats, Danforth realized with a sinking feeling. He grabbed his sword and pistol and raced to the shore. Not boats, he corrected himself, canoes. And they were alongside the barges and men were pouring onto the precious craft. Rudyard lurched to the water and drunkenly fired his pistol at nothing in particular. This was a signal for his alleged British infantry to start firing at their own barges.

“Fire at the canoes,” Danforth screamed as Rudyard fell face first into the river. I hope the bastard drowns, Danforth thought. Rudyard had failed to patrol and protect their rear.

“No!” Danforth heard General Arnold sob as he saw the glow of flames on the barges that quickly became raging fires. A moment later, the powder on one exploded, raining burning embers on its neighbors.

The barges were made of poorly seasoned wood that caught fire quickly despite their being immersed in water. Worse, the wind was from the east, blowing flames from the rear of the column of barges towards its head. Now, however, many of the rebels were silhouetted against the growing flames and British fire increased in accuracy. The Americans returned fire and several men near Danforth fell to the ground. Rudyard had managed to pick himself out of the mud and was just about to say something when a musket ball struck his skull and blew his brains out, splattering Danforth with gore. This demoralized his men who stopped firing and backed away.

It didn’t matter, Danforth realized sadly. The anchored barges had become an inferno and the remaining rebels were climbing back in their canoes. They were paddling furiously for their lives as yet another cache of ammunition cooked off, taking two canoes with it.

* * *

John Glover was one of the first men out of the canoes and onto the barges. He heard the sounds of men screaming and realized that his voice was one of them. An astonished-looking British sentry was suddenly in front of him. Before Glover could respond, one of his men shot the man in the face.

“Gotta be quicker, General,” the soldier said.

“Indeed,” Glover murmured as more men sped past him and jumped lightly onto the other barges. By this time, the British were awake and alarmed and bullets from wildly fired muskets splattered around the barges. One of his men howled in pain as a shot found home.

“Grenades,” Glover hollered and pulled a pair of them from his coat. They were not the grenades used by the British soldiers which contained explosives. These were clay and glass containers filled with flammable liquid and with a cloth wick that had just been immersed in that same liquid. They were fire bombs.

Glover lighted the fuse from the flint on his pistol, held it until it was burning brightly and dropped it down the hatch of the barge. A few second later, the fire grenade exploded and the barge shuddered. The barge’s hull was cracked and water began to pour in. He grinned with satisfaction and threw the second one down the same hatch. Others were also hurling their grenades and explosions began to rip the air.

Several barges in front of him, a store of gunpowder exploded, sending flaming debris over the ships around it and killing several of Glover’s men. Glover had to duck as pieces of burning wood fell around him.

British musket fire had become more accurate and organized. Another of his Marbleheaders fell, and then another. Glover looked around. Every barge was burning and flames were racing through their heavily tarred rigging. It was time to go and he signaled the retreat. Whooping happily, his men ran back to their canoes and began to push off. Glover was happy. He had won a great victory.