Liberty 1784: The Second War for Independence (32 page)
Read Liberty 1784: The Second War for Independence Online
Authors: Robert Conroy
* * *
Will Drake went looking for Sarah. He was told that she and a group of women were in the swamp and working on the system of dams and ditches that kept water funneling through to keep the area wet, boggy, and unattractive to people like Burgoyne who preferred to fight on solid ground.
As Will walked through the woods his feet sank to well above his ankles in what was little more than thick mud and he wondered just how much of the wetness was due to nature and how much was aided by the work of the men and women from Fort Washington. When he almost fell into a deeper pool, he used a long thin tree limb to probe the water and found that there were places where it would come up over his waist. He grinned. If the rest of the swamp was like this, Burgoyne would avoid it like the plague.
After a while he heard the sound of voices and moved cautiously in that direction. In a moment he came upon a group of women using wooden shovels to shore up the sides of a ditch through which water was flowing. He quickly realized that he shouldn’t be where he was. The women were all wearing long skirts, but had hiked them up and tucked the hems in their belts; thus exposing their legs and thighs which gleamed whitely except where they were covered with black goo from the swamp. Obviously they thought they were working in private as they were unconcerned about their partial nudity that would have been unthinkable in other circumstances. One of them might have been Sarah, but he turned quickly and began to walk away before anyone could accuse him of staring.
He’d just about decided to wait for her to return to her quarters when he heard someone behind him.
“Ah, there you are, the rogue who was spying on us.”
Will turned and grinned sheepishly. Sarah was filthy and sweaty and staring at him, her expression stern and set with anger. She’d let her skirt fall down to its normal length, although her feet were bare.
“I didn’t mean to spy. I’d come looking for you to talk to you.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that? You’d better be thankful that none of the others who saw you skulking in the woods knew who you were.”
He was about to say he hadn’t been skulking when he saw the twinkle growing in her eyes. “And you were the most beautiful of all the mud maidens,” he said and she laughed.
“I’ll bet you say that to all the women you find crawling around in a swamp.”
He took her hand. “As a matter of fact, I do. Aren’t your friends going to miss you?”
“No. We were just about finished our task and I pleaded that I had to get back to Doctor Franklin, which, by the way, is somewhat true. He needs his nap and I’m going to make sure he gets one. He gets involved in a project and sometimes refuses to quit, which results in his becoming exhausted. We need him alive and alert.”
“I’m glad no one else recognized me,” Will said and Sarah hooted.
“And you’re the brave soldier who’s fought the Indians and the Redcoats? Afraid of the sight of women’s muddy legs, are you? Or did you think women don’t have legs? And, if we don’t, how in God’s name do we walk?”
“You’re right. Thank God for women’s legs.”
“Now, brave soldier, why had you come looking for me?”
“To give you the good news,” he said, thankful for the change of topic. “Arnold’s fleet’s been destroyed and this has caused Burgoyne to make another halt so the supplies he’d expected to get from the ships can be replaced from the depots he’s so carefully built up behind him.”
She clapped her hands in delight. “Wonderful, but it’s obviously not a mortal blow to him. However, we’ll all take any kind of victory, even small ones, won’t we?”
As they walked back to her room at Franklin’s office he told her of the grievous price Glover’s regiment had paid for the victory and the loss of Glover himself. It sobered both of them.
Still, by the time he and Sarah had checked on Dr. Franklin and confirmed that he was sound asleep, and then gotten to her room, they realized that the good news far outweighed the bad. “Get a bucket of water,” she ordered and he complied.
When he returned, her door was open and she had discarded her dress and stood in her shift, which was tattered and came scarcely to her knees. “Don’t stare. You’ve already seen my legs and, if you’ll notice, they are still covered with dirt.” She took a cloth and first wiped herself down her face and arms with the water, and then her legs and feet. She rinsed the dirty water into another bucket. She was reminded of bathing in front of Doctor Franklin. Having Will see her was much more pleasant.
“Now I feel better,” she said and then looked at him quizzically. “It’s been time enough, hasn’t it?”
He was uncertain of her meaning, so just nodded. She sighed and removed the shift. Will could only stare at her nakedness and she smiled wistfully at him. “Undress,” she commanded softly and he complied.
“You’re still much too thin.” She said as she put her hands on his chest. “I can still feel your ribs.”
She sighed and took him by the hand and led him to the bed. They lay down facing each other. He was almost afraid to reach over the scant inches to her. She smiled. “You will not rush things, Major Drake. You will take all the time in the world and you will do exactly as I tell you. Understand?”
Will laughed softly. The bed was narrow, but they’d make it more than adequate. “Fully, Mistress Benton, but may I ask why you have changed your mind about waiting?”
She sighed as his hands caressed her. “Because Faith and I had a long talk about living for today because tomorrow may never come.” His lips were on her breast and his hand had begun to caress the moist softness between her thighs. She groaned with long-denied pleasure. “And because we love each other, dear Will, and, regardless of what happens, I want to have as many moments with you as I possibly can.”
In the room next to theirs, Benjamin Franklin lay on his bed with his eyes open and smiled as he listened to the sounds of their lovemaking. About damned time, he thought.
* * *
Burgoyne was not in a good mood. “Fitzroy, please remind me why I should not have you executed?”
“Because, dear General, it’s taken you so long to get used to me and because we are related, albeit distantly, which means my mother would be angry with you.”
“Good points both,” Burgoyne growled in mock anger. “Then upon whom might I take out my righteous wrath?”
“Might I suggest General Arnold?”
“He would be a marvelous target but for the fact that he is so self-centered and dense that he would not understand my displeasure with him. Which, by the way, is why I feel the urge to punish you instead. At least you would feel pain, whereas Arnold never would. Do you realize he considers it my fault that he lost his ships? In a way, he’s right. I should never have put the bloody fool in charge.”
Arnold had not yet arrived although, instead, he had sent a series of messages trying to explain away the disaster and blame someone else. He was now on board the
Vixen
and would arrive as soon as it was safe for him to land. The remainder of his men, the crew’s barges and the late and unlamented Rudyard’s infantry, were marching overland following much the same route as that taken by Danforth.
“Sir, may I ask if he’s managed to salvage any of the cannon?”
“All of two of them, Fitzroy. Two out of all he had. Of course he has no powder, no carriages and very little shot for them. We can improvise some sort of carriage, but, as discussed, I’m afraid they will be reduced to firing rocks.”
Burgoyne looked out his tent. It was raining heavily, which further made him gloomy. “After all the damage he has caused, can you believe that Arnold has the effrontery to remind me that I had promised him command of one of our wings in the coming battle and he expects me to keep his promise. It would be ludicrous if it wasn’t so pathetic.”
Fitzroy shook his head in disbelief. “And what will you do with the man, sir?”
Burgoyne glared at him and Fitzroy wondered if he’d gone too far with the implied slur of a general officer. No matter that general in question was so heartily despised by one and all, there were lines junior officers didn’t cross.
Suddenly, Burgoyne laughed. “Oh he’ll get command of a wing, all right, but like a chicken’s wing, he won’t be able to fly very well with it.”
Chapter 17
T
he rain had ceased for the moment, although the low gray sky promised more. Sarah was delighted since it meant that nature would fill the swamp and the creek and the efforts of the women would not be needed for a while.
She and Faith were casually wandering the area between Fort Washington and the low hill that had been fortified against the British when they saw men running towards it and clambering up its rain-slickened slope. The two women looked at each other and began running as well. By the time they slipped through the mud and reached the crest, the trenches were beginning to fill with soldiers and a number of civilians. There didn’t seem to be much of a plan or sense of urgency.
To her delight, she found Will standing by General Tallmadge, and both men were peering through telescopes at the distant tree line. He was so intent he didn’t notice her at first, so she tugged gently on his sleeve.
“What’s out there, Will?”
He handed her the telescope. “Look towards the edge of the woods at the line where we’ve cut the trees and made the meadow that much larger.”
She squinted and looked through the lens. The area in question was a good two miles distant and, at first she saw nothing except a wall of trees. Then her eyes began to pick up flashes, almost drops, of unnatural color. Red. She gasped. They were here.
All the blood seemed to rush from her and she almost felt faint. Like virtually everyone, she’d hoped and prayed that this day would never arrive. “Those are the British, aren’t they?”
“Yes, dearest, those are the British. Just scouts and patrols, and not even the advance guard, but the British have finally arrived.”
She looked again, hoping she was wrong. She wasn’t. A couple of Redcoats had moved out of the tree line and stood in plain but distant sight. They were merely specks, but they moved and had arms and legs. Will commented that the British were probably officers accompanying Indian scouts, and that they likely were watching through their own telescopes. She wondered if they should all wave.
“What are you going to do?” Faith asked.
Tallmadge answered. “I rather doubt that General Stark will have us do much of anything except continue to observe them. We’ll watch them draw closer and they’ll watch us watching them. I also rather doubt that the British will do anything until they are in place, rested, fed, and organized.”
Three red-coated horsemen emerged from the distant woods. They paused and appeared to be examining the American position, doubtless again with their own telescopes.
“Is that Burgoyne?” Sarah asked.
“More likely it’s Tarleton, as he commands the van,” Tallmadge answered. “I would think that Burgoyne’s farther back.”
“Will you shoot at him?” Faith persisted. “Your cannon can reach that far, can’t they?”
Will was about to answer that the cannon taken from the stockade were small and their shells would need wings to carry that far when the horsemen obliged them by turning and moving back into the forest.
“What will they do now?” Sarah asked. “And what will we do?”
Will took her arm and led her away. Faith followed, caught up and then took his other arm. “First, it will take some time for the entire British Army to arrive and, when they do, they will doubtless encamp so they can rest and get organized for a battle. Given the length of the column and the supplies that Burgoyne requires, that could take at least a couple of days. What we will do is continue to prepare our defenses while our patrols keep an eye on them and make sure they do not try to move away and flank us. We don’t think they will do anything of the sort, but we must be prepared in case they do.”
Sarah nodded. “I’m not very religious, but I will pray for a great storm to come and sweep them away.”
Will thought of the terrible funnel-shaped storms the Spanish called tornadoes and considered that this was a wonderful idea.
* * *
General John Burgoyne tried to hide his frustration with the three generals who stood before him. Each was supposed to be subordinate to him, but each was angry with him, although with varying degrees and for different reasons.
In Grant’s case, it was simple frustration with the maddening delays that accompanied the march, while Tarleton and Arnold’s anger grew from a lack of any opportunity for glory and advancement, and their anger bordered on insubordination. Burgoyne could only hope that the rebel generals were as insolent with Stark as his commanders were with him.
Behind the four men, Fitzroy prepared to take notes. He was present as more of a witness than a clerk. The three subordinate generals reminded him of the three witches in
Macbeth
—or was it
Hamlet
?—because they were stirring up trouble.
“I say we attack as soon as possible and that means tomorrow,” Tarleton said. “None of this damned fool waiting. One attack in overwhelming force and the rebellion will collapse and we can all go home.”
“Here, here,” said Grant. “I’ve campaigned long enough in this forsaken wilderness. I would like a bed to sleep in, a decent meal to eat, and a white woman to pleasure me. Let’s finish this and get back to New York, which, although it’s a stinkpot of a city, is a thousand times better than continuing in this miserable existence.”
They continued to argue. Tarleton wanted freedom of action, but Burgoyne would not permit it. With ill grace, he had to settle for the right to patrol and probe the American lines. He could even demonstrate his forces, but not launch an attack against the rebel positions which consisted of a dry moat and earthworks behind the moat. An abattis of felled trees and stakes had been built both before the moat and along the earthworks. Tarleton said he wasn’t impressed with rebel efforts and continued to press for the chance to make an immediate attack. He crudely reminded Burgoyne of the need to respond to the most recently received messages from Cornwallis and Lord North in which their lordships from faraway London and New York urged a quick victory and the prompt return of Burgoyne’s army.
Burgoyne fixed him with a glare and reminded Tarleton that Cornwallis wanted the whole army returned and not half of it, which would be the case if they attacked without proper preparations. Tarleton stormed out of the tent and Fitzroy didn’t like the almost feral look in his eyes.
Arnold continued to be indignant. His command would be the British left which butted up against the swampy wetlands. It would consist of Girty’s men, the handful of remaining Indians, and the men he’d brought from Detroit in the sailing barges. It would be fewer than five hundred strong and Arnold was insulted by the paltry number.
Burgoyne, however, was not impressed. “You’ve lost your ships and my guns and you wish a reward? Do you realize the plans I had for those guns? I was going to line them up, wheel to wheel, and pound the rebel position to pieces. And what about the ships that were sunk on your watch? Not only did they contain guns and ammunition, but supplies of food that we will soon need. Moreover, I had given serious thought to loading them up with men and landing them in the American rear while we launched a frontal attack on their defenses. At the very least, they were going to demonstrate that possibility and force the Americans to split their forces to face that contingency.
“Now we have to prepare for the assault in an entirely different way. We have to risk the lives of our soldiers to enemy fire while they fill in the moat and are pulling away the barriers that confront us. Don’t tell me your feelings are hurt, because I won’t hear of it. Or would you prefer to be sent back to Detroit under arrest and awaiting court martial for your monumental stupidity in losing those ships and all they carried? If we lose here, I promise you that your failures will be published and you will be disgraced and become even more of a pariah than you already are.”
Arnold gasped and almost ran from the tent. General Grant shook his head. “I may be the closest you have to a sane subordinate, which means, my dear General, you are in terrible trouble.” He laughed harshly and also departed. Fitzroy looked questioningly at Burgoyne who waved him away.
As he walked away, an angry Colonel von Bamberg of Hesse marched up towards the tent. Fitzroy gently but firmly took his arm. “This might not be the best time to disturb the general.”
“More arguments? Dear God, what is it with you British that you can’t get along? Or better yet, why can’t you simply obey the orders of your commander instead of spending so much valuable time squabbling like washerwomen?”
“Just our nature, Colonel. What was it you wished to see the general about? Perhaps I can schedule you later.”
Bamberg calmed visibly. When he wasn’t yelling at his troops or hanging innocent civilians, the little Hessian was really rather decent. Now he even regretted hanging the suspected deserters, although he wouldn’t quite admit that he’d made a mistake.
“The usual problems for me as well, Major. At least four more of my men have deserted and likely gone over to the rebels. I cannot comprehend this. Are they fools? In a few days they’ll all be recaptured and hanged. Only now they will be flogged mercilessly before they are hanged.”
Indeed, thought Fitzroy. What madness compelled the Hessians to desert and the American rebels to wish to die? He shuddered. And these are the people we are going to do battle against? Was everyone mad?
* * *
The next morning brought to the Americans the unpleasant fact that the British had worked through much of the night erecting their own breastworks to prevent the rebels from making surprise attacks on the British camps that sprawled across the front of the American lines.
A little before noon, the sound of drumming was heard. A drummer boy and a British officer carrying a white flag moved cautiously forward.
“Don’t tell me they’re surrendering,” someone said and even General Stark laughed at that one.
“They wish to parley,” General Schuyler announced with a rare smile on his face. “I do believe they think they can talk us into surrendering. Why in God’s name should we surrender when we’ve all been promised a date with the noose? Shall we negotiate with them for new ropes?”
Stark lowered his telescope. “Still, it is a surprising gesture and one which courtesy says we are required to reciprocate. I do not think they are sending anyone of great rank, so we will not either.” His eyes fell on Major Will Drake, who flushed. “Once again, Major, I do believe you can be of service. Take a white flag and meet their representative, but do make certain that he doesn’t come too close to our lines. What he doesn’t see can’t hurt us.”
Will grinned and grabbed a cloth that could have passed for white in a previous life. He tied it to a stick and walked across planks that were quickly laid across the moat, and wound his way through the abattis. He noted that the British officer had halted less than halfway and wondered if the man feared being fired upon. Drake shared his concerns and wondered how many British muskets were aimed at him.
As they approached, Will noted that they were of equal rank. Good, he thought, none of that nonsense about saluting an enemy. He stopped and bowed slightly. “I am Major Will Drake of General Stark’s staff,” he announced, promoting himself to a staff position he didn’t quite have.
“And I am Major James Fitzroy of General Burgoyne’s staff.”
They nodded slightly and each professed to be honored to meet the other, although Will had the nagging feeling that Fitzroy’s name was familiar.
“Tell me,” said Fitzroy, “are you the same Drake who was with the French farmer at Detroit? We found your name in his journal after the fire.”
Now Will remembered. Fitzroy had been the inadvertent source of so much information about the British Army thanks to Hannah Van Doorn and the Goldmans. “I am.”
“Not that it matters, but I’m curious. Did you set the fire, or was it Leduc?”
“I wish I could claim credit, but I can’t. I was back across the river when it started and it was as big a surprise to us as it was to you,” he said and explained that Leduc had been mortally wounded in the brawl and had chosen a fiery death. Fitzroy admitted that Leduc’s death had been heroic and honorable as well as inevitable.
“Had he survived his wounds, he would have been hanged of course,” said Fitzroy.
Will continued, “And I recall a lovely lady asking about you, one Hannah Van Doorn.”
Fitzroy smiled wanly. “She is well, I trust.”
“She is.”
“Then tell her I miss her, even though she betrayed me so thoroughly.”
“I will.”
“Now, Major Drake, we must attend to the formalities. Will you surrender and prevent the bloodshed and carnage that must otherwise occur?”
“Major Fitzroy, all carnage and bloodshed could be avoided if you and your army would simply march back the way you came. North America is a huge land. Right now you English share it with the Spanish and even the Russians. There must be room for our little nation. Why must you chase us and hound us? Why not simply leave us to our own devices? Why not let us live in peace these hundreds of miles away from the reach of king and Parliament? I cannot see how we can be any threat to the mighty British Empire.”