Author's note: Okay...I started this story late 2002 and it is ongoing, never published here before. I have first 21 chapters done, but am struggling on last few chapters after that. Thanks to friend and fellow writer Slytherindragoon for help, support, and encouragement to bring this story out. I will push hard to finish this fic and not "leave it hanging" although it won't be as timely as "The Boundary" and "Bordon's Girl" because those were already finished and just revised them as they published chapter by chapter.

Also, hang in there. I know there is alot of Bordon in this story, but stay tuned-there is alot of Tavington in it, as well. I promise if you Tavvy-o-philes stick around, you will be rewarded!

Thanks for reading!

THE PACIFIST'S DAUGHTER

PLOT SUMMARY: During the Revolutionary war, a well known pacifist's daughter, Melanie Prescott, becomes a pawn between the English and the rebel Colonists, considered valuable by both sides. Mystery surrounds the young woman due to rumors that abound within the British and Colonial Rebel militaries and citizenry of the surrounding area-rumors questioning her supposed level of pacifism and allegiances, making things worse for her. A brutal attack on her family's plantation by an extremist faction, the havoc of war, and her relationships with two Dragoon officers turn the young woman's life upside down.

MAIN CHARACTERS: Colonel William Tavington, Major Alexander Bordon, Miss Melanie Prescott

November 1778 South Carolina, near Camden…

Chapter 1 Standing Firm In The Sight Of Radicals

The Prescott family sat down to their first Sunday dinner together in months. The oldest son, 19 year old Matthew, had been away at seminary school studying for the priesthood. He was home now on holiday and the family was glad to have him there.

Matthew, dressed in his priest garb complete with black and white collar, gave the blessing. The feast of roast chicken was then passed from person to person. The family quickly settled in to food and conversation, relaxing as they did.

Suddenly, the calm was pierced with the sound of a gunshot and breaking glass.

"Get down!" exclaimed Matthew.

Mrs. Prescott immediately threw herself to the floor. There, she scooped up her two youngest children, 13 year old Jonathon and 10 year old Josie, putting her arms about them in a protective manner. The oldest child, 21 year old daughter Melanie, was on the floor at the opposite end of the dining room, shielding her head.

"Stay here," Hayden Prescott commanded. He rose cautiously and crept watchfully to the door with Matthew close behind. He stood for a tense moment, listening for noise outside of his house.

~/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/~

Hayden Prescott was the most well known pacifist of the time. Even before the outbreak of war in the Colonies, he had sensed trouble on the horizon. He then began his efforts to resolve the rising tensions between England and the war could not be prevented, he worked diligently to find a peaceful resolution to the conflict and end the struggle.

Mr. Prescott was well known in both the Colonies and England for his attempts at peace, working closely with both sides. He was well respected for his tireless efforts. His family shared his pacifistic views, as well, often helping him, and they were admired wide and far for this.

The Prescotts were wealthy, owning a huge, profitable plantation and a large amount of land in South Carolina. Hayden had parlayed this land into a comfortable living for his family. His farm boasted a vast orchard of various fruits, including patches of strawberries and grape arbors. The bulk of the fruits were harvested and sold to the neighboring Wilkins family for their wine and brandy business. Though Prescott was rich, he wanted peace and the end of war for all mankind, both poor and wealthy.

Hayden had many powerful friends and enemies on both sides of the conflict. Men of power on each side were climbing over each other to persuade him to work with them, or eventually "join their side". They wanted his power and influence. It wasn't hard for Hayden to stay on the fence in the middle, wanting equal tranquility for both sides. Truly, he was a very valuable man to have around.

Conversely, Mr. Prescott had many enemies on both sides, as well. There were always those who thought he was working "too" closely with one side or the other, thus being influenced to lean more in the favor of one party as versus the other. There were some who were angry at him, either thinking he was conceding too much for their side, or compromising the wrong things.

Out of the opposition to Prescott's pacifistic efforts was a growing faction of rebels that wanted no part of peace at all. They did not represent all Colonists or even all rebels as they were a small group of extremists. These zealots had become distrustful of all efforts by the Colonial army, politicians for both sides, pacifists and especially the English King.

This group of vigilantes was growing in numbers and had taken the situation into their own hands. They were convinced that there could be no compromise with the King and that as long as their land had anything at all to do with England, that there would be no true freedom. To them, this could not be accomplished by pacifism. Their solution to the conflict was to win it through war, anyway possible, then banish the English rule, military, and King from their land.

Mr. Prescott was always leery of this group, or any of his enemies, for that matter. He may have been a peaceful man, but he was realistic. Hayden always looked over his shoulder and carried a weapon. He knew that he must defend himself and his family. The Prescotts always stored loaded weapons hidden within the house, and the whole brood had been taught to use them in defense.

Prescott had trained his family to try, as far as possible, to come to a peaceful resolution-anything not to have to fire those dreaded weapons. But, he knew a day might come in which he or his family may have to defend themselves. Pacifism wasn't always a popular choice.

~/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/~

"Hey Prescott!"

The rebel voice rang out again. "Prescott!"

Hayden neared the door and listened for the voice again. After a tense moment of silence, he acknowledged that he heard them.

"It's alright, gentleman, I'm coming out to talk with you."

"We don't want to talk!" The voice was harsh and coarse.

Mr. Prescott slowly inched through the front door and stood upon the front step.

"Gentleman," he addressed the intruders, "I don't want any trouble. I—"

"We warned you to stay out of this!" The shout was disembodied, coming from a force unseen hiding in the brush and woods close to the house.

Matthew stood just inside the doorway, ready to speak beside his father if need be. The rest of the family was huddled safely still on the floor.

The pacifist went on with his plea. "I want peace—"

The rebels cut him off short once again. They weren't interested in what he had to say.

"We don't want peace with the English; we want them out!"

Within the house, Melanie had raised her head, listening intently to what the voices outside had to say. She shot a look of concern to her mother who said nothing and continued holding Josie and Jonathon.

Hayden let out a sigh. He wanted to try and coax the instigators out of the brush to talk face to face.

Matthew sensed they were in for trouble. He looked slowly over at Melanie, each knowing what the other was thinking. He carefully reached over to the sideboard and quietly opened the drawer. Being a Seminarian, he would not use the gun himself, but wanted it ready for his father to pick up, if need be. At the same time, Melanie crawled a couple of steps toward the hutch, opened the bottom door, and pulled a pistol out and some extra load for it.

Marilyn, her mother, shot her a look of alarm, but Melanie brushed it off, shaking her head at her mother. She moved her eyes twice toward the kitchen, signaling her mother to take the children and creep back there.

"I want a peaceful resolution for both sides," urged Hayden, still on the step in front of the house. "I want no more bloodshed for either side."

There was some rustling in the bushes. The voice rang out in defiance again.

"That's a chance we're willing to take!"

"Men, don't jeopardize this," Mr. Prescott begged, "We're so close to peace. The King is willing to make some concessions and with a compromise on your—"

"NO!" cried the rebel man. "We've given enough. We're not giving anymore. We're taking what is ours!"

Hayden was on the verge of trembling. Only moments ago, he wasn't sure if this was only a scare tactic, or a real threat. Instinct told him they were in for serious trouble. Yet, he had to make another plea, not wanting violence on his own homestead.

"Men," he began, "Think of your relatives, friends, and neighbors that have been injured or killed. Don't contribute anymore to it!"

"We have thought of it," another voice cried out from a different direction, "and we refuse to live under tyranny any longer!"

There was a heavy silence as Prescott was now at a loss. He truly hated to have to resort to violence.

In the dining room, Melanie listened still to the voices as she watched her mother, younger brother and sister crawl to the kitchen. She then poised herself just underneath the window, staying hidden, yet ready to shoot if need be. The young woman would fight if she had to, but was still afraid. She hoped her father could do something yet to resolve this.

Melanie ran her hand through her long, curly blonde hair nervously. She tried to stay focused and brave, and concentrated on the exchange of words.

Outside, there was more stirring within the brush, coupled with the sound of a gun cocking. Matthew, Melanie, and their father all stiffened at that frightful noise. Melanie held her breath.

"This is your last warning," the voice of the unseen rebel leader shouted forcefully. "Are you going to stop your efforts for peace and let us fight it out?"

Mr. Prescott was now angry. He did not like these tactics especially when his family was involved and his home violated. Not wanting to let them have the upper hand of intimidation, he took a defiant and courageous stand.

"No! I'll never give up on peace and I won't stop my efforts. I am not afraid!"

"Very well, then," the voice screamed. "You've made your choice, so now we are going to have to stop you!"

With that, there was a gunshot. It hit Hayden Prescott in the left forearm, and knocked him backwards into the doorway. He quickly scurried in to seal the house for defense with his family.

"Father!," Melanie screamed instinctively after the quick action.

He slammed the door behind him and slid down the wall to his knees in pain. A quick thinking Matthew reached up to the narrow sideboard and pulled the runner off of it. He quickly wrapped the material around his father's wound. Prescott acknowledged to his two worried and oldest children that he was alright. He forced a smile.

Glass began to shatter and bullets ricocheted. The sound was deafening to the occupants of the house as it was pummeled with bullets from outside.

With his uninjured arm, Hayden took the pistol from the sideboard and shot from the window, aiming indiscriminately into the woods. From the dining room, Melanie was trying to listen for shots and voices and aim at them. Their defense of two guns was not faring well against an armed and unseen force of probably ten to fifteen men, or maybe more.

Melanie stopped firing for a moment to crawl into the kitchen. She wanted to see if there was any shooting coming from behind the house.

Once there, her mother was whispering instructions to Jonathon and Josie. "Run to the Maitland's farm, quickly! Stay off the road and down in the brush. Tell them we need help!"

"But, I want to stay here and help father," protested Jonathon. He was 13 and a young man, and thought himself old enough now to fight.

Melanie pulled a pistol out of one of the kitchen drawers. She had guessed correctly that her mother would forget to send the children off without a weapon. The older sister quickly checked it to make sure it wasn't cocked. She then tossed the weapon and a bag of shot to her brother, who caught them both.

"You can help us fight when you bring help back," Melanie instructed. The four then looked around outside the back door. It was quiet around there; all the shooting seemed to be located out front of the house. Melanie nodded her head to her mother. Marilyn then kissed the two youngest kids quickly and sent them off.

Melanie gave her a reassuring look that they would be fine. She then handed the pistol that she had been shooting, already reloaded, to her mother and said, "Help father shoot!"

Mrs. Prescott took the gun and crept into the front part of the house with Matthew and Hayden. Melanie reached behind the kitchen door and grabbed the musket that had been stowed there. She shoved the small bag of ammunition into her skirt pocket, then looked about the back of the house again. She saw her brother and sister, darting in and out of the brush cautiously, making their way toward help.

Unbeknownst to her, someone else was also watching the two youngest Prescott children escape. There was a young rebel, about aged 15, hiding in the woods to the side of the house. As he caught sight of them, he stood in the brush and raised his musket, aiming straight at Jonathon and Josie.

~/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/~

On the other side of a low hill just to the North of the Prescott Estate, two legions of His Majesty's Green Dragoons Cavalry were riding in the adjacent valley. They had stopped only moments ago to look at a map, discern where they were and decide where to go. The group of nearly fifty men and horses had just started walking again when they heard shouts and gunshots.

The brigades were commanded by Lieutenant Colonels Banastre Tarleton and William Tavington. They had been on separate patrols and raids recently, and had been fortunate enough to rendezvous just outside of Devington. They were making their way back to Fort Carolina when they had entered the valley.

At the sound of the shots, all the commanders out front, including their seconds, raised their hands to the men behind them signaling a halt. Tavington's second in command, Major Alexander Bordon, gave hand signals to the men to stay quiet, be aware, and arm themselves. The legion did so with silent swiftness, sitting poised and ready to jump at the next command.

The two commanders rode cautiously to near the crest of the hill. They dismounted as a nearby private held the reins of their steeds. They signaled for Captain James Wilkins, a loyalist and colonist who had been with the dragoons, to join them. He dismounted as well and the three then crept on their stomachs to the top of the hill, taking extra care to keep low and out of sight.

The Dragoons, having just been called down to the Carolinas from Pennsylvania, were still not familiar with the area. They asked Wilkins, who had been raised and still lived in this part of South Carolina, if he was familiar with the farm below them.

"Yes!," he acknowledged. "That's Hayden Prescott's plantation."

"The pacifist?" Tarleton asked. He had heard much talk of him from some of the generals and had read of him in the newspapers.

"Yes," Wilkins confirmed. "I've gone there frequently over my lifetime. My family does business with them."

All three quickly studied the situation through their long scopes. Wilkins scanned the woods, the fields, and the perimeter of the estate with his glass. In the distance, he caught sight of two men, dressed like rebels, holding a group of an estimated 20 horses, obviously waiting on some cohorts.

"It's rebels!" Wilkins exclaimed in a low and alarmed voice. "They're attacking the place!"

Tarleton and Tavington looked quickly at each other and scooted quickly back down the hill out of sight, where they then sprang to their feet. Tavington signaled to his Major as he ran toward his horse. Major Bordon then signaled to the men to charge and attack.

~/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/~

Down below on the plantation, as the dragoons surveyed the scene, the attack against the Prescott's continued. Melanie had crept out of the back of the house, carrying the musket. She silently stood at the edge of the house for cover, still hearing the sound of the bullets. Looking to her side, she saw a cart with some firewood in it. She quickly darted over to it and hid behind the thing.

Inside the house, Matthew Prescott had taken it upon himself to venture out onto the porch and into the yard. He hoped that the sight of him in his religious clothes and collar would stop them from their shooting. He prayed that they would then come out to reason with the family, before anyone else could be hurt.

Behind the house, Melanie had taken cover behind the small cart, rolling it along by the wheel spokes. She eyed the shed, which was the closest building, for any activity. Seeing none, when she got close to the outbuilding, she leapt from behind the cart and into the hut. She padded quietly over to one of the side windows to see if she could get better aim, or a different point of range on the situation. Her view of the front of the porch and main lawn were now partially obscured by the large house.

She heard her mother and father scream. She tried to see what had happened, but had to duck quickly as a stray bullet ricocheted off the hard ground and into the shed. Melanie heard more cries but couldn't discern what was happening.

Unknown to Melanie, her brother had just been shot in the head and had collapsed on the front lawn. Matthew's frantic parents screamed from the house. Hayden, without thinking and with only fear for the life of his child, sprang from the house and onto the lawn. He grabbed the body of his son, in hope that he was still alive, and tried to pull him to the safety of the house.

Mr. Prescott had only made it a few feet before he collapsed in pain himself. He had been shot, with the lead ball shattering his thigh. He dropped his son and tried to make it back to the house, but collapsed near the porch, unable to walk further. He began to pull himself on his belly toward the door.

Hayden then heard his wife scream. Melanie heard it as well, and decided then to try to make it back toward the house, not finding much better of a shooting angle from the shed.

Within the house, one of the rebels had entered from a side window and had cornered Marilyn Prescott. Melanie's poor mother, never a good shot and scared of guns anyway, had tried to shoot the intruder, but missed. He then charged at her quickly and soon had an iron grip on the woman. He pulled his knife blade across her throat and slit it open wide. Mrs. Prescott then collapsed instantly as her blood rushed out, quickly staining her dress and the carpet upon which she lie. The cut was so deep that it severed her vocal chords, leaving her unable to utter a cry as she lay helpless.

Outside, Mr. Prescott had not heard his wife cry or any more shooting from the house. Though injured and in extreme pain, he inched his way up on the porch, determined to get back inside to his wife. Just as he made it onto the porch and reached up to open the door from his belly, a shot went into the back of his neck and exited through the front of it, continuing on through the open door and into the house. Hayden gasped, then collapsed. He was struggling to breathe and keep his eyes open.

Over at the shed, Melanie was starting back toward her cart to use as cover, when a rebel jumped out from the side of the shed and aimed his gun at her. Another one followed him and quickly had her in a strangle hold. Melanie gasped aloud as she felt a searing pain in the middle of her left side, which brought immediate tears to her eyes. She had just been stabbed.

The rebel before her cocked his gun and aimed it at her head. She knew that she was going to die, yet was still in shock at how quickly and at the manner of her imminent death.

Suddenly, the deafening sound of thundering hooves and gunshots was heard. "Shit!", the rebel with the gun cried. He quickly dropped it to his side as he ran to the front of the house to see what was going on.

The other rebel still held the ailing Melanie as he waited for a word from his cohort. Melanie's side throbbed badly. She wanted to lay down and curl up into a ball.

"Damned Redcoat cavalry," the man with the gun yelled back to Melanie's abductor. They knew they were now under attack and vastly outnumbered. He then ran, leaving her alone with the knife-wielding rebel.

The man quickly began to stab Melanie haphazardly, carelessly trying to kill her. He was determined to get in as many stabs as possible before he had to take cover from the dragoons.

After another moment, he let Melanie drop to the ground and fled into the brush. Her body burned and ached from her wounds. The pain was blinding, making her see flashes before her eyes. The poor girl was laboring for breath as tears streamed down her face. She longed for her father and mother to come help her.

"Father. Mother," she cried weakly, and wept as she did. She was afraid and wanted them there to take care of her; to help her to protection.

Melanie tried to crawl toward the house but had no strength. Her body was now wracked and screaming of pain. She could feel the warmth of her blood on her skin as it saturated her clothes and flowed from her wounds.

After another moment of trying to drag herself upon her belly, she gave up and laid still upon the ground. She could hear the commotion of the riders, shouts, and shooting as a cacophony in her ears. It was mixed with the frenzied and fast beating of her own heart drumming in them, as well.

Another minute soon passed and she found herself fighting to keep her eyes open as a strange and merciful numbness crept over her body. Melanie sensed a blackness filtering into her field of vision. She wasn't sure if she was passing out, or dying. The girl surrendered herself to the muffled sounds and blurred, darkened vision, letting her eyes close.