Chapter 13 A Pawn
The group of three Dragoons rode calmly away from General Washington's makeshift headquarters, due to rendezvous with the other Dragoons back at the spot where they'd spent the night. Melanie was seated in front of Major Bordon on his horse.
She was silent as she contemplated what had just happened. As she tried to make sense of the meeting with General Washington, she slowly burned. Melanie remembered the General's words about how she was just another jewel in the crown of His Majesty. The girl realized that part of Major Bordon's job was playing games with the enemy, and he had just played her as his game piece.
No longer able to hold her tongue, Melanie spoke up. "You used me."
"Yes. I did," Bordon answered curtly.
"I'm not a trophy," Melanie protested in a low voice. "You can't just parade me about in front of whomever you please to entice them into trades, information—"
"I had no intentions of trading you for anything", interrupted Major Bordon. "We were merely flaunting you."
"Flaunting me," Melanie exclaimed as she turned her body back to look at the officer. "I'm not a prize, Major." She was incensed.
"Oh, yes you are," Bordon corrected. "A very valuable one at that."
"This is humiliating," she argued. "You can't treat me like this!"
"Yes we can and we will," retorted Major Bordon. "You'd better get used to it. This is war, Miss Prescott. All is fair in war."
"That's 'love and war'," Melanie shot back.
Alex Bordon laughed. "Well, I try not to dally with the love aspect."
Melanie deplored his arrogance. She wanted to make it clear to him that she did not want him to 'display' her again.
"I'll speak to Lord Cornwallis or General O'Hara," she threatened. "They are gentlemen-even though some of their officers aren't!"
Alexander laughed. "They are the ones who authorized us to use you in this way—rather 'flaunt' you, as you put it."
Miss Prescott said nothing back to this remark for the moment, fearing that her moth would get her into trouble. She sighed and shook her head almost inperceptively.
The Major sneered. "They may appear as gentlemen, but the truth is...they are fighting a war. They have men behind them doing the dirty work so that they don't soil their hands or reputations."
"Dirty work?" asked Melanie.
"Yes," Bordon replied. "The nasty little things they discreetly order—"
"That you carry out," she accused. Melanie became indignant. "Well, I won't be used in this humiliating manner again!"
"Yes you will," snapped Alex, frustrated with Melanie's attempt at defiance. He put the girl in her place. "You'll be paraded about and flaunted before many more of your countrymen before this is all done." He paused a moment, then added ominously, "And you'll be used in any manner we see fit!"
Although shaken by the Major's words, she continued her protest. "You can't put me on display."
"I have my orders, Miss Prescott, and they are not to be argued."
Melanie knew she was defeated and became quiet and humbled. She turned back to face the front again, watching the countryside pass around her as she rode on the officer's horse.
After a few moments of silence, Melanie found the courage to speak again. In a low voice laced with surrender, she relented, "If you're going to parade me about, at least treat me with some dignity and untie me."
"Absolutely not," snorted Bordon. "You cannot be trusted so you will be bound. Your own recent actions have made you a prisoner."
Melanie turned back around to face the front. The Major's words stuck her hard. Her throat constricted with shame as she cast her eyes downward. She sat mute, dumbstruck by the reality that she would be with the British throughout the remainder of the war.
Hope was lost as she pondered never seeing her home again or any of her relatives until after the war. She burned at the musings of something she could not change.
Once, she was the member of a prominent family, noble in their morals and honored by both the British and the Colonists. Now, she had become a pawn in the war between the two sides, an important figure and propagandist symbol, valuable to both factions. To the British, she was no more than a game token to be called in and used any way and at any time they pleased.
So she sat on Bordon's horse, bound and quiet...and her heart sank.
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An hour later Major Bordon's small contingent arrived back at the encampment. The site was bare now; all the fires had been put out, tents and provisions packed up. The infantry section that had been with them had moved out awhile earlier leaving the cavalry to wait for their commander to return.
The Dragoons, near their horses and ready to ride, watched Bordon and the others come into the camp. Major Bordon could see that the men's horses were already packed with the men's belongings. He looked around and also saw that the men had collapsed and folded his and the other men's tent. They were left laying in neat piles near each soldier's packing and haversacks.
"Alright, men," Bordon began as he dismounted his horse, "we'll take a few moments to get our baggage packed on the horses, then we leave. So don't go far."
The other men dismounted as Bordon walked back over to his horse. He reached his strong arms up to Miss Prescott, still seated on the horse. Still with hands tied, she awkwardly reached for his arms as she leaned over. She slid off the horse and into the Major's arms. He carried her over to a stump and sat her down on it. A small tree grew just beside this stump. Alex reached in the back on his belt and felt for the rope he'd looped around it. Pulling it out from behind him, he repositioned Melanie a quarter of a turn to where she was now facing the small tree. Alex Bordon pulled her bound wrists upward and twisted the loose rope about and between her wrists. Then he pulled her wrists up to where they rest against the tree as he lashed the rope about the small tree trunk to hold Melanie there, suspecting that she might try to run away again. He couldn't trust her.
After a few minutes, the group took to horse again, making their way back to Fort Carolina. In two hours or so, the band of cavalry stopped for a break and a late lunch.
Melanie ate only a small amount; she'd lost her appetite. She sat close to the small cooking fire they'd made, still bound at the wrists but fortunately not lashed to a tree. A dragoon was tending the fire nearby.
As she leaned back against the tree, the girl looked around at the activity. Major Bordon was writing in his diary; another soldier was occupied at the stream watering the horses. Near Melanie the private went about tending the fire as two of his fellow soldiers were finishing their meals. She turned her head again and watched as two of the dragoons chatted with each other and still another man dozed in the shade of a tree.
To her, they all seemed distracted. The wheels in her mind started to turn. Bound and determined that she would not be humiliated again, she formulated a quick plan.
Melanie got to her feet and walked over to the two privates that were conversing. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I need to relieve myself," she requested meekly.
The men stopped talking and looked at her. Then one of them spoke up.
"I'll take you," Private Perkins volunteered.
Melanie took another quick glance around at the other dragoons, appearing nonchalant. All the men were still occupied and distracted.
Perkins took her arm gently and guided her to a small clearing. She thanked him for the courtesy of turning his back, allowing her privacy. Then she stepped behind a large tree.
Miss Prescott spied some pebbles and two fist size stones on the ground near where she stood. She lifted her skirt, purposely rustling it so that the guard could hear her squatting down. Melanie picked up the pebbles in one hand and a stone in the other. She raised her head up, craning her neck to look in front of her.
With the soldier's back still turned, Melanie heaved the stone high into the air, over her captor's head. It landed in the woods in front of him, rustling the brush. She watched his reaction.
He flinched and looked in the direction of the noise, but stayed still, shrugging the noise off. When she saw him ease, she palmed the other stone and threw it in the same direction again. It landed slightly to the front left of the man with a thud. The soldier jumped this time, pulling his weapon.
Melanie feigned fright. "Oh! What was that?" She sounded convincingly worried.
"An animal, I think," Perkins answered, scanning the brush cautiously with his eyes. "Hurry up!"
"Yes sir," she obeyed.
Still squatting, she picked up a handful of the pebbles and flung them over the private's head. They rained down on the trees and brush crazily in all directions, making scattered noises.
Perkins raised his gun and cocked the trigger.
Melanie kept up her ruse. "Private!" she called out in mock fear.
He turned back to look at her, finding her standing straight up, looking genuinely scared.
"Shhhh," he commanded. "Quiet!"
Spotting a large dead tree branch to her side, she leaned over and picked it up. She tossed it into the air. It hit high up in the top of a nearby tree, then bounced against the trunk, and careened downward through the foliage. It made a different and more peculiar noise, one that made the dragoon highly suspicious. He thought for sure that someone was hiding up one of the trees.
Once again, Private Perkins turned back to Melanie. He whispered, "Stay here. Get down."
Miss Prescott nodded her head mutely, her eyes wide with the guise of fear. The girl did as she was told and crouched down. With her bound hands, she picked up yet another stone.
As the soldier strode away from his spot to investigate the sound, she pitched this rock as far as she could into the brush in front of the man. His head whipped to the right at the noise. She watched him attentively as he stalked toward the newest sound.
Keeping an eye on the private as she crouched, she gathered her skirt up and laid it over her left arm after she worked it through her tethered wrists. Melanie did this to free her legs as she ran and to prevent her thick petticoats from rustling.
When Miss Prescott could see that the man was thoroughly absorbed with his search, she crawled behind some nearby bushes. Seeing that the private was still busy, she slid quietly behind another large tree only a step away.
After another moment, the young woman padded quietly to another tree a few feet beyond. Eyeing some brush a few yards past that, she slinked over to the patch, crouching as she did. She was now farther away from the soldier, but close enough still to keep an eye on his doings.
Melanie made her way to freedom, inching quietly from tree to bush to boulder, slipping quietly through the woods. She had decided it was best to stay calm, moving slowly and cautiously. The girl didn't want to take the chance of making excess noise by running.
Soon, she came to a glade. After a last look back over her shoulder at Private Perkins, only the red of his jacket visible now, she darted across the clearing and disappeared into a thicket.
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Major Alex Bordon's reaction to the news of Miss Prescott's disappearance was nothing more than a frustrated sigh. He had become accustomed to her willfulness.
The officer dispatched his men to comb the woods for her. He walked to the edge of the woods as he pondered her value to the British. While she may be useful to him in the ways of gaining some information, he wondered if her name was truly worth the trouble. Alex thought that his time as an intelligence officer could be spent in better ways rather than chasing a stubborn girl.
As Bordon stewed, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned quickly to look at the clearing just beyond the next patch of woods. Squinting, he saw the red and green of a dragoon jacket. He knew that it could be one of his men, but it might also be Miss Prescott. She had been given a Dragoon riding coat—an extra, until a lady's coat could be obtained for her.
Bordon extended his long glass and looked toward the motion. His lips curved up into a smile, for the brush was not thick enough to obscure the figure of Miss Melanie.
He did not call for the others. Instead, he headed quietly toward her hiding place in a circuitous route, taking the chance that either he or one of his men would get to her before she fled again.
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In the thicket, Melanie crouched down. She wished she could lose the cavalry jacket she wore, feeling as though it stuck out like a sore thumb. And the royal blue of her skirt did not help matters.
Thinking about what to do next, she turned while still hidden and scanned the forest about her. She desperately tried to find a cave opening or even some large boulders that she could squeeze between. Seeing nothing of the sort, she let out an inaudible sigh. Melanie simply had to get away; she refused to go back with the British and be paraded about.
Through the trees, she saw the edge of a field. She spotted what looked like a debris pile at the end of it. Melanie reasoned that if she could get to the field, she could wriggle beneath the pile, covering herself in the leaves, hay, or whatever it was. She knew there might be a snake or rodents within, but she would chance this for freedom.
Melanie stood up straight and hesitated a moment. She stepped behind a large tree adjacent to where she'd been hiding, then listened for the soldiers. Their shouts were distant, so the girl figured she might have just enough time to make a dash to the field.
Peering around the tree cautiously she took a last look for her captors. Seeing nothing, she turned back to run but was stopped in her tracks. She gasped in fright as she felt the cold metal of a pistol pressed to her right temple.
"Going somewhere, Miss Prescott?" Bordon asked snidely.
The young woman was paralyzed with fear. Unable to move, she held her breath and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, not wishing to see the weapon aimed at her head.
Bordon, still holding the gun, continued his taunting. "My sources tell me this area is full of those rebel extremists who killed your family. Although you're not adequately prepared to defend yourself against them, don't let me stand in your way."
Melanie, mute with fright, opened her eyes and looked at the officer. When she did not answer him or make no attempt to run, he scoffed, "I thought not."
"Don't," she pleaded hoarsely, "Please."
The Major lowered his weapon, grabbed Miss Prescott's arm roughly and yanked her away from the tree. She winced in pain as he did. Bordon tilted his gun up and away from her, then cocked it, as if to show that he was serious. He turned her back around roughly, facing back toward the camp. The Major raised his arm and fired the gun off over his head.
"I've found her!" he called, alerting the others. He looked down at Melanie, who was trembling.
"I suggest you accompany me back to my horse," he warned crossly. Miss Prescott complied, knowing he was furious with her.
As he hustled her back to the encampment, he did not hide his anger. "I'm getting tired of your little game, Miss Prescott." He jerked her arm as if to punctuate his words. "We've got a war to fight. His Majesty's army does not have the time to chase after a stubborn little colonial wench!"
Melanie was embarrassed and said nothing. She was scared that she might be punished for this latest offense.
At Major Bordon's horse, he yanked the girl around to look at him. She looked up at him timidly as he glared down at her.
With all seriousness, he scolded her. "You should be grateful to us! We saved your life! We sheltered you at the fort! Grow up, little girl, and show your rescuers some manners and respect!"
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After a long, silent ride, Melanie was both relieved and worried to see the fort come into sight. She would be happy to soon be out of the Major's company, knowing that she was the cause of his anger. But she feared what would happen to her when the Generals were told that she ran away again.
Within a few moments they had crossed the fort's threshold. Melanie then found herself being ushered into the main house by Major Bordon.
He pulled her along with him straight to Lord Cornwallis' office, where the door was open. Bordon peered in and saw Generals O'Hara and Cornwallis looking at some maps with Colonel Tavington.
Major Bordon cleared his throat and caught the officer's eyes. The three of them looked surprised as a clearly frustrated Bordon came into view holding Miss Prescott before him.
"She tried to escape—AGAIN!", raged Bordon. He was fuming and looking for justification. "This makes attempt number three!"
"Blast!" Cornwallis swore in frustration. "Take her to General O'Hara's office, then come back and speak with us, Major. I'll deal with her after we've talked."
"Yes sir," Bordon obeyed. He gave Melanie a slight push, then hurried her down the hallway and into O'Hara's office. She was made to sit down and told not to move. A private was grabbed from the corridor to watch her.
Bordon left the girl in his care and stalked back down the hallway to Cornwallis' officer. Just after he re-entered, a private followed him in. Before Alex could address his superiors, the private chimed in.
"Begging your pardon, Lord Cornwallis," he began, "but there is a loyalist man here to see you."
Cornwallis rolled his eyes, feeling as if he was getting nowhere in his work today. "Really! Must I continually be disturbed?," he swore in frustration.
The private was taken aback, but spoke soon again. "He wanted to talk with you about offering his house and lands to—"
"Yes, alright," interrupted Cornwallis. "I'll be right there."
The soldier turned and hurried out of the room. The Lord General rose from his chair and began his trek to the door, leaving the three officers looking at one another in question.
"Gentleman," he said over his shoulder to the men, "We'll continue this later. General O'Hara, take care of this please."
"Yes sir," he complied, knowing he referred to the problem of Miss Prescott.
After Lord Cornwallis left the room, Bordon stepped forward. "May I speak frankly, sir," he asked. Tavington and O'Hara could tell that the Major was straining to keep his words in control. They knew he was mad.
General O'Hara offered him a chair. As Alex sat down, William gave him permission. "Speak your heart, Bordon."
"Sir, I question the value of that young woman," he stated in a clipped tone.
"You surprise me, Major," Tavington declared. "You agreed straightaway when we rescued her that she would be valuable—if at least for propaganda or bait."
"Yes," Bordon remembered, "but I think she may be more trouble than what she is worth! Is she truly that valuable? I mean, the time with her is ill spent. If we're going to chase someone, I'd rather go after someone of military importance rather than running after some dead pacifist's daughter!"
O'Hara leaned forward in his chair and spoke up. "Major, the Lord General feels personally responsible for her well being because he knew her father and held him in such high esteem."
"Then maybe he should banish her to England or some nearby plantation he has confiscated," Bordon blurted out. After letting escape a sigh of frustration, he continued. "He feels responsible for her. So does General Washington and every other prominent officer and politician on this side of the ocean. But they all expect us to play nursemaid to her!"
"Major, please remember who you are addressing," he said sharply, correcting the impetuous remark.
"Forgive me, sir," he apologized. "It's just that we're in the middle of a war. We're short on weapons, soldiers, and time. The men are stretched as it is. We must spend our time fighting. We don't have the luxury of time to go after Miss Prescott at her whims."
From there, Major Bordon went on to brief his two commanders as to the incident with Melanie. They listened respectfully, trying to discern what the underlying problem might be with the girl. When Bordon was done, O'Hara spoke again.
"Be assured, Major, that we understand all that you've said and your feelings toward the rather obstinate Miss Prescott," he quelled. "The problem will be addressed and taken care of. In fact, let us go to see her right now."
With that, the three officers left the room. Bordon followed his superiors down the hall, back to O'Hara's office, where Melanie was being held.
In the room, she sat alone, wringing her hands in her lap. She was still bound at the wrists. She wondered what had transpired in Lord Cornwallis' office, fearing the outcome of the conversation with Bordon. Melanie wondered what he may have told them and if he'd embellished it any for his benefit.
As she heard the doorknob turn, she swiveled in her chair and looked toward the door. When Tavington, O'Hara, and Bordon entered, she feared the worst, thinking she was really in trouble this time. She gulped, trying unsuccessfully to hide her angst.
Bordon and Tavington stood and O'Hara seated himself behind his own desk, facing Melanie. "Miss Prescott," he began in a firm tone, "Need I go into this again with you: why you're here?"
"No," she answered quietly. "I've been told over and over again."
"Then why would you want to run away," asked O'Hara. "There is a war on. Houses are being burned. People are starving. Loyalists are being hanged. Rebels are hiding all about us. Why won't you just wait the war out here? You have protection, warmth, food, clothing, a roof over your head, a bed to sleep in, which is more than a lot of your countrymen have right now. No harm is going to come to you. Miss, you should accept our hospitality graciously."
"Hospitality?" she retorted, forgetting that she was speaking to a General. "Is that what you call it? I'm nothing more than a prisoner."
"No," O'Hara answered calmly, refusing to show emotion to this woman. "You are our guest."
"But I am treated as a captive," she argued.
"You are a guest with limited privileges," O'Hara cajoled.
"You tell me I'm a guest and protected, then you treat me like a prisoner," she retorted. "I am no better than the colonists out there in your cages." She looked out the window, referring to the prison camp, as she said it.
"To them," O'Hara corrected, "you are a living symbol of the pacifist principles your father embodied. You are the legacy of the man that some wished to annihilate."
Bordon spoke up. "Maybe you have a reason to run," he accused. "Maybe she is hiding something." He felt he should point that out to his superiors. As an intelligence officer, he was always trying to second guess people and stay one step ahead of them, anticipating their next moves or their underlying motives.
"Your 'prisoner' hides nothing," she sassed.
Tavington entered the conversation. "Well, Miss Prescott, since you like the term 'prisoner' so well, then consider yourself a prisoner with special privileges."
"That should go over well with her compatriots in the pens," Bordon jeered.
"A prisoner is still a prisoner, no matter what you call it," Melanie exclaimed with defiance, "'Guest', 'prisoner', 'slave', 'whore', 'servant'—it's all the same. I am still a captive to something."
"It is for your protection," Tavington shot back, wishing to defend his Generals.
"And for your benefit," she declared, showing them that she knew they were using her and her family's name in this war. She wished to let them know that she was wise to some of the underhanded ways of war, and that she may be used for good or sinister purposes.
All three of the officers were getting angrier with her insults, not wanting to acknowledge that she was right: that they were using her, and not always for honorable means. Yet, in return for her use, she did get to stay in the fort, was cared for and protected, and had the necessities of life—with some privilege. For that, they thought, she should be grateful and owed them as much.
"Would you rather be in the stockade," Tavington pointed out, narrowing his eyes at her.
"I might as well be," she bravely shot back. She was just as frustrated with her perceived situation of imprisonment as they were with her continual and ridiculous escape attempts.
"That can be arranged!" Bordon retorted.
"Hold your tongue, Major," O'Hara warned. This had gone far enough and he wasn't about to let it get out of hand into a shouting match—especially one with a woman.
"Miss Prescott," O'Hara began, "I must insist that you are still a guest here, but that for security purposes—yours and ours—and because there is a war on, that we cannot let you roam about as freely as you'd like. But do you really want to lose what privilege and freedom you do have?"
The men were quiet as Melanie thought. As much as she hated to admit it, the men were right. She was luckier than most of the Colonials outside the gates of the fort. She knew many of them that didn't fare so well.
General O'Hara continued with his lecture. "You are from a plantation. Warm weather is here. You, of anyone, must want to bask in the warm breeze. You would lose that freedom if you were sent to a prison ship or such."
Oh, no, she thought. They wouldn't really send me to one of those prison ships anchored off our shores. They are worse than Hell. Men die there!
"This is your last warning, Miss Prescott," O'Hara pointed out in no uncertain terms. "Try anything again and you will be confined indefinitely to your room or remanded to a prison camp. It will be up to the Lord General to decide."
After dismissing the three of them from his office in favor of work, O'Hara closed his door. He hoped this was the last he'd hear from Miss Prescott for awhile.
Outside the door, Will volunteered to escort Melanie back to her room, giving the worn out Bordon a much needed reprieve from the willful young lady.
Tavington walked the girl up the stairs and to her quarters. He tried to talk some sense into her as they went along.
"Miss Prescott, I advise you to think your actions through carefully before you perpetrate them. You're being labeled as a troublemaker."
She said nothing back to him. At her door, she raised her hands, silently asking him to unbind them.
He hesitated before untying her, saying, "Do I have your word that you won't run again? I'm not going to let you go until I do."
"Yes," she relented.
Tavington cut her bonds loose. She rubbed her wrists as he opened the door to her room. She stepped inside without saying anything.
"I hope you're not just bluffing," stated William. "For if talk gets around that you broke your word, it would hurt your family's name and legacy. And your father is not here to defend that. You don't want to have a reputation, do you?" He was trying to make her feel guilty and learn to be responsible for her actions.
Melanie was silent a moment, but she could not deny that the Colonel was right. It would be dishonorable to the Prescott name if it should get around that she did not keep an agreement. And, after all, her father was known for keeping his word. That is what made him such a trusted and honored figure, loved and admired by many on both sides. No—she would not dishonor her family.
"I won't run again," she gave in. "I promise."