This chapter backtracks a few days, to show what James Wilkins had been up to and how he came to Tavington's rescue in the previous Chapter. Sorry, it's a bit wordy to begin with - a big fat dump of exposition to explain what's going on. The chapter begins two days prior to the current timeline of the story and is caught up to and continues the current timeline by the end.
The email link for the previous chapter didn't work and I think some people couldn't access the chapter at all. Hopefully this has been resolved by now and you were able to read Chapter 157, covering Samuel's arrival to David Ferguson's plantation and his reconciliation with his father, and the skirmish between James' Dragoons and Martin's men, and James' rescue of William and Bordon.
To the Guest reviewer - thank you for your review, it's always appreciated! :-) Samuel's chapter was hard to write, I think I rewrote it at least five times before I felt it was right. I'm glad you enjoyed it and that it felt believable. Yes, I'm feeling sorry for Margaret too! Thanks again for taking the time to review :-)
Wishing you all a very merry Christmas, a fantastic new year and safe and relaxing holidays! Take care, everyone! xoxo
Chapter 159 - James the Hero:
Captain James Wilkins led his detachment toward the safety of the British Legion and the greater Battalion, where there would be much needed victuals. It was ghastly cold; he and his men were chilled through to the bone. He prayed that there would be something hot to eat. And warmed ale to drink. Dear God, he hoped there was ale. After several days in the saddle chasing off rebels from the Batallions rearguard, he was in sore need of both comforts. A full stomach and a swimming head.
Oh, and a woman to share it all with.
He and Emily had been doing quite well these last few months; she had kept her promise to not stray from his bed and he had kept his promise to visit hers as often as the war allowed. Their reward was taking up residency in her stomach, her pregnancy was a few months along now. And he knew it was his; in part because of her promise but mostly due to the watchful eyes of his sister, Sarah.
Even though Emily had vowed to be faithful as long as he bothered to visit her bed, James hadn't given his wife any such promise; he doubted she expected him to. As he rode along toward the British Legion position within the Battalion, James' mind began to fill with the possibilities. There were several women there who he knew would indulge him without hesitation. There were also some new women, wenches who had come with Mrs. Tavington when she arrived some days ago. The older one, he didn't recall her name, was far too matronly for his liking, but the younger two… There was certainly potential there; if either one of them was willing, then the lucky woman stood to earn quite a bit of coin from James.
Seeing the British Legion plodding along slowly ahead, James kicked his horse to pick up the pace. He'd have to give his report to Tavington first; but as soon as he got that unpleasantness out of the way, he would be able to begin fulfilling all of his body's demands. He hoped Tavington didn't keep him long - there wasn't much to report in any case.
Chased rebels. Caught rebels. Killed rebels. Some rebels got away. What else could be said?
James approached the centre of the British Legion. Up ahead, he saw his brother in law, Arthur Simms, standing with Captain DuBose. They both appeared to be speaking in earnest and when they saw James, they fell silent and waited for his approach. As he drew nearer, James studied Arthur, hoping to see signs that the lad was returning to his usual self.
Captain Whymess - who the pair had served under for some months before returning to Tavington's command - lacked the qualities of mercy and empathy. He had taken Cornwallis' command to put the countryside to sword and torch quite seriously and had punished rebels and their families severely. Some of the atrocities that were committed hadn't sat well with the young Arthur and as a result, he'd become rather quiet and withdrawn..
Even James had been quite perturbed by some of the orders Whymess had given them, but he was older than Arthur, and he'd been expecting it; the delivering of such stringent punishment unto the rebels with the targeting of their families, homes and livelihoods. In gentler times, he never would have done the things he'd done under Whymess' command. But these were not gentle times and as such, necessity won out over valor. James understood this only too well.
However, James was older and had seen more of the world than Arthur. Arthur hadn't been able to reconcile himself with what needed to be done, and what was required of him. The lad still mourned the baby of a young mother who'd been turned out of her house in the middle of a winter night, for the soldiers had intended to burn it to the ground. The unit had learned the following morning that the young mother hadn't been able to find shelter or warmth and as a consequence, her baby had died of the cold. It haunted Arthur, that little ones death and the young mother's grief.
And there had been others as well. All instances of any women's and children's suffering haunted Arthur. James hoped the lad would understand one day. The Patriots - these self styled Americans - committed treason by going off to war against their rightful Ruler. When they took up arms and marched to war, they had left their families at home, defenceless. These rebels were sacrificing their own families for their Cause. And the British were making sure the rebels paid the price for it. James understood it. Most of his men understood it, even among the younger ones. Arthur though… He'd always been a bit more sensitive.
James was closer and to his relief, he could see none of the brooding in Arthur's demeanour now. Arthur waved his arms, indicating for James to stop - which was the Captain's intention anyway, for he needed to ask where Tavington was. He drew rein and began to dismount; Arthur was already speaking and James' relief soon vanished.
"Tavington and Bordon rode out with sixty Dragoons - Tavington said he was only going to be gone a few hours and would return by midday but he still hasn't returned."
On the ground now, James drew himself up, worry prickling him. Captain DuBose wasn't one to scare easily but he looked quite perturbed now. His concern was contagious.
"He is three hours late," DuBose said.
"Jesus," James breathed. "It's crawling with rebels out there. Was he doing a patrol?"
"No, he was taking the women someplace, but I don't know where," Arthur said, speaking quickly and highly as one tends to do when on the verge of panic. James saw Marcus and Michael dismount, they came to stand on either side of him. Arthur addressed them, too.
"What do you mean he was taking the women someplace? It's not the weather for a bloody picnic," James said.
"No, wherever they were going, Tavington and Bordon intended to leave the women behind."
"What the devil? Mrs. Tavington only got here a few days ago!" James said. "What makes you think they were going for good?"
"Everything was packed - they took all of the women's belongings," Dubose said. "Even Mrs. Farshaw's - she went with them. Mrs. Cox gave birth and the infant was removed to Tavington. Mrs. Farshaw has given birth also. When the Dragoons departed, it was with Mrs. Tavington, Mrs. Bordon, Mrs. Farshaw, the two infants, Miss Cordell whose father was recently killed, Mrs. Andrews and those women who arrived a few days ago with Mrs. Tavington."
"Tavington didn't want the women out in the weather while we chase down Burwell and Green, it was going to be a hard enough road without Mrs. Tavington and Mrs. Bordon both being pregnant. He wanted to leave them someplace that they would be warm, dry and safe. And where the babies wouldn't die." Arthur averted his gaze and James knew the younger man was remembering. Arthur shrugged and then said, "but Tavington, Bordon and the Dragoons never came back."
"Which way did they go?" James asked.
"East."
"Has anyone informed the Generals?"
"Yes, Cornwallis is aware. He has asked for regular updates, but with Tavington's continued absence, he is starting to become worried too. He has already sent out the first scouts to find news of Tavington, but none have arrived back yet."
"Likely they've all been caught by rebels," James said darkly.
"That is my thinking, too," DuBose said. "We need to search in greater numbers. For now, however, we're to update Cornwallis regularly. Cornet Simms and I were just discussing which one of us was going to go this time."
"I'll go," James said. "If it is Cornwallis' intention to commit to a search, I'll volunteer to head the Dragoons." He had his differences with Tavington but even he knew what a disaster it'd be for the Legion, if they lost him. Asking for a fresh horse, he mounted and with a small escort, he galloped toward the advance guard of the battalion.
Such was Cornwallis' distress at potentially losing two of his most competent commanders, several large search parties numbering well over a thousand combined were sent out into the late afternoon, detachments led by Colonel Tarleton, Colonel Simcoe, Captain Wilkins and others, with one to two hundred men, spread out, riding eastward toward rebel held territory. By four o'clock in the afternoon, the search had begun. It was Cornwallis' hope that Tavington would be found quickly by the fast, mobile horsemen, while he himself continued to march after Burwell and Greene with the greater battalion.
When he initially set out in the late afternoon of the first day to begin the search, James had amused himself with imagining his rescue of Tavington and Bordon, the helpless Commanders who would be eternally grateful to James and even more remorseful of how they'd treated James and Emily all those months ago. Each time he played this fancy out in his mind, it grew until he was slaying five hundred rebels single handed and, armed with nothing more than his own courage and heroism, he rescued the Colonel and the Major.
When - in his glorious fancy - he was done slaying, when he was surrounded by the dead and dying, there would be Tavington and Bordon, both wretched and weak, grateful and grovelling and - best of all - ready to kiss the ground James walked on.
That fancy - as wonderful as it had been - had been dying a devastating death these last two days. For Simcoe's, Tarleton's and James' own detachments were met with resistance at every turn. The rebels held a vast stretch of ground; the searchers slowly found that the enemy had secured every road and river crossing that led deeper into the country. Even the rudest trail was crawling with enemy militia.
A frustrated James Wilkins complained that the enemy blockade was akin to a solid wall, several miles long, and nothing could breach it, despite the British detachments harrowing and bloody attempts. James doubted a mouse could have gotten through without a challenge from the enemy.
With the area held so securely, James knew that Tavington had to have been captured, for the searchers had found and followed Tavington's trail until they themselves clashed with the enemy and were forced to retreat. The detachments looking for Tavington were continuously thwarted and after two days of this, James was beginning to despair for the future of the Company he loved so dearly.
Once, the Green Dragoons had been a force to be reckoned with, but their numbers had been dwindling in the last six months. Their first major loss had been to Benjamin Martin, who had taken several scores prisoner, when he'd captured Tavington who had been chasing after that rabid dog, Calvin Farshaw, for the murder of Major Fallows. Tavington had ridden straight into Benjamin Martin's trap and several scores of Dragoons had been taken in that capture. And then there was Mark Putman - another rabid dog - who had massacred Ensign Dalton and nineteen more Dragoons. And now it appeared that another sixty Dragoons had been captured or killed, this time along with its two Commanders.
Unless Tavington, Bordon and the sixty Dragoons could be recovered, the detachment that James was leading now would be the last of the Green Dragoons. The depleted company was both desperate to find their comrades and terrified they would discover another massacre instead.
To find a place that the enemy did not hold, James was forced to circle miles around. The reports he received from the other detachments, including Tarleton and Simcoe, indicated that they were forced to do the same in other directions. They, two, were circling around, hoping to find a place where the enemy blockade ended.
After two days of riding, James finally found he was no longer encountering rebels; indeed, it was friends rather than foes that he found now. As he circled around to where there was no blockade and no resistance, he began to encounter Loyalist homes; some poor, some prominent, all of them willing to help in any way they could. Food, as much as could be provided. News, if they had it. And new recruits made up of battle hardened men who'd fought alongside Colonel Patrick Ferguson, who had been brutally killed at Kings Mountain several months earlier. Many of these folk had been there on the fateful day when the Colonel fell after the battle that had decimated their number and forced them to disband or face capture. They were ripe for revenge and many vowed to James that they would help him find word of - and with luck rescue - Tavington and Bordon.
And so it was that James and his sixty Dragoons, along with nearly one hundred new Loyalists recruits, rode toward a splendid looking Plantation, hoping to find both news and sustenance. This was the grand and massive home of a Loyalist, he was told by his new men, who had fought under the command of the late Colonel Ferguson in the Loyalist Militia.
Mr. Skillern, the Master of the Plantation was quite forthcoming with both victuals and news. He hadn't heard word of Tavington directly, but he did know that the rebels who had created the blockade to guard the trails were using a plantation nearby as their headquarters. It belonged to one David Ferguson, and there was anywhere from one hundred to one thousand men camped there at any given time.
"I don't dare get too close, mind," Mr. Skillern admitted to James' while enjoying a decadent lunch in the parlour. "In less than an hour, we lost three quarters of our number at Kings Mountain, they were either captured or killed. What was left of us fled, and then disbanded. As cowardly as it might sound, many of us have pretended we weren't at Kings Mountain at all -"
"Not cowardly," Arthur Simms interrupted. "Besides, they've picked up their rifles again to join us. If they hadn't thought to hide themselves, they would not be able to help us now, for they would have been hanged, surely."
"Oh, I don't doubt it, lad. And I don't blame them," Skillern said. "Colonel Shelby has tight control of the area, with more recruits flocking to him by the day. Anyone he suspects of having fled Kings Mountain has their house burnt to the ground, along with everything inside it, save the people. And yes, there have been plenty of hangings. We're helpless against him, but now Cornwallis is here, Shelby might be routed yet."
"Almost certainly. Is that Shelby's base camp then? His headquarters?" James asked but the Planter spread his hands wide. He wasn't sure.
"Could be Shelby's. But there's also a Colonel from the South who helped him at the Mountain; Martin is his name. David Ferguson's place could be Shelby's headquarters but we think many of the men there are Martin's."
It can't bloody be, James thought, before remembering what he'd learned from Tavington upon Beth's arrival to camp. Her father had escaped from Winnsboro, he'd rejoined Burwell. Martin had upwards of a thousand men. Could it be his militia that had been harassing Cornwallis' rearguard, in order to further inhibit the British's pursuit of Burwell and Greene? It certainly sounds like something he would do. Barely able to hide his excitement, he said, "I know Benjamin Martin. How do you know they're his?" James asked, wanting to be certain.
"Well, I don't for sure, it's just rumoured that the men at Ferguson's are mostly from the South and they belong to Martin," the Planter said.
"Then it's Martin who has captured Tavington and Bordon," Michael Middleton said. "What's the wager it isn't?"
"I wouldn't take that wager," James said, nodding agreement. "Martin wouldn't hesitate to capture Bordon and Tavington. He's done it before…"
"Whoever they are, they hanged someone or several someone's, at Ferguson's," Skillern said warningly.
"Dear God, no," Arthur groaned, dropping his face to his hands. James' breath caught in his throat. Could it be? Was he too late? Had Martin hanged Tavington and Bordon?
"He wouldn't though, would he?" James asked his men. "Tavington is his son in law. And Bordon his… ah… what is he to Martin, married to Cilla? His nephew in law?"
"Your captured British Officers are related to a South Carolina rebel?" Skillern asked but was ignored for the moment.
"I don't know… But I can't imagine he'd be able to do it without Beth and Cilla making a fuss," Michael said. "Tavington took them with him, remember?"
"There were sixty Dragoons," Marcus said. "It could be any one of them whose been hanged."
"Was it British Officers?" James asked Skillern.
"I'm not certain," Skillern said, spreading his hands wide. "I just know that they hanged someone yesterday morning."
Again, James exchanged looks with his Officers. He turned back to Mr. Skillern.
"Sir, we've had to circle far and wide to avoid this blockade, we've been met with by force at every trail and crossing, nothing's able to get through. I'm hoping that from here, we might be able to find a weakness in the enemy line. How far away is this Ferguson's? Do you know where the sentries are? How close do you think you can get us before we're seen?"
"There is no blockade this side of Ferguson's - I'd say they're protecting the area between Ferguson's and Cornwallis' battalion. Still, I don't like your chances of gaining the Plantation without being seen. They've got scouts in position starting a mile from the house," Skillern said. "Those scouts will warn the camp as soon as they spy anyone lurking about in the woods who they don't think belongs there."
"If that's Martin's headquarters, then we need to attack," Michael said. "Just think about it - that blockade wasn't for nothing - the enemy is protecting something, and I'd say it's where they took Tavington and Bordon. If they are still alive, that's where they'll be."
"Makes even more sense, Beth being Martin's daughter and all," Marcus said. "I can't see her standing idly by while her father kills her husband. I think Tavington and the others are alive."
"Beth might - might - be able to beg mercy for her husband, and Mrs. Bordon could for hers. Martin might even listen to them, them being his kin. But we need to be sure it's Martin's camp, for if it's Shelby's, I doubt he would listen to the pleading of women that are not of his own blood." Despite his misgivings, he began to think through through a plan while the others fell into a troubled silence. Eventually, he said, "we send in a scout of our own - guided by one of your negroes, perhaps?" He asked Skillern, who nodded agreement. "To determine who is occupying that camp. In the meantime, we send word to Tarleton and Simcoe, that we think we might be on to something here. We've nearly two hundred men now, but I don't want to commit to an attack until I know the numbers at this camp, and who is leading it."
James gave orders to two of his men; each were to find Tarleton and Simcoe's companies and lead them back here. A plan of attack would need to be established, but James felt confident already. Tarleton had hundreds of Dragoons, and Simcoe's Queens Rangers numbered just as high. United, they could fall upon the rebel camp all at once and even if there were a thousand enemy there at the Ferguson's, James, Simcoe and Tarleton would have the element of surprise on their side. Marcus Middleton volunteered to scout and was soon away with one of Skillern's negroes to guide him.
Mr. Skillern was only too pleased to offer his home to James and the Captain soon had his men settled in for a much needed rest. A few hours into his visit, a messenger came from Simcoe. It was too soon for Simcoe to be answering James' summons however; and when he opened the letter, James saw that it had been written late the previous eveningn and was dated Tuesday, 30th of January.
It was news then. James opened the missive warily, hoping it would be welcome.
He read quickly, and discovered it was good news indeed.
"That bastard Mark Putman is dead," he announced to Arthur, Michael and several other Officers.
"Jesus, that's fine news! How did he meet his end?" Michael asked.
"Simcoe says that it was quite by chance that he found Putman at all," a gleeful James began. "He says it was just after midnight, the night before last. He was searching for Tavington but instead came across a band of rebels, trying to travel northward undetected. He captured them after a short skirmish, and he sent the defeated rebels on to Cornwallis, under guard. He never bothered to ask their names," James chuckled quietly at this. "And so he was completely astounded when, the following morning - yesterday, I mean - a letter came from Cornwallis telling him that one of those captured was Mark Putman himself!" James slapped his thigh and laughed heartily. "Simcoe thinks it's a fine jest. It was he who was sent to capture Putman and while he did capture the majority of Putman's men, Putman himself escaped. And here his is, a few days later, capturing Putman and not even realising it was him!" He and his men guffawed, even Arthur who had been so quiet lately. It was such welcome news to them all; for they had never - and would never - forget Putman's murder of Dalton and nineteen more Green Dragoons.
"Simcoe says that Cornwallis informed Simcoe that as Putman had already been tried and found guilty back in the city, Cornwallis wasted no time, Colonel Simcoe says that Putman was hanged at five thirty yesterday afternoon," James grinned broadly, enjoying the moment. Michael gave a whoop of delight. "And so it's done!" James laughed. "No reprieve this time. No escape. And no damned mercy. Putman is dead. And may your soul receive no rest, you traitorous, murderous bastard."
"Amen," Michael and Arthur said in unison.
"He wasn't well liked then, this Mr. Putman?" The planter asked.
"Oh, let me tell you how little," James said, putting his arm around the shorter fellow and steering him back inside the house. "We've some time to kill before the Colonel's arrive. While we wait, I will tell you all about our traitor, the late Mr. Putman. Oh, how I'm going to enjoy saying that!"
"I'll send for a bottle of brandy," Mr. Skillern said, wanting to hear this tale. Laughing, James clapped the fellow on the shoulder.
"Yes, that sounds like just the thing!" He turned to his Officers and began a small speech. "We have had victories, and we have had defeats. More of the latter than the former lately, I'm sorry to say. But today, we have had a victory! A small one in the grand scheme of things and one we were not fortuitous enough to witness," he said. Then he lifted his voice in joy and cried, "be that as it may, after all that bastard has done to us, this is a grand victory indeed! Today, we will put to rest our murdered brothers. Ensign Dalton and all the Green Dragoons that died at Mark Putman's hands. Today, we celebrate!"
"Huzzah!" They shouted back and followed him into the house.
After several hours rest, James was beginning to grow worried. Word should have come from Simcoe or Tarleton by now. The longer James stayed at Mr. Skillern's, the greater the risk grew that he would be discovered there. James wanted to fall upon the rebels with the element of surprise. He did not want the rebels to fall upon him.
He sent Dragoons to check in with the lookouts he'd posted around the Plantation. Word came back that no persons - friend nor foe - had been sighted. He decided to send out another messenger to find Tarleton and or Simcoe and was just about to select who would go, when Marcus Middleton and Skillern's negro returned.
"They're Martin's alright," Marcus burst out before he even dismounted. James dashed forward to hold Marcus' reins, breath held in anticipation. Marcus climbed down, then turned to James. "I didn't see Martin himself, but I saw Thomas."
"Jesus," James breathed. "Get inside, come have a drink."
"Olly here got us really close," Marcus reported once he was in the parlour with the others, a brandy in one hand. "No enemy saw us. But I saw them." He set the glass down, took up a pencil and hastily drew a crude map of the plantation from the angle he'd spied on; the great house, the out houses, and the camp. He was still speaking, concise and to the point. "There's no more than ninety there now, one hundred at the most. They have wounded sectioned off and under guard, so I think those are our men, captured. Having a guard of thirty concentrated on the wounded has left the rest spread out all across here." He marked on the map the enemies positions. "I saw Thomas walking away toward the Great House. And I saw Mrs. Tavington and Nathan. Using my spy glass, I got a good look at her face - she was smiling and then laughed at something Nathan said to her, so she's clearly not worried. She's not grieving."
"If she's there, then Tavington is there. And if she was laughing, then there is no way that Tavington could be dead," Arthur said, knowing only too well how deeply Beth was in love with her husband.
"And if Thomas, Nathan and Beth are there, then so is their father," James said, excitement swirling with the brandy he'd consumed. "We could capture Martin and rescue Tavington in one fell swoop!" He began firing questions at Marcus, trying to determine where the enemy had placed their sentries, what arms and ammunitions they had, their level of readiness to answer an unexpected attack. Marcus' answers left James feeling both exultant and impatient.
"I don't like this," Arthur fretted. "If you say these tents in this guarded off area is only large enough for ten men, then where are the rest of the Dragoons?" Marcus had described seeing tarps and blankets slung over tree branches to form about ten make shift tents. As those were surrounded by some thirty armed militia guards, he had determined that was where the prisoners were being kept. His estimation of how many men could have fit in those tents was around ten, fifteen at most. Sixty had ridden out with Tavington and Bordon.
"Maybe they have them under guard elsewhere?" Marcus offered hopefully.
"More likely they've been escorted to Burwell," James said, disliking Arthur's insinuation that another fifty Dragoons might have perished.
"And those left behind are the wounded," Arthur added, again to James' dislike. Wounded meant an attack and again insinuated to the possible slaughter of fifty Dragoons.
"Let's just concentrate on what we can do about the situation. We know now with certainty that Tavington is in that camp or Beth would not be there. We need to secure the camp, free our allies, and capture Martin. Or Thomas Martin, at the very least. He'll know where his father is and by Gods, he'll make a good hostage to draw Martin in. God, just think! Imagine if we caught Martin again!"
Again, James became the hero in his minds eye. Only now, not only had he rescued Tavington and Bordon and earned their eternal groveling, he'd also recaptured Martin, earning Cornwallis' eternal gratitude and good will.
Gods, it was shaping up to be a fine day.
"How much longer do we wait for reinforcements?" Michael asked, fidgeting. "Can't we do this without Simcoe and Tarleton?"
"We only needed them when we thought the numbers in that camp were greater," Marcus agreed. "And I'm telling you now, they've got less than we have. We've got at least double their number."
Both were making it clear what they wanted, but the decision belonged to James. He was quiet for a while. Thoughtful. He did not want to blunder this rescue by being rash. But waiting presented its own potential disaster. Skillern had said the camp had anywhere from one hundred to one thousand men - at any given time. Which meant the comings and goings of the enemy were unpredictable. What if James waited too long, and those men began to return to camp?
"No, those men won't be coming back, not any time soon," James said out loud. His men looked to him and he continued. "Before, those rebels were content to attack our rear guard and retreat - likely to Ferguson's, Martin's head quarters. But then Tavington and Bordon were captured and Martin must have known we'd scour the countryside in search of them. And so he sent his men to hold every trail and road and river crossing between Ferguson's and Cornwallis' battalion. Those men would be needed to continue to hold that line, until Cornwallis decides to give up the search, and recalls those searching. Those rebels are there to ensure that we can't reach the Ferguson's and it's pure luck that we managed to circle around the end of their barricade. Those men who would normally fall back to the Ferguson's after attacking the battalion's rear will now be required to stay put, at the blockade, to stop Tarleton and Simcoe getting through. While those two are still pushing at the enemy defence, the enemy will not abandon it…"
"That is a fair point," Michael said.
"And it means that the hundred there now at this Ferguson's place will not be reinforced any time soon. Be that as it may, we dare not tarry," James said with growing conviction. "Cornwallis will abandon this search soon - he has continued on after Burwell and the distance between us and him is growing by the day. He dare not let it stretch too far, nor will he stop his pursuit to help Tavington and Bordon if it means giving up Burwell and Greene. No." He nodded to himself. "We must do this, while the enemy's stronghold is weaker than our own detachment." He met the eyes of his Officers. "Drink up," he said, already rising. "We're going now."
"That was short and easy work! Well met, Colonel," James said, looking as proud as a peacock.
"Well met, Wilkins," William said. "And well done. I knew our position would be discovered, that help would come and I appreciate your liberating us. Our situation is quite dire, however, with the rest of Colonel Martin's force not far from here. Can we expect reinforcements soon?"
"I sent to both Tarleton and Simcoe before committing to the attack," James said. "That was some hours ago however. I decided to stop waiting for them for time was of the essence. I'm certain one or both will be along shortly however, to help bolster our position."
William felt Beth shift beside him, he knew she was uncomfortable at the idea that Tarleton might be on his way. William prayed to himself that it was Simcoe that arrived, not Tarleton. But he would suffer Tarleton's company if it meant escaping the Ferguson's and his imprisonment unscathed.
"To make certain of this, I sent off two more messengers to inform Tarleton and Simcoe that I have captured the enemy headquarters but are still in need of their assistance," James finished. Marcus, Michael and Arthur had dismounted and had joined the growing group. "How do you fare? You said your situation is dire? What happened?" James asked.
William told him. Of escorting Beth, Cilla and Harmony here where he knew Colin and Mary Ferguson were staying, citing the need to keep the womenfolk safe as the reason. He explained that, unbeknownst to William at the time, Benjamin Martin had made his camp here where his men could protect him, for he was quite ill with pneumonia. He told Wilkins that Mr. Mark Putman had arrived to the Plantation and that Putman, having learned of William's approach, was able to initiate a devastating attack that decimated William's detachment, leaving only twelve men alive, and most of them wounded.
"Damn and blast the man," James hissed. "He was determined to destroy us, wasn't he? Bastard." He barely noticed Cilla shifting restlessly, discomforted by this talk of her father. James lifted his chin. "Well, the traitor will do us harm no more. Simcoe captured him and he was delivered up to Cornwallis. Yesterday afternoon, that son of a bitch was hanged."
"What?" Cilla gasped, her hands flying to her mouth, her dark eyes filling with tears. James finally noticed who he was speaking in front of. "My father -" Cilla turned for Richard's tent and ran inside, sobbing.
"Nice going, James, you unfeeling, great lumbering idiot," Harmony spat out at James. "
"How dare you speak to me like that?" James asked Harmony, almost shouting. He made to grab for her as she began to follow Cilla. Beth pushed in between them, however.
"How dare she? How dare you!" Beth slapped James' hand away, shoving it from reaching for Harmony. "You've no consideration for anyone! Just shut your mouth for once, James."
"That's our uncle you're speaking about, Wilkins," Samuel confronted James. "A member of our family is dead and you gloat like a braggart! And you call yourself an Officer?"
"We all know the atrocities he has committed," Beth added. "But by Gods, when you're delivering such news, at least try to remember you're supposed to be a gentleman!"
James' entire body was quivering with the rage he was trying very hard to control. William said nothing, not in support of Putman's hanging, though he must have been celebrating it as much as James. Realising he could have handled the situation a little better, James forced the anger down, recognising that his blood was still hot from the skirmish and from the brandy. He'd been fighting like a demon not five minutes ago, it was hard to cool from battle madness.
"We need to leave; after this little fight, we have added to our wounded. We should try to get them all as far from here as we can," Arthur spoke into the breach. "While the rebels are holed up in the house."
"Leave?" James rounded on Arthur. "Madness! We've got them cornered, Tarleton and Simcoe are on their way, we're in a strong position! We can't leave now. If anything, we should be trying to flush the rebels from the house!"
"They're shooting down any of us that get close to the house," Marcus said. "Arthur is speaking wisely, we've too many wounded that need protection. We aught to go. We can leave a small detachment here to keep the rebels confined to the house, and when Tarleton and Simcoe arrive, they can take rout the rebels." Even as he said this, the Dragoons were beginning to bring in the newly wounded men from this latest skirmish; George Jutland was shouting and pointing, giving directions.
"They'll run out of shot and powder in no time at all! And when they do, we shall take the house," James snapped. "Goddamn it, we aren't leaving without Martin!"
"Do you know nothing of tact?" Samuel snapped. "You're desparate to be the hero, is that it? You want to be the one to recapture my father - who is only as ill as he is due to being in a British prison camp!"
"Don't worry, Sam," Beth scoffed, her furious gaze never leaving James' face. "James will run out of shot and powder before those inside the house do."
"What is the situation in the house, Beth?" William asked, for clearly she knew something he did not.
"My father and brothers have planned for this eventuality," Beth said. "If overwhelmed in an attack, fall back to the house. Which they have done. Take up positions throughout the house and fire upon any who close, which they are doing. Right now, there are men at every window, on every floor, even the loft. Situated throughout the house are dozens of rifles and small barrels of powder captured from the British, and hundreds of shot melted down from anything pewter that they could get their hands on. And they do not need to stop to reload as your men do, for as the rifles are being spent, the women will be rushing around doing the reloading. They've been practicing and are quite good at it."
"Jesus," William groaned.
"They knew that an attack might come eventually and they've prepared for it," Beth said.
"Gods, even Mary?" Arthur asked.
"Yes, even Mary. They're very well prepared both to protect their position for hours if need be, they can withstand a siege until reinforcements arrive, and you can rest assured that messengers will already be on their way. Why do you think they fell back to the house? If you stay to wait for reinforcement, James, you risk being captured yourself."
"Reinforcements could arrive just as easily from Tarleton and Simcoe as they could from the rebels," Michael Middleton pointed out.
"So it's a race - our fate will be decided by whose reinforcements arrive first," Arthur said.
"And if they arrive at the same time, this small skirmish will be a major battle," Marcus Middleton said. "Which makes it even more important that we get the wounded away from here."
"So we decide thier fate now!" James snapped. "We set the house on fire!"
"Weren't you listening? They have barrels of powder stored throughout the entire house!" Beth gasped. "Barrels! If you fire upon the house -"
"It could go up like a magazine," William finished.
"They should have thought of that before deciding to use the house for their defence," James said.
"James, there are women and children in there," Beth said.
"Women that are in clear rebellion if what you say is true!" James snapped. "Why should I worry over their women when their men do not? I should sit tight and do nothing while the rebels hide behind the women? Our course is clear, I shall not let it cloud my judgement."
"James, you're a Goddamned bastard," Beth said. "You're talking about my sisters, my aunt, my little brother. My dearest - and pregnant - friend."
"Their men decided their fate," he said. "The women themselves have made their stance known. That they are your family will not cloud my judgement either."
"You give that order and I'll shoot you between your eyes," Samuel said with utter sincerity as he levelled his rifle on James. The Captain took a full step back, looking stunned.
"Don't worry at it, Samuel," Arthur said, placing his hand on Samuel's rifle to lower it. "I think it's about time that someone reminded James that he is no longer the one in bloody charge. Colonel Tavington is here, and thank God he is. He'll give the commands now, and I can't see him deciding to blow up the women and children of his wife's family."
"Oh, yes," Beth said, subsiding. Her face coloured as she gazed up at her husband.
"Remembered me at last, did you?" William asked her, arching his eyebrows.
"Well, you haven't said anything to make me believe that you were assuming command from James," Beth said.
"I didn't need to," William frowned. "I'm the highest ranking Officer here, it's not even a question." He met and held James eyes.
"I wasn't trying to usurp your command, Colonel. Nor did I say I was going to do it," James muttered, perturbed by the accusation in Arthur's eyes.
"Wouldn't be the first women or children to die by your hands," Arthur said, voice hard. His shoulders slumped, then, and he added softly, "or by mine."
"I know how you feel," Samuel said, placing his hand on Arthur's shoulder. "We've all seen things we wish we hadn't. We've all done things."
"So dear heart, your orders?" Beth said sweetly while stroking William's hair. "Are you going to kill my little brother and sisters?"
"As if I would. Gods, Beth, it doesn't sound as though anyone could get close enough to set the house aflame, they'd be shot before they could throw anything flammable through the windows. Enough of this, we're running out of time," William said. "Both sides have sent for reinforcements but we don't know whose will arrive first. We need to move the wounded and for that, we need discover how many wagons Ferguson has and we'll need to start fashioning litters. Lucky for us, Thomas and Nathan Martin have provided these tarps for our shelter which we can now use for the litters. And Ferguson must have a few wagons at least - we need to determine if we can retrieve those without being fired upon from those in the house."
"There are four wagons and your men can skirt around the house to reach them," Beth confirmed.
William began barking a series of commands that saw his men rushing every which way; to bring up the wagons, to capture the rebel's horses, to pull apart the tents and, after cutting branch limbs long enough, to make the litters, which was necessary as there were only three wagons and too many wounded.
Beth accompanied William into Richard's tent, for William wished to discuss Richard's removal with Jutland. James followed them inside.
"It's good we're leaving," George Jutland said as soon as he saw William. "Jones has vanished with the others into the house, though I'm certain we couldn't rely on his assistance just now in any case. There are far too many for me to tend alone, it's best we get back to the battalion at once."
"That is my intention," William said as Beth went to sit beside Cilla, who had her head bowed in grief.
"It will be dangerous moving Major Bordon," Jutland warned. "Here, he is being kept still and warm, and still I do not believe he will survive. Moving him, however, will surely result in his death."
Cilla turned her tear streaked face up to William, who hesitated.
"We could leave him," William said to Cilla. "We could leave you both."
"We'd certainly move faster if we leave the wounded," James said from the doorway.
"I'm one of the wounded, Captain, and like hell am I staying," William said. "Besides, that is not what I meant. I would not move Richard if it means his death is made even more certain than it already is."
"I knew what you meant," Cilla said to William while turning her back on James.
"Are you asking or commanding?" Harmony asked William.
"I have a decision to make and am willing to consider your preference," William replied. "Neither of you will be in any danger if you stay here with the rebels. Even if Martin dies of his illness, his sons will not let anything to happen to their cousin. And by extension, you would have protection also. You do not need us to assure your safety, for Mrs. Bordon is Martin's niece. I believe it to be the best course of action but I would not have you accuse me of abandoning you here."
Harmony put her arm around Cilla and turned back to Richard. William shook his head, still unable to fathom why Harmony was acting with such hostility toward him.
"With respect, Colonel, I believe that, if we must flee, then we aught to leave all of the wounded here, under a flag of truce," Wilkins said politely. "Except for you, of course."
"The worst of the wounded," William agreed. "Those who could die from being moved. I shall trust your judgement, Jutland, if you will triage them?"
"Of course," Jutland said. "And if you don't mind, I wish to stay here so I can continue to care for them."
"If the reinforcements come from Martin's men, you'll end up being taken prisoner again," William warned him.
"I do not wish to walk away from men who might die without my assistance," Jutland said. William nodded.
"Tell Martin that I will send him money for supplies as soon as I'm able." William shifted his gaze to Beth. "Well?"
"I'm coming with you," Beth said.
"I thought you'd say that," he smiled down at her.
"You need me, William," she said. "Even with those crutches, you need me to take care of you -"
"Mr. Miller can look after me as well as you. The women are staying and you're pregnant."
"So are you commanding me to stay behind?" Beth asked sharply.
"No," he cocked his head. "But if you come with me, you won't be able to care for your father."
"He has Margaret now, and Anne and aunt Charlotte."
"If you come with me," he said firmly, "you might not see your father again."
Beth drew in a sharp breath and looked away. Her eyes met Cilla's, who at least had been able to farewell her father, before learning from James Wilkins that he'd been caught and hanged. Beth doubted she would be allowed in to see her father, which meant that if he died, then the last time she saw him would be the last time that she saw him. Had she told him she loved him? She'd kissed his cheek and said she would return later; it hadn't been the final sort of farewell in which one naturally said 'I love you'.
"I saw him happy," Beth said, swallowing hard. "For having the children here. He was joyful… I will write him a letter to say farewell and to tell him I love him, but I'm coming with you," she said to William.
"Very well, you've enough time for a short note if you write it now," he turned to Richard, looking solemn. "Mrs. Bordon, would you please explain this to Major Bordon, when next he wakes? If he is lucid enough to hear you. I wish for him to know that I do not mean to abandon him, but we must get away as swiftly as we can travelling with wounded - myself included. I intend to set a a quick pace that will be punishing enough for me, but deadly for Bordon."
"I'll make certain he understands… cousin," Cilla said, adding that last tentatively.
"My thanks, cousin," William said, also tentatively. He bowed to both women, wished he had more time to get to the problem of Harmony's discord, and then turned on his heels and hobbled out of the tent.
There was much ado; Beth's carriage was bought about along with several wagons and as many horses as could be secured. The wounded, with Beth's women to watch over them - were loaded onto the wagons, along with all provisions they could find without getting too close to the deadly rain of fire that came from the house as soon as someone drew too near.
Unable to mount to ride, William climbed into the carriage with Beth and reclined as best he could, trying to keep his weight off of his hip. As he was trying to find a comfortable position, Samuel appeared at the door.
"I wanted to say farewell," Samuel said to them both.
"You're not coming?" William asked, frowning.
"I'm not coming," Samuel said. "I just got here and… papa would never forgive me if I took off with the British again." He smiled weakly, then shook his head. "I… I don't know where I fit in. I feel a pull to come with you and Beth," he nodded to his sister. "But if papa died… I'd never forgive myself for taking off from him again. Maybe when I know he's out of the woods? I can come and join you then?" His face coloured with embarrassment, as if he feared he'd be mocked. Or worse, told he was too young and not needed.
"You'll be welcome to join us then, Samuel. Mention my name and you'll get through any British line."
The boy grinned. "I know. How do you think we got past all those patrols from Salisbury's to here?" Samuel laughed softly at the look on William's face. "Sorry," he shrugged.
"Somehow, I don't think you are," William smiled back. "Be that as it may, if you decide to come, you will be welcome."
"I love you," Beth climbed back out of the carriage and hugged her brother. Then she hugged him again, "that's for Thomas, and that's for Nathan," she kept going, hugging him again and again as she listed their siblings, their Aunt, their sister in law Anne, and then finally their father. There, she held on for the longest and the tightest. "Tell him I love him," she whispered in Samuel's ear. The boy nodded solemnly.
"I wish we had more time," he said. "I only just got here and now we're separating again. When will our family be whole again?"
"I wish I knew," Beth whispered, wiping her cheeks.
"I love you," Samuel said, holding tight one last time. Beth smiled weakly as she pulled away. Samuel held her arm as she climbed back up into the saddle.
Beth sat close to the door, waving to Samuel as the carriage began to move. She continued to wave until he was out of sight, lost to view among the Dragoons and the wagon loads of wounded.
