Never had he fought so hard for so little reward. The battle around Camden on August 16 had been a triumph: while the Delaware and Maryland regulars had fought well, the rebel militia had largely fled without firing a shot, and the treacherous Gates had run like the cur he was. Tavington's own men of the British Legion had performed brilliantly, especially his dragoons, who had swept the field and put the enemy to flight.
The next day, he had set out to find the elusive Sumter, and had run him down at Catawba Ford. While Sumter had escaped, three hundred of his men had not, nor had forty-four wagons of supplies. His men had liberated over one hundred British prisoners and had every right to think themselves heroes.
But when he had reported to General Lord Cornwallis, expecting the praise and acknowledgement that were his due, he found himself snubbed by the pampered and powdered staff officers at headquarters. Worse still, the Lord General had rebuked him for his charge at Camden. Tavington admitted to himself that he had not waited for orders, but surely the General understood that officers must show initiative. The Green Dragoons' charge was perfectly timed and had clinched the battle. While the staff officers raised glasses to victory with the General, and his very dogs were fed from the table, Tavington had been ignominiously dismissed, and ordered to appear before the Lord General the next day, evidently for more censure.
Captain Bordon had been discreetly sympathetic. "Perhaps, sir, you should have washed before reporting," he had said, referring to the blood staining Tavington's face and uniform.
"I will see them in Hell first," Tavington burst out angrily. "Let them stare. This is what a soldier looks like. Perhaps the Lord General and his staff have forgotten that battle is a bloody business."
He brooded over it in his tent later, alone with a brandy. I have failed to understand the Lord General. It seems that he is one of those commanders who likes to think of war as a private chessboard. Naturally, he cannot endure it when one of his pieces moves of its own volition.
Tavington, however, had no wish to be anyone's chess piece. He was out there in the field nearly every day. He saw things that the Lord General could not. He would not be reduced to a mere tool, an extension of another's will. He needed to stake out a reputation of his own, and a claim on His Majesty's generosity.
Now, awaiting the General's pleasure, he could see Cornwallis and O'Hara poring over a map, evidently discussing the General's promised land grants. As he approached, Tavington heard the words "One hundred thousand acres."
One hundred thousand acres!
"It's an imposing land grant, my Lord. You will be a country unto yourself." O'Hara enthused.
Tavington had once thought General O'Hara a decent fellow. Since Cornwallis' arrival however, he had become the general's toady. It was a sorry sight, and made Tavington faintly ill. In his heart, he knew that sometimes it was necessary to flatter one's superior, but O'Hara seemed to be enjoying his abasement.
Resolutely courteous, Tavington approached and said, "His Majesty is most generous, my lord, (Say something gracious!) though, of course, your service in this war more than warrants such a gift."
Cornwallis fixed him with a grave regard. "Yes. This is how His Majesty rewards those who fight for him as gentlemen."
Trying not to take offense at the barb, Tavington smiled uneasily and said, "I dare to presume my own meagre contributions will be rewarded as well one day."
"You may presume too much."
Brought up short, Tavington controlled his expression as best he could. Now for it, he thought grimly.
Cornwallis walked away and stood frowning at him.
"His Majesty, like history, judges us not only by the outcome of the war, but the manner in which it is fought."
What is he on about now? wondered Tavington.
"My lord?"
'We serve the Crown, and we must conduct ourselves accordingly. Surrendering troops will be given quarter---These brutal tactics must stop!"
Some politician has been complaining to him about Waxhaws, I'll wager. The tender souls at home—or Lord North's enemies-- are concerned about rubbish in a rebel newspaper. Hiding his contempt, Tavington remonstrated, "Is it not enough, my lord, that I have never lost a battle?"
"You serve me, and the manner in which you serve me reflects upon me!" Cornwallis lowered his voice and thrust home. "I would have thought that someone from a family as esteemed as yours would understand."
Self-satisfied, pompous, old bastard. You had to taunt me with that, Tavington thought. Mouth tight, he bit out, "My late father squandered whatever esteem in which my family was held, along with my inheritance." As if you did not know that already. Mastering himself, he tried to make the general understand him. "I advance myself only through victory."
"You advance yourself only through my good graces!" Cornwallis paused, and continued condescendingly. "These Colonials are our brethren. When this conflict is over, we will re-establish commerce with them. Do you understand?"
Tavington was suddenly and unpleasantly reminded of similar scenes with his Uncle Fitzroy-Hughes long ago. Do you understand me, boy?
Swallowing his dislike as he had done then, Tavington assented. "Perfectly, my lord."
His heart pounding with rage and humiliation, Tavington hardly saw where he was going. All he wanted was to get as far from the Lord General and the preening O'Hara as possible. Not a word of praise for the prisoners taken, or their own men rescued. No recognition of his success in obtaining welcome supplies. Instead, he had been scolded like a naughty schoolboy. No, not like a schoolboy, he thought. At school, that sort of talk would have been followed by a whipping, so I suppose it could be worse.
He managed to smile. Despite the General's incomprehensible flutterings about honour and gentility, they were still at war. Many of the rebels captured at Camden were willing to change sides and serve the King. Major Cochrane, who commanded the Legion infantry, would be taking most of these men. With training, they might even be of use. Right now, the British Legion needed to get some rest, lick its wounds, absorb its new recruits, and most importantly, celebrate its victory.
He would send a note to Miss Everleigh, asking to call. At least he need not fear rebuke and scorn under that roof. He visited when he could spare the time, and the pleasure of being with a family seemed to do him good. There were certain rubs, of course. He was occasionally taken aback by the aunt's waspish tongue. Even more peculiar was the extraordinary way the household had embraced him. Within a short time, their behaviour had become positively---familiar. Everyone seemed to be his friend, everyone told him outrageous tales of everyone else. Miss Wilde and Amelia were well-bred girls and showed some restraint in this, and he had always liked Julia feeling she could speak unreservedly to him; but nothing could have prepared him for the Montgomerys.
Every time he visited, he met another of the teeming brood: first the boy, then the two doll-like little girls, then another, smaller girl, even prettier than her sisters. Next he had been practically assaulted by a two-year-old boy. He knew there was yet another Montgomery, and wondered what lay in store for him there. Their mother seemed incapable of controlling them in any way. Miss Wilde had crisply told him that it was because Charlotte was afraid of them, but Tavington could not understand why. Surely disciplining children could not be that difficult. When he had said as much, Miss Wilde had smiled enigmatically, and he had dropped the subject.
Back in his quarters, he found a message from Miss Everleigh already awaiting him. He was invited for dinner at seven o'clock that very evening. Perhaps the day would not be a total loss. He applied himself to regimental paperwork in a better frame of mind.
Wilkins reported in for his troop. Tavington still thought Wilkins something of an oaf, but he tried to endure the fellow for his cousin's sake. And beyond that, Wilkins had actually given a good account of himself in the past few days. Tavington repressed a snort. It would be a poor joke indeed if a man of Wilkins' size and strength were unable to fight. Wilkins, however, had exceeded his expectations, and was also doing fairly well as a troop commander. He would never replace Christian Huck, the captain the dragoons had lost to a bullet in the throat in early July, but he was making a decent effort. He was useful, too, in another way. Most of the British Legion came from the northern colonies, and found South Carolina as strange as Tavington himself did. Wilkins was in some sense his interpreter, sorting out customs, family loyalties, and occasionally, translating local dialect outright.
Finishing his report, Wilkins asked him, 'If I may ask, Colonel, will you be seeing my aunt and cousins any time soon?"
Trying not to snap irritably at the man for his inquisitiveness, Tavington answered, "I shall be dining with them tonight. Had you some message for them?"
"Just my respects to them, sir, and if you could, please tell my aunt I will be calling on her soon." Wilkins grimaced. "As you can imagine, she expects her kin to show her considerable attention."
Tavington could imagine it quite easily.
Ganymede showed him in to the parlour with his usual disapproval. Miss Wilde, in the green gown he liked so well, was awaiting him. He was surprised to catch her alone, but pleased at the opportunity.
"Colonel," she beamed, taking him by the hand, "how happy I am to congratulate you on your wonderful success! Everyone is speaking of it. You are quite the hero of the hour." She eyed him with a little concern. "You are all right, I hope?"
"Perfectly well, I thank you." She still looked anxious, so he assured her, "No limbs lost, no mortal wounds, barely a scratch on me." Her eyes widened. Exasperated, he allowed, "A scratch or two only. You can hardly expect me to fight for two days without shedding a little of my blood for the King."
"I would prefer you lost no blood at all. Indeed, I had rather you go on as you have done: by spilling the enemy's blood instead."
He laughed. "I spilled my share." The charge at Camden flashed before him: the mad excitement; the smell of blood, gunsmoke, and hot metal; his heart pumping with his horse's hoofbeats; the fierce satisfaction of laying the enemy low. Looking at Miss Wilde now, the memory made his blood stir, and he fought the impulse to clasp her in her arms, as he once had.
She shivered a little, and he wondered if she were remembering him in action. She really has the loveliest---
The moment was shattered by the wail of an infant upstairs, accompanied by the complaints of small children, and thunderous little footsteps overhead.
"Zilphah will have her hands full with the little ones tonight. They all wanted to mob you, but I persuaded Charlotte to let me have you to myself for a little while." She gave him a mischievous smile. "I hope you are not disappointed."
"I am crushed with disappointment. I was anticipating a pandemonium of giggles and squeals, and little Frank pounding his wooden horse on my knee again. I trust there will be no repetition of this slight." He looked about the room. "I am surprised, though, not to see your sisters and aunt."
"You'll see them soon enough. I expect they are making a special effort tonight."
Ganymede reappeared, and gave Miss Wilde a note. She glanced at it, and nodded. She put out her hand to Tavington, and gave him a look so mysterious and alluring he nearly lost his head. She said, "Come with me."
It would never have occurred to him to do anything else. Allowing her to lead him down the hall to the dining parlour, he resolved on some immediate actions concerning her.
Everyone was there. Tavington blinked, but they were still all there.
Miss Everleigh at the head of the table was no surprise, nor Miss Wilde's sisters, nor Mrs. Montgomery, nor even the irritating George. But in front of him, at the foot of the table was James Wilkins, and with him, all the captains of the Green Dragoons. There was David Kinlock, Richard Hovenden, David Ogilvie, and his particular friend and aide, Hugh Bordon.
Never had he been so surprised. He was dimly aware of everyone smiling at him, and Miss Wilde beside him, still holding his hand. The candlelit room seemed to him more than beautiful. Even Miss Everleigh was made more comely in the general haze of good feeling surrounding him.
"Colonel," she cried in her hoarse voice, as Miss Wilde led him to his place beside her, "we could hardly neglect to celebrate such a victory, or recognize the man largely responsible. Forgive an old woman her fancy, but I thought your officers would like to celebrate as well."
"But," Tavington murmured to Miss Wilde, "Wilkins asked me to tell your aunt—"
"He was our spy," whispered Miss Wilde. "Is he not a good one? We wanted to be certain when you would come tonight and have everyone else here waiting for you. You are not offended, I hope?"
Wilkins was rising to his feet to offer the loyal toast, so Tavington replied to Miss Wilde only with a smile and a squeeze of her hand.
"Ladies and gentlemen," said Wilkins, "the King!"
"The King!" they all replied, lifting their glasses.
Bordon then stood, with a nod to Miss Everleigh and a smile to Tavington. "We are here, largely due to the leadership and example of our commander. I speak for all of your subordinates, sir, when I say how very proud we are to serve under you. Therefore I ask all here to drink to Colonel Tavington!"
"Colonel Tavington!" And Tavington watched, moved, as they toasted him. Making an attempt not to completely abandon himself to mawkish sentimentality, he paused a moment to command himself, and then stood.
"The Army has been my home now for –well, many years, but I know that that is not the case for you, my captains, here. You come from all over the Colonies and have sacrificed much to serve King and Country. I am well aware that some of you have left families and properties behind, and that all of you have risked your lives for your beliefs and your honour. It is I who am proud to lead our splendid Legion: Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Green Dragoons!"
"The Green Dragoons!"
"There, that's enough," said Miss Everleigh, wiping her eyes. "Any more toasts and we'll all fall face-first into the soup!"
Author's note: I am well aware that often the wine would have appeared and toasts been drunk after the ladies had withdrawn following dinner. However, that is an etiquette particularly despised by Miss Everleigh, who insisted on being present for a toast to her guest of honour at her own table. George and Julia became very sleepy from the wine, which was supposed to be mixed with water for them, but was not; and they had to be sent to bed immediately after consuming their portions of a remarkable pudding.