CHAPTER FOURTEEN: I Only Am Escaped Alone to Tell Thee
For days, Tavington had been urging the Lord General to allow him to ride north to look for Major Ferguson and the American Volunteers.
A message from his friend had come through, telling of a large number of rebels massing on the North Carolina side of the border. Cornwallis, sick himself, and anxious about the condition of his army, had refused permission until more men had recovered.
Tavington chafed at the delay. He understood the Lord General's concerns, and shared them; but all his instincts were telling him that something very wrong had happened. He made restless visits to the hospital tent, seeing who was fit enough for duty, until one of the surgeons took him aside, and told him that these visits were not helpful.
At least the Lord General had decided that when the army was fit enough for large-scale operations, they would be moving into North Carolina. They would be pursuing the rebel regular army, which had withdrawn altogether from South Carolina. Enough troops were being left behind to keep the rebel militia under control. Tavington had his reservations about this. Certainly Camden should be safe, with the garrison of Fort Carolina; and some of the forts, like Ninety-Six. Charlestown obviously was still secure, Loyalist bastion that is was.
With some reluctance, he and Elizabeth had concluded that while the war lasted, their engagement must be only an engagement. He would be going north, and living hard on the march. Even with an army to protect them, baggage trains and the non-combatants who traveled with them were always vulnerable. He needed to know that Elizabeth was safe and comfortable. Elizabeth was unconcerned about her own privations, but keenly aware of the risks to her sisters. It was clearly understood between them that when he and Elizabeth could make a home together, her sisters would be part of their family. For the next few months, at least, there would be considerable communication with Fort Carolina, so he hoped to be able to make a visit or two.
He had also decided that it would be wrong to marry her and then ride away. Giving her his name would make her a target for the rebels. Furthermore, if the worst should happen to him, he did not think it right to leave her widowed; possibly burdened with a child to raise alone. Elizabeth had felt somewhat differently on the subject, but he would not be moved.
He had looked into the Transylvania Land Company himself, knowing how much hope Elizabeth had invested in her land grant. The news was not good: not only the royal governors, but also the rebel legislatures of Virginia and North Carolina had declared the Treaty of Sycamore Shoals invalid, and Judge Henderson's holdings illegal. Virginia had apparently simply annexed the Judge's purchases. He had said nothing to Elizabeth. After the war, the government might reconsider the issue, but for now, the Kentucky plan seemed a frail reed to lean upon.
Finally, he was summoned by the Lord General. Cornwallis, though impeccably groomed as always, looked pale and feverish, and sat wearily in his chair the entire time.
"Well, Colonel, I shall grant your request," he said. "Take the Dragoons, and some of the infantry from the 33rd. Go find Ferguson and bring him in."
"Have there been any further dispatches from him?"
"None." Cornwallis spoke slowly, and Tavington could discern the fatigued tremors his commander tried to conceal. "Whatever he has come across, it cannot be the Colonial regulars. More likely it is militia, probably under Campbell, and that barbarian Cleveland."
"I shall set out at once, my lord." Bowing, he left quickly, his mind in turmoil. Cleveland was a notorious militia leader, known for his hangings and mutilations of Loyalists. It was said that he found great sport in giving prisoners a choice of hanging or cutting off their own ears. He felt a surge of loathing. These were the people that the Lord General called brethren.
He looked forward to seeing Ferguson again. It would be such a pleasure to introduce Elizabeth to him. Knowing Patrick's reputation with the fair sex, it was just as well that she was now safely engaged. He chuckled a little, imagining Patrick's sharp wit sparring with Miss Everleigh's. He wondered if she would repeat her remarks about Scotsmen to his face. Very likely. Patrick's ripostes should be spectacular.
***
Within days they were back. The silence in the camp showed that their bad news had flown before them. He made his report to the Lord General, who listened, sickened and appalled. Tavington had been three days too late. The extent of the disaster at King's Mountain was still unfolding, but it was already bad enough: over a thousand lost, killed or captured. The American Volunteers had been destroyed. His friend, Patrick Ferguson, surrounded and leading a last desperate charge to break the rebel line, had gone down with at least eleven bullets in him. The slaughter of the Loyalists had continued even after the white flag was raised.
The Lord General regarded him grimly at this point. Tavington paused, and thought bitterly, He is thinking that I began this, by shooting those prisoners at Waxhaws. If he says it aloud, I shall kill him on the spot and damn the consequences. His lordship said nothing, however, plainly considering it enough to leave Tavington to his own reflections.
The survivors of the battle had told him that when the white flag was raised, the rebels had shouted, "Give them Tavington's quarter!" It was burned into his mind like a slave brand. The hatred he had felt before for the rebels was nothing to what he felt now.
He continued his report. "The enemy buried the dead in a careless fashion, throwing them into piles and covering them with logs and rocks. The wolves and hogs gathered, and devoured what they could reach. Some of our wounded left on the field were eaten alive."
He flinched at the memory. It would be long before he would be able to eat pork.
"Some of the men taken prisoner managed to escape and have told of abominable ill-usage. Major Ferguson's body was stripped naked and insulted by some of the rebels." Cornwallis looked a question at him. "They pissed on his remains, my lord." The general shut his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "Some of the prisoners were hacked at randomly by their captors. One man's son was killed before his eyes, and then the man's own arms were lopped off. One of our surgeons was beaten for trying to tend our wounded." He swallowed, and went on. "Apparently, some of our Loyalist officers have been hanged."
Cornwallis let out a deep breath. "Infamous, infamous…." His voice trailed away. He frowned, "These rebel atrocities will deal a crippling blow to the King's cause…" He rubbed his eyes, and then straightened. "Look to yourself and your men, Colonel. We will have hard work before us in the months to come."
***
Tavington left headquarters and signed to Wilkins, who was waiting outside. The two men rode silently into Camden.
The Everleigh house was filled with women, children, and the elderly. The entire clan and all its connections had gathered to share rumours. Tavington and Wilkins made their way through the press in the hall and entered the parlour. Conversation stopped at the sight of them. Charlotte Montgomery rose to her feet unsteadily; and then seeing their faces, collapsed to her knees with a wild scream.
"Oh, my God, oh, my God! It is true!" She sobbed: loud, whooping, ugly cries, which left her gasping for breath. "Did they really hang him? How could they hang him? Oh, my God!"
A grey-haired woman knelt by her and held her, shaking with silent tears.
Wilkins said, in a low voice, "That's Mary Montgomery, the lieutenant's mother, sir." Tavington nodded. The entire room was murmuring, anxious whispers mixed with children's frightened questions, and an occasional sharp cry.
Charlotte Montgomery wailed at Tavington, "Why didn't you save him? Where were you?"
Tavington could think of nothing comforting to say to this woman. Wilkins bent over her gently, and she struck out at him, moaning, "What did they do with his body?"
Miss Everleigh took charge. "James, help Charlotte upstairs. George, take care of your Grandmamma."
Charlotte Montgomery sobbed out, as Wilkins tried to get her to her feet, "What will become of us? What will happen to my children?"
"You'll stay right here where you are, Charlotte," Miss Everleigh told her crisply. "Nobody's going to turn you out. Now, get upstairs and try to sleep. Go with her, Mary." Wilkins half-carried Charlotte from the room; and George followed behind, holding his grandmother's arm.
A sour-faced female relation sniffed, "You'd think Charlotte was the first woman who ever lost a husband!"
Miss Everleigh snarled, "Well, he's the first husband she ever lost, so hold your tongue!"
Elizabeth had come to Tavington's side, and slipped her arm into his, holding him close. Looking at her was like finding water in the desert.
Miss Everleigh took notice of him. "I am sorry about your friend, Colonel. I heard he died well."
Tavington remembered what the escaped prisoner told him of Ferguson's last words. "I will never yield to such a damned banditti!" Oh, Patrick!
"Yes, very well indeed, Madam," he said aloud.
"That's more than most can claim."
"I was very much looking forward to presenting him to you and to Elizabeth."
Miss Everleigh smiled oddly. "Well, if there is an afterlife, I shall make a point of seeking his acquaintance." She gave a grim laugh, "But don't feel obliged to get there ahead of me to make the introductions!"
Wilkins came back into the parlour. Miss Everleigh looked him over and said to Elizabeth. "The Colonel and your cousin look like they haven't had a decent meal in awhile. Take them into the next room and feed them."
A huge amount of food was laid out on the table and sideboard: plates of cold meat, beaten biscuits, baked yams, cakes, green salads. Wilkins caught his colonel's eye and quietly pushed the platter of ham out of sight. Elizabeth helped them to food and drink, and then sat down by Tavington, her hand resting gently on his back. Wilkins sat down wearily across the table from them. Both men were glad of the food, and ate their way through it without words. Various family members came in and out of the dining room, filling plates, and talking softly. Some looked like they wanted to speak with Tavington or Wilkins, but Elizabeth waved them away quietly, and they were left in peace.
Wilkins finished, and sat staring at his empty plate. After a while, he muttered, "I'll go have a word with the children," and rose to leave. Elizabeth nodded.
Tavington played with the last of his meal, too tired to respond. He prodded his pound cake with a fork, and observed, "You did not make this."
"No," Elizabeth answered softly, "Hetty doesn't want me in the kitchen."
"Pity," he said, while she stroked his back.
"I have been thinking," she began, "that perhaps we should reconsider our decision to postpone our marriage. However difficult the road ahead, I would rather be with you. And you would have someone to look after you properly."
Tavington was still, thinking over the events of the last few days, and trying to put his feelings into words.
"My friend Patrick had someone to look after him. Her name was Sal. She was just a—she was a woman of the camp, but they cared for each other." Tavington did not mention Patrick's other girl, the one named Polly. While Elizabeth might understand about one mistress, he could not quite trust her to handle two.
He cleared his throat, and went on, "She went everywhere with him. She was there at the end, at King's Mountain. A rebel shot her down as she tended the wounded. I suppose," he sneered bitterly, "her bright red hair made her an easy target for one of the vaunted rebel marksmen. The men who buried Patrick laid her in the same grave."
"Then they are together," Elizabeth said quietly.
"Do you imagine he would have been pleased?" he nearly shouted. Heads swiveled in their direction. Elizabeth shook her head at them, and the dining room quickly emptied.
Tavington struggled to compose himself. He seized Elizabeth's hand and kissed it fiercely. "Forgive me for raising my voice to you. The thought of you in such a situation is too much for me to bear. Patrick would have wanted Sal to escape, to be safe, to be happy; even with another. You must never think me more selfish." He pressed her hand to his heart. "Do not speak of this again."
"No," she submitted sadly, "not if it distresses you so."
She looked past him, and Tavington turned to see David McKay in the doorway.
"Sir, you are wanted back at camp," the boy said, clearly oppressed by the mournful atmosphere of the house and company. He had been shocked by what they had found on arriving at King's Mountain. He had also been one of those ill with fever prior to the unsuccessful ride to Ferguson's relief, and now appeared all sallow skin and bones.
"Thank you, Mr. McKay," Tavington said without expression. He brought Elizabeth hand gently to his lips. "I must be on my way."
"I will see you out," she murmured. Looking again at McKay, she asked Tavington, "Could not Mr. McKay stay a moment and have something to eat? He looks—" she stopped herself from making a personal remark.
Yes, he looks half-dead on his feet, thought Tavington. He spoke to the young officer, "All right, but be quick about it."
"Thank you sir—and ma'am," the boy said, happily surprised at the prospect of an uncommonly good meal. Elizabeth stepped to the dining room doorway and looked out.
"Melly," she called, "could you look after Mr. McKay? The Colonel says he may stay long enough for some refreshment. Mr. McKay, you will, of course, remember my sister Amelia from the day we met at Arcadia."
The girl slipped into the room and quietly greeted the boy. He appeared quite stunned at her transformation, and thanked her effusively, if not very fluently, for her hospitality.
Tavington rose from his chair wearily, and followed Elizabeth to the hall.
"What about Mrs. Montgomery's own family? Can they not assist her?"
"Ah, Charlotte's family. They are somewhat at odds at the moment."
"They are rebels, I take it."
"Let us call them Whigs. It sounds better when speaking of the family of a relation by marriage. I have not heard of any of them actually being in arms against the King." He grunted, unimpressed. "I imagine now, with Frank dead, and thus the principal cause of their estrangement removed, they will rally about her fairly soon."
Julia was sitting on the staircase. Her small, tear-stained face was peering at them anxiously from in between the posts of the baluster.
"Julia," said Elizabeth, "I know it's distressing to be with your cousins for very long. Mr. McKay is in the dining room with Melly, and I am sure he would like to see you again. You would feel better if you had something yourself."
Julia shook her head and looked at Tavington. "I'm not hungry," she whispered. "I'm afraid."
Tavington reached through the posts to take her hand. Julia clutched his desperately.
She began to babble. "Please, please, don't let anything happen to you. Richard died, and Papa came home hurt and he died, and Mamma died and left us. I try to be brave, but I'm afraid. I'm so afraid all the time that everybody is going to die and I'm going to be all alone. Lilabet and Melly are all I have, and we don't even have a house any more. I don't want anything to happen to you. I want you to marry Lilabet like you promised so you can be my brother, and we can be a real family again. Promise me you won't get killed."
"Julia—" Elizabeth began.
"Promise me!" demanded Julia.
Tavington held her hand and said, "I promise to do my very best to stay alive. I cannot promise that some rebel may not try to kill me."
"Don't you let them!" She stood up and leaned over the rail.
"When Papa went away on his trips, we always kissed him good-bye for luck. Sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn't, but it can't hurt to try." Tavington could not help smiling as she bent down and solemnly pressed a butterfly-light kiss on his brow. "There," she said seriously, "maybe that will help. Now you, Lilabet."
Elizabeth conditioned gravely, "I promise to kiss him when we are not being watched by the whole family."
"I don't know why you're so particular. Everybody but me has seen you kissing already."
"The dining parlour, Julia, now."
Julia galloped down the steps, paused briefly to allow Elizabeth to dry her face with her handkerchief, and then disappeared into the next room. "Custard!"
"Melly," called Elizabeth, "see that Julia has something besides sweets!"
"Elizabeth," said Tavington, "where is this place where your family cannot see us?"
It was outside, up against the west side of the house, sheltered by the shrubbery. Tavington mastered himself with an effort, not wanting to frighten or hurt her. He pinned her gently but firmly against the wall, and kissed her lightly on lips, cheek, and jaw, before taking her face in his hands, and kissing her deeply, slowly, and sweetly. She made the soft little humming noise that he loved, and held him close; her hands tightening as she instinctively began to claw at him a little.
When they paused a moment to draw breath, Elizabeth looked up at him, eyes lambent and lips moist and rosy. "Julia is quite right. You are too important to us to permit anything to happen to you. So here is another kiss—for luck."
***
Tavington approached the problem of the Ghost with new energy. Though he hated to use British soldiers as bait, it seemed the most effective way to flush out his enemy.
Accordingly, a supply wagon was sent out with a small guard. In the wagon, rather than supplies, was a detachment of infantry. Tavington and a troop of dragoons lay in wait over the crest of a nearby hill.
The rebels, as predicted, came out of hiding to rob and kill. Sergeant Beckham, a brave young volunteer, defied them as planned, and at the crucial moment, the cover of the wagon was thrown back, and the infantrymen opened fire. As the rebels reeled back, the dragoons charged down upon them, slaying many, and capturing nearly twenty of the rest. Tavington, firing idly at the retreating rebels, was amused to make the luckiest shot of his life, actually bringing down one of the band far beyond pistol range. His men were mightily impressed. Tavington did not disabuse them, but smiled to himself, knowing it to be mere chance.
The Ghost did not seem to be among the dead or the prisoners, but his command had been dealt a heavy blow. Some of the prisoners would be hanged, and the rest sent to the prison hulks, if no one made a decent offer of exchange. One of the prisoners was the parson from the small town of Pembroke. As Tavington remarked to Elizabeth, he was a man who had forgotten all his texts except, "I bring not peace, but a sword."
***
A few days later, he and Bordon returned to camp to find the prisoners being released. A man of middle stature, dressed as a gentleman in a civilian's brown coat, was speaking to O'Hara, and leading the prisoners and a party of horsemen away.
Tavington quickly dismounted and approached O'Hara, fuming.
"General, what is this?"
"Prisoner exchange. He has eighteen of our officers."
Tavington stared after the man in the brown coat. "Who is he? I know him."
O'Hara gave him a hard look. "He is the commander of the militia—your Ghost." Recognition burst over Tavington. Waxhaws! Will it haunt me forever?
Tavington drew his sabre reflexively, and started after the fellow.
"Stay that sword, Colonel!" ordered O'Hara. "He rode in under a white flag for formal parley."
White flag, indeed! They dare to ask us to observe it after King's Mountain! Aloud, he muttered, "This is madness!" Surely O'Hara can see that this man must be stopped now!
O'Hara was inflexible in matters of military honour. "Harm him and you condemn our officers."
"With respect sir," Tavington pointed out, "he has killed as many officers in the past two months."
"He has shown no aggression here," said O'Hara sternly, "hence he cannot be touched."
"Has he not?" growled Tavington. Stalking after the rebel Colonel, he called out rudely, "You! So you're the Ghost, are you? I remember you! That farm! That stupid little boy!"
The rebel stopped and turned, walking grim-faced back to Tavington. Intent on provoking the man, Tavington unleashed the cruelest taunts at his command.
"Did he die? Hmm?"
His enemy stared at him unmoved, blue eyes brilliant and fearless.
Tavington smirked. "It's an ugly business, doing one's duty, but just occasionally, it's a real pleasure."
The stranger spoke with terrible softness. "Before this war is over, I'm going to kill you."
I've hurt you, then, thought Tavington. Good. He moved closer, and whispered seductively. "Why wait?" Pull your pistol, he thought, draw your sword. Make a move, so I can kill you.
"Soon," the rebel said. His voice was a low rumble, like distant thunder. He walked back to his horse, and rode away with his militiamen, leaving Tavington burning with unslaked bloodlust. Two huge dogs ran past him. Mars and Jupiter had chosen to side with the rebels.
Tavington felt vindicated by the event, when it was discovered that the eighteen British officers were scarecrows, and the whole prisoner exchange had been an elaborate charade at the Lord General's expense. Torn between well-concealed glee at his superior's discomfiture, and rage that a dangerous enemy had been irresponsibly left at large, he reported to the Lord General for further orders.
Cornwallis, dressed in a splendid banyan, was having a working dinner at his desk. A valet was in attendance. His lordship wasted not a moment before lashing out at Tavington.
"My reputation suffers because of your incompetence. That man insults me!"
All this for a pair of useless hounds? thought Tavington, with disgust. Choosing his words carefully, he replied, "Quite impressive for a farmer with a pitchfork, wouldn't you say, my lord?"
"I want you to find him. I want you to capture him!" Unwillingly, Tavington recognized that Cornwallis might have more than dogs on his mind. The scene today would do more than make the Lord General ridiculous. It would demoralise their men, and also destroy the fragile conventions of honour that made prisoner exchanges possible. Clever as the Ghost's trick had been, why should the British trust the rebels in the future—and why should the rebels, considering their own bad faith, trust the British?
Tavington pointed out the difficulties. "The man has the loyalty of the people. They protect him, they protect his family, they protect the families of his men." Seeing an extraordinary opportunity present itself to him, Tavington went on. "I can capture him, but to do so requires the use of tactics that are somewhat---what was the word, my lord?"
Cornwallis glanced significantly at the servant, who quietly absented himself from the room.
Cornwallis leaned back in his chair, staring grimly at Tavington. "Go on," he said. He looked like a man resigning himself to methods he felt beneath him. Still, the Ghost had shown himself no gentleman with his dishonest dealings, and that fact seemed to be tipping the balance in Tavington's favour.
Tavington, feeling at last in command of the situation, went to the sideboard, and poured himself a glass of wine.
"I am prepared to do what is necessary. I alone will assume the mantle of responsibility, free from the chain of command, rendering you blameless. However," he said, staking his whole future on this one throw, "if I do this, you and I both know that I can never return to England with honour. What, I wonder, is to become of me?" He had never wished to return to England anyway, but the Lord General could not know that.
Cornwallis rose from his desk and walked over to a table that displayed the map of his land grant. "When this war is over here in the Colonies, the new aristocracy will be landowners."
Tavington, hiding the relief and joy he felt at assuring a future for Elizabeth and himself, merely smiled coolly, and said, "Tell me about Ohio."
***
Tavington found Bordon and they returned to camp. A memory of the day he met that rebel leader had surfaced. A group of children had been ranged behind the man on the steps of the farmhouse. How many? He couldn't quite remember. A large family. He recalled several little boys and a pretty little blonde girl. A man would do nearly anything to keep his children safe. If he could round up the fellow's children and put them in protective custody at the Fort, the rebel would have little choice but to surrender himself, give his parole, and sit out the rest of the war. In some ways, it was a better revenge than killing him. Though, when he considered it, Tavington thought there was little reason to trust such a man's parole. Better to send him to the hulks, and forget about him.
Surely Elizabeth would understand. He had not the slightest intention of harming the children. In fact, he convinced himself, they would be far better off at Fort Carolina. They would be safe from the dangers of either army attacking them, and free from the fear of the rogue militia bands and murderous stragglers roaming the countryside. Yes, it could even be said he was doing those children a favour. Their father had obviously failed to care for or teach them properly. He would try to persuade Elizabeth to visit them.
Quickly making his way to the officers' mess tent, he looked about. "Wilkins!" The captain, napping on a cot too small for his huge frame, woke slowly as always.
Tavington asked urgently, "The plantation—seven miles from Wakefield on the Santee, east of Black Swamp? Who owned it?"
Wilkins regarded him blankly, then said, "Benjamin Martin."
"He is the Ghost," Bordon explained.
"What do you know about him?" asked Tavington.
"Hell, everything," said Wilkins. "I can tell you the size of his boot."
Yes, that is just the sort of useless information I do not care about. Tavington asked, controlling his irritation, "Does he have family? Where would he keep his children?"
Wilkins looked around the tent, clearly uncomfortable. Tavington waited. Don't go soft on me now, Cousin James.
"His wife's sister has a plantation. It's not far."
This Benjamin Martin must have been anticipating such a move on his part, once he knew his identity would be revealed. The children were gone; and the house slaves, apparently fond of their mistress, told them nothing. Some offered resistance, costing them their lives. Tavington regretted the fate of the slaves, who were obviously not responsible for their owner's treachery, but the need to capture his enemy was too desperate. However, it was all in vain. The children and their aunt had vanished. In the dark distance, some riders appeared, mocking them, and then were gone. And for a while, there was no further sign of Benjamin Martin the Ghost, or his rebel band.
---
Author's note: I am not making up anything about King's Mountain: it really was that ugly. And the cruelty shown by the Patriots to the Loyalists did frighten away a lot of Loyalist supporters. I have tried to also make clear that it was very much an American battle: Major Patrick Ferguson was the only British soldier on the field.
The chapter title is from Job 1:15.
At this point, I feel I must say something about the so-called Waxhaws Massacre of May 1780, even though it occurred before the events in my story. The filmmakers of The Patriot present a very sensationalised and dishonest interpretation of events. In brief, it seems that Tarleton and the Legion caught up with Colonial Col. Buford and his troops. Tarleton offered them generous terms of surrender. Buford said they would fight to the last man. During the fight, Tarleton's horse was shot out from under him, and his men thought he was dead. The Colonials raised the white flag about this time, but Tarleton's men killed many in rage until they could be called to order. Meanwhile, Col. Buford made good his escape. It was certainly not the only event of its kind on either side during the Revolution, but the colonials made good use of it for propaganda, and it was (and still is) offered as a reasonable excuse for the slaughter at King's Mountain.