Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to The Patriot, but Tavington and Wilkins can play in the historical universe .
CHAPTER TWENTY: Of Guns and Drums and WoundsIt took days to find the army.
Riding on past Hillsboro, he began to get a real feel for the current deployments. The Lord General, aggressive as always, was moving heaven and earth to track down Greene and force a battle. Tavington's scars ached. He was constantly on the alert for any of the wounds to reopen; but so far, his flesh was holding together.
Finally, near the forks of Deep River, he made contact with the outlying pickets. He rode past the 33rd, and was recognised. Someone must have alerted James Webster, their colonel, for the Scotsman came out to meet him, a broad smile on his face. Tavington dismounted and they shook hands. Webster was a good officer, and a brave man; and Tavington thought he could learn rather a lot from him about getting on with superiors.
"My dear Tavington! We thought we'd never see you in the saddle again!"
"Pleased to see you too, Webster. Where is the Lord General?
Webster pointed him in the direction of the headquarters tent, and then, at his request, told him where the Legion was encamped.
"You won't stay for tea—or something stronger?"
"Another time, I thank you. It would be best to report in now, I think."
"I think you're right. His lordship's an impatient man, and now he's spoiling for a fight."
"Will the rebels give us one?"
Webster shrugged. "I think they'll have to. Your laddies bloodied them a few days ago at Weitzel's Mills. They're around here somewhere. And some of them are as ready to come to grips with us as my Lord Cornwallis could wish."
He rode up to the Lord General's tent, dismounted, and gave his name to the sentry outside it. The soldier looked at him again, with a hint of a grin, and went into the tent to tell his commander that Colonel Tavington was here and wished the favour of an interview. Tavington heard Cornwallis' low voice, but not the words. The sentry emerged, and saluting, told Tavington the Lord General would see him at once. Tavington straightened his back and took a deep breath before entering.
Cornwallis was seated at his camp desk, and eyed Tavington thoughtfully for a moment before greeting him.
"Colonel Tavington. Lord Rawdon sent me a good account of your recovery, and wrote that you were willing to resume command of the Green Dragoons."
"I wish very much to return to my duty, my lord."
Cornwallis remained still a moment, in reflection. He then addressed Tavington in tones of the utmost gravity.
"Colonel, while you have been recovering in Camden, our situation has undergone rapid changes. The Colonials have been maneuvering about us for weeks, but at last they seem ready to give battle. The outcome of such a battle will be crucial. If we can break their army, we shall have won the war in the Carolinas, and can move on into Virginia virtually unopposed. Virginia is the heart of this rebellion, and it is my goal to attack it."
The Lord General paused, and seemed to wish some sort of response.
Tavington nodded, "Lord Rawdon gave me something of an outline of your plan, my lord."
"Then you must be aware how desperately important it is that we win!" said Cornwallis, with asperity.
"I am, my lord. Were we to lose, it could well be the end of all of us."
Cornwallis let out a gusty breath. "I am relieved that you understand the seriousness of the situation. The time for individual heroics is over. We must all work together if we are to succeed. If I give an order, I must know it will be obeyed."
"You need have no worry on my account." Cornwallis looked at him, slightly incredulous. "I have no desire to risk my own life or the lives of my men in pointless gestures. I do indeed understand the necessity of cooperating in order to achieve victory."
"You will admit that this is a rather new attitude on your part."
"I admit that I have had some time to consider what is worth my life, and what is not."
Cornwallis relaxed almost imperceptibly in his chair. "Rawdon wrote that you have become engaged, Colonel. My felicitations."
Tavington was surprised at this turn in the conversation. He had, in fact, been engaged since the end of September, but apparently his commander had not known of it.
"Thank you, my lord."
"And that your charming fiancée is the heiress of a large estate. I understand her father was the naturalist John Wilde. I have his book: a remarkable genius. A pity he died."
"A great pity, my lord. I too admired his work. I regret that I never met him." Tavington thought it unnecessary to describe Elizabeth's currently dispossessed condition. Let him think her the Queen of the colony.
Cornwallis had thawed slightly. Tavington wondered if it was due to Tavington's expressed intent to be a more cooperative subordinate in future, or because he was allied in some way with a man Cornwallis admired. His general's next remark, however, showed that neither guess was correct.
"When one binds oneself to a lady, Colonel, it is only natural to recollect that one must consider the impact and influence of one's acts on an innocent and dependent party, not just on oneself. A man's life is no longer entirely his own; he, in part, must subordinate his own desires and ambitions to his duty to …."
Cornwallis was off on a ode to the sanctity of love between man and woman. Tavington remembered that Cornwallis' beloved wife had died last year. The General had been in America when told of his wife's mortal illness, and had resigned his command, hastening home to be with her for her last months. Only after her death had he returned to the army.
Apparently, the fact that Tavington had managed to win the affections and faith of a lady of fortune had raised him greatly in his commander's esteem. Tavington thought it rather peculiar, but indeed Cornwallis was just the man for it. And now, my consequence has increased, not because of my military expertise, but because of my newly discovered sensibility. He kept his countenance politely respectful. He certainly loved Elizabeth dearly, but as far as he could see, that had nothing to do with his worth as a soldier.
Cornwallis wanted him to use the Dragoons to patrol for enemy troop movements. Tavington headed toward the Legion's encampment. Surrounded by the activities and noises of camp life, he realised that he had missed the excitement of the army. It was loud, brash, and masculine: no music here but the fife and drum of the bandsmen, and the scents those of men and horses. As he approached, he saw faces turned his way, and a distant murmur, gradually rising in volume. Men stopped in their tracks, or hearing the shouting, ran out of their tents.
"It's the Colonel!" "It's Colonel Tavington!" "I told you they couldn't kill him!"
In less than a minute, he was surrounded by a jubilant, pushing crowd of his own men, reaching to touch his boots and welcoming him home to the Legion.
"Colonel Tavington, sir!" cried Hovenden, his senior captain, looking relieved. "Welcome back!"
He could see his officers gathering: Kinlock and Ogilvie; the captain of the new Dragoon troop, Francis Gildart; and Jacob James, who had replaced the ailing Tom Sandford. A head taller than most, Wilkins was making his way through the press, grin white and boyish.
"Good to see you again, sir!"
Tavington was gratified by the general enthusiasm. He had never, unlike some officers, aimed at being popular; but he was still pleased to see his men's joy at his return.
Dismounting, he nodded to his officers, "Thank you, it's good to be back."
A tent was quickly prepared for him, and he ate with his officers. So weary he could have put his head down on the table and slept instantly, he struggled to remain awake, and hear the various bits of camp gossip that were being bandied about. At last he could go gratefully to his quarters and throw himself on his cot. He hurt desperately at shoulder and at side; there was even an ache deep in his left upper arm that he had thought completely healed. The pain was brief, however, as he fell almost instantly into a deep, dreamless sleep.
He slept late the next morning, and then busied himself taking reports and inspecting the Legion's condition. It was somewhat better than it had been at Cowpens, but the men were still too tired and hungry for peak performance. Seeking out the battered German immigrant who served as the Legion's armourer, he found the man at his grinding wheel.
Tavington handed him his sabre and said, "Set the edge razor sharp." The armourer grinned, and went to work with a will.
He finally found the time to sit down on his cot and open the packet Miss Everleigh had given him. Breaking the seal, he found it contained a letter from her, another letter inside, and also a small square of thickly folder paper, containing something hard. He looked first at her letter.
February 21, 1781
My dear Colonel Tavington,
Since you seem determined to leave us, I feel that I should write in order to express my final thoughts to you. We shall certainly not meet again in this world. I have put off the common lot longer than most, but I feel the Reaper's breath on the back of my neck now.
I am bequeathing you some books in my will. Lizzie shall, of course, be keeping them for you. If you want them, you will simply have to come back and marry her. Among them are the volumes of my beloved Descartes, and the Micrographia. I think it unlikely that anyone else in the family will appreciate them, or even, in the case of Descartes, be capable of reading them. I need hardly tell you that the Micrographia is quite valuable and will become only more valuable with time.
Enclosed you will find another letter. I was quite surprised to hear from Mr. Stephen deLancey, a former beau of Lizzie's. I believe I told you the two of them were once engaged. He was a pompous dandy as a youth, and age seems not to have improved him. It took very little to chase him off when they were betrothed. I told him then that if he gave up while they both lived and she remained unmarried, he did not deserve her; but it seemed keeping his own good opinion of himself unchallenged was more important to him.
The letter, as you will find, contains some very unpleasant reflections on your character, as well as some exceedingly unattractive information about your father. You know best if the former, the latter, or both are true. I care not. It would seem that Mr. DeLancey wishes to make use of a malicious old gossip to create dissension between you and my niece. As much as I might enjoy putting foxes in henhouses as a general rule, I will not be the tool of a smug poltroon. If he still wants Lizzie, he could call you out and fight for her like a man. You would kill him, of course. What a loss that would be!
Enough of such a tiresome fellow! Let us think no more of him. I wish to speak of you, and to tell you that knowing you has been the last great pleasure of my life. I cannot but feel that sometimes Time makes a mistake. At least there is something of me in Lizzie. Strange as it may seem, I do sincerely wish you every happiness.
As a token of my esteem, I enclose my mother's wedding ring. You will find it in the small paper package. It seemed suitable, as the set is an emerald, and Lizzie is so unaccountably fond of all that is green. I did not wish to give it to you earlier. You would simply have passed it on to Lizzie at once. I want you to carry it with you, and remember that you owe it to her. It is a slender thread at best, but it is all I have to bind you with.
I now bid you farewell for the moment that is our lifetime. Perhaps in the next world, I shall not have to be old. It would be absurd, I think, to greet my mother again and be older than she. I read one fool of a church father whose only sensible idea was that we are all thirty in Heaven. Thirty would be about right.
Do take better care of yourself. I would not be perfectly pleased to meet you again too soon, even if I could meet you in my thirty-year-old guise.
I remain, sir, your sincere friend,
S.J. M. Everleigh
Apprehensively, Tavington glanced over DeLancey's letter. As spiteful a document as he had ever read, it contained all the sordid details he had carefully kept from Elizabeth. His father's ruin she had known of, but not of his father's incarceration and the escape from debtors' prison, the hiding place in the Spitalfields brothel, and the final, shameful end; cutting his throat with his own razor. Everything Tavington feared seeing in the eyes of every acquaintance was detailed. It had indeed been the act of a true friend to keep this from Elizabeth. Someday he might tell her a version of the truth, but not for a long time. He could hardly bear to think of it himself.
About himself, he read some libels he had known of before, and some new ones as well. A portion of the information contained was painfully true. Most of what was true, he had already confessed to Elizabeth. Some of what was false he had already denied. Some pieces of misinformation he would have to deal with in future; but he trusted Elizabeth, if she heard of them, to take them for what they were worth. It was a great pleasure to put the hateful missive in the fire.
He then unwrapped the small folded square of thick paper. Inside was a splendid ring indeed: a large square-cut emerald, partnered on either side by a diamond. He was no expert, but he could see the emerald's quality, the clarity and the sparks of blue deep in the green. Thoughtfully, he placed the ring in his waistcoat pocket, the one nearest his heart, and gave it a pat. It represented a promise and a pledge, and he would keep faith with it.Tavington welcomed the two days of rest he allowed himself. Soon enough, they were all on the move again, searching for Greene and his army. Cornwallis wanted the Dragoons out on night patrol as well, to be able to get him the quickest possible news of the enemy. By the afternoon of March 14th, they had discovered that Greene was about twelve miles away, near Guilford Courthouse.
Cornwallis ordered the baggage sent along with their sick to Bell's Mills. The rest of the army was issued ammunition and told to prepare for battle. They would march before dawn. Cornwallis had particular orders for Tavington.
"Colonel, I want your men fanned out in front of the army just after midnight. Proceed along the New Garden Road. Your job is to protect the van of the army, which will commence its march about an hour before daylight. Keep in contact with us: we must know the moment you locate the enemy. Do not remain engaged, but attempt to draw them back behind you."
Cornwallis was obviously concerned about the possibility of an ambush in the darkness, so Tavington and his men found themselves moving carefully down the road, and along the sides, which were fringed with strong fences. The road itself was not much more than a rough wagon path, but it was the best in the area. Gradually, around two in the morning, Tavington could discern hoofbeats in front of them. His eyes by now fully adjusted to the darkness, he could make out the faint reflections off metal helmets up ahead. Not his, certainly. Possibly Harry Lee's Legion? Certainly colonials. He gave a verbal message to Cornet Samuel Willett to deliver to the Lord General, and sent him on his way at once
Pursuing their prey up the road, they were met after a time by a large group of horsemen who turned on them and attacked. As much as he hated not to make the most of his first taste of combat after so long, he rallied the Dragoons and pulled back quickly, the colonials in eager pursuit. They headed away from the rising sun, and Tavington understood the second part of his General's plan. He led his Dragoons quickly off to the side of the road, leaving the Colonial cavalry to run into the upraised muskets of the Guards infantry. The light reflecting off the musket barrels confused both rebels and their horses. The cavalry retreated with loss, and a body of rebel infantry ran up and returned fire. There was a sharp exchange, which ended with the enemy melting away back down the road.
Cornwallis had ridden up in the early light. "Press after them Colonel, but no more than a mile. Eliminate the stragglers you find, and return for further orders."
"My lord." Tavington gave him a brief nod, and charged down the road again, avoiding the dead and wounded. Some were theirs, and help was on the way to them in his wake.
They found a pair of infantrymen, fleeing down the road. They had unwisely paused to gather up some belongings, and were easy pickings for the Dragoons. Tavington, in front, with sword fully extended before him, could feel the uneven flesh of his scars pulling a little along his ribs. He gave himself a moment to consider his body, decided the discomfort did not signify any danger, and sliced down into a rebel's back. He felt deep reassurance in knowing that he had not lost his skills during his convalescence. The rebel's companion half-turned in alarm and his face was shorn away by a Dragoon sergeant. It was fairly gruesome, and the sergeant caught Tavington's eye with a shrug and a brief chuckle.
Up ahead, the tree cover was denser around the road, and Tavington decided they had penetrated ahead of the army far enough. It was time to go back and see what the rest of the battle had to offer.
What followed was a long and frustrating day. Cornwallis had sent the Dragoons to the rear, explaining that they were his only reserve, and would not be used until the final act of the battle, unless dire emergency demanded it. It was a part Tavington hated to play, but he resigned himself to it. They heard endless fire, and a number of rumours were passed on to them—that both General O'Hara and Colonel Webster had been wounded, that the Lord General had fired grapeshot into a mixed group of British and Colonials to break up a murderous tangle, that the Colonials were falling back.
Finally an order to charge the right and support the Hessians and the 1st Guards Battalion was relayed to Tavington. Better late than never, he thought. The cold was beginning to bother him, and clouds were forming and threatening rain. Charging down on the enemy, he saw that Harry Lee's men were already withdrawing. The remaining rebels, whom he perceived were Campbell's mountaineers, were retreating slowly, firing from tree to tree, but were easily overrun by the Dragoons. It had become a foxhunt, with the rebels fleeing into the brush, and some, like the unlucky fellow running before him, not quite making it.
Within another hundred feet, however, the horses began stumbling. The ground was too rough for them to manage, and rather than risk any precious horseflesh on an already routed enemy, Tavington rallied them and led them back. The skies opened, and they were caught in a torrential downpour.
We are in possession of the field, so we must be victorious, Tavington told himself, as he made his way to the Lord General. Cornwallis did not look like a man who had just won the day. Of course, none of them looked their best: plumes bedraggled and rain pouring from the corners of the tricorn hats as if they were downspouts. Cornwallis acknowledged him with a gruff, "Well done, Colonel," and Tavington was about to respond when unaccountably, there was blackness before him, and he felt himself sliding inexorably from his horse.
He awakened in his tent, still wet, and feeling uncomfortably cold. A lieutenant of Kinlock's troop, Hugh Davis, was sitting on a campstool nearby. Looking about, Tavington recognized Kinlock himself, talking quietly with Wilkins. Davis saw his eyes open.
"Captain Kinlock, Captain Wilkins!" he spoke up. "The Colonel is awake."
Tavington tried to sit up, but felt suddenly weak. He lay still, while his officers looked down at him, concerned.
Wilkins said, "Lie easy, Colonel. Smith's already had a look at you. He says it's just exhaustion."
Kinlock added sharply, "And maybe a bit of internal bleeding. So it's best you keep still, sir. There's nothing the surgeons can do for you, so you can doctor yourself with some sleep."
Tavington had to know what was going on. "But we took the field, did we not?"
"We took the field," agreed Kinlock darkly, "And there's plenty of our lads out there still lying in it."
"It's been hard to retrieve all the wounded in this bad weather, sir," Wilkins explained. He glumly added, "And there are a lot of wounded."
"Are the rumours true about O'Hara and Webster?"
"Both badly hurt, Colonel." Davis appeared with a blanket, and put it over Tavington.
Kinlock said shortly, "I saw General O'Hara myself. Wounded breast and thigh. But that was not what grieved him most."
"What, then?"
"His son Augustus, the artillery lieutenant, was killed early in the battle. O'Hara just got word of it."
"Poor fellow," said Tavington. He had always pictured any possible son of his own as a happy small boy. The idea of a child of his being killed in battle suddenly struck him, fully imagined, and horrible beyond enduring. He whispered again, "Poor fellow."
Within a few seconds, he was asleep.
Tavington was weak for the next few days. On the eighteenth, the wounded army moved to Bell's Mills. Tavington began to realise how lucky he had been even to have had shelter. Most of the army's tents and supplies were gone. The enemy wounded had been moved into the New Garden meeting house. Their own were loaded into the wagons that remained. The army would have to be resupplied through the coastal town of Wilmington, and was soon heading in that direction.
He hated riding in the wagon, but Cornwallis had insisted on it. Visiting him with considerable graciousness, Cornwallis had told him firmly that it was Tavington's duty to recover himself as quickly as possible. Valuable officers had been lost forever. The Lord General was plainly in distress about the state of Colonel Webster, a man he considered a personal friend.
Tavington took the opportunity to ask Smith, when the surgeon came by to have a look at him, about Webster's wound.
"It's bad, sir." Smith looked unhappy. "Shot in the knee."
"But I was shot," Tavington objected, "and that healed well---"
"Colonel, his bones were shattered," Smith said wearily. "There's no way on God's earth to put him right. He's in terrible pain, and it looks like the wound is mortifying." He tried to give Tavington a smile. "At least we won the battle, sir. That's something."
"Yes," agreed Tavington, with dry sarcasm. He thought of ancient battles, and quoted Pyrrhus, "Another such victory and we shall be ruined."
Author's notes: My sources for the battle of Guilford Courthouse are Guilford Courthouse by John Hairr (unsympathetic to the British, especially Tarleton), Christopher Hibbert's Red Coats and Rebels, and Tarleton's own memoirs, the Campaigns. The New Garden Road is also referred to as the Great Salisbury Road in some sources.
The chapter title is from Henry IV, Part One.
Pyrrhus, King of Epirus, was a great enemy of the Romans, and won victories from them at too high a price, from which we get the term Pyrrhic victory. Such was the battle of Guilford Courthouse. General Greene never won a battle against the British in the Carolinas; but his tactics of losing bloodily to his enemies while causing them even greater harm, and then moving off to fight another day proved brilliantly successful throughout his campaign in the South. Truly a man who thought in a very original way.
Banastre Tarleton was wounded in the hand during the early morning New Garden skirmish. I saw no reason to beat up further on poor Will, who is already held together with baling wire and spit. A mild relapse is quite enough for him to need the period of convalescence Tarleton took in March through mid-April 1781.