Charles, Earl Cornwallis, was not a happy man. Rather, he looked distinctly displeased as he addressed the meeting of officers he had called. Tavington cared little for his commander's unhappy looks, since he himself was not the cause of them on this occasion. It was soon revealed that the object of the Lord General's displeasure was his nominal commander, Sir Henry Clinton.
"It appears that Sir Henry has received intelligence that the Continentals are massing for a major assault on the city of New York. Sir Henry will be sending ships to bring us to his aid." Cornwallis' unhappiness was understandable. Instead of receiving reinforcements or assistance that would ensure their own campaign's success, they were to be shipped off again, and returned to the north, their work incomplete. Thinking about it, Tavington began to share his commander's discontent. It had all begun to seem like a mad chess game, with pieces scattered whimsically about a misshapen board. When would it end? When could he see Elizabeth again?
The ships would not arrive for at least a month. In that time, Cornwallis was still to scout out a good naval base, and their raids were to continue. Tavington decided that he would not write to Elizabeth about his departure for the north until it had actually taken place. The situation could change, and they might find themselves ordered to Charlestown, instead. Tavington smiled at the thought.
O'Hara passed by, and saw the smile on Tavington's face. He had been talking about Lafayette to Colonel Abercrombie, and thought Tavington had overheard. He asked, "Ready to have a go at the damned Froggie, Colonel? He's still in the neighborhood. With any luck, we'll have a chance to come to grips with him before we're all shipped out.""The sooner the better, General."
O'Hara had been a quieter man since the death of his son, and their shared troubles made him less interested in baiting Tavington. The officers in Cornwallis' small army were all getting on rather well at the present time. Unfortunately, the great rivalry between their own commander and Sir Henry Clinton overshadowed all. It's a shame the army has to be so political, Tavington thought. When the war is over, I shall certainly not miss these petty jealousies and the endless mischief they cause.
They received word that Lafayette was nearby--at Tyree's plantation, in fact--and would be celebrating the rebels' Fourth of July in grand style. A number of the escaped slaves who had joined them were effective spies, and had gone out to observe Lafayette's forces and the troops under Anthony Wayne.
Cornwallis wanted to move the army across the James River, and was anticipating an attack: it would take two days to get the army across the wide passage, and the rebels would have to be complete fools not to make an attempt on them at such a time. He had called in the regimental commanders to reveal a plan he had devised to trick and repulse Lafayette and Wayne. Tavington and the British Legion were essential to his strategy.
"You are the bait, Colonel," his commander coolly declared. He then showed Tavington a map of the area around Green Springs Farm. Tavington had to admit that the Lord General had found a strong position. The Green Dragoons were to make the rebels believe that they were the rearguard protecting the baggage; when in fact, the baggage would already have crossed the river. Meanwhile, they would contest every step, in a fighting retreat, luring the rebels over the causeway crossing the marsh, to the troops hidden in the woods just in front of the river.
Tavington proposed an embellishment. "Why don't we send out some men, posing as deserters, to give the rebels false intelligence?" The Lord General was interested. "I have a man or two who could approach the rebels, tell them that only the British Legion is between them and the baggage, and convince them to charge in without scouting. Once we are engaged, it will not occur to them to doubt the men's story."
"Have them ready to set out by dawn, Colonel," Cornwallis agreed. The meeting broke up, and Tavington left to find his spies. He took thought of Fergus McDonald, the dragoon who was always ready for the most desperate deeds; and with him he decided to send one of the escaped slaves who had been with them for awhile, the one named Strephon. They were both clever fellows, and would make a good story of it, while being resourceful enough to get back alive to the British.
McDonald, when told of the plan, was clearly excited; and then, thinking what he could make of it, hinted that some solid evidence of his Colonel's confidence would make the task easier. Tavington paid him three guineas. When Strephon, the former slave, was brought in, he too was eager for the mission, but seemed to want some other kind of reward.
"If I does this, Colonel, then you'll see I'm a man you can trust. Then maybe you might have other things I could do."
Tavington wondered what he was getting at. "Other things?"
"Well, Colonel," said the black man, shaking his head, "It seems to me that you could use some looking after." As Tavington's brows rose at this observation, Strephon explained. "You need a regular servant, Colonel, to take care of you."
"You are asking to be my valet?" Tavington was amused.
"Yes, sir. Gentlemen always take a lot of looking after, and I figure that won't change if the war ends or not. I did this kind of work before, sir, for my old master, and I guess I can do it for you."
"I would pay you, of course; but now that you're free, wouldn't you prefer some other kind of work?"
"A man's got to eat, sir. Taking care of gentlemen is what I know how to do. I always worked in the house 'til I ran away. I can take care of your things, sir, and shave you, and I can sew some. I can cook a little, and I know how to serve dinner and how to polish up silver real nice. And I figure it's better than digging ditches for the army, which is what they got me doing now."
Tavington laughed shortly. "You may not like me any better than your old master, Strephon."
The freedman gave a bitter half-smile. "Colonel, there is no way you could ever treat me as bad as my old master. 'Cause if you did, I would just leave."
McDonald and Strephon had set out that morning to find the rebels. Tavington and the Legion were not far from the causeway when, early in the afternoon, they saw Wayne's advance guard approaching. They were moving fast, and from that first moment, Tavington was ready to swear that the trick had worked.
It was a long, hot, grim business. Tavington had set out advance pickets, which were slowly driven back. The dragoons funneled carefully towards the causeway, wreaking all the havoc they could. Tavington knew the full worth of John Wilde's fine pistols that day. It seemed he could not miss. By three o'clock, their slow retreat had them headed toward the waiting troops. The marsh surrounding the causeway prevented the enemy from making any flanking movement. A few had tried it, and had been miserably caught in the muck, leaving them easy targets for a man with an accurate pistol. Tavington smirked, briefly anticipating the meticulous cleaning he would bestow on these beauties that night.
They were being pressed harder now. Lafayette must have brought up more troops. Once off the long causeway, Tavington ordered the men to pull back quickly to the river. The rebels, believing their enemy trapped, raced after them, baying like hunting hounds. As the rebels arrived on firmer ground, they formed in line, and advanced. The British had left one of the cannons by the river crossing, as if abandoned. Some of the Continentals were sent on ahead of the advancing line, to capture it.
This was the signal for the British to emerge from the dense woods, close ranks in front of the Dragoons, and advance on the enemy. Shocked, the rebels faltered. Anthony Wayne, their commander, rallied them at once; and Tavington could hear volleys being exchanged. For the Dragoons waiting behind the infantry, the course of the battle became a matter of guesswork; for the increasingly dense gunsmoke prevented them from seeing what was happening. The afternoon was nearly over, and Tavington was longing to rejoin the fight. The Legion's casualties in the skirmish had been minor. The smoke drifted back over the river like fog. Across the wide James, he could see some of the Queen's Rangers, guarding the baggage. After a while, they too were invisible.
Time passed, and Tavington grew impatient. He could see from the movement of the troops in front of them, that they must be pushing the Continentals back. The light was fading: soon it would be twilight. The movement before him quickened. The rebels must be retreating. Tavington rode over to find Cornwallis. The Lord General was grimly pleased at the success of his trap, but denied Tavington's request to pursue over the causeway.
"No, Colonel, I cannot risk any more lives. You and your men are earmarked by Sir Henry to reinforce his troops in New York. Defending ourselves is one thing, but engaging Lafayette further in a major battle could be interpreted by Sir Henry as insubordination on my part. Besides, it grows too dark for a safe pursuit. In the morning, you will take the Dragoons out to scout the enemy's positions, while we ferry the army over."
"But, my lord, we have them! We could---"
"That is an order, Colonel," said Cornwallis, firmly. Tavington gave him a nod, and withdrew. Frustrated, he rode back to the Legion.
Captain Hovenden and his troop were closest, looking eager. Tavington caught his eye, and shook his head at him. Disappointed, Hovenden muttered something to his brother, Lieutenant Moore Hovenden, beside him. Tavington rode on, and passed the word to the rest of his officers. They largely felt as he did: that they were missing a splendid opportunity to savage the defeated rebels. Nonetheless, there was nothing for it. They must encamp, and wait for daylight.
They ate the tasteless rations, sitting glumly around the fires that night. The other regiments' spirits were high, in celebration of their resounding little victory. The Dragoons, however, despite their successful long skirmish in the afternoon, felt that fate had somehow passed them by. Tavington hoped they did not someday regret the Lord General's caution.
Two figures were making their way from fire to fire. Tavington could hear laughter at each stop, as they approached him. He soon saw that McDonald and Strephon had indeed made a safe escape from the rebels, and were now regaling the others with the story of their adventure.
They saw him, and came forward. McDonald was grinning; Strephon was quietly bursting with pride. They saluted, and Tavington gave them a nod. "Well done, both of you. Whatever you told them answered our need. I am glad to see you alive."
McDonald grinned even more widely, showing the gaps of missing teeth. "Well, Colonel, I had just come into some money, and was bound I'd live to spend it." Tavington laughed and dismissed him, then turned to Strephon.
"Well done, Strephon. I seem to have found myself a valet."
"Thank you, Colonel. You won't ever be sorry. I could start right away, and clean up your weapons and such—"
"Strephon, one thing you must always remember: I take care of my own weapons."
"Well, then, sir, your boots don't look too---"
"Oh, very well," said Tavington indulgently. He sat on a nearby log with his pistols and a rag for cleaning them. Strephon squatted down, and set to polishing his boots. Tavington began to think having a servant of his own might be a very good thing. Strephon was clever, brave, and not overly talkative. Tavington had had his share of Dragoon orderlies-- private soldiers assigned to him as servants--but they were first and foremost, soldiers, and they often left much to be desired as valets. Whereas, he noticed, Strephon was doing a fine job.
He consoled himself for the lost pursuit by seeing to his beautiful pistols with loving care. Wiping them off first, he then worked the ramrod, wrapped in a bit of rag, back and forth inside the barrels, cleaning away all of the powder residue. The motion made him think of other things. He sighed; and once again, thought that he really should have married Elizabeth back in Camden.
The Dragoons found the rebels' camp the next day, but, following orders, did not engage them. Tavington was still of two minds about this. The rebels, though they had a large force and many fresh troops, were disheartened by yesterday's defeat. True, the Legion would have taken casualties, but they might have inflicted more. Regretfully, Tavington noted the enemy's dispositions, and then turned away to ferry over the James River and report to the Lord General.
Within a few days, his commander had a new mission for him.
Cornwallis had received intelligence of a large arms depot in southwestern Virginia, at the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains. These arms and supplies were destined for Greene in South Carolina. Tavington was to destroy these supplies, and thus damage Greene's campaign in the south.
Strephon had wanted to go along, but Tavington and his men could take only the barest of gear on their own mounts: their weapons and ammunition, some rations, a few personal items, and their horsemen's cloaks for blankets. Tavington gave Strephon an advance on his wages, and instructions to see to his linen and other belongings while he was away. It would be a 400-mile round trip, in the heat of summer, and hard on men and horses. Virginia was, Tavington decided, slightly more bearable than South Carolina—but not much.
And after all, it was very nearly for nothing. The Lord General's information was faulty. On his arrival, Tavington discovered that the supplies had been shipped south over a month before. There was still raiding to be done, but the goal of their exhausting ride was a phantom. The one good thing about the journey was the large number of fine horses they confiscated. Visiting the farms of the known rebels from the Continental Army and the Assembly, they began gathering together some of the best horses Tavington had even seen. At last all of his Dragoons would have first-rate mounts. They could bring along the remainder.
At the farm of an absent assemblyman, Tavington had his eye on one horse in particular. A beautiful little black mare, spirited and quick-footed, was alone in a paddock. Tavington noted that she shied away from the grooms and flicked her ears in alarm at his approach. Wilkins was with him and shook his head.
"A pretty little thing, but she's too small for a cavalry charger. She can't be more than what—fourteen hands high? What do you want with her, Colonel?"
Tavington smiled. "She's not for me, Wilkins."
Wilkins was puzzled, and then understood. "Oh, you want her for Lizzie!"
"Yes." Tavington was quite entranced with the mare. She had everything one could wish for in a lady's hunter, and she was beautiful: with large, soft, intelligent eyes, and a lively temper. Too lively, perhaps; for she was tense, and Tavington wondered if she had been ill treated in the past. As he approached her, she jumped. Tavington wondered if it was the sound of his spurs, and he quickly removed them. The mare quieted, and Tavington walked up to her, making himself as unthreatening as possible.
Speaking softly to the little mare, he explained at length why she would be wise to make friends with him.
"My beauty, I really think you should surrender gracefully. If you are a sufficiently good girl, I shall take you away from these uncouth rebels. You will belong to a lovely lady, who would never touch you with a spur, and would treat you like the Queen of Horses." The mare eyed him cautiously, swishing her tail, and ready to flinch if struck. Tavington patiently kept his voice low, and began stroking her neck gently. "If I leave without you, you will always regret it. These bumpkins cannot possibly appreciate you." The mare seemed to agree, for she stood more quietly, allowing his caresses.
Tavington accepted a bridle from a groom, and slipped it on her. She tossed her head a little, but calmed down eventually. Tavington had gotten a look at her teeth: she was young, certainly not more than five years old. He held her head, speaking soothingly, while the groom put a blanket on her. When he put on her saddle, she began trembling, and Tavington redoubled his blandishments. He motioned to the groom to get away. Then he mounted her smoothly, with no frightening movements.
Between his thighs, he could feel her aliveness. She quivered, evidently fearing a painful experience; so Tavington allowed her to become accustomed to his weight before asking anything else of her. Some of the slaves and the dragoons gathered. The grooms were explaining to the onlookers how the mare had gotten into bad habits; shying away from riders, and striking out when startled.
When Tavington urged her to a walk, she jumped again, but he was firm with her. Walking her around for awhile, he then persuaded her to a trot, and then a canter.
"Open the gate," he called to the groom. Cantering out, he took her into a grassy meadow, and let her run. At first, she would still flinch at the feel of his heels, but she was obeying more readily, no longer expecting him to harm her. Tavington maneuvered the mare around the field, enjoying her grace and responsiveness. She had a pleasantly smooth gait, and was fast enough to please her future rider. He put her through her paces, disciplining her with gentle hands and hard thighs, until she moved willingly at his touch.
He dismounted, and patted her flank. Standing beside her, he let her graze for a little, while he asked her opinion about a good name for her.
"Elizabeth's last mare was named Zenobia, if I recollect aright. The warrior queen of Palmyra. What shall we call you?"
The mare was still, but listening. He ran a hand along her glossy withers, thinking.
"The Queen of Ethiopia—Candace. How does that sound to you?" The mare raised her head and snuffled softly into his hand. He gathered her reins up, and mounted her again. This time, she submitted to his commands without reluctance.
"Candace it shall be. And now let us leave this rebel-infested place, my queen."
They rejoined the army at its headquarters in Suffolk by July 24th. Cornwallis was disappointed by the failure to destroy the supplies, but was consoled by the horses, coming out to admire them at length. He found a big grey for himself as a spare mount. Since having his charger shot out from under him back in February, he was adamant about having a possible replacement in case of misfortune. Tavington refrained from asking him what they should do for a replacement in case the party shot was not the horse, but the rider.
In a jovial mood over his splendid new acquisition, Cornwallis invited Tavington to join him in a glass of port.
"It appears, Colonel, that none of us will be going to New York in the near future. I have had further communication from Sir Henry. He indicates that a naval base in the Chesapeake is of the highest moment; and that I am to move on to Old Point Comfort and Hampton Road, to assess their suitability for the purpose. Since I must create proper defenses for such a base, I am to detain what forces I deem necessary. We may be here for some time."
"And I, my lord?"
"Prepare your men. We will march to Portsmouth. You will continue on, with most of the cavalry, to Norfolk. There are some supplies collected there. Your men may make use of them."
Tavington thanked him, bowed, and left. Supplies! Tavington wondered what they would find. After the past year, the Legion's uniforms and equipment were faded, ragged, and in general disrepair. Some men needed new weapons.
Returning to the Legion encampment, Tavington passed on the orders, and found Strephon glad to see him. His new manservant had indeed taken care of his belongings. His linen was washed and mended, and also, somehow, ironed as well. The perfectly pressed stockings brought a smile to Tavington's lips.
"Well done, Strephon."
"I did just like you told me, Colonel. You sure have some mighty pretty shirts. Nobody'd mind ironing them."
On their arrival at Norfolk, Tavington immediately routed out the supplies the Lord General had permitted him. At last the Legion was properly outfitted, tailored, supplied, and equipped. Looking out at the ocean, Tavington recalled his Xenophon, and the march of the ten thousand to the sea. Well, we are no ten thousand, unfortunately, but we have endured as much as they. The men were in high spirits, admiring themselves and each other in their fresh uniforms. Inadequate weapons were discarded; and Strephon was able to obtain a damaged pistol, which he repaired carefully and added to the pair of knives he always wore.
Tavington clothed him properly, explaining that his new manservant must do him credit. As well as a good shirt, decent brown coat, breeches, and waistcoat, Tavington saw to it that he had a sturdy pair of boots, and shoes in addition for less rugged occasions. Strephon was delighted at his new splendor, though the weapons slung over him made him look a little like a pirate, albeit a prosperous one.
Cornwallis informed his officers that the engineers had determined that Old Point Comfort would not do for a base. Within a few days, they were to proceed further upriver to Gloucester point, and to Yorktown.
Author's notes: Tarleton, in his account of the action at Green Springs, tells us he "gave money and encouraging promises to a Negro and a Dragoon, to communicate false intelligence."
The story of Tarleton and the black horse is one of the most colourful in the Tarleton apocrypha. The story has Tarleton brutally mastering a fierce black stallion with the aid of enormous spurs, which I feel does not do justice to Tarleton's fabled horsemanship. There is an essay on the Tarleton website suggesting a fictional origin for the story in a novel of Sir Walter Scott's. I also sense an echo of the ancient and lovely tale of Alexander and Bucephalus, in which the theme is not mastery, but the bond of love and sympathy between man and horse. I made the horse a mare because I am subversive, because I can, and because it serves the purposes of my story.
Xenophon's Anabasis, variously rendered as the March of the Ten Thousand, The March to the Sea, or the March Upcountry, recounts one the great adventures of all time. The true story of an army of Greek mercenaries fighting its way out of hostile territory, it would have been studied by Tavington in school, and would still speak to him as a man.