CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: True Friends
New York was more than a city. It was an army camp, the largest in the world. Tavington had arrived November 19 with the rest of the army that had given its parole. The war was over for him now.
The month before arriving, subsequent to the surrender, had been thoroughly disagreeable and occasionally humiliating. A number of reconciliatory dinners had been held by the Colonials for their British counterparts: dinners from which Tavington had been pointedly excluded.
The unpleasantness had begun early, with an ugly scene at one of the conferences. Cornwallis and his officers had been discussing the mechanics of the evacuation with Washington , Lafayette and their staff. Tavington was seated at the table between O'Hara and Abercrombie, when a number of Colonial officers entered the room. Washington looked up and spoke a greeting to Harry Burwell. Next to Burwell was an unknown French officer, and beside him, Colonel Benjamin Martin.
Martin's eyes met Tavington's, and a moment later, the militiaman had launched himself over the conference table, knife drawn.
Tavington kicked his chair back instantly, caught Martin's knife hand, and the two men crashed grappling to the floor together.
Cornwallis was shouting, red with fury, "This is the conduct of your officers at a parley?"
Martin was trying to grip Tavington by the throat. He snarled. "You should be dead, you bastard!"
Pulling Martin's fingers back to the breaking point, Tavington hissed in his old enemy's ear, "Apparently you're no better at killing me than your son was."
Washington threw an icy glance at Burwell and his own staff. Immediately a half-dozen men were pulling Martin away. Tavington lifted his knee in an unobtrusive but painful blow to speed his assailant's departure. He got to his feet, straightening his jacket. O'Hara put a restraining hand on his arm. The Colonials could barely hold the enraged Martin. The Frenchman accompanying him did not bother to try, and examined Tavington curiously, as if seeing some species of vermin that needed speedy eradication.
Burwell was trying to quiet Martin, a friendly remonstrance in his ear, "Ben----Ben----let it go. This isn't the place----"
"He killed my sons," said Martin, hoarsely.
Some of the officers murmured among themselves. O'Hara spoke up, unimpressed. "For all I know," he coldly told Martin, "you might have killed mine."
There was a brief silence, broken only by Martin's heavy breathing. Washington and Cornwallis caught the other's eye.
Washington commanded calmly, "I believe Colonel Martin needs some time to compose himself. If you gentlemen would see to it…"
With no further comment, Burwell and his friends hustled Martin from the room. Washington looked at Tavington a moment longer, a frosty regard that made Tavington glad, in retrospect, that he had had the Lord General to deal with. The conference resumed.
After that, Tavington had remained in his quarters a great deal; going out to regularly exercise Aeolus or Candace, sometimes dining with his subordinates from the Legion, but most frequently moping over a book. Strephon was quietly sympathetic, but not obtrusive, and Tavington found his presence soothing. Tavington was still grieving for Wilkins. He hated to see the faithful fellow's trunk among his possessions. He had not felt able to open it yet, and would not enjoy writing to Elizabeth about her cousin's death.
One night, returning to the inn where he was staying, he had found his bed hacked to pieces, a broken window showing how his would-be assailant had gained entry. He wondered if it had been Martin, or men of his. There was no way to seek proper satisfaction in his current circumstances.
He had appealed to some of the French officers, who had been shocked at the breach of military etiquette shown by the attack. Some of them had turned out to be rather decent fellows, and Tavington spent a few idle hours polishing his rusty French with them. These officers had spoken to the Colonials, and made it clear that Tavington's safety was a matter of honour for them. There were no further disturbances. He heard that Martin had been sent home.
As he undressed one night, he looked again at his scars from Cowpens. Martin had marked him forever: but, he reminded himself, I marked him as well. And here I am, alive and well, while his two sons are rotting in their graves. If there is a balance-sheet of men's affairs kept somewhere, I believe I must still be considered the winner.
He and Cornwallis had plotted together to slip one last thing past the Colonials. On the first of the ships evacuating the British, they had taken care to load the Loyalist officers and men who might be prosecuted for treason by the rebel government. The Colonials would not agree to any provision in the terms of surrender protecting these men, and Tavington was not about to allow their loyalty to be rewarded with a noose. Nearly the entire remaining Legion had been safely evacuated to New York.
What now? His men were encamped and going through the motions of drill and discipline, but plainly the British Legion no longer had any reason for existence. Some of the men had taken to military life, and he could see they were transferred to permanent regiments. Tavington, like many of his men, wanted to leave the army, and make a start elsewhere.
He wrote to Elizabeth, telling her of her cousin's fate, telling her of his own situation: that he had given his parole, that he was in New York in lodgings on Queen's Street, and that he wished more than anything in the world that she and her sisters would join him as soon as possible. He thought of her with tenderness mixed with anxiety. After so many weary months, does she still want me? Perhaps she has changed her mind. Perhaps the thought of taking ship for New York and leaving everything she has known will be too fearsome. He patted the pocket nearest his heart, the one that held the emerald ring that he hoped she would soon be wearing.
With the city so crowded, he had been lucky to find shabby but decent lodgings that would accommodate himself and his future family. The landlady had, with some persuasion, given Strephon a small garret room upstairs. Tavington certainly was not going to make his manservant sleep on the floor of his lodgings. Strephon was pleased to have a room of his own for the first time in his life, and enjoyed using his wages to buy himself some small comforts for it.
The King's commissioners were making every effort to provide for the hordes of refugees. New York was the great embarkation point. Former Crown officials, farmers, ex-soldiers, widows and children, terrified blacks fearing re-enslavement: thousands were crowding into the city and looking to Britain to help them. To its credit, the King's government seemed determined to do so. It was plainly going to be a great and time-consuming enterprise, however. While the British still held Charlestown and Savannah, it seemed only a matter of time before those cities, too, were evacuated, and even more unhappy refugees arrived in New York, seeking help.
Tavington had thought long and hard about what to do. Opportunities were there: he had to choose the right one. Some of his officers, like Kinlock, were going to Britain. Others, like Alan Cameron, were off to seek adventure in Europe. Some were interested in going up the St. Lawrence River deeper into Canada, and were joining a party that would be traveling there in the spring. A few were sailing south, to take up planting in British Florida, or in the West Indies. Many more would be going to Nova Scotia, to settle there.
He was walking up the Broadway, thinking to himself, when a remembered voice called out, "Colonel! Colonel Tavington!"
He looked in the direction of the voice, and suddenly felt a hundred times better. "My dear Bordon! This is splendid!" He crossed the street and gave his old captain a hearty handshake. "My dear fellow, I am glad to see you looking so well!"
Bordon, indeed, was not looking too badly, though thinner and paler than he had been in his days with the Green Dragoons. He was not alone. A lady was beside Bordon, her arm in his, and she was plainly in an interesting condition. Tavington was waiting to be introduced, when he recognized her.
"Polly Featherstone!"
"Mrs. Bordon," corrected his friend, firmly. Polly cast an apprehensive glance at Tavington, as if fearing he would denounce her as a trollop in the very street. She certainly did not look the part: she had, rather, grown both softer and prettier, glowing as many women in her condition often did.
Tavington bowed courteously over her hand. "Mrs. Bordon, what a great pleasure to see yet another good friend. I wish you both every happiness, indeed." They looked each at the others for a moment, sorting out the new relationships and new manners required of them. Bordon smiled.
"Perhaps you would do us the honour of dining with us at our lodgings tonight?"
Tavington returned the smile, "The honour would be mine, sir." Life in New York began to take on a pleasanter aspect.
The Bordons' lodgings, though not very elegant, had the advantage of a very good cook. Tavington felt uncommonly relaxed and happy sitting there over a glass of wine. Bordon was full of information: he had been working on the staff here in New York since July, and had been collecting information about the various places the government was settling the loyal people. Bordon himself was inclined toward Nova Scotia.
"I've had enough of heat and insects to last me a lifetime. The weather, though cold in the winter, is temperate in the summer months. One has to be careful though; some of the places there are better than others for the crops."
Bordon, it seemed, quite fancied something in the Annapolis valley. It had been settled by the French, now exiled since 1755. One could still find the remains of their homes and orchards, it was said. It was a sheltered place, with fertile soil, and not likely to be the object of much political contention.
"Some New Englanders have already gone there, I hear, but I have nothing against Yankees. Hard-working, decent people enough, as long you keep your wits about you when they're driving a bargain."
The landlady entered, wanting a word with Bordon. He excused himself, and left his wife and Tavington sitting together. A clock ticked off the time in the silence.
Polly spoke first. "Colonel, I am very obliged to you for your kindness today. I was afraid—you know what I have been, and I know I am not nearly good enough for Hugh—"
"My dear Mrs. Bordon," said Tavington quietly, "all I have ever wanted was a fresh start in life. Do not imagine I would deny a friend the same chance."
She smiled. "I always knew you were a good man." Tavington gave a sardonic laugh, and shook his head. "You are," she insisted, "much better than you think." She grew a little sad, and toyed with her half-empty wineglass. "I still think about him sometimes; about my Major, you know. Do you think me wicked?"
"I think it would be worse to forget him altogether." She still looked sad, and Tavington added, "I know he would be very glad to see you so happy and well-cared-for. And so healthy." He gave a sly glance at her burgeoning belly, and she smiled, a little embarrassed. He repeated, "I know it: and you must never doubt it."
Tavington felt much happier since coming upon the Bordons. It made the time spent waiting for a letter from Elizabeth easier to bear. He began thinking over what Bordon had said about Nova Scotia. Perhaps it was the right place for him, as well. He doubted that Elizabeth and the girls would care much for cold winters, but perhaps they might enjoy a release from the overpowering heat and damp of South Carolina summers. He had already made it clear to Elizabeth that he had no desire to live permanently in a place like Florida or Jamaica, with the ever-present danger of fever.
Coming back to his rooms one evening, he was thrilled to find a letter waiting for him; and then cruelly disappointed to see that it was not from Elizabeth, but was, instead, an invitation to a ball.
Lord Cornwallis and a number of the other generals and senior officers were leaving New York December 20th. There already had been a round of parties and entertainments. Some Tavington had attended: some he had not. They were dull indeed without Elizabeth. The ball was set for December 17th. Unless he heard from her with extraordinary rapidity, there was no chance she could be here to attend. Once again, he would be at a ball without the lady with whom he actually wished to dance. He wondered if he would ever have the opportunity at all.
In the end, he decided he would attend, and he would take Bordon with him. Polly's confinement was upon her; her condition now too far advanced for her to venture out in public. Bordon would enjoy the spectacle, and then could tell Polly all about it. Tavington would have someone with whom he could sneer at the other attendees. It seemed the best solution all around.
Strephon was delighted at the opportunity to show his skills in preparing his Colonel for the ball. Tavington flatly refused powder, which he thought a filthy custom, but he allowed to Strephon to shave him carefully, and dress his hair in a more fashionable style.
"If you make such a to-do over a ball, Strephon, whatever would you do were I to marry?"
Strephon was intent on Tavington's side-curls, and answered, "I'd do my best, Colonel. We servants got to have our pride too."
They lounged about the edges of the dancers, admiring a pretty face here, and decrying a pompous bore there. Bordon was obviously trying to memorise the dresses and ornaments of the ladies, in order to deliver a full report to Polly. Tavington was briefly distracted by one young woman with a fine pair of dark eyes, when he heard a new arrival announced.
"His Royal Highness, the Duke of Clarence!"
Tavington experienced a moment of surprise, and then remembered something being said about one of the King's sons being in New York. This was the one in the Navy, said to be a better sort than some of his layabout brothers. Tavington looked him over. Why, he's nothing but a boy! Then he rebuked himself. The young prince must be sixteen or seventeen; no younger than Tavington himself when he had first joined the army. He had heard that the Duke had seen action with Admiral Rodney in the action off Cape St. Vincent; so he, at least, knew what it was to risk his life for King (his own father!) and Country.
He pointed the prince out to Bordon, and then they had gone to look at the card players. Look at, only; for Tavington had no intention of risking a penny at this point. The gamesters were indeed playing high, and after awhile, the two of them strolled off to admire the ladies again. There was a mad air of gaiety about the place; a sort of carpe diem! (or noctem, corrected Tavington) in the fevered looks of the dancers; a desperate drive to prove to themselves and others that all cares were forgotten, all worries suspended in honour of the festivities.
Tavington saw Cornwallis across the room, talking with measured benevolence to some of his cronies. He wondered what his general's plans were; how he would console himself for his paradise lost in Ohio. At least he has a home to return to, thought Tavington. That's more than many here can claim. O'Hara was nearby—O'Hara, whose son lay in an unmarked grave in North Carolina, and all, it now seemed, for nothing.
He took a sip of wine, and suddenly heard a loud voice in his ear.
"Will you not introduce me to this gentleman, Morris?"
Tavington turned, and found himself being stared at by the rather pop-eyed but well meaning young Duke of Clarence. Tavington was presented to him, and found that the young prince knew quite a bit about him already.
"Surely you're not surprised, Colonel? All the papers were full of you: dashing about here, there, and everywhere---putting the fear of God in the damned rebels! I can still say that, can I not?" he appealed to his escort. "I can still call them rebels?"
Tavington smiled, "Your Royal Highness, I think you can call them anything you like."
The young Duke burst out laughing. "Right you are, Colonel! No rebels about tonight! We're all friends here, and no one to give a fig what the rebels think!" He saw Bordon nearby, and asked, "Is this your friend, sir? Would you not make him known to me?"
"Sir, allow me to present my good friend Captain Bordon. We served in the British Legion together."
"Another damned fine fellow! Were you wounded, too?"
"Indeed I was, your Royal Highness."
The Duke looked at Bordon so owlishly that Tavington became a little alarmed, wondering if the Duke would actually demand a public display of said wounds, but he was relieved when the Duke spoke again.
"You're as fine a pair of fellows as ever I saw! Prodigious fine fellows!"
How much wine has he had?
The Duke was not yet tired of his new acquaintances. "So, Colonel, what next for you and your friend here? Are you returning with the fleet on the 20th?
"No sir," replied Tavington, "I am remaining here with the Legion---"
"Staying true to your men." The Duke became misty-eyed. "Damned good of you. Sticking with the army, then?"
"No, sir." The Duke's eyebrows rose precipitously. Tavington explained, "I was hoping for a land grant from the Crown."
"Want to be a farmer, do you, Colonel? I expected you'd be the sort to stay with the army to the bitter end."
"Actually, sir, even the Romans thought twenty years of service enough."
"And now you want to retire to your farm, in the old Roman way." The Duke was enraptured at the idea. "So where is it?"
Tavington said uneasily, "Sir, I don't know. We shall all have to wait and see---"
"Nonsense!" shouted the Duke, outraged. "Damned nonsense! A pair of prodigious fine fellows like the two of you! Wounded in the wars! It's a scandal! 'Begrudging Belisarius an obol!'" The Duke's voice had risen to such a pitch that Cornwallis and his friends, and even some of the dancers, were looking on with interest. Tavington felt his face growing hot.
The Duke's companions whispered in his ear, and he calmed down a little. "Damned nonsense, anyway," he muttered. He nodded to Tavington, then to Bordon. "An honour to meet you, Colonel Tavington, and you too, Captain. You'll find that Britannia is not an ungrateful mistress!" He stalked away, leaving a relieved Tavington in his wake. He and Bordon exchanged carefully neutral looks, though each knew the other's thought.
Bordon said, "It is getting late. I must go home to Polly and see how she is."
"Oh, indeed," smirked Tavington. "You mean you cannot wait to tell her about being put on public display tonight."
Bordon attempted gravity, but allowed himself a discreet smile. "No, I cannot wait. When you are married, you will find that you will not want to wait, either."
"I'll stay a little longer," said Tavington. "I don't want everyone here to imagine that I'm slinking away because of the Duke's absurd scene. You go on. I shall call in a day or two, and your lady can laugh at me then."
He made a late breakfast the next morning. He had certainly not been drunk the night before, but was a little groggy for all that. Strephon was carefully quiet, and had brushed his hair out gently, doing it up in a plain queue without the usual discussion. Tavington was hardly halfway through his first cup of tea, when the door burst open, and a distraught maidservant rushed at him, agog.
"Sir, sir, you must come at once!"
Tavington rose, alarmed. Visions of Polly Bordon dying in childbed, of a fire, of another military disaster flashed before him. "What is it?" he asked, urgently.
The maid was incoherent. "Oh, you must come, sir!" She actually grabbed his hand, and he was pulled, still holding his teacup, down the hall. Abruptly, the girl stopped, and Tavington cannoned into her. Unheeding, the girl announced, "His Royal Highness the Duke of Clarence!"
"No, I believe that would be me," said the young prince in the entryway. Tavington shut his mouth carefully, hoping he had not gaped too long. The apparition, still in his dress uniform of the night before, radiated cordiality at him. "Well, Colonel, put on your cloak! We're off to those clerks to have them do right by you!'
The girl ran frantically to fetch Tavington's cloak, but Strephon was coming down the stairs, cloak already in hand. Tavington set down his teacup and flung the cloak around his shoulders, following the Duke out the door to a waiting carriage. To his astonishment, Bordon was inside, a bemused but happy smile on his face.
The office was like an anthill stepped upon by a giant. The officers and clerks there rushed to see the royal personage visiting their domain. The Duke announced that his particular friends, Colonel Tavington and Captain Bordon, required their land grants at once.
"But where, Your Royal Highness?" asked a sensible senior clerk.
"Where was it, Colonel?" asked the Duke.
Tavington paused, at a loss.
"The Annapolis Valley in Nova Scotia," prompted Bordon.
"The Annapolis Valley in Nova Scotia," repeated Tavington.
The Duke beamed. "The Annapolis Valley in Nova Scotia," he informed the clerk.
It all happened with extraordinary speed. Their grants were completed, stamped, and delivered into their hands within the hour, while the Duke condescended to take some refreshment. Tavington and Bordon were given five thousand and two thousand acres respectively, the usual amounts based on rank. Bordon looked over the locations and specifics and seemed satisfied. Tavington felt a little dazed. Everything he had struggled to win for so many long years had suddenly dropped into his hands like a gift from heaven. So this is what having influence on one's behalf is like.
Before he left, he spoke to the senior clerk about the Legion. The clerk, Samuel Wiles, was patient and reassuring. "No one's being forgotten, sir; everyone will get his share in the end. There are thousands of claims, and we need time to work through them, that's all. The British Legion is on the list, and we have people we will send out who will do the survey and plot out their holdings for them. Never fear. No one will be left behind."
The Duke took them back, at their request, to Bordon's lodgings. They stood outside, as the Duke drove away, and Bordon observed, "One never knows when one will meet a true friend."
"No," agreed Tavington, thinking of Miss Everleigh, and then, with a pang, of Wilkins. "No, indeed."
They went in to find Polly and inform her of their unlooked-for good fortune. She was tolerably composed, having recovered from the shock of a royal duke walking into her bedchamber early that morning, as she lay asleep.
Tavington sat down at their table and stared at his grant for a long minute. Bordon smiled at him ironically, with a lift of his eyebrows. Suddenly, Tavington began to laugh helplessly. Bordon joined in; while Polly, tutting at the absurdity of men, took care that they not set their papers in the jam.
Author's notes: Truth is Stranger than Fiction, Part I; Banastre Tarleton was banned from the surrender festivities just as I show Tavington as having been; and the attempt on his life at the inn is also factual. It was not hard to weave Benjamin Martin into this, even though there were no units of South Carolina militia actually at Yorktown. Thanks to Kontara for reminding me that Ben and the boys are shown there in the film!
Truth is Stranger than Fiction, Part II: The Duke of Clarence, the future King William IV, was indeed in New York at the time described, and he met and befriended Banastre Tarleton. It was no great leap of imagination to make him Tavington's deus ex machina (or fairy godfather, if you prefer).
Belisarius was the great general of Emperor Justinian II. "Grudging Belisarius his obol" is a saying born of a legend that the general ended a beggar due to imperial ingratitude.
Queen's Street is now Pearl Street in Manhattan.
It has been estimated that nearly 100,000 Loyalists left by way of New York, a large percentage of the population at the time (the total population of the thirteen colonies was only about 2.5 million). This number does not include the loyalists from upstate New York and points north, who crossed the border on foot or on horseback into Canada; the southerners who went directly to Florida or the West Indies; or the loyalists who simply moved out to the frontier where no one knew them. There were also many loyalists who were able to hold on and eventually live at peace with their old neighbors under the new government.
And now, dear readers, William Tavington and Banastre Tarleton must shake hands in farewell. Tarleton is embarking with Cornwallis on December 20, 1781, to return to England and take up the spirited and dissipated life of a wealthy Georgian rake. Tavington's further adventures, perforce, will be different, but there are still a few chapters to go.