The British Legion campaigns in Virginia, and talk of peace is in the air.
Chapter 8: Destiny in Virginia
It was difficult to come to grips with the enemy, when the enemy kept slipping away, and setting up a government elsewhere.
When Cornwallis' army finally joined with the force under General Phillips, the Lord General found himself in command of a respectable little army. Phillips' ill health caused much of the daily duties of his command to devolve on his subordinate, General Benedict Arnold. Opinion in the British Legion was divided about Arnold. He was an able man, certainly; and he was not despised for being of American birth—that would be been absurd, given that most the soldiers of the Legion were either American born themselves, or had immigrated before the war. Arnold however, had begun the war on the side of the rebels. He had changed his mind—or, rumour had it, his pretty young wife had changed it for him—and his new-found loyalties and arrogance sat ill with men who had held faith with the King from the beginning.
The war was going well. Sir Henry Clinton had the Continental army pinned down in New York. The success of the southern campaign had revived the Loyalists of the middle colonies. Much of the Legion hailed from New York and Pennsylvania, and they were an eager audience for stories of Loyalist militias, throwing the rebel governments of those colonies into chaos.
"I reckon your family must be in the thick of it," Thomas remarked to Sam Willett, as they set the pickets for the night. They were in Petersburg, and the locals, while not vocally unfriendly, seemed to be watching their every move with narrowed eyes.
Sam laughed bitterly. "My family will stick their collective noses in the air and hold themselves above it all."
Thomas looked at him, not understanding. "But you and your cousin—" Sam's cousin Walter was a lieutenant in the Dragoons, and Thomas had always assumed that they came from a staunch Loyalist family.
Sam looked away from the fire, and made a face. "My family are Quakers. Didn't you know?"
"No. I never would have guessed. I mean—"
"You mean Walter and I don't thee and thou, and pretend that the war has nothing to do with us?"
Thomas felt himself blushing in the darkness. "I suppose so. I don't know much about Quakers."
"Count yourself lucky. When Walter and I went for soldiers, we were testified against in the meeting house."
"I don't know what that means."
"It means, dear old Tom, that we were run out of the Society of Friends. 'Since they have entered into the war, and as War is so Inconsistent with Friends' Testimony, it is the sense of this meeting that they be immediately testified against.' The lot of them pulled long faces and turned their backs on us. Walter and I shook the dust of Bucks County from our feet, and we've never looked back. They can rot, the hypocrites: making their fortunes selling supplies to whichever side will pay the most!"
"I'm sorry," Thomas offered. He was so wrapped up in his own family troubles that he sometimes forgot what many of his fellow dragoons had sacrificed to serve the King.
"It's worse for Walter," Sam said. "He left a wife and children behind. His wife testified against him with the rest. He's written to her, but she never answers. There's Christian charity for you!"
"What do you think you'll do when the war is over?"
"I don't know. Do think the war ever will be over?"
Thomas gave a short laugh. "It can't last forever. So I guess you won't be going back to Pennsylvania."
"Not likely. I don't know—the Crown has land for the taking. They want settlers up in Nova Scotia, and in the West Indies. Maybe some of the confiscated estates in the Carolinas might be parceled out. You'll go home, I suppose?"
"Probably not. My older brother is there with his new wife. Father says I'll always have a home with him, but I can't forget how Gabriel joined the rebels and how he killed Captain Bordon. I just don't see how things can ever be right between us again. Besides, I like life in the Army."
"Well then, you could marry the Colonel's sister-in-law. She's a pretty little thing, and she sure had her eye on you!"
"Stop it. The Colonel would never stand for it. I'm not exalted enough in rank to suit him, and I couldn't support a wife on a cornet's pay."
"Don't be a simpleton. A girl like that must have a fortune of her own—maybe as much as five thousand pounds, I'd say. You could live like kings on that. Just get her to run off with you!"
Thomas laughed. "We'd have to run pretty fast. The Colonel's about the last man I'd want coming after me."
Sam shrugged. "I guess you're right."
They began the walk back to the house where they were billeted. A small brick house, owned by an elderly widow with a fat little lapdog. They were fairly well-behaved under her roof, but Mrs Fletcher stared at them with bulging eyes, as if she expected them to draw their swords and attack her at any moment.
She was peering out the front window, the candle in her hand lighting her face like a grotesque mask. The horrible little dog, Marlborough, started yelping hysterically. Thomas and Sam looked grimly at each other and went up the walk.
"She always makes us knock." Sam complained.
Dutifully, Thomas knocked. After a moment, a rasping voice called from behind the door. "Who's there?" The dog whined, and started its shrill barking again.
Sam smirked and called back, "Cornet Sam Willett and Cornet Thomas Martin of His Majesty's Green Dragoons reporting, Mrs Fletcher."
"Who?"
"Open the door, Mrs. Fletcher!" shouted Sam, losing his patience.
The door opened a crack , and Mrs Fletcher eyed them suspiciously. The wretched little dog growled and tried to squeeze through the door to snap at them.
"Good evening to you, Mrs. Fletcher," said Thomas, forcing a smile.
She glared at him, and thrust a crumpled piece of paper at him abruptly. "A soldier came with a letter for you." She bent to pick up the wildly barking little dog. "Come, Marlborough." She turned her back on them and went back to her bedchamber. The boys could hear the new locks click into place. Even through the thick oak door, the shrill yapping continued.
Sam snorted, "Probably thinks we'll try to force our wicked wills on her in the night, the old harridan!" He deliberately made as much noise as possible. He raised his voice. "And if that goddamned little dog of hers bites me, it'll be the last thing it ever does!"
"Sam, pipe down! She'll hear you!" They went to the little spare room they shared. Sam lit the candle, and they immediately saw that there was no water there, and the chamberpot had not been emptied. Thomas lowered his voice. "You're just making it worse. She's just an old lady, after all. I'll empty the pot in the privy and you get us some water." He set down his letter and handed Sam the pitcher. The other boy snarled, still in a temper, but dutifully headed out the back to the well.
Thomas followed with the stinking pot, and set about emptying it and rinsing it with a few buckets of well water. He remembered his letter and decided to read it before he went to bed. From Father, he supposed.
When he finally pulled the letter from his pocket, he saw that the seal was broken. That old witch, he thought, furious. She's read my letter! He was going to say something to her tomorrow, but there wasn't much he could do about it now. He sat on the side of the bed nearest the candle and smoothed the torn and crumpled paper. Sam was washing himself in the dim light. Cold water was better than nothing.
Fresh Water, South Carolina
May 15th, 1781
My dear son,
We are all well here. Your sisters and brothers send their love. I pray that you are safe and unhurt.
I am sorry to tell you that Gabriel has gone. I must admit that I did not foresee this development. Two nights ago he spoke to me with more than usual affection as we all retired for the night. I should have seen Anne's behaviour to him for what it was---a goodbye. In the morning, he did not come down to breakfast, and when I asked Anne if he were ill, she looked me in the eye and said that Gabriel had gone to do his duty to his country. Gabriel has broken his parole, and I am grieved by it, but I had sensed his unhappiness and dissatisfaction for some time. Anne declared that there was no dishonour in breaking one's word to a tyrant. I could not refrain from telling her that breaking one's word is always dishonourable, and that if Gabriel had no intention of honouring his parole, he should not have given it in the first place. We had words. She felt that it was a good trick to play on the English, and I retorted that if everyone did as she suggested, both sides would be burdened with huge prison camps, for neither would ever be able to believe a thing the other claimed ever again. Gabriel has definitely gone north to rejoin the Continentals, and Anne has gone home to her father. It breaks my heart, for she is carrying Gabriel's child. Perhaps, however, it is better so, for the children were terribly upset by our quarrel and by some of the things that were said. Abigail alone seems to view Anne's departure with unmixed satisfaction. She found her a most exacting mistress, and the two of them did not see eye to eye in the care of the youngsters.
Nathan came to me later. Gabriel had tried to persuade him to come along with him, and Nathan had even packed a bag, but in the end could not bear to leave us. I thank God for it. He is only a child, and should not be made to choose between his brothers.
Your Aunt Charlotte has reopened her house in Charlestown, and has invited the girls to stay with her for a few months. It is a fine opportunity to further their education; for Charlotte has a large circle of friends and the girls will be given music lessons, which Margaret has always longed for. I have promised her that if she applies herself and attains some level of proficiency, I will buy a small instrument for our home. I think it will also be a good thing for Susan, silent as she is, to have a way to express herself without having to speak. She has shown that she can talk, but she chooses to do so only rarely.
Through my contacts with the opposition, I have learned that an armistice may be offered within a few weeks. The Continental Congress, as you know, has in the past rejected any tenders of peace from the Crown, but with Cornwallis in Virginia, there is great pressure from all sides to cease hostilities before Virginia, the home of some of the most prominent Patriots, can be laid waste. My source informs me that this is partly due to the insularity of New England, whose representatives have banded together and are seeking a separate peace.
The Whigs in Parliament have always hated the war, as the issues sparking the rebellion are the same which drive their reform movement. Even the King's Friends have expressed their dislike of making war against fellow Englishmen, for so they regard us. With the size of the colonies, the large population, and the distance involved, the idea of treating us as the Highlanders were after the '45 rebellion is considered neither desirable nor feasible. Instead, an armistice may be declared, with each side temporarily keeping the territory it holds, until the situation can be resolved diplomatically. The Crown hopes to persuade its erring children to return voluntarily to its dominion. The French obviously have the most to gain by prolonging the war, and are doing everything in their power to prevent such a truce.
I may be called to represent South Carolina's interests in a possible conference. If so, I shall be taking ship from Charlestown, where I shall leave the boys with your aunt. My voice shall be raised in support of peace, not only for you and Gabriel, but for all the other sons, and brothers, and fathers, and husbands whose lives are at hazard.
Your loving
Father
The letter was three weeks old. Thomas wondered what had happened since the letter was written. Where was Father? If there was to be a peace conference, where might it be held? Father might be in Charlestown, or Baltimore, or Philadelphia, or New York City or even London!
"Thomas, are you going to sit there all night?"
"Sorry, Sam." He stripped off his uniform, washing himself while his head spun with all that the letter had contained. Father's never sailed on a ship. I wonder if he'll like it? Easing back onto the squeaking bed, he blew out the candle, and lay there for some time, imagining faraway cities, and Father in them.
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"Armistice, my lord? What does that mean for our purposes, exactly?" Tavington stood before the Lord General's polished desk, not entirely surprised at the news. His intended raid into the heart of Virginia had been summarily deferred, a gesture of good faith toward the rebels, who were hotly debating making at least a temporary peace with the Crown. The Virginia Patriots had been stoic in the face of their fellow rebels' losses: they were markedly less so when their own estates were threatened.
Cornwallis looked happier than he had in some time. General O'Hara was present, looking even happier. The Lord General had been summoned to participate in the New York conference, and would be leaving O'Hara in temporary command. Cornwallis had from the first spoken out for reason, moderation, and magnanimity in the Crown's dealing with its recalcitrant subjects. When rebuking Tavington's overzealousness on occasion, he had reminded him that "These Colonials are our brethren. When this war is over, we shall reestablish commerce with them." Tavington personally thought that the Lord General's assessment of his 'brethren' was decidedly paternalistic, but it was well-intentioned, nonetheless.
"Well, Colonel, first of all, it means that any raiding is suspending while the negotiations are in session. Any actions on our part must be solely defensive. If the peace conference founders, it must not be seen as our doing. You are to patrol the territory we currently hold. You are to keep the peace here, and repress any rebel activity. You are not to cross the Meherrin River, even in hot pursuit of rebel forces. With the large number of recruits lately, I am agreeing to your request to form a new troop of dragoons. You may make brevet promotions for a captain and two lieutenants, which will be subject to my approval when I return." Cornwallis leaned back in his chair, and gave O'Hara a nod.
The general spoke up. "I am moving our headquarters to Williamsburg, as this area is obviously insalubrious. I want you to precede us there. Even though we will not be moving into any new territory, we can consolidate our control over what we hold, and above all, continue to seek out the best site for a naval base on the Chesapeake. A detachment of Royal Engineers and the American Volunteers will be joining you within the week."
Tavington's face broke into a pleased smile. Cornwallis noted it, and smiled slightly in response. "I am certain you and Colonel Ferguson will have much to say to one another. In this interval, Colonel, we must be circumspect."
"'They also serve, who only stand and wait,' my lord?" Tavington quoted innocently.
O'Hara allowed himself a snort of laughter. The Lord General nodded, and dismissed Tavington benevolently. "Exactly so, Colonel. Perhaps this war may be over by high summer. I pray so. Good day to you, sir."
Still smiling, Tavington bowed and headed toward his own quarters. He had not seen Pattie in over a month, nor had the opportunity to congratulate him in person on his promotion to Colonel.
Wilkins and his troop were coming in, hot and dusty from patrol. Since Bordon's death back in January, Tavington had found himself having to make a number of reassignments within the dragoons. Hovenden had finally received his deserved promotion to major, and was as happy as a man with two very troublesome brothers could be. He had suggested to Tavington that his brother Lieutenant Moore Hovenden replace him as troop captain; but Tavington would not hear of it, when there were many better men to choose from. Alan Cameron was more senior, and a better fighter, for that matter. He was not about, however, to burden Cameron with Moore Hovenden's resentment, and in the end, had found a major reorganisation to be necessary. Now there would be this new troop to arrange. To whom would he give a captaincy?
He smiled. Duncan Monroe was conveniently next in line for promotion, and Tavington had never forgotten the high regard in which Bordon had held him. Yes, Monroe was the man, and he would need two lieutenants…….
"Is the Colonel in?" Wilkins asked of the orderly just outside the door.
"Come in, Captain Wilkins," Tavington called.
Wilkins entered, ducking under the doorway's low lintel. "Reporting in, sir. We're just back from Norfolk."
"Sit down, Wilkins. Roarke, bring us some tea." Tavington waited while Wilkins carefully folded his tall body into the absurdly small chair. "Any trouble?"
"Nothing to speak of. Some children threw rocks at us on the way back, and then tried to run off. Sgt. Davies caught one of them and whacked his behind with the flat of his sabre. Then his mother comes running out of her house and screams fit to wake the dead."
Tavington laughed. "I see. The dread Green Dragoons once again leave a trail of atrocities in their wake."
Wilkins shrugged amiably. "Have you heard anything new from Lizzie since she wrote you about Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva's funeral?"
Tavington's smile soured slightly. How can I get this blockhead to stop calling her that, without thumping him? While Elizabeth allowed her sisters to call her Lilabet, a nursery name first bestowed by her brother Richard; he knew she detested being called Lizzie, Eliza, Betsy, Bess, or any of the thousand other pet names for Elizabeth. Tactful hints had so far proved useless.
"The Montgomerys are at Arcadia, the house in Camden is let, with the rents to be paid quarterly to the lawyer, who will pay Charlotte an allowance and invest the rest on the children's behalf. Your inheritance has been paid to your account at your bank in Charlestown, and you should be receiving a letter to that effect any day now."
"That's good news. Three thousand pounds will do a lot to rebuild Greenwood someday. God bless Aunt Sarah Jane Minerva. I sort of reckoned she'd leave all her money to the church or to the Royal Society, or to some crazy philosopher. I guess blood was thicker than water in the end." The tea was brought, and Wilkins drank gratefully. "Is she feeling all right—Lizzie, I mean?"
"Well enough. She never complains, at any rate. She persuaded the governess to come out to Arcadia, so she isn't burdened with teaching the children, and they have their own nurserymaid, after all. Before the family left, George tried to enlist in the Camden garrison, but he was recognised and sent home. Now that he's at Arcadia, he's settled down a little, with all the activity on the plantation to interest him."
Tavington himself had been pleased to hear about the bequests. While Miss Everleigh's house in Camden had been left to the Montgomery's, and each of the children had been left a thousand pounds apiece, the bulk of her money had been divided among Wilkins and the three Wilde sisters. With her share of the money left by her mother, Elizabeth was the mistress –what was the phrase he had heard in England?—of a not great, but useful fortune. In America, her well-over-five thousand pounds was a lot of money. Before the war, the plantation had brought in an income averaging two thousand pounds a year. His impoverished state was a thing of the past. Now if the war would only end, he could actually enjoy his prosperity.
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O'Hara was proved right: Williamsburg proved a pleasanter and healthier billet than Petersburg had been. The house Tavington was quartered in was more than comfortable, and large enough to provide lodgings for Pattie and his household when he arrived. It was here that he had finished his plans for the new troop and its complement.
Monroe was called in first, and the Virginian's grateful joy at his promotion gave Tavington real satisfaction. After breaking with his family, and enduring a host of dangers simply to find his way to the Legion, he was now reaping some recognition and rewards. Tavington discussed with him his own ideas for Monroe's two lieutenants, and the new captain was in agreement. Two new and extremely young lieutenants in the same troop would not be the best disposition of manpower; so both Martin and the Willett boy would be promoted, but assigned to different troops and each paired with a more experienced officer.
"I'd prefer Thomas Martin as a subordinate, if it's all the same to you, sir. I've been with the boy for quite a while and we trust each other. I think Donald McLeod would be a good third, and then Sam Willett can take his place in Cameron's troop."
"Just as you please. The boy is young, but he's been with us over a year and has done well. The Willett boy is little flighty, but Cameron will settle him down. All the promotions will be reviewed by the Lord General, but I cannot imagine there could be any difficulty. Congratulations, then, Captain Monroe."
"Thank you, sir," the Virginian smiled.
-----
"I can't believe it!" Thomas and Sam had maintained their martial demeanour throughout their interview with the Colonel, trying not to grin like fools; but no sooner had they been dismissed, than Sam whooped and grabbed Thomas in a bear hug, lifting him off the ground.
"Put me down, you idiot! Do you want the men to see us?"
Sam dropped him and stood there, still grinning. "We're lieutenants!"
Thomas grinned back involuntarily. "Yes, we're lieutenants. More pay, more responsibility, more respect."
"I can't believe it," Sam repeated. "We've got to celebrate."
"We've got to check the stables, and post the guards, and then, yes, maybe we should celebrate."
"We need to find some girls."
Thomas sighed. "Girls would be nice, if they were the right sort."
"Thomas, my lad, I was thinking more about the wrong sort." He waggled his eyebrows outrageously. "You need to stop moping about Dinah Poole. It's not healthy in a young man."
Faint and shrill on the breeze came the piping of bandsmen's fifes. The unmistakable sounds of approaching troops marching in to town distracted Thomas from Sam's nonsense. "That must be the American Volunteers arriving. Maybe Colonel Ferguson will have his two fancy women with him. They sure are pretty."
"I saw them, back there in Carolina. The redhead's the one for me. You," Sam offered generously, "can have the brown-haired one with the dimples."
"Thank you so much." Thomas rolled his eyes. "Still, a pretty woman is always worth a look."
Miss Sally and Miss Polly were indeed with the American Volunteers, riding along with the baggage train. The American Volunteers had plenty of other woman as well, for Patrick Ferguson had often remarked to his friend Tavington that while a cavalryman might see a pretty girl first, a infantryman moved slowly enough to properly make her acquaintance. The wagons trundled by, and Thomas and Sam leaned against the wall of the local millinery shop, enjoying the parade, and the waves of the laundry women.
Thomas' eye was caught by a girl who seemed familiar, when the girl looked at him and called out, "Mr. Martin! Mr. Martin!"
Sam looked too, and laughed to Thomas, "This really is your lucky day, Tom!" Sure enough, Dinah Poole, all rosy-face, bright eyes, and delicious curves, was waving wildly at him.
Surprised and delighted, Thomas ran over to the wagon to help Dinah out of it. "What are you doing here!"
Her face fell and she looked at him anxiously, "Aren't you glad to see me?"
"Yes---yes, of course. I'm just surprised. I thought you were back in Camden."
Dinah called up to another woman in the wagon. "Throw me my bag, Bessy." The ragged leather satchel was tossed into her arms, and she neatly caught it and smiled eagerly at Thomas. "I missed you too much, so I joined up with the American Volunteers when I heard they were going north. Where are you staying?"
"At the King's Arms." They stood still a moment looking at each other, and Thomas was nearly swept away by a rising tide of excitement. Dinah bit her luscious lower lip thoughtfully and gave him the glance he knew so well.
He took Dinah's bag from her and caught her hand in his. "Sam, I just thought about something I left back at the inn. I'll see you later." Nearly running, he and Dinah headed down the street to the privacy of his room.
Sam grinned, and bowed ironically. "Take your time!" he called after them.
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Notes: The Willett family situation is basically factual. They were indeed testified against and never returned to Pennsylvania. Walter's wife refused to join him after the war, and he was granted a divorce and later remarried.
Thank you to my Loyal reviewers: Zubeneschamali, LCWA, pigeonsfromhell, Carmen Sandiego, Carolina Girl, andrea mae, SlytherinDragoon, wolfgal, and ladymarytavington. I spend hours researching, writing, and editing my stories. Your support makes it all worthwhile.
Next chapter: Destiny's Playthings—our heroes suffer the whims of outrageous fortune.