A/N: This chapter contains material from the Patriot movie. I own none of it.
It was late evening; Tavington had just returned to camp from a meeting with Lord Cornwallis, and was smirking from ear to ear. Things had not gone the way Lord Cornwallis had wanted, yet again. The Ghost, now known as Benjamin Martin, had pulled the wool over British eyes yet again. Earlier that day, he had come to retrieve 'prisoners of war' that Tavington had captured earlier in an ambush. As a trade for his men, Martin had tricked Cornwallis into taking back some of his own men, whom the Ghost had claimed to capture. But instead of men, Cornwallis had discovered straw stuffed uniforms. Martin had gotten away unscathed yet again. The lord general, enraged, called a meeting with Tavington and proceeded to berate him.
"My reputation suffers because of your incompetence!" he boomed. That man, insults me!"
This time, Tavington was ready, and his tone was smooth.
"Quite impressive for a farmer with a pitchfork, wouldn't you say?"
Such a simple phrase had turned the tables in his favor. Cornwallis was willing to do whatever it took to capture Martin, and Tavington was willing to oblige, as long as things went according to his plans.
"The man has the loyalty of the people; they protect him, protect his family, protect the families of his men. I can capture him for you. But to do so requires the use of tactics that are somewhat… well what was the word your Lordship used…brutal, I think?
Cornwallis hesitated.
"Go on…"
"I am prepared to do what is necessary. I alone, will assume the full responsibility for my actions, free of the chain of command, rendering you blameless. However, if I do this, you and I both know that I can never return to England with honor. What, I wonder, is to become of me?" Tavington finished with a smirk hinting at the corner of his lips as he hooked his prey.
Cornwallis ascented.
"When this war is over here in the colonies, the new aristocracy will be landowners."
That was all Tavington needed. He took two slow strides over to his superior and murmured silkily, "Tell me about Ohio."
With that, he and the lord general had sealed a deal that would grant him land in Ohio, land that Cornwallis himself dearly wanted, on the agreement that Tavington would capture the wretched Ghost. The colonel couldn't be happier. Without wasting any time, he made his way back to camp and roused his men.
"As you were… Wilkins, the plantation, seven miles from Wakefield, on the Santee, east of Black Swamp, who lived there?" he asked quickly.
Capt. Wilkins, a loyalist, blinked sleepily and replied, "Benjamin Martin."
"He is the Ghost." Capt. Bordon replied from behind Tavington's shoulder.
"What do you know about him?"
Wilkins grew bold and stated, "Hell, everything. I could tell you the size of his boot."
"Does he have family," Tavington pressed, "Where would he hide his children?"
Wilkins was silent, his facade gone. What Tavington was doing was not honorable. Reluctantly, he replied, "His wife's sister has a plantation. It's not far…"
Into the foggy blue night, Tavington and his men rode, bearing torches as they raced to the plantation. They dismounted and Tavington started before his men, entering the house first. The doors opened easily, their creak echoing throughout the house. William scanned his surroundings like a wolf on the prowl. There was no one in the hall. His men followed close behind, their torches casting shadows on the walls. Tavington gestured subtly for his men to search the house. Meanwhile, he made his way into the dining area, stalking around the table, his spurs ringing in the silence. He stopped momentarily to examine a candelabrum on the table when he heard the sound of a gun cocking. However, before he could do anything about it, Wilkins spoke, "There's no one in the house, Sir."
"Well they can't be far. Search the outbuildings in the woods, quickly."
"Yes Sir."
Tavington took out his pistol and cocked it, turning back toward the table where he had heard the gun. Stepping back toward the table with pistol drawn, he lifted the tablecloth took aim. There was nothing there. Tavington's jaw tightened. He was more than sure someone had been there. Striding out of the room and out of the house, he ordered, "Prepare to fire the house!"
Making his way to the slaves' quarters, he found the head of the house slaves and questioned, "Where are they hiding?"
When there was no answer, Tavington promptly shot them and continued on. Just as the Dragoons threw the first torches on the house, there was a loud neigh and a rearing horse and rider in the distance. It was Benjamin Martin, and he fired a warning shot into the air.
The bloodlust stirred in Tavington's eyes.
"To horse!"
Tavington and his men gave chase, hunting the Ghost and his men well into the night.