This chapter is told entirely from the perspective of Wilkins' relatives. Don't worry, Tavington and the boys will be back in the next chapter.
Mary Wilkins Miller was frustrated as she searched the library for her riding gloves. She'd sent a slave girl up to her bedroom to have a look, while she continued to look through the library. As she bent to remove the cushions from the sofa in the hope that the gloves might have fallen into the cracks, she suddenly became aware of a faint rumbling sound that grew louder with every passing second. From the accompanying vibrations, she judged it to be at least a couple of dozen mounted men in a hurry approaching the plantation. Moving quickly to the front window, she gave a sharp glance down the long lane that led to her home and saw that her estimations had been accurate.
As the group rode closer, she recognized Benjamin Martin and his son, Gabriel, galloping toward the house, accompanied by a motley group of men. Some she recognized as residents of Pembroke, whom she saw on rare occasions. Her family's unconcealed Loyalist stance had made them unpopular in this decidedly Whig area in recent years, so she knew that Ben's visit was not a social call.
But it was several other men whom she did not know, who disturbed her most. These were rough-looking types who seemed barely more civilized than the wild animals with whom they shared the backwoods. If it had just been Ben and the men from Pembroke, she would not have been unduly alarmed, but the presence of the dirty, uncouth ruffians instantly gave her a sense of impending doom that something very terrible was about to happen.
Turning to a maid, who'd been quietly dusting the room, she said, "Run out to the barn and let Mr Miller know we have visitors who are likely to be trouble! Quickly, now!"
"Yes, Mistress," the young slave acknowledged, turning to run out the back.
Moving to the back stairway to call her nine year old daughter, Susan, downstairs, she caught a glimpse of the young stable hand, Josiah, riding a horse quickly into the woods, away from the approaching partisans. The tall, blond woman said a silent prayer that he'd get away without being spotted, then immediately sent up another prayer that he'd be able to find help before it was too late.
Seconds later, her daughter appeared at the top of the stairs, holding a book. "Come downstairs, dear," Mary said in as calm of a voice as she could muster.
"What is it, Mother," the little girl asked placidly. "Is it time to eat again, already? I've been reading my book and time just flies when I'm reading!"
"There are some unfamiliar visitors riding up to the house right now," her mother explained. "I'd feel better if you stayed close to me until they left."
At that moment the thunder of the horses was directly in front of the house. But Mary was surprised when they did not stop, but continued on to the stables, where her husband was checking on a pregnant mare. Along with a modest portion of land being devoted to rice farming, the bulk of their land was devoted to the raising of Thoroughbred horses and was probably one of the largest horse farms in the area. They'd been lucky when her brother James had arranged just three days ago for the Miller farm to supply the British army with fresh mounts.
Hurrying out to the front porch, with her daughter close behind her, she saw her husband Thomas warily emerge from the main stable as Martin's men halted in front of it. Mary cautioned Susan to stay on the porch with her, out of the way of the business of men, though she remained where she could see what would happen.
Thomas Miller was proud of his horse-breeding operations, one of the finest in the South. He dealt mainly in Thoroughbreds, as had his father before him. As his reputation as a breeder had grown, he'd been able to hire some of the best men from England to assist in his operations. Over the last few years, he'd supplied horses to some of the finest families in the Colonies.
And, now, with the awarding of the contract to supply horses to the British army, he was confident that he would come out of the war a very wealthy man. Miller had already met with the commander of the British Legion, Banastre Tarleton, who had been suitably impressed with the horses. He looked forward to a similar visit from William Tavington, commander of the Green Dragoons. Between these two cavalry units, Miller expected to be a very busy man for the foreseeable future.
Miller had gone out to the stables after the noon meal, as it was his habit to make inspection rounds with his staff every afternoon. Today, the main order of business had been a routine examination of a pregnant mare, who still had quite a ways to go before foaling.
As he watched the stable hand lead the mare out of the stable in order to return her to the pasture, Miller sensed the faint rumble of approaching horsemen. Not at first concerned, figuring that they were simply passing by on the road adjacent to the farm, he headed over to a small desk near the stable door to do a bit of paperwork. After a few moments, as the rumbling grew louder, he realized that it was more than just a few horses and that they were heading for the farm, rather than passing by. Frowning, as he wasn't expecting any visitors today, he headed outside to see who it was.
The horsemen, led by Benjamin Martin, had arrived by the time he'd exited the stable. Miller was dismayed to see them fanning out strategically, covering both the house and main stable.
"Ben Martin," he said, looking up at his old neighbour, noticing his oldest son beside him. "What are you doing here? I never expected to see you leading a band of ruffians like this."
"We are not ruffians, sir, but Patriots," Gabriel told him unctuously, drawing himself up on his horse.
"We're in need of horses, Miller," Ben Martin told him briefly. "We're short on cash to pay you for them, but after the war…"
"I'm sorry, but that won't be acceptable," Miller told him firmly, not adding that he'd never think of providing horses for any partisan group for any price. "I'm a businessman. I cannot just give away my stock without any firm basis for payment or getting anything in return."
"What you will get in return is helping to see your country become free," Gabriel said priggishly.
"Ah, but Miller's a Tory, and maybe he just doesn't want to see that," one of the Pembroke men put in.
"We're wasting time here by playing nice," Rollins snarled, moving his horse closer to the front. "I say we just take what we want and the hell with paying him! He's a Tory; he doesn't deserve to be paid!"
Loud murmurs of assent came from other men near Rollins.
Martin, now growing impatient, turned back to the recalcitrant Loyalist. "I'm sorry, Miller, but we'll just have to take the horses, with or without your consent." Heaving a theatrical sigh, he said, "I was hoping you would see reason and we could avoid all this, but apparently not."
Turning to his men, he gestured with a jerk of his arm. Several men immediately set off for the pastures to gather horses, while others dismounted to ransack the stables for whatever equipment they could find.
Before any of Martin's men could enter the stable, several of Miller's employees appeared from various locations, holding whatever weapons they could grab at short notice: pistols, knives, fowling pieces, pitchforks, and so on.
At their appearance, all hell broke loose, As the men on foot began to fight with Miller and his employees, other men dismounted and headed to the main house to see what they could loot.
Mary Miller pulled her daughter close as several partisans ran toward her. A handful of house slaves had joined her on the porch after the partisans had arrived and now surrounded the two Miller women protectively.
"What do we have here, boys?" asked a short sandy-headed man whom Mary did not recognize.
"I do believe it's a Tory bitch, Harry," one of his companions answered, grinning evilly, as they stepped onto the porch. Other men pushed past them to get into the house. Noticing that she was taller than both of them, he added. "And she's a big Tory bitch."
"And what do we do with big, tall Tory bitches, Sam?" the other partisan asked, pushing little Susan away from her mother into the arms of a waiting slave.
"I'm glad you asked me that question, Harry," Sam replied. "But I think I'd rather show you, rather than tell you."
The partisan grabbed Mary, then pushed her so that she was bent forward over the porch railing, after which he began grabbing at her petticoat.
"Maisie," Mary called out to the slave holding Susan. "Take Susan inside. She doesn't need to see this!" She'd glanced toward the stable entrance and hadn't been able to see her husband, as he and his men were surrounded by Martin's men. Mary knew she could not reasonably expect him to come rescue her from this indignity.
"Yes'm," the slave replied, moving quickly to obey.
"Mother!" Susan cried, afraid of the mean-looking men.
"Go with Maisie," her mother urged in a low tone. "I'll be back with you in a few minutes."
As the slave disappeared into the house with the little girl, the partisan said, "Enough talk out of you," as he roughly pulled her petticoat up to expose her bare behind.
"Oh, please don't do this," Mary begged as she heard the man unbutton his breeches, preparing to violate her. "I know Ben Martin and I know he wouldn't approve of you doing this. He's a gentleman."
The partisan laughed in her face. "Well, Ben is a mite occupied at the moment, you see," he told her scornfully. "And I'm guessing you really don't know him at all." As he got into position behind her, he warned, "I'd advise you to hold your tongue if you know what's good for you."
"Go on, Sam," the other partisan prodded in irritation. "Quit your blathering and give it to her, so I can have a turn before Ben is ready to leave!"
Needing no further encouragement, Sam shoved himself inside of the now-weeping woman, not caring to ensure that she was ready to receive him. He immediately began driving into her at a cruel, relentless pace, grunting heavily with his efforts, wanting her to know she'd been had by a real man for a change.
"Hurry up, Sam," Harry urged. "I don't know how much longer I can stand to wait!"
Sam did not respond, but obligingly picked up the pace.
Before he could finish, however, one of the men who'd been left on picket duty came galloping into the yard toward the stable.
"Tavington's coming!" he shouted several times. "The Green Dragoons were spotted on the Pembroke road coming hard in this direction!"
"Bloody hell!" Harry cursed. "What rotten timing." Turning to Sam, who had just climaxed, he said, "Come on, Sam," he urged. "Forget about the bleedin' Tory bitch. If Tavington catches you, he'll cut your nuts off!"
Mary didn't dare speak, but she relaxed just a tiny bit, knowing that Josiah had made it through and that the Green Dragoons were on the way. And she knew that her brother James would do more than simply cut off the man's testicles when he found him. She sagged against the porch railing in relief as Sam withdrew from her, her ordeal finally over.
The two men ran off looking for their horses, soon followed by other men from the house eager to escape the British dragoons.
As the lone horseman reached the stable, where Gabriel and some other men had returned from the pasture, each leading a few horses, he repeated himself. "Tavington is coming! He's not all that far behind me!"
Although, the men were not finished gathering all the horses, Ben Martin yelled out. "Let's get out of here! I'm not ready to take on Tavington and his dragoons just yet, nor do I want to risk our new horses."
Within seconds, the partisan group had disappeared into the woods at the back of the Miller property furthest from the road, leading the newly plundered horses behind them. There was an entrance to the swamps not far into the woods where they'd be able to lose themselves quickly, making it nearly impossible for Tavington to track them.
Mary Miller staggered to her feet as Martin's group left, intent on finding Susan. After straightening her petticoat, she grabbed onto the door frame as she stumbled into the house, where she found Maisie and Susan, cowering in the corner of the front room. The room was a shambles, where men had overturned furniture and emptied shelves onto the floor in their haste to find loot.
"It's all right now, Susan," Mary said quietly, as the girl ran to her. "The bad men are gone and you're safe." She rocked her daughter in her arms for a few moments until she calmed down as the slave looked on helplessly.
"Did the bad men hurt you, Mama?" Susan asked in a small voice.
Pressing her lips together tightly at the reminder, Mary swallowed hard, then said, "I'll be fine, dear." After a pause, she added, "But I need to go find your father now. Will you be all right here with Maisie while I do that?"
"Yes, Mama."
Satisfied that her little girl was safe for now, Mary told Maisie, "Keep her here for now, while I go check on her father. Don't worry about cleaning up the mess just yet."
Leaving the house, she walked unsteadily toward the stables, now distressed that her husband hadn't come to check on her and Susan. Her alarm grew when she saw a couple of the stable hands and one of the partisans lying dead near the stable door.
An injured slave sat leaning against the stable, moaning in pain as she approached.
"Ezekiel!" she called out. "Where is Mr. Miller?"
"I'm sorry, Mistress," he said sadly, "I tried to protect him…" His voice trailed off as he gestured around the corner of the stable with his good arm.
Mary forget her pain as she ran behind the stable, where she found her battered and bloodied husband lying in the grass. Their indentured blacksmith, Jonathan Dalton, was kneeling in the grass by him in a futile attempt to revive him.
"Oh, no!" she exclaimed as she rushed to his side. His head was a smashed and bloody mess, with blood also pouring from a large wound in his chest. Taking his hand, she moaned, "Thomas!"
"What happened, Mr Dalton?" she cried out in anguish. "I need to know!"
"I didn't hear what happened at first, because I was at my forge when the partisans first rode up," he explained quietly "I'm sorry to say that I didn't come out until I heard a lot of shouting. Near as I can figure, they came here to take our horses and Mr Miller told them no. I came out just in time to see him fighting with the partisan leader, but by the time I got here, he'd killed him with his tomahawk. The rider warning about Tavington came up after that, so the partisans got on their horses and left right away."
"Thank you Mr Dalton," she said in a tired voice. "You've been helpful."
"I'm sorry I wasn't able to help him," he replied awkwardly.
"There wasn't anything you could have done," she assured him. "They would have just killed you too."
At that moment, Mary stiffened as she once again heard the rumble of approaching horsemen.
"Oh, dear God, not again!" she exclaimed.
The blacksmith took a few steps to look around the side of the stable to see who was coming, but returned quickly.
"Don't worry, Mistress Miller," he reassured her. "It's the Green Dragoons!"
A few moments later, the dragoon column came to a halt by the stables. James Wilkins was the first dragoon off his horse, quickly dismounting at the sight of his distraught sister kneeling beside her obviously dead husband.
"Oh, Jim!" Mary cried out in anguish, as the tall dragoon took his trembling sister protectively into the shelter of his arms.
Historical note: A "fowling piece" was typically used to hunt birds and other animals and is the forerunner of the modern shotgun.
Next chapter: Rescue