Alright, all, here is the next chapter. I apologize for the long time between postings-real life takes precedence over the fun of writing. Between work, family-yeah-Wendy is 6 1/2 now- working out, (yeah- getting healthy again) and school starting again in a couple of weeks, not much time for anything else. I'll try to post as quickly as I can. Thanks for your anticipation and your patience!
As usual, I am posting this late at night (yeah-I'm going to be functioning in full for that meeting at work at 8:30 am tomorrow-more like a functional zombie!). So you may find some errors as I proofread this on the fly tonight. I'll fix it tomorrow sometime.
JScorpio
Chapter 3 Rattled Nerves
Colonel Tavington brought his legion to a halt in front of the Burwell plantation home with a slow wave of his right arm. He hesitated, staying on his horse for a moment, looking at the large, white, main house of this farm, noticing light in a couple of windows on the first floor. The illumination came from sets of windows on both sides of the front door, so he quickly assumed them to belong to the parlor of the home.
Good, he thought. Probably heard us coming. They're up and waiting for us. Their anticipation and fear of the raid should keep them compliant, at least.
Two large, imposing looking dragoons were off their horses immediately, trotting ahead of the others to attend to their part in the raid. They ran up the steps of the house to secure the inhabitants.
As quickly as the two advance guard privates left, Captain Hugh Bordon dismounted and retrieved a pencil and pad of paper from his pack. He flipped the tablet open and began to make a rough sketch of the house. As he drew, the other soldiers were off their steeds and gathering about their commander.
Although the men knew the drill, having been on dozens of home raids, they still listened intently to the orders of their leader for any minute changes or additions. "Search the barns and the outbuildings. Pay attention to the grounds and the lay and flow of the land."
Bordon finished his rough drawing of the house, labeling it "Burwell Plantation near Devington, South Carolina" in the top corner. He joined the men around Tavington, respectfully listening to his orders.
"Take special note of how many people reside here: slaves, servants, everyone," Tavington continued. "Meet back here when you're finished. Give any notes and sketches to Captain Bordon for his intelligence report."
With that, the men scattered in all directions, save for three, who accompanied the Colonel and the captain into the house, removing their helmets as they did. Once inside the grand home, the officers looked about at the small group of people gathered into the parlor, under guard of their men. The bunch looked quiet and apprehensive, the fact of which did not escape Tavington. The apprehension, and his two guards, would "encourage" the inhabitants to cooperate.
Betsy swallowed hard and shuddered at the sight of the cavalrymen now standing in her house. She hoped that her fright was not apparent, knowing it was important to look calm and collected.
The girl sat quietly as one of the leaders whispered some orders to the privates that had entered with them, slipping off his riding gloves as he did. She tried not to look alarmed when the men left the room, assuming that they were going to search the house. The young woman heard their boots on the wooden stairs as they went to the upper floors. She closed her eyes for an instant, hoping that they wouldn't find anything that they thought to be suspicious.
"Good evening," the tall commander spoke in an eloquent voice. "Colonel William Tavington, Green Dragoons. This is my second in command, Captain Bordon, and my third officer, Lieutenant Wentworth." Each of the men nodded slightly as they were introduced.
Betsy was a bit surprised at how restrained and gentlemanly these redcoats were. She remembered a couple of raids before in the recent past, and how rough the infantry soldiers had acted, messing their house up and pushing her mother about, as well as roughing up her father and some of the male servants. The girl was perplexed at the manners the raiders showed, which made her sigh with relief. But that feeling vanished as quickly as it came when she saw an indiscreet look of dread pass between Misters Hantz and Waldron.
"This is the Burwell farm, is it not?" asked Captain Bordon.
"It is," Mr. Waldron confirmed in a flat voice.
"And you are a member of the Burwell family?" Tavington queried.
"No sir. I'm Jake Waldron, the overseer."
Colonel Tavington shifted his weight from one leg to the other, looking about the room at the portraits on the wall. An uncomfortable silence passed as he then looked at the faces of the people assembled.
"And who in this room is a Burwell?" the commander asked, his voice conveying an inkling of impatience now.
Betsy sighed imperceptibly, trying to maintain composure and find a bit of courage. "I am."
Her voice was low as she replied.
"Your name please," Captain Bordon requested. His deep voice was strangely soothing. The officer's gaze at Betsy was disarming. She tried not to squirm as a breath caught in her throat.
"Betsy Burwell," she answered. "I'm Harry's daughter."
The colonel looked over at the portrait of Harry Burwell, in uniform, on the wall. He studied it for a moment, trying to commit the face to memory. Then he turned his eyes to the colonel's daughter.
"And where is Colonel Burwell, hmm?" Tavington asked, sounding a bit sinister now. "With his troops, I suppose?"
"No," Miss Burwell answered.
"Why is that?", asked the commander. "I last heard him to be serving."
"He was relieved of duty," Betsy lied, not wanting the British to know that he was still active in the military, but also not wanting them to know that she was there alone. "He came home to be with us."
"And why was he dismissed?" Tavington interrogated, sounding insistent.
"My mother died in childbirth recently." Betsy looked down at the floor, the pain of her mother's death still pulling on her heart.
"Oh, you have my condolences," the colonel said, less than sincere. He leaned over and whispered to Lieutenant Wentworth, ordering the junior officer to check the cemetery. Betsy and the servants in the parlor watched with concern as the young lieutenant quickly left the house.
"And where is your father now," Tavington asked.
"My aunt, his sister," Betsy began slowly, ensuring not to stammer, making it sound believable, "lost her husband recently. He went to Redding to help her settle his estate." The girl was trying not to panic, sure that she would forget part of the script of this story hastily concocted by her and Mr. Waldron.
"Oh, I see," the colonel said with a haughty tip upward of his chin. "Who is in charge in his stead?"
Mr. Waldron and Mr. Hantz exchanged quick, discreet looks, knowing what the other was thinking. Both were trying to figure out if the two officers, both as stone faced as the other, were buying the horse manure they were throwing. They hoped that the youth and immaturity, coupled with exhaustion, of their young plantation mistress would not drive her to crack her seemingly calm façade.
"Steven, my brother," she replied with no hesitation.
"May I speak with him?"
"No," the girl answered with no hesitation, in fact almost too fast. "If he were here. But he's hunting this evening. He is due back tomorrow sometime."
"Could we see the farm's office?" Bordon asked.
"Of course," Betsy said, rising demurely from her seat. "It's right this way."
Afraid for her to be alone with the two officers, Mr. Hantz looked for an excuse to be part of the trio headed that direction. He moved toward the archway that led into the hall, which immediately made the two guards point their muskets toward him. The farmhand leaned forward, catching the candlestick holder before it could be put into her hand.
"Miss Betsy, why don't you let me carry that," he offered quickly, with the two officers and the men holding weapons looking suspiciously at him. "The saucer on this candlestick has cracked and is leaking. I don't want you to get burnt by the hot wax."
"Oh, thank you," she said, acting relieved. With that, the soldiers with the guns eased a little, dropping them from an aggressive to just an attentive stance.
Mr. Hantz led the quartet of people down the hall, then out through the short breezeway, passing the comfy chair Miss Burwell lounged in just two hours earlier. Entering the office, the farmhand quickly lit two lamps in the space, then made his way out of the room, making sure to stand just outside the open door in case something should happen.
Betsy decided not to offer the "fake" book to Tavington and Bordon, opting to stay quiet until they questioned her. To her surprise, the officers did not ask for the ledger. In fact they said nothing as they took a quick look around the room, then exited. She gave Mr. Hantz, who was still at the door, a puzzled look which he quickly dismissed with a look of his own that quietly scolded her, warning her not to reveal her confusion. The servant scooted politely past the colonel and his adjutant to light their way back to the main room. Miss Burwell brought up the rear of the group.
When the two dragoon commanders and Betsy and Mr. Hantz returned to the parlor, they found the others still sitting quietly under guard of the soldiers bearing the muskets. The young lieutenant had returned, standing at the door as silently as the bunch sitting in the room. Tavington walked straight to him, and listened as Lieutenant Wentworth whispered that he had seen a grave for Colonel Burwell's wife.
The dragoon leader turned around to glance at Miss Burwell and her servants. "Well, everything is in order. Lieutenant. Captain," he commented tersely as he spun on his heel to leave. Wentworth and Tavington made a rapid exit, leaving the second in command, Bordon, behind with the two guards, who finally lowered their weapons.
The adjutant hesitated a moment at the door, making the group assembled wonder if something else was going to be demanded of them. Instead, he lifted his eyebrows and looked diplomatically at them.
"Uh….thank you for your cooperation," he said, his words measured precisely to reflect a mixture of cordiality and forced decorum. "Good evening." The man bowed his head to the group slightly, then disappeared through the door.
Mr. Hantz and Mr. Waldron both standing, inched slowly toward the windows, keeping a cautious eye on the group of Redcoats mounting their steeds out of the green. Betsy and the rest of the group sat tensely and silently, not moving a muscle, hoping the cavalrymen would leave soon. The farmhand and overseer watched intently and sighed openly as the Green Dragoons turned the opposite direction and rode away.
"Auf Weiderseihen, rotrock!" Mr. Hantz spat in German, his contempt identifiable in any language.
"Yeah, good riddance, lobsters!" Waldron joined in the cursing.
With that, Mrs. Leyanova and the rest of the servants dispersed leaving Betsy with the two male servants. She stood slowly, watching the two of them.
"Hantz, go check with the slaves out back," Waldron requested. "Find out what the British wanted from them."
Betsy blew out the candles in the parlor and followed the overseer into the hall. "Mr. Waldron," she called, "do you think they believed us?"
"No," he replied as he kept walking. When he didn't hear the young lady's soft footsteps on the wooden floor, he turned back to look at her. The girl was standing in the hall with a wide eyed look of alarm on her face.
He knew he had to assuage the mistress' fear. "Rebels lie to them every day. They're used to it. They expect it. Redcoats know that rebels are not going to offer up the truth willingly."
Betsy shook her head, having faith in Waldron's experience and wisdom. She was still troubled, though. "Don't you think it was out of sorts for them not to demand to see the ledger book?"
"Maybe a bit odd," the man answered. "Perhaps we didn't have what they were looking for? Maybe they are tracking a fugitive."
Waldron turned back and resumed walking, soon exiting the house. Betsy ascended the stairs to the second floor, trying to keep her faith in the servant's explanations. She sighed and dismissed the episode, as unsettling as it was. Yet, she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep tonight after all the trouble.
/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/
Colonel Tavington and his men rode in silence until the Burwell plantation was well out of sight.
The dragoon leader turned to his aide de camp and broke the quiet. "How did their answers square with your intelligence?"
"They were lying," Bordon answered flatly, his eyes still on the road ahead.
"Yes. I know they were," the colonel agreed.
Nothing else needed to be said as the Green Dragoons rode back to Fort Carolina to bed down for whatever night was left, hoping to get some much needed sleep.
/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/#/
Late the next morning, Tavington and Bordon were in General O'Hara's office for a meeting. Banastre Tarleton, just in from up north, was there on a recruiting mission. This secretly irritated Captain Bordon, who was also trying desperately to recruit men from this area for their legion. After all, they were just as short on good horsemen and horses as Tarleton's legion was. Why can't he recruit locals from up there, Bordon asked himself.
The captain was in a bad mood this morning from lack of sleep. They didn't get back to the fort until after 2am to begin with. After Hugh's head hit the pillow, he was awakened twice. Once by Banastre and the whore in that commander's room in the fort, having some raucous bedsport, obviously not caring who heard. And the second time not but an hour later, he was called to help break up a fight between some drunken infantrymen which had gotten out of hand. Even though it was not his unit of men, his size and sheer strength packed into his tall, brawny frame made him one of the usual officers called upon to help subdue brawlers.
Now Captain Bordon fought to keep his mind on the meeting. It was wandering badly, thinking about all he had to accomplish today and how little time he had before Tavington would surely assign him another task. He wasn't sure why he was asked to attend the meeting. All they had talked of so far were activities that Tavington could brief the general on. Hugh had written his report on the raids yesterday over breakfast this morning and already turned them into his superior.
The captain fought to rein his mind back in. Why do I need to be here? They have all the info they need about yesterday's activities in my reports. God, I've got so much to do today. I have to meet with two candidates for possible recruitment. I have an amended intelligence report to write. I have to reconcile the legion's receipts for reimbursement…..
The laughter of the other three officers finally pulled his mind back into the meeting. "You should have gone with Tavington and his men last night. It would have kept you out of trouble," O'Hara scolded Tarleton.
"No," Tavington spoke up, disagreeing with the general's assessment. "He would have found some kind of trouble while out with us. We needed calm discretion last night."
"Well, colonel," O'Hara now spoke to William, "you're stuck with him now. He can better recruit while encamped with you than here at the fort."
"If you'll permit me to point out, sir," Bordon joined in, "that what you're not saying is that the fort will be much quieter with Colonel Tarleton gone, and that you will enjoy the peace."
"Of course, Captain," the general admitted. "After two nights of Colonel Tarleton and some slattern keeping the whole household awake with their cavorting, everyone will be grateful for a night of quiet."
The ginger haired Tarleton smiled impishly at his fellow officers, proud inside that everyone in the house had heard his masculine prowess with his lady friend, satisfying her loudly. "It was more of a romp," Banastre began, "and I assure you that she was no trollop. She is quite cultured and experienced and we gave each other a run for our money!"
"And who is this well-to-do harlot you speak of?" William asked his fellow cavalry commander.
"Well, funny you should ask," Ban joked, "Seems her husband, an officer here, is currently away. It is Mrs.—"
Charles O'Hara gave a frantic wave, interrupting the underling officer with it, silencing him. The general recognized immediately the need for discretion, and not wanting to be implicated in anything, was more than happy to remain ignorant. "No! Don't tell us! It is better if we do not know."
The officers laughed together at their general as for once he didn't want to know what was going on when he usually demanded every single bit of intelligence and gossip they possessed. Ban kept on with his kidding.
"But sir," he objected, "I feel I MUST tell you so that you can keep her husband away for awhile! I simply must have more time with her."
"Well, you'll have to carry on with her elsewhere as you are hereby relieved of your room here at the main house," the general exclaimed. "You can keep Tavington's camp awake."
After more laughter from the group, General O'Hara got an alarmed look on his face which got the attention of the other officers. He suddenly realized that he was turning Banastre Tarleton loose on the Carolina countryside, and wasn't so sure now that this was a good idea.
"Colonel," he began, addressing Tarleton, "Please try to keep your gambling and drinking to a minimum. And restrain that lusty appetite of yours somewhat. Try not to leave any redhaired by blows around the countryside."
"That will be quite a feat!" Tavington quipped.
"When I told the paymaster that you were coming down for a few days," the general informed, "he went into a panic, informing me that he doesn't have enough money in the budget to cover any debts you leave behind that are called in, or to pay off the women who claim to be carrying your bastards!"
"I'll try my hardest to be a good boy," Ban said solemnly, which made himself, Bordon, and Tavington burst into laughter, knowing that Banastre Tarleton could not seem to stay out of trouble.
"See that you do," O'Hara warned, not as amused as the others. The general could foresee rumors of Tarleton's antic making their way back to the fort.
The general turned serious, wanting to get back to business. He looked at William. "Now colonel, I understand you wanted to talk about your last raid of the evening?"
"Yes, at the Burwell plantation," he confirmed.
"And what did you find?"
"Our visit verified the intelligence we have," Bordon spoke up, "that the colonel is still actively on duty and away, and the son is gone as well, having joined the militia."
"Of course, they lied about that," Tavington remarked.
"That's to be expected," O'Hara said, a bit irritated at the thought. "You have to... coerce... these colonials to get anything of worth out of them."
"We did learn something, though, that we didn't know," the captain announced.
"And that is?" O'Hara queried, folding his hands on his desk, waiting intently for the answer.
"Colonel Burwell's wife passed on last summer, during childbirth," Bordon replied.
"Oh?"
Captain Bordon went on. "That has left only one Burwell there on the farm. A daughter. She looks about fourteen, I'll wager."
"A young girl?" O'Hara asked, sitting forward, puzzled. "That rebel commander has left his whole plantation in the hands of a girl?"
"Yes."
"Are you quite sure?" the general asked again, still in disbelief that a large plantation and business would be trusted to a young girl to take care of during a time of war. "There is no other family there with her?"
"Yes," Tavington spoke, an ominous tone in his voice. A sly smile crossed his face as his eyes glimmered.
"I assure you general, that she is quite alone."
Author's notes:
Rotrock: German, loosely translating to "Redcoat".
By Blow: English slang at that time, for bastard. Usually left behind from some quick encounter.