Chapter 4: Second Thoughts

July 1777…..Williamsburg, Virginia

Colonel Burwell sat at the table in his tent with his aide de camp, Major Zeller, and his old friend recently turned militia man, Benjamin Martin. Ben, who only a year ago was determined not to join the war, changed his mind a few months after an unfortunate incident left the man feeling as if he really had no choice but to enlist.

Benjamin had seen firsthand what the British could do—with or without being provoked. They had raided his farm a few months back and found an injured Gabriel resting there with messages in a marked case. They seized Gabriel, killed another son named Thomas, then burnt his house and buildings, taking the livestock as well. Ben's immediate anger and grief caused a dormant cruelty within him that he had laid to rest years ago at the end of the other war, to rear its ugly head. He went after a small detachment of redcoats and killed them all save for one. The widowed farmer was in it deep now and could not get out. Martin had no other choice but to send his children to their aunt and fight beside his son.

Burwell, a leader who often dropped whatever he was doing to be briefed on the area's intelligence, had done this as well this morning, knowing the importance of up to date information. But at the moment, the meeting seemed to drone on. The voices of the colonel's two companions rattled in his ears. It might as well have been church bells peeling in the distance. Harry knew that as a good commander, he needed to be listening, but some news brought in by a messenger this morning so disturbed him that he couldn't concentrate on the matter at hand.

Ben dutifully shared all the intelligence information he'd picked up recently as Zeller recorded it all. As Martin spoke, Burwell had been quiet, which wasn't unusual as the man of few words often let others speak as he took it all in and digested it. Both the militia leader and the young adjutant could tell that the duty driven colonel wasn't listening this morning and was unfocused, seemingly a million miles away.

When Benjamin finished talking and the major writing, both sat in silence for nearly two minutes, looking at Colonel Burwell and wondering what the problem was. Indeed, Harry was so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't even realized that his two compatriots had finished speaking and were sitting quietly, staring at him now.

Ben cleared his throat, then stretched his arm out beside him, placing is hand lightly on the colonial commander's shoulder.

"Harry," he began, "the major has all the details now."

Burwell snapped back to reality and suddenly realized that he'd missed all of the intelligence Martin had shared. He felt badly.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen," he apologized. "I promise to look over all the notes later…." His voice trailed off as his whirling mind threatened to take him captive again.

"What's on your mind, Harry?" Martin probed.

"It's a personal matter," he revealed. He shook his head, trying to dismiss the thoughts and get back to business. "I need to push it out of my mind as the war takes precedence over all now."

"I understand," Martin replied, "but if you let the trouble brew, it may cloud your judgment on military matters at a time when a clear head is needed."

"I know you're right, Benjamin."

"What's the worry?" Martin shifted, easing back in his seat and stretching his legs under the table.

"A message came from home this morning, through Atterson's network," Harry proclaimed. "Three nights ago, the Green Dragoons were in the area."

A grim look crossed Ben Martin's face when he heard this. This was the same unit that had brought havoc to his homestead. A twinge of pain hurt his heart as he instantly recalled the murder of his beloved son.

"Tavington's legion?"

"Yes," confirmed Burwell, "And you know personally of their exploits and how they conduct duty."

Ben nodded in agreement. "And that can only mean trouble."

Harry paused, then continued. "They raided my farm. Didn't seize anything. Left quickly."

"Perhaps it was routine or maybe they were looking for a fugitive," Major Zeller, the quiet but ultra intelligent adjutant finally spoke.

The two older men nodded at the young officer's observation. A heavy silence fell over the tent as the three rebels thought about the crown's two cavalry regiments and how they were quickly making a very negative, albeit frightening impression on the colonials. The Colonial regulars were beginning to realize that the dragoons were His Majesty's secret weapon to bend and break the rebels into submission.

"How did Betsy do?" Colonel Martin asked, breaking the contemplative quiet that had enveloped the trio.

"By all accounts, she stayed calm and handled the situation well." Harry shifted in his chair, and now seemed to ease a bit, as if this exorcising of thoughts was doing him some good.

Another uneven silence fell over the three men. And although Martin and Zeller could see some relief in their commander at speaking of his woes, they still saw worry etched in his face. The two surmised that there was something else still bothering him.

"What else is troubling you?" Ben asked in a subdued voice.

The colonel let out a heavy sigh, and looked pained, as if he didn't want to say next what he had to say. He looked down at the wood of the table and spoke slowly.

"I think I made a mistake in leaving Betsy in charge after Steven left," he admitted, closing his eyes, feeling almost embarrassed to have to have revealed that. After all, his men thought he was strong; a pillar; a rock. Now he had to admit and reveal fault of his own part on his very own home front.

The troubled commander went on. "She is still so young and still so emotional over losing her mother. Katy gave her strength and courage."

"Of course the death of her mother would shake her confidence," Zeller said softly. For a young man, he often spoke and did things in a maturity way beyond his years and other youths his age.

"You've been proud of her," Ben pointed out, "You said she has done so well with the servant's help."

"Yes she has. But I'm having second thoughts now." Harry rose from his seat, stretched his arms and back, then looked up at the canvas ceiling of his quarters. Then he turned back to look at Zeller and Martin.

"With the war actions starting to move southward now," he announced, "skirmishes and… and…." His voice trailed off again as he searched for the words,"unsavory people are getting closer to home," Harry finished his thought. "She's a pretty, young girl essentially there alone without any family members. And I am a rebel leader. And that makes her a prime target for…trouble…..from the redcoats."

The colonel inhaled deeply, holding the breath for an instant, then let it out. He stepped to the table and leaned forward a bit, resting his clenched fists on the surface of it. "I think I should make arrangements to get her away from there; get her to safety."

"What are your plans?" Ben asked with concern, ready to help if need be.

Harry pulled back from the table again and turned his backs to them. He was quiet for an instant as he took a step away, his gaze now aimed out the door, as if he could see his farm like it was just beyond the open tent flap.

He answered Martin in a lost and far off voice. "I don't know yet, but I need to make a decision about it soon."