Chapter 2 Aftermath
The Dragoons had stormed their way onto the Prescott plantation, trampling all within their path. During the commotion, the rebels hadn't been able to get clear signals to each other. They had not anticipated that their small battle against Hayden Prescott would be interrupted by the enemy!
The rebels were outnumbered as the formidable red and green riders attacked. Some of the zealots tried their best to hide. A handful of them retreated back into the protection of the land. A few were killed, and two were caught and apprehended as they attempted to flee. The dragoons were always pleased to thwart the attempts of the rebels.
The fracas was over within a matter of minutes. Now, many of the men were riding to the middle of the lawn in front of the house, joining those who had already dismounted. They waited there for directions from the commanders, yet to join them.
Within a matter of moments, the officers rode into their midst. Colonel Tarleton was the last one in, joining Major Bordon and Colonel Tavington, already there. Banastre dismounted quickly, as the other two officers finished sheathing their swords and holstering their pistols.
Tarleton and Tavington looked at each other. William could tell by the familiar nod of Ban's head that he had relinquished the job of calling the orders to him.
"Split up," Tavington began. "I need lookouts at the perimeter of the property in case we have any unwanted visitors. Search the grounds and buildings."
Tavington removed his gloves as he continued barking orders. "Bring me the wounded. Line the dead up here." The colonel made a linear motion of his arm drawing an imaginary line on the grass as to where he wanted the casualties laid out.
"Take any prisoners to Major Bordon for interrogation, and give any important documents to Colonel Tarleton. Round up the horses and save them for us!" William stepped onto the walkway, surveying the area immediately around the house.
The men dismounted and went to their tasks. The other officers soon joined Tavington in studying aftermath of the ambush. Captain Wilkins was called and asked to join them. The men removed their helmets as they continued looking on at the carnage.
Before them on the sidewalk lay the dead body of Matthew Prescott. Blood stained the walkway crimson as it flowed from the side of his head. His eyes were shut as specks of the fluid were on his face and his religious smock.
"Dead!," Tarleton said, as he crouched down to look at the man. He shook his head at the sight of the dead priest. "I'm sure the man bold enough to kill the priest won't be making the trip to Heaven."
The group of officers moved closer to the front step, where the body of Hayden Prescott lay. Tavington knelt down and rolled the man over. He checked the man's neck—or rather what
was left of it—for a sign of life. The pacifist had been wounded by bullets in the thigh and the forearm, but the neck injury, leaving a gaping hole, is what killed the man.
The officers turned their attention to the massive house. Its bricks and wood now bore the fresh scars of bullets. There were many holes dotting the woodwork, and the chips in the bricks and mortar from the bullets were too many to count. Most the windows had been shattered by the bullets.
"Christ," Bordon swore. He looked up at the house in amazement. "It only took one bullet to kill him," he said, as he pointed to Mr. Prescott's corpse. "Why would they waste all their ammo on a building?"
"Yes," Tavington agreed. "They could have easily blown or fired the house."
"Scare tactics," Wilkins confidently pointed out.
The group then walked back toward the center of the lawn to wait for the men. They listened to the random shouts of their men calling out their findings.
"Servants are gone," one dragoon called from the quarters to the side.
"There's a dead woman here in the house!"
"There's one back here," another shouted from the barn.
Banastre Tarleton, William Tavington, and Alex Bordon watched James Wilkins as he looked around at the carnage with concern. The group also watched with concern as the men began bringing the victims around to be laid out on the front lawn. They looked on as one dragoon carried the body of a woman out of the house. Then they noticed another woman's body brought around from one of the side barns.
"Shame," said Wilkins forlornly. "He was a good man. They were a good family."
"Why would they do this to a pacifist?" Tavington asked.
The officers began to walk toward the spot where the soldiers had laid the rebel casualties out. Wilkins looked across the grass to that spot, then to his commander.
"Hayden Prescott had enemies, just as he had allies," Wilkins answered.
Bordon was silent as he walked along behind his commander. Alexander was the intelligence officer and chief interrogator for the dragoon units, aside from his duties as a commander and Colonel Tavington's adjutant. Even though he had established an information network both within the fort walls and outside in the Carolina countryside, he thought about how still unfamiliar he was with the area. He thought he had better spend more time with Wilkins to get familiar with the locale. For the moment, Alex kept quiet and listened intently to the conversation, especially to Captain Wilkins, trying to absorb as much information as possible.
The group had now come upon the area in which five dead rebels were laid out. They studied the corpses before them. Colonel Tavington resumed with his directions. "We need a burial detail," he instructed. The officer paused for a moment, scanning the plantation for something.
"Wilkins."
The loyalist captain hurried to his commander's side. "Yes sir?"
"Is that the family cemetery over there?" asked William.
"I believe so."
"Well then," the colonel continued, "place the family to rest over there, but bury the rebels elsewhere. I don't want this scum anywhere near this decent family."
Tavington turned to his aide-de-camp, still near the commander. "If it were up to me, I'd order those bloody rebels left for the vultures."
Bordon said nothing, his disdain for rebels almost as rampant as his commander's.
Wilkins then spoke up. "Sir, I'd like to head up the burial of the Prescott family, since I knew them."
"Granted," acknowledged the dragoon leader. "I trust you'll know where to place them."
Wilkins step aside to where the burial detail was, pointing over toward the family plot. He then gave the names and other details he wanted listed on the burial marker for now, knowing it would be replaced with a more elaborate stone later.
After a moment passed, Tavington reached down and pulled a gun out of the holster of an old, dead Colonial. He held the pistol up and looked at it.
"English," he said. "This group has raided one of our supply trains. I wonder what other English valuables they have?"
The men hoped they had not stolen any maps or documents, but had no way of knowing for sure. Tavington pocketed the gun.
"Private," barked William, "Search the bodies for papers. Give their diaries to the Major. See that all the weapons and ammo are collected." He then turned to the officers and sneered under his breath, "It's probably all ours, anyway!"
Colonel Tarleton looked down at the dead rebels lying before him and shook his head. "You'd think these men would have wanted to work with a man of his power."
Wilkins, through with burial detail for the moment, crouched down to get a better look at the dead men. He rummaged through the pockets of the man, but didn't find anything of importance. He stood back up and looked at Tarleton. "Not these men."
"You know them?" Tavington asked.
"I don't know them, but I know what they are," Wilkins answered.
"Well, Captain?" Tavington queried with impatience.
"They are extremists," he began. "They have no interest in working with a pacifist or anyone else for that matter. They want the war, and they want to win it. They won't compromise anything and will not stop until the English are gone."
Wilkins fished through the coat pocket of the rebel he knelt beside. Not finding anything of importance, he continued on. "From the looks of things here, and just from the rumors I know of in this area, they must have decided to put a stop to Prescott's negotiations for peace."
"They wanted him out of the way, obviously," Tavington commented with a sigh.
"Pity," Banastre replied. "I knew our side had relied heavily on him. Just the other day one of the generals said we were making real headway, and credited much of it to Mr. Prescott."
About that time, two dragoons came up to the group of officers, dragging along two of the rebel zealots that had been captured. "Prisoners sir."
Tavington nodded his head toward his Major. "Bordon."
Alex stepped before the bound men. "Secure them. I'll speak with them back at the fort. Make sure they don't get away." Bordon sighed. He'd have to talk with Wilkins a little more to find out more about this group of rebel extremists and to learn more of Prescott.
Wilkins, Bordon, Tavington, and Tarleton turned to walk back toward the house. They could see six bodies laid out on the grass ahead of them. The three English officers listened and watched Wilkins again as they walked.
The loyalist officer Wilkins was filled with dread as he looked at the bodies that lie just ahead of them. He shook his head and heaved a fear laden breath as they neared the corpses.
The group of officers reached the bodies of the Prescott family. They had been neatly and respectfully laid out on the lawn in front of the home they loved; a home they would inhabit no more.
Captain Wilkins walked past each person and identified them to the English officers. He stood quietly over Hayden Prescott with a look of disappointment on his face.
"This is Hayden Prescott," he sighed. "He did so much to try and stop this. I am sure he could have done more. Just a few months ago, there was a meeting in Charles Towne, regarding the war. Many of us from this area, including the Prescotts, were there. Mr. Prescott spoke so well to an angry crowd that was Hell bent on fighting here in the South. In fact, I thought he nearly had the crowd turned to pacifism to solve all this. That was until that damned Harry Burwell spoke up."
"Burwell?" Tavington asked.
"Colonel Burwell, Of the Continental army, Sir," informed Bordon. "Under General Gates."
Bordon's knack for area intelligence never ceased to impress William. He felt lucky to have such an astute—and unrelenting—officer as his Aide de Camp.
Wilkins looked up, as if remembering the moment. He snickered sarcastically as he continued. "He claimed not to be an orator, but he swayed the crowd back to wanting to join in the fight."
The loyalist captain shook his head, then moved on. He looked down at Matthew Prescott, his religious uniform and collar now stained with dirt and blood.
"This is the oldest son, Matthew. He was in seminary school. He must have been home from seminary on a break."
Tavington, Bordon, and Tarleton followed along, pausing to look over each of the dead. They listened to Wilkins as he spoke.
"That is Mrs. Prescott," he said. He knelt down beside her, looking at the horrible gash in her neck. "Where did they find her?"
"Um....they carried her out of the house," Bordon answered. He recalled seeing one of the men bringing her body out through the front door only moments ago.
Wilkins stayed kneeling as he pointed out the next casualty. "This is Miss Melanie Prescott,the oldest daughter; in fact, the oldest child. She would have been a fine catch."
All three of the English officers raised their eyebrows and shot looks at Captain Wilkins.
"All the men around here had their eyes on her. She had been engaged, but her fiancé died in battle, I believe."
The three senior officers looked at the young woman. All were thinking to themselves how beautiful she was. They were sorry that they would not have the chance to get to know her.
Wilkins rose and moved on to the last of the dead family. "Oh, Damn!" he exclaimed in disgust.
"Children," he continued. Wilkins still was having trouble seeing the dead children who were victims of this war. It especially tore at him to see the youngest members of this good family having to share the same fate as the older ones. It bothered him, as he knew they were innocent casualties of the conflict.
The three English officers said nothing, having become somewhat numb to the sight of dead children. They knew this was a fact of war. It did not trouble these men to kill a young rebel, because to them, every child who fought actively could grow up to be a soldier or rebel leader. They also realized that they or one of their men could be killed by a young rebel, just as well as by an old one. It did make a difference to them to see non fighting, innocent children or women killed during the conflict, but they knew this to be inevitable.
"That's Jonathon Prescott," Wilkins continued. "I think he is 12 or 13. And that is Josie, the youngest."
"So this is the whole family?" Bordon asked.
"Yes," Captain Wilkins answered blandly.
"Sad loss," Tarleton said.
"Yes," Tavington agreed, glancing again at each member of the family. He then looked about at his men. He took a couple of steps away from the corpses and began to shout orders.
"Seize the entire plantation for His Majesty's army," he ordered, "God knows this family doesn't need it anymore."
With that, the officers began dividing the men into groups for more duties. They decided that Tarleton and some of his men would stay at the plantation to secure it until Cornwallis could decide what part of his army would live there.
"Check the barns," Tavington went on. "Leave the livestock here for Tarleton's unit. The carriages, implements, and wagons can stay behind, as well. They'll slow us down on the way back to the fort."
Wilkins, who had been listening quietly to Tavington's orders, thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head and looked back over his shoulder. He thought it was nothing, yet continued to gaze at the body of Melanie Prescott. It was still hard for him to believe this young beauty was dead.
As he stared at her still, he thought he saw her fingers move. Wilkins blinked hard, thinking he was seeing things. He turned his attention back to Colonel Tavington, lost now from what he had been ordering of the men.
Another moment passed, then Captain Wilkins turned again and looked at Miss Prescott. He couldn't help but look at her hand again and indeed, he saw her fingers twitching. The she moved her head slightly. In disbelief that he was seeing all this, Jim stepped over to where she lay and knelt down beside her. She groaned almost inaudibly and moved her head again.
"Colonel," shouted Wilkins, "She's alive!"
Tavington stopped in the midst of his orders, whirled about and looked startled at Wilkins.
"Miss Prescott is still alive," Wilkins affirmed.
Tavington tore through the group and back over to where the family's bodies lay. "Alive? Are you quite sure?"
"Private!," Tavington called to the one man in Tarleton's legion that he knew to be a medic.
"Sir," the medic answered.
"Some of them may be alive," he remarked.
The medical officer surveyed the bodies questioningly from where he stood, incredulous that anyone would have survived what looked like a brutal attack.
"Check them again for life!" He ordered in an irritated tone. "Use a mirror". He did not want to be responsible for burying any innocent pacifists alive. William reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small mirror, which he tossed to Wilkins. Bordon, likewise, retrieved a small mirror from his pocket as well, and began checking the other bodies for breathing along with the medic.
Wilkins held the small mirror under the nose, then the mouth of Melanie Prescott. A smile crossed his face as the glass began to fog up.
"She's breathing! She's alive!"
Bordon, and likewise the medical officer, were having no luck with any of the other Prescotts. The aide-de-camp shoved the mirror back into his pocket after he had checked the other five and stepped back over to his commanders.
"No breath on the others. Just the young lady."
"Amazing," Tavington exclaimed.
"Yeah," Tarleton agreed. "I can't believe someone lived through this massacre. Her wounds look bad. Anyone count how many times she has been stabbed?"
Wilkins was too busy with Miss Prescott to hear the conversation of the officers. He gripped her hand and brushed the hair back from her face. The medic quickly came to aid Wilkins, kneeling down next to her.
The medic listened to her heart and breathing as Wilkins dabbed her face with water, washing away the blood and dirt.
The private felt her forehead, which was burning up. "She's bad. I don't think she has much longer to live."
Wilkins did not listen to the medic. He held Melanie's hand again and touched her face with his fingertips.
"Miss Prescott," he said quietly, trying to rouse her. "Melanie?"
The other officers gathered around her and Wilkins, wanting a closer look. The captain continued to try to stimulate the young woman to a coherent state.
"Melanie, can you hear me?" he asked, desperately trying to elicit some sort of response from her.
"Melanie, it's Jim Wilkins," he continued. "Melanie, it's alright. You're safe now. If you can hear me, open your eyes or squeeze my hand, please. Miss Melanie?"
The captain and the others waited tensely for a moment for a response. Wilkins put his ear closer to her face, hoping to hear something from her. She groaned this time, a little louder.
"Miss Melanie," he cooed to her again.
Her eyelids fluttered as she moaned again. Then, she opened her eyes a slit and moved her head slightly. She whimpered airily again as her eyelids fluttered. She then closed her eyes again.
"We have to get her back to the Fort," Wilkins implored.
"She'd never make the trip," Bordon argued. "She's nearly dead."
Wilkins let go of her gently and jumped to his feet. "Well, if we're commandeering the house, then she can stay here and recover."
"Sir, I don't know," the medical officer argued. "I haven't got the means to take care of someone with wounds as serious as hers."
"We can't let her die," Wilkins opposed.
"Captain, she is near death as it is," Tarleton said.
Wilkins hated it so that this good family, that he had known somewhat, had been slaughtered. He wanted to try to preserve some part of it. He knew them to be good and influential people, just in name alone. It was indeed a well known and powerful name.
"Colonel Tavington," he pleaded with his commander, "she would be a good person to have at our fort, if she survives. Why, the name of her family alone precedes her. It would be strategic, not to mention powerful in our favor, if the Colonials knew that the only surviving member of this good family was with us. Her father had many influential friends and allies in the so called Continental government. They would be worried or concerned over her. Just think what it could do."
The three commanding officers were silent for a moment as Captain Wilkins' words caught their attention.
"It could open the channels of communication with them," Bordon spoke up, his words now reflecting the intelligence part of his duties.
Tarleton smiled slyly at Bordon, knowing the major would love to scour her brain for information to help with his interrogations—if she lived. He also caught the other meaning of his words.
"You mean that it would also open up the bargaining tables," Banastre laughed.
Bordon raised his eyebrows and said nothing. He would let the comment sit as it was.
"I suppose it would be good for the English to have her around," Tavington relented. Then he added, "if she survives."
The officers were quiet for yet another moment, letting Tavington make the final decision.
"Alright," said Tavington. "Take her back to the fort. She'll make a valuable prisoner and maybe a good bargaining chip."
"Prisoner," queried Captain Wilkins, his face registering surprise. He wondered why they would hold a pacifist, neutral to both sides, as captive.
"Yes, Captain," Tavington replied smartly. "If she does live, you don't think we are going to let her go, do you?"
Colonel Tavington then turned to his men. "Those of you that are staying, report to Colonel Tarleton for your assignments," he ordered. "The rest of you, get ready to leave for the fort."
Bordon looked over at one of the Privates, one that he had known to have searched the house earlier. "Fetch a warm blanket for Miss Prescott from the house."
The adjutant then knelt down next to Melanie, who was unconscious again. He put one hand on her wrist gently then touched her cheek with the fingertips of the other. Alex studied her face a moment and tried not to let on how beautiful he thought she was. The officer had no doubt that the other men felt the same way.
Major Bordon then felt her forehead, which was very warm. He wiped away a smudge on her cheek. Then, he held her chin softly with his thumb and index finger and moved her head delicately from side to side, examining her. The girl's skin color was completely washed out, and all the blush had drained from her lips.
Breathing a heavy sigh, Alexander Bordon looked at the medic across from him, still poised over Melanie's body. He commented, "Color's bad. Bind her wounds as best as you can. The surgeons can do the rest back at the fort."
The medical officer thought this was a lost cause, but did not voice this. He was not about to waste what little bandages he had left on a Colonial woman—dying or not. So, he lifted her skirt and began to shred the young lady's petticoats.
After a moment of this, he suddenly felt several sets of eyes burning holes into the back of him. Indeed, he looked up and saw the officers standing there with shock on their faces.
"Sir, I've no bandages left," he lied. "I'll have to use these."
Tarleton, Tavington, and Bordon nodded their heads in understanding. They continued to mill about and pace, leaving the medic to his job.
After a few moments, the rebel and the Prescott horses had been rounded up and were readied to leave. Shortly thereafter, Private Higgins came running from the house with blanket in hand for Miss Melanie.
The men took to their horses, save for Major Bordon and the medic. Tavington had made the decision that the ailing Miss Prescott would ride back with Captain Wilkins on his horse. The colonel doubted that she would survive the ride to the fort, so it made no difference if she rode back laying in a wagon, or held in the arms of a dragoon. Either way, she would be jostled about, which wouldn't be any better for her wounds. It was a chance undertaking.
Tavington bid farewell the Tarleton. "As soon as we get back and get an answer from the generals, I'll try to get a dispatch rider to you with their answers so that the area may be prepped."
"Enjoy this beautiful home for the tonight," Tavington remarked to Ban as he mounted his horse.
"It is a lavish home," Tarleton agreed with a smile, glad to be spending the night in a house instead of a tent, "but it needs some camp followers. Give my regards to the ladies back at the fort; tell them I miss them already."
"Well, Bordon and I will make sure and ease their pain this evening with you gone," Tavington quipped making the men around them laugh.
"No. They will all be too heartbroken over my absence tonight," Tarleton bantered back, "that I'm sure they will all take to their beds in tears."
Major Bordon looked up at Tavington from where he stood. Both men rolled their eyes at Ban's comment.
The medic finished binding the young woman's wounds, then he and Major Bordon wrapped her tightly into the blanket. The second in command then lifted the bundled girl up and into the arms of Captain Wilkins for the ride back to the fort.
With that, Tavington and Bordon bid goodbye to Tarleton and his bunch of men, leaving them to ready the place for the arrival of more English. Wilkins held Melanie's limp body tightly as he looked back at the Prescott's comfortable plantation house. He watched the remaining dragoons picking up the bodies of the dead family, moving them to the side of the house for burial in the tiny family cemetery. Then he shuddered and turned back straight in his saddle, unable to look anymore. He detested the fact that a good family had been slaughtered, and felt even worse when he looked at the only remaining survivor of that massacre, in his arms, barely alive.
As they started to walk along, Jim Wilkins whispered words of encouragement to his neighbor and friend. "Melanie, I hope you can hear me. We are taking you back to Fort Carolina. The surgeons there can help you. But you have to hold on through the ride. You MUST hold on."