Letters Home: Between Two Worlds
by: Shadow Chaser
Story:
The second time it happened, Ben could not keep the surprise off of his face as he accepted the enthusiastic embrace from the tailor's wife. He had already been greeted warmly and with some surprised enthusiasm from the blacksmith already when he had requested new shoes for his horse, a sharpening of his sword, as well as two new daggers to replace the ones he had on him. The blacksmith's wife had embraced him and called him her hero as well as jokingly referred to him as his adopted son before letting him get on with business. Now, as he composed himself after the awkward hug from the tailor's wife he could not help but be a little more than shockingly bemused at what had transpired. He saw her bustled back behind a curtain to continue to help fit a customer who had come for alterations.
"Don't mind Emma, Major," the tailor, a one Mr. Robert Reed, a middle-aged man whom had a hooked nose and pinched spectacles over his face said with a kind smile, "she and the rest of the sewing circle have been reading the latest news from the fronts as well as garnering information about your and the 2nd Light's heroics." The older man chuckled lightly, "You've quite the admirers, Major Tallmadge."
Ben blinked, a little taken aback at the man's words before hastily clearing his throat, "Oh, um, thank you...I suppose..." He could instantly imagine Caleb's expression as well as his phantom voice going on and on about the virtues of women, things about experience, and the fact that he 'Benny-boy' was rather lucky to have so many female admirers.
Ben did not think he was that oblivious to the admiration of the women – he had letters from them in his desk to prove it – but he thought that with the war effort and all, he needed to put his focus more on driving out the British than to pursue his own wants and needs. Apparently he he might have been a little bit wrong on that part, especially with the admiration of the blacksmith's wife and Mr. Reed's wife to boot. He coughed lightly, "Well, then..."
"The two new shirts will be ready for you by the day after tomorrow as is two clean vests and the extra pair of woolen stockings. The jacket however, might not be. Is there a place you wish me to deliver this to?" Mr. Reed asked and Ben shook his head.
"Keep it for me. I will send one of my men with the payment when you have finished it," he was a little disappointed that he would not be collecting a new jacket when he left.
He owned three of them and one of them had bloodstains on them from when he was grazed with a bullet a couple of months ago protecting Washington from Thomas Hickey's assassination attempt. His current one was staring to get a bit worn from all of his traveling and from being rotated in and out as best as he could with his blood-stained one. His third one was a little more elaborate and used as his dress uniform when he had meetings with Washington or any others. He hesitated to use that one as part of his jacket rotation, but with this new one unable to be ready in time, he would have to start using it.
"Well, I will try my best-"
"It's fine Mr. Reed, you have your regulars and they too need their clothing for the upcoming planting season," he knew that he was within his rights as both an officer of the Continental Army and as a soldier to demand and receive clean and tailored clothing befitting his station. But Ben also knew that he would be making unreasonable demands on someone he had known for three years.
The tailor looked surprised at his answer before a smile appeared on his face, "Thank you, sir for your kindness. Now then, your total will be fourteen Continental dollars or at least seven pounds if you wish to pay with coin."
Ben did not say anything at the steeply low price he had been given, knowing that it had only been given because he did not expedite his jacket and the tailor was feeling grateful. Instead, he opened up his leather satchel and pulled out the Continental dollars he needed before handing it over. He would have used the poundage upon his persons, but he also wanted to save it for bribes in case they encountered trouble crossing the Hudson on their way back to Morristown and from there to Valley Forge.
"Do you need new nickel or silver buckles for your shoes, sir?" he asked and Ben glanced down at his feet, pursing his lips for a moment before shaking his head. His riding boots needed no buckles, but his dress shoes back at camp probably could have used new ones. However Ben was hoping that maybe he could use some of Caleb's more interesting whaling tools and devices to shine the buckles. He certainly seen his best friend hand around some kind of paste to the others in camp and the result was extremely shiny buckles and the occasional sword. Though he he had seen Caleb use the paste and set his personal tomahawk on fire.
"These will do for now, thank you though," he said as he mentally counted the amount of money he had left to buy some extra supplies at the general store as well as to pay the blacksmith for what he requested. Mr. Reed nodded and Ben left the shop, pulling his traveling cloak tighter at the sudden gust of wind. The sun was already setting, casting everything in a pale frosty-like glow, but Ben could make out the shops starting to close up and the noises from the tavern that John Davenport owned growing louder and louder.
He headed across the street to where the butcher's shop and general store were located, hoping that maybe Rachel was still there. To his luck, he saw her exit the butcher's shop along with Achilles and ran the rest of the way.
"Rachel! Master Achilles!" he called out and saw the two look up before Rachel smiled, the white of her teeth contrasting the extremely black skin she had.
"Master Benjamin!" she called in return as he shut an eye against another gust of a gale that blew down the street and huddled near them.
"Major Tallmadge, good to see you again," Achilles greeted with his usual rasp as Ben nodded towards the master Assassin.
"The same," he returned before turning to Rachel, "has the butcher's shop closed yet?"
"They're just about to, are you home for long? I can go back and get a fowl of sorts if you wish," Rachel immediately knocked back on the shop's door before it opened and the burly form of the butcher himself looked curiously at them before spotting him.
"Tallmadge! You're back! I thought you were here...saw the horses ride by just hours ago, but didn't realize it was you and the boys," the butcher, David if Ben remembered correctly, was always a constant fixture at the Davenport Tavern. He was loud, boisterous, and Ben distinctly remembered the man challenging others to arm wrestle with him in a drunken wage of sorts.
"David, do you have any sort of fowl, turkey, chicken or even pheasant I can buy off of you-"
"Aye, that I do, give me a second, which do you prefer, Ms. Rachel?"
Rachel shot him a questioning look and Ben shrugged. It had been a while since he had fresh fowl meat and he had no preferences. All fresh meat was better than the salted pork, fish, and hard cheese they had been eating at Valley Forge for the past winter. "The chicken then, easier to cook and pluck if you would be so kind good sir," Rachel answered and David nodded before closing the door to get her order.
"I hope you don't mind chicken-"
"Any fresh meat is good, especially if I remember your cooking," he interrupted her and saw her duck her head at his compliment before Achilles smiled a little.
"Rations do tend to get dry after a while," the Mentor of the Assassins commented absently before they fell into a companionable silence.
The silence was broken after a few seconds in which the door opened again and David stepped out, holding a freshly slaughtered chicken. Ben took a cautious step back to avoid the drip of blood, the coppery smell of it reminding him greatly of the overwhelming pungent odor of his slaughtered men in New Jersey for a second. Instead, he offered to take Rachel's basket of brought food and spices as the woman reached out to grab the proffered chicken by its legs. With her other hand she dropped the appropriate amount of coins into David's hand who clenched it and grinned.
"I should be saving this, but ol' Davenport's got my name on it," the butcher looked at him, "Davenport back with ye?"
"Probably telling tall tales," Ben gestured with his head towards the Tavern and David laughed loudly.
"Or telling sweet nothin's to his wife," the man snickered before heading over to the Tavern, his business clearly closed.
Ben shook his head and gestured with the basket in his hands to Rachel and Achilles, "Shall we?"
The other two nodded as they headed back to the house, Ben trying his best not to stare at the drip of blood against snow from the slaughtered chicken. He mostly succeeded by keeping his eyes forward and the basket held in front of him. He knew it was silly to think of such things, but he could not help but think of the same blood that had dripped while seeing the wounded after Trenton and even in other attacks over the last couple of years. He managed to pull himself from his thoughts as they reached the house without incident and Ben handed over the basket to Rachel who took it and the chicken into the kitchens, leaving him and Achilles in the front hall.
He made to excuse himself when the Assassin tapped him lightly on the wrist with his walking cane, "A moment of your time, if you will, Major."
"Of course," Ben gestured for Achilles to precede him into the sitting room where the flickering warmth of a well-tended hearth invited to melt the chill from their bones. He followed, taking off his traveling cloak and hanging it by one of the coat racks near the door as he passed by before shedding his leather jacket and folding it over one arm. Achilles did the same, but hung his jacket over one of the high-backed chairs in the room before easing himself into the same chair.
"How much do you know of our order?" Achilles asked as Ben made himself comfortable in his own chair. It was angled towards the fire, but not enough so that he was still facing Achilles.
"Of the history between the Brotherhood and the Templars?" he asked, a little puzzled at the question, "not much aside from the fact that I know the Brotherhood has been fighting them for a very long time; far longer than when these colonies were established." He saw the elderly man nod absently and continued, "I also know that Shay Cormac was one of the Brotherhood before he betrayed them."
"Your father told...?"
"Yes, he told me," Ben confirmed, "after I visited the Homestead." He had a feeling that Achilles was working his way towards a goal, but did not know what it was. In the mean time, he was content to answer the man's inquiries; finding no direct harm in answering such questions.
Achilles made a noise of agreement before rubbing his bristled chin quietly for a few seconds, "Major Tallmadge...Benjamin...the order needs men like you to lead it back to its rightful place, to stop the spread of the Templars' influences and their schemes..."
Ben sat back slowly as he met Achilles' firm look, "You wish for me to join the Brotherhood."
"Aye," the man nodded once, "we need leaders like yourself to guide both the war effort and the country when we succeed."
"When," Ben stared at Achilles, thinking of all of the sick and dying men in the cold, hard ground of Valley Forge. It was brutal there, and though he had left before the worst of the winter had arrived, he could not help but feel for the men there.
"We've received word that France has all but allied itself with the Continental Congress and the fledgling United States of America. The Marquis de Lafayette is already at your winter camp," the other man said with a slight smile and Ben could only stare in shock.
"T-That's...that's great news!" he released a shaky breath at the sudden and sheer amount of joy he was feeling. France was their ally and it meant more troops, ships, supplies, and most of all, hope that they were going to win this even with the loss of both Philadelphia and New York. He wished he had a drink or something next to him, but instead rubbed his face, suddenly feeling a lot better in a long, long time. He felt more confident in the troops stationed in Boston, in re-taking parts of Rhode Island and just generally about everything.
"So you understand our request for you to join the Brotherhood?" Achilles asked, bringing Ben's focus back to what he has asked. "With France's help this country will come to be and we will soon be free of England's yolk. The Templars support the British and with the rise of this new country, they stand to lose everything. We must take this chance to ensure that they cannot cause such chaos or have such influencing power once more."
"You wish for me to use my position in Washington's shadow to help further the Brotherhood's goals?" he dared not say that he was the former Head of Intelligence in case Achilles did not know that. As far as he knew, Washington had not made it publicly known considering the deference and respect he had been given in Boston, so Ben was not inclined to tell anyone else. It was also because it still stung and hurt to have his Commander-in-Chief feel that way about him.
"We are not the chaotic entity you may have heard of contrary to Templars' rumors," the older man said, "we only want the freedom and free will for those to choose what they want."
Ben could feel the flicker of a half-truth hanging in the air and pressed on it, "But that's not quite true, is it not?"
He caught the barest flash of surprise in Achilles' dark eyes before a small smile appeared on his lips and he shook his head, "Your perception does you credit, Major Tallmadge.
"No. I am asking because while Connor does his best and is my apprentice, he does not understand the finer politicking that happens with men who rebel against an established order. He is...naive, though I suspect that he is beginning to realize that. But he is also head-strong and stubborn about his believes. And so will support whatever goals are achieved for this his new nation that is growing before our eyes." Achilles sat forward, "I want you to help him, support him, be the voice of reason to the shadows in men's hearts like Washington and the others."
"You are asking me to choose between Washington and Connor, or rather, the ideals of the order itself," Ben stated and saw the other man shake his head.
"No-"
"If their ideals come in conflict-"
"No, I am not," Achilles interrupted with another shake of his head, "I am asking you to be the bridge between Washington and Connor."
"But to also swear by the Creed should the need arise," he countered, "and to follow it no matter what allegiances or other vows taken because to be a member of the Brotherhood is to devote one's life to it."
The older man was quiet for a few minutes as the two stared at each other. The distant sounds of a kitchen come to life with dinner being made as well as the muffled sounds of what could have been guns being cleaned in the back echoed in the house. There was an unspoken conversation that hung in the air and it seemed to remind the older man of the very reason why he was having this discussion as he pressed his lips together in a thin line. "Your father," Achilles finally stated and Ben inclined his head once.
"I will decline your offer with the same simple reason I gave to Connor when he asked me why I was not part of the order," he said quietly, "it is because I cannot see a service to the order and raise a family at the same time."
He held up a hand to prevent the other man from interrupting again, "I've already pledged my service to one man under God, and cannot do so to a war or a cause I know that has gone on past my father's time. I pledged to ensure the freedom of this country because I know the war will end and I will be able to retire to a life I want and with a family I wish to raise."
"And even with France's help, if we lose this war?" Achilles asked, his eyes sharp.
"Then I will die knowing that I have done all that I can in service to my general, my country, and my beliefs," he replied, meeting the older man's steely look.
"The Brotherhood has resources-"
"Aye, it does," he agreed with a gentle interruption, "and I am willing to share my knowledge with Connor and am grateful that he has shared his knowledge with me regarding plots against General Washington. But so do the Templars." He saw the dark-skinned man's expression abruptly close and knew that he had hit the mark. He supposed it was a good time as any to voice the biggest suspicion he had since Connor's escape from Bridewell prison and his hanging. "General Charles Lee is a Templar, is he not?"
The only reply he got was a bland look from Achilles and he had to admire the man's unwillingness to tell him anything in face of his question. But at the same time, something in Ben told him that he was on the right path – that Achilles' lack of expression had also confirmed his suspicions. It was why he insisted on presiding over Connor's execution when normally a so-called assassin come to take the General's life would not even be treated with such exuberance. There was also the matter that Lee somehow knew Connor, had interrogated him.
"Thomas Hickey was also one of the men I knew that was part of Washington's Lifeguard. As he was not one of my own, I suspect that he was Lee's man by virtue of being part of William Bradford's men and Bradford is Lee's man," he continued, choosing his words carefully.
He did not know if Bradford was a Templar, but suspected that he was not because of his sheer idiocy and incompetence. It was laughable to him that such a 'yes-man' to Lee was one of the fabled Templars he had heard from childhood stories. He also did not want to reveal to Achilles that Anna's former servant Abigail had already sent word that Lee was a traitor. No, that was information for him to use and to hopefully expose Lee to Washington without making the same blunder he did months earlier.
A thought occurred to him as pieces started to fall into place in his mind. "You wish to counter the potential Templar influence General Lee has on Washington with my help. Is this the primary reason why you wish me to join the Brotherhood?"
Achilles' bland look turned sharp once more before he shook his head with a quiet snort, "You are a very sharp one, Tallmadge. I dare say sharper than your father, though I will freely admit, much more personable."
"You can thank my mother for that," Ben replied dryly, feeling as if he had passed a test in front of the old master Assassin. It also seemed to signal that this conversation was churning into less fraught waters and it was only a few seconds later that Ben realized why. He heard footsteps on the hardwood floors grow closer before he saw his father appear.
"I thought I heard voices in here when a most wonderful aroma began to filter from the kitchens to the porch," Ben's father wore a congenial smile on his face, but there was the same edge of something strained from when he had talked to him earlier.
"Just talking about the latest with the war, that is all," Achilles gripped the arm of the chair and pushed himself up, grabbing his cane and jacket, officially ending their conversation.
Ben also stood up as Achilles hobbled out. He could tell that the other man still wanted to convince him to join the Brotherhood, but for now, it seemed to have been tabled due to his father's appearance. Ben waited until he heard the tapping of Achilles' cane going up the stairs and turned to his father, "Anything you wish to tell me?"
"Just a gentleman's disagreement," his father replied evasively before clapping him on his shoulder and gestured for them to head to the dining room, "come, tell me all about your more recent adventures – or at least the ones you are allowed to tell, son. I have a fine port that was generously donated when I first arrived here and a palate to whet."
Ben nodded as he followed his father out of the parlor. He was still puzzled as to what would have transpired between his father and Achilles to make them somewhat frosty to each other, but did not dwell on it much. His father was teaching another of the Assassins, so certainly it had nothing to do with the Brotherhood. It must have been something mundane as perhaps dinner or some kind of wager of sorts. He vaguely remembered from long ago Achilles playing a mean hand of checkers; trouncing all of the opponents who challenged him, but at the same time gently teaching all of the children how to play. It was where he had learned several moves on the board that always had Caleb scratching his head and asking if it was legal.
The piping hot dinner was a welcomed respite from cold salted meats, hard cheese, and stale bread of rations. The port his father received as a welcoming gift from the community added to the warmth and contentment he had this late into the night. However, when one expected to be sleeping in bed, Ben found himself lying on the hardwood floorboards of the study he had been given instead. The blankets Joseph had brought in earlier were wrapped around him, cocooning him and giving him a small measure of comfort against hardness.
The couch had been too soft for him to consider sleeping on – not after two solid years of sleeping in tents, on uneven terrain, and even occasionally in the saddle when he was on extended patrol. He had been a Lieutenant, then a Captain, and bunking had been limited in the times the Continental forces had moving from town to town before and after fleeing New York. Even with his current rank as Major, housing had been extremely limited at Morristown and Valley Forge, most of General Washington's inner staff taking up some of the room – the others reserved for the higher ranked Generals and their staff. The fact that General Arnold had taken a tent for his recovery instead of the main house was telling in Ben's opinion. He was far nobler and Ben sometimes wished that the man had not had his leg maimed so badly at Saratoga. This was a General that was effective in battle and an ardent Patriot.
Conversation had been light during and after dinner as the four of them retired to the secondary sitting room. Topics were mostly about what British forces were up to, things happening Boston, conjecture in what was the latest in New York and even news from the southern front of the war. Ben had been very curious about those reports and to his surprise found out that Connor commanded a small fleet of privateers that had been delivering supplies to the Patriot forces in the southern colonies as well as trading with Spain and French-held colonies. He had also learned that Connor had recruited several others, sending them to help the war effort on different fronts. Most of them were based either in Boston or New York, but they were willing to help the Assassin cause – and in turn the Patriots – with their skills and resources. Duncan Little had been apparently assigned to the Boston-New York front of the war due to his familiarity with the vast swath of land in between the two cities.
Ben was not cynical enough to take what was discussed as another of Achilles' ploy to recruit him into the Brotherhood, but he did note that it was at least welcomed news his General would be glad to hear of about the southern front. Sooner or later, if and when they recapture Philadelphia and New York, the war would move to the south – where it was apparently very much fought like Indian tactics – hiding and ambushing. It was good to have an idea of what was happening with the war down there than to walk in with only military scout knowledge. He did not readily denounce the scouts' knowledge and courage to peer at enemy forces, but he acknowledged their shortcomings, especially after Sackett's lessons.
He shifted again in the cocoon of blankets, wondering why sleep was elusive to him this late at night. A warm meal, fire in his room, and even a heady port were all sure luxuries to send any man into the arms of Morpheus. But Ben could not help but feel like something was wrong. It was not with Achilles nor his father, or even the town for that matter, but something that told him something was wrong and that he should be wary and alert. The town was safe and secure and far away from any potential British invasion by river or by sea. Hartford would have sent their garrison out in warning before the marched on Wethersfield.
The only thing he could pinpoint as the source of his unease was the same exact feeling he had when he had initially stepped outside of the house on his way to town earlier. But that feeling had all but disappeared as he walked into town. Ben inwardly shook his head and sighed, rubbing his eyes a little before shifting once more and closed his eyes-
Bang!Bang!Bang!
The frantic pounding of the door made him snap his eyes open instantly and he hastily threw off his blankets as he scrambled to his feet. Ignoring the sudden chill of the room even though it was heated by fire, he opened his door and hurried out just as Joseph approached from the servant's quarters with a flickering candle in hand.
Ben peered through the window next to the door, wondering who would knock at this ungodly hour before he saw the distorted reflection of Henry's father, Harry Adamson. He opened the door, his body involuntarily twitching at the burst of cold winter air just as Harry raised his hand to pound his fist against it.
"Mr. Adamson?" he asked the lawyer who breathed a sigh of relief.
"Oh Major Tallmadge, thank god," Adamson looked utterly relieved as he raised his lamp up to his face, "my son- he's-he's been shot and he's asking for you. Was trying to fend off an intruder who thought to steal things from our farmhouse-"
"Hang on, let me get my clothes," Ben nodded before gesturing for the man to come in and closed the door behind him. He shivered a little against the cold as he ran back to his room and threw on his jacket, stockings and his boots before grabbing his traveling cloak which had been drying next to his uniform's jacket. Hastily tying back his hair, he secured his pistol and daggers on him before hurrying back out to the parlor where Henry's father waited.
"Ben what's-"
Ben glanced up to see his father leaning over the balustrade, dressed in his night robes, Achilles' dark eyes peering behind him. Duncan appeared from the other end and he waved them away.
"Just some issue with one of my men, I'll be back soon," he said before nodding to Mr. Adamson to lead the way as Joseph opened the door and the two of them headed out into the cold winter night.
"I-I brought another horse..." Adamson gestured to the horse that was next to his own and Ben nodded his thanks as he mounted it and followed the lawyer at a fast trot.
As they made their way through town before turning down to the streets that led to the Adamson farmland plot, Ben surmised that the wound must be gravely serious if Henry was asking for him. The man must have wanted to ensure that his name would not be held in contempt if he died and did not show up during the appointed time for them to meet the day after tomorrow. But it puzzled him that such a thing could have been easily remedied by someone acting as a messenger or courier. Still, Henry was a good man and Ben would not let him die without letting him know he made a difference in the war effort.
"I don't know why he would steal from our storehouse. We didn't have a good harvest this year," Adamson called back as they rode towards his plot of land, "would have been better to steal from the Griffiths plot. They had a better harvest this year than us."
"Starvation drives a man to do unspeakable acts," Ben called back and saw the lawyer nod as they pulled up to his house and Ben dismounted.
"I'll take care of these, please, see to my son, Major," Adamson said as he took the reigns from his hand and Ben stepped away.
He knocked on the door and it opened a crack and Ben saw the familiar face of Henry's younger sister Elizabeth. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and her lips were turned down into a frown, but they turned up at the sight of him.
"Major Tallmadge," Betsy, as Henry had always called her, nearly stuttered quietly before she opened the door and gestured for him to come in. Ben remembered only teaching her once or twice before he enlisted.
"I'm sorry about your brother, Betsy," he apologized and she shook her head.
"No apologies necessary, s-sir," she looked down and away before gesture with a timid hand down the hall, "Dr. Regan is currently seeing to him and sent me away saying it was no place for someone like me to see such sights."
Ben bit his lip at saying that the doctor was right, remembering a little bit of what he knew about Betsy from Henry. Apparently they were born almost ten months apart from each other and were close. Henry said that Betsy had a similar temperament to him and from what Ben knew about Henry, it was mostly mulish stubbornness that was exacerbated for the most part on their neighbor Liam's account. "Your brother is a good and stubborn man, Betsy," he said instead and saw her nod at his words before looking away, hastily wiping her eyes again.
He felt a quick pang of sorrow for her, but pushed past it as he went down the hallway and opened the door to the room that the doctor was apparently operation on Henry. The sharp odor of copper assaulted his senses and Ben was momentarily taken aback, remembering the drip of blood from the freshly slaughtered chicken, before seeing a quick flash of the bodies of the patrol he had lost in New Jersey. He clamped his lips shut against the sudden bile that threatened to rise up in his throat and swallowed heavily as he forced himself to focus on the here and now.
Henry was writhing in pain as the doctor dug around for the bullet in what looked like an apparent shoulder wound that was closer to the chest than shoulder. Ben's instincts kicked in as he rushed over and helped hold down one of his shoulders. At the same time he re-secured the leather stuffed in Henry's mouth to prevent him from biting his tongue off. Ben gritted his teeth as he put is weight against Henry's body, hoping for the boy's sake that he pass out soon instead of suffering in so much waking pain. He vaguely remembered his own bullet wound being taken out, but supposed that since it had been shot from the back, it was a lot less painful than being shot in the front.
"Got it," Dr. Regan finally grunted, pulling out the bullet just as Henry finally passed out from the pain. Ben quickly placed two fingers underneath his soldier's jaw and found that his pulse was thready and fast, but still strong. He breathed a quick sigh of relief and nodded to Henry's two younger brothers who had been charged with holding him down. They smiled weakly back as they crawled off of their brother's limbs and Ben stood back as Dr. Regan went back to work on the wound.
"Come now," Ben looked up at what had to be Mrs. Adamson gesturing for her sons to leave and Ben caught a glimpse of Betsy behind her with a small smile on her face at their success as the door closed behind them.
He stepped back some more and watched the doctor bustle around for a few minutes before glancing down at the bowl where the bullet had been dropped into. A frown graced his features as he stared at the bullet itself and picked it up. He absently dried it of its blood and water on the side of his traveling cloak, and rolled it in his fingers a few times. He had grown up with his father's multitude of pistols, flintlocks, and rifles and knew the variety of rounds and the sizing differences in each. A Pennsylvania rifle had a much smaller round than a soldier's musket ball. Though musket balls were commonly made, each soldier had been given the tools to make their own the day they enlisted.
The rifle ball they had pulled from his shoulder courtesy of Robert Rogers had been a Pennsylvania rifle make, smaller, but with a far more accurate range in the hands of a sharpshooter.
This was a soldier's musket ball. He was sure of it. Which meant Robert Rogers was not hunting them...it was a soldier's. But this far from any known British outpost. Was it a deserter from the Continental army that had ambushed Henry? But why when he could have easily stolen from the next house over like Mr. Adamson had said? Something about this did not seem right...as if someone had deliberately targeted Henry to send a message.
But what was the message? And who was it to?
~END Part 2~