Liberty: 1784

Chapter 13

“Where is my uncle?” Sarah demanded, waving her arms in frustration. “And where are all the people who used to work with him? Merlin’s Cave has disappeared and no one knows where it’s gone.”

“And neither do I,” Will said, “and neither does General Tallmadge, although,” he admitted, “he could be lying. He so often is.”

However, Will had known that the men and some of the women working in the laboratory and factory known informally as “Merlin’s Cave” had been gradually moving out. Where they’d gone and why was a mystery. Apparently General Stark and Benjamin Franklin knew their whereabouts and purpose, but neither man was talking and Will was not about to ask.

“Sarah, you work with Franklin. You could ask him yourself, you know.”

“He’s refused to talk about it. Poor Faith is distraught. Her father and mother have disappeared somewhere and Owen has gone east to confront the Redcoats.”

“Which is exactly where I’ll be going very shortly. Will you miss me as much as Faith misses her young sailor?”

She slipped easily into his arms and kissed him. “Of course I will.”

They were in Franklin’s office, which afforded them a degree of privacy. She was beginning to think that privacy and restraint could go to hell. They were all in danger of being killed or enslaved in a very short while, so why not enjoy what remained of life?

“Sarah, I would tell you where they were if I knew. Many things are happening, and no one is going to tell me until I come back from observing the British again.”

Sarah understood the grim reality. Will was going east with a very small detachment to see first-hand the pace and size of the British advance. If he was captured, then he had nothing to tell, even under torture. Sarah shuddered at the thought of Will being brutalized by someone like the man who assaulted poor Winifred, or chewed alive by the squaws who had accompanied Brant’s Iroquois. There were indeed fates worse than death and ordeals that made what had happened to her seem trivial.

Their thoughts were interrupted by Franklin asking for Sarah’s presence. Will kissed her again. “If you want to know what is going on, why not use your feminine wiles on the good Doctor Franklin?”

Why not indeed, Sarah thought.

* * *

The beginning of the march out of the camps around Detroit was bloody impressive, Fitzroy thought. Literally thousands of men began to march across the fields and into the woods like a long, powerful, red snake. He gazed at the sky and saw columns of smoke in the distance. These were doubtless rebel signaling devices and made it obvious that not all the rebel spies had been captured. Far from it, if the number of smoke columns were any indication.

More puzzling were the numbers of pigeons that had been released. They flew in circles for a couple of moments and then headed west. He had the nagging feeling that this must be a means by which the rebels communicated, but, for the life of him, he had no idea how. Danforth was well-educated and might know, but he had departed with Arnold’s navy.

It was an immense and mighty undertaking, even though Burgoyne’s army was moving agonizingly slowly. Problems were beginning to arise and no one was surprised. All the planning in the world could not anticipate what would happen when nearly fourteen thousand men, along with hundreds of wagons and horses, and accompanied by herds of cattle, began to move west. Burgoyne had done all he could to lighten the army, but it still necessary to bring a large quantity of supplies. Fourteen thousand men ate a lot of food each day, more than several tons, and they had no choice but to bring it.

At least they weren’t dragging bloody cannon through the forest, and, unlike the Saratoga campaign, Burgoyne had not brought his mistress and several wagons of personal supplies. Fitzroy grinned. To the best of his knowledge, Burgoyne had no mistress at Detroit and had been forced to remain celibate along with most of his army. At least he’d had the pleasures of Hannah for a little while.

Fitzroy urged his small, old horse towards the front of the column. He was one of the lucky few on horseback. The vast majority of the men, including some fairly high-ranking officers, would have to walk. His position as Burgoyne’s aide afforded him some privileges and he saw nothing wrong with that.

He found General Grant watching the march as it slowed and then stopped altogether.

“Now what the devil is wrong?” Grant muttered angrily.

“Surely it’ll get better as we go along and get used to this, sir.”

Grant glared at Fitzroy. “It can hardly get any worse, Major. We’ve been at this for hours and most of the men haven’t yet left the camp.”

Fitzroy noted that the querulous general had lost still more weight. Bad food will do that to you, he thought. The previously portly general now looked more stout than actually fat.

“I’m still surprised at the number of wagons, sir. I thought we were traveling light.”

“This is light,” Grant snorted. “We still have to carry food and ammunition, don’t we? Only the cannon, shells, and extra ammunition went by boat, along with additional food, uniforms, blankets, and, of course, the luxuries without which General Burgoyne cannot live and will require once we arrive.” This last comment was said with contempt.

“Well, at least we get to ride,” Fitzroy said in an attempt to make pleasant small talk with Burgoyne’s second in command.

Grant sneered. “Are you that stupid, Major? When we really get into the woods, we’ll all be walking. Any man on horseback will simply be calling out for the rebel sharpshooters to kill him. And yes, don’t laugh. I too will be marching and I will hate every bloody damn moment of it.”

Why hadn’t he thought of that? Fitzroy wondered. He pulled away from the general and commenced to look around. Flanking patrols were out and the woods were sparse. No enemy could be hiding in them.

Or were they?

* * *

The British column snaked its way out of Detroit and began to slowly westward. Even though Burgoyne had seen to it that many of the encumbrances that had delayed him on his march to Saratoga were either left behind or were going by boat, the march was moving exquisitely slowly.

“Bloody hell,” Sergeant Barley said, “I’ve seen dead men move more quickly.”

Barley, Owen, and two more men were hidden in the trees and bushes that lined the trail. The leaves and shadows made them virtually invisible if they didn’t move. The British were less than a hundred yards away and struggling mightily against the forest that had only begun to envelope them. Flankers and Indian allies occasionally made their presence known, but they were looking outward and Owen and his men were already inside their loose perimeter. Owen wondered how the going would be for the British when the trees began to thicken.

They waited until dark and Owen ordered them to withdraw. When they’d reached the relative safety of woodlands outside the range of the patrols, Barley grabbed Owen’s arm and grinned wickedly.

“We’re not going to give them a good night’s sleep, are we, Owen?”

The British column, with the tail of it scarcely out of their camp at Detroit, had bedded down for the night. Even the patrols had largely gone to ground to await the dawn and the continuation of the march. A patrol of about twenty men was only a few hundred yards away, protected by a pair of sentries.

“Why don’t we see if Franklin’s crossbows work?” Owen said with an evil grin.

They daubed their faces with dirt and moved slowly to the patrol’s camp. Owen noted that the bloody fools had built a campfire and were cooking something, probably a stew with a local rabbit as the guest of honor. A sentry moved between them and the fire. He was less than fifty yards away.

“Mine,” Owen said. “Officers always get first choice.” Barley responded with an obscenity but didn’t argue.

Owen silently cocked his crossbow and moved slowly closer. He didn’t think the Brit would see him since the man kept looking towards the camp, the fire, and his dinner cooking; thus destroying his night vision.

Owen was only about ten yards away from the man when he fired. The sentry dropped immediately with a bolt through his skull. There had been little noise.

Owen sent Barley to watch for the other sentry while he and the other two men crept closer to the camp.

A scream tore through the night. Shit, Owen thought. Barley’s kill hadn’t been clean. The men around the fire stood in alarm. “Fire,” Owen ordered and three more bolts flew silently to their targets. Two men dropped to the ground while the third howled and hopped around with a bolt in his leg. They loaded quickly and fired another volley, this time with Barley joining in. Two more men fell writhing.

The remaining British fired their muskets indiscriminately at their silent and invisible enemy, hitting nothing. Still, they were alert and angry. “Fall back,” Owen ordered.

“One more shot,” Barley pleaded.

“Christ no,” Owen said. “They’re aroused now and there will be others coming from all over the place. We run like the devil and come back tomorrow.”

Barley’s teeth shined white in the night. “Sounds like a wonderful idea to me, Lieutenant.”

* * *

Sarah stood naked in the basin of water. She took a wet cloth from a basin on a table beside her and used it to rinse out her hair. She enjoyed the feel of the water running down her body. It was warm outside and the water felt cool and refreshing. She was in the storeroom where she now slept.

There was a knock on her door and she stiffened. “Who is it?”

“It is I,” came the familiar voice of Benjamin Franklin. “May I come in? I understand you wished to speak with me. Or isn’t this a good time?”

“I’m bathing,” she said, thinking about the comment that she should use her feminine wiles to pry information from Franklin.

“Then it would be a marvelous time,” Franklin said.

She reached over to the table, grabbed a thin shift and pulled it over her head. “Then do come in,” she said sweetly.

The door opened and Franklin’s head poked around it. He saw Sarah and his face lit up. The thin shift had plastered itself to her wet body. “There truly is a God and I am in heaven,” he declared. “Thank you, God.”

“You have to be dead to be in heaven, Benjamin. And for God’s sake, close that door.”

Franklin did as he was told and, grinning broadly, sat down in a chair a few feet away from Sarah. He made no move to come closer or to touch her.

“There is a painting of great renown,” he said. “It’s called ‘Venus Rising From the Sea,’ or some such and it’s by an Italian with a name that’s impossible to spell. Botticelli, I believe, although it doesn’t matter. I believe you would have made a marvelous model for Venus. Or she for you.”

Sarah stepped out of the basin. “I’m flattered.”

“You are even lovelier than many of the French noblewomen I’ve had the pleasure of seeing undressed. They are such a pallid bunch, while you are so refreshingly healthy. Even your hair, though wet, is so lovely. Frenchwomen’s hair is puffed and plastered and sculptured so that it weighs heavily. I also have it on good authority that Frenchwomen’s hair is often rife with vermin of all sorts.” He sighed. The wet shift was so thin that she might as well be naked. “Tell me, has Will ever seen you thusly?”

“No. At least not yet.”

“Then I’m flattered. However, as much as I am thrilled beyond words to be in your presence, I cannot help but feel that you are using me, shamelessly taking advantage of an old man’s now unfulfillable desires.”

“As always you are correct. I wish to know something. Where is my uncle? What have you done with him and the others who worked in Merlin’s Cave?”

“Nothing sinister, my exquisite young friend. I simply felt that they could concentrate on their efforts far better if they were away from the distractions of this town.”

“Should I assume they are working on something secret? After all, I find it hard to believe that a man of your intellect could only come up with the crossbow and the pike as an answer to England’s great army.”

Franklin chuckled. “And believe me I have tried. At first I thought that my experiences with electricity would result in a weapon that would tip the scales in our favor, but it’s proven beyond us. Electricity will someday make a good weapon, but it won’t happen in this war.”

“And nothing else?”

“Just small things that will annoy and inconvenience the English, but nothing that will stop them or offset their numerical strength.”

“I’m genuinely sorry to hear that.” Sarah stood in front of Franklin. His eyes again wandered down where the shift clung to her firm breasts and nipples and her flat belly and hinted at the pale hair between her thighs. She smiled and handed him a towel. “Would you please help dry my hair?”

“With consummate pleasure, dear Sarah,” he said happily as he stood up. What a wonderful day. He’d seen a beautiful woman nearly naked and still managed to keep his secrets from her.

* * *

Is this going to happen every night? Fitzroy was nearly dead from lack sleep. The attacks on the column had resulted in a half dozen deaths and several wounded. Worse, they had kept everyone in a state of alarm which prevented anyone from getting a good night’s sleep.

“Bullets I can understand,” said Burgoyne, “but this?”

Burgoyne held a length of metal in his hand. General Grant took it from him and laughed harshly. “Crossbow bolt. Jesus, are the rebels that destitute? We’ll overrun them with ease when we reach their miserable town if this is all they have. It’ll probably be like a mud and wattle village from some depressing part of Ireland and not a proper city after all.”

“I don’t doubt that the town will prove to be crudely made,” Burgoyne said. “But I do wonder if this weapon is as crude as it appears.”

Fitzroy wondered as well. Some of the previous day’s and night’s casualties had come from gunfire, but the crossbow attacks had come with the silence of a poisonous snake striking. The men were definitely disconcerted by something that could wound or kill before anyone was aware that anything had occurred.

“Do you suggest more patrols, General?” Fitzroy asked of Burgoyne.

“Indeed, and I want more men awake and prowling around during the night. Some may be tired during the next day’s march, but at least they’ll be alive and the others will have rested.”

Fitzroy thought that the added patrols would further slow the column, which was already plodding and beginning to fall behind schedule.

As they spoke, a horse screamed and bucked. They ran to it and saw a length of metal protruding from its flank. The horse staggered and fell to the ground, clearly mortally wounded.

“Fucking bastards!” screamed Grant. “That was my best horse!”

* * *

For the women at Fort Washington, the training that some had taken on as a lark had taken on a high degree of intensity. The British were finally coming.

Will watched as Sarah, now a squad leader, led her charges through their drills. They had learned to carry extra muskets, load them for the men, and use their pikes with surprisingly deadly efficiency. They had also learned to carry wounded off the field and care for them. They had practiced on dummies and willing volunteers, but they all knew there was no way to duplicate the sounds, smell, and terror of the battlefield. They were as untested as so many of the male soldiers were. When the time came, some would collapse, and some would run in panic, while others would perform admirably and even heroically. And no one really knew who among them would do what.

Will was filled with admiration for Sarah as she grew as a leader. Always strong-willed, she had become much more. And she was not alone. Many women, young and old, had become forces in the community. Some men had openly wondered just what monsters they were creating. Would women ever again be subservient? Others had laughed and said that women had never been subservient, they had only pretended.

The drilling ended and the women put down their pikes. They picked up new weapons that had only recently been provided-maces. They were spike-pointed iron clubs straight out of the Middle Ages. Once again Franklin had gone to the past to help fight for the future. Everyone was getting one and Will had one tucked in his belt. They were crude, but, in close quarters, they might prove effective. At least they would surprise the hell out of the enemy, Will thought. One blow could easily crush a skull and if the enemy soldier tried to block the mace with his arm, the bones would be shattered. The maces were not light and someone commented just how easily the women now wielded them. What weaker sex, another chuckled, repeating the old joke.

The women practiced wielding the maces, first with one hand and then the other and, finally, with both hands, whirling and clubbing. Valkyries, Will thought, recalling what he’d read of Nordic legends. Or maybe they were Amazons brought back from ancient Greece.

Sarah tucked her mace in the belt that bound her dress and walked over to will. Her face was slick and shiny with sweat. He thought she was beautiful.

Sarah took his arm and they walked away from the crowd. It was an open gesture of affection that would have been unthinkable a few months before. Affection was supposed to be private. So too were passion and lust.

“When are you leaving?” she asked.

“Tonight.”

“I’ll be miserable without you.”

Will took a deep breath, “And I without you.”

“I still don’t understand what you hope to accomplish by going all that way just to see what the British are doing and what we are doing about it. Why not just wait? They’ll be here soon enough.”

Why not indeed? Will had argued exactly that point. But he had lost. Tallmadge wanted someone from his staff to actually see what was happening. How effective were the riflemen like Owen Wells in fighting the British in the forests? How did the British react? What about Brant’s Indians and Girty’s white savages? Oh, they got frequent reports, both by pigeon and by courier, but they were words on paper. Tallmadge, and Stark above him, wanted an eyewitness. Will could only hope he didn’t get himself killed before the climactic battle began.