Liberty: 1784

Chapter 7

Will froze as two burly British soldiers climbed up and joined them on the loft. One of them, a sergeant, pointed at Leduc. “I asked you what you were doing up here?”

Leduc smiled thinly, “Just trying to avoid work while minding the store for my friend, Sergeant. Is there something you wish to buy?”

The sergeant looked around and then out the window. He took in the view of his army’s headquarters. He turned and glowered at them. “There was, but not anymore. I don’t know what you were doing up here, but I think it’s possible you’re all spies.”

“Sweet Jesus,” exclaimed Leduc, “How can you say that? You must have seen me before. I live here. I have a farm just across the river. How can you dare call me a spy?”

“Maybe you are loyal and maybe I’m King George.” The sergeant smiled wickedly and pulled a bayonet from its scabbard. They did not have their muskets, which was normal if they were simply running an errand. To counter the soldiers’ bayonets, Will and the others had their hunting knives. Will noted that Owen had slid to the soldiers’ side and a little to their rear. Will tried not to look at him. The two Redcoats had apparently dismissed the short and shabbily dressed Owen as a possible threat.

“What I think,” said the sergeant, “is that we should have the provost talk to you.”

Will’s spirits sank. If they were taken, he had no idea how he would get out of this mess. Owen’s accent was Welsh, and his own was from the east, while he had his branding scar. No one would believe they were farm help for Leduc. He saw another prison for himself and hanging for Owen, and God only knew what for Leduc.

“Non!” screamed Leduc as he hurled himself at the sergeant. At the same moment, Owen took the sergeant in the rear and wrapped his powerful arms around the man’s throat. Will grabbed the second soldier who was shocked by the suddenness of the assault. He kicked the soldier in the groin and he dropped like a sack, gasping and clutching his crotch. Leduc fell backwards and Owen tightened his grip on the sergeant’s neck which gave with a sickening crack. Will took out his knife and rammed it into the other soldier’s chest. In seconds, he was as dead as the sergeant.

“Jesus, Major, what have we done?” Owen’s eyes were wide with astonishment.

Will was gasping. He’d never killed a man so close up like that. “I think we’ve outlived our welcome. We’ve got to leave, right Leduc?”

Leduc’s answer was a groan. He lay on his back with the sergeant’s bayonet sticking out of his stomach. “My God,” said Will. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

“Too late,” gasped Leduc. “A knife in the gut kills. It may take a while, but it always kills.”

Will sagged. Leduc was right. If the rising stench was any indication, the bayonet had ripped his stomach and bowels. The wound would be fatal and agonizingly painful. Nor could they move him out of the barn. There was no way they could hide such a seriously wounded man.

“I will die here,” Leduc said with great difficulty. “Hide the two bodies.”

Will and Owen buried the two dead British soldiers underneath a pile of straw.

“Now you will leave me,” said Leduc. “You will take the boat and slowly row across the river like nothing is wrong. If anyone asks, and it is most likely that they won’t, you will tell them that I am fornicating with a whore and you will come back for me in the morning. They will believe that because it is what I have done in the past. Now go.”

The statement exhausted Leduc. Blood continued to seep from the wound. If they removed the bayonet, it would gush. Leduc was indeed dying.

They made Leduc as comfortable as they could. He asked for his pipe and some flints and they left them beside him. They walked out of the barn, down the street, and past the guards at the gate. The guards, of course, were not at all concerned about people leaving the fort, only those coming in, and made no notice of them.

They pushed the boat out into the water and rowed slowly across the river. It seemed ten times wider than before. Poor Leduc. Will hoped he was dead before anyone found him and could question him. Of course, someone was bound to recall that he’d come across with two companions and, sooner rather than later, someone would miss the two British soldiers. He and Owen would pack up and return to Fort Washington as quickly as they could.

They were pulling the boat onto the Canadian shore when they heard a strident clanging behind from the fort. Alarm bells? Had Leduc and the dead soldiers been discovered? No. A plume of black, greasy smoke was starting to billow upwards and it came from behind the stockade and just about where they’d left Leduc.

“God bless that man,” Owen said softly, and Will agreed. There would be no alarm for them and no one would chase them, at least not right now. Jean Leduc had set fire to the barn and it was beginning to rage furiously. It was the funeral pyre of a hero.

* * *

Dispatches, reports, and orders that needed to be registered and copied were the bane of any staff officer, and Major James Fitzroy was heartily sick and tired of them all. He wished that neither the printing press nor paper had ever been invented. Damn Guttenberg and damn the Egyptians. Or was it the Phoenicians? He longed for the moment when his day would be over and he could leave the stifling atmosphere of Burgoyne’s headquarters and return to the loving arms of Hannah Van Doorn. At least he thought that at least her arms were loving. Sometimes he had the nagging feeling that she was using him, but then, that was only fair since he was using her.

Love was unlikely, but he was fond of the little Dutch wench, and felt that she was fond of him. He would settle for life as it is, rather than as it could be.

He yawned. He was tired, bored, and the fire in the stove was overheating the room and making him drowsy. He shook himself awake. It would not be good to be found napping while at work. Burgoyne might laugh, but Benedict Arnold was around and that arrogant turncoat shit would tear him apart.

Danforth entered the little room off Burgoyne’s office and dropped another pile of papers on Fitzroy’s desk. “It never ends,” Danforth commented.

“I’d rather be in battle,” Fitzroy muttered. “This is no fate for a soldier. In battle I might die honorably. Here I might die of boredom or worse, be suffocated under piles of paperwork.”

“Then you shouldn’t have told anyone how literate you are. Then you could be an infantry officer out there in the freezing muck with your men who, of course, would hate you and would, if the opportunity arose, run a bayonet up your ass and call it a regrettable accident.”

Fitzroy laughed. “Thank you for your perceptive observation. You’re right. At least we are both warm and dry. Now, is there anything of note in that pile of rubbish?”

“Nothing of importance, but one item that is mildly interesting. It seems we are to be honored by the presence of one Erich von Bamberg, a colonel in the army of the Kingdom of Hess.”

“I thought Hess was a duchy. One of a hundred or so making up that chaotic mess called Germany.”

“I don’t know and I don’t rightly care,” said Danforth. “It can be a caliphate run by fucking Hindus for all that it matters to me.”

Fitzroy told him the Moslems had caliphates, not the Hindus and received an insulting sound for his efforts. He checked the clock on the table. It was almost time for him to be able to stop working without getting anyone upset at his leaving early, especially since Burgoyne, Tarleton, and Grant, were elsewhere. “And why is the Caliph of Hess descending on us?”

“He has been sent to capture soldiers from Hess and the other German states who have deserted and who have been reported to be with the rebels at Fort Washington. Apparently their collective Germanic majesties are insulted by such treasons. They are further upset because they no longer have the soldiers to hire out to the highest bidder.”

“I wish Herr Bamberg well,” Fitzroy said insincerely. Like most Britons, he thought little of the innumerable petty German princelings. They were almost as bad as the countless minor royalty in India. He sniffed the air. A pungent smell assailed his nose. Burning wood and burning meat? “What the devil is that?”

At that instant, an alarm bell began to clang and the two men grabbed their coats and ran outdoors. A fire was burning on the second floor of a barn a little ways off. As they watched in horror, flames erupted and the wind began to whip burning ashes through the air.

“This is going to be bad,” Danforth said grimly. A dozen small fires were already beginning on the tightly clustered wooden roofs. With fire suddenly everywhere, people were running around in a panic.

Fitzroy grabbed Danforth’s arm. “Run back in, grab what you can of our sacred papers, and then run like the devil for the eastern gate. This whole bloody town is going to go up in smoke.”

The two men ran in and, in only a few moments were outside with important papers stuffed into bags and anything else that would hold them. Others in the offices were doing the same thing. The roof of the headquarters was smoldering and a half dozen other buildings were in flames. The barn where the fire apparently began was a raging inferno. Fitzroy thought he could smell burning flesh. It had to be a horse or cow, he thought. It couldn’t be human, could it?

“Get out of the stockade immediately,” Fitzroy ordered as loudly as he could, and the others ran to comply, joining a rapidly growing exodus from inside the walls of Detroit.

More and more flaming ashes were falling and Fitzroy needed no further urging to depart. A swirling downdraft covered him with embers. The smoke blinded him and made him cough. He staggered through the fort’s gate and out into the open air. In front of him, a soldier was on fire. He hurled himself into a muddy puddle and rolled over to put it out, cursing, crying, and terrified, but not badly hurt.

Fitzroy checked himself over and saw that his uniform was singed, but not burning. The back of his left hand was red and blistering from a falling ember, but he was otherwise unharmed. More and more people thronged out and gathered in the fields outside Detroit. They stood in shock as the cramped wooden buildings of Detroit were devoured by flames.

By the river, Fitzroy saw Benedict Arnold leading soldiers as they frantically pushed the precious barges into the water. A couple of the raw wooden craft were on fire and workmen were frantically trying to put out the flames with buckets of water drawn from the river. All around, British soldiers were striking their tents so the ashes wouldn’t land on the canvas and set them aflame as well. Winter was nearly on them and they would need the tents to survive. Fitzroy continued to move farther away from the fire. Finally, he was out of the smoke and falling ash. He took several deep breaths and his lungs began to clear.

A filthy and demoralized Danforth appeared beside him. “Bloody hell,” Danforth said. “If this is sabotage, someone will hang for it.”

Fitzroy watched as the flames consumed precious supplies and material. Barrels of gunpowder exploded while hundreds of soldiers continued to run or mill about in confusion and panic. The British Army had been routed by fire, an enemy far more fearsome than the rebels. “This is as bad as a defeat on the battlefield.”

“Indeed,” said General Burgoyne as he approached the two men who snapped to attention. The general’s uniform was likewise filthy from soot. His face was set in anger. “Fitzroy, I want you to find out just what the devil happened.”

“Yes sir.”

“You will do that while the rest of us assess our losses and try to recoup them. It does look like General Arnold managed to save at least some of the barges, although at least several hundred of us will need a place to sleep tonight.”

For a guilty moment, Fitzroy wondered just how Hannah Van Doorn had fared. He’d been too busy to think about her. Then he realized that the wind that had fed the fire had come from the west and that the rooms they shared were in a warehouse outside the stockade and to the west. With just a little luck, both she and their quarters were safe. It would be ironic if he had a bed tonight, while General Burgoyne did not. Then he realized that beds and cabins could be rebuilt. If anything had happened to Hannah, he’d be deeply saddened.

* * *

Across the river, Will and Owen continued to watch and to plan. Dozens of others had gathered on the Canadian riverfront and were watching the fire with morbid fascination. Despite the size of the blaze, they were safe, even though it appeared that the fire would rage for some time before running out of fuel.

“We should leave, Major,” said Owen.

“Not yet,” Will replied softly. “We’ll wait until tonight. If we leave now, it’ll look suspicious. Tonight we can take a couple of Leduc’s horses, pick up our men, send the horses in a wrong direction, and be miles away before anyone realizes it. Besides, we should watch and assess the damage.”

Owen nodded. “I wonder how the hell they’re going to catch those barges?” Several were drifting downstream and didn’t have anyone on board. “Maybe we could find one or two and set them on fire as well.”

Will conceded that it wasn’t a bad idea since they would have to go downriver to cross in the first place. Of course the odds of them finding even one of the barges were incredibly small, but it was a thought. More important, however, was the need to report to General Tallmadge at Fort Washington.

* * *

“Have you slept with Will Drake?” Faith asked her cousin as they sat in Benjamin Franklin’s small office. Franklin was out on business of Congress, and Winifred Haskill was sleeping in another room.

“That’s quite a question,” Sarah Benton answered, “but the answer is no.”

“Are you going to?”

“Perhaps, but not until he returns from his journey,” she answered facetiously. “And why the questions? Are you sleeping with Owen? Or are you and he just having a little fun with each other?”

Faith grinned. Young women of her age and situation frequently did not have actual intercourse because of fear of premarital pregnancy. This would lead to being ostracized among a host of other problems, which included having to raise a bastard child. Still, many young women saw nothing wrong with mutually exploring each other’s bodies and otherwise enjoying themselves with boys they liked. Just don’t do anything that would cause a pregnancy, was the unwritten rule.

“No I haven’t either, although I might when he comes back, too. You’re right. It’s a little difficult to manage right now.” Faith sighed. “And why I asked the question is because I’m afraid he might not want me after all that happened to me.”

“Does he know?”

“Yes. I told him.”

Sarah did not think that was such a wonderful idea. After all, she had no intention of telling Will, or anyone else for that matter, about any previous young men with whom she’d had any sexual activity. He knew she’d been what she considered as married to Tom, but anything else was best buried in the past. But the damage to Faith, if any, was done. “And did he run away in fear?”

“Well, he did go to Detroit.”

Sarah laughed. “I believe he was ordered to do so. Did he indicate that he would call on you when he came back?”

“Yes.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. Her cousin was such a silly little twit at times. “Then wait for him and, when he does return, rush up to him and embrace him and suffocate him with affection and passion. That way he won’t have a chance to think, especially with your ample breasts pressed against him.”

Now it was Faith’s turn to smile, and she did so wickedly. “Is that what you’re going to do with Will?”

“I may,” Sarah replied impishly, “I just may.”

The door to the other room opened and Winifred entered, walking hesitantly. She was eating well and had gained some weight, but her face was still gaunt and many bruises remained, as did the terrible scar in her scalp. The fever was gone and she was more and more up and about, although walking with a serious limp.

“Are you feeling sorry for yourself, Faith?” Winifred asked.

“I suppose I am,” Faith answered. “Aren’t I entitled?”

Winifred looked at her coldly. “You consider that you were raped, don’t you?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“And so was I,” Winifred said, “Raped by any number of men and then sodomized and then beaten and left for dead on a burning pyre made out of my own family. Yet I am trying to put that behind me to the extent that it’s possible and get on with what I can salvage of my life, so please don’t ask me to pity you.”

“I’m sorry,” Faith said softly. Winifred’s horrors made hers seem irrelevant. It was also apparent that the very young Winifred was very intelligent and articulate.

“Are you sure you wish to talk about this?” Sarah said to Winifred.

There was anger and strength in the young girl’s voice and a cold fire in her eyes. “Oh yes. I want to keep reminding myself so that I can feel good about killing the British when the time comes. And yes, I know it wasn’t British soldiers who hurt me, but it was men whom the British hired and paid. Now, Faith, do you have any idea what a young boy like Owen might have endured in the Royal Navy?”

Faith shifted nervously. “He’s hinted at some terrible things before he grew strong enough to defend himself.”

“My father was a sailor and what others did to him at night in the bowels of the ship are part of the reason he too deserted and we settled so far away from the sea. The captains and admirals say it doesn’t happen, but it does. They punish sailors when they are caught, but first they have to be caught, don’t they? Such sodomy as occurs in Royal Navy ships is a crime against God and man, yet it happens and little is done to stop it.”

“Your father told you?” Sarah said in astonishment that such a young girl could know so much.

“No, he told my mother and she told me so I could better understand his moods and his raging angers. We came out here to reject the world and find peace through God. Instead, I find that we cannot reject the world, and that there is no peace.” She laughed harshly. “I often wonder if there even is a God.”

“You said you would kill British, Winifred, just how do you intend to do this?” Sarah asked. “You will not be given a rifle, not even one of Mr. Franklin’s new ones.” She didn’t need to add that someone as small as Winifred would not be able fire a musket, much less withstand its recoil.

Winifred glared at her. “I have no idea, but I will do it.”

The other door opened and Benjamin Franklin walked in. “Well, how wonderful to see all my lovely and favorite young ladies happily conversing together. I trust you are all having a pleasant afternoon?”

“We are indeed,” Sarah said, and the other two nodded, forced smiles on their faces.

* * *

Burgoyne now lived in a tent with sod walls and planking for a floor and with as much of his personal baggage as had been rescued. As an old campaigner, he’d lived in far worse, as had most of the other senior officers. Only Tarleton complained about his new living quarters. Arnold said nothing. This was trivial in comparison to what he’d endured commanding American rebels en route to Canada with an army in what some called an epic march. He often wondered where he’d be if his march had resulted in a rebel victory instead of disaster.

To Fitzroy’s relief, there had been no attempt to evict either him or Hannah from their quarters which the fire had spared. As Fitzroy had suspected and hoped, the wind had spared virtually everything to the west of Detroit while destroying much of what lay to the east. Nor had Burgoyne made any attempt to move himself and his staff into the tiny fort, much to the relief of Colonel De Peyster and the garrison.

“I assume you have disturbed me here in my palace because you have something of substance to report?” Burgoyne said with an attempt at humor. He could have commandeered one of the several surviving buildings for his use, but hadn’t. The hundreds who were still trying to find someplace warm and dry appreciated the gesture.

“You may begin, Major.”

Fitzroy coughed and began. “First, sir, the confirmed death toll stands at only eleven, although several of the more seriously burned and injured may yet succumb. The fact that the fire had raged during daylight hours meant that few were asleep in their beds.”

“A small blessing,” said Burgoyne.

“One person drowned after jumping in the river, another had apparent heart failure, while the remainder were burned to death in the fire or died shortly afterwards. At least a hundred were injured, although most of the injuries were minor and many of the men have already returned to duty.”

“And the missing?”

“Fourteen, and I think at least some of them have taken the opportunity to desert. I’m sure they hope we will think their bodies were destroyed in the fire, and, God only knows, they may be right. However, several of the so-called missing were considered malcontents and troublemakers by their commanding officers, which makes me doubt the likelihood of their heroic deaths.”

Burgoyne chuckled wryly. “I’m surprised the number of missing is so low, but then, the disaster did strike before much planning could be done by any potential deserters. Now, you’ve had three days, have you isolated the cause?”

“Perhaps, although I’m not certain we’ll ever know definitely.”

Burgoyne gestured impatiently for him to continue. “Then tell me what you think you know.”

“Sir, we’ve isolated the cause of the fire, or, more precisely, where it started. It began in a barn near the western gate and spread like wildfire throughout the buildings of the town, missing, however, Fort Lernault. It was fanned by a west-blowing wind that, while it destroyed everything to the east of that barn, did not destroy anything to the west of it, nor did it destroy the barn in total.

“Inside the remains of the barn, we found three dead bodies.” Fitzroy paused. The memory of the horribly charred corpses sickened him and he felt slightly nauseous.

“Get it over with, Major,” Burgoyne said sympathetically.

Fitzroy took a deep breath. “Yes sir. The barn was owned by a man named Brownell who wasn’t there at the time of the fire. He’d gone for a meal and left the barn in the care of a friend named Leduc who was accompanied by two laborers. This was not unusual as Leduc and Brownell had known each other for years. Leduc owns a farm across the river.”

“So Leduc and his companions were the corpses. But that doesn’t tell us how it started.”

“Sir, they were not the three bodies, at least not all of them. Brownell identified Leduc’s remains based on a missing finger on his left hand. The other two bodies were those of British soldiers.”

Burgoyne sat erect. “What!”

“Through slightly melted brass buttons and belt buckles, I identified them as grenadiers, and two grenadiers, a sergeant and a corporal, are among the missing. They had been sent into town to buy forage for an officer’s horse, and Brownell’s was one place they were to try. Oh yes, there was a bayonet in the stomach of Leduc’s body, which implies some kind of struggle.”

Again Fitzroy fought the horrible memory of having to move the remains to try to ascertain their identity and cause of death. When I die, he thought, let it be quickly and not in a fire. He had no idea whether the men had been alive or dead when the fire consumed them and shuddered at the thought of burning alive. He recalled the horror of Braxton’s face and shuddered again.

“I then took a boat across the river to Leduc’s farm. I know I crossed into Haldimand’s Canadian territory, but I decided that a casual and unauthorized visit wouldn’t upset Haldimand, even if he were to find out about it.”

“Which he won’t, damn him,” Burgoyne rose and began to pace in the confines of the tent. “You were prudent in not asking my permission, which I might have had to deny, and you did well to handle it informally. What did you find?”

“No sign of Leduc, which confirmed that his was the body we thought, and nothing of the two laborers seen with him in Detroit. However, a neighbor said he saw them coming back from Detroit just about the time the fire started. The neighbor said he’d heard horses sometime after midnight. No, he didn’t go to inspect.”

“Conclusions, Major.”

“It’s possible the fire was an accident, or even the result of some kind of brawl between the two grenadiers and Leduc and his companions, which would account for the bayonet. However, I believe that sabotage is the most likely cause. In my opinion, Leduc was either a rebel sympathizer or a spy and that the two men came from Fort Washington. Leduc’s neighbors said he frequently mentioned how he detested us British. Whether they came to destroy Detroit, or whether it was an opportunity that arose, we’ll never know. I regret that I cannot give you anything more definite, but that will have to wait until and if we have those two men in custody. However, I consider that prospect most unlikely as they are doubtless many miles away from here.”

There was silence as Burgoyne digested what Fitzroy had said. “I concur,” he said finally. “And you’ve done extremely well. This damn place may still be filled with spies and enemy sympathizers. For that reason, I want you to work with the provost in tightening security and ferreting out spies. I don’t want any more surprises like Leduc.”

Fitzroy was dismissed. He saluted and stepped outside. Leduc had been a native local with reputation that was beyond reproach. While in Detroit, he had never said or done anything against the Crown, which made his neighbors’ comments all the more surprising. And, he had prospered under British rule. So what changed him or drove him, and who was the real Jean Leduc? Fitzroy stared at the hurried reconstruction of the outpost. Of most concern was the condition of the sailing barges. Six had been destroyed utterly and most of the others damaged to some degree, and one seemed to have simply disappeared downriver. Danforth thought it would wash over the falls at Niagara in a week or two if it didn’t run aground somewhere, and Fitzroy agreed he was likely right.

Despite the fact that the fire had been out for a couple of days, fingers of smoke still wafted upwards as scores of soldiers attempted to move the still hot rubble out of the fort and dump it into the river. Only then could the rebuilding begin in earnest.

Fitzroy found himself staring at the civilians working around him. Who were they? Loyal or rebel? Friend or foe? How many were taking notes and making observations that would shortly find their way to Fort Washington. From Leduc’s now very cooperative neighbors, he’d heard of a tavern a few miles up the road where rebels allegedly congregated. He hadn’t gone there yet and wouldn’t without Burgoyne’s concurrence.

Who could be trusted? At least he could trust sweet, buxom little Hannah.