Liberty 1784: The Second War for Independence (14 page)
Read Liberty 1784: The Second War for Independence Online
Authors: Robert Conroy
* * *
The building assigned to Benjamin Franklin for the development of a new way of making guns was set up for display this afternoon, not work. He called it “Merlin’s Cave” in a fit of whimsical honor to the legendary magician companion of the equally legendary King Arthur. On a series of tables were piles of the components needed to build a gun. Franklin beamed at everyone. He was in his glory.
“Kindly note, gentlemen, that what I have here are the parts of a gun that some people are beginning to call a ‘Franklin’ in my honor.”
“It also bears your shape,” said General Schuyler with a smile that brought chuckles from the others. A completed gun lay on the table. It was short and squat.
Franklin ignored the gibe from his good friend. He would take verbal vengeance over supper and relish it. “A group of people here are charged with making each component, while another group is responsible for assembling the, ah, marvelously and accurately named Franklin.”
“What are the components, Mr. Franklin?” asked General Tallmadge. Will stood beside him.
“First, gentlemen, we have the wooden rifle stock, then the trigger and flint, and, finally, the barrel. The only really difficult part to make is the trigger. The wooden stock is made on a foot-powered lathe, and the barrel is made by a blacksmith, such as Mr. Benton here. Regardless of the degree of difficulty, groups of workers specialize in making only their own particular part of the gun. Then, others, and often women like the sublimely attractive and young Miss Faith, assemble the components.”
“Why women?” inquired Schuyler.
“Many women are quite skillful at knitting and sewing. Therefore, it seemed logical that their nimble fingers would be able to fashion a weapon out of small and diverse parts. With women performing some tasks, it also frees up men to perform others. With your permission, General Schuyler, would you pick one part out of each pile and hand it to that young lady who, in deference to your advanced age, is pretending to gaze worshipfully at you?”
Schuyler flushed. Franklin had gotten him back. He grinned and took a part at random from each pile. Faith took them solemnly, laid them on a table in the order she wanted, and then proceeded to put them together. It took only a couple of minutes before the unique-looking weapon was completed.
“Impressive,” said Schuyler, “but will it work?”
Franklin took the stubby gun from Faith and held it aloft. “I will test it and fire it.”
“You will not!” exclaimed Schuyler. “If an accident happens, we cannot afford to lose you.”
“You’re right,” said Tallmadge. “Someone less important should fire it. Will Drake, you do it.”
Will grinned at Tallmadge and took the weapon, while the others laughed at his expense. He examined it carefully and saw no obvious flaws. Franklin suggested they go outdoors, where a wall of dirt-filled sacks had been constructed about fifty feet away. Someone had stuck some men’s clothing to it as a target. Will loaded the weapon with a packet of powder and one large lead bullet, cocked the hammer and aimed. The thing was heavy and dragged down the barrel.
He fired and the recoil pushed him a step backwards. A huge flock of pigeons erupted in fright from Tallmadge’s headquarters, flew around in circles and finally settled back down. Will noted that Tallmadge was a bit concerned about the birds. He hoped he’d hit something near the target and not one of the pigeons. Then he wondered just what all those pigeons were doing in the loft of Tallmadge’s office?
They walked through the dissipating smoke. A sandbag just to the left of the target showed a huge hole. Franklin peered at it and winked at Will. “It would appear that the sandbag is dead, but the enemy soldier is just fine, thank you.”
“With practice, sir, I am confident I can do much better.”
“I’m sure you can,” Schuyler agreed. “But I do wonder just what the primary purpose of your weapon will be? It doesn’t have the range of a rifle, or even a musket, so how shall it be used?”
“I see it as a second weapon,” Franklin said. “I visualize a soldier carrying it on his back and, when his musket is emptied, he takes it and fires at very close range at the advancing enemy who will think the soldier is helpless. I believe it would be quite shocking to an enemy, assuming he survives.”
“That might work,” said Tallmadge, “but I doubt it, sir. The heat of battle is confusing enough without having to change weapons.”
“Can it take a bayonet, Mr. Franklin?” asked Schuyler.
“I don’t think so,” Franklin said, “although a short bayonet might be contrived for it.”
“Then a second weapon it must be,” Schuyler said, “Or something for cavalry to use if we ever get some horses. Tell me, how many of these can you make, and why not utilize your assembly method for some other type of weapon?”
If Franklin was disappointed at the less than enthusiastic reception his weapon had just received, he didn’t show it. “When we get going, an initial goal will be ten of these a day. We can improve upwards as we continue to learn. Within a couple of months, I hope to be building a hundred a day. However, if you are not interested in that many of my Franklins, I am certain I can adapt my methods to other killing devices.”
Schuyler nodded solemnly. “Such as muskets?”
“Indeed.”
“And rifles?”
“The problem of cutting the grooves in the barrel is enormous.”
Schuyler smiled. “Then work on it, will you?”
* * *
Owen Wells went looking for Faith Benton. He wanted to get her alone so he could talk to her, but that was proving unlikely as she was either working making Franklin’s guns, or with her cousin Sarah, or with her father. He wanted to tell her that she was the loveliest thing he had ever seen. Owen had never been in love before, so he had no idea how to proceed. He alternated between periods of deep despondency and great elation. It was like he had been reborn. If only Faith might return his affections.
Sometimes he thought his position as her suitor was hopeless. She was beautiful, and he was nothing more than a stumpy caricature of a man with bulging shoulders and overlong and heavily muscled arms. Perhaps she would laugh at him. She had seemed friendly enough when they traveled from the battle on the Ohio to Fort Washington, but that was back then and he had helped save her life, and this was now and she was safe and secure. Worse, she was surrounded by young men who not only outranked him but looked normal. He didn’t care. He had to know.
Finally, he was in luck. She came out of the women’s quarters and just stood there, breathing deeply of a crisp afternoon, a shawl wrapped loosely around her shoulders. She was so beautiful.
“Good morning, Miss Faith,” he said and walked slowly up to her. She turned and smiled at him in recognition.
“I believe it’s afternoon, Mister Wells.”
He flushed. What a wonderful way to start a conversation with the woman he dreamed about. He’d just shown her that he couldn’t tell time. “I’ve been so busy it’s easy to get confused.”
“I know that feeling.”
“I just wanted to speak to you, to let you know that I’ll be leaving.”
Was that dismay he saw on her face? “Where are you going?”
“I’ll be leading a patrol out to the east, in search of Redcoats and their friends.”
“You’ll be leading it? But I thought you were only a corporal?”
“I was, but Major Drake suggested that I should be a lieutenant because of my experience in the Royal Marines and General Tallmadge agreed. So now I am an officer,” although, he didn’t add, one of the most junior ones in the entire American army.
She grinned. “And a gentleman?”
“Oh, I hope so,” he said and spoke more boldly than he felt. “And I was wondering if you might like to go for a walk with a gentleman? Or perhaps just sit and talk?”
Faith was touched. The short, squat young man was only slightly taller than she and only a couple of years older, but she knew his story and that he had been aged beyond those years by events far beyond his control.
For that matter, so had she. Her experiences at the hands of Sheriff Braxton’s deputies were something she could not put out of her mind, even though she tried to make light of them when talking with Sarah. Wells had to be aware that something awful had occurred to her back east, but that didn’t seem to bother him. Perhaps equally awful things had happened to him on board a British warship? And why not, she thought. He would have been a boy among older, stronger men. She’d heard terrible stories about what happened to boys surrounded by predatory older men.
Faith tightened her shawl around her shoulders. He looked so frightened at being with her and that she might say no thank you to a walk. Perhaps she should say “boo” and see if he’d fall over or just run. No, she decided. He was just too nice a young man.
“A walk would be nice, but not too long a one. I wouldn’t want you catching a chill before your first patrol.”
“Good idea.”
She smiled warmly. “Perhaps after, we can sit by a fire and talk.”
Chapter 6
M
ajor James Fitzroy arrived back at the rooms he shared with Hannah Doorn—no, make that Hannah Van Doorn. He was nearly shaking with anger and frustration.
“What is the matter, my dear lordship?” Hannah teased, trying to amuse him out of his anger.
“Anything and everything,” he groaned. “I have just found out what a treacherous viper General Banastre Tarleton is, and to make matters worse, I am to blame for some of the evil he is doing. I do not understand how people in England can consider him to be a hero and a saint, while those in the colonies more accurately portray him as a criminal. I accept that war is a ruthless profession by its very nature, but he goes beyond the limits of decency, and I don’t just mean killing prisoners or abusing civilians. I mean atrocities.”
She smiled, asked him to be seated and calm himself, and poured him a cup of real coffee. Very few in Detroit had access to real coffee and the aroma was magnificent. It was one of the benefits of her association with the Jewish merchant. She waited until he took a couple of sips and felt more composed.
“That is so good,” he said with a sigh.
“And now you may tell me what troubles you.”
“Do you know what a loose cannon is, my dear? No? Well, it is a term that I believe comes from the navy. If a cannon on a ship breaks loose during a storm, it can careen all over the ship, injuring and killing people, smashing things, and causing enormous damage to the ship until it is either gotten under control or hurled overboard. Some ships have been sunk by loose cannon, both literally and metaphorically.”
“And Banastre Tarleton is such a loose cannon?”
“Indeed. He makes up his own rules and they are brutal. It has just come to Burgoyne’s notice that Tarleton has been sending out raiders to pillage, torture, rape, and slaughter innocent civilians who happen to be in between the rebels at Fort Washington and here. He wished to convince the rebels that Indians are doing the attacking, which would cause the rebels to retaliate against the red savages, which would then cause the Indians to fight on our side. Even if the Americans won such a war, which is very likely, it would distract and weaken the bloody rebels.”
“Awful,” she said thoughtfully. “I suppose it makes some appalling sense from a military standpoint since it would necessarily weaken his enemies, but how absolutely terrible. But how do you know all this?”
Fitzroy sipped some more coffee. How marvelous it was and how wonderful it was to have someone like Hannah to confide in. He considered himself to be a truly fortunate man. Perhaps the colonies weren’t as uncivilized as he first thought.
“It began with tavern rumors that we immediately pooh-poohed as coming from loudmouthed drunks either bragging or complaining. After all, who would even think of doing such horrible things? Then several men who had served with the monster in charge of these forays began to speak up. They’d left because they couldn’t stomach being part of the atrocities. Burgoyne heard of them, talked to them, and then confronted Tarleton with what he’d learned.”
“What happened then?”
“Tarleton laughed at Burgoyne; absolutely just laughed right in his face. In effect called him soft and an old woman for caring about the plight of civilians. He said the purpose of war was to kill the enemy and it didn’t matter if the enemy was old or young, man or woman, they had to be destroyed. He said that anyone between here and the rebel enclave was presumed to be a rebel and should be hunted down and killed like dogs. Burgoyne was appalled. He asked if Tarleton had heard of a lady named Jane McCrea. Have you?”
“Of course,” Hannah said solemnly. “She was the young lady who was murdered by Burgoyne’s Indians during his advance to Saratoga in ’77.”
“Yes, and it didn’t matter at all to the Indians who murdered her that she was a Tory and not a rebel. She was an innocent, and it meant that people thought Burgoyne was hell bent on killing innocents. It inflamed the frontier and brought many hundreds, if not thousands, of undecided Colonials into the rebel camp, which was a major factor in Burgoyne’s defeat at Saratoga.”
Fitzroy managed a small laugh. “At least it was a major factor in Burgoyne’s mind. He was able to blame the Indians on his defeat rather than his other shortcomings. Regardless, Burgoyne was determined not to let that happen again, and here he finds that Tarleton is doing exactly the same thing and laughing about it.”
“What did Burgoyne do?”
“He ordered Tarleton to stop the attacks and call back his wolves. Tarleton said it was impossible. He said they operated on their own and without plans, and he had no idea where they were. He said he didn’t expect to see them until spring. He’s lying, of course. There must be a rendezvous point or some other means of getting messages to those animals.”
She sprawled out on the bed and allowed the bottom of her robe to open, showing her shapely legs. “But why does that bother you so much, my noble little major?”
“Because I enlisted the monster who is preying on the innocents,” he said angrily. “His name is Braxton, and back in Albany, I gave him a commission as a militia captain since, as I recall, he already led a group of about fifty armed men. His face was terribly burned and his hands were mutilated and he hated the rebels for maiming him. But I never thought his hatred would cause him to rape and murder when I sent him off to Detroit and Tarleton’s sublime leadership.”
Hannah walked over, sat on his lap and held his head in her hands, then buried his face in the warmth of her bosom. “Now how could you have predicted what this Braxton would have done, or that Tarleton would give him such odious directions? You couldn’t, my dear major, so please quit blaming yourself for the actions of others.” Curiously, she realized she meant what she’d said.
Fitzroy took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She was right, of course. She was almost always right and he appreciated that. “You are good for me, Hannah Van Doorn.”
“I know,” she purred. She undid the strings of her bodice and let her breasts fall free. His lips quickly found her nipples and she felt herself becoming aroused. She would have to get this tantalizing information to Abraham Goldman so he could forward it to Fort Washington, but not right now. Fitzroy’s hands had begun caressing the moistness of her inner thighs, and her body was responding as it always did to his gentle touch. The damned war could wait for an hour. Maybe a couple.
* * *
Sarah was surprised and pleased to see Will. “I thought you’d left?”
“And I thought you’d be glad I’m still here.”
She tapped him on the arm and smiled warmly. “Of course I am. I had just reconciled myself to being without the pleasure of your company while you tramped around the wet and soggy forest looking for Redcoats.”
“Apparently something’s come up. General Tallmadge wants me to accompany him to one of the hospitals tonight. It seems there’s a very unusual patient.”
Sarah nodded grimly. “I know and I will be there too. Mr. Franklin has a similar appointment tonight at the hospital and it must be for the same reason. I am to accompany him and make sure he doesn’t get into any difficulties. Sometimes he’s forgetful.”
That evening the small group assembled in the foyer of the small wooden building they grandly called a hospital. A short and youthful-looking man named Jonathan Young said he was a physician and guided them in. Franklin murmured to Sarah that his name was quite appropriate and she noted that the doctor seemed quite nervous.
“Not too many beds are occupied right now,” Young said. “It’ll be different when the fighting really starts. Right now all I’ve got are a couple of fevers and some broken bones brought about by brawling and accidents. Nothing that purging, bleeding, and leeching won’t cure.”
Sarah shuddered. She had no idea just how leeching or bleeding might help a sick or hurt person, but she’d always accepted it on face value because it was such a traditional way of caring for the sick and injured. But purging? Violently emptying her bowels had nearly killed her when she was in the stocks, so how could it possibly help, and particularly if a person was already weakened? She wondered if the same applied to leeching and bleeding. If so, did the medical profession know anything at all about how the human body worked?
Doctor Young guided them into a small room off the main ward. “We keep sick females in here. When there are no women patients, which is usually the case, we use it for storage.”
One cot lay in the middle of the room. Boxes surrounded it, there was little light, and the air was stifling.
Will stepped in front of Sarah as she held back. She didn’t know whether or not she wanted to see what was lying in the bed. Will leaned over and stared at the creature swathed in bandages and blankets.
“A girl,” Will said, “A child.”
“A little older,” Tallmadge said grimly and Doctor Young nodded.
“What happened to her?” Will asked.
“We’re not certain,” Tallmadge said. “She was found in the woods by one of our patrols investigating rumors of an attack on a settlement. She was stumbling around the ruins, naked, burned and bleeding.”
“Dear God,” said Franklin, “The poor child.”
Tallmadge continued. “The patrol located the settlement and found a stack of charred bodies in what might have been a barn. They had been butchered and burned, reduced to a pile of blackened bones and grease. The girl was able to say that her name was Winifred Haskill and that horrible looking white men had destroyed her home. Then she collapsed and hasn’t spoken since then. The men in the patrol weren’t certain she’d live long enough to make it here, but she surprised them.”
Eyes turned to the doctor who added solemnly, “She turns and moans, but she hasn’t said anything that makes sense. It may be that her brain has been affected. She did endure a savage blow to the head.”
“And what do you plan to do about her?” Will asked.
“She is wrapped in bandages because of a multitude of scratches and bruises, including one large cut on her head where someone may have tried to scalp her. I have applied salves to her burns, which, while looking horrible, aren’t serious. Otherwise, her body is that of a healthy young woman. I took a cup of blood from her this morning, and plan to purge her in a little while. A cleansing of the bowels often helps the mind think correctly.”
Will took one of the girl’s thin, pale arms and lifted it. “I don’t think she has much left to purge or bleed.”
Sarah looked at him and held back a smile. It was exactly what she was thinking.
“I believe I understand my medicine, Major,” Doctor Young sniffed.
“But do you understand women’s medicine?” Sarah injected and enjoyed the confusion on the doctor’s face. “Not only are our bodies different, but the way women use them is different from those of men. Tell me, how many babies have you delivered? How many cases of serious menstrual bleeding have you treated? Or tumors of the breast? Oh yes, how many women have you examined when they were naked?”
Doctor Young was flustered, and seemed embarrassed that such would be discussed in mixed company. “None at all,” he admitted.
“Then let me propose a solution to this dilemma,” she said, suddenly aware that Abigail Adams had entered the room and was standing behind her, nodding grimly. “Remand her to my care and I will treat her, woman to woman.”
“And I will assist,” said Abigail.
The doctor bowed and Sarah sensed his relief. “I accept your collective wisdom.”
“And where will you treat her?” asked Franklin. The look of dismay on his face said he already knew the answer.
“She will sleep in my room,” said Sarah, “and I will sleep on a cot.”
“And I will be there every day to help,” Abigail said and patted Franklin on the cheek, “so you will not lose out on the skills of your precious and indispensable clerk. I am certain that other women in the camp, such as Mistress Greene and Mistress Morgan will be more than willing to aid us.”
Daniel Morgan and his wife, along with several dozen riflemen, had recently arrived. Even though he too was ill, Morgan was a welcome addition to the list of general officers.
Doctor Young managed a smile. “I am thoroughly delighted as well as outranked.”
They took a cot from the hospital and transported the unconscious Winifred the short distance to Franklin’s quarters. Abigail Adams walked alongside the cot and gazed sadly on the injured young woman. Sarah walked behind, with Will.
“The doctor meant well,” she said.
“Doctors are bloody useless unless they can stitch a cut or fix a broken bone,” Will said. “When they start to think, they become dangerous because they feel they know so much and they truly don’t.”
Sarah slipped her arm in his. It seemed so natural and comfortable. “Now when are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow. I should be back in no more than six weeks.”
“Will you be seeing young Lieutenant Wells?”
His mission was not public knowledge, but why not tell her? “I expect to meet with him somewhere near Detroit. Why?”
“Because my silly cousin Faith is fond of him and wants him safely back.”
“Do you want me safely back?” Will asked.
