Liberty 1784: The Second War for Independence (5 page)

“Shall I assume that you will take possession of Mr. Washington’s skull and bones from me?” Burgoyne asked.

The look on Cornwallis’ face showed what he thought of bringing the barbaric trophies across the Atlantic. Again, friends in London had forewarned him that Washington’s skull and a number of other bones would be sealed in a trunk along with some of Washington’s personal possessions. So far the existence of what Cornwallis considered to be vile relics was a secret. If the word got out, the Tories would want them destroyed with great ceremony, while the rebels would want them enshrined in a North American version of the Vatican. If anything, the damned bones should have been kept in London.

“The box containing them will be left with me and locked away for what I hope will be forever,” Cornwallis said grimly. “If Lord North or Stormont want Washington’s bones displayed prominently, let them come and do it.”

Burgoyne nodded. “Which is precisely what I would do. I protested, but was overruled.”

Cornwallis smiled in a belated attempt at conviviality. “You will have my total cooperation, General Burgoyne. In anticipation of your orders, I have already notified the various units and garrisons under my command that you will be using many of their men. Some will reduce their forces, while others will have to close up, temporarily, one hopes. The situation will be precarious, but you’re right. The return on investment will be well worth it if the rebels are finally crushed. If all goes well, you will have the beginnings of an army in a few months and you’ll be able to begin campaigning in full strength by next spring.”

Outside the door, Fitzroy’s jaw almost dropped. Next spring before they could even begin? He’d known it would be a long campaign, but he’d expected to be back in England well before next spring. What in God’s name had he gotten himself into?

* * *

It took Sarah Benton several days to recover her strength. In the meantime, the outcry against Sheriff Braxton had grown large enough to attract the attention of the British government in Boston. As a result, he had been chastised for his excesses and warned never to do it again. Braxton had laughed off the punishment. He would do as he damned well pleased. However, he would wait a very short while before beginning his ways anew.

As a result, Sarah was often hesitant about going outside. Either the sheriff or one of his deputies was always hanging around the white picket fence outside her uncle’s home. On the rare occasions she did venture outdoors, they would tease her lewdly. Braxton also said it was only a matter of time before she would again have the choice of a day in the stocks or giving him sexual gratification. Of course, he’d added, it would be two days in the stocks for a second crime.

Sarah was despondent. Was this going to be the way of the rest of her life? If so, how long would the rest of her life be? She’d spoken with Faith and found that it hadn’t been the first time Faith and other village women had been forced to perform for the sheriff and his deputies. She suspected that her own aunt had been one of those abused by him, but dared not voice her concern.

“You live with it,” Faith had said, her voice bleak with bitterness and shame. “You do what you have to and get on with your life.”

In many ways, Faith was still a child, and it pained Sarah to see her so abused and depressed. She knew that Faith felt guilty. In an obscene way, Sarah had suffered the most, while Faith endured only the humiliation. But perhaps humiliation was worse than anything.

Deep down, Sarah knew that she would ultimately lose to the sheriff and the thought repelled her. Not the act, but the sheriff. She had done such a deed for her husband, Tom, but that had been an act of love, not vengeance or power. Worse, the deputies let it be known that she would be servicing them as well and as often as they wished. They were going to break her, and she knew that anyone could be broken.

Then one evening, Uncle Wilford made a simple pronouncement. “We’re leaving.”

Faith and Sarah were surprised, while Aunt Rebecca simply beamed. “I’ve sold the property and we’re heading west,” Wilford said.

“There are Indians and outlaws out there,” Faith wailed. “We’ll be robbed and scalped.”

“Could they be worse than the sheriff and his men?” Aunt Rebecca replied with a cold fury that confirmed Sarah’s concerns that her dear old aunt had been forced to perform for the sheriff as well. Was it because of something Rebecca had done herself, or had she done it to protect Faith? Or her husband? Probably the latter as Wilford was fairly outspoken. Sarah wondered if her uncle even knew or suspected.

“I have no plans to go all that far west, Faith,” Uncle Wilford added gently, evading the fact that Indians would always be a menace no matter where they went. There were Indians near Pendleton but they were mainly a pathetic bunch of drunken beggars, something to be scorned, not feared.

He continued. “I do not plan on totally leaving civilization. I think we will find a place in Pennsylvania that will be far enough from the sheriff and the damned English who are so corrupt and cruel as to put a man like Braxton in charge of us.”

“Don’t say it so loud,” Faith said, looking around in fear.

“Unless the sheriff’s under the table I don’t think he can hear us,” Sarah answered with a tight smile. Under the iron rule of Sheriff Braxton, Pendleton was an evil place and she would be glad to be rid of it.

Uncle Wilford continued. “I sold the place as is to someone from Boston. A Tory, so he and Braxton will be happy with each other. I have the money and we’ll just pack up and leave quickly. We can be miles away before the sheriff even realizes we’re gone. We can lose ourselves in a vast country such as this.”

To himself he hoped it was true. He’d heard rumors of terrible British oppressions to the west under the command of Banastre Tarleton at Pittsburgh.

Now even Faith looked excited. “When do we pack?”

“We’ll start tonight,” Wilford said. “I want to leave at sunset tomorrow.”

A thought chilled Sarah. “Uncle, did you say the buyer is a Tory?”

“Yes.”

“And did he pay in gold?”

Wilford laughed, “Of course. Did you want him to pay in Continentals?”

“Then I think we should leave tonight, and I think we should only take what we can carry. Leave everything else.”

Her uncle looked shocked, while Faith looked puzzled. “But why, Sarah?” she said.

“Because no Tory would miss a chance to get back the money he’s paid to a rebel. They’ll raid us and rob us. Or worse, since Braxton will doubtless help them recover their money. And we’ll be considered criminals for planning to leave without permission.”

Uncle Wilford stood, anger contorted his face. “She’s right. I’m a fool for not recognizing the peril I was creating. We pack now and we run.”

* * *

They waited until dark and moved into the woods near the house. The women were dressed in men’s clothes so they could ride the horses they were leading, along with a couple of other pack animals. What few personal possessions they brought were carried in pathetically small sacks. They had only two weapons, a musket carried by Wilford, and a fowling piece carried by Sarah. Wilford had to leave his blacksmithing tools since they were too heavy to carry. He only retained a large hammer that he said he’d like to use on either Braxton’s or the Tory land buyer’s skulls. Sarah seethed with anger at the injustice of it all, while Faith sobbed softly.

They were less than a mile away from their house when they heard horses in the distance, coming closer. They stopped and waited silently, holding their own horses’ heads down so they wouldn’t respond. A line of riders moved past them less than a hundred yards away. Sarah counted seven men and thought she recognized the bulk of Sheriff Braxton on the lead horse. When they were past, she asked her uncle if he recognized the buyer of the house as well. He did and snarled that he’d like to kill the son of a bitch.

“We should ride away now,” said her aunt.

“No,” Uncle Wilford said. “We’ll wait until they’re distracted.” A grim smile played on his face.

The riders circled the comfortable and quiet-looking frame house and dismounted. What looked like a candle shone through an open window. Funny, Sarah thought, I don’t remember seeing that candle before, but it does make it look like the house is occupied. She wondered if that was the distraction he mentioned? If so, it wasn’t much of one. As she watched, the men smashed down the front door and rushed inside.

Uncle Wilford swore and then smiled with a cold fury. “The bastards. But now watch.”

A moment later, the soft glow in the window became much brighter and, suddenly, flames erupted from the house. Wilford chuckled harshly.

“I rigged the oil lamps to spill if someone tried to come in through the doors. If I can’t have the house, then no would-be Tory thief’s going to get it either.”

An explosion lit the night and men tumbled from her uncle’s home. At least two of them were on fire and writhing on the ground, screaming at the top of their lungs. Others grabbed buckets from the well and doused the burning men while the house was quickly consumed. Sarah and the others hoped that one of the men burning was Sheriff Braxton or the thief of a Tory who had come to rob them. Wilford thought it likely that one was indeed Braxton. For all his faults, Braxton wasn’t a coward and he would have led his men inside. One of the burning men was being ignored and obviously dead, while the other was frantically being treated by his companions.

Sarah smiled grimly as they mounted their horses. She was confident that no one would chase them this night. Even Faith looked pleased. The war against the English was not over.

* * *

Will Drake found his Connecticut property easily enough, but he didn’t particularly like what he saw. Instead of a neat, clean, well-painted, and tidy house and barn, the main building was almost a ruin and the barn looked like it would fall over in a mild breeze. He had lived there until the end of his boyhood and had fond memories of the house and his family. Now, it looked like a shell, a mausoleum, and a tawdry one at that.

Worse was the presence of Francis and Winnie Holden, his cousins. They had never been close and Will had always suspected them of Tory leanings. Their presence on the property reinforced it—otherwise how would they have gotten the property that was rightfully Will’s?

They were thoroughly surprised to see him, but greeted him cordially enough. Will looked in their eyes and could see it was all superficial. Their eyes were cold and wary, even fearful. They wondered why he had come, and what he wanted.

“I know you’re surprised to see us living here,” Winnie said nervously. She and her husband were obviously not thrilled at Will’s unexpected arrival. “But we bought the place at a government sale. It’d been seized for nonpayment of taxes after it was abandoned. I can’t imagine you’d be displeased. After all, it’s staying in the family.”

“Of course not,” Will said evenly and with great effort. They were in the small kitchen eating some kind of stew prepared by Winnie who, in Will’s opinion, should have let someone else cook. Still, it was food, and he wasn’t that far from his days in the
Suffolk
to pass up a meal.

“We had no idea what’d happened to you,” Francis said. “It was as if you’d dropped off the face of the earth. Heard rumors, though, that you were in a British prison.”

“I was for a bit, but they let me go,” Will lied.

“But I heard they were still keeping officers.” Winnie said.

Will forced a laugh. “I wasn’t an officer when the war ended. I got broken to the ranks for hitting a man senior to me. The man was a coward and I damn near killed him.”

It was yet another lie, but he didn’t trust his cousins, and was beginning to regret coming. He didn’t doubt that they’d gobbled up the property for far less than what it was worth, and he didn’t doubt they feared his presence as a potential claimant on what was now their land. He knew they’d turn him in if they suspected him of being an escapee.

“What are your plans?” Winnie asked, so transparent and cautious that Will almost laughed.

“I just want a good meal with you folks and then I’m heading west to start over. I’m satisfied that everything is in good hands here, and I want to start my life up again. If you’d be kind enough to give me breakfast, I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

They both nodded and smiled happily at the thought of him leaving so quickly. “We’d be honored,” Winnie said, her normally sour face breaking into a smile.

“And tonight I’ll sleep in the barn. I’m used to that sort of thing and I wouldn’t want to put you nice people out.”

He got no argument from Francis and Winnie. In the barn, Will spread a blanket they’d given him on some straw and pretended to go to sleep. After a while, he heard a rustling outside and then heavy breathing by the wall. Cousin Francis, he decided, was about as quiet as a herd of horses. When Francis went back to the house, Will followed him far more silently.

“He’s sound asleep,” Francis told Winnie. “If I leave right now, I can get help and be back in a couple of hours.”

“Why not just let him leave like he says he’s going to,” Winnie hissed.

“Because the bastard’s a rebel and, besides, there’s a ten-pound reward for turning in escaped prisoners. Or did you believe that bullshit about him being demoted from officer for fighting? The Will Drake I remember was too self-righteous to get his sanctimonious ass in that kind of trouble. We turn him in and we get the reward along with seeing that he doesn’t ever trouble us about this land.”

At least they think highly of me, Will thought as he listened through the glassless window.

They argued a little more, but Francis prevailed. He left at a trot and Winnie sat on a chair with a musket across her lap and stared fixedly at the door.

Will decided he wanted that musket. It was fairly new and looked as if it had been cared for. He took a rock and threw it at the barn. Winnie, who had been half dozing, awoke with a start and ran to the door, her musket held firmly before her.

As she stepped outside, Will slipped through the window and hid beside the door. When Winnie turned and entered, it was simplicity itself to grab the musket’s barrel and yank it from her. He laughed as he saw it wasn’t even cocked. Winnie, however, started to scream. Will shoved her back down in the chair and clamped his hand over her mouth.