War 1812 (17 page)

“Were I you, Captain, I’d take off the uniform out here,” Jonah advised. “Otherwise, you are sure to track up the floor.”

“I’ll go get a blanket,” Moses volunteered, still holding the bag of food firmly.

“Thank you sir, that would be most kind,” Todd responded, shivering now that the air was getting cooler.

Once the captain was taken care of, Jonah looked over to Moses. “Ready,” he said.

Moses bent over and picked up the captain’s forgotten cloak. As he pulled it over his shoulders and head, he said, “Ready.”

Glaring at his friend, Jonah sarcastically asked, “What makes you so special that you get the cloak?”

Moses smiled and quipped, “Cause you’re already wet.”

Then before Jonah could speak, Moses bounded off the porch and ran to what he called the little cottage. Staring at his friend’s back, Jonah sighed and took off after him.

The little cottage was snug and dry. The captain had lit a small fire to help remove the dampness. The kindling was fresh, but the firewood had been there for awhile. Dust could be seen everywhere. Over in the corner, somebody had piled their bedrolls and possible bag. Jonah stripped down to his long-handles and pulled a chair up close to the fire. His boots sat on the hearth to one side, while his sodden clothes, which were draped over a straight-back chair steamed from the fireplace heat.

“Do you reckon they will be ready to wear tomorrow?” Jonah asked.

Moses looked through the small doorway from the kitchen. Seeing the steam rising off the clothes, he chuckled and replied, “If they ain’t shrunk.”

Paying heed to Moses’ comments, Jonah slid the chair back a foot or so. Moses had found dishes in a cupboard and piled two plates high with chicken, fresh bread, and cheese. Handing Jonah a plate, he set the other on a chair next to Jonah’s and then went back into the kitchen, returning with two glasses and a bottle of wine.

Seating himself, he looked over at Jonah and said, “There is plenty if you need more, plus there’s a cherry pie if you’ve a taste for sweets after.”

A piece of chicken was halfway to his mouth when Jonah paused. “Did you leave any for the general’s supper?” When he didn’t hear a reply, Jonah turned to Moses with a look and said, “Well?”

Moses finished chewing, swallowed, and then took a swallow of wine to wash his food down. “I really wasn’t thinking of the general but there should be enough. If not, he’s got servants.” Pausing, a twinkle filled Moses’ eyes and he spoke again, “Course, now if you’re worried, you can pack up what is left and take it back to the kitchen.”

When Jonah didn’t reply, Moses said, “Well?”

Jonah yawned, got up from his chair and stretched. The fire was low so he threw another insect eaten piece of firewood on the fire. He took his boots off the hearth and turned his clothes over. They were almost dry now. Hearing a familiar sound, he turned. Moses was asleep on one of the small beds. The heat, full belly, and a couple of glasses of wine had him out… snoring, but out. Jonah walked over to the door and looked out. The rain had slacked up some but had not stopped. He felt a chill as a small breeze blew the damp cold air through the open doorway. Closing the door quickly, Jonah walked back over to the fire.

The sudden chill seemed to punctuate Armstrong’s letter. He didn’t seem pleased that the British had not been brought to a conclusive battle. Winter was setting in, and the Americans needed the northwest retaken before winter. The president had encouraged Jonah to use his authority to gently push at every opportunity. Jonah couldn’t help but wonder who else was supplying information back to Washington. Was it Colonel Richard Mentor Johnson? He was known in Congress as a war hawk. Was Johnson sending private dispatches? Was he receiving private dispatches? Thinking back when Clay Gesslin had introduced Jonah to James Hampton, they let it slip Hampton would speak to Johnson before reporting to General Harrison.

Feeling his eyes grow heavy, Jonah placed another small stick of firewood on the fire then crawled into bed. Sleep was elusive, however. His mind was still on his letters. The secretary of war was concerned about the British influence in the south. Armstrong had mentioned in his letter of trouble in the south… Indian trouble. Problems with the Red Sticks or the Creeks as some called them. They were playing havoc among the settlers. The folks in Alabama were in need of help but with the war ongoing in the northwest, the ability to send help was limited.

If the British could be quickly defeated in the northwest, then resources could be funneled to the south. Trying to not worry about his home, Jonah rolled over. His last thoughts were,
I wonder if John Armstrong has bitten off more than he bargained for accepting the office of Secretary of War.
Then, as an afterthought, he wondered,
what have I gotten myself into?

Chapter Nineteen

A
break in the rain
came at dawn the next morning. Moses was first out of bed, so he added some kindling to the few remaining coals in the fireplace. Soon a small tendril of smoke started rising, then flames. Once the kindling was going good, Moses added a few sticks of firewood. The box holding the firewood was low. If they stayed tonight it would have to be replenished. It would be a good trick to find dry firewood after the gully washer they had last evening. Maybe they had a woodshed. Putting on his boots, Moses looked to the sleeping figure still in his bed.

“Get up, lazy bones.” Getting both boots on, Moses shook Jonah’s bed, “Get up!”

“Why?”

“Cause I’m going to get some coffee.”

“All right.”

As Moses turned to go, he saw the letters on a small table. The candle was down to not much more than a nub. Jonah had been up going over the letters from home.

Turning his attention back to the bed, Moses shook it hard. Jonah quickly spoke, “I’m getting up.”

Moses smiled and asked, “Everybody at home making out?”

“They’ve got their ailments but didn’t mention anything worrisome.”

Now, Moses chuckled. You didn’t ask Mama Lee how she was doing unless you had a good half hour. Saying no more, Moses ducked out the door and Jonah rose. The room was cool compared to the warm bed. Standing by the fireplace, he dressed hurriedly. His boots were tight-fitting from drying out next to the fire the last evening. Hopefully, they would stretch out without having to wet them.

A bump at the door was heard. Opening it, Jonah found Moses waiting with his hands full. Helping his friend, Jonah was awed at how much Moses had carried. He had a plate with eggs and bacon, another with butter biscuits, a jar of grape preserves, and a pot of coffee. Moses had always had a knack as a forager. “It’s the Indian in him,” Jonah’s father had once said. “Good thieves, all of them.”

Smiling, as he recalled his father’s words, Jonah had to think quickly when Moses asked, “What are you smiling about?”

“This breakfast,” Jonah replied. “It would be hard for a wife to compete with you, Moses.”

“Huh! Some thangs wouldn’t be no competition. Sides, as lazy as you are, ain’t likely you’d find a woman who’d have you; not for long, anyway.”

Biting into a butter biscuit, Jonah asked, “You see anybody? Are they up and moving?”

“The cook said the general had just left. Say’s everyone has to be on hand for the firing squad.”

Neither spoke for a moment or two when Moses broke the silence. “Glad I ain’t in the army on days like this.”

Nodding his agreement, Jonah took a sip of coffee. So was he.

After breakfast, Jonah and Moses loaded all the dishes in the empty sack Moses had used the previous evening and carried them to the kitchen. Several cats ran across the muddy yard, so Jonah dumped the few scraps they had for them. His feet ached from his tight boots.

“I think I’ll take a walk to see if I can stretch these boots,” Jonah said as Moses climbed the steps to the back porch.

Nodding, Moses went into the house. He’d check for firewood after he gave the dishes to the cook.

In the distance, the unmistakable drum roll was heard. It was followed by the report of rifles fired in unison.
It’s done,
Jonah thought.
What kind of letter would be written to this man’s family?

The sun was starting to peek through the clouds and rays glared off the river in spots. Having the upcoming battle with the British on his mind and thinking of the Indian troubles in Alabama, Jonah walked further than he realized. It must be mid-morning, he thought as he turned to make his way back toward Sandwich. He had followed the river bank as he walked but decided it would be closer to walk back through town. The houses were mostly of frame, but toward the center of town, Jonah could see a few brick dwellings. As he walked down the main street, he heard a curse, a slapping sound, and a woman scream. Jonah paused for a second and then heard another scream from inside a small house that was in front of him.

Jumping over a small fence, he entered an open door. A woman was being attacked. Her attacker had his back to Jonah. As the man raised his hand to strike the woman again, Jonah grabbed it, spinning the man around and slapping him. The force of the blow sent the man to the floor. Surprised, the man touched his stinging face and then made a motion to pull his sword. The click of the hammer being pulled back on Jonah’s pistol made the man freeze.

“You have me at a disadvantage, sir,” he spat but made no attempt to rise.

“As you had the lady,” Jonah replied.

“She deserved what she got and more,” the man hissed. “She’s nothing but a British tart.”

“Liar… you lying scum,” the woman threw back.

“I had no choice. You… you ran and hid in the woods.”

The man started to speak again, but Jonah shouted, “That’s enough.” Then, looking at the man, he motioned with his pistol to get up.

Still touching his stinging face, the man said, “You will pay for this.”

“By whom?” Jonah exclaimed. “A man who slaps around defenseless women. I think not.”

“But she is a traitorous bit…” the man’s sentence was broke off as Jonah’s pistol was jammed into his face.

“Don’t say it,” Jonah warned.

Hatred filled the man’s blazing eyes, but he was not foolish enough to finish his sentence. The two glared at each other for a moment. Finally, Jonah lowered the pistol.