Liberty 1784: The Second War for Independence Read online

  “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.

  “Winnie, I am not going to hurt you unless you make me, so be still. But if I do have to hurt you I will do so very terribly. Do you understand?”

  She nodded, he eyes still wide with terror. Will released his hand from her mouth and replaced it with a gag made from dirty torn cloth. He tied her arms and legs to the chair while she moaned. Her nightdress had fallen open and her flat, sagging breasts were exposed. Will shook his head. He’d been a long time without a woman, but he wasn’t that desperate. He fastened her nightdress, which calmed her, took the musket, and went outside into the darkness. He had human prey to stalk.

  Will moved about a half a mile away from the house and down the rude path that his cousin had just used. He settled himself in some brush and waited.

  He didn’t have long. The sound of footsteps and gasping breath told him that his cousin had returned and had brought some help. As Will had hoped, there was only one other man. He didn’t think his cousin would want to involve too many people. They’d have to split the reward even more ways if he had.

  Will let them shamble past him and began to follow a few yards behind. He wasn’t worried about being detected. They were fixated on the farmhouse and were making a lot of noise. Francis looked unarmed, but the other man had a musket, and a pistol was stuck in the waist of his pants. When they got to within a few hundred yards of the house, Cousin Francis and the other man stopped and gathered themselves, breathing deeply. He heard them murmuring a plan. They would approach the barn as quietly as they could and surprise what they expected would be a sleeping Will.

  They were so intent on what was ahead of them that they paid no attention to their rear. Will did not think twice about such a thing as fighting fair. He’d been in too much combat to believe that killing someone else before he could kill you was not fair. You did it in order to survive.

  Will approached them and, when he was within a few yards, he fired, shooting the man with the musket in the back. As Francis turned in shock, Will ran up and hit him in the head with the stock of the now empty musket.

  It was over in seconds. He checked the man he’d shot. He was dead with a hole in his back that left a gaping exit wound in his chest. Francis was out cold, and a lump was forming on his skull. Will hoped he hadn’t killed the greedy, treacherous fool, and then wondered why he cared.

  After pushing the dead body well into the field where it couldn’t be seen, he dragged Francis into the house. No one was near enough to have heard the shot, or they simply didn’t care. Winnie began to moan again when she saw her husband’s bloody and unconscious body.

  “You’re not stupid,” Will said to her. “I’m going to loosen your bonds so you can get yourself out of them in a while. If anybody tries to follow me, I’ll kill them just like I did that other Tory bastard outside. Remember that I didn’t kill Francis, even though I could have and with ease. He stole my farm and was going to sell me back to that stinking prison for ten miserly pounds. Your husband is a cruel cheap shit. Even Judas wanted thirty pieces of silver.”

  Francis began whimpering and groaning, so Will tied him up as well. He again turned to Winnie and loosened both her bonds and her gag. When he was satisfied she could get help for herself and dear Cousin Francis, Will searched the house for useful things to take with him. He settled on an ax, a knife, a bullet mold, lead, and powder. They had some bread and dried meat, so he took that as well. He also now had two muskets and a pistol. You could never have too many weapons, he thought. He would never be taken alive.

  As he stepped out into the night, he checked the stars and headed roughly west. It was in that direction that Fort Washington, and whatever Liberty was, were said to be. He only wondered just how far away they were.

  * * *

  Major James Fitzroy thought the city of New York was depressing and squalid. More than thirty thousand people, many of them enthusiastically if belatedly proclaiming their loyalty to King George III and the government of Lord North and General Cornwallis, were jammed into its narrow and winding streets. There were two exceptions to the rule of narrowness, Broad Street and De Heere Street, which was also called the Broad Way. These seemed to be the center of what life existed in New York.

  Much of the town was still in ruins from the fire of 1776, and little had been done to rebuild. That took money, and the country was still in a state of war.

  Fitzroy was puzzled. He wondered why, if the people were so solidly behind the king, were so many of them ignoring him or worse, glaring at him when they thought he wasn’t looking? In the weeks since his arrival, he’d noticed that he got better service in a tavern or a shop when he didn’t wear his uniform. He was beginning to think that the veneer of loyalty in the colonies was very thin indeed.

  He had a small room on the second floor of a pleasant inn on Wall Street, once the site of the city’s walls and now a place where merchants and investors congregated. At least they’d used to when the city was vibrant and alive. It was an easy walk to Fort George, which meant that he didn’t have to live in the cramped officer’s quarters inside the fort. No matter how small and overpriced his room might be, it was his and a hundred times better than living with his stinking and dirty brother officers.

  Adding to the city’s problems was the influx of soldiers and sailors from the fleet and convoy. Admirals like William Cornwallis could and did live in elegance on their ships, but army officers had to go ashore, as did their men. This meant imposition and resentment as soldiers were quartered in civilian homes. It was ironic in that the forcible quartering of soldiers in private homes was one of the issues that had caused the rebellion in the first place, and now those who’d remained loyal were suffering from it.

  Fitzroy sighed. It was the small price the Loyalists had to pay if they wanted the damned western rebel force stamped out and British control over the colonies strengthened and completed. The newly arrived army would pack up and leave soon, marching in stages to Albany and then to Fort Pitt. General Burgoyne had seen the irony of his army marching to Albany from New York. Albany had been his goal when he was defeated at Saratoga in his attempt to march south in 1777. He still cursed Generals
Howe and Clinton for having abandoned him instead of marching to join him as he’d understood the plans to be.

  Less ironic was the choice of Burgoyne’s lieutenants. General Banastre Tarleton commanded the British garrison at Pitt, which made him a logical choice even though he had the reputation among the rebels of a barbarian and a butcher. It was thought that knowing that Tarleton was advancing on them would terrify the rebels into surrendering or fleeing. Fitzroy had his doubts, even considering it wishful thinking. Tarleton had a habit of murdering his prisoners, which made surrendering to him an adventure. Thus, others thought that Tarleton’s presence would inspire desperate opposition. Burgoyne and Cornwallis were less than thrilled, but had no choice. The orders came from London.

  Even more controversial was the choice of one of the other generals, Benedict Arnold. London thought the former rebel general and now turncoat in the service of England would inspire large numbers of Loyalists to his cause. So far, the effect had been exactly the opposite. Even the staunchest Loyalists had been repelled by the idea of the turncoat Benedict Arnold commanding an English army.

  Fitzroy went downstairs to the restaurant portion of the inn and took a seat a small table. His friend, Captain Peter Danforth, entered a minute later. The two men drank a tankard of passable ale and ordered a fish dinner, fresh from the Hudson River. Seared in butter, it was, as always, excellent. On complimenting his host, the innkeeper had again reminded him that he had a cousin, a young woman, who ran a similar facility in Albany. Fitzroy would make it a point to pay a visit, although he did think it ironic that everyone in New York seemed to know the army’s plans. He was especially intrigued that a young woman could handle such a business out in the wilderness.