Silently, they led their horses away. In a bit, they mounted. The tragic scene reinforced their hatred for the British and the correctness of their decision to head west.
Sarah thought that the only good thing to come from their journey was the irony that they were all healthier and stronger than when they’d lived in Pemberton. Sarah felt that she was stronger mentally and physically. She had lost weight, and little plump Faith looked like she’d gained confidence as she shed pounds. So far, they’d had little trouble finding berries and vegetables to eat, and there was fresh water in abundance. An occasional fish, or a trapped rabbit or squirrel, had rounded out their diet.
Of course, all the health in the world would mean nothing if Tarleton’s horsemen caught up to them.
* * *
Will and Owen lay on the ground and stared intently at the half dozen armed men who rested on the small hill a couple of hundred yards in front of them. The men just stood there, nonchalantly holding their muskets, while their unfettered horses grazed contentedly. Behind them was yet another stand of thick forest, which puzzled Will. If the men wanted to be unseen, all they had to do was move a few feet into the woods and they’d be invisible. Also, if it wasn’t for the weapons, they could have passed for workmen taking their ease while the boss was away. They exchanged food and drank from canteens as the two men watched. The group exuded quiet confidence which further concerned Will. They acted as if they owned the forest.
The riders had been easy to spot. Owen and Will had crept as far as they could through the forest and into the brushes without being seen by the armed men. Perhaps, Will thought, the riders had been too easy to spot.
There was no real trail or path as they headed west, but there were places where the presence of previous travelers could be discerned and this was one of them. When paths were obvious, the two men didn’t follow them. Instead, they worked their way parallel to them, hoping that they would not run into an ambush. The sight of the armed men in front of them confirmed their choice.
“Who do you think they are?” Owen asked.
Will didn’t respond. The answer to the question was crucial. They were far enough west, they hoped, for the band of armed men to possibly be American rebels. Still, there was no guarantee of anything. They could be Tarleton’s men, or outlaws like the men who had seized Owen. Hell, he thought, they could be that same group with a couple of more men added to it. They had a major decision to make. Should they try to evade them or go up to them? The wrong step could prove fatal.
“I wish I had a telescope,” Will muttered.
“I wish I could fly,” Owen chuckled.
“We can go around them. It’d mean a big detour, but it may be the best way.”
Owen was about to say he agreed when several more horsemen joined the group and they all spread out. “Shit,” he said. “Now we’ll have to wait forever.”
“I wouldn’t think so,” said a deep voice from their rear. “Now get up slowly and raise your hands above your heads and don’t even think of trying for your weapons.”
Owen and Will did as they were told. When they turned around, a group of five men had muskets leveled at them. They wore no uniform, except for a patch of blue cloth sewn to their chests. One large man with a reddish beard and a ruddy complexion wore the insignia of a sergeant and was their leader. He also had been branded on the cheek with the letter “R.” Will saw that a couple of the others bore the same scar.
The sergeant spoke. “Now, just who the hell are you and what are you doing so far west?”
The scars meant that the men were American soldiers. Or at least they had been at one time. Who knew what they were this day? “We’re trying to get to Fort Washington,” Will said. “Or Liberty. Either will do.”
“So is everybody, or at least that’s what they say” the sergeant responded. “Now answer my question, who are you?”
Will stood tall and allowed his arms to slowly drop to his side. The soldiers didn’t seem to mind, even seemed slightly amused by his small act of defiance. “I am Captain Will Drake of the Continental Army, and this is Owen Wells, late of His Majesty’s Navy. We are traveling together.”
“I hope you’re not together for security’s sake, considering how easily we caught you,” the sergeant said.
Will winced as the others guffawed at their expense. They had fallen for an old trick. They’d been gulled into believing that the men in plain sight were dangerous when the real threat was creeping up on them while they were transfixed. The trick may have been as old as the hills, but it had been skillfully done.
“I told you who I was, now, who are you?” Will asked.
The big sergeant straightened slightly. “Sergeant William Barley, Second Regiment, New Continental Army.”
Will nearly gasped with relief. Assuming the armed men were telling the truth, they had finally found the rebel forces.
“If you’re not lying about yourselves, you’ll be welcomed,” Barley continued. “Of course, if you’re lying, we’ll hang your asses. A lot of British have tried to get into Liberty and Fort Washington and maybe some have succeeded, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let in everybody who walks up and knocks. Is there anyone who’ll vouch for you at Fort Washington so you can vouch for the squatty little Brit?”
“Up your ass,” snarled Owen and the troopers laughed.
Barley laughed too, but kept his musket aimed squarely at Owen’s stomach. “You look like a Brit, you sound like a Brit, and you say you were a Brit, so why shouldn’t I think you’re a Brit spy. Anybody can claim they’ve deserted now can’t they? Helluva thing to prove, though. I guess we could turn you back to the Redcoats, and if they hang you, then it would prove you were telling the truth.”
“Watch,” Owen said. He carefully removed his jacket and then his shirt. He turned and showed the Americans his back. It was covered with scars and welts. “Now ask me how much I love fucking King George and his goddamned Royal Navy.”
“Jesus,” said Barley, fingering the branding scar on his own cheek. “You pass, little man, at least for the moment. Put your shirt back on.” He turned to Will. “Now you, Captain. I don’t doubt that you have a brand scar on your leg, along with other marks, but those will get you only so far. So, who’ll vouch for you?”
“Who’s at Fort Washington?” Will asked.
“General Greene knows you?”
Will thought quickly. He’d seen Nathanael Greene on a number of occasions, but doubted that the general who’d been Washington’s second in command would recall him from Adam. Still, it was a comfort that a general of Greene’s stature was at Fort Washington.
“Probably not.”
“Then how about Wayne or von Steuben?”
“I doubt it. What about Alexander Hamilton?”
Barley shook his head. “He’s rotting away in a prison in Jamaica, and, if you’re a spy, you’d have known that.”
“We could guess all day, Sergeant Barley, and maybe not find a match. Why don’t you take me in and then sort it out?”
Barley nodded. “Makes sense. We’ll have to treat you as prisoners until we can turn you over to General Tallmadge.”
Will felt like laughing in relief. “Is General Tallmadge’s first name Benjamin?”
Barley relaxed slightly. “It is. Will he vouch for you?”
Will couldn’t stop grinning. “Yes he will.”
* * *
Major Fitzroy sat behind a small table in the tent that served as Burgoyne’s headquarters near Albany. The air in the tent was stuffy and he was sweating like a pig, but decorum would not let him remove any of his uniform while interviewing colonials. Had to impress them, he thought, and then wondered if they were at all impressed by the idiocy of wearing a heavy wool uniform in the middle of summer. He decided he didn’t want to know.