Burgoyne also found Hannah Doorn quite attractive and made tentative efforts to influence her and take her from Fitzroy. When she would have none of it, Burgoyne simply shrugged, laughed it off, and went looking for another conquest. To his dismay, there weren’t any other women in the caravan available to be seduced.
From Oswego, they traveled by ship as close as they could to the falls at Niagara, where they paused, rested, and gazed with amazement on the magnificent natural wonders. Burgoyne said that he’d heard of them from travelers, but assumed the descriptions were exaggerations resulting from too much to drink. “Not any longer,” Burgoyne said. “There is nothing like them in all the world. I feel honored and privileged to be here and to have seen them.”
It was a sentiment held by Fitzroy, Hannah, and almost everyone in their traveling party of several hundred. “You’d have to be insane to not see the hand of God in those falls,” Hannah said, and Fitzroy could not contradict her. He was overwhelmed by the vision and the sound of the roaring water.
They continued by land to Lake Erie and then were jammed into a couple of small and filthy merchant ships to take them to Detroit. An eight-gun sloop, the Viper, escorted them. It was encouraging to realize that the Royal Navy had control of the lakes, and not the rebels. It was also incredible to Fitzroy and the others that lakes as immense as Ontario and Erie existed. Could it really be that other so-called great lakes were even greater? Even Burgoyne expressed astonishment.
On first sighting Detroit, Fitzroy was mightily depressed. A wooden stockade enclosed a number of muddy acres filled with ramshackle wooden buildings running inland from the equally muddy banks of the Detroit River. The military outpost was a little ways inland and attached to the town. It was called Fort Lernoult. Although small, the fort at least looked like someone with military experience had planned it. He’d been informed that it had eleven foot high earthen walls and contained several cannon.
A shipyard of sorts lined the riverbank where lumber was piled high and the barges that Burgoyne had ordered were under construction. News of the barges had been a surprise to Fitzroy and Danforth although, to Fitzroy’s chagrin, Hannah had known all about them from her Jewish merchant friend who was selling them supplies. Regardless, the activity on the waterfront looked like chaos.
“One spark and the whole thing would go up like an obscene parody of Nero’s Rome,” Fitzroy muttered as he took in the piles of wood, the shavings, and the dust.
His low opinion of Detroit did not rise as their ship moved against a crude dock that extended into the river and threatened to fall down as they were tied up to it. At least they would not have to wade the final few feet, or climb down into small boats, although he presumed that other, lesser mortals in the other ships would do exactly that. It was always good to be associated with the commanding officer since rank had its privileges.
Several score buildings had sprung up outside the stockade, and Hannah and her servant made for one of the larger ones while Fitzroy tried to figure out where Burgoyne was going to put his headquarters. He took in the hundreds of white tents that dotted the landscape and disrupted the lives of the farmers whose strip farms ran inland from the surprisingly wide Detroit River.
Danforth had pompously informed him that the river was technically a strait and not a river since it only ran thirty-odd miles and connected two lakes, St. Clair and Erie and, no, Lake St. Clair was named for a Papist saint, and not after the rebel general. Fitzroy told Danforth he was a bloody bore and that he’d rather have a drink than a lecture.
The tents housed the British contingent that now consisted of more than four thousand soldiers. Come spring, there would be many more. Pity the poor rebels, he thought.
* * *
Hannah entered the store owned by Abraham Goldman and looked at the items for sale. They included clothing, camping goods, pots, pans, stoves, and even some toys, although she wondered just how many children there were at the depressing outpost. Finally, she wandered over to a different section and looked at the neatly arranged stacks of cloth and blankets. She fingered several of them and nodded approval.
“Mistress Van Doorn?” inquired a small, wiry man of indeterminate age, although Hannah already knew he was in his sixties.
She smiled warmly. “Mr. Goldman, it is just plain Doorn and you know it quite well. There is no ‘Van’ in front of my name.”
Goldman chuckled. “And why shouldn’t you promote yourself? Everyone here is trying to better themselves, and what better place to begin than your name? Let them think you’re even more important than you are.”
To her surprise, Hannah thought it was a good idea. Beginning immediately, her name would be Hannah Van Doorn. She smiled sweetly. “Did you find quarters for me?”
“The army has taken everything that even resembled quality housing,” he said sadly. “First Tarleton’s officers and now Burgoyne’s will require something warm and dry for the winter. The enlisted soldiers and officers of lower rank than generals are expected to live in tents or huts.”
Hannah could not keep the dismay from her voice. “Then what will I do?” The idea of her sharing a tent with Major Fitzroy and Danforth appalled her.
“Don’t worry,” Goldman said with a laugh. “I’ve converted a portion of one of the warehouses into a bedroom with a kitchen and a study. There is even a fireplace and I will see that you are supplied with wood. I think you and your major will be quite satisfied.”
Hannah blushed. How on earth had he found out about Major Fitzroy? She fingered a cloth and pretended to examine it. “I’m sure I will be satisfied. Tell me, do you think red and white will sell well this year?”
Goldman stiffened perceptibly and hesitated. “Perhaps not as well as blue and white,” he said and asked softly, “You?”
Hannah Van Doorn smiled demurely, “And why not?”
* * *
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?”