“This is going to be bad,” Danforth said grimly. A dozen small fires were already beginning on the tightly clustered wooden roofs. With fire suddenly everywhere, people were running around in a panic.
Fitzroy grabbed Danforth’s arm. “Run back in, grab what you can of our sacred papers, and then run like the devil for the eastern gate. This whole bloody town is going to go up in smoke.”
The two men ran in and, in only a few moments were outside with important papers stuffed into bags and anything else that would hold them. Others in the offices were doing the same thing. The roof of the headquarters was smoldering and a half dozen other buildings were in flames. The barn where the fire apparently began was a raging inferno. Fitzroy thought he could smell burning flesh. It had to be a horse or cow, he thought. It couldn’t be human, could it?
“Get out of the stockade immediately,” Fitzroy ordered as loudly as he could, and the others ran to comply, joining a rapidly growing exodus from inside the walls of Detroit.
More and more flaming ashes were falling and Fitzroy needed no further urging to depart. A swirling downdraft covered him with embers. The smoke blinded him and made him cough. He staggered through the fort’s gate and out into the open air. In front of him, a soldier was on fire. He hurled himself into a muddy puddle and rolled over to put it out, cursing, crying, and terrified, but not badly hurt.
Fitzroy checked himself over and saw that his uniform was singed, but not burning. The back of his left hand was red and blistering from a falling ember, but he was otherwise unharmed. More and more people thronged out and gathered in the fields outside Detroit. They stood in shock as the cramped wooden buildings of Detroit were devoured by flames.
By the river, Fitzroy saw Benedict Arnold leading soldiers as they frantically pushed the precious barges into the water. A couple of the raw wooden craft were on fire and workmen were frantically trying to put out the flames with buckets of water drawn from the river. All around, British soldiers were striking their tents so the ashes wouldn’t land on the canvas and set them aflame as well. Winter was nearly on them and they would need the tents to survive. Fitzroy continued to move farther away from the fire. Finally, he was out of the smoke and falling ash. He took several deep breaths and his lungs began to clear.
A filthy and demoralized Danforth appeared beside him. “Bloody hell,” Danforth said. “If this is sabotage, someone will hang for it.”
Fitzroy watched as the flames consumed precious supplies and material. Barrels of gunpowder exploded while hundreds of soldiers continued to run or mill about in confusion and panic. The British Army had been routed by fire, an enemy far more fearsome than the rebels. “This is as bad as a defeat on the battlefield.”
“Indeed,” said General Burgoyne as he approached the two men who snapped to attention. The general’s uniform was likewise filthy from soot. His face was set in anger. “Fitzroy, I want you to find out just what the devil happened.”
“Yes sir.”
“You will do that while the rest of us assess our losses and try to recoup them. It does look like General Arnold managed to save at least some of the barges, although at least several hundred of us will need a place to sleep tonight.”
For a guilty moment, Fitzroy wondered just how Hannah Van Doorn had fared. He’d been too busy to think about her. Then he realized that the wind that had fed the fire had come from the west and that the rooms they shared were in a warehouse outside the stockade and to the west. With just a little luck, both she and their quarters were safe. It would be ironic if he had a bed tonight, while General Burgoyne did not. Then he realized that beds and cabins could be rebuilt. If anything had happened to Hannah, he’d be deeply saddened.
* * *
Across the river, Will and Owen continued to watch and to plan. Dozens of others had gathered on the Canadian riverfront and were watching the fire with morbid fascination. Despite the size of the blaze, they were safe, even though it appeared that the fire would rage for some time before running out of fuel.
“We should leave, Major,” said Owen.
“Not yet,” Will replied softly. “We’ll wait until tonight. If we leave now, it’ll look suspicious. Tonight we can take a couple of Leduc’s horses, pick up our men, send the horses in a wrong direction, and be miles away before anyone realizes it. Besides, we should watch and assess the damage.”
Owen nodded. “I wonder how the hell they’re going to catch those barges?” Several were drifting downstream and didn’t have anyone on board. “Maybe we could find one or two and set them on fire as well.”
Will conceded that it wasn’t a bad idea since they would have to go downriver to cross in the first place. Of course the odds of them finding even one of the barges were incredibly small, but it was a thought. More important, however, was the need to report to General Tallmadge at Fort Washington.
* * *
“Have you slept with Will Drake?” Faith asked her cousin as they sat in Benjamin Franklin’s small office. Franklin was out on business of Congress, and Winifred Haskill was sleeping in another room.
“That’s quite a question,” Sarah Benton answered, “but the answer is no.”
“Are you going to?”
“Perhaps, but not until he returns from his journey,” she answered facetiously. “And why the questions? Are you sleeping with Owen? Or are you and he just having a little fun with each other?”
Faith grinned. Young women of her age and situation frequently did not have actual intercourse because of fear of premarital pregnancy. This would lead to being ostracized among a host of other problems, which included having to raise a bastard child. Still, many young women saw nothing wrong with mutually exploring each other’s bodies and otherwise enjoying themselves with boys they liked. Just don’t do anything that would cause a pregnancy, was the unwritten rule.
“No I haven’t either, although I might when he comes back, too. You’re right. It’s a little difficult to manage right now.” Faith sighed. “And why I asked the question is because I’m afraid he might not want me after all that happened to me.”
“Does he know?”
“Yes. I told him.”
Sarah did not think that was such a wonderful idea. After all, she had no intention of telling Will, or anyone else for that matter, about any previous young men with whom she’d had any sexual activity. He knew she’d been what she considered as married to Tom, but anything else was best buried in the past. But the damage to Faith, if any, was done. “And did he run away in fear?”
“Well, he did go to Detroit.”
Sarah laughed. “I believe he was ordered to do so. Did he indicate that he would call on you when he came back?”
“Yes.”
Sarah rolled her eyes. Her cousin was such a silly little twit at times. “Then wait for him and, when he does return, rush up to him and embrace him and suffocate him with affection and passion. That way he won’t have a chance to think, especially with your ample breasts pressed against him.”
Now it was Faith’s turn to smile, and she did so wickedly. “Is that what you’re going to do with Will?”
“I may,” Sarah replied impishly, “I just may.”
The door to the other room opened and Winifred entered, walking hesitantly. She was eating well and had gained some weight, but her face was still gaunt and many bruises remained, as did the terrible scar in her scalp. The fever was gone and she was more and more up and about, although walking with a serious limp.
“Are you feeling sorry for yourself, Faith?” Winifred asked.
“I suppose I am,” Faith answered. “Aren’t I entitled?”
Winifred looked at her coldly. “You consider that you were raped, don’t you?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“And so was I,” Winifred said, “Raped by any number of men and then sodomized and then beaten and left for dead on a burning pyre made out of my own family. Yet I am trying to put that behind me to the extent that it’s possible and get on with what I can salvage of my life, so please don’t ask me to pity you.”