There was silence as Burgoyne digested what Fitzroy had said. “I concur,” he said finally. “And you’ve done extremely well. This damn place may still be filled with spies and enemy sympathizers. For that reason, I want you to work with the provost in tightening security and ferreting out spies. I don’t want any more surprises like Leduc.”
Fitzroy was dismissed. He saluted and stepped outside. Leduc had been a native local with reputation that was beyond reproach. While in Detroit, he had never said or done anything against the Crown, which made his neighbors’ comments all the more surprising. And, he had prospered under British rule. So what changed him or drove him, and who was the real Jean Leduc? Fitzroy stared at the hurried reconstruction of the outpost. Of most concern was the condition of the sailing barges. Six had been destroyed utterly and most of the others damaged to some degree, and one seemed to have simply disappeared downriver. Danforth thought it would wash over the falls at Niagara in a week or two if it didn’t run aground somewhere, and Fitzroy agreed he was likely right.
Despite the fact that the fire had been out for a couple of days, fingers of smoke still wafted upwards as scores of soldiers attempted to move the still hot rubble out of the fort and dump it into the river. Only then could the rebuilding begin in earnest.
Fitzroy found himself staring at the civilians working around him. Who were they? Loyal or rebel? Friend or foe? How many were taking notes and making observations that would shortly find their way to Fort Washington. From Leduc’s now very cooperative neighbors, he’d heard of a tavern a few miles up the road where rebels allegedly congregated. He hadn’t gone there yet and wouldn’t without Burgoyne’s concurrence.
Who could be trusted? At least he could trust sweet, buxom little Hannah.
Chapter 8
Tallmadge held his nose. “My God, the stench is appalling. Are you waiting for the spring thaw to bathe?”
Will smiled. “You said you wanted to see me the moment I came in, didn’t you? Well, here I am.”
Even though few people bathed very frequently, and most even less so in the winter when it was common knowledge you could sicken and die from excess washing, Will knew he was a special case. Two weeks of trekking through thick mud and undergrowth had left him covered with filth. That he was also exhausted didn’t seem to affect or impress Tallmadge.
“Well, you can clean up later, I suppose. In the meantime, stand downwind and give me all the details on the Detroit fire.”
“You already know about the fire? Someone preceded me?”
“You might say that,” Tallmadge said with a lazy smile.
“Damnation. I nearly killed myself getting you the information and here I’m second-best again.”
“Will, all I got was a scant outline. Details, man, I need details.”
Will complied and filled Tallmadge in on everything he knew, from Leduc’s heroic death, to the curiously thrilling feeling of watching the British high command standing before him while he was in the barn just before the brawl and Leduc’s setting the fire.
“The British looked so bloody normal. I found it hard to believe that they were the same people who imprisoned me in that hulk.”
“If they catch you again, Will, you’ll believe it. They’ll flog you to shreds and hang what’s left of you for the crows to eat.”
They continued with an assessment of the damage done to the British effort and what impact it would have on an assault in the spring.
Will sipped on a cup of what was alleged to be coffee, but was more likely something made of crushed chestnuts. “The storm of fire swept away a number of buildings, but they can be rebuilt. I’d say that hundreds of tents were destroyed, but not the inhabitants. Casualties were likely relatively few and fatalities obviously less so.”
“Too bloody bad,” Tallmadge muttered. “When I heard of the fire, I’d hoped for the complete immolation of the British Army.”
Drake continued. “I am most intrigued by the damage done to the barges they had under construction. In my opinion it was heavy. I don’t know how important the barges were, or what specific plans the British had for them, except that they obviously planned on sailing them around Michigan. I don’t know how long it will take to replace them; however, I am sure they are working hard as we speak. The fire hurt them, but the wounds are far from fatal.”
“You don’t know much at all, do you?” Tallmadge said grumpily.
“I know I need a bath. And then I need a meal and some sleep. I’m still disappointed that I’m not the first with the news of the fire. Tell me, was it someone at the tavern near where I quartered my men?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
Will’s curiosity was piqued. “And just what do you mean by that, my dear General?”
Tallmadge winked. “Well, let’s just say a little bird told me.”
* * *
Braxton unsealed the message and read it carefully. The very young British officer who’d brought it looked distinctly uncomfortable and kept trying not to stare at Braxton’s ruined face and hands. Braxton felt like killing him. Fucking officers always thought they were better than everyone else, especially the young British ones. If they weren’t the only means to his ends, he’d have nothing to do with them.
“You’ll stay the night. I’ll give you a reply in the morning.”
“Yes, Captain.” The ensign’s smooth little face sagged. He’d sooner be in hell than spend a night with Burned Man Braxton and his terrible men. The little bastard was probably afraid that someone would try to bugger him in the night. Braxton grinned. Maybe the little boy officer was afraid someone wouldn’t.
At least the little turd had the decency to acknowledge his militia rank. Of course the young twit probably realized that he, Braxton, could have him killed and blame the murder on Indians, or rebels, or bears. He glared at the Brit and watched him shift nervously. Power was such a good feeling. He felt like growling to see if the British ensign would shit his pants.
Braxton took the message outside the log cabin he called home and gestured for his two lieutenants, Fenton and Harris, to come to him.
“You boys bored?”
“Hell yes,” Fenton answered. While they were warm and comfortable in other cabins they’d taken over, they’d not been allowed to associate with others in Detroit or elsewhere. Burgoyne had decided that the stench from their raids was too much. Well, the hell with Burgoyne. Of course, now there wasn’t a Detroit for them to visit even if they’d wanted to.
“The British want us to raid another village,” Braxton said.
Fenton’s eyes gleamed and Harris smiled, “Finally.”
“Finally is right,” said Braxton. “Just like the others, it’s a compound of several buildings with maybe a dozen people and that includes some women. Word is they’ve been harboring rebel messengers and maybe even the traitors who burned Detroit. If we do this right, we’ll show the British just how useful we can be.”
Harris and Fenton nodded like puppets. The mention of women in the rebel compound had gotten their undivided attention. There’d been no sex from captured women in a couple of months, which made their inability to visit the whores in Detroit a particular hardship. They were only a couple of days away from the settlement that Braxton had described.