* * *
The stream was wide, but not particularly deep. Will estimated it at waist level at its deepest point. Nor was it running very quickly. Men would not be swept off their feet. It would not stop the British, not even slow them very much. What was stopping them, however, was its openness. It was about fifty yards from bank to bank and each side was heavily wooded and bordered by thick, green bushes. The handful of Iroquois paused, doubtful of whether to continue. It smelled so much of an ambush. They said they could detect the scent of white men.
A British officer came up to them and yelled something that Will couldn’t quite hear, but the intent was obvious. The Indians were to get their lazy asses across the creek and scout out possible American positions.
Will felt a twinge of sorrow for the Indians-their group now reinforced to about twenty-but his feelings passed. They were the enemy. Will had arrived the day before to observe the progress of the British army. He lay in the brush, his face smeared with grease and dirt to make him less visible. Owen Wells lay a few feet away. He commanded the small American detachment while Will was strictly there to observe, a fact that made Will just a little uncomfortable.
Owen made a slight gesture with his hand. Two Americans jumped up, shrieked, and fired their rifles at the astonished Indians. They hit one in the leg and he fell into the water, thrashing wildly. The remaining Indians recovered quickly and poured heavy but inaccurate musket fire into the woods around Will and Owen.
Another signal and two more men rose and fired at the Indians, hitting nothing. The Indians screamed their anger and surged forward through the smoke of battle. When they were in mid-stream, Owen hollered for the rest of his men to fire and a score of crossbow bolts struck the Indians, who for a moment were puzzled to see the deadly things sticking out of legs and chests.
The bowmen laid down their crossbows and picked up rifles which they fired into the now thoroughly rattled Iroquois. The Indians were courageous, but this type of fighting was something terrible and new, even for warriors who made the woods their home. They fell back to the British side of the stream, dragging their dead and wounded with them. At least a dozen Iroquois had fallen and the once clear stream was running red, while clouds of musket smoke obscured both sides.
Owen looked at Will and grinned. “That was well done, wasn’t it?”
Will admitted that it was. “Now what do we do?”
Owen looked across the stream where he could see Redcoats forming for an assault. The Indians had disappeared. “Major, I believe it’s time to run like hell.”
* * *
General Tallmadge looked at the mess that was Will Drake and sneered in mock contempt. “Drake, every time I send you out east you come back even more disreputable and filthy than before. Is this a project of yours?”
Will managed a wan grin. He had been on horseback for several days and nights. He was exhausted, hungry, and, as Tallmadge pointed out, filthy.
“I wanted to get here before the British showed up,” Will said.
“Who aren’t hurrying at all,” said General Stark.
“No sir,” said Drake. “Not only are they not hurrying, but they’ve stopped and are setting up a fortified supply depot. They are building a palisade, and buildings inside sufficient to contain a great amount of stores.”
“Which is what we suspected would happen,” said Stark with a nod to Tallmadge who smiled at the compliment to his intelligence gathering techniques.
“And they’ll do it at least once more,” Tallmadge injected. “Burgoyne has no intention of repeating what he feels are his mistakes from his Saratoga campaign. He will ensure that he has enough ammunition and food before investing Fort Washington and Liberty.”
Stark glared at Will. “Tell me, Major, are we hurting them? Killing them?”
Will took a deep breath. “To an extent, yes sir. But we are not stopping them. We have killed and wounded a number of British and Indians, but there are so many of them and so few men in Clark’s brigade who are fighting them. Is there any thought of reinforcing Clark?”
Stark seemed surprised by the question and Will wondered if he’d been impertinent. Then he decided the hell with it. He’d been there on the trail and he’d seen the fighting and the damage that a small number of men could do. “I think more men could really hurt them.”
Stark slowly shook his head. “No. We will not reinforce Clark. However tempting that might be, it would mean running the risk of fighting the major battle in the woods where we might be overwhelmed and not in the fortifications we are building. No, Major, we will stick with our original plan and fight them here, where we’ve been preparing the field for battle.”
Will was dismayed. “Sir, Clark’s men have been killing the enemy, but we’ve lost men as well.”
Stark nodded grimly. “I understand, Major. And I know from your report that the British have taken to killing the prisoners they’ve taken. Our whole army now knows what befalls them if they should be so foolish as to surrender. Any doubts our people may have had should now be totally destroyed. They, we, will all fight to the death.”
“The Indians,” Tallmadge asked, “how are they reacting to our attacks?”
Will grinned. He was on surer ground. “Brant’s Iroquois are a long ways from their homes and don’t at all like fighting our men. They don’t like the crossbows and they don’t like being ambushed every time they reach a clearing or stream. If you want my opinion, the Indians will be through as a fighting force before long and will simply fade away and be replaced by Girty’s people.”
Tallmadge grimaced, “Which means we trade one band of bloodthirsty savages for another.”
Stark rose and turned to leave. Will started to rise, but Stark waved him down. “You’ve done good work, Drake. Get yourself cleaned up and write down anything you can think of that might be important.”
When Stark was gone, Tallmadge smiled like a cat. “Will, we do have some good news.”
“Finally? Wonderful.”
“First, additional men have been coming in and in numbers sufficient to offset those ‘sunshine soldiers and summer patriots’ who decamped because they suddenly realized that the British are indeed coming. The change in numbers is not all that great, but it is an improvement. Unfortunately, many of the new men are either poorly trained or not trained at all. However, we feel they will be adequate fighters when put behind barricades and earthworks.”
Will yawned. He would kill for a cup of real coffee. Or maybe a long nap. “Good.”
“Additionally, Daniel Boone and some other fighters will be coming from the south. Stark has called for their help.”
“They’re coming?” Daniel Boone was a legend for his fighting in Kentucky, while some of the other southern fighters like Sevier, Campbell, and Shelby had helped destroy a British force at King’s Mountain.
“We are confident they will obey Stark’s summons,” Tallmadge said smugly. “Boone has about a hundred riflemen, and, while it’s impossible to estimate what the others will bring to the table, any number will be helpful.”
“Wonderful. When will they arrive?”
“And there’s the rub, Will. Boone will be here in a week or so, but we have no idea when or where the others will come. There’s the nagging feeling that they might not arrive until after the battle. Stark sent messengers to find them, but God only knows when or whether they will. I also don’t know specifically what Stark is ordering them to do and whether they will obey his orders. ’Tis a sad state of affairs.”
Will groaned. “I almost wish you hadn’t built up my hopes and told me.”
“It seemed like the decent thing to do, sharing my confusion and my misery, that is. Now, why don’t you take a bath and go find your woman. And in that order, for God’s sake.”
* * *
Captain Peter Danforth cheered with the others as the last of the sailing barges made it to the relative safety of Mackinac Island and under the guns of the recently completed limestone fort that crowned the hill overlooking them. The crew of the tail end barge waved happily back. The journey had been an unqualified success and Danforth, who still heartily disliked Benedict Arnold, had been impressed by the turncoat’s ability to coordinate the efforts of the little fleet. Arnold was unquestionably qualified as a leader. Too bad Danforth couldn’t bring himself to like or trust the man.