“Tell me,” said Fitzroy, “are you the same Drake who was with the French farmer at Detroit? We found your name in his journal after the fire.”
Now Will remembered. Fitzroy had been the inadvertent source of so much information about the British Army thanks to Hannah Van Doorn and the Goldmans. “I am.”
“Not that it matters, but I’m curious. Did you set the fire, or was it Leduc?”
“I wish I could claim credit, but I can’t. I was back across the river when it started and it was as big a surprise to us as it was to you,” he said and explained that Leduc had been mortally wounded in the brawl and had chosen a fiery death. Fitzroy admitted that Leduc’s death had been heroic and honorable as well as inevitable.
“Had he survived his wounds, he would have been hanged of course,” said Fitzroy.
Will continued, “And I recall a lovely lady asking about you, one Hannah Van Doorn.”
Fitzroy smiled wanly. “She is well, I trust.”
“She is.”
“Then tell her I miss her, even though she betrayed me so thoroughly.”
“I will.”
“Now, Major Drake, we must attend to the formalities. Will you surrender and prevent the bloodshed and carnage that must otherwise occur?”
“Major Fitzroy, all carnage and bloodshed could be avoided if you and your army would simply march back the way you came. North America is a huge land. Right now you English share it with the Spanish and even the Russians. There must be room for our little nation. Why must you chase us and hound us? Why not simply leave us to our own devices? Why not let us live in peace these hundreds of miles away from the reach of king and Parliament? I cannot see how we can be any threat to the mighty British Empire.”
Why not indeed? Inwardly, Fitzroy thought they were good questions. “If I told you it was because certain people in London think you are all traitors and bandits and threats to established order, would that satisfy you?”
“No.”
“Would you be satisfied if I told you it was because the entire world has gone mad?”
“Yes,” Will said with a grin. “And why on earth would we even think of surrendering? Haven’t you promised to hang our leaders, brand and flog the rest of the men, and sell everyone into slavery, including the women and children? Surrender to what? A long and lingering death? Of course, we know that Burgoyne is under great pressure to win quickly and return to England with an intact army. Do you really think that either can occur if we do battle?”
Will gestured behind him, where, a few hundred yards away, the American earthworks were heavily manned with additional regiments of reinforcements waiting in the rear. Only Will knew that the large numbers were an illusion. The “regiments” in reserve consisted of every woman and child in the camp, now dressed in men’s clothing and holding a pike. Nor were the heads and shoulders of all of the men behind the earthworks real. Many of them were scarecrows.
Still, at this distance, Will could see that Fitzroy was impressed. “Major Drake, are you aware that we have repudiated the draconian policies towards the colonies that originally came from London?” Fitzroy asked. “They were ill-advised at best and will not be implemented.”
Will was unimpressed. “They may have been rescinded, but they could be reinstated at any time. We all remember your betrayal and capture of our leaders after the collapse of the rebellion. It was scandalous and scurrilous. Thank you, Major, but I think we will take our chances on freedom and independence. Nothing other than fighting you English will give us the rights other Englishmen have. Surely you must find that ironic.”
“Indeed.” Fitzroy nodded and bowed slightly. “Then our meeting is over. Perhaps we shall meet again under more pleasant circumstances.”
“Perhaps,” Will said and turned to return to the American lines.
“But will you please give my regards to Mistress Van Doorn?” Fitzroy added.
Will smiled. The major was a love-sick puppy. “I will.”
* * *
“Mistress Van Doorn,” Tallmadge said with a wide smile. The lady, if she was a lady, had lost some weight during her stay at Fort Washington, but remained a ripe and most delicious-looking woman. “It is so good of you to come and see me.”
She smiled and seated herself and he felt charmed. “I always obey the orders of a general, especially one who commanded me in the past.”
“I trust you have been informed of the British major’s concern about you?”
Her eyes misted for a moment. “I have. Major Drake is the soul of courtesy in forwarding Major Fitzroy’s thoughts.”
“He is. And we have not forgotten your great aid in supplying us with information regarding the British at Detroit. May I ask if you would be willing to help us again?”
She shrugged and smiled. “As long as I don’t get hanged, or at least not hanged right away.”
“I have been told that you have some skills as an artist. Is that true?”
“I paint and sketch. I likely think I have more talent than I actually do, but I enjoy it and others have complimented me.”
“Can you draw accurately?”
She looked puzzled. “Of course.”
Tallmadge opened a drawer and pulled out several papers. “Could you draw these?”
Hannah Van Doorn looked at the sheets before her in puzzlement. Then the realization of what he wanted dawned on her. She smiled wickedly. She had done such drawings before, but not for such an important personage as Tallmadge was requesting.
“Of course I can, and they will be so accurate that not even his mother could tell the difference.”
* * *
Fitzroy reported his failure to Burgoyne and Tarleton, neither of whom had expected anything else. “I never thought for a moment that they would surrender, but honor dictated that we make the effort,” Burgoyne said. “There was always the off chance that they would see the hopelessness of their situation and save us the blood price we will all have to pay.”
Burgoyne shuddered as he remembered the blood-soaked fields at Bunker Hill and Saratoga. Along with the piles of dead there was the stench of war and the screams and moans of the wounded and dying. Not for the first time did he wonder if he was too old for this type of endeavor. Win this one battle, he told himself, and there would be no more war for him. Win this battle in the wilderness and he could go back to London and luxury and, oh yes, the theater.
“The rebels seem to feel they will pay that terrible price regardless of what they do,” Fitzroy said. “It would appear that they have decided to perish honorably rather than die later and more slowly as prisoners or slaves. It appears to be brave on their part, although it may just be desperation.”
“Scum,” snapped Tarleton. “They are all nothing but scum. Let me have one good attack and they’ll scatter and we can gather them up at our leisure.”
“We will attack when we are ready and not a moment sooner,” Burgoyne bristled. “And your role in that attack will be sharply defined. You will be secondary to Grant and that will not change.”
“Did you see the men they had behind their earthworks?” asked Fitzroy. “It seems their army is larger than we thought.”
Both generals laughed and Fitzroy flushed. What had he missed? Burgoyne responded. “While you were arguing with this Major Drake, we had men creeping as close as possible and checking out their army with our telescopes. Many of those ‘soldiers’ were either women or cleverly contrived dummies. Their army is no larger than we thought it was.”
Fitzroy felt just a little foolish. “And what about their cavalry? I saw maybe a hundred riders, which is a hundred more than we have.”
Fitzroy decided to sting Tarleton, who loved commanding swift-striking cavalry more than anything. “I believe they are commanded by William Washington. You crossed swords with him at the Cowpens before you retreated after losing your entire command, did you not?”
Burgoyne hid a smile as Tarleton’s face grew red at the memory of the destruction of his force at Cowpens. Morgan had commanded the Americans, and Tarleton had indeed briefly and literally crossed swords with Colonel Washington.