“Correct,” said Cornwallis, “Except that Liberty, the name of the village outside Fort Washington, is but one of a number of similar places out in the west. It is, however, by far the largest. London seems to have forgotten that literally thousands of rebels fled to the west, either individually or in groups, and have built a score of villages and forts.”
“Sir, I assumed that there would be other rebels. Otherwise, fourteen thousand to crush a few thousand rebels would be a ridiculous waste of resources that could be utilized against France.”
Cornwallis sighed. There were times when he was heartily sick and tired of the colonies. Some days he only wanted to spend some time back in England where he could better cherish the memory of his late and beloved wife, Jemima. He wanted a different posting. He’d been promised the governorship of India after his victory at Yorktown, but that had been cancelled. He would stay in the American Colonies until-if? — events calmed down.
Cornwallis smiled inwardly. If Burgoyne succeeded, then perhaps he could be replaced as governor general and promoted. Perhaps his replacement would be Burgoyne and wouldn’t that be marvelous justice to see the elegant Burgoyne stuck in the squalor of New York instead of reveling in the delights of London. Perhaps, Cornwallis thought, he’d get an army to fight the French? If Burgoyne failed, why it would be London’s fault, wouldn’t it? Cornwallis decided that he would make sure that no mud from any possible failure by Burgoyne splashed on him. He would do everything his orders required. He would support Burgoyne. Of course he would.
“Shall I assume that you will take possession of Mr. Washington’s skull and bones from me?” Burgoyne asked.
The look on Cornwallis’ face showed what he thought of bringing the barbaric trophies across the Atlantic. Again, friends in London had forewarned him that Washington’s skull and a number of other bones would be sealed in a trunk along with some of Washington’s personal possessions. So far the existence of what Cornwallis considered to be vile relics was a secret. If the word got out, the Tories would want them destroyed with great ceremony, while the rebels would want them enshrined in a North American version of the Vatican. If anything, the damned bones should have been kept in London.
“The box containing them will be left with me and locked away for what I hope will be forever,” Cornwallis said grimly. “If Lord North or Stormont want Washington’s bones displayed prominently, let them come and do it.”
Burgoyne nodded. “Which is precisely what I would do. I protested, but was overruled.”
Cornwallis smiled in a belated attempt at conviviality. “You will have my total cooperation, General Burgoyne. In anticipation of your orders, I have already notified the various units and garrisons under my command that you will be using many of their men. Some will reduce their forces, while others will have to close up, temporarily, one hopes. The situation will be precarious, but you’re right. The return on investment will be well worth it if the rebels are finally crushed. If all goes well, you will have the beginnings of an army in a few months and you’ll be able to begin campaigning in full strength by next spring.”
Outside the door, Fitzroy’s jaw almost dropped. Next spring before they could even begin? He’d known it would be a long campaign, but he’d expected to be back in England well before next spring. What in God’s name had he gotten himself into?
* * *
It took Sarah Benton several days to recover her strength. In the meantime, the outcry against Sheriff Braxton had grown large enough to attract the attention of the British government in Boston. As a result, he had been chastised for his excesses and warned never to do it again. Braxton had laughed off the punishment. He would do as he damned well pleased. However, he would wait a very short while before beginning his ways anew.
As a result, Sarah was often hesitant about going outside. Either the sheriff or one of his deputies was always hanging around the white picket fence outside her uncle’s home. On the rare occasions she did venture outdoors, they would tease her lewdly. Braxton also said it was only a matter of time before she would again have the choice of a day in the stocks or giving him sexual gratification. Of course, he’d added, it would be two days in the stocks for a second crime.
Sarah was despondent. Was this going to be the way of the rest of her life? If so, how long would the rest of her life be? She’d spoken with Faith and found that it hadn’t been the first time Faith and other village women had been forced to perform for the sheriff and his deputies. She suspected that her own aunt had been one of those abused by him, but dared not voice her concern.
“You live with it,” Faith had said, her voice bleak with bitterness and shame. “You do what you have to and get on with your life.”
In many ways, Faith was still a child, and it pained Sarah to see her so abused and depressed. She knew that Faith felt guilty. In an obscene way, Sarah had suffered the most, while Faith endured only the humiliation. But perhaps humiliation was worse than anything.
Deep down, Sarah knew that she would ultimately lose to the sheriff and the thought repelled her. Not the act, but the sheriff. She had done such a deed for her husband, Tom, but that had been an act of love, not vengeance or power. Worse, the deputies let it be known that she would be servicing them as well and as often as they wished. They were going to break her, and she knew that anyone could be broken.
Then one evening, Uncle Wilford made a simple pronouncement. “We’re leaving.”
Faith and Sarah were surprised, while Aunt Rebecca simply beamed. “I’ve sold the property and we’re heading west,” Wilford said.
“There are Indians and outlaws out there,” Faith wailed. “We’ll be robbed and scalped.”
“Could they be worse than the sheriff and his men?” Aunt Rebecca replied with a cold fury that confirmed Sarah’s concerns that her dear old aunt had been forced to perform for the sheriff as well. Was it because of something Rebecca had done herself, or had she done it to protect Faith? Or her husband? Probably the latter as Wilford was fairly outspoken. Sarah wondered if her uncle even knew or suspected.
“I have no plans to go all that far west, Faith,” Uncle Wilford added gently, evading the fact that Indians would always be a menace no matter where they went. There were Indians near Pendleton but they were mainly a pathetic bunch of drunken beggars, something to be scorned, not feared.
He continued. “I do not plan on totally leaving civilization. I think we will find a place in Pennsylvania that will be far enough from the sheriff and the damned English who are so corrupt and cruel as to put a man like Braxton in charge of us.”
“Don’t say it so loud,” Faith said, looking around in fear.
“Unless the sheriff’s under the table I don’t think he can hear us,” Sarah answered with a tight smile. Under the iron rule of Sheriff Braxton, Pendleton was an evil place and she would be glad to be rid of it.
Uncle Wilford continued. “I sold the place as is to someone from Boston. A Tory, so he and Braxton will be happy with each other. I have the money and we’ll just pack up and leave quickly. We can be miles away before the sheriff even realizes we’re gone. We can lose ourselves in a vast country such as this.”
To himself he hoped it was true. He’d heard rumors of terrible British oppressions to the west under the command of Banastre Tarleton at Pittsburgh.
Now even Faith looked excited. “When do we pack?”
“We’ll start tonight,” Wilford said. “I want to leave at sunset tomorrow.”
A thought chilled Sarah. “Uncle, did you say the buyer is a Tory?”