Decision at Fletcher's Mill

by David Caringer

  Billy felt a flash of heat in his face and a surge of adrenaline in his body. He closed the distance between himself and the major before his mind fully comprehended the implications. He felt himself slapping the man in the face so hard that his hand stung.

  Throckmorton took a half step backward and tripped on his own heels. He sprawled ignominiously to the ground with a yelp. The surrounding militiamen looked on in silent shock until someone started to laugh. The two quartermaster helpers stepped threateningly forward, but froze in place when they noticed the rifles now aimed at them. John Red held his tomahawk in his right hand and one of his huge horse pistols in his left. The smile on his face was anything but humorous.

  The major rolled over and struggled to a standing position. Billy shouted, “How dare you call me a thief, sir?”

  Sergeant Duncan was restraining him, and Strickland stepped forward to block any advance the major might make. Billy shouted again before the major could say anything else. “I demand that you retract your vile words and apologize to my men and me!”

  The major’s nose was bleeding. He wiped it with the back of his hand. “You’ll hang for that, boy! There were many witnesses to what just happened!”

  Strickland responded before Billy could speak. “What witnesses, sir? What are you talking about major?”

  Throckmorton looked furtively around with the searching eyes of a hungry ferret. “All these men saw what happened, Sergeant!”

  Strickland smiled as he too looked around at the other men. The weapons were lowered now. The complacent faces in the surrounding group showed no sign of surprise or recognition that something out of the ordinary had taken place. Red’s pistol was back in his belt, and he was now using the tomahawk blade to scrape flakes of mud from the side of his moccasin leggings.

  Major Throckmorton drew strength from his two minions standing close by. He hadn’t noticed their timid recalculation of the circumstances seconds earlier. The fat one was now brushing debris from the side and back of his master’s coat. The major took out a ridiculous laced handkerchief and wiped his nose clean as he said, “I see that you are involved in this piracy also, Strickland. It doesn’t surprise me. I will have satisfaction, though. And proper authority will prevail here.”

  Billy heard this although the major was attempting to speak quietly now. He shouted as he shrugged Duncan away and again surged forward. “You will have ‘satisfaction’? It is I who demand satisfaction, sir!” His newly acquired sword was in his hand. The major involuntarily stepped back a pace and tripped over the smaller of his two assistants, nearly falling again. This brought quiet laughter from some of the men, and muted growls from others. Several trigger locks clicked to the fully cocked position. Everyone within fifty yards of the event was now staring in openmouthed expectancy.

  Strickland and Duncan changed roles without any obvious communication between them. Duncan stepped up to the major, while Strickland grasped Billy’s arm and drew him away to the other side of the wagon. Duncan realized that no good would come of this confrontation. He was determined to bring it to a close as quickly as possible. With the most conciliatory voice he could muster, he entreated the major to ignore the egregious behavior of his hot-headed young officer and allow a more experienced sergeant to be of assistance.

  Throckmorton sensed that he might have his way, in this oddly lopsided situation. He again demanded that the wagons be unloaded. He further insisted that Billy was under arrest and demanded that he receive an armed escort to General Morgan’s headquarters with the prisoner disarmed and restrained to prevent any further egregious assault.

  Sergeant Duncan asked, “To what purpose, sir?”

  Anger flashed in the major’s eyes again as he repeated his ridiculous claim that the military supplies were stolen property. Four of the nearby men quietly moved forward to disarm the three visitors after watching their lieutenant strike the senior officer. They were now standing immediately behind the major’s party with their own weapons held at the ready.

  Duncan became very calm as he excused himself and walked around to Billy and Sergeant Strickland on the other side of the wagon. “Lieutenant Morgan, did the general give you any written orders or instructions?”

  Billy said, “Yes,” and produced the orders from inside his coat.

  Duncan read the orders and the separate letter from General Morgan granting Billy full authority and access pertaining to the delivery of these four wagons and their contents to their intended destination. He looked up at Billy and very quietly said, “Sir, please let me handle this with the major. I don’t want to see such a promising young officer’s career cut short by either a dueling pistol or a hangman’s noose.”

  Billy nodded. He was exhausted, and still far too angry in this moment.

  Sergeant Duncan stepped back around the wagon to where Major Throckmorton still waited in quiet but animated conversation with his two companions. The talk ceased as the sergeant approached. The helpers moved back as Duncan began to speak.

  “Major, I deeply regret the unfortunate events that happened here, but I’m afraid you misunderstood the circumstances.”

  Throckmorton gasped, “Whatever are you talking about, Sergeant? You saw that man strike me in front of these witnesses!”

  Sergeant Duncan retained his calm demeanor. “Sir, do you insist on that version of events even though none of these men will agree with you?”

  The major stamped his foot at that and shouted, “Yes I do! You will carry out my orders immediately!”

  Duncan shrugged his shoulders in apparent resignation and said, “Then I will escort you both to General Morgan, fully armed. We will take your men with us. The escorting soldiers will be taken from among these present ‘witnesses’ as you call them. When we get to the general, I will report that you came here in direct disobedience to his oral and written orders and attempted to provoke mutiny among these chosen men. I will further report that you insulted his nephew, Lieutenant Morgan, in a cowardly fashion and attempted to ‘arrest’ him with the help of these two civilians as he executed his oral and written orders.” He gestured toward the two men who now wore looks of genuine fright. The major didn’t say anything, but his mouth kept opening and closing and his face was bright red.

  Duncan continued, “Major, I know you haven’t spent much time with General Morgan. You were General Gates’ quartermaster, right?” Throckmorton was unable to speak. Duncan said, “You see, sir, General Morgan has his own history with officers like you provoking their juniors to the point of striking them, and then arresting them for their troubles. You probably haven’t heard the story of the 499 lashes, and how the general says the British still owe him the last of the 500 they had sentenced him to. The odd thing is the way history seems to repeat itself. That event happened when the general was so young, not much older than his nephew is now, and it also happened in an argument over wagons….”

  Major Throckmorton knew the legend. He had been around General Morgan long enough to believe the stories were probably true. He suddenly felt a change of heart. To save what little face he still possessed, he asked, “What written orders are you referring to, Sergeant?”

  Duncan unfolded the orders given to Billy by General Morgan. He allowed the major to read the document, then took it back before producing the separate authorization letter. This paper, signed by General Morgan, gave the lieutenant almost absolute authority regarding these wagons, their contents, and any continental or militia troops involved in their safety and transport. Major Throckmorton shook slightly as he handed the letter back. He then spun on his heel and stomped away to retrieve his old horse. His helpers stared at Duncan momentarily before they too went back to their peculiar-looking mounts. The three men rode quietly away without another word.

  Sergeant Duncan explained to Billy and Strickland what happened in the quiet conversation. He assured Billy that he didn’t believe anything further would be heard from Major Throckmorton. Billy wasn’t so certain. There was a lo
t of work to do yet, and they needed to get started on their trek toward Fletcher’s Mill as soon as possible. The men around him continued to treat him with a deference that he felt was undeserved. He didn’t realize that new legends were forming about the hot-headed fighting antics of another man with the last name Morgan.

  CHAPTER 12

  Morning came slowly for the tense frightened villagers of Fletcher’s Mill. Sleep had eluded most of them. The apothecary decided the only way to save Robert Griffin was to amputate his leg. This was done in the early hours before dawn without the use of any kind of sedative other than locally distilled corn liquor. The patient mercifully passed out before the operation was completed, and the stump was cleaned as much as possible using the same corn liquor. The apothecary managed to sew a long flap of skin over the end of the stump in what looked to him to be a fairly neat piece of work. The leg was now bandaged as well as could be managed. No one believed Griffin had any real chance of survival unless God intervened. The apothecary and his wife were with Mrs. Griffin and young Tobias now. They were all deeply engaged in prayer to this end.

  The body of Peter Johansen was found inside the mill storage room by the militiamen when they returned to their duty. The alarm was immediate. Fear spread quickly and seemed to be well founded. It didn’t take anyone long to realize that everyone in the village was now in even deeper and more immediate danger. They all knew that Crispin would most likely flee to the nearest British army unit, probably at Camden, Winnsborough, or Ft. Granby. He didn’t even need to travel that far to alert their enemies regarding the recent happenings in this otherwise out-of-the-way village.

  Captain Robertson immediately dispatched four of his men on borrowed horses to track the escapees and try to apprehend them before they could reach the help of any area loyalists or the Royal Army. The Johansen boy was buried in a field near the village next to the dragoons killed the day before. It was thought wise not to inter these men in the small village cemetery near the edge of town. A brief ceremony was conducted by Ira Fletcher over the graves. As soon as this was done, Captain Robertson drew Ira off for a quiet, but intense, conversation regarding the immediate future of Fletcher’s Mill and the people of the village.

  Both men were more troubled now than they had been the night before, and for very good reason. Their earlier concern was that the teamsters who escaped the scene of the confrontation at the mill would go to the British forces with a wild tale about an incident at the mill. These men fled before the worst of the events had taken place, though. It seemed likely that the official military reaction would be slow and measured in this case. Now two soldiers would be making the report. One of them was an officer. The other was a wounded sergeant.

  These men would report that several heavily armed dragoons were killed by a sizeable militia force immediately in front of Fletcher’s Mill while they were reacting to the uprising of local villagers. Any responsible military authority would immediately decide that there was no alternative to decisive military action. The tenuous hold the Crown held over the loyalists in the area demanded it. Political considerations aside, Captain Crispin was a Royal Army quartermaster. He had seen a wealth of food supplies in the mill that could not be ignored by an army forced to forage for everything.

  Captain Robertson discussed all of this and more with Ira that morning. Ira’s only question remained: what could they do? His personal fortune, thousands of acres, his home, the mill, all of it would now be forfeit to the Crown. There was nothing he could do about that. Crispin seemed like the type of man who would say or do anything to further his own ends. The man was frightened and humiliated yesterday in the road. He had seen and spoken directly with Ira at the scene of the small, startling, pitched battle.

  Ira also reflected on the way the Johansen boy died. His larynx was crushed and his neck was broken. There were marks on the sides of the boy’s face that indicated he was beaten before he was thrown to the floor. A closer look at the boy’s neck showed that the final blow was delivered with a booted foot. Ira didn’t doubt that this was the work of Captain Crispin. The sergeant was severely injured with a broken cheek bone. His face was so swollen that he would only have been able to see with one eye. What kind of man would kill a young boy like this? Rumors abounded lately about British cavalry killing captured militia soldiers in cruel and inhumane ways … something called “Tarleton’s Quarter.”

  Both Ira and Robertson understood that Peter had helped the two prisoners escape. Why would they kill him, though? Ira decided that it was simply a case of wanton cruelty. Robertson reflected that the boy must have told Crispin everything he knew about the rebel activities in and around Fletcher’s Mill. The British would have multiple reasons to send a large force here as soon as possible to destroy this place and seize any useful materials they found. Ira knew he still had many enemies in the area who would be more than happy to see his demise and the destruction or seizure of his local properties. He thought of Elizabeth and her safety. He considered Ezekiel who was upstairs being cared for by Mona Partridge. He also couldn’t help thinking about Mona’s welfare. She had been a close family friend for many years. He considered her as a sister when she became so close to Mary. Since Mary’s death, Mona slowly began to take a different place in his thoughts.

  Captain Robertson recommended that all of the villagers be evacuated. Ira agreed, but there was no logical place for them to go in the middle of winter. Several families had relatives in the countryside. Many of the women and children could go to those homes. There was a danger from Tory militias taking advantage of the displaced villagers. They could cause havoc if they learned about what happened here. Ira gathered the village elders to let them decide what to do with their families and their personal property. Frantic preparation for flight began immediately after this meeting. Furniture and other belongings were loaded onto wagons and other conveyances. Women and children were burdened with clothing and small items as well. Most of the oldest men departed with the women and children to find temporary shelter for their families as far away from Fletcher’s Mill as they could practically travel. The young men decided to stay behind and work together to protect their homes from whatever threat they faced.

  Captain Robertson organized these young men into his militia company, pairing them with more experienced militiamen. Most of the villagers possessed weapons of one sort or another. Only a fool would live on the frontier without a useable firearm. Some of the men even had militia training from earlier conflicts. When Robertson paraded all of them on the green in the village square, he found that he now had fifty-two armed men at his disposal. He assigned his sergeants and experienced privates to do what they could to organize the men as effectively as possible in the short time available. He and Ira then spent several hours studying the lay of the land and the possibility of actually defending this place against a concerted military assault.

  The mill itself was the highest building in or around the village. It was built into the face of the bluff overlooking the creek valley at a place where the creek turned sharply and dropped precipitously over thirty feet. The bluff turned with the changing course of the creek. It actually formed the upper creek bank, and seemed to get taller by staying at roughly the same level while the creek fell away across its front. This odd geologic development undoubtedly contributed to Benjamin Fletcher’s decision to build the mill where it now stood. The creek was diverted to an artificial mill pond dug on the small flat plain above the bluff. Ira remembered the endless hours of digging and hauling dirt and rock in a barrow so many years ago when his father and Zeke were young men and he was just a teen. They used powder charges to blast great rocks into smaller ones, but these still had to be removed one at a time.

  They also used explosives to enlarge the small cave in the face of the bluff. The mill structure had been built over this natural stone fortress. The creek was channeled to where it spilled into and down a new route where it would fill the mill wheel and cause the wheel to turn with
great strength through the weight of the water. The amount of water involved could be controlled by opening or closing small gates erected at the edge of the mill pond. Water was always moving here, but the millwright could control whether or not the wheel turned by opening or closing these gates to send water to the wheel or to send it around where it would cascade down a narrow gorge in the side of the bluff much as it had done for untold centuries.

  Captain Robertson now concluded that the most defensible place in the area was the mill itself. It would be difficult, but not impossible, to assault from the direction of the village even if proper fortifications were added. The bluff provided natural protection on each flank. The area above the bluff was guarded by the deep mill pond and the dense woods surrounding it. Robertson looked closer at the top of the building on the pond side. The Fletchers built this side with a high stout stone and earth levy to protect the mill from potential flooding caused by torrential rains. The building would be even easier to defend from this direction because of these natural and manmade features. This led him to believe that the most likely avenue of enemy attack would be from the direction of the village. Yes. That made perfect sense. They would attack and sack the village first. They would use the village and probably the Fletcher house as a base from which to launch their final attack on the mill. Ira agreed.

  Robertson devised a plan to dig trenches and build other fortifications at key locations in and around the village. The trenches were dug along the high ground just below the mill and the Fletcher house. Fascines were constructed across the road and open areas using rows of sharpened stakes driven into the ground at angles with the points elevated to slow a mounted attack. Several men were put to work cutting and assembling traps of three stout sticks each about two feet long. The sticks were pointed and very sharp on both ends. They were tied together in the middle and splayed out to resemble three dimensional crosses. Hundreds of these were scattered in the deep grass and underbrush in the woods surrounding the mill pond.