Robertson went with him. They soon reached the area where the road passed in front of the main mill house. The mill entrance was accessed from the road via a large stone slab or step. You could hear the water from the creek running under the slab when you stood still here. It flowed out from the catch pool under the wheel and was redirected to run downhill in the deep manmade channel along this side of the road. The water traveled this way a hundred yards to where it passed back under the little stone bridge and rejoined the original creek bed to flow on into the valley.
Robertson asked, “Why did the water have to be diverted to the pond on top of the precipice here, sir? Wouldn’t the force of the water flowing down the original falls have been strong enough to turn the wheel from the bottom?”
Ira was surprised at the question, but it distracted him from the dark mood he found himself falling into. He thought for a moment and then explained, “A long time ago, mill wheels were turned that way, but someone finally discovered a more efficient use of the water’s weight.”
This launched Ira into a detailed tour and explanation of the mill and its mechanical genius. He pointed out the way the water was diverted in the first place and showed Robertson the ingenious design of the various channels, gates, and stone water ducts that were used to harness the power of the swiftly moving little creek. He finished with, “You see, sir, the water is directed to the top of the wheel to push downward by filling the collection troughs which are open at the top when they are at this position in the wheel rotation. The very weight of the water provides all of the thrust to turn the wheel. The full trough empties as it reaches the bottom of the rotation so that the back of the wheel is lightened and the wheel continues to turn. This will happen until the flow of water is interrupted by closing the gate at the top and opening the gate on the side to vent the excess water from the pond.”
Robertson thought a moment. “What if both gates remain closed? Does the water simply spill over the top and flood the mill?”
Ira smiled and said, “Yes, it does spill out of the pond, but it doesn’t flood the mill.” He walked up the external stairs to the top of the bluff and pointed to the high levy that protected the top and back of the building. He then pointed to four points at the edge of the mill pond where there seemed to be a low spot or notch in the embankment. Robertson hadn’t noticed these before. Ira explained, “We would never intentionally close both of the sluice gates at the same time, but we do have to contend with flooding during times of very heavy rain. In fact, this very thing happened only a few days ago. The water can only rise to the point where it empties via those permanent vents. Should so much water deluge this place, the levy protects the building from flooding.” It was clear that Ira took great pride in this place.
Captain Robertson took it all in with a sweeping gaze. With a sudden look of alarm, he turned to Ira. “What if someone managed to block the new channel above the mill and redirect the water to its original course while these upper control gates were open?”
Ira fought down a flash of annoyance and responded, “We would see the road flooded and close the upper gates to prevent the loss of water to the pond before going to repair the damage caused by the vandals!”
Robertson said, “But what if you couldn’t reach the gates or the point of redirection because both places were under fire?”
Ira suddenly realized what he was implying. “The pond would drain, and it would cease to be an obstacle for anyone attempting to approach the mill from that direction!”
The captain stepped over to look across the pond with renewed interest. “You helped dig this pond, this ‘basin’ all those years ago? What is the bottom like?”
Ira thought for a moment and replied, “It isn’t consistent or level, but we dug and blasted down to solid rock. It took weeks to dig out most of the dirt and clay. It was actually made somewhat easier by the original shape of the ground right here. Water tended to collect here on very rainy days even before this work was done. This was one of the features, along with the shape of the lower bluff, that my father was attracted to when we found this place.”
The captain excused himself to go and get one of his sergeants from a working party below. Ira realized that this was one of Robertson’s many strengths. He seemed to possess the ability to visualize a problem before it presented itself and then explain a remedy to someone else in fewer words than seemed possible. The idea of the mill pond acting like some kind of protective moat was abandoned. Men were soon very busy fortifying this side of the mill while others continued with the work below.
Ira and the captain continued to tour the mill and its environs until the discussion returned to the possible need for an avenue of escape. They finally arrived at the conclusion that the only viable route, should the worst happen, would be uphill in the creek bed above the mill pond itself. The natural shape of the hillside deepened here into a fairly long draw or shallow gorge that would allow people on foot to pass more quickly because they wouldn’t be hindered by the thick undergrowth and trees on the hillside itself. Horses would be useless here. The creek became a series of small cascades over a multitude of large rocks and small boulders. This continued up the hillside several hundred yards. A person could easily climb out of the creek from there and escape through sparser trees farther along the side of this series of rolling hills. Robertson was confident that a large group could elude capture in this area by splitting up into smaller parties and scattering through the woods and hills beyond.
Ira was revolted at having come to this point in his life. The realization that he was losing everything he and his father worked so hard to establish returned to him now with a vengeance. The anger and frustration over this debacle began to rage inside him again. He was certain that all of his landholdings would be forfeit to the Crown. No matter what friends he had in court, there was no way he could explain his presence at the scene of a battle that took the lives of six Royal Army cavalrymen.
Ira started back down the hill toward his house. He walked away from Captain Robertson without explanation. It occurred to him that he would have to beg the man’s pardon later. He had no intention of climbing back up the hill to do it now. His age was no excuse for rudeness, but he was just too exhausted to retrace his route. He climbed the steps of his front porch and noticed that Mona was sitting in one of the two large maple rocking chairs. She was covered with a blanket. Her latest knitting project was in her lap. She was sound asleep with a serene look on her face that seemed totally out of place under the circumstances.
Ira tried to walk quietly past the pristine sleeping figure without disturbing her, but one of the porch boards creaked. This betrayed his presence. Mona sat up and stretched before calling his name softly. The day was far gone, and the shadows were growing longer although the clouds had finally begun to dissipate in the cold winter sky. Ira said, “Excuse me, Miss Partridge, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Mona said, “Oh, no matter, I wasn’t sleeping deeply anyway. It has turned colder since I came out here, and I believe it is nearly time for me to relieve Elizabeth with Zeke.”
She was standing now. Ira offered his arm before opening the front door for her. He noticed there was no fire burning on the grate as they entered. There were still small scraps of cloth strewn all over the room, and he finally thought to inquire openly about them. Mona explained, “Elizabeth has taken a notion to make a quilt for her hope chest, Ira. She isn’t a little girl anymore. She is growing into a beautiful young lady.”
Ira looked sidelong at her as he replied softly, “It would seem that I’m learning a great many new things today, although not all of them are pleasant.” He stepped forward to rekindle a fire in the fireplace as Mona sat her blanket and knitting down and began picking up the cloth scraps.
Ira and Mona were seated in front of a roaring fire before long. It was almost dark outside. They sat in thoughtful silence for several minutes until Ira finally steeled himself to turn and look at Mona. She sensed his gaz
e and turned to face him with the weary hint of a warm smile. Ira took a breath and dove quietly into a subject of conversation that he instinctively resisted, and yet at the same time somehow needed. “Miss Partridge?”
“Yes?” she replied.
He took another quick breath before continuing with, “Would you mind terribly … if I called you Mona?”
Mona turned her head away as she replied, “No. I wouldn’t mind that, Ira,” while her smile deepened significantly.
CHAPTER 15
Lieutenant Colonel Banastre Tarleton was still seething. He knew the disaster had happened. He was there. He just couldn’t bring himself to grasp the details of the tragedy. How could he? How could he possibly have been beaten by that ragtag mob? There was a chance to snatch victory at the last moment, but his own troops, his ‘legion,’ failed him. He tried to imagine what Cornwallis would say about this debacle. Over eight hundred men were lost! He believed his career was over. How could those cowardly fools have simply surrendered like that? His own men fled the scene, though, and he ran with them.
Several members of the legion were now gone. Some of his men chose to fight rather than skulk in the trees waiting for the regulars to do the dirty work. All of his officers had survived. He ordered one legion troop to act as rear guard and fight off the still pursuing Yankee cavalry. He and the rest of the survivors withdrew far enough to turn and make a stand two miles away from the battlefield. He ordered these same men to go back to Cowpens and keep watch on the rebels to see what they did next after the pursuit was abandoned. It was the only way to maintain contact with the enemy now.
Minutes crawled slowly into hours. The night passed fitfully. He continued to receive courier reports about rebel activities. It didn’t seem like Morgan was in a hurry to leave the place. Maybe he really was incompetent and the battle outcome was some kind of freakish accident. The rebels did have a huge number of prisoners and great deal of captured military equipment to deal with now. He was such a fool. Tarleton felt an agony deep in his soul that couldn’t be set aside. He truly believed his subordinate commanders had failed him. However, he was the one who sent them into the battle as they became available. That was his fault alone. He should have waited for all of them to attack at once. He should have…. He could have…. He hadn’t…. It was the most humiliating day of his life. He failed Cornwallis. He failed the king. He knew his own stubborn pride was the real source of this defeat.
Tarleton didn’t sleep at all during the night. He was seated on a fallen log with his horse’s reins in his hand and his face buried in his palms. He heard the courier march up and stand at rigid attention three paces away, but didn’t look up. The man had the insufferable effrontery to say, “Excuse me, sir. I have an urgent message for you from Lieutenant Cloyde.”
Tarleton finally raised his head. “What is it now…?”
The courier straightened his shoulders slightly and looked into the middle distance as he recited the message carefully from his officer. “Lieutenant Cloyde’s respects, sir. The rebels are massing at the north end of the battlefield and forming the captives into columns guarded on both flanks. Their tents have been struck, and they look like they are preparing to move further west along the southern bank of the river. They are pushing what appears to be a substantial cavalry screen in our direction, but the main body seems prepared to move the other way. Lieutenant Cloyde wishes to know whether he should follow them as they leave.”
The courier stopped speaking for a moment, then continued as though he had forgotten this last part until now. “Lieutenant Cloyde also wishes to inform the colonel that the rebels appear to be collecting a small caravan of four wagons at the south end of the meadow. They are loading them with equipment and wounded men. It appears that they are organizing a small escort of about twenty dismounted infantry along with these wagons. The only horses present are those hitched to the wagons. He believes these men may be part of the larger baggage train, but he doesn’t understand why they are separate from the other wagons and pack animals.”
Colonel Tarleton was on his feet now. He asked the courier what kind of equipment was loaded onto the wagons. The man said, “My officer didn’t say, sir…, but I saw what it was with my own eyes sir.”
The man stood there speechless until Tarleton said, “Well? What did you see, man?”
The courier seemed to realize the deficiency in his lieutenant’s message and showed a great deal of loyalty as he again hesitated before saying, “It was weapons, powder, cartridge boxes, tentage, common military stores, sir.”
Tarleton called a reliable sergeant to his side while he used his saddle as a makeshift writing table to draft a quick but detailed set of instructions to young Lieutenant Cloyde. The note read, “Lt. Cloyde, you are to disregard the larger body of rebel troops for the time being. Trail the small convoy in whatever direction it takes. Continue to communicate with me as well as you can via courier. I will be moving generally north toward Charlotte after we get what is left of our force across the river. I want to know what direction they take as soon as possible, especially if they break away from the larger force. If they do separate from the larger enemy group, you will seek any opportunity to attack and seize these wagons if at all practically possible. If that fails, you will maintain contact with them and report to me. You will seek any opportunity to ally your troop with any friendly forces you encounter. Any officer reading these instructions should understand that recovery of these wagons and military supplies is of paramount importance. You will provide all available support and assistance to the bearer of these instructions. I am writing these orders under the expressed authority of General Lord Cornwallis. Tarleton, LTC.”
He folded the paper as he considered the last line. He was taking a great risk using Cornwallis’ name this way, but he was already in great professional peril having lost the battle in the first place. Recovery of the equipment in those wagons would help him maintain his personal dignity, if not his reputation as a professional soldier. In any event, his duty to recover this material was quite clear. He handed the note to the sergeant and ordered him to go with the courier to ensure that the instructions were delivered properly.
Tarleton swung himself into the saddle and moved up the trail toward the main body of survivors. His staff kept pace with him as he passed along the column of defeated and downcast troopers. They had camped on the sodden hillside waiting for daylight before moving on to the river crossing. Only a few of the men showed obvious wounds. This seemed to be further evidence of their humiliation. Wounds would have been welcome. The visibly wounded men did, in fact, seem to ride higher in their saddles.
Lieutenant Robert Cloyde of Tarleton’s British Legion received the new orders from Colonel Tarleton with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. He knew the ramifications of the horrendous defeat at Cowpens. It would adversely affect the careers of every surviving officer. He also remembered the relief he felt when he realized that he was actually one of those survivors. He saw many other junior officers fall that day. This was made easy from his protected vantage point in the tree line. He couldn’t help feeling shamed by that sense of relief, but he was glad to be alive all the same. His current excitement came from the realization that he was going to be operating independently for the first time. He would lead his small cavalry troop without interference in this clearly important endeavor. He wasn’t physically afraid now. He knew his thirty troopers could easily overpower the smaller group of rebel infantrymen escorting these wagons wherever they went. That wasn’t it at all. No. He was afraid that he might fail in some other way and expose his earlier cowardice. He was afraid of his commander, Colonel Tarleton.
He folded the orders and placed them carefully inside his leather saddlebag. The sergeant was sent back to the colonel with a verbal message that the orders were received and understood. Cloyde left his horse at the base of the small hill with the other mounts and strode up to where his men were fanned out watching the rebel preparations
in the distance. The first thing he noticed when he arrived was that the cavalry screen had withdrawn and the main enemy force was moving away toward the west.
The small group of wagons was also moving, but they were headed south. He knew what he needed to do. Cloyde was well trained by the very demanding Tarleton. He ordered his men to mount and prepare to move. They would head south also. They were up that road just yesterday morning. He had a pretty good idea of the perfect site for an effective ambush. Lieutenant Cloyde couldn’t help smiling as he considered how easy it was to erase a mistake with quick success. Colonel Tarleton wouldn’t have to wait long for the recovery of these precious supplies after all.
CHAPTER 16
They were finally moving. One of the three squads fanned out ahead and to the front flanks. One surrounded the wagons. The third squad brought up the rear. The last wagon contained the wounded men. Only the teamsters, the doctor’s assistant, and the wounded were allowed to ride. Billy visited briefly with Silas before trotting to catch up with the quickly striding Sergeant Strickland. Sergeant Duncan stayed back with the trailing squad to react or provide assistance if any unforeseen problems arose during the march.
The convoy entered the trees and started down the southern trail. Sergeant Strickland glanced at Billy as he neared. “Somethin’s botherin’ me, sir.”
“What would that be, Sergeant?” asked Billy.
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