Strickland looked genuinely worried. “Like I said earlier, Tarleton’s men will be watchin’ us leave in the other direction from the rest of our fellas….” They walked silently for several seconds before Strickland stopped and looked over at Billy with even deeper concern. “I think we need to take a ‘round about’ route to the mill, sir.”
Billy agreed, but he didn’t know the area, and he didn’t like the idea of getting lost or taking unnecessary delay getting the wounded to their destination. “What do you suggest we do about it? If we were watched, they will expect us to stay on the road and they will ambush us up ahead somewhere. I imagine they would love to get these supplies back….”
Strickland said, “Red and me have been talkin’ with some of these militiamen. There’s a couple of them from this part of the colony. One of them was born and raised only a few miles from here. Seems there are some other trails and side lanes the farm folks use that ain’t on any maps. He claims to know all of ‘em.”
It didn’t take long for Billy and the two sergeants to question the local man, Private Samuel Spate. He assured them that they could leave the main trail without difficulty. The man told them emphatically that he knew a route which would avoid villages and larger farms. It would bring them to the mill sooner than taking the well-known roads and trails. He explained that he was at Fletcher’s Mill on business more than once with his older brother. Billy suspected that the “business” probably involved questionable endeavors which would have made discretion as important as speed. People were driven to great lengths trying to avoid the excessive taxation of the British Crown. Most of the common folk understood this to be a practical necessity and applauded those who the authorities despised and labeled as scoundrels.
Sergeant Strickland instructed John Red to accompany Private Spate to ensure that the man didn’t somehow lead them into trouble. He didn’t know Spate, but he trusted Red with his life. Spate was ordered to direct the convoy along the most discreet route of march. Red would scout ahead to provide early warning of potential ambush or other enemy activity. The distance was considerable, but they should be able to make good time if this shrewd little militiaman, Spate, showed them the way. The animallike senses and instincts of John Red would protect them from surprise.
Billy and Sergeant Strickland agreed at once. Sergeant Duncan didn’t like it, but he acquiesced to Billy’s authority and Strickland’s experience. The troops and wagons started out again headed south. They moved only a short distance before they turned off the main trail at the edge of a natural meadow. Private Spate led them more west than south for about a mile through broken forest and scrub that was just passable for the wagons. Red disappeared into the trees and scrub ahead of them. Billy was becoming concerned with their decision to leave the road, when they came out onto a small partially overgrown lane heading more directly south. The trail was indicated by deep ruts caused by the passage of wagons over countless years. Red was waiting there and reported that he had already checked the trail for several hundred yards ahead. It was clear of danger.
Two miles away, Lieutenant Cloyde of Tarleton’s British Legion brought the heated argument with his senior sergeant to a close with a sharp demand for silence. He was fully sick and tired of the argument. The sergeant was vehemently insisting that they carefully follow the four rebel wagons and their walking escorts as ordered by Colonel Tarleton. He further insisted they could swoop in and seize the prize as soon as they were confident they were not followed by rebel cavalry. Cloyde would have none of this. He too feared enemy cavalry. This fact galled him but was unshakeable. He was convinced that the best way to fulfill the spirit of the colonel’s instructions was to use his greater speed and mobility to move around in front of the convoy’s route of march to an ambush position. He would wait for the enemy to come to him.
Lieutenant Cloyde shouted for the troop to mount and prepare to move out. The sergeant remained standing in front of him for a moment too long. Several of the privates seemed to be waiting for the argument to be settled before obeying the command to mount. Fury welled up inside Cloyde and he released it with a snarled, “What is wrong with you, Sergeant? Are you deaf?” He withdrew a pistol from the saddle holster and cocked the hammer back with his left palm as he asked this open question.
The sergeant looked wide-eyed at the pistol and said in a conciliatory tone, “No, I’m not deaf, sir. I will obey your command. I’m simply doing my duty in advising you of other considerations here.” Cloyde slowly moved the pistol hammer back to the uncocked position and lowered it to his side before saying, “I am directly responsible to the colonel for my decisions and their results, Sergeant. You will obey me immediately. Mount your horse and prepare the men to move south to the position I showed you on the map. The rebels are too stupid to know we are here. They will continue to be stupid as they blunder down that road into our arms where we will surprise them and recover the equipment and supplies without a shot fired.”
The sergeant nodded in salute and said, “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” He then spun around and mounted his horse before shouting the necessary orders bringing the small troop into a column of twos.
Cloyde holstered the pistol and swung himself up into his own saddle. He was certain his plan would result in the successful capture and recovery of the rebel wagons and the lost supplies. The fact that it was a deviation from Tarleton’s orders would hardly matter when success was achieved. He was in command here. He would do this his way. It again came to his mind that doing it his way would take them away from the rebel cavalry he suspected was lurking just beyond his sight to the west. He couldn’t bring himself to believe this small convoy wasn’t some elaborate scheme or trap on the part of the rebels to subdue and destroy British patrols they knew to be watching from this area.
Lieutenant Cloyde let himself believe that his decision was tactically correct whether the sergeant or anyone else agreed with him. They would capture their quarry. They would do it his way. Somehow, as he rode to the head of the column and gave the order to advance, he had a horrible gnawing impression that his motives were flawed and this was all wrong. It was too late now. Trotting his horse down the hillside with his troop following dutifully behind, he shrugged off the second thoughts and resolved to carry through with his decision. Besides, he would look like a fool if he changed his mind now.
The small rebel convoy passed quietly unnoticed as the guide led them steadily south via one farm lane after another. The day progressed uneventfully. They rarely saw anyone. They neared a secluded farm at the edge of the woods many miles from any neighbors late in the afternoon. Private Spate assured Billy that he knew and trusted the farmer, John Phillips, and his family. The wagons and their escort remained concealed in the woods. Billy and Spate approached the farmhouse and barn alone from across a narrow field that still showed the stubble remains of the late season’s crop.
They heard the farmer working at an anvil in the barn. Mrs. Phillips saw them approaching across the field and came out of the back of the house trailed by a scrawny little girl with long braided pigtails protruding from her overlarge mobcap. The woman was huge. She reached the barn before them, and took up a position blocking access to the door. Her expression was resolved and unwelcoming. Billy tipped his hat to the woman and little girl. The woman’s arms were folded across her breast. He hadn’t noticed until that moment that she was holding a formidable-looking iron frying pan in her right hand.
Private Spate said, “Hello, Sadie! I hear John at work inside. We need to talk with him.”
She drew air in abruptly and expelled it with a loud and forceful, “Huh! I just bet you do…. You’re no longer welcome here, Samuel! After you ran off with what was rightfully ours last time…. Why, I lowed I’d settle with you … you … you pirate! You thief! John swears the deal you done was honest, and I don’t wonder he believes it, but I don’t!”
The militiaman removed his hat and stood with his head lowered in as contrite a display as he coul
d muster. He said, “Now Sadie, you know I wouldn’t take unfair advantage. That cow was rightfully mine!”
Mrs. Phillips took a half step forward. It looked like she was about to put the pan into service when Billy stepped between them. “Excuse me, ma’am, we don’t want trouble. We just want to talk with you and your husband for a moment. Anything that has happened between your family and Private Spate can be put to rights.”
She stepped back and refolded her arms while asking, “Who is ‘we,’ and who are you, young fella?”
Billy doffed his hat again. “Lieutenant William Morgan of the North Carolina Militia ma’am, at your service.”
The woman started to reply when the barn door opened and bumped her substantial girth from behind. A wizened little man peered around the edge of the door and asked apologetically, “What is it, Sadie? Who are you talking to, and why are you blockin’ the door?”
Billy was amazed at the uncanny resemblance between Mr. Phillips and his new militia guide, Private Spate. It was as if they had been formed by the same mold.
Phillips stepped around his wife with a smile of sudden recognition. “Ho Sam! Is that really you?” He covered the distance quickly with his hand outstretched.
Spate grasped the offered hand in hearty greeting. Mrs. Phillips withdrew another pace and shook her head slowly in what appeared to be disgusted resignation. Spate said, “John, I’ve joined up with the militia from across the river, and this here’s my lieutenant.” He nodded toward Billy.
Phillips offered the same outstretched hand. “Pleased to meet you, young sir.”
Billy shook his hand and said, “Can we go inside to talk sir?”
Mr. Phillips turned toward his wife and seemed to swell slightly as he ordered her to go back in the house and fetch some of the “good cider.” He and his friends would be inside the barn “in conference.” Mrs. Phillips stamped her foot but said nothing while disappointed resolve crept over her face. She then spun on her heel abruptly and stomped back across the barnyard toward the house with the little girl in tow. Farmer Phillips said, “This way please, gentlemen…,” and led them into the barn through the still open door.
The wagons were brought up to the barnyard from the woods before nightfall. The wounded men were carried into the house by the doctor and his assistant. Mrs. Phillips underwent a dramatic change in temperament when she saw the condition of these poor men. She spent the next two hours doing everything in her power to follow the doctor’s instructions and make the men as comfortable as possible. She also managed to cook up an extraordinary amount of thick stew that included venison, potatoes, carrots, and onions. The smell of cooking stew had a dramatically positive effect on the men.
Billy and Sergeant Duncan organized a watch bill to ensure that the farm was guarded from every possible avenue of approach. The draft horses were cared for by the teamsters and farmer Phillips. The wagon tarps were checked again for security. The wagon holding the barrels of powder was moved out further from the house and barn. Mr. Phillips let it be known that they were welcome to stay as long as they thought necessary. The men not on watch were allowed to sleep in the barn. Billy and the two sergeants spent several hours on the front porch talking through their concerns and plans for the immediate future.
Twelve miles away on the main southern road, Lieutenant Cloyde welcomed the coming night in growing terror. This was a horrible mistake. He sent out mounted patrols to search for the wagons along the roadway and along likely side trails when they failed to reach his position in the afternoon as expected. The last of these patrols returned without finding the rebels. They saw no rebel cavalry either. They saw no one at all. It was as if the wagons and their escort simply vanished. He knew his sergeant was correct earlier. He dared not show this now. This was his first independent opportunity to command. It was a miserable failure. The humiliation was overwhelming. The night was spent sleeplessly. Would he find his quarry tomorrow? He had to. The convoy couldn’t be that far away. They were moving at walk speed with four loaded wagons and numerous wounded men. He didn’t hear laughter, but he knew his men held him in disgusted contempt. That was nothing, though. What on earth would Colonel Tarleton say…?
Lieutenant Cloyde knew he couldn’t give up this easily. He couldn’t go back to Colonel Tarleton and report this failure. His career wouldn’t survive that. It didn’t matter if Tarleton himself was now in disgrace from the loss of the battle and all those men. He was probably in even greater danger from Tarleton now because of the loss at Cowpens. He knew Colonel Tarleton to be prideful and petulant. A junior lieutenant would make a handy scapegoat to absorb the wounded venting of that petulant pride. He must do something else, but he couldn’t just blindly chase over the countryside looking for the lost convoy. He needed help. It occurred to him that his only reasonable choice was to head for the cavalry garrison at Rocky Mount. There he could access any available information and reinforcements for his small troop of dragoons.
CHAPTER 17
The night was far spent when Ira lit a candle and went down the hall to check on Ezekiel. He quietly opened the bedroom door and peered inside to find Elizabeth sound asleep in the chair at the side of the old man’s bed. The candle on the nightstand was gutted. Only embers glowed in the fireplace grate. Elizabeth held Ezekiel’s hand as she slept. Entering the room with the brightly burning candle allowed Ira to see that Ezekiel was wide awake and staring back at him from beneath the bandages covering his head.
Mona was escorted late in the night to her own home after promising to return before dawn. Captain Robertson left the house and returned to the mill where he now had a headquarters of sorts. The quiet of the large house was only interrupted by the gentle breathing of the sleeping girl. The floor creaked as Ira walked closer to the side of the bed to offer a whispered inquiry about how Zeke was feeling.
The old man responded in a croaking whisper. “I’m feeling some better now, but I been lyin’ here tryin’ to remember what happened, and I just can’t make it out somehow….”
Ira whispered, “You were knocked down by one of those British soldiers on the morning of the seventeenth. It’s been days since then, but don’t concern yourself with that right now.”
Zeke looked over at Elizabeth with a smile and said, “This poor girl sat up with me most of the night. I need to move, but just can’t stand the thought of disturbin’ her right now.”
Ira said, “Well, she needs to go on to her own bed and get some real rest. There is still a lot of mischief afoot. I’m afraid we are all going to wish we had slept over the next few days.”
Zeke pulled his hand away from Elizabeth’s with some effort. She began to stir. Ira reached down and gently shook her shoulder so that she came fully awake with a muted cry of alarm. Ira said, “Easy now, Beth, everything is all right. You just fell asleep in the chair. I want you to go on to bed.” She attempted to offer protest, but he silenced her. “No, girl. Go on to bed. Zeke and I need to talk privately.”
She gave him a disappointed frown as she rose from the chair. The frown was replaced with a sweet smile as she leaned over to kiss Zeke’s bandaged head. She stood back up to hug and kiss her grandfather with a muted, “I love you, Grandpa, and you too, Zeke. Goodnight.”
Ira lit another candle from the one he was holding and handed it to his granddaughter as he said, “It’s already early morning, Beth, but I want you to go get some good sleep anyway. I’ll stay with this old scoundrel until Mona gets back.” Elizabeth nodded and quietly went out.
The two men listened to her footfalls disappearing down the hallway. Ira turned the now vacant chair to face his old friend directly and sat down. He carefully placed the fresh candle on the nightstand. Zeke stretched and tried to sit up straighter in the bed. Ira began to speak, but Zeke interrupted him. “Ira, we do need to talk. I’m startin’ to remember that young British captain in the mill office. He was goin’ through the books when I found him there. Horse soldiers were outside, and wagons…. Why…. He told
me he was gonna take all of the food out of the mill…. I … I tried to explain…. He wouldn’t listen…. I tried to get him to listen…. Everything just went black….
Ira patted the old man on the shoulder and helped him lean back on the pillow again before sitting up in the chair. He took a deep breath and plunged into a quiet explanation of all he knew about the events at Fletcher’s Mill during the past few days. He was mildly surprised that Ezekiel didn’t express any significant shock or alarm when he heard what happened on the road after he was knocked out. Zeke mournfully shook his head in deep regret when he heard of Peter’s death and the way it apparently happened. He said, “What an awful shame, Ira…. I so wanted to help that boy. He just wouldn’t let me get close to him. It’s hard to believe that he helped those men escape, though.” The look on Zeke’s face let Ira know that he really wasn’t surprised at all by the apparent moral failure of this lonely and miserable young man.
Zeke shook his head again and looked briefly away from Ira before speaking in a remarkably stronger voice. “Ira, I need to tell you some things….”
Ira leaned forward and stared intently at his old mentor. “Yes, Zeke, I imagine you do. What on earth has been happening here in my absence?”
Ezekiel looked back at him as defiantly as his injured elderly form would allow. “Now, don’t take that tone with me, sir. I haven’t done anything but what was right!”
Ira snapped back, “Is that so? Then please explain what I’ve been hearing from members of the ‘provisional militia’ about military supplies and contraband being stored in and shipped to and from the mill. What on earth were you thinking?”
Zeke held his hand up as if to quiet Ira’s anger. He intentionally waited until Ira settled back into the chair again before he began to speak. “Ira, we’ve been doing what was right by these young men who are fighting for our freedom. I can’t believe that you, of all people, would choose to stay out of the events that are happening all around us.”
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