There was still enough shadow on this side of the house to offer some concealment as he moved to one of the windows. Crouching down, Throckmorton found that the shutter opened easily from the outside. Unfortunately, the window seemed to be latched from the inside and it wouldn’t budge. Feeling the edge of the windowpanes, he found that one of them had a small separation near the top edge of the frame. He fished in his pocket and drew out the large pewter spoon he liberated from his breakfast tray. Breakfast … that seemed like several hours ago. It couldn’t have been more than an hour though. He was sure his jailers would soon discover his absence. Why hadn’t this happened already?
Placing the spoon in the small space above the pane, Throckmorton was able to carefully pry upward. He almost laughed as the small glass pane popped silently out onto the ground. The wood of the frame was wet and rotten. It should have been painted more often to protect it. He silently thanked the carelessness of the original homeowner. Reaching in through the hole, he was able to feel around and find the simple bolt latch that secured the window. He pulled this sharply and the window opened. He managed to wriggle his scrawny frame through in moments and settled in the dark room among stacked barrels and boxes for several minutes before convincing himself that he wasn’t heard. It was quite dark in the room, but he could see light coming from the corridor under the door. Moving there and feeling for the latch, he managed to pull the door open slightly and peer down the hallway. A single sentry was posted in front of the one important door just as he expected. Pulling his door shut again, he settled back to consider what to do next.
Major Throckmorton was not a brave man. Necessity demanded action, however. Leaving the door unlatched, he climbed up onto a barrel near the doorway and hoisted a small keg over his head. Pushing out with his foot, he knocked another keg over so that it fell with a resounding crash. The noise was rewarded with the swift approach of booted feet down the corridor. The light grew suddenly bright as the young soldier pushed the unlatched door open to investigate the noise. He never looked up, and didn’t know what hit him as the small keg crashed down on his head.
Throckmorton relieved the now unconscious guard of his musket, cartridge belt, keys, and lantern before dragging the inert form into the room and moving quickly to Captain Crispin’s cell to offer him freedom and opportunity. It didn’t take much to convince Crispin. He had other motives, but he saw the possibilities presented to him by his strange new ally. The two desperate men were outside the building through the open cellar window within minutes. Crispin had further relieved the guard of his uniform coat and boots. A short while later they were headed southwest far behind Major Willoughby and his cavalry force toward Fletcher’s Mill and the treasure they hoped to find there.
CHAPTER 29
They were surrounded by Strickland and his men who were looking on with leveled muskets. The old man identified himself as Lucas Hayden. These were his boys. Mr. Hayden’s brother, Matthew, was on the other side of the river with his own son. Almost as if on cue when his name was mentioned, they heard the faint shout of Matthew Hayden from across the river, “Ho there? What’s going on, Luke? We heard a shot! Who are those men?”
Old Mr. Hayden stepped around two of the militiamen and cupped his hands to shout back. “Tis all right, Matt! The pistol was discharged on accident by young Donald…! These ere men are friends, Matt. I expect we’ll be needin’ you to tug us across shortly!”
There was a short pause before another light showed itself dimly in front of the shack on the other side of the river. Matt Hayden’s voice floated across. “Aye then … we’ll be gettin’ ole Joe ready to pull…!”
Mr. Hayden turned back around and explained, unnecessarily, to the crowd in front of him. “Joe’s our other mule.”
Howard and Spate were helping Billy into the shack as Dr. Bolt came quickly out of the darkness with his assistant and Mrs. Phillips trailing close behind. The farmer’s wife was ringing her hands and looked like she had been crying. Dr. Bolt inquired, “We heard a shot! What has happened?”
Sergeant Strickland said, “It’s the lieutenant. He’s inside here.” Strickland was headed back out through the door and stepped aside to let the doctor and his helpers enter. The contents of a large table were quickly cleared, and Billy was lifted onto the tabletop by the two privates. He was beginning to feel a little faint, and he found this extraordinarily embarrassing. The result was a curt thanks to Howard and Spate followed by a sharp order for them to get outside and be useful.
Dr. Bolt went silently to work with speed and dexterity that again surprised Billy. The doctor’s helper quickly had Billy flat on the table with his equipment belt and coat off. Billy’s rifle was propped in the corner. Mrs. Phillips took station at his head and the assistant stood near his feet. A folded leather strap was shoved between Billy’s teeth without explanation. The doctor took a ragged blanket from a cot near the wall and threw it over him. The assistant yanked off his bloodstained trousers and rolled him onto his side so that the wound was clearly visible when the blanket was pulled back. The assistant continued to hold onto his legs with one arm while holding a lantern over the wound with his other hand. The doctor peered at the wound critically before reaching into his bag and producing a few metal instruments that he laid on the table between himself and the injured leg.
Dr. Bolt looked around the room and didn’t immediately find what he wanted. Shouting for the owner of the shack, he returned to his new patient and did the best he could to clear the blood away without opening the wound further. Mr. Hayden came in and announced himself. The doctor spoke without looking up at the man, “I need spirits … rum, whiskey, gin, anything! Do you have alcohol of any kind here?”
Mr. Hayden hung his head as if he were somehow embarrassed and said, “Well, yes. I do keep a drop or two for doctorin’ … I’d rather me boys didn’t know of it, but aye … there’s a bottle close by….” The doctor looked at him so sternly that no words were needed to convey his meaning. Mr. Hayden nodded and disappeared back through the open door.
Dr. Bolt used a damp cloth to carefully swab the drying blood away from the long swollen wound. The area around the wound was deeply bruised. The ferryman returned shortly with a clay jug. Placing this on the table, he rummaged around in a small cabinet and produced a surprisingly clean-looking china cup. The doctor was preoccupied with his examination. He didn’t notice when Mr. Hayden uncorked the jug, filled the cup halfway, and emptied the contents with one profound gulp. He refilled the cup and stood quietly waiting for instructions. Dr. Bolt seemed to notice him again, and nodded for Hayden to put the cup down on the table near him and then move out of the light. The doctor dipped the cloth in the alcohol and squeezed the contents into and around the wound.
Billy nearly screamed at the searing pain this brought. The wound hurt terribly before, but now it felt like the doctor had stuck a red-hot iron into it. He struggled against the restraint that was applied by Mrs. Phillips and the doctor’s assistant. Dr. Bolt seemed unmoved by Billy’s discomfort as he continued to probe the wound while pouring even more of the fiery liquid into the gash directly from the cup. The probing stopped momentarily. The doctor took the lantern from his assistant and leaned forward to peer more closely into the wound. The probing resumed for a few seconds more before the doctor finally leaned back. He declared that the wound was now free of cloth and debris, and that the pistol ball hadn’t lodged in the leg. Billy was lightheaded with blood loss and relieved that the probing had stopped. He barely understood what the doctor said.
Dr. Bolt turned in the chair and pulled his leather satchel onto his lap. The wound was again bleeding freely. He gave his assistant curt foreign language instructions. The man leaned forward to cover the wound and apply pressure to it with a clean piece of folded cloth. The doctor dug through the satchel to find a smaller leather case containing what looked like large sewing needles and a spool of white silk thread. He threaded one of these needles with the silk and immersed both nee
dle and thread in the teacup which was again filled with liquor. Billy saw all of this through lightheaded, pain-shrouded haze. His mind slowly realized what was coming next and he gasped deeply before passing into unconsciousness.
Dr. Bolt noticed this and nodded thanks to his Creator for easing the young man’s pain. He leaned forward again and began to deftly sew the wound shut with forty-three neatly applied stitches. The leg was cleaned once again and two layers of bandages were tied securely in place. Mrs. Phillips and the assistant rolled Billy onto his back and covered him back up with the blanket. None of the three noticed when Lucas Hayden crept quietly back into the shack, recovered his clay jug, and carried it back outside to return it to its hiding place.
Almost an hour passed when Billy felt consciousness returning to him amid the searing pain in his thigh and the insistent shaking of his shoulder by a very distraught Sergeant Strickland.
“Please, sir, you’ve got to wake up! Can you move, sir? It is near dawn now, sir! We’ve got to make the river crossing now with the last wagon!” Billy managed to pull himself up to his elbows. He was still lying on the table. No one else was in the shack at the moment. He was covered with the blanket, but he was shivering with cold. Billy saw his blood-soaked trousers lying across the back of one of the few chairs in the room and motioned for Strickland to hand them over. The blood was mostly dry on them now, but nothing had been done about the long tear on the right thigh. He managed to struggle back into them with Strickland’s help. He got off the table into a wobbly standing position.
Billy steadied himself for a moment before asking Strickland to help him get his equipment belt on and hand him his rifle from the corner. Using the rifle as a makeshift crutch was out of the question. This was the most valuable object Billy owned. Strickland saw the problem and hurried outside for a few minutes to find an alternative. He returned shortly with a long straight piece of tree branch that had a forked end. Strickland unceremoniously ripped a long strip from the blanket. It took a few precious seconds, but he soon had the blanket strip wound around the forked end of the branch. This provided enough padding for Billy to brace it under his armpit without causing him further injury. Using this crutch and holding his rifle in his left hand, Billy experimented with hobbling across the floor a few paces to make sure he could move on his own.
Billy stopped and turned to Strickland as he remembered what was said regarding the status of the river crossing. “Did you say ‘the last wagon,’ Sergeant?”
Strickland nodded as he picked up the rest of Billy’s ‘necessaries’ and handed them over. “Yes, sir. We’ve got the other wagons across. The ferry’s been hauled back over, and the boys are just now loadin’ the last one. I wanted to give you as much time as possible, but we got to get across before the light gets any stronger and the town folk or soldiers start stirrin’.” Billy nodded, “Right! Let’s go!” He hobbled toward the door. Strickland opened it, and Billy was surprised to see that it was indeed growing light outside. A momentary feeling of panic struck him. He desperately didn’t want to be caught with his small force separated on either side of the swiftly moving river in broad daylight.
Strickland seemed to read his mind. “Yes, sir. We’ve got to cross right now! That’s certain sure, but we’ll be all right … I’ve got most of our men across and coverin’ us from the other bank. There’s just you, me, Spate, Howard, and the ferrymen over here now, along with the last of the teamsters. Look yonder, they have the wagon loaded now.” He nodded toward the landing stage, and Billy felt some relief as he saw that the old ferryman, Hayden, was motioning for him and Strickland to hurry aboard the boat with the wagon and the last of the militiamen. Minutes later, they were moving slowly across the powerful river current toward the relative safety of the convoy waiting in the woods near the opposite bank. Billy was in terrific pain. He was lightheaded from the ordeal at the shack and loss of blood. He wanted to express his thanks to Mr. Hayden, but he didn’t trust himself to say the right thing.
They reached the east bank of the river, and Billy hobbled out of the boat onto the landing stage before the wagon was off-loaded. He hobbled toward the tree line and the rest of his convoy with Strickland at his side. Sergeant Duncan walked out of the trees at the side of the road and quietly pointed back across the river and up the road in the distance. Billy and Strickland turned quickly to peer into the far morning haze. They saw a small but unmistakably red over white form slowly descending the distant hillside. The tiny blob moved in rhythmic precision that clearly showed it could only be a small column of British infantry.
Billy shouted for the ferrymen and teamster to get the wagon unloaded immediately and get it into the trees with the others as soon as possible. He hurried back to the landing stage and quickly conferred with old Mr. Hayden as the wagon reached the ground and the mules were reattached to it. The teamster jumped aboard with the remaining militiamen and the mules were encouraged toward the trees with the end of the teamster’s whip. Billy finally managed to offer a quick curt thank-you to Mr. Hayden. The latter nodded with a smile as he held out his hand apparently expecting payment. Billy was stunned. He started to say something and thought about laying the brazen man out with his makeshift crutch. Hayden leaned further forward to grasp Billy’s right hand in his own and say, “No, sir…. It’s I that must say thanks. Thank you for not killing my boy last night! Thank you for what you and your men are doing to win our freedom here! Now … don’t you worry about this lot….”
He nodded toward the now closer infantry column. “They don’t know nothin’ about you, fellas. They’re just comin’ down to cross the river on their way to Rocky Mount. It ain’t uncommon this time of the mornin’. Just get on out of sight. They’re gonna find out that I had earlier customers and they’re just gonna have to wait till we manage to get the ferry hauled back over before they can start to cross. I’ll make sure you have plenty of time to get well away from here before they get one boot over on this side….” Hayden was smiling broadly now. Billy couldn’t help himself. He was smiling too as he shook the man’s hand again and turned to hobble back up the bank toward the convoy waiting in the trees.
The road to Rocky Mount turned northeast about a hundred yards from the ferry landing on top of the low bluff bordering the river. The southern road toward Fletcher’s Mill intersected at the bend. They no longer needed Private Spate to guide them. The road was good from here all the way to the mill according to the map. Speed now seemed more important to Billy than secrecy. He sent Spate and John Red ahead again to ensure that the convoy didn’t blunder into an ambush. He then allowed Sergeant Duncan and Private Howard to lift him up onto the front seat of the lead wagon. Billy paused to thank God silently before giving the order to drive on as quickly as possible toward the safety he desperately hoped waited for them at their destination.
CHAPTER 30
The preparations seemed as complete as they could be. Captain Robertson and Reverend Fletcher walked through and around the village countless times looking for weaknesses. They had done everything they could think of to prepare an adequate defense. The mill would be the final strong point. It was the stoutest structure for many miles. They would force the enemy to expend a great deal of energy and effort in the village and its surroundings, but the plan they worked out called for the defenders to fall back on the mill in the end. The other buildings could be rebuilt if they were destroyed.
They just didn’t have enough men to protect the entire village and its numerous approaches. They expected an enemy force to be made up mainly of cavalry. Robertson knew he could take a powerful advantage away from the British if he could force them to dismount. Great effort was devoted to the construction of fascines, deadfalls, and other traps to this end. He and his men did what they could to enhance the advantage given to them through the long-range accuracy of their rifles. His sergeants continued to drill the recruited villagers. These men could reload weapons and carry ammunition if they could do nothing else.
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p; Ezekiel was finally able to get up and walk around some. Mr. Griffin, the blacksmith, had taken a turn for the worse. The apothecary, Amos Reynolds, suspected that the amputated leg was “putrefying,” as he put it. The leg was frightfully hot to the touch, and the man was in terrific pain when he was conscious. They were running low on laudanum, but there was a surprisingly ample supply of liquor available in the village. Ira had forbidden anyone from consuming it for any purpose other than medical, but there was already one incident where two of the village ner-do-wells took it upon themselves to “self-medicate.” This resulted in both men spending a night and a day locked up in the mill storeroom formerly occupied by the two British prisoners.
All of the village women were now gone except Mrs. Reynolds, Mrs. Griffin, Mona Partridge, and Elizabeth Fletcher. These four brave souls worked tirelessly to clean and care for the wounded blacksmith and Ezekiel while cooking and baking to feed all of the men left defending their homes. Tobias and two of the other village men tried to help with these chores as much as possible. There were plenty of food stores, but cooking this much food was a daunting process. The baking went on almost constantly. Mona was also kept busy sewing and repairing clothing that was damaged during the hurried preparations. Elizabeth chose to work beside her wherever she was needed.
This particular morning found Mona and Elizabeth making and kneading dough for twenty loaves of bread. The bread would be baked in the large oven at the Fletcher house five loaves at a time. Twenty more loaves would be started as soon as the first twenty were done. Mona intended to bake and store enough bread to last through the next few days. Elizabeth was excited to help her, not because she loved the hard work, but because it allowed a quiet time for them to talk. Mona was intensely focused on the task at hand, but she too appreciated the time they spent together.
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