Decision at Fletcher's Mill

by David Caringer

  Watson thought through all of this hundreds of times as he hurried relentlessly onward. He intended to ambush any enemy force headed south toward Fletcher’s Mill. This was the most effective use of his men. He knew his company might be greatly outnumbered. He also knew the incredible advantage of surprise when confronting a larger force. Watson meant to use this advantage wisely. He called a halt at midmorning with this in mind.

  They were moving in a loose column with pickets in front and on both flanks. Watson stopped them in a small grove on the western slope of a ridge overlooking a substantial river valley running north and south. He knew this area. He had been to Fletcher’s Mill on several occasions, but these visits were always made at night. Watson usually camped a short distance east of the mill village and waited for darkness to conceal movement in and out of the mill. They were further north now, but the landscape was very familiar. He was certain that the forested valley visible a couple miles away held the bed of the Broad River. That meant that the road from Fish Dam and Rocky Mount was very close.

  Captain Watson called his sergeants together and held a brief council of war. He sent his best scouts to locate the road and search carefully northward for the approach of British forces. He designated the place they currently occupied as a rallying point in case his men became separated during possible enemy contact. Watson was prepared to wait at least a day along this north-south route in an effort to gain tactical advantage over any approaching British force before going on south to Fletcher’s Mill. Marion had dispatched a messenger to the mill when he learned about Cowpens. Watson felt honored that the colonel trusted him enough to lead this endeavor in his place. The company was moving again shortly after the scouts departed. They reached the road less than half an hour later.

  Watson found a likely spot where the east side of the road was overshadowed by a steep embankment. The west side of the road was bordered by heavy bramble thickets and dropped off gradually to where the river flowed quietly in the distance. The ground above the embankment was heavily wooded, but held far less undergrowth and brush than the western side. These features extended over a hundred yards, from a shallow creek bed on the north end, to a place where the road turned sharply west at the south end to avoid a substantial rock outcropping. The men knew what to do without instruction. They participated in many ambushes. Most of them were under cover along the high side of the road within minutes. Ten of the best riflemen took position above the rock pile at the turn in the road from which they would have clear shots straight north all the way to the creek bed.

  A few men collected canteens from their companions and slipped off to fill them at the river. There were no fires. No one slept. The men were so quiet once they were in position that the birds and forest creatures resumed their calls and movements as if no one was there. Two of the scouts appeared less than three hours later. They were winded from running and soaked with sweat. They had located a large British cavalry force moving south in column just north of the Fish Dam Ferry. The column had stopped to close up and apparently send riders across the river to Fish Dam for information. One of the scouts reported that he saw the British resume their movement south as he began his run back with the information. The column couldn’t be more than a half mile distant now. Watson felt no surge of pride in being right about the British and their methods. He knew them so well that he would have been shocked if no column was found.

  Captain Watson personally took a position at the southern end on the rock outcropping above the bend in the road. He had a clear view of everything from this place with his ten picked riflemen. His men knew not to fire until he did. The British would have mounted pickets moving well out in front of the main body. They would try to keep pickets moving through the woods to their flanks to prevent the very thing Watson planned for them. The terrain here wouldn’t allow flankers to keep up with a swiftly moving column. The enemy would sacrifice security for speed with the arrogant belief that they could overwhelm any hostile force and just keep moving. This was a perfect ambush site.

  An inexperienced commander might be tempted to drop a tree across the road to stop the column at the point of contact. The site of a barricade crossing the road would force the British to deploy and ruin the shocking effect of surprise. Watson wouldn’t give up such an important advantage. He would allow the pickets to pass under his position and move around the bend. A smart British sergeant would probably keep one man stationed at the bend to maintain visual contact with the main column until they reached that point. One of Watson’s men would dispatch any such unfortunate observer.

  Minutes passed slowly. They finally saw a group of seven dragoons in loose formation ride up out of the creek bed and continue swiftly down the road in their direction. These were the leading pickets. They were alert as they quickly searched the roadsides for any sign of a rebel presence. Watson and his men were frozen in camouflaged anticipation. A burly old sergeant was in charge of these horsemen. He paused at the bend in the road just under Captain Watson’s position and sent the other men on around the bend. It mildly surprised Watson when the sergeant jumped down from his horse and scrambled quickly up the large pile of rocks, leaving the horse’s reins wrapped loosely around a small sapling. The sergeant clearly intended to gain a better view from the top of the rocks before returning to the horse with the approach of the column.

  It wouldn’t matter. Captain Watson was concealed well. He now watched the main body of the British column moving up out of the creek bed and continuing toward him down the road. There were hundreds of them. He waited until they were all clearly visible on the roadbed, then directed his attention to the officers at the head of the column. Watson was startled to recognize Major Sir Thomas Willoughby, one of the few officers in the Royal Army that he actually respected. Willoughby was riding next to a ramrod-straight lieutenant in the hated uniform of Tarleton’s legion. Two dragoon captains rode further back in the column leading their own men.

  The head of the column was now less than twenty yards away. It was time to act. Watson couldn’t shoot Sir Thomas like this. He had too much respect for the man. The column was getting much closer. It would soon be too late. Watson could feel the expectant stares of the militiamen all around him. It was now or never. Taking another breath and letting it out, he shifted his aim to the lieutenant from Tarleton’s Legion and squeezed the trigger.

  CHAPTER 32

  Billy swam slowly upward toward the faint light. A warm cloying darkness seemed to envelop him on every side. A cool sweet fragrance emanated from the light in the upper distance. He strove to reach it with all his might, but his arms wouldn’t cooperate. The light grew clearer while moving toward him as if in response to his desire. Suddenly, it was accompanied by the musical beauty of an angel’s voice. He couldn’t understand the words at first. He realized then that he was not hearing the voice of an angel, but that of a young woman. The words were common, but still beautiful. He heard, “Aunt Mona, Doctor, it looks like he is waking up.”

  Billy forced his eyes open, and his head swam. The room was dark except for the light of a few candles. He was on his left side on a grand sofa in a well-furnished parlor. His uniform coat, shirt, and trousers were gone. His boots were on the floor at the end of the sofa. He was now wearing a long silken night shirt and was wrapped in a huge hand-sewn quilt. Billy’s eyes slowly focused on the beautiful young woman leaning over him with a bright candle in her left hand. Her right hand held a damp cloth. She had apparently been swabbing his forehead with this object. His mouth felt dry as dust. Billy’s thigh seemed to be on fire. He was trapped and becoming increasingly anxious in the cloying quilt. He struggled to sit up.

  The young woman sat the candle and cloth on a side table. She then placed her hands on his shoulders and gently pushed him back down while uttering soothing words of careful restraint. “Now, now, Lieutenant Morgan, please lie back. You are safe and in good hands here.”

  Her voice sounded like the angel from his dream. He real
ized that the sweet fragrance came from her hair as she leaned over him. Two other faces appeared over her shoulder. One of these belonged to Doctor Bolt. The other was an older, but strikingly beautiful dark-haired woman who said, “Move back, Elizabeth, and let the doctor see to him.”

  The angel responded with, “Yes, Mona dear.” There was a ruffle of skirts as the beautiful fragrance moved away to be replaced with the serious probing visage of the elderly doctor.

  Billy was awake now. He realized that the angel’s name must be Elizabeth. Doctor Bolt felt his forehead and pulled back his eyelids one at a time to peer at the pupils below them. The doctor leaned forward to sniff Billy’s breath and sat back to make notes on a small tablet with the stub of a pencil. He then stood up and pulled the quilt away from Billy’s legs and raised the nightshirt so that he could examine the wound on his thigh. Billy saw Elizabeth’s face flash crimson before she looked away from his heavily bandaged thigh. Mona told the girl to leave the room in a quiet but stern whisper.

  Dr. Bolt undid the bandage slowly and carefully. He examined the stitches and sniffed at the now dried blood and fluid around the wound before standing back up and making more notes on his pad. He and Mona replaced the bandage and covered Billy again with the quilt. Billy ignored the doctor’s protests and sat up on the sofa. Mona moved to pick up the soiled bandages and called Elizabeth to come back in. Billy cleared his parched throat and croaked a question to the doctor about his burning thigh.

  Dr. Bolt sat down in a straight-backed dining chair that was strangely out of place in this room. He thought for a moment. “Young man, I was afraid that your wound was poisoned … infected…. It seemed that I might not have gotten it completely cleaned before I sewed it shut that night.” He now had Billy’s full attention. “You see, if it was poisoned, I couldn’t remove it… The wound…. It is too high on your leg…. If it turned to gangrene … you would have died.”

  Billy silently absorbed that statement. He finally looked up. “Is it … poisoned?” The doctor sat back a little further and showed what could almost be mistaken for a smile. He gestured toward the ladies in the room. “We have been praying for you! No! I don’t think it is infected! I believe you will be quite well in two or three weeks. You will probably have pain in the leg for some time, especially during cold weather. You should be able to return to normal duties within a couple of days if the wound is kept clean and the bandage is changed regularly.”

  Billy’s head swam again briefly. He asked why he felt so sick. Dr. Bolt told him that he believed there was some infection which his body and God’s grace had overcome. The dizziness he now felt was probably caused by the lingering effects of shock and the laudanum he was given for the pain.

  Billy was very thirsty. He was pondering this realization when Elizabeth reentered the room carrying a silver tray with a steaming teapot and several silver cups. He was amazed at her timing. She sat the tray down and poured hot tea into one of the cups before handing it to him with a gracious smile. Billy nodded his gratitude and sipped at the tea too quickly, burning his lips and spilling some of it. He felt a strange embarrassment in front of Elizabeth and looked down as he tried to wipe his chin with his forearm. She leaned forward and gently caressed his cheek as she cleaned his chin with the damp cloth she used on his forehead earlier.

  The effect on Billy was as overwhelming as it was immediate. He somehow stammered a weak “Thank you” and again tried to sip the hot tea. Honey was mixed with it. He felt like he was in paradise in the presence of this beautiful girl sipping hot sweet tea. The events of the past weeks seemed very distant right now. So many dramatic changes had occurred in his life. So many things had happened. It all seemed distant, fantastic, surreal when considered from this beautiful place.

  Reality came shrieking back to Billy with the tormented cry of another wounded man at the other side of the parlor. The man seemed semiconscious as he struggled to find the missing portion of his lower left leg. The doctor called for his assistant and moved quickly to restrain and quiet the man. Billy saw that there were several other wounded men lying on the floor in the room. One of them was his friend Silas who lay awake staring at Billy from several feet away.

  Silas was positioned flat on the floor with his head propped slightly, allowing him to observe Billy on the sofa. When he realized that Billy saw him, he smiled broadly and tried to speak. This brought a low cough and a look of deep agony to his face. Billy sat the teacup down while attempting to move off the sofa to his friend’s side. His head spun again and he nearly fell forward before Elizabeth caught him and eased him back down. He finally managed to say, “Easy, Silas. Don’t try to talk!” Billy took several quick breaths as he settled back onto his side.

  Elizabeth noted the looks exchanged between them and perceived that Lieutenant Morgan and the other injured man were close friends. Mona had left the room to tend to Ezekiel and to help Mrs. Phillips with the wounded men who were taken upstairs. Elizabeth stayed in the parlor and listened a moment longer before going upstairs to find Mona. Dr. Bolt and his assistant managed to quiet the crying soldier and moved on to other patients in this makeshift hospital. The room returned to deep quiet.

  Silas took a careful labored breath and managed to whisper, “Well, Billy … I understand that I should be thanking you … sir.”

  The smile was painfully strained but very genuine. Billy smiled back sheepishly and said, “You must have heard something about what happened since the battle then….”

  Silas whispered, “Yes. I’ve learned some fantastic things about a young man I know from Sergeant Duncan and some of the others.” Billy said nothing. “Seems you really are kin to Daniel Morgan…?”

  Billy hung his head in refreshed shame. “I’m so sorry about all that, Silas! I don’t know what comes over me sometimes….”

  Silas gasped and coughed before sternly whispering, “Hush that talk now, Billy … I mean Lieutenant. I understand the others finally saw you for who and what you are!”

  Billy gasped, “You mean a low-down lyin’ bumpkin?”

  Silas nearly sat up at this. The result was an angry fit of coughing that brought immediate panic and regret to his young friend. He finally managed to whisper, “No. That’s not what I mean, Billy! The general and all those other men saw the courage and character of the real you that day! I don’t care what you think. I understand General Morgan promoted you on the spot for what you done that day. You know he wouldn’t a done that if he hadn’t seen more in you than what you see in yourself!”

  Billy remained silent. Silas paused for several minutes before he went on. “Seems you proved him right after all, Lieutenant … I mean we’re here, ain’t we? This is the place you was supposed to get us to, right?”

  Billy looked up to see Silas smiling again. He nodded slowly. “Well, yes. I guess this is apparently Fletcher’s Mill, although I haven’t seen anything other than the inside of this room.”

  Silas leaned his head back and whispered again, “I been talkin’ with Duncan and that other sergeant, Strickland, this afternoon. They was both in here to check on you a couple hours ago. Seems like you succeeded on your mission better than even they expected. They’re both really impressed with you, Billy. Turns out that the owner of this place, Reverend Fletcher, and a militia captain named Robertson have been pushing all the men here to get ready for some kind of British attack. They think we’ve been followed or something. Anyway, they expect that the lobsters know this place has been used for storing contraband and weapons and they’ll come here to take it or destroy it.”

  Billy took this in with growing alarm. Silas stopped talking and seemed to have drifted off into fitful sleep. Time seemed to stand still for Billy as he thought about what Silas said. He struggled to sit back up. He wanted to know where his uniform was, but there was no one to ask. He thought about calling out, but he didn’t want to wake Silas or the other men in the room. Pulling the quilt around himself, he rolled back up into a seated position. The dizziness
had mostly abated. He found that he was able to sit up straight. He waited several seconds before leaning forward and forcing himself to stand.

  The front door of the house opened at that moment. Billy heard a couple of men with booted feet enter. He was still lightheaded, and he didn’t know whether to try and remain standing or fall back onto the sofa. He desperately wanted to recover his clothing and go look for Strickland or Duncan to learn what was happening. As it was, he just stood there wavering. The new visitors came into the parlor a few seconds later and stood staring at the quilt-wrapped apparition in front of the sofa. One of these was Captain Robertson of the South Carolina Provisional Militia. The other was Reverend Ira Fletcher.

  CHAPTER 33

  It was night again. Throckmorton and Crispin remained hidden through the daylight hours. They were terrified of recapture for different reasons. Crispin knew that a hangman’s noose or firing squad awaited him if the British found him. Throckmorton was still stinging from the vicious treatment of his earlier Tory militia captors. He couldn’t bear the thought of a British prison hulk in Charleston harbor. Both understood that their problems could be overcome with the wealth they believed existed at Fletcher’s Mill. Neither had any clear idea how to seize that wealth from its current owner. They both saw an opportunity and they intended to pursue it.

  The air turned bitterly cold again with nightfall. They scurried along the edge of the road in the darkness hoping to reach shelter in a house or barn. They were afraid they would blunder into the rear guard or the night camp perimeter pickets of Willoughby’s cavalry force from Rocky Mount. Neither man really trusted the other. They were learning more about each other as they talked and argued in whispered tones along the road. Their lives were incredibly similar, yet dynamically different. They were stuck together in this questionable partnership through immediate need and bizarre circumstance.