Willoughby silenced the artillery officer with a glare as he reached the half-buried gun trucks. The mules were struggling and blowing great puffs of steam as they were whipped to a frenzy trying to pull the guns forward. Willoughby knew instantly what he must do. He would leave the lieutenant and his guns behind. The trucks and caissons were indeed submerged to the axles. It looked like they sank deeper with every inch gained forward. The animals were clearly exhausted. The column would be easy to follow if the artillerymen managed to get them onto more solid ground. The infantrymen were leaving a trail that was unmistakable. The artillery would catch up when it could. Besides, the guns might not even be needed at Fletcher’s Mill.
CHAPTER 40
Lieutenant Billy Morgan slowly limped up the muddy hillside alone after touring the town’s defenses with Sergeant Duncan. The pain in his thigh was once again excruciating. He neared the front of the Fletcher house to find Elizabeth vigorously sweeping the front porch. The angry expression on her face was nothing like the angelic look he witnessed earlier. Her actions seemed to indicate that she was working out her frustrations on the defenseless broom. This changed abruptly when she noticed him struggling up the steps with his makeshift crutches. The broom disappeared and she was at his side in moments.
Billy could have made it up the steps without help, but he appreciated the assistance from Elizabeth. He felt a strange lightheaded moment as she wrapped her arm around his waist and pushed her shoulder under his arm to offer support. They made it up the steps too quickly in his opinion. They paused for a moment in this strange embrace before Elizabeth helped him over to one of the porch chairs. The smell of her hair forced a smile from him as she helped him sit down.
The porch was protected and the chairs were dry, but it was still cold and damp outside. Billy didn’t want to go into the warm house. It smelled like a hospital now despite the intense effort to keep it clean applied by Mona, Mrs. Phillips, and Elizabeth. He was mildly surprised when Elizabeth sat down in the chair next to his. He asked her, “Miss Fletcher, you seemed quite upset when I walked up just now. Is something wrong?”
Elizabeth sat with her hands folded on her lap for a moment before glancing at him sidelong. “No. Nothing is wrong. I was upset … a little, but it isn’t your concern, Lieutenant.”
Billy smiled. “Well, I’m glad to hear that! I was afraid for a moment you were either angry with me, the porch, or the broom!”
Elizabeth looked up and rewarded him with a brief dazzling smile before looking back down again. “I was a little upset with my aunt Mona. Well, she isn’t really my aunt…. She was my grandma’s best friend. She knew my mother and father. They all died when I was a baby. Grandpa Ira and Ezekiel raised me with Aunt Mona’s help. I love all three of them dearly. I never knew any folks other than them. They just make me so mad sometimes….” She trailed off and Billy waited. She finally continued, “Aunt Mona just gave me a harsh tongue lashing over sitting in the parlor with you earlier.” Her head was lowered, but Billy saw a single tear appear on her cheek and roll down to her chin.
Billy found himself growing angry at the very idea that someone could do anything to cause this beautiful girl to cry. She looked up in time to see the sentiment cross his face. She blurted, “No, please, don’t be upset about me and Aunt Mona. She loves me and wants the best for me. So does Grandpa. Mona is the only one who really understands me. I mean … I’m no longer a child. Aunt Mona understands that. Sometimes Ezekiel does too. Most of the time Grandpa still sees me as a little girl.” Billy was shocked. How could anyone think of this beautiful young woman as a little girl? He sat back in the chair to gaze out across the yard toward the mill village. Neither of them spoke. It seemed best to silently enjoy one another’s presence until the cold finally became undeniable and they both stood.
They heard distant shouts then and saw several men moving up the hill toward them. Billy stepped away from the chair on his crutches when he recognized Reverend Fletcher striding up the road in front of a small group of soldiers. These men looked like they were half dragging someone wearing what appeared to be a British cavalry uniform. Elizabeth fled into the house when she saw the look on her grandpa’s face. Ira Fletcher stomped up the steps at the front of his home and pushed past Billy to stand in the center of his porch facing the other approaching men. More soldiers were moving toward the house from both the mill and the village.
Billy saw Captain Robertson and another apparent militia officer walking at the head of a larger group coming up the road now from the village. This column halted on the road in front of the house and faced to the left toward the front porch three ranks deep. He counted about eighty men. All of them were strangers to him, but he could see immediately that they were veteran militia. They all carried long rifles and wore cartridge belts and powder horns. Several of them had long knives and tomahawks shoved into their belts. However, it wasn’t the military equipment that impressed Billy. It was the look in the men’s eyes.
The smaller group dragged the man in the British uniform up onto the yard in front of the porch and shoved him face first onto the ground. The man’s wrists were tied behind his back, and he lay nearly motionless for several seconds. No one said anything as he lay there panting. Captain Robertson and the other officer moved quietly forward toward the porch and were now standing immediately behind the prostrate prisoner looking up at Reverend Fletcher expectantly. Billy found himself involuntarily backing away from the top of the steps as if he wasn’t worthy to occupy the same space with Mr. Fletcher right now. There was something about the old man that held him in awe.
Billy didn’t know if it was Fletcher’s ramrod straight stature, the fiery anger displayed on his face, or the awful silence of the moment. He knew something profound was happening, but had no idea what it was all about. The cold damp breeze continued to whip the loose clothing of the men standing in the yard, but no one seemed to notice. Finally, the silence was broken by Reverend Fletcher’s resounding voice as he shouted, “Stand him up!” Two militiamen stepped forward to grasp the prisoner at his elbows and yank him to his feet.
Through the mud and grime on the British soldier’s face, Billy saw something that he didn’t expect. It wasn’t the defiant look of a captured enemy. No. It was stark, unabated terror. This man recognized Reverend Fletcher. It was now clear that Reverend Fletcher also recognized him. The Englishman’s eyes darted about furtively as if they were searching for any kind of hope in his surroundings or the men standing near him. He found nothing to reassure himself, and his gaze was drawn inexorably back to Reverend Fletcher towering above him in the center of the porch.
Fletcher stared silently down at the man. He then moved a half step forward and began to speak in a strangely quiet but unmistakably authoritative voice. “Captain Crispin. I cannot imagine what must have influenced you to return this place.” Billy was confused. The man was dressed in what still appeared to be most of a cavalry private’s uniform. The Englishman opened his mouth but said nothing. Reverend Fletcher raised his voice as he continued, “Whatever brought you back here, sir, I thank my God that you have returned to face justice for what you have done!” The man seemed to flinch backward slightly as he heard these words. Fletcher continued remorselessly, “You will answer for the murder of Peter Johansen, sir! Yes! That was the name of the innocent young man you brutally killed!” Fletcher was shouting as he spoke these last words. His voice carried into the house. Billy noticed when Elizabeth and Mona came quietly out onto the porch to stand behind Ira.
Reverend Fletcher now shouted to the militiamen approaching the yard from the front of the mill. “You there! Go to the mill and fetch a stout rope!” The men stopped walking and looked expectantly at Ira, then toward Captain Robertson. The latter stepped forward and raised both hands toward Ira as he began to speak in a firm but consoling voice. “Reverend Fletcher, I will remind you that this man is my prisoner. Yes, he escaped, but he has been recaptured. No matter what happened during his escape,
our actions here must be subject to the rules we abide by as civilized men. The murder of young Mr. Johansen should be answered for, but I will not countenance your execution of my prisoner without a trial!”
Reverend Fletcher appeared to have been physically struck. Billy hobbled forward as Fletcher turned his fiery gaze toward Robertson. Fletcher gasped and pounded his silver headed cane resoundingly on the porch floor as he shouted, “How dare you interrupt me, sir?” He started to move down the first steps toward the captain as he spoke. Two of the militiamen stepped in front of their officer and raised their riffles in a menacing fashion. Mona now bounded forward and grasped Ira by the arm from behind, uttering quiet words into his ear. Billy grasped the old man by the other arm.
Billy felt the tension slowly ease as he and Mona turned Ira around and started back up the steps with him. Captain Robertson and the other officer followed them up onto the porch. Ira stood silently between Billy and Mona as Robertson introduced the other man to him as Captain Watson. Ira nodded but didn’t speak. The militiamen remained in the yard before the porch waiting silently for whatever would happen next. Elizabeth opened the front door of the house, apparently expecting her grandfather and the others to move their conversation inside. No one else moved.
Finally, Captain Robertson spoke. “Reverend Fletcher, I understand your anger. I understand the need for swift justice. But justice isn’t true or real if a man can be executed without being allowed to defend himself.” When there was no response, he continued, “We think we know what happened to the Johansen boy, but we don’t really know….” Ira was looking down at his feet now. The rage had dissipated. He felt completely deflated, old, and useless. He realized in this moment that he had been acting like a fool when these people needed him to display the wisdom seven decades should have earned. He couldn’t fight back the moisture welling in his eyes when he looked back up at Robertson.
“Yes. You are quite correct, young man. We all deserve the right to defend ourselves. I believe that is one of the things you are fighting for in this outlandish war of rebellion. It would seem that hanging this person….” He nodded his head toward Crispin. “Executing a man without a proper trial would indeed be evil…. After all, we can’t behave as his kind do when the boot is on the other foot so to speak….” Robertson nodded and smiled as he realized the danger had passed. He and Captain Watson stepped away and conferred quietly for several seconds before Watson walked briskly down the steps, past the bewildered Crispin, and rejoined his men on the road.
Captain Robertson walked back over to Ira who was still standing between Billy and Mona. “Reverend Fletcher,” he said, “we intend to secure the prisoner again in your storeroom. With your permission, we will convene a trial tomorrow at noon. We ask you to act as judge, since you are the logical civil authority here. I will prosecute the case against the prisoner, and Captain Watson will attempt to defend him. We will have Lieutenant Morgan and all of our sergeants sit as a jury. If the evidence shows that he is indeed guilty of murder, we will carry out whatever sentence you deem fitting.
Ira nodded without speaking. Captain Robertson spun on his heel and strode down the steps to escort Captain Crispin back to the same storeroom he had occupied so many days ago. Ira went on into the house. He was followed by Mona and Elizabeth. Sergeants Strickland and Duncan joined Billy on the porch with inquisitive looks regarding the events of the past several minutes. Most of the troops in front of the house moved on to other duties a few minutes later. Billy and his two sergeants sat down on the porch chairs in quiet conversation.
Sergeant Strickland suddenly leapt to his feet gasping in startled awe as he said, “My eyes see it, but it can’t be so….”
Billy asked, “What has come over you, Strickland?” Duncan was standing now too. He gasped as he pointed toward the village road. Billy stood up to look in the direction Duncan was pointing. His mind initially failed to grasp what he could clearly see. When it did, he struggled to marshal his own growing fury. There, coming up from the village on a horse that looked too good for him, was the filthy but fully uniformed Major Theodore Throckmorton.
CHAPTER 41
Major Willoughby consolidated his troops on the east flank of a heavily wooded hillside. They were off the Camden Road several hundred paces. He posted pickets near the road with instructions to quietly apprehend any travelers in either direction and bring them into the camp for interrogation. Willoughby and his men were exhausted. The weather was brutally wet and cold, but he knew their fatigue was more about the constant state of alert vigilance along the way than the rigors of the march itself.
The artillery finally caught up with the main body after a harrowing struggle through the mud and broken terrain between here and Camden. The young artillery lieutenant reported that one of the gun carriages was damaged. Two spokes had cracked on one of the heavy wheels as the troops manhandled it through a place where it was buried axle-deep. It was a miracle that they managed to drag it this far at all. It would not be useable until the wheel was repaired or replaced. The lieutenant explained that they had no replacement wheel, and there was no way to adequately repair the damaged spokes.
The lieutenant then displayed great initiative as he suggested that the wheels of the gun caissons were the same diameter, and the caisson axles were the same size as those of the guns. The caisson wheels where marginally lighter than those of the gun carriages, but still, they were designed to carry very heavy loads of powder and shot to feed the guns. He believed that they could transfer enough powder and shot onto the other caisson to be able to supply the guns adequately for a full day’s engagement if needed.
The artillerymen could unload the contents of the useable caisson when they established their firing point near the objective. They could then send it back to retrieve the supplies they had left behind. He wanted Willoughby’s permission to replace both wheels on the damaged gun carriage with these caisson wheels. Major Willoughby wanted both guns brought forward if he was going to use them at all. He was encouraged by the young man’s confidence and a little curious regarding the ingenuity of the artillery crews. He consented immediately, and the lieutenant moved quickly away to begin shouting orders to his men.
Major Willoughby thought through this mission several times during the difficult journey from Camden. The anger and self-recrimination eased with time regarding the river road ambush. He was now intently focused on resolving the issue of Fletcher’s Mill peacefully if possible. He would use overwhelming force if necessary, and the artillery seemed even more important to that end. He hoped force wouldn’t be needed, though. Willoughby still couldn’t imagine that Reverend Fletcher would betray his king and native country. The old man was not a noble by birth, but his astounding personal wealth made that circumstance largely irrelevant. Fletcher was also a man of the cloth. Shouldn’t that effect his sense of loyalty? Willoughby couldn’t imagine anyone risking such a vast estate on this ridiculous rebellion.
Major Willoughby and Captain Jones decided to remain encamped in this place for at least a full day so that their men could rest and prepare themselves for whatever awaited them at their objective. Willoughby, on the other hand, would not remain idle. He realized that he might be able to complete the mission in a totally satisfactory manner without bringing this large force close to the mill. He would send a small group of infantry scouts forward to look for any signs of hostility. He would follow them with a small group of cavalry escorts and carefully reconnoiter the mill surroundings. They would quietly and carefully observe the mill and village looking for signs of rebel activity.
Willoughby was an experienced professional soldier. He would have done a careful personal reconnaissance of this type objective anyway, even if his sole purpose was to attack and destroy it. He remained hopeful that he would see nothing untoward in the vicinity. He was increasingly optimistic that he would be able to ride into Fletcher’s Mill with a small escort to question the Fletchers and put this whole thing to rest without bl
oodshed. He was still painfully aware that his professional reputation was at stake.
The three infantry scouts, led by an older sergeant, listened carefully to his instructions and asked some sensible questions. This didn’t anger Major Willoughby as it would many other officers. The effect on him was quite the opposite and gave him heightened confidence in the men’s professional ability. The questions were answered, and final quick preparations were made. The scouts quietly left the encampment perimeter and spread out through the woods as they silently headed toward Fletcher’s Mill.
Major Willoughby put Captain Jones in charge during his absence with carefully worded instructions. He and his escort rode out of camp an hour later. He arranged a rally point with the scout sergeant before the man left. Willoughby would move along the side of the road so that the horses could avoid the thick underbrush of the forest. They would halt within a mile of the mill and wait for the sergeant to report to him there. He would have a much clearer picture from the scouting report. He then intended to move carefully closer so that he could make a personal observation to confirm the hoped-for tranquility of the place, before riding down the road and into the village.
Willoughby and his escorts travelled the two miles carefully. They saw no one on the road and reached what he thought to be the agreed-upon rally point without incident. Everything was very quiet. The weather improved, and the sun seemed like it was trying to break through the clouds. The wind died to a slight whispering breeze, and he realized with almost a start that the rain had completely ceased. His clothing was feeling dryer than it had in days. Willoughby dismounted to wait for the sergeant’s report. The six escorting dragoons remained in their saddles at nervous alert. They waited an hour. Nothing happened. They waited two more hours. Still nothing happened.
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