Liberty 1784: The Second War for Independence

by Robert Conroy

  Fitzroy laughed. “Thank you for your perceptive observation. You’re right. At least we are both warm and dry. Now, is there anything of note in that pile of rubbish?”

  “Nothing of importance, but one item that is mildly interesting. It seems we are to be honored by the presence of one Erich von Bamberg, a colonel in the army of the Kingdom of Hesse.”

  “I thought Hesse was a duchy. One of a hundred or so making up that chaotic mess called Germany.”

  “I don’t know and I don’t rightly care,” said Danforth. “It can be a caliphate run by fucking Hindus for all that it matters to me.”

  Fitzroy told him the Moslems had caliphates, not the Hindus and received an insulting sound for his efforts. He checked the clock on the table. It was almost time for him to be able to stop working without getting anyone upset at his leaving early, especially since Burgoyne, Tarleton, and Grant, were elsewhere. “And why is the Caliph of Hesse descending on us?”

  “He has been sent to capture soldiers from Hesse and the other German states who have deserted and who have been reported to be with the rebels at Fort Washington. Apparently their collective Germanic majesties are insulted by such treasons. They are further upset because they no longer have the soldiers to hire out to the highest bidder.”

  “I wish Herr Bamberg well,” Fitzroy said insincerely. Like most Britons, he thought little of the innumerable petty German princelings. They were almost as bad as the countless minor royalty in India. He sniffed the air. A pungent smell assailed his nose. Burning wood and burning meat? “What the devil is that?”

  At that instant, an alarm bell began to clang and the two men grabbed their coats and ran outdoors. A fire was burning on the second floor of a barn a little ways off. As they watched in horror, flames erupted and the wind began to whip burning ashes through the air.

  “This is going to be bad,” Danforth said grimly. A dozen small fires were already beginning on the tightly clustered wooden roofs. With fire suddenly everywhere, people were running around in a panic.

  Fitzroy grabbed Danforth’s arm. “Run back in, grab what you can of our sacred papers, and then run like the devil for the eastern gate. This whole bloody town is going to go up in smoke.”

  The two men ran in and in only a few moments were outside with important papers stuffed into bags and anything else that would hold them. Others in the offices were doing the same thing. The roof of the headquarters was smoldering and a half dozen other buildings were in flames. The barn where the fire apparently began was a raging inferno. Fitzroy thought he could smell burning flesh. It had to be a horse or cow, he thought. It couldn’t be human, could it?

  “Get out of the stockade immediately,” Fitzroy ordered as loudly as he could, and the others ran to comply, joining a rapidly growing exodus from inside the walls of Detroit.

  More and more flaming ashes were falling and Fitzroy needed no further urging to depart. A swirling downdraft covered him with embers. The smoke blinded him and made him cough. He staggered through the fort’s gate and out into the open air. In front of him, a soldier was on fire. He hurled himself into a muddy puddle and rolled over to put it out, cursing, crying, and terrified, but not badly hurt.

  Fitzroy checked himself over and saw that his uniform was singed, but not burning. The back of his left hand was red and blistering from a falling ember, but he was otherwise unharmed. More and more people thronged out and gathered in the fields outside Detroit. They stood in shock as the cramped wooden buildings of Detroit were devoured by flames.

  By the river, Fitzroy saw Benedict Arnold leading soldiers as they frantically pushed the precious barges into the water. A couple of the raw wooden craft were on fire and workmen were frantically trying to put out the flames with buckets of water drawn from the river. All around, British soldiers were striking their tents so the ashes wouldn’t land on the canvas and set them aflame as well. Winter was nearly on them and they would need the tents to survive. Fitzroy continued to move farther away from the fire. Finally, he was out of the smoke and falling ash. He took several deep breaths and his lungs began to clear.

  A filthy and demoralized Danforth appeared beside him. “Bloody hell,” Danforth said. “If this is sabotage, someone will hang for it.”

  Fitzroy watched as the flames consumed precious supplies and material. Barrels of gunpowder exploded while hundreds of soldiers continued to run or mill about in confusion and panic. The British Army had been routed by fire, an enemy far more fearsome than the rebels. “This is as bad as a defeat on the battlefield.”

  “Indeed,” said General Burgoyne as he approached the two men who snapped to attention. The general’s uniform was likewise filthy from soot. His face was set in anger. “Fitzroy, I want you to find out just what the devil happened.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “You will do that while the rest of us assess our losses and try to recoup them. It does look like General Arnold managed to save at least some of the barges, although at least several hundred of us will need a place to sleep tonight.”

  For a guilty moment, Fitzroy wondered just how Hannah Van Doorn had fared. He’d been too busy to think about her. Then he realized that the wind that had fed the fire had come from the west and that the rooms they shared were in a warehouse outside the stockade and to the west. With just a little luck, both she and their quarters were safe. It would be ironic if he had a bed tonight, while General Burgoyne did not. Then he realized that beds and cabins could be rebuilt. If anything had happened to Hannah, he’d be deeply saddened.

  * * *

  Across the river, Will and Owen continued to watch and to plan. Dozens of others had gathered on the Canadian riverfront and were watching the fire with morbid fascination. Despite the size of the blaze, they were safe, even though it appeared that the fire would rage for some time before running out of fuel.

  “We should leave, Major,” said Owen.

  “Not yet,” Will replied softly. “We’ll wait until tonight. If we leave now, it’ll look suspicious. Tonight we can take a couple of Leduc’s horses, pick up our men, send the horses in a wrong direction, and be miles away before anyone realizes it. Besides, we should watch and assess the damage.”

  Owen nodded. “I wonder how the hell they’re going to catch those barges?” Several were drifting downstream and didn’t have anyone on board. “Maybe we could find one or two and set them on fire as well.”

  Will conceded that it wasn’t a bad idea since they would have to go downriver to cross in the first place. Of course the odds of them finding even one of the barges were incredibly small, but it was a thought. More important, however, was the need to report to General Tallmadge at Fort Washington.

  * * *

  “Have you slept with Will Drake?” Faith asked her cousin as they sat in Benjamin Franklin’s small office. Franklin was out on business of Congress, and Winifred Haskill was sleeping in another room.

  “That’s quite a question,” Sarah Benton answered, “but the answer is no.”

  “Are you going to?”

  “Perhaps, but not until he returns from his journey,” she answered facetiously. “And why the questions? Are you sleeping with Owen? Or are you and he just having a little fun with each other?”

  Faith grinned. Young women of her age and situation frequently did not have actual intercourse because of fear of premarital pregnancy. This would lead to being ostracized among a host of other problems, which included having to raise a bastard child. Still, many young women saw nothing wrong with mutually exploring each other’s bodies and otherwise enjoying themselves with boys they liked. Just don’t do anything that would cause a pregnancy, was the unwritten rule.

  “No I haven’t either, although I might when he comes back, too. You’re right. It’s a little difficult to manage right now.” Faith sighed. “And why I asked the question is because I’m afraid he might not want me after all that happened to me.”

  “Does he know?”

  “Yes. I told him.�
��

  Sarah did not think that was such a wonderful idea. After all, she had no intention of telling Will, or anyone else for that matter, about any previous young men with whom she’d had any sexual activity. He knew she’d been what she considered as married to Tom, but anything else was best buried in the past. But the damage to Faith, if any, was done. “And did he run away in fear?”

  “Well, he did go to Detroit.”

  Sarah laughed. “I believe he was ordered to do so. Did he indicate that he would call on you when he came back?”

  “Yes.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. Her cousin was such a silly little twit at times. “Then wait for him and, when he does return, rush up to him and embrace him and suffocate him with affection and passion. That way he won’t have a chance to think, especially with your ample breasts pressed against him.”

  Now it was Faith’s turn to smile, and she did so wickedly. “Is that what you’re going to do with Will?”

  “I may,” Sarah replied impishly, “I just may.”

  The door to the other room opened and Winifred entered, walking hesitantly. She was eating well and had gained some weight, but her face was still gaunt and many bruises remained, as did the terrible scar in her scalp. The fever was gone and she was more and more up and about, although walking with a serious limp.

  “Are you feeling sorry for yourself, Faith?” Winifred asked.

  “I suppose I am,” Faith answered. “Aren’t I entitled?”

  Winifred looked at her coldly. “You consider that you were raped, don’t you?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  “And so was I,” Winifred said, “Raped by any number of men and then sodomized and then beaten and left for dead on a burning pyre made out of my own family. Yet I am trying to put that behind me to the extent that it’s possible and get on with what I can salvage of my life, so please don’t ask me to pity you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Faith said softly. Winifred’s horrors made hers seem irrelevant. It was also apparent that the very young Winifred was very intelligent and articulate.

  “Are you sure you wish to talk about this?” Sarah said to Winifred.

  There was anger and strength in the young girl’s voice and a cold fire in her eyes. “Oh yes. I want to keep reminding myself so that I can feel good about killing the British when the time comes. And yes, I know it wasn’t British soldiers who hurt me, but it was men whom the British hired and paid. Now, Faith, do you have any idea what a young boy like Owen might have endured in the Royal Navy?”

  Faith shifted nervously. “He’s hinted at some terrible things before he grew strong enough to defend himself.”

  “My father was a sailor and what others did to him at night in the bowels of the ship are part of the reason he too deserted and we settled so far away from the sea. The captains and admirals say it doesn’t happen, but it does. They punish sailors when they are caught, but first they have to be caught, don’t they? Such sodomy as occurs in Royal Navy ships is a crime against God and man, yet it happens and little is done to stop it.”

  “Your father told you?” Sarah said in astonishment that such a young girl could know so much.

  “No, he told my mother and she told me so I could better understand his moods and his raging angers. We came out here to reject the world and find peace through God. Instead, I find that we cannot reject the world, and that there is no peace.” She laughed harshly. “I often wonder if there even is a God.”

  “You said you would kill British, Winifred, just how do you intend to do this?” Sarah asked. “You will not be given a rifle, not even one of Mr. Franklin’s new ones.” She didn’t need to add that someone as small as Winifred would not be able fire a musket, much less withstand its recoil.

  Winifred glared at her. “I have no idea, but I will do it.”

  The other door opened and Benjamin Franklin walked in. “Well, how wonderful to see all my lovely and favorite young ladies happily conversing together. I trust you are all having a pleasant afternoon?”

  “We are indeed,” Sarah said, and the other two nodded, forced smiles on their faces.

  * * *

  Burgoyne now lived in a tent with sod walls and planking for a floor and with as much of his personal baggage as had been rescued. As an old campaigner, he’d lived in far worse, as had most of the other senior officers. Only Tarleton complained about his new living quarters. Arnold said nothing. This was trivial in comparison to what he’d endured commanding American rebels en route to Canada with an army in what some called an epic march. He often wondered where he’d be if his march had resulted in a rebel victory instead of disaster.

  To Fitzroy’s relief, there had been no attempt to evict either him or Hannah from their quarters which the fire had spared. As Fitzroy had suspected and hoped, the wind had spared virtually everything to the west of Detroit while destroying much of what lay to the east. Nor had Burgoyne made any attempt to move himself and his staff into the tiny fort, much to the relief of Colonel De Peyster and the garrison.

  “I assume you have disturbed me here in my palace because you have something of substance to report?” Burgoyne said with an attempt at humor. He could have commandeered one of the several surviving buildings for his use, but hadn’t. The hundreds who were still trying to find someplace warm and dry appreciated the gesture.

  “You may begin, Major.”

  Fitzroy coughed and began. “First, sir, the confirmed death toll stands at only eleven, although several of the more seriously burned and injured may yet succumb. The fact that the fire had raged during daylight hours meant that few were asleep in their beds.”

  “A small blessing,” said Burgoyne.

  “One person drowned after jumping in the river, another had apparent heart failure, while the remainder were burned to death in the fire or died shortly afterwards. At least a hundred were injured, although most of the injuries were minor and many of the men have already returned to duty.”

  “And the missing?”

  “Fourteen, and I think at least some of them have taken the opportunity to desert. I’m sure they hope we will think their bodies were destroyed in the fire, and, God only knows, they may be right. However, several of the so-called missing were considered malcontents and troublemakers by their commanding officers, which makes me doubt the likelihood of their heroic deaths.”

  Burgoyne chuckled wryly. “I’m surprised the number of missing is so low, but then, the disaster did strike before much planning could be done by any potential deserters. Now, you’ve had three days, have you isolated the cause?”

  “Perhaps, although I’m not certain we’ll ever know definitely.”

  Burgoyne gestured impatiently for him to continue. “Then tell me what you think you know.”

  “Sir, we’ve isolated the cause of the fire, or, more precisely, where it started. It began in a barn near the western gate and spread like wildfire throughout the buildings of the town, missing, however, Fort Lernoult. It was fanned by a west-blowing wind that, while it destroyed everything to the east of that barn, did not destroy anything to the west of it, nor did it destroy the barn in total.

  “Inside the remains of the barn, we found three dead bodies.” Fitzroy paused. The memory of the horribly charred corpses sickened him and he felt slightly nauseous.

  “Get it over with, Major,” Burgoyne said sympathetically.

  Fitzroy took a deep breath. “Yes sir. The barn was owned by a man named Brownell who wasn’t there at the time of the fire. He’d gone for a meal and left the barn in the care of a friend named Leduc who was accompanied by two laborers. This was not unusual as Leduc and Brownell had known each other for years. Leduc owns a farm across the river.”

  “So Leduc and his companions were the corpses. But that doesn’t tell us how it started.”

  “Sir, they were not the three bodies, at least not all of them. Brownell identified Leduc’s remains based on a missing finger on his left hand. The other two bodi
es were those of British soldiers.”

  Burgoyne sat erect. “What!”

  “Through slightly melted brass buttons and belt buckles, I identified them as grenadiers, and two grenadiers, a sergeant and a corporal, are among the missing. They had been sent into town to buy forage for an officer’s horse, and Brownell’s was one place they were to try. Oh yes, there was a bayonet in the stomach of Leduc’s body, which implies some kind of struggle.”

  Again Fitzroy fought the horrible memory of having to move the remains to try to ascertain their identity and cause of death. When I die, he thought, let it be quickly and not in a fire. He had no idea whether the men had been alive or dead when the fire consumed them and shuddered at the thought of burning alive. He recalled the horror of Braxton’s face and shuddered again.

  “I then took a boat across the river to Leduc’s farm. I know I crossed into Haldimand’s Canadian territory, but I decided that a casual and unauthorized visit wouldn’t upset Haldimand, even if he were to find out about it.”

  “Which he won’t, damn him,” Burgoyne rose and began to pace in the confines of the tent. “You were prudent in not asking my permission, which I might have had to deny, and you did well to handle it informally. What did you find?”

  “No sign of Leduc, which confirmed that his was the body we thought, and nothing of the two laborers seen with him in Detroit. However, a neighbor said he saw them coming back from Detroit just about the time the fire started. The neighbor said he’d heard horses sometime after midnight. No, he didn’t go to inspect.”

  “Conclusions, Major.”

  “It’s possible the fire was an accident, or even the result of some kind of brawl between the two grenadiers and Leduc and his companions, which would account for the bayonet. However, I believe that sabotage is the most likely cause. In my opinion, Leduc was either a rebel sympathizer or a spy and that the two men came from Fort Washington. Leduc’s neighbors said he frequently mentioned how he detested us British. Whether they came to destroy Detroit, or whether it was an opportunity that arose, we’ll never know. I regret that I cannot give you anything more definite, but that will have to wait until and if we have those two men in custody. However, I consider that prospect most unlikely as they are doubtless many miles away from here.”