“Danforth, did you do that, scare those silly birds away?”
Danforth held on to his steed’s mane. He was not a good rider. “Not that I’m aware of. I rather thought my boyish good looks would have charmed them, not frightened them.”
They pulled up in front of the inn. Their weapons were in their arms and half-cocked, ready to be quickly fully cocked and fired. Fitzroy signaled for two of the soldiers to go around back and for two more to check out the barn. He dismounted and, along with Fitzroy and the other two soldiers, entered the tavern. Two local men were supposed to own the place and they might have hired hands to help them.
Of course the place was empty. Fitzroy cursed roundly. There was evidence that the owner’s departure had been hasty as a small fire still burned in the fireplace and a pot of stew was simmering above it.
“Barn’s empty, sir,” the corporal reported. “And no one’s come out the back. There are tracks. They left on horseback. Do you want us to follow them?”
Fitzroy considered it briefly and discarded the idea. His men were not woodsmen or trackers and didn’t even know who they were looking for. Worse, even though they were cavalrymen they were riding horses that couldn’t catch a dead man. It had begun to snow again, and the tracks they saw would disappear shortly, and they couldn’t go arresting just anyone they might catch up with. Bloody Tarleton might do that, but Fitzroy felt he had to have at least have some suspicions before acting. Of course, the tavern’s owners’ flight was highly suspicious behavior, which meant their adventure had paid off at least a little bit by scaring off suspicious characters.
“Thank you, no, Corporal. Bring your men in and warm and feed yourselves. You’ve done a good day’s work.”
The soldiers grinned and began to help themselves to the abandoned food.
Danforth emerged from a back room. His expression was grim. “I think you should look at this.”
Fitzroy followed him into what was obviously an office. There was a desk made out of planking and papers were scattered all about. It was as if the owner had been thinking of discarding them, but interrupted before he could do it.
Fitzroy sat down and began to rummage through them. Some were irrelevant, the usual mundane bills and notes of a tavern keeper. He’d bought beer from one local farmer and stronger stuff from another. He’d bought meat and bread from others, and chickens from still another.
“I see nothing remotely interesting,” Fitzroy said. He was beginning to feel tired. Their day had been a long one.
“You’re looking at the wrong pile,” Danforth said, and handed another stack of papers to him.
Fitzroy sniffed, annoyed at his mistake, and began to read. Danforth was right. This was far more intriguing. First were lists of British regiments as they’d arrived, along with estimates of their strengths. Then there was information about supplies and equipment, and information about the army’s commanders and the existence of the now damaged barges. It was a detailed compilation of the British Army’s presence at Detroit.
While some of it could have been the result of simple observation, much required someone with an intimate knowledge of the British Army, and the sheer volume implied a nest of spies.
“Interesting reading, eh?” asked Danforth.
“The bloody bastards. I wonder how many spies there were and how they got the information to Fort Washington.”
“Does it matter?” Danforth said happily. “We’ve stopped it at the source, although I’m certain they’ll try to set up another spy center. At least finding this will keep Bloody Banastre Tarleton off our backs.”
That thought cheered Fitzroy as he continued to look through the papers. Now he was finding observations on the Great Fire as those who had survived it were now calling it. Of course, some of the comments on the fire could have been made by simply looking across the river, but some of them contained detail about military losses that could only have been gotten first hand.
Fitzroy recognized a name and cursed. “Damned Jews.”
“What?” asked Danforth as he looked up from some additional papers.
“It looks like Abraham Goldman, the Jewish merchant, is one of the spies. Damn. He’s getting rich on us and betraying us at the same time.”
Danforth yawned. “No surprise. The stinking Jews are capable of almost anything. We’ll arrest the Shylock when we return.”
Then a phrase on a sheet of paper caught his attention and he felt a chill go down his spine. “Dear God,” he muttered, causing Danforth to start and stare at him.
Fitzroy put down that paper and picked up another. This one referenced Braxton and his orders from Tarleton to attack the newly found settlement. He had argued with both Tarleton and Burgoyne against turning Braxton loose, but Burgoyne had been distracted and Tarleton wanted the raid to go forward. Someone had betrayed Braxton, taken over the buildings, and baited what Fitzroy later realized was a trap. Worse, the phraseology of the document he was reading was familiar. It ought to be, he realized with a sickening feeling—the words were his.
He felt staggered and his head spun. He took a closer look at the handwriting and recognized it. He felt like weeping.
Danforth grabbed his arm. “James, are you all right?”
“Yes,” he said and shook his head violently. “I mean no. I’m not all right at all. I’ve been betrayed. Damn it, I’ve been betrayed and played for a fool.”
Danforth closed the office door so the enlisted men couldn’t hear. They were busy feeding themselves, but could easily become curious.
“What is it, James?”
Fitzroy handed him a sheet of paper. “Recognize the words, the writing?”
“Can’t say as I do,” Danforth said, puzzled.
“The words are mine, they come from my journal.”
“Somebody’s been reading it?”
“Of course, and I’ve been sleeping with that somebody. The handwriting is Hannah’s. She’s been copying my notes and forwarding them to the rebels.” He shook his head. “This could not get any worse.”
There was a tap on the door and the corporal opened it tentatively. “Sir, there’s a man here from the sled pulley. He says someone cut the rope on the Detroit side and we can’t get back tonight, maybe tomorrow at the earliest. Could be even longer if the weather turns bad.”
* * *
Will and Sarah were aware that they were watching history unfold. They only hoped that they would be around years from now to tell the tale to their grandchildren. The very small gallery that the general public could use to watch Congress in action was jammed. This in itself was unusual as popular opinion said that Congress never actually did anything except talk a topic to death.
But this time it was different. The Continental Congress was actually going to do something. The distinguished members were going to vote on and, if approved, sign a draft constitution, and it contained a fundamental bill of rights. Franklin had insisted on the bill of rights. He’d argued that it was all well and good to decide the mechanics of a republican form of government, which was based on the writings of a Frenchman named Montesquieu. But what, he’d insisted, would that government stand for? It had to go beyond mere words. The words had to inspire.
Franklin had enlisted Sarah as a counterpoint for his arguments as he rehearsed them, and she was flattered that he respected her mind and her judgment.
For instance, he’d drawn himself up and asked if she wished to be forced to provide financial support for the Anglican faith, the established church of England? No, she’d answered. Did she agree that only members of an established church could hold political office as was the case in Virginia as well as England? Of course not, she’d responded.
Did she wish the newspapers censored and restricted by the government? No. How could you trust what you were reading if the press was restricted? You couldn’t, she replied.
What about quartering soldiers in her house without her permission? She’d shuddered at the thought of a squad of dirty, mu
ddy Redcoats traipsing through her home and again answered with an emphatic no.
With these and other points that represented a counter to British tyranny, she’d found herself in complete agreement and had discussed them with Will who also agreed. “It defines what we have been fighting for,” he’d said, and she’d laughingly asked what took him so long to figure it out.
John Hancock, in his role as President of the Continental Congress read the proposed document in its entirety while the participants and spectators sat, transfixed. If and when approved, copies of it would be sent to the British-occupied colonies so they could see the difference between a corrupt, distant, and unfeeling British monarchy and a truly American form of government.
According to the new constitution, there would be freedom of speech and freedom of assembly. There would be freedom of religion and minimal restrictions on a man’s right to vote. The press could not be censored.
And slavery was forbidden.
That latter point was finally resolved as Franklin had foreseen. The genie was out of the bottle and could not be returned; nor could the broken egg be made whole no matter how hard one might try. Slaves were free and that was that. England had solved the problem of slavery within the colonies. Rumors had the British backtracking on their promises when faced with economic realities, but that was another matter.
Freedom of religion meant that Jews, Catholics, Quakers, and all other denominations and sects would be permitted to exist, and did not have to either belong to or support the Church of England in Virginia, or the Puritan faith of Massachusetts. Nor did anyone have to declare for any religion. It also meant that the near theocracies that had existed in New England were even less likely to occur again. Some congressmen were uncomfortable with the thought of coexisting alongside Papists, Quakers, Jews, and even atheists, but the diversity of faiths already existing in the colonies made defining these freedoms necessary. It was joked that some Anglican ministers who had been supported by government funds would actually have to go out and work for a living.
The right to vote was another sore point. While most of the congressmen favored some kind of a republic, there was concern that too much democracy wasn’t a good thing. There were strong feelings that only those who owned property and who were educated should vote. It was feared that chaos might ensue if the uneducated and the poor could vote and have their vote count as much as their betters did. While there were still vestiges of this in the new constitution, the result was that most men would be allowed to vote. Education and property requirements would be minimal although voters would, of course have to be able to read the ballot and sign their name.
All of this had deeply upset the handful who had supported the idea of a constitutional monarchy in the colonies. Benjamin Franklin had snorted that perhaps they’d like to borrow some of George III’s unemployed relatives, or even find a home for the luckless king of France here in America. When the laughter subsided, it was determined that there would be no king in the colonies. Had he still lived, George Washington might have worn a crown, but King George’s ax had ended those ideas.
Since one provision of the proposed constitution prohibited slavery and another said that almost all men could vote, did that mean that Negroes could vote? Probably, was the consensus, but not just yet. Will found himself wondering whether his Negro savior, Homer, would have the right to vote. He hoped so. Of course he was biased, but Homer deserved it more than many white men he knew.
The reading of the bill of rights was over and then the structure of government was outlined. There would be a two-house legislature, with an upper house where each colony had one delegate and one vote. There would be a lower house with a limit of a hundred representatives and they would be divided by colony according to each colony’s population. A president would be elected by the two houses and serve a single six-year term.
Hancock droned on, talking about judges and ambassadors and such and, finally, mercifully, was finished. The document was incomplete and everyone knew it. But it was a start. And in the bill of rights, a dramatic statement was made that was so totally different from England’s way of life and rule.
A roll-call vote was taken and the motion passed, and by a considerable margin. The delegates, under the prodding of Franklin and Hancock, realized that they had to do something significant.
One by one, the congressmen from the colonies stepped to a cloth-covered table and signed their names. Will wondered if Franklin and Hancock, the only signers of the Declaration of Independence present, were comparing this signing to that fateful summer in Philadelphia. There were serious doubts about the legitimacy of the Continental Congress back then and there were even more doubts about the current one.
When it was over, there was no applause. Participants and spectators strolled outside. Will shivered. It had been overheated in Congress Hall and the change was too abrupt.
“What did we just witness?” he asked. “And will it last?”
Sarah took his arm and squeezed it. “Ask again in a year.”
Chapter 10
“Fitzroy, you are a bloody goddamned fool and you were totally diddled by that yellow-haired Dutch cunt!”
A drunken and outraged Banastre Tarleton was in rare form and scathingly holding forth on the hapless Fitzroy. It had taken a week before the tow line between Detroit and the Canadian side of the river could be fixed and he could return with the news that Hannah Van Doorn and Abraham Goldman were rebel spies. By that time, Hannah, Goldman, and Goldman’s three associates were well away—along with much of their wealth and inventory. Obviously, they’d realized what Fitzroy would find at the tavern and had someone cut the rope. Still, either she or Goldman had managed to warn the tavern’s owners and coconspirators in time for them to vanish.
“By this time,” Tarleton went on, “the whole bunch of them is either in Fort Washington or back in Albany and gathering up more of their money. I’ve sent riders to arrest and hang them if they show up.”
Fitzroy stood stiffly at attention. “If you wish my resignation, you shall have it.”
“Don’t be silly,” Burgoyne said softly. “What’s done is done, and I still need a good aide, although I’d prefer one that isn’t so gullible. And look at the bright side, Major. You actually did uncover that nest of vipers and send them running. Your personal embarrassment will wear off. After all, I’ve had to endure the slings and arrows of my enemies for years after surrendering at Saratoga and I’ve still survived.”
Tarleton smiled tightly. “Actually, it could have been much worse. What if the silly slut had become my mistress instead of yours as I’d planned? Imagine my embarrassment if that had happened.”
Fitzroy suddenly realized what Tarleton was saying and why he’d been so critical of him. Tarleton had attempted to seduce Hannah and she’d rebuffed him. But why? Bedding a general was a much better source of information than a mere major, even though Fitzroy was Burgoyne’s aide and confidante. If her sole motivation was spying, why then had she stayed with him?
Dismissed, he walked slowly and sadly to the tent he now shared with Danforth. Fitzroy had been evicted from the quarters he’d shared with Hannah almost immediately after he’d reported her treason. Tarleton’s provost had only grudgingly permitted him to take his clothing and other personal effects, including the damned journal that she’d copied.
Inside, he pulled up a stool and opened the journal. A folded up piece of paper fell out. He picked it up and opened it. It was from Hannah.
“My dearest little lordship,” she’d written. “By now you have found that I have been reporting everything of import to my fellow Americans at Fort Washington. It was not an easy thing to do as I am deeply fond of you and fervently wish that our lives together could have been otherwise.”
Fitzroy took a deep breath. She hadn’t gone to Tarleton’s bed because she was fond of him and not Tarleton. Or Burgoyne. Was that supposed to make him feel better? Strangely, it did—a little.
She
continued. “I am sure you are angry and outraged by what you consider my treason. However, I am not a traitor. If I were a traitor, then I would have betrayed America because that is my country, not England. I am an American. So too is Abraham Goldman. I know that English law will find my argument specious and call for my hanging, but I don’t care. I can only do what is right and just, and that is to do everything in my power to drive the English, you English, from my land, my country.
“Please understand, my love, that I bear the English people, such as you, no ill. Indeed, it pains me deeply to write this and leave you. I only hate and despise your king and his vile and grasping ministers.
“I find it highly unlikely that we will ever meet again. Should it happen, it will most certainly be because you are a prisoner, as I have no intention of ever being taken alive. Nor does anyone else who call themselves Americans, so tell your beloved generals that they are in for a battle of no quarter, no retreat. It may well be that the winners will be as bloodied and devastated as the losers. It may well be that neither army will exist when the battle is over. If that is God’s will, so be it.
“Good bye, my dear little major and I fervently hope you are protected from whatever terrible things may come. And finally, I had no intention of falling in love with you, but I did. I can only wish that the world had been different.
“Your dearest Hannah.”
Fitzroy folded the paper and put it back in his journal. He felt the tears rolling down his cheeks.
* * *
Will stood with Tallmadge and Schuyler as Glover’s Marblehead Regiment marched slowly in. They were ragged and exhausted and made no attempt at a proper formation. Many were limping, and some men helped others with their muskets and packs, while still others were nearly carried by their comrades. Despite their exhaustion, however, they managed grins and waves which were returned. They had made it and were justifiably proud of themselves.
Liberty 1784: The Second War for Independence Page 19