The Sword of the Banshee

by Amanda Hughes

  After wrapping the blisters on Phineas’ heels, India was on her feet again; brushing off her skirt, ready to go. They waited under the tree as Phineas relieved himself in the woods.

  “This heat will become oppressive soon,” India observed, looking up at the sky. “Already, it is stifling in this bandage and hat.”

  “Yes,” Parnell agreed, mopping his forehead. “But when we get to the battlefield, you can remove your bandage and let your hair down. At that point, you must look like a woman. We want to look neutral on the battlefield. We do not want to draw attention from either side.”

  India was about to pick up her pistol from the grass when suddenly horses thundered up. India and Parnell whirled around with surprise. Two men, dressed in uniforms of Continental Army officers, rode up. They tipped their hats and said, “Good day.”

  One man rode a dappled gray mare. He was middle aged, with a low forehead, and tiny eyes. The other man had long dark hair and was so obese his horse looked as if it would collapse from the strain of carrying him.

  India watched the men cautiously, wishing she could reach her pistol on the grass. Parnell’s rifle was out of reach as well, resting against the trunk of the tree.

  “May we help you gentlemen?” said Parnell stiffly, sensing danger.

  India noted huge blood stains on their uniforms, but the strangers seemed uninjured and strong. It was obvious they had looted the clothing from bodies on the battlefield.

  “Well, well, Winston,” said the man with the low forehead, running his beady eyes over Parnell. “A runaway nigger.”

  Antoine’s brow furrowed. “No sir, I am a free man,” he said, reaching inside of his coat. “I have papers to prove it.”

  The man narrowed his eyes, pulled a pistol from his belt, and without hesitation, shot Parnell in the foot. Antoine toppled backward from the blast and slammed into India. The two tumbled to the ground. Dazed, they looked up at the men, in shock.

  “With niggers, my motto is--” the man declared. “Shoot now, ask questions later. Now get the hell up. We’re gonna collect some ransom money.”

  Parnell’s foot felt as if it was on fire and blood was pumping out of the wound quickly. He struggled to make sense of everything; it had all happened so fast.

  “Get up nigger! And you too, boy,” the fat one demanded of India. She stood up, looking at Parnell’s injury anxiously.

  Parnell reached down to push himself to his feet. Something cold was under his hand. It was India’s pistol. He had fallen on the weapon. He grabbed the pistol, whipped it out from under him, and shot his assailant in the chest. The blast knocked the man from his horse, killing him instantly.

  Seizing her opportunity, India lunged for Parnell’s rifle but the fat renegade put a gun against her temple and said, “No, ya don’t.”

  India froze, staring straight ahead.

  “Now slowly, get over there away from that there rifle.”

  India stepped sideways stiffly, her heart pounding, and blood rushing in her ears. Parnell was still on the ground, growing weak quickly from loss of blood. India felt panic flood her. I must think of something and fast. Parnell is bleeding to death.

  Suddenly, there was a popping sound, and the renegade lurched forward in his saddle. His eyes bugged out in his round face. He gasped.

  India blinked, confused. The man gurgled, spit blood then dropped to the ground, dead. She stared at the corpse then looked up. Phineas was standing in the trees, white as a ghost, both hands holding a smoking gun.

  * * *

  India did not know Phineas had been carrying a pistol, but she was not about to reprimand him for saving her life. Quickly, they stopped Parnell’s bleeding, and then dripping with perspiration, they dragged the bodies of the renegades into the woods. With India on one side and Phineas on the other, they helped Antoine hobble to the abandoned cabin nearby. Once inside they eased him down onto a feather bed in the corner. India straightened up and stretched, looking around the house. It was a cozy one room log structure, complete with a hutch, a table, two chairs and a bed. Several pewter plates were on the mantel and a cast iron pot hung from the stone fireplace. It was cool and dark inside, smelling of smoke from the fireplace. It appeared as if it had been recently inhabited, abandoned perhaps because of the battle.

  India pulled medical supplies from her pack and began to examine Parnell’s wound. It appeared as if the bullet had gone through and exited, not lodging in his foot. “Find some fresh water, Phineas. I must dress this,” India said to the boy. He nodded and hurried out to find a well.

  “You must go on without me, Lady Allen,” Parnell murmured to India. “Or you may be too late.”

  “That is something I will consider in a moment. For now, we must attend to you.”

  She finished wrapping the foot and tied the bandage.

  “Lady Allen, please. I will be--”

  India looked up at Parnell, wondering why he had stopped talking so abruptly. He was looking over her shoulder. India turned and saw Phineas standing next to a large woman in a coon skin cap with a musket in her hand. She held the boy’s collar as if she had just dragged him into the cabin. His eyes were like saucers.

  “Why are you in my house?” the buxom woman demanded of India. “And why the hell did he call you Lady Allen?”

  India’s jaw dropped. “I-I,” she stammered. “This man has been shot.”

  “I can see that! What happened?’

  India stood up. “We were traveling up to Chadd’s Ford to find a relative, and some renegades assaulted us.”

  The woman let go of Phineas’ collar and gave him a push. He stumbled two steps forward, rubbing his neck and looking back at her indignantly. The woman bent down and peered into India’s face. “Oh, I get it. You ain’t no boy. You’re a woman dressed up to protect yourself. Well, hell’s bells honey, your eyes give you away.”

  She thrust out her hand. “The name’s Dora. Dora Dogwood.”

  India shook hands with Dora and smiled, relieved to see a capable woman. Dora was a large, strongly built female in her middle years. She had gray hair, pulled back in a ponytail, under a coon skin cap. She wore a brown homespun gown and apron which was spattered with blood.

  “I was just up tending to the wounded at Chadd’s Ford. The last thing I wanted to see when I got home was another injury, but no matter,” she bellowed, putting down her musket and rolling up her sleeves. “I’ll take care of this one too.”

  She pulled off her cap, tossed it on the table and said to Phineas, “Go get that bucket you left by the door.”

  When he returned, she poured some water into a bowl by the bed and plunged her hands in washing the mud and grime from her skin. India and Parnell exchanged looks. Wiping her hands on a towel, the woman asked them, “Have you eaten?”

  “Yes, thank you,” India replied.

  Dora opened her pack and handed India a small vial with ointment in it. “Here, you and the boy put some of this salve under your nose when you go to the battlefield. It has a strong mint smell.”

  Phineas looked up at India to see if she understood what Dora was talking about. India nodded. She understood.

  “Well then what are you waiting for? I’ll take care of him,” she said, jerking her head at Parnell. “Get along up there to look for your relative, but I warn you, it’s mostly dead that’s left.”

  Parnell looked panic stricken to be left alone with the indomitable Dora Dogwood, but he smiled bravely and told India to go. She nodded her head and picked up her pack and pistol, relieved to know that she was leaving Antoine in capable hands. With Phineas behind her, India headed out the door to search once more for Quinn Calleigh.

  * * *

  Phineas and India trudged alongside each other on the trail for a long time in silence. Suddenly, she reached over, grabbed Phineas’ shirt and pulled the boy under her arm, hugging him for a moment then stepped away. Phineas peered up at India from under his large tricorne hat. His face was dirty and his hair was in t
angles.

  Without looking at him, she said, “You take good care of your mistress.”

  Phineas shrugged. “It's nuthin’, Miss.”

  Occasionally, a light breeze from the north would bring the pungent odor of rotting meat to their nostrils. India squeezed her eyes shut and reopened them, as if she was in pain, recognizing the smell. Knowing they were close to the battlefield, she stopped and unwound the bandage from her head letting her hair fall down. She shook her head and sighed, relishing the rush of fresh air through her drenched locks. Next, she adjusted the pistol in her belt and watched Phineas load his weapon. He was slow and deliberate in his motions but accurate. India nodded her head saying, “You must rely on your instincts before shooting. Never be hasty to take human life.”

  They continued walking. The first corpse they saw was just off the trail in the woods. A soldier of the Continental army, obviously injured, had fallen into the brush and bled to death probably trying to get home. India glanced at him and yanked Phineas away as he slowed his pace to look.

  “We are going to a battlefield, Phineas. I want you to look straight ahead. Do not look into the faces of the dead. I will search for Mr. Calleigh.”

  Phineas did not reply. He swallowed hard. The boy was beginning to get scared. India looked up at the sky. She saw birds circling overhead, and she could hear a strange buzzing sound. They followed the trail around a curve, and suddenly, the battlefield opened up before them. Thousands of flies rose into the air as India and Phineas stepped into the clearing. They jumped back in disgust. They had roused the insects momentarily from their feeding frenzy on the multitude of bodies scattered before them. India and Phineas raised their sleeves to their noses.

  Phineas grabbed India’s waist as they gazed on the sight with horror. The battlefield was a wide expanse of pasture and farmland with rolling hills and green meadows lined with stone walls and split rail fences. But the scene was hardly pastoral. The ground was littered with bodies of British and Continental soldiers contorted in all types of grotesque positions. Some of the men were on their backs, some in fetal positions; others were torn apart into fragments from cannonballs. Some had fallen over fences, others lay one on top of another, but all were soaked in blood.

  The sun and the heat were cooking the corpses, and the stench of feces and rotting flesh was overpowering. Phineas was the first to gag and retch, followed by India. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and fumbled frantically in her pack for the mint salve. They smeared it under their noses and stepped out onto the field.

  People moved around the battleground, bending over bodies, checking for loved ones, burying victims or looting. Dogs wandered through the field, just as the young man on the trail had predicted, tearing at the bodies. Not only were human remains scattered everywhere, but dead horses littered the field too.

  India looked down, noticing that the ground seemed soggy and stopped abruptly, repressing another gag when she realized that it was blood soaking the earth. Phineas did not let go of her. Every step she took, he stepped along with her, clinging to her shirt. Crows rose into the air as, momentarily interrupted from their scavenging, as the two passed.

  Suddenly, a steady strong wind came out of the west and brought fresh air sweeping into their lungs. It blew the hair from India’s face and revived her. She found new energy and resolve to find Quinn.

  India scanned the battlefield once more before starting her search. Her eyes fell on a structure in the distance. This was Quaker country, and she wondered if it was a one of their homes or meeting houses. The irony of battle on pacifist land was not lost on her.

  Looking down, she clenched her fists and gritted her teeth ready to start searching the faces of the dead. They were young and old, in all manner of clothing, some in uniform, British or American, some in homespun. She started zigzagging across the battleground, but realized that moving in straight lines would be more thorough. So, with Phineas by her side, she walked across the field from tree line to tree line.

  They endured the search for several hours, stopping only occasionally to quench their thirst; it was growing steadily warmer. They nodded greetings to others looking for loved ones but kept their distance from looters. The scavengers were working quickly across the battleground, stripping men of boots, weapons, and personal possessions stuffing their booty into bags strapped over their shoulders.

  Eventually, Phineas’ exhaustion overcame his fear, and he sat in the shade resting his back against a stone fence. He did not let India out of his sight though. By afternoon, they had moved across miles of battleground with no luck. India’s legs were beginning to feel wobbly, and she slumped down by Phineas under an oak tree. She wiped her forehead with her sleeve and said, “The good news is that we have not found him here among the dead.” Her words seemed hollow and without enthusiasm.

  India sighed and rested her head back against the cool stone wall. She wondered how far it was to Chester where the wounded were taken and dreaded the thought of more walking.

  “I feel sorry for all the horses,” Phineas said, looking across the field.

  India nodded. “They were doing their duty too.”

  “Just over there--” and Phineas brought his head forward, squinting. “There is one that looks like--”

  India turned her head and looked at the boy sharply.

  Without taking his eyes from the field, Phineas stood up slowly then broke into a run across the field toward a dead horse under a tree. India jumped up, running behind him.

  The boy stopped in front of the carcass looking down. The horse was on its side; it had been shot. “It’s him! It’s Oisin. I would know him anywhere! Oh Oisin!” he cried in despair, bending down, hugging the horse’s neck.

  His eyes full of tears, Phineas looked up at India, but she was staring at something on the ground, her lips parted. It was Quinn Calleigh. He was lying on his back with his eyes open in a lifeless gaze. India gasped and ran over to him. She dropped to her knees.

  “Oh my God, no,” she murmured, running her eyes over his body. Quinn’s uniform was torn and dirty, and his face was covered with mud. She reached out to touch his cheek and the skin was still warm.

  As if waking from a dream, Quinn blinked and looked at her.

  India’s jaw dropped, and she gasped.

  He searched her eyes then said slowly, “I have been looking at the white clouds in the sky. They are so peaceful.”

  A sob escaped India. She could say nothing.

  With great effort, Quinn raised a hand and stroked her face. “Your cheek is wet. What are these?” and he smiled weakly.

  India put her hands to her face and laughed as tears streamed from her eyes.

  Quinn looked behind India and said, “Phineas my boy, we lost Oisin.”

  The boy nodded, unable to reply. He snuffed then wiped his nose on his sleeve.

  India wiped her eyes. “Where are you hurt?” she asked anxiously.

  Although Quinn was dirty and his clothing was torn, she saw no blood.

  “I can’t move my legs,” he said. “And it hurts to breathe. The last thing I remember was a blast, and I think Oisin fell on me.”

  India brushed back his dark, tangled locks and noticed severe bruising on his forehead. “It looks like you were hit in the head too.”

  “Yes. I think I was unconscious for a long time.” He paused to catch his breath. “Although I remember waking up once when it was dark, I am confused. Has night fallen yet?”

  “Yes, it is the day after the battle. The Continentals must have thought you were dead. Washington has retreated to Chester with the injured.”

  “The battle was not in our favor, was it?” Calleigh asked, a worried look on his face.

  “Not this time,” India said. “But we aren’t done yet.”

  Calleigh smiled weakly. “That’s my girl.”

  “Now, we are going to take you out of here,” she announced, standing up and looking in the woods. “Help me find some suitable branches,
Phineas. We are going to make a litter and drag Mr. Calleigh away from this place.”

  “Yes, Miss!” said the boy. He was suddenly renewed with new energy and took off into the woods.

  India looked down at Calleigh, her eyes filling with tears again and she smiled. “We are going to bring you home, Quinn.”

  Chapter 31

  Fortunately, the battle had not been far from Willow Creek, Delaware. India and Phineas pulled Quinn south on a litter to the old grist mill near the Calleigh property and arrived before the sun set that evening.

  The mill was empty and dark, untouched since India had left it in August for Wilmington. Although the accommodations were Spartan; consisting of two beds, a washstand, a table and two chairs, it was enough to make Quinn comfortable for the night.

  India and Phineas somehow found the strength to lift him onto the bed as soon as they arrived. The pain was excruciating, and he squeezed India’s arm so tightly when they moved him she thought it would break. Calleigh panted, sweating profusely until the two dropped him awkwardly onto the bed. They collapsed onto chairs after the transfer, their arms dangling at their sides, overcome with heat and exhaustion. After gathering their reserves, India and Phineas stole up to the Calleigh home to obtain supplies.

  “Why can’t we stay here?” Phineas asked indignantly, as they gathered cooking utensils, blankets, and candles. “No one took over the house.”

  “We will return later,” India said impatiently, pushing the hair off of her drenched forehead. “For now, it is too dangerous. Mr. Calleigh is too vulnerable. We must remain out of sight and allow others to watch over the property.”

  * * *

  A week later, Ian Calleigh appeared at the mill. General Maxwell had ordered him to find Quinn to help Morgan and Clark revive the sharpshooting and partisan operations. Eager to accept the mission and find his brother, Ian stole a horse and tore at breakneck speed down through the colony of Pennsylvania and into the Brandywine Valley. He knew if Quinn survived the battle with injuries, he would return home to recover.