Surrender the Night

by Marylu Tyndall

  Without so much as a glance over his shoulder, Alex grabbed her arm with one hand, withdrew his sword with the other and dashed down the street. Rose ran as fast as her legs and enormous boots would allow. Horse hooves followed them like war drums. Shouts and hollers of jocularity filled the night as if the men were engaged in a fox chase on the English countryside.

  Alex ducked in between two brick buildings, batting shrubbery aside with his sword. His breath came hard and heavy. The mad crunch of pebbles beneath their feet sounded like gunshot. His tight grip on her hand was the only thing that kept her going—that gave her hope. One glance over her shoulder revealed flaming torches bobbing atop an incoming wave of soldiers.

  “There they are!” one of the men shouted.

  Rose’s feet burned. Her heart crashed against her ribs. One of her boots slipped off. Then the other. Sharp rocks tore the skin on her feet. She cried out in pain.

  Halting, Alex glanced at her feet then swept her into his arms and continued to barrel down the alleyway out onto a narrow dirt street. His steps were heavy and thick and their pace slowed even as his breath increased. The shouts of their pursuers grew louder.

  He set her down and cupped her face gently, lifting her gaze to his. His heavy breath filled the air between them. “Go, hide in that house.” He gestured over her shoulder to a small one-story brick structure. “I’ll draw them away from you.”

  “No, I want to stay with you!” Rose tugged on his arm, unable to fathom losing him again.

  A sea of torches turned the corner at the end of the street and rumbled toward them like a tidal wave. “They will find us, Rose. There’s no time. Do as I say!” he barked.

  Tears filled her eyes and Alex’s figure blurred before her. “Please Alex, don’t leave me.”

  Leaning over, Alex kissed the tears flowing down her cheeks then brushed his lips over hers. “I’ll find you. I promise. Now go!”

  Turning, Rose forced her feet to run to the house. Opening the door, she slid inside and ran to peer out one of the broken windows. Glass cut her foot and she squelched a cry of pain—pain that she felt both outside and inside as Alex’s dark shape disappeared down the street. A second later, a horde of angry men who appeared more like fire-breathing dragons flew after him.

  Leaning back against the inner wall, Rose threw a hand to her chest to slow the frantic beating of her heart. The cold brick of the walls seeped through her gown. “Oh Lord. Please protect him.”

  Alex waited long enough to see that Rose had followed his orders, but perhaps he delayed too long. One glance over his shoulder told him the mob of soldiers was only yards behind. Sprinting with all his strength, he forged into the darkness, thankful that this part of town had not yet been set to fire. He heard the stomp of a dozen boots behind him, the diabolical laughter and devilish chuckles of his own countrymen. Men he had supped with, trained with, and marched beside. How quickly things had changed.

  One more glance told him that none had separated from the group. They had not seen Rose slip away. Thank God.

  Alex dashed between what appeared to be two shops. His thigh cried out in pain. His lungs slammed against this chest.

  “There they go!” a belligerent voice trumpeted behind him.

  He glanced once more over his shoulder to see a myriad of bobbing torches like lit cannons on the wobbling deck of a ship. Lit to fire at him. Too close. Far too close.

  Lord, please don’t let them catch me. For Rose’s sake.

  Alex swung his gaze back forward, tripped over a rock, stumbled past a bush whose sharp branches tore at his coat. He righted himself. A pop of a pistol rang through the air and the shot zipped past his ear.

  He burst from the alleyway onto the street and turned right, not hesitating to choose which way. He chose the wrong way. The dark gaping hole of the barrel of a musket nearly impaled him. He stopped just in time before it did.

  “One more move and I’ll shoot,” the soldier ordered.

  Alex raised his hands in the air as he struggled to regain his breath. In moments he was surrounded by the torch-wielding mob. Sweat streamed down his forehead into his eyes, stinging them. He scanned the faces, twisting and undulating in the flickering torchlight, like sinister demons released from hell.

  One man approached him and spit at his feet. “Where is the woman?”

  “What woman?”

  The man struck Alex across the jaw, sending him reeling to the side. The pain spiked into his mouth and down into his neck.

  “Never mind. We shall find her.” The lieutenant snapped his fingers. “Bind him. We’ll see what Cockburn has to say about this traitor.”

  CHAPTER 29

  The distant pop of a gun startled Rose as she stood inside the small house. Turning, she glanced out the window once again. A different band of soldiers sauntered by. Others separated into smaller groups and wandered among the buildings across the street. Was the shot directed at Alex? Oh Lord, please protect him. As her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, shapes began to form: a settee, oak tables, a pianoforte, and a rocking chair.

  Groping her way among them, Rose made her way toward the back of the house. With all the British running around, she had best find a place to hide. Even though everything within her wanted to run out and find Alex, rescue him as he had rescued her. A tear slid down her cheek, but she brushed it away. No time to be frightened. No time to be weak. She was not alone. And neither was Alex.

  “Yes, I will never leave my children.”

  The voice within her confirmed her convictions, bringing forth another tear from her eye. But this time, a tear of joy.

  Laughter and more shots tore in through the window from outside.

  She ran her fingers over the wallpaper lining the hallway and bumped into various sconces and pictures hanging there. Finally, she entered a room in the back that appeared to be a storage room filled with bulky sacks, crates, and shelves lined with jars. A table in the center had been pushed aside. Rose squinted into the shadows, searching for somewhere to hide, when her eyes landed on a dark square beneath the table. Kneeling, she discovered it was a hole that led to a cellar beneath the house. The trapdoor lay pushed aside, along with a crumpled rug that no doubt was used to conceal the opening.

  Footsteps thundered outside. Closer. Closer. Shouts. The neigh of a horse.

  Rose’s muscles tensed. Then the sounds faded.

  “Is anyone there?” Rose whispered into the dark cavity. “I am a friend.” But no answer came. Grabbing the rug, she hugged it to her chest, imagining that the family who lived here must have hidden down below from the British. She wondered what had happened to them.

  She didn’t have time to consider it. The front door blasted open and heinous laughter filled the front parlor.

  Alex tugged from the pinching grips of the men on either side of him and met the imperious gaze of Admiral Cockburn. The man before him, though powerful on earth, had proven himself to be a cruel and heartless man who used his God-given power to abuse and subjugate those beneath him. Alex did not fear him. God was with Alex. Truth was with Alex. And no matter what this man did to him, truth and love would win in the end.

  At last, Alex understood how Mr. Drummond’s eyes could be so filled with peace in the midst of the storms.

  Cockburn eyed him up and down as if he were but another bug to squash. “What have we here, Lieutenant?”

  The man to Alex’s right threw back his shoulders. “A traitor, Admiral. At least that’s what he seems to be. We found him running through the streets of Washington with a woman dressed in a sergeant’s uniform.”

  The admiral chuckled and the smell of alcohol spilled over Alex. Which did not bode well for his sentencing. Often during the long day, Alex had witnessed the fiendish effect drink had on the admiral’s sensibilities.

  “Indeed, and where is the rebel wench?” The admiral slapped the telescope he was holding against his other palm.

  The lieutenant looked down. “Got away sir. Bu
t we’ll find her.”

  “That you will, Lieutenant, or I fear you’ll meet the same fate as this poor man.”

  Alex could hear the lieutenant gulp.

  Admiral Cockburn raised his chin and looked down his nose at Alex. “Mr. Reed, did you say? What have you to say for yourself?”

  Lengthening his stance, Alex gazed behind the admiral where flames still devoured the Capitol building. Though they stood yards away, he could feel the heat, and it only sufficed to fuel his anger. How dare they destroy these symbols of freedom? He met the admiral’s gaze. “I was only protecting an innocent woman from being ravaged, Admiral. There’s no crime in that.”

  “No crime you say? Ha.” The admiral glanced over his men. “No crime save leaving her untouched, I’d say.”

  Some of the men chuckled.

  From the left of the group, a soldier aided another man to the center—a sergeant dressed in nothing but his underclothes. He rubbed his head and his eyes nearly fired from their sockets when they landed on Alex. “Aye, that’s the man. He struck me over the head.”

  Alex shrugged. “He was going to ravish the woman.”

  Cockburn leaned toward Alex. “It’s what the rebel wench deserved. So you let her go?”

  “I did.”

  Cockburn’s jaw twitched. He nodded toward the lieutenant on Alex’s right, who hauled his arm back and slugged Alex across the jaw once again. At least it was on the other side this time. Renewed pain tore across his cheek.

  “She could have possessed valuable information, Mr. Reed.” Cockburn continued while Alex rubbed his jaw. “Why else was she still in Washington? Egad. The incompetence! Such insubordination for a second lieutenant in the Royal Navy.” Cockburn shifted his stance, the fringe on his epaulets quivered. “Wait until the Admiralty Board hears of this. You’ll not only be cashiered my friend, but hung as well.”

  Alex allowed the words to enter his mind and then slither down into his gut. Not a pleasant way to die. But as he thought back on the events of these past weeks, he wouldn’t have changed a thing.

  Alex’s silence evoked rage from the admiral, who immediately growled. “Tie him up and stand watch over him while we finish destroying the city. Tomorrow, we’ll escort him back to the flagship. I’ll wager we can gather up enough captains to host a court-martial right here in the Chesapeake. Then before we even set sail, we can hang you from the yardarms.”

  Rose dove into the cellar, nearly stumbling down the ladder. Reaching up, she placed the rug atop the trapdoor, and then from below, she eased it over the hole, cringing when it snapped into place. Lowering her shaky legs rung by rung, her feet finally found the cool hard dirt of the cellar floor. Pain etched across her soles. She winced. Chilled air tingled over her neck. The smell of sweet herbs and mold whirled about her.

  The hollow thump of at least a dozen boots thundered overhead and shook the trapdoor. Dust rained over her. Covering her mouth and nose, she suppressed a cough as a plethora of male voices trumpeted through the rooms above. Thunder growled in agreement of her dire predicament even as footfalls continued to pound above her. The squeal of a rat somewhere in the cellar sent a shiver down her back.

  Furniture legs scraped over the wood. The sound of cloth flapped like sails in the wind. A pair of shoes tromped over the trapdoor again and halted. The boards creaked and wobbled. With her hand still pressed over her mouth, she closed her eyes.

  “What a night, eh?” one man said.

  “Cowardly rebels!” Another man chortled. “Leavin’ their capital for us t’ plunder.”

  “Aye, wait till my lady sees the silverware I’m bringin’ home—” his voice heightened with scornful insolence—“compliments of the citizens of Washington DC.”

  The man moved off the trapdoor and sauntered about the room. He must have shifted the rug aside for a sliver of lantern light spilled through a tiny crack in the boards.

  “I ne’er seen such an easy conquest. Why, we should be able t’ take the rest of these despicable colonies within a fortnight and be home before Christmastide.”

  Insidious chuckles pummeled Rose like hail.

  “An’ tomorrow,” another soldier piped in. “Admiral Cockburn says we can finish burnin’ the rest o’ the city.”

  Footfalls rumbled over the floor again, but this time, their hollow thuds receded.

  “This looks like a fair place to hole up for the night,” one man declared, his voice fading as he walked into another room.

  “Milford, did ye bring the bottles of brandy we found?”

  “Aye, I said I did.”

  Insolent rogues. Rose didn’t know whether to be terrified or furious. As long as the soldiers stayed, she was trapped and couldn’t go in search of Alex.

  Alex. He had come for her! Saved her once again! Rose pictured him as he marched into the empty room in the president’s mansion in his dark naval uniform with long coattails, brass buttons, and service sword glittering at his side. He wanted to stay with her! Her heart should indeed be soaring. If it weren’t so twisted with fear. And fury. She must find Alex. But how, with all those soldiers sleeping above her?

  Blinking she strained her eyes and gazed over the dank cellar. Soon objects began to form out of the darkness: barrels, crates of what appeared to be potatoes or apples, sacks of grain. Above her, bundles of herbs hung from the rafters like sleeping bats.

  Kneeling, Rose felt her way over the dirt floor and sat, leaning her back against the support wall. She drew her knees to her chest and laid her weary head upon them. “Lord, help me.”

  Hours later, above her in the front parlor, the men’s drunken revelry quieted.

  Even the thunder and lightning fell silent, and the rain ceased its march across the roof. A deceptive peace descended on the house as if the abominations of the night had not only drained the city but the earth and sky of all their energy.

  Including Rose. All the stress of the evening, the fear, the horrors, spilled from her. Her eyes grew heavy. Cool, dank air crept over her. She shuddered. Then a sudden warmth enveloped her—a strange supernatural warmth—and she closed her eyes and fell into its embrace.

  Alex shifted his back against the rough bark of the huge tree he sat beneath. He gazed upward. A hickory tree, he thought, though it was hard to tell in the darkness. He twisted the thick ropes binding his hands together. Pain spiraled up his arms. Though he’d been tugging against the bindings for hours, the only thing he’d accomplished were patches of raw bleeding skin around his wrists. From his spot, sitting atop a grassy knoll just outside the city limits, he had an excellent view of Washington. To his right a group of soldiers hovered around a campfire. They played cards, laughed, drank, and told off-color jokes, all the while over their shoulders the bastion of freedom burned to the ground. The flames that rose over Washington would have been a beautiful sight with all their brilliant oranges, reds, and yellows dancing in the night like some garish ballet.

  If it wasn’t such a horrendous scar on the history of mankind.

  Alex’s thigh throbbed, his hands were a bloody mess, and his back ached, but the largest pain of all came from his heart. He had promised Rose he’d come back for her. And now, he doubted he could keep that promise. Thoughts of her hiding somewhere in that burning city, frightened and alone, waiting for him, gnawed at his gut like some satiated predator intent on giving him a slow death.

  No, Alex couldn’t help Rose. But God could. Bowing his head, Alex spent the next several hours in prayer. For Rose, for her family, and for America to survive this devastating night. Somewhere amid the crackle of fire and the fading shouts of men, Alex succumbed to his exhaustion and fell asleep.

  A slap across the face jarred him awake, and he peered up into the smirk of one of the soldiers who had been guarding him. “Wake up, traitor. You should witness us finishin’ off your precious rebel city.” The sting on Alex’s face was nothing compared to the pain etching across his soul at the man’s words. He shifted his gaze to the city, now bathed
in dawn’s glow and to the smoke rising from the buildings like incense to heaven. He prayed the scent made it all the way to the throne of God.

  The soldier spit to the side of Alex, gathered his things, and along with several of the other men, left Alex tied to the tree with only a single soldier to guard him. It might as well have been a thousand for as tight as the ropes were about Alex’s waist and hands. Even if he made it through the ones binding his wrists, his entire body was tied to the trunk of the tree.

  He watched the solders descend the hill laughing and slapping each other on the back in anticipation of another day of plundering and destruction.

  Scanning the city, Alex tried to find the house where he had left Rose, but the smoke and remaining flames obscured his view. “Lord, watch over her. Please get her home safely.”

  “Pray for a storm.”

  The silent words couldn’t have been clearer within Alex. He shook his head. Was he destined to go mad along with everything else?

  “Pray for a storm.”

  Alex glanced over the city. Sunlight shot bright arrows down between puffy gray clouds. They’d had a small storm last night, but today the sky appeared to be clearing. “A storm, Lord?”

  “Yes.”

  Emitting a sigh of submission, Alex bowed his head. “Very well. Father.” He nearly choked with emotion at the title with which he now addressed God. He finally had a Father who loved him—who would never close His home to Alex. And if Alex should indeed hang from Admiral Cockburn’s yardarm, God would welcome him home forever. “Please bring a storm upon this land, this city,” he continued, feeling his zeal rising. “One that will send these British back to their ships and back to their country!” He laughed at his own foolishness then leaned back against the bark.

  If God didn’t intervene soon, Alex didn’t want to contemplate what would happen to Rose. “Thy will be done.”