The Promise

by Marti Talbott

  “And which is General Greene?”

  “I cannot imagine,” Uriah mumbled, still watching dozens of Continen­tals rushing in all directions.

  “This is not at all how I imagined war to be. The field is empty. What will they do if the British march against them without warning?”

  “Caleb, why do you ask me these questions? I know nothing of war.”

  “You know far more than I do, I am a peaceful man. I have a loving wife who has be­come more agreeable over the years, and six handsome daughters. I know horses and carpentry, not war,” Caleb caught his hat when a rider knocked it off from behind.

  “I suppose they have scouts who know precisely where the British are. If they approach, we will hear about it.”

  “Can you see John in this madness?”

  “Remember, we are to shoot twice and fall back.”

  Caleb rolled his eyes, “I doubt I could forget, but fall back to where?” Abruptly, he reached out and grabbed the arm of a passing soldier. “Where might the First Virginians be?”

  “There,” the man said, pointing his finger to the north, then pulling his arm free and scurrying down the hill.

  Four columns of men began to break through the edge of the trees and march on to the battlefield.

  “There he is,” Uriah said. “He is in the middle column.” They waited until John marched past with Levi Moore right behind him. The brothers quickly slipped into the column next to them.

  “May I ask, Sir,” Caleb said, talking to the man in front of him. “After the second shot, to where do we fall back?”

  “You haven't heard?” the foot soldier asked. “Our orders have changed. The North Carolina sharp shooters take the first line. However, once they have shot twice and fallen back, then of course, we will be the first line.”

  “I see.” Caleb stopped in his tracks. When his brother pushed him from behind, he quickly caught up. The first two columns split from the second two leaving a wide gap between them. They marched to the middle of the field, stopped and knelt down. Caleb and Uriah knelt right behind John and Levi.

  “How many men do you think there are?” Caleb asked after more men joined on the field.

  The man next to him answered, “I counted one thousand and two hundred First Virginians.”

  “How many in the whole army?”

  “Who can say for sure?” The man pointed to the right. “That is Washington’s le­gion.”

  “I did not know General Washington was here.”

  “Not the General, it is Lt. Colonel William Washington‘s legion. To the left is Lt. Colonel Henry Lee’s men. Behind us are the 1st Maryland Continentals, the Delaware infantry, and General Greene's infantry.”

  “And where might the British be?” Caleb whispered as a hush began to fall on the field.

  The man looked at Caleb wearily. “Keep your eyes open man, the British are in those trees right in front of you.”

  With thousands of men in position, the field had grown eerily quiet. The only man moving slowly rode his horse back and forth behind the men in the first two lines, softly giving last minute instructions and encouragement.

  Uriah watched a man to his left set his musket on the ground, kneel on both knees, put his hands together and turn his face upward. The man's mouth moved. The man next to the first had closed his eyes and was mouthing words as well. One after an­other, men of all ages and sizes seemed to be praying. Then he heard Caleb mumble the prayer Mary taught them on the voyage and watched his son bow his head. Uriah lifted his eyes to the clear blue sky above the rustling leaves of the trees.

  “Would it be possible for you to spare us on this day just as you did on the ship?” Uriah whispered, “For Mary's sake?”

  Then faintly he heard it. Uriah's eyes quickly shifted from the heavens to the trunks of the trees in the distance. Increasingly louder and with more clarity, the sounds of the drums came closer. Still, the cadence did not drown out the quickening beat of his heart. He saw a hint of red between the trees, and then it disappeared. He licked his lips, pushed a strand of hair away from his eyes, lifted his musket to his shoulder and put his finger on the trigger.

  At last, the mass of British soldiers pushed through the trees at the far side of the second small clearing and marched forward, their muskets loaded and positioned. Beneath their feet, the ground quivered as foot after foot landed at nearly the same instant on the earth.

  The first American line adjusted their guns and held tighter to their triggers, but no one fired. The British crossed the smaller clearings and came through the trees with their loud drums beating, their legs moving, their feet marching, and their muskets pointed at the hearts and heads of Colo­nial men. They marched ever forward and ever closer.

  “FIRE!” shouted the man on the horse. A split second before the British fired, each man in the North Carolina line pulled his trigger.

  Uriah's body jerked when the sound of exploding gun powder from a thousand muskets thundered. The sickening smoke filled the air above the first line, and then began to drift away while the North Carolina militia hastened to reload. When the smoke cleared, most of the Colonial line still stood, but hundreds of British lay dead, their muskets yet unspent. The Redcoats ran back until they were out of reach, then turned around and fixed their bayonets. Behind them came more Redcoats and their deadly march began again. This time, the British shot first.

  Again, the North Carolina militia pulled their triggers re­leasing a second chilling thunder. Then before the smoke could begin to clear, men with spent muskets, ragged shoes, and expressions of abomination on their faces, rose up and turned to run toward the First Virginians.

  Caleb and Uriah pulled their arms close to their bodies and ducked as men vaulted over them.

  “Now that was frightening,” Caleb said, scooting a little closer to his brother. His eyes widened as screams of the wounded began to reach his ears. When the smoke cleared again, he watched the British step over their own dead and then march toward him at nearly a yard a second. Filled with terror, Caleb fumbled for the trigger of his musket and waited for the command.

  “FIRE!”

  But Uriah did not pull his trigger. Instead he watched in horror as his son tried unsuccessfully to fire his jammed musket. John pulled the trigger again and again, until the trigger at last re­fused to move, but there was no flash in the pan and no bullet sent to stop the British. Then, through the smoke, Uriah saw the shine of a bayo­net with the tip directed at John's chest. Uriah rose up, closed one of his hardened dark eyes, pulled the trigger, and sent the searing ball from his musket into the heart of the still unseen man. “You will not also have my son,” he muttered.

  The already dead British soldier fell forward in front of John. Quickly reloading, Uriah saw John finally discard his own gun and reach for the dead man's musket. John fired and killed a man. Then another Redcoat appeared through the smoke in front of John, and Uriah shot him.

  Caleb glanced at the hate on his brother's face and watched the second bullet hit its target dead center. He grabbed his brother's spent gun and shoved his loaded musket into Uriah's hand.

  Uriah lifted it, held steady, took aim and shot. Again he took the reloaded gun from his brother. This time he raised it just in time to wound the man headed for Levi and see the smoke rising from John's musket.

  Suddenly, Levi and John got up to fall back. Uriah looked at his son's appalled eyes as he ran past, and then glanced around the field. The right flank of the Virginia Militia was gone and the British were still coming. Abruptly, he realized Caleb had run. With the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, Uriah followed, racing through the opening the in­fantry behind them had made for their escape.

  When he reached the top of the hill beside the courthouse, Uriah stopped to look back. The still advancing Redcoats seemed far away. Uriah bent the upper part of his body forward and struggled to breathe. Then he felt a man's hand on his back.

  “Never have I seen such fine shooting,” th
e man on a horse said, his warm voice clear above the sounds of the battle. “You put up a good fight, son.”

  Uriah lifted his head to see the face of the white-haired man, but the rider had turned his back. Seated atop a bay horse in a black English saddle, the man wore a blue jacket with white trim and a white scarf. Sweat from Uriah's hatless head trickled into his eyes. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his sleeve and looked again. The man was gone. Then the thunder of the loosed volley from more muskets exploded in front of him, closely followed by more screams.

  Caleb ran over the hill, down the other side and didn't stop until he reached the trees. When he noticed Uriah was not behind him, he reluctantly walked back up the hill. He stopped when he found him and slowly looked out over the battlefield. To the north, Colonials had fixed their bayonets and were giving chase. In front of him, men fought hand-to-hand at the bottom of the hill. Beyond that, bodies littered the entire field, some with hands raised in the air. Many of them wore red. To the left, Lee's legion still fought against the Hessians and the air was heavy with the smell of gun­powder. Commanders still shouted, the thunder of muskets raged, and wounded men shrieked in pain. Caleb held his wrenching stomach.

  “Have you seen John?” Uriah loudly asked.

  “I lost sight of him. He runs much faster than I, and Mister Moore can nearly outrun him. I did not see where they went.”

  “We must find him.”

  Caleb followed his brother away from the battle for nearly a mile before they finally stopped. He sat down on a rock and watched men walk by with clenched fists, vomit in their beards and blood on their clothing. Most seemed to have vacant eyes and none of them were John.

  “Did you see it? Sir?” a boy of twelve asked, quickly kneeling on the ground next to Caleb.

  “See what?” The boy laid his head against Caleb's leg and closed his eyes. Streaks from his tears were visible on his dirty cheeks. He didn't answer for a long time after Caleb put his hand on the child's back in an attempt to comfort him.

  “We were in a circle,” the boy said, lifting his head at last, “they on the outside and us in the middle. Wasn't a very large circle, but large enough to fight with swords and such. Then somebody yelled fire. I ducked down as quick as I heard it. And Sir...”

  “What is it, son?”

  “Well, Sir, we all ducked and the British shot their own men.”

  “Did you find him?” Uriah asked, quickly standing up as Caleb made his way through the bushes to their campsite.

  “No,” Caleb answered. Exhausted, he laid his musket against the log, dropped a bundle on the ground and slowly bent his knees. He sat down on the ground and leaned back against the log. “I have seen the face of at least a thousand dead men this day. None are John, nor are they Mister Moore.” He paused and then asked, “Alfred's papers?”

  “I put them in the pocket of a dead man just as we planned. The fault is mine that Caroline is without resolution. I should never have told Alfred not to use his proper name.”

  “But who could guess he would not give Caroline the false name?” Caleb thought for a moment, “Who do you suppose won the battle?”

  “The British dead far outnumber the Americans, but it was the Americans who retreated.” Uriah reached into his bag and pulled out a piece of hard tack. “We must try to eat, Caleb.”

  Caleb took the biscuit but didn't eat. Instead, he laid it on the log, reached for the bundle and unrolled it. Folded neatly inside a blanket was John's leather jacket.

  Uriah touched the soft leather fringes of the sleeve. Stains from the stew John had eaten the night before were still on the fringe. “Where did you find it?” he asked.

  “It was on a man I found in the trees. The man was dead.”

  “But it was not John?” Uriah asked, his voice cracking.

  “The man had no face.”

  “I see.” Uriah drew the jacket to him.

  “But brother, the man wore the wrong shoes.”

  “The wrong shoes?”

  “John had no cause to take off his new shoes and put on old ones. The dead man was not John, I am sure of it.”

  Long after night fell, Uriah checked the horses, unrolled his blanket and spread it on the ground next to his sleeping brother. When he sat down, he unbut­toned his shirt, pulled it off his right shoulder, turned toward the moonlight, and examined the massive red and purple bruise on his chest. Carefully, he refastened his shirt, lay down and pulled the blanket over him. Just before he closed his eyes, he reached over to once more to touch the fringe on John's coat.

  CHAPTER 11

  Uriah leaned against the back of the bathing basin and closed his eyes. “He was gone again, Mary, and we could not think how to find him.”

  “We can talk about it later; you have only just come home.” Mary dumped another pail of heated water into the basin.

  “We stayed in Guilford. We looked upon the faces of all the dead and most of the wounded. If he had been wounded, we would have brought him home.”

  “Rest, husband, rest.” Kneeling down, she pulled his shoulders forward until he sat up and then untied the cord holding his hair back. The bags under his eyes were puffy and dark, his beard and mustache were untrimmed, and the gray near his temples had noticeably increased. Mary soaked the rag, lifted his chin and began to wash the sweat and dirt from his face.

  “We heard that Cornwallis had gone south and Greene had marched after him. But then I remembered it was spring. It is spring, Mary.”

  “Aye, it is spring.”

  “You do not see. Many a man has left the fight to go home for the planting ... but not John. We do not plant, we raise horses.”

  Mary took a sharp breath. The water around his hand stirred as though he meant to reach for her, but he was too exhausted. At length, she tilted his head back, put her hand above his eyes and poured water into his hair.

  “As I walked among the dead and wounded, I realized I had seen many posters in Richmond, but I had not truly understood how they suffered and died.”

  When she finished washing his hair, Mary soaped the cloth and began to wash his back.

  “I wanted to go look for John, but Caleb would have none of it. He was determined to help the afflicted. We had nothing for their pain, but we gave them water and what food was available. Then we bathed their wounds – only to wrap them again in soiled clothes. I held the hand of a boy. He could not have been fifteen and he cried out in agony until his cries became whimpers and his breath left his body. When it was finished, I marveled. The face of the child without his pain had grown peaceful.”

  Mary urged him to lean back against the tub, soaked the rag again, held it close to the top of his shoulder and squeezed, allowing the water to gently run over his blackened bruise.

  “And on the third day, it rained. I stood again on the crest of the hill near the courthouse and watched as the dried blood was consumed into the earth. In less than an hour, the meadow was green. It was as though the battle had not even happened.”

  “God washes the land to rid it of the stench of death.” She gently lifted his injured arm to clean the underside. The bruise extended all the way through his armpit.

  Uriah closed his eyes and rested for a moment. “There was a particular man on a horse in the midst of the battle. I did not see his face, only his white hair. He seemed fa­miliar when he spoke of his pride in my fighting. And Mary, he called me ‘son.’”

  SHE WAS SET TO CUT a rose from a bush in the garden when Elizabeth gritted her teeth and turned to glare at her hus­band. “I will not go!”

  “But we must,” Caleb countered.

  “And you need not call it a holiday. If we go to Lynchburg, it is to run from the British.”

  “Elizabeth, the British have entered Richmond and there are thousands of them.” He put his arms around her and tried to hold her close, but she would have none of it. He shot a helpless glance at Uriah and Mary who stood on the boat dock path watching.

  �
��We did not run when Arnold took Petersburg in April and burned Matthew's ship, nor when Cornwallis joined him and added to his num­bers. They were just a few days march from us then and we did not run.”

  As her voice rose, Caleb moved back, “But we surely would have, had Lafayette not entered Richmond to stand between the British and Mahala.”

  “And when Lafayette made good his escape to the north, we were left wholly unprotected.”

  “Not escape, Elizabeth, Lafayette moved north to join to Generals Wayne and Von Steuben. We learned of it when we took a wagonload and tried to find John with Von Steuben's Militia. Now the British are in Richmond and we do not know what Cornwallis will do. If he turns toward us, we will lose the horses we have left, and all that has become edible from the fields we have planted. They will burn Mahala, just as they have Charlottesville. We must run from the British.”

  Elizabeth left the rose uncut and dropped her scissors into her basket. “Do you see the derision of this? Have you forgotten, we are the British? Except for one drunken soldier, they have not touched a hair on the head of any of this family, and they will not harm us now.”

  “My dear, how do you propose we alert thousands of them that we are British? Shall we make a large sign and hang it from the eaves of the house?”

  “Do not mock me, Caleb.”

  He cooled the fire in his eyes, “I did not mean to mock you. I meant to encourage some small measure of reason.”

  “Mahala is my home. For twenty years, I slept in the bed of strangers and now I have a home of my own. You ask too much of me.”

  One of the middle twins opened the door and started down the steps, “Papa, what is all the yelling about?”

  “Oh, Heather, go in the house!” Elizabeth nearly screamed.

  Her eyes wide, Heather turned, ran up the steps and disappeared inside.

  Caleb looked from the pleading on Mary's face to the anger in his wife's eyes. “Is there no other way?”