“Paw head south again?”
“Yep,” Bear said, “two days ago. He took Ira, Henry, Thaddeus, Timothy, and Hookfin with him. St. Clair sent nearly three hundred army horses with them. He wants three hundred horse-loads of flour delivered pronto, then one hundred and fifty horse-loads every seven days thereafter, and no excuse is acceptable to him.”
It wasn’t hard for me to imagine Hookfin chafing and huffing under the strict control Paw exercised on the trail. I kept from smiling out of respect for my bleeding lip. “How come you’re not with Paw?” I asked, sipping tea so weak it could hardly be called such.
Bear poured the dregs of his own cup into the fire. “He left me to locate you and have you here when he returns.”
I licked my bleeding lip, made more painful by the hot tea. “Maybe the ride will soothe his temper,” I suggested halfheartedly.
“Not likely,” Bear predicted. “He had him a real fright of a mad up from the moment he learned you’d snuck off to chase after Erin Green.”
I felt as if I was standing in a huge hole, and the hole was getting steadily deeper. Bear thankfully changed the subject. “How’d Tap an’ you convince them deserters to let hold of the Green gal?”
Val Dodd leaned ever closer from his perch on the log flanking our fire. Tap and I hadn’t discussed what story we would tell in the presence of outsiders once we rejoined St. Clair’s army, and not intending to dig that huge hole any deeper than it already was, I answered blandly as possible. “Better Tap tells you. It was mostly his doing.”
Skin pinched together in the narrow cleft separating Bear’s hairy brows, but he took no exception to my evading his question. He nodded slowly from behind the seated Valentine Dodd and asked, “Be yuh hungry, lad?”
My quick response that I was starved prompted Val Dodd, his pumpkin face sad and forlorn, to speak. “The fare is plain and dull this morning, Monsieur! Boiled beef and tea must suffice. The soldiers received a half ration of flour each. Our meager quarter ration is gone, and I fear there will be no more till your father returns.”
Without rising from the log, the horse master speared chunks of boiled beef from a blackened kettle hanging over the fire with a thin-bladed knife, slopped them onto a metal trencher, and fisted the meat my direction. After the piddling few slices of venison jerk the previous night, plain boiled bullock, though stringy and tough, was damn near heavenly where smell and taste were concerned. Besides, the lack of bread shouldn’t fluster a truly hungry soul privileged to fill his belly, a sentiment I shared with Dodd twixt gulps.
“No Kentucky militiaman agrees with you, Monsieur. Despite the remaining bullock herd, they whine and carp without end lest they have their flour and whiskey, most assuredly the liquor. Never before have I heard those not hungry complain so bitterly. They threaten desertion if their demands are not met. I believe they fear the Shawnee and seek an excuse to flee like the rabbit,” the horse master concluded.
Bear drew upright. “Val, that’s an opinion best left unsaid away from our fire, an’ I wouldn’t repeat it even here. Some of your supposedly gutless Kentuckians can get right hostile if’n another white eye challenges their courage. They’ve been known to shoot quick an’ apologize later, and an apology’s worthless to a dead man.”
Dodd’s thin mustache twitched as his mouth pursed in thought. “I accept your warning with no offense, Monsieur Watkins. It is the fool who ignores one wiser than himself.”
I finished my beef and tea, which by then had cooled. The welcome victuals helped ward off the morning chill that sifted through the blanket coat protecting my backside. The wind, persistent as ever, had begun wafting from the north forceful enough to stir leaves and brighten the coals of the fire. Clouds hid the sun, promising a day shy of warmth and likely to grow colder by the hour past noon. I was tired from the long night march but not inclined to sleep, and passing time in my blankets, fretting over a future confrontation with Paw while waiting to doze off, held no attraction. It was a dilemma solved shortly by the appearance of a highly unexpected guest, none other than Ensign Andy Young.
The ensign came from the direction of the fort astride a gray mare prone to toss her head at every step. The sighting of him brought to the fore all that had transpired at Fort Washington, and preceding that, my promise at Fort Hamilton that either Paw or I would be in touch within the week regarding the alleged crimes of Court Starnes. I hadn’t kept that promise and had no way of knowing if Paw had, following our arrival with the pack train three days ago. The blankets waiting in the tent I shared with Tap suddenly had a certain appeal after all.
Smile sincere and friendly as always, Andy Young stepped down, ground reined the mare, and walked forward with hand outstretched. “Mr. Downer, what a delight to see you again. I have just departed the Green cart and bear a message from Captain Starkweather.”
I couldn’t help thinking as my palm met that of Andy Young how Miles Starkweather always seemed to position himself and others in his charge so he was informed as to whatever took place at the Green cart nearly ’round the clock.
“It’s seldom anyone gets to shake the hand of the man who’s rescued the same beautiful woman not once but twice over,” the ensign proclaimed with the utmost sincerity.
I felt the heat of scarlet ears and prayed the drooping brim of my hat hid them from Bear and Val Dodd. “Ensign Young, you’ve met Bear Watkins and Valentine Dodd, have you not,” I ventured hurriedly, nodding toward my two companions.
Sweeping his tricorn from his head, Andy Young bowed from the waist with a genuine flourish. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, gentlemen. My business involves you also, Mr. Watkins.”
Bear grunted and walked about the fire. “What is your captain wanting, Ensign?” he inquired.
“General St. Clair wants the country scouted to the northwest, and the captain desires to hire the two of you as paid trackers. Mr. Jacobs declined the same proposition, claiming tiredness.”
Bear chuckled. “Tap’s had himself sweatin’ proper the past two nights, and for once, probably ain’t stretchin’ the truth a lick.” Bear’s eyes narrowed. “If’n we accept, what’s the captain’s pay?”
“An oblong and full rations for every day spent afield. A most generous offer, if I say so myself,” related Andy Young. “But he’ll want to leave within the half hour.”
Bear laid a hard, steady gaze on me. “It’s fair and generous, Ethan. Yuh too tuckered for a long scout?”
I thought on that and decided being in the saddle outweighed tossing and worrying in my blankets, sleeping fitfully every other hour, for I was truly most anxious to learn away from the ears of Val Dodd where the ensign stood regarding Court Starnes and the forged manifests. Maybe I would learn something useful to Paw. A condemned soul had to cling to the slimmest of hopes, did he not? And maybe I’d learn more about the situation at the Green cart, which wasn’t a bad thing, either.
“I’m game,” I assured Bear.
“The captain will be most pleased,” Ensign Young announced with a wide grin. “Be at his quarters within the next thirty minutes, gentlemen,” he ordered, spinning on his heel and mounting his gray mare with a quick hop off left foot and graceful swing of right leg.
I fetched Blue and Bear’s brown gelding from the meadow and saddled both animals. Bear by then had gathered our blankets and rolled them for tying behind our saddles. The taking of blankets was only a precautionary measure, for Bear’s parting words left no doubt as to my lowly circumstances. “Val, if’n Caleb shows, you can tell him I have his son in tow an’ that we’ll return before the evening is out.”
We rode east around the west wall of St. Clair’s as yet unnamed fort. The levy regiments had completed the morning parade, and those enlistees moving about their tents were mostly hauling firewood or tending company fires. Many were abed or huddled in skimpy blankets or ragged coats close upon the same fires. Though the tents and fires of the regular army units we coursed past exhibited fewer ill and infirm per
sonnel, the number was still significant, confirming what the sleeping sentry had told Tap earlier.
“Never seen such sickness,” Bear commented. “Course, holed shoes an’ misbegotten shirts an’ breeches like those issued the short-timers can be your death in foul weather. Damn shame yer paw fell in league with those sons of bitches Duer and Court Starnes, lad. An outright, damnable shame he may never overcome.”
Allowing as how Bear might inwardly consider me yet another burden weighing on Paw, I rode silently at his off stirrup. We crossed the road accessing the main gate of St. Clair’s fort, and Bear pointed to a dozen oversized tents bordering the eastern meadow. Bear reined his brown gelding confidently among the wind-billowed tents, and trusting Blue not to grow nervy, I followed in his wake. A striped marquee sporting a poled canvas overhang squatted at the very edge of the meadow, and Bear drew up before it. Through the wide entry beneath the poled overhang, I made out a rectangular table draped with green velvet. Beyond the table, a pair of leather traveling trunks with brass trappings sat at the head of a field cot. The corner posts of the cot, carved from the wood of the cherry tree, supported a canopy of sheer netting designed to thwart winged critters that whirred in the night. A turned-back coverlet fashioned of wolf pelts overlaid the cotton ticking of the mattress. At the foot of the cot rested a brass chamber pot with a hinged lid. The furnishings of Miles Starkweather’s personal marquee exceeded those of the rooms maintained for paying guests at Monet’s, Limestone’s most extravagant roadhouse. Starkweather was indeed a fabulously wealthy officer, one quite capable of satisfying Erin Green’s most fanciful dreams.
“Sirs, are you calling for Captain Starkweather?”
The polite query came from a solidly limbed black male of short stature adorned in green livery trimmed with gold braid, the same green as that of the velvet draping the table within the striped marquee. The dark-skinned servant, bearing a silver tray and teapot, had halted at the nearest corner of the tent.
“Jared; belay your chores and help me with my sword, please,” an unseen Starkweather requested from within the marquee. “We must be off immediately.”
The servant obediently placed the pot and tray upon the green velvet table and joined his master. Metal rattled against metal, and Starkweather, scabbard and sword belted about his trim waist, stepped forward under the canvas overhang. “Gentlemen, I’m most happy you have entered my employ,” he said brusquely, tugging at the visor of the cockaded helmet. “Follow me!”
Starkweather quick-footed into the eastern meadow where a detail of mounted dragoons that included Ensign Andy Young waited. I seized the chance for a gander all around in hopes of pinpointing the exact whereabouts of the Green cart, which I knew to be near or within the eastern meadow, but to no avail. I suspected it was hidden by the tall freight wagons rimming the open ground to the south.
The captain stepped aboard his sorrel gelding and reined him about to face the single line of mounted dragoons. “We’ll travel in standard formation, no larking or talking. Keep an eye peeled left and right. We have reports the enemy lurks on our perimeter day and night.” Then, with Bear siding him, followed directly by Ensign Young and me, Starkweather led the detail in columns of two across the shallow creek flanking the upper curve of the meadow and turned to the west. At the Injun trail down which Erin’s captors had fled, we swung northward along its narrow confines, the forest undergrowth brushing our iron stirrups. We were now paralleling St. Clair’s purported future line of advancement.
Though their basic garb was hardly distinguishable from the dress of the Kentucky militia who served on foot—blanket coat, hunting frock, and woolen breeches—Stark—weather’s detail did wear matching leather helmets with bearskin crests and riding boots with spurs in lieu of flop-brimmed hats, leggins, and moccasins. And to the man they were armed with swords as well as flintlock long guns. It intrigued me that none of the other dragoons I had seen to date, except our morning detail and the balance of Starkweather’s company encamped adjacent to his marquee, were so outfitted. Nor did any other dragoon officer to my knowledge match the captain’s resplendent personal uniform. Had his own purse borne the cost of his company’s helmets, boots, and swords? During a dismounted pause to blow the horses, I couldn’t resist questioning Andy Young, who being dressed from hair to heel in the standard uniform of the First American Regiment and who did not carry a sword, was obviously on detached duty with Starkweather’s dragoons. His smile told all.
“You’ve guessed correctly. Captain Starkweather’s father commanded a cavalry regiment in the Redcoat War. He believes mounted infantry essential to the defeat of the Shawnee and Miami. He argued mightily with General St. Clair when the general decided mounted troops were too expensive for his treasury and too difficult to discipline. That didn’t deter the captain any. He raised his volunteer company with his own monies, and they answer to him, with the general’s permission, of course.”
“Is that why you’re attached to his person? To watch his doings for St. Clair?”
Andy Young looked to our front to ensure the captain’s attention was occupied elsewhere and he could speak without being overheard. “The general thinks him overly zealous to validate his contentions. But I will make a poor spy, for I admire Captain Starkweather’s verve and fortitude. And others in the general’s own tent agree with him regarding the need for mounted infantrymen.”
While at some point in time he might prove an insurmountable rival for the affections of Erin Green, I couldn’t disagree with what the ensign had said about Starkweather’s character. He seemed to possess the stubborn will and exactitude I admired in Paw. And though I had heard him chided for his spotless uniform, peculiar habits, and taste for fancy victuals, I harbored no misgivings that Miles Starkweather would reveal himself a coward under fire. He was an officer one could well consider emulating. He appeared the perfect mate for a beautiful daughter, an opinion with which Molly Green would undoubtedly take no exception.
I wanted to question the ensign further, to inquire about Molly Green’s health and whether or not he and Paw had ever succeeded in broaching the misdeeds of Court Starnes to General St. Clair. But Miles Starkweather was astride his sorrel once more, his slanting right arm swept forward, and the detail was in motion again.
We held to the Injun path, a true northern route over rich, level terrain thick with stands of fine young white oak, walnut, hickory, and ash timber broken at intervals by flat expanses of sandstone. At what I judged just shy of six miles, we encountered and forded the first water, a handsome stream forty feet wide running to the east and shallower than our stirrups. We rode onward without halting to water our animals, a decision that provoked low mutters from the dragoons to my rear. Within a hundred rods, howsomever, we skirted an abandoned Injun camp with the now-familiar fire rings and pitch-roofed lean-tos, and Bear’s discovery of warm ashes silenced the disgruntled dragoons. Amazing how a single stark reminder we were in the country of an enemy out and on the move stilled the loosest of tongues. Stiffened tired muscles, too.
The sky darkened and the wind picked up, bringing air raw with cold and damp down upon us, threatening snow despite the calendar, and sure enough, the first small flakes whipped about as we dismounted to noon along the near bank of an easy-flowing stream of twelve feet. We watered the horses in pairs while the entire detail stood guard, then Bear, having fetched pouches of boiled beef and filled canteens for the both of us, presented me with one of each. Soon as he rejoined the captain, I wasted no breath resuming my inquiries of Ensign Young. “Is Molly Green desperately ill?”
“Yes, she suffers from a persistent, worsening fever. Sergeant Devlin finally wilted before the persistent pleas of Annie Bower. With Erin’s consent, the Bower woman began treating her this very morning with black powder diluted in water.”
I nearly choked on the beef I was chewing. “Black powder, for chrissake! I’ve never heard of anyone swallowing gunpowder a-purpose!”
The ensign’s tricorn
bobbed in agreement. “Me neither, but Annie Bower swears the surgeon she accompanied in the Redcoat War had nothing else during a prolonged siege, and it helped more of the wounded with terrible fevers than it killed.”
“More than it killed? Erin must have thought her mother’s situation was truly desperate.”
“She did. She feels her mother must get better quickly, or she will simply waste away. The wagoners think Molly Green a saint and are building a cabin to protect her from the wind and damp. They were felling logs for the walls in the woods beneath the eastern meadow when I left to bring the captain’s message to you and Mr. Watkins. Even soldiers sick and coughing themselves have offered to help the wagoners. Erin’s mother is in the prayers of many serving the army. General Butler confesses he has never seen its equal for a camp woman.”
We ate quietly for a few minutes, mulling over the plight of Molly Green. It wasn’t lost on me that if the mother overcame her fever, the newly built cabin would negate the need for her and her daughter to traipse after the army for the balance of the campaign. And it didn’t slight me the least bit that while Miles Starkweather would march north with the army, I would periodically pass the Green cabin with future pack trains. The morning suddenly seemed brighter than it had since Erin Green’s surprise kiss.
The ensign sighed, as if he had resolved something his own self, and said, “You are aware, are you not, that your father and I conferred privately with General St. Clair concerning Court Starnes and his henchmen. I trust he made you privy to the results of that meeting.”
I lowered my canteen. “No, I’ve not talked to Paw since our arrival with the pack train. He went off to meet the general, and I chased after Mistress Green. He was gone when Tap and I returned with her. Did he hear you out?”
Blood at Dawn Page 22