I made to protest that such an offer was too much, but he shushed me with an upraised palm and turned to Jared, who waited patiently at the entryway of the tent. “Fill the tub, please. Our newest recruit won’t be ready for dinner without a proper soaking.”
Jared departed, and Starkweather crossed to the yawning brass bathing tub opposite his cot. From a small folding table next to the tub he retrieved a looking mirror and razor. Gilt framed the mirror, and the razor bore a carved ivory handle. He pointed to a longish leather strap hanging from the tent pole behind the tub. “Strop a fine edge on her. It’s a quality blade from Mahon’s of Philadelphia. Shaves without nicking when sharp, she does,” he said with great pride, returning the mirror and razor to the folding table. “I’ll retire outside while you tend to yourself.”
A most delectable hour followed. I stripped to the waist and shaved while Jared fetched steaming kettles till the tub was adequately filled. At his signal, I finished undressing and plunged into the scalding water. Before leaving me, Jared placed bars of scented soap and drying cloths within easy reach.
Mercy, but did the dirt float that evening. My freshly scrubbed skin was white as bleached bone. Danged if this being a dragoon officer didn’t have some advantages. Course, once I was clean everywhere and relaxed as a catamount sunning hisself, I overwore my welcome by dozing off. What saved my being found out was the growing coldness of the water. I came awake with a start, checked the entryway for onlookers, and relieved I was still alone, bolted from the tub, dried off quickly, and shucked into my clothes. I plopped in the captain’s chair and donned his spare boots. They were tight but would loosen with wear.
Rising from the chair, my gaze drifted to the surface of his writing table. A sheet of parchment lay atop a walnut board resting on the green velvet coverlet. The opening salutation, “My Dearest Mother,” caught my eye and, sinful or not, I was suddenly bent over, the flame of the table candle nearly touching my cheek, unable to stop reading.
“I am in receipt of your recent missive concerning Madison Elizabeth. I am most thankful for the care you have provided her in my absence. Hopefully, the current campaign will be concluded within the next month, and I can again assume responsibility for her. You need not fear for your granddaughter’s future. It is my intent to again take a wife . . .”
My eyes froze on those last five words: “to again take a wife.” Did Starkweather mean Erin Green? Hell’s bells, who else could he mean? That explained why he had tracked every happening at the Green cart and continued to do so at the Green cabin. My heart raced crazily. Had he made me his aide-de-camp so he could . . .
Canvas rustled at the entryway. I lunged into Starkweather’s leather-seated chair and commenced tugging at the tops of the boots he had loaned me as if demons were chasing me and I had to escape or perish. Lordy, lordy, had my shadow shown on the tent front and revealed me snooping in his private papers my very first hour of service?
But Jared, the servant, not Miles Starkweather, superior officer, slipped past the canvas sheeting. Jared smiled as though he had witnessed nothing out of the ordinary, and I beamed right back at him, my heartbeat no longer raging in my ears like a madly stroked drum. “Dinner be ready,” the servant announced.
I followed Jared outside. Starkweather was seated at the overhang table, sipping red wine from a stemmed glass. Another place setting of china lay beside his own, arranged so that his guest would also be oriented to the fire. “Join me, Ensign. You may replace Ensign Young, who is absent for the evening. Mannered company is not abundant in the land of the savages, fair land though it be.”
Never mind I had eaten earlier at the Dodd fire. I supped on an array of delicious fare, the tinned sardines and pickled oysters Andy Young had praised as well as others just as mouthwatering: beef braised with brandy and dried peaches, roasted hazelnuts, and fleshy papaws Jared must have gathered while we were off scouting. I made it through the meal without a major catastrophe, not a solitary noisy slurp or wet smacking of the lips or unseemly belch, the common accompaniment of borderers partaking at an open fire, by pretending to be at Mother’s table where the rude were neither welcome nor tolerated. Maybe, as she had claimed at every correction the whole of my growing years, her careful scrutiny was actually part of some divine plan to prepare me for a later, higher destiny. I was more willing to embrace that view now than when under the lash of her tongue, a concession less difficult for me with each sumptuous sip of red wine.
“Perhaps coats are in order, given the chill air,” the captain observed. Once ensconced in warm outer garments, we moved close to the fire and enjoyed a final glass of wine together while Jared cleared the table. Starkweather was in a mood to talk, and I sipped and listened without interruption. “Serving in my command, Ensign, you’ll visit General St. Clair’s tent on occasion and be privy to vital information. You must keep what you hear in the strictest confidence or be summarily dismissed from my dragoons. Do you understand?”
At my nod, the captain resumed talking. “It’s my desire that dragoon officers know as much as possible what confronts this army, and the future doesn’t bode well. After all the equipment deficiencies and shortages suffered to date, we have discovered the osnaburg end flaps of the tents furnished both the regulars and levies weren’t waterproof, and thousands of paper cartridges stored in them have been ruined by the damp. Thus, we could run shy of cartridges in a prolonged battle. Of more pressing concern, at their insistence, an entire company of Virginia levies was discharged the twentieth. The other levies, every company, claim their enlistment expires the last day of the month. Then there’s the Kentucky militia. They continually defy the simplest order to do other than scout or stand guard, and suffer desertions what seems nightly. St. Clair’s army is falling apart piecemeal on him. Before it’s in tatters and total disarray, he must tighten the discipline and march farther north, far enough beyond this fort it would be more frightening for the levies to be discharged or the militia to desert rather than engage the enemy en masse.”
Starkweather sipped wine from his glass. “Ensign Young is attending General St. Clair’s meeting of field officers in my stead. It will be no surprise if the general plans a Monday march after the Sabbath observance tomorrow. That would leave him the disciplinary problems to solve prior to our departure, though the sated and full-bellied soldier tends to obey orders with an alacrity missing in those hungry and grouching,” the captain related with a sweeping wave at the boisterously rowdy evening fires of his own dragoons.
The captain sighed. “The next northern march will be most dangerous for everyone connected with the army, particularly unarmed camp followers.” His gaze sought mine. “Fortunately, the illness of Molly Green will result in her remaining behind, along with her daughter. According to Ensign Young, Annie Bower with her pistol and knife will afford a modicum of protection in our absence. If he agrees, I will hire your friend, Mr. Jacobs, to guard the Green cabin till the campaign comes to some conclusion. Would he be amenable to such a proposal, do you suppose?”
I drank the last inch of wine in my glass, certain now that Miles Starkweather was a most serious rival for the affections of Erin Green. He had no other earthly reason to provide for her safety once the army marched. But he wouldn’t be alone with her for any length of time that I could foresee, and if I couldn’t stand watch over Erin my ownself, Tap was the next best thing. He would say or do nothing that would diminish my stature, howsomever slight that might be, with the woman I loved. I was learning. The underdog had to seize opportunity whenever he could and advance his cause by whatever means available.
“Tap pursues whatever whim strikes him,” I said calm as I could. “If Paw will allow it, he might prefer a stretch of guard duty rather than the long traipse back to Fort Hamilton.”
“That’s most promising,” Starkweather responded. “Ensign Young was to deliver my proposal to Mr. Jacobs once the meeting at the general’s headquarters concluded.” The captain stood, and I did likewise. �
��The ensign should be joining us within the half hour. In the meantime, you best picket your mount and place your blankets in Jared’s tent.”
After a proper knuckling of forehead and profuse thanks for the elegant dining, I led Blue along the fringe of the trees to where Starkweather’s sorrel and a score of other horses were being guarded by a detail of dragoons. I then carted my saddle and gear to Jared’s tent adjoining the captain’s marquee. The structure was large enough to sleep four men, a satisfying discovery, as I’d no desire to have my presence create a hardship for the kindly servant.
When I emerged from Jared’s tent, Andy Young, dispatch pouch in hand, was dismounting from his gray mare at the fire. The ensign stretched tired legs and saluted the captain. “Reporting as ordered, sir,” he announced, catching my approach out of the corner of his eye. He hesitated at that juncture, unsure if he should speak in front of me.
“You may continue, Ensign,” Starkweather assured him, accepting the dispatch pouch. “Mr. Downer is now Ensign Downer, First Volunteer Dragoons. Much to my delight, he will serve as my aide-de-camp the balance of the campaign.”
The momentary tightening of Andy Young’s features hinted he would have many questions for me later. For now, his reply was most direct. “As you wish, sir.”
Without instruction, Jared had fetched Starkweather’s writing chair from within the marquee, and we seated ourselves around the fire, the servant seeing to the ensign’s mount. At Starkweather’s nod, Andy Young proceeded with his report. “As you anticipated, General St. Clair has imposed the death penalty on three soldiers; two artillerymen for attempting to desert to the British and a levy private for shooting a comrade and threatening an officer. They will be hung at dawn before the entire army,” the ensign said solemnly. “Capital punishment will henceforth be the reward for any who abandon the colors.”
“He has no druthers,” Starkweather interjected. “An undisciplined rabble is an army begging for defeat. Let us pray these deaths won’t be in vain. Any decision as to when we will resume our northern march?”
“As close after sunrise as possible, day after tomorrow. The fort will be christened Jefferson the same morning in honor of that esteemed Virginian. A fatigue of those too sick or infirm to accompany us will remain behind and garrison the fort.”
Starkweather leaned forward in his chair. “And the rest of your business for the evening?”
“I located Mr. Jacobs. He was at the Dodd horse camp in the west meadow. I arrived there and found all was in an uproar,” Andy Young said, glancing anxiously in my direction. “Mr. Jacobs informed me Court Starnes and Ensign Downer’s father had engaged in a tremendous fight.”
Starkweather came upright as did I, my breath running shallow on me. Had Paw been hurt? Killed, God forbid?
“Is Paw all right?” I blurted.
“Yes, it seems Mr. Watkins and Mr. Jacobs, along with two wagoners, interceded and stopped the fight. Your father is alive, but like Starnes, he suffered a frightful beating. Mr. Jacobs told me your father will bear scars forever but will recover fully, though it will take some weeks. I dislike telling you, but Starnes was still on his feet when the fight was halted, and he went berserk, according to Mr. Jacobs. He grabbed up a pistol and ordered your father and all associated with him back to Fort Hamilton without delay.”
“But Paw shouldn’t travel hurt like he is,” I protested.
“He won’t,” the ensign assured me. “Mr. Jacobs tossed Mr. Watkins a rifle, and he confronted Starnes, ordering him to drop the pistol. Starnes finally did so, and Mr. Watkins then said your father would be removed to a separate camp. That’s when I arrived.”
“Where’s Paw now?”
“Farther into the west meadow near the creek. Mr. Watkins, Mr. Jacobs, and the wagoners are with him.”
I was reluctant to ask but couldn’t stand not knowing. I braced myself and said, “What provoked the fight? Did Tap say?”
The ensign’s eyes lowered, then raised to meet mine. “Yes, Court Starnes accused you of being a coward. He claimed only a coward would break a man’s jaw with a sneak punch, and your father took offense. When Starnes refused to retract his allegation, your father went for him.”
I looked away quickly and stared into the darkness beyond the roof of the marquee. What an infernal mess I had made of my affairs and those of Paw. It was a hellish long journey for a single day, but I had gone from hero in the morning to disloyal and spurned son in the evening, and I had managed to drag Paw down into the foul dirt and piss beneath the woods skunk with me. If there was a being lower than me, he was already burning in the eternal fires of damnation. Damn love to hell and gone, anyway.
“Do you wish to visit your father, Ensign?” Starkweather inquired.
In spite of Paw’s desperate situation, wounded feelings, though far less hurtful, shackled me to my chair. “No, sir, not tonight,” I said, voice on the verge of cracking.
Though my decision had to puzzle Starkweather, as usual, he didn’t pry. “Well and good, Ensign. Gentlemen, given the lateness of the hour, I suggest we retire.”
The captain’s suggestion suited me just fine. There being no hole for me to crawl into and bury myself, a pair of blankets in an unlighted tent was the next best thing. Thank God, Andy Young, who also shared Jared’s tent, exhibited the same respect for the privacy of others as the captain, and with a soft “Good night,” he crawled into his own makeshift bed.
I was too old to cry myself to sleep, but I was no less miserable. And when I did doze, it was fitfully, for I dreamed over and over I was astride Blue, friendless, loveless, and horribly alone, riding an endless trail that led nowhere.
Chapter 24
23 October
I awakened mean and ill of spirit in the tattered gray of first light. I vaguely heard Andy Young mutter, “Drum call,” and a dull thumping as he stomped into his boots. His hand suddenly clasped my shoulder. “Best be coming alive. Captain Starkweather never wastes a sliver of daylight.”
I unwound from about my rifle and staggered upright. Footfalls thundered in the meadow, Starkweather’s troop forming the morning parade. I roused myself with a thorough shaking of head and limb, slipped into my own boots, tugged my new helmet in place, and bolted after Andy Young, vowing there would be no oversleeping in the future. Without thinking on it, I knew Starkweather, as my superior officer, would be no less exacting than Paw, and the wise bird didn’t foul the only nest available to him.
Luck smiled on me that first parade. I was unschooled as a soldier, and while I held my rifle properly across my chest, the weapon was not presented at half cock with the frizzen open. But the captain’s cursory inspection of each dragoon that morning did not extend to a close look at our long guns in the weak light of the overcast dawn. I made myself a second vow then and there: No detail of dragoon duty would ever be too small for my attention.
The captain’s haste that early dawn stemmed from the executions that would shortly occur. Starkweather read St. Clair’s condemning order aloud, a document he had received in the evening message pouch delivered by Ensign Young. After his strong, deliberate reading, the troop marched afoot from the meadow and aligned itself shoulder to shoulder with the closely ranked companies of the First American Regiment. From that location abutting and well up the military road leading to the front gates of the newly named Fort Jefferson, we enjoyed an unobstructed view of what followed in grimmest detail.
At the final tally, nearly nineteen hundred regulars, levies, militia, artillerymen, and dragoons were present at the grand parade and watched the whole sorry spectacle unfold at sunrise. The limbs of a towering oak, jutting stark and powerful against a backdrop of walled fort and low, gray sky, served as the gallows. Though it was impossible, at the dreaded carrying out of St. Clair’s order, it seemed we heard the necks of the three condemned snap in unison as the arm of the executioner fell in a sudden, silent arc to the accompaniment of a tremendous drum roll. The sight of three pairs of legs kicking and st
iffening for naught seared itself in my memory to the final breath of my life.
But St. Clair wasn’t finished, for next came the punishment of the living. The comrade who had lost his desire to join the British and snitched on the two hanged artillerymen was bound to the whipping post and given one hundred lashes, the whip slicing his bare white backside into a trough of red meat. No less bloody were the three soldiers subsequently given fifty lashes each for falling asleep on sentry duty. The dismissal drum sounded none too soon, for at the last fall of the whip, every member of the watching multitude was thoroughly and completely impressed with the absolute military authority of Major General Arthur St. Clair and his fellow officers.
The sunrise executions and punishments lent a lingering sadness to that entire Sabbath. Gone was the exuberance spawned by the arrival of the pack train the previous evening, for no amount of bread or whiskey or cooked beef could lighten the mood of a subdued army when word was in the air it would march deeper into enemy country on the morrow. And being melancholy about what I had witnessed, I weakened and took to dwelling on Paw and how he was and whether I dared ask permission to visit him. But the captain negated the question by involving the entire troop in a whirl of activity that consumed the daylight hours in rapid succession.
Every horseshoe nail, saddle girth, and bridle, every rifle barrel, lock, and flint, every ball and ounce of powder, every sword hilt, blade, and scabbard, every boot heel, spur, button, and helmet, every blanket roll, victuals pouch, and canteen was examined, cleaned, repaired, oiled, sharpened or replaced as needed and inspected thrice, first by each dragoon, then the sergeants, then the captain himself. With our animals and equipment in proper order, we then scavenged the surrounding woods in pairs the entire afternoon and somehow procured enough meadow grass both to feed our mounts for the day and accumulate a meager stock to be borne with us upon the Monday march. Dusk found us tired and hungry before the evening fires, and here new surprises from the captain awaited me.
Blood at Dawn Page 26