by J. F. Holmes
Tilting my head and trying to conceal my surprise at the usually formal officer’s use of my given name, I replied, “Hessians?”
The man shook his head slowly. “No. Worse.”
Glancing doubtfully at the Marine officer, I said, “We are a bit far inland for Indians, but perhaps with the war, they grow bold…”
The big man sighed, glanced at the younger officer, then replied, “Captain, I’ll be frank. You and me, we’re both from the old country. We know the legends and have heard tales of things that are…perhaps not legend.”
He nodded at the Marine, who began to say in a serious tone, “This evening, the southern watch post on the Germantown Pike was scheduled to be relieved as usual by the oncoming sentries. When they got to the post, the sentries were gone.”
“Deserted,” I replied calmly. It was common enough these days.
“So we thought. But in their post was a great deal of blood and the signs of a struggle.”
I pondered this for a moment, then spoke, thinking out loud, “Perhaps it is Indians. Seems out of season and far apace from their territory, but I suppose…”
Colonel Fitzgerald replied, “Their weapons lay where they fell. One of the muskets was discharged, the other not. No warrior I know of would leave a weapon behind.”
“Wolves, then. It’s not unheard of.”
The big officer scowled. “Perhaps. There was a distinct trail leading to the deep woods to the south. No wolf tracks. No footprints. Just…marks in the snow of someone being dragged.”
He stared at me, daring me to come to the conclusion I was avoiding. After a moment of tense eye contact, I broke it off and sighed. “I didn’t think they’d come this far into civilization.
“Perhaps they didn’t. Perhaps they did. Perhaps these are from here, or maybe this is something else. Regardless, here they are, and here they must be dealt with.”
Looking down, I considered for a moment, then replied, “I don’t know if I have enough men.”
Colonel Fitzgerald gestured at Lieutenant Turley, “The lieutenant has a squad of equipped, well-trained and disease-free Marine infantry.”
I turned to examine the young man’s ruddy, honest face. After a moment, I said “Lieutenant, do you know what you’re about to get into?”
“No, sir. But I have eight Marines under arms, and plenty of shot and powder. We’ll make do. Just put us on the trail. There’s little in these woods that well-disciplined musketry can’t solve.”
After a moment regarding the earnest young man, I held out a hand. “Welcome to the Fourth Pennsylvania Rifles.”
The young man returned the shake and replied, “The way I see it, Captain, is you and your riflemen are joining the Marine Infantry.” He grinned.
Colonel Fitzgerald spoke, “Very well. Captain Tillerson, you have your men. You meet the general at dawn. He wishes to speak to you personally.”
With a firm nod, I replied, “We shall be there, sir.”
Chapter Two
“To the Hunt”
November 21, 1777
My dearest Abigail,
I have been summoned to the headquarters of our Commander in Chief, the Honorable General Washington. While the nature of the summons yet is a mystery, I fear very much that it entails having to face those whom I faced those many years ago while defending the frontier. I pray to the almighty above that it is not so, but I have prepared as if the worst is true.
I pray that you do not worry for my safety. I will be well protected, for we have attached a complement of Continental Marines. They are a rough, sordid sort of men, foul of mouth and manners, but of the utmost bravery in battle, and indeed, almost chivalrous on the field of conflict. I pray that you are warm and comfortable through this bitter winter, and know that I love you and the boys and you are constantly in my thoughts and prayers.
Your eternally loving Husband, Sean.
The next day broke clear and cold. Opening the small door to my hut, I ducked outside. The bitter cold caused my breath to catch in my throat, and I paused to pull my scarf tight, and my hat low on my head. The quiet of the predawn camp made the scene of pitiful huts, occasional soldiers, and followers bundled against the cold seem serene. The camp was covered in a thick layer of fresh ice, and the smoke from the hundreds of fires left a haze in the air. A touch of the biting wind from the night before had the flags fluttering. The splashes of unit colors stood out, marking divisions and regiments, and occasionally the bright red, white, and blue of the new flag of our combined effort. Despite the magnificence of it, I knew that the suffering of the soldiers underlying the scene was immense and tinted with quiet desperation.
“Captain Tillerson, sir.” Looking to the left, I saw a young soldier trying to stand at attention despite his violent shivering. With a nod, I responded.
“Soldier. You are my escort, I presume?”
The young man replied through his chattering teeth, “Yes, sir. I’m to take you to General Washington straight away.”
“Very well. Lead on.” The young man courteously fell in beside me, and we began the trek across the camp. After several minutes of walking and silently watching the camp beginning to come to life around us, we happened by a parade field. A company of soldiers stood in the middle of it in formation, with rifles shouldered and bayonets fixed. They stood stock still as a massive man in an unfamiliar field uniform roamed back and forth in front of them, screaming in a foreign language. Despite not being able to understand the language, I recognized profanity when I heard it. Despite our pressing engagement, I found myself enthralled, and paused momentarily to watch.
After the man had screamed nonstop for several minutes, barely seeming to stop to draw breath, a stocky sergeant standing nearby spoke in a thickly accented voice.
“Ze general is displeased with your performance. Return to the starting position, and we begin again.”
The formation, previously as still as statues, suddenly came to life as the soldiers began removing their bayonets from their muskets and returning them to their scabbards. My escort spoke as he eyed the men on the parade field.
“Baron Von Steuben is a hard man, but even after these short few weeks, the difference is visible. That’s the Sixth and Seventh Pennsylvania. They were in a bad spot after Germantown.”
Absently, I replied, “I know. I am a Pennsylvania man myself.” I continued watching the bayonet drill as the men methodically went through the steps.
The young man didn’t reply. After a moment, he said carefully, “Sir, we must not keep the general waiting.”
With a nod and a last look at the drilling soldiers, I turned. “Indeed. Lead the way, soldier.” The young man silently turned and lead the way, heading towards a nearby hill. Near the top of the hill, a sturdy, two-story stone building stood, smoke issuing from its chimney, and two burly guards with muskets outside the door. As we approached the door, the two men came to attention. The man on the left spoke.
“Captain Tillerson. The general has been expecting you.” He reached over and opened the door. Nodding my thanks to my young escort and the guard, I stepped inside, immensely grateful for the relief from the bitter cold. A nearby servant stood waiting to take my coat and hat, which I handed over gratefully. Another waiting servant stepped forward and gestured for me to follow, which I did. Moments later we were in front of a door.
The servant knocked, then opened the door, and stepped inside, and as I followed, announced in a formal tone, “Captain Sean Tillerson of the Fourth Pennsylvania Rifles.”
I stepped in, took three smart steps, came to attention, and saluted. In the room stood three men. Two were leaning over a large table with a map, with small markers on it. The third, a tall man with broad shoulders and sandy brown hair pulled neatly back at the nape of his neck, stood by the roaring fire, his hands clasped behind him. His identity was unmistakable. The two at the table looked up at me as I entered. I recognized Colonel Fitzgerald from our meeting the previous night.
&nbs
p; He straightened up, stepped toward me, and spoke formally, “Captain Tillerson. May I present the Honorable General Washington, and my colleague, Colonel Hamilton.”
I nodded courteously, and replied, “Good morning to you both, sirs. It is a pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances.”
The general gravely returned the salute and gestured to the sideboard, where several fine china cups were laid out. “A pleasure, Captain. Are you well? May I offer you coffee? I’m afraid we are a bit short of tea at the moment.”
His tone had a hint of humor in it at the last statement, and I could not help but smile as I replied, “I am well, sir. I understand we are pressed for time.”
He nodded and responded, “Indeed we are. However, I would be remiss if I did not offer my commendations on for your men’s performance at Germantown. Your Pennsylvania men and their fortitude in covering the retreat may have saved this Army.”
Gravely, I replied, “Thank you, General, although it is of little enough comfort to their wives.”
“Indeed. Please send them my condolences on their tragic loss and thank them for their sacrifice to our young nation.” I nodded graciously at the kind words. He regarded me intently for a moment, then spoke abruptly, “To business. Alexander?”
The red-headed young man at the map table moved to another table with a smaller map and beckoned me toward it. Curious, I stepped up and regarded the map. It appeared to be a map of the area of Germantown, and had the markings left from the battle, with unit markers positioned as it had ended. The map also had a finely detailed examination of the areas surrounding our encampment.
Colonel Hamilton spoke, his voice pleasant and even, “Captain, we have summoned you here to assist us with a problem, as Colonel Fitzgerald mentioned when you were summoned.” He placed a finger on the map. “We appear to be losing sentries.” He paused, carefully measuring his words. “Or, perhaps more precisely, something is taking our sentries.” His slender finger tapped the map, then moved to several places in sequence. “Here, here and here. Twelve men over the last four days, all on southern sentry line.”
He tapped the map on the thick wooded area that lay between our encampment and the pike that lead to Germantown.
Tilting my head, I regarded the map for a moment, then said thoughtfully, “You believe it’s in those woods.”
Hamilton nodded. “Indeed. The pattern suggests that whatever it is, is in this area, as the attacks seem to center there.” He tapped an area with a small red circle around it.
Still regarding the map, I nodded silently and folded my arms.
Suddenly General Washington spoke in his powerful baritone, “Captain, I cannot emphasize enough how crucial it is that you find and eliminate whatever it is that is taking my troops.” I looked up from the map at the general. He had stepped to the map table, and his face was stern. He continued, “The morale of this Army is precarious. Disease, desertion, and the recent misfortune at Germantown have all made the preservation of the spirits of the men of the utmost importance. If word were to get out that men were disappearing again…” He fell silent, his face hard.
I considered this for a moment, then asked, “Again? Has this happened before?”
The two aides traded a look, then Fitzgerald spoke carefully, “We have had…misfortunes for a year now, usually after major engagements. At first we attributed it to other things. Wolves. Indians. Desertion, brigands, or madness.” He paused and then looked at General Washington, who silently nodded. Fitzgerald continued, “After several months of these trickling losses, we started seeing patterns. Whatever this was, it was following the Army on campaign. From Massachusetts, to Delaware, now through Pennsylvania.”
General Washington spoke abruptly, “Captain, I served in the west in the wars against the French. I heard the rumors of you and your scouts, and the…price you extracted for the massacre at Fort William Henry.”
I looked down momentarily, then back up at the general, and replied, “I know the rumors, General. Suffice it to say that things were not as they appeared out there.”
Washington regarded me for a moment, then nodded. “I suspected as much. They seldom are.” He turned to Hamilton and spoke in a commanding tone, “Ensure that the captain has men, horses, and shot, and link him up with the men we discussed. He’ll leave as soon as his men are assembled.”
Hamilton nodded and turned to a nearby writing desk. General Washington turned back to me and spoke grimly, “Ride hard and fast, Captain. Go into those woods, find and remove the threat to this Army. Most importantly, report back. I must know what threat we face if we are to maintain this Army and win this war.”
I came to attention and saluted. “By your command, General.” He gravely returned the salute, and I turned and left the room.
****
An hour later, having broken my fast with boiled beef and bread, I retrieved my horse from the general’s excellent stables and made my way to the southern parade ground to meet my new men. Lost in thought, I scarcely noticed the camp and its multitude of miseries around me until I was at the appointed meeting place. As I drew near, I noted a small group of men, their shoulders hunched against the cold, standing near a small fire attempting to warm themselves. They wore varied uniforms concealed under heavy winter blankets. Upon seeing me, they fell into a formation of two lines and stood to attention. I recognized the young lieutenant of Marines from the night before, and returned his crisp salute.
He spoke crisply, “Captain Tillerson, sir. The men are present and assembled.”
Spying familiar faces in the ranks, I dismounted my horse and made my way to the men. Moving up to the first rank, I ordered, “Rest easy, soldiers.”
The men relaxed, and I spoke to the big man with hard, flinty eyes in a battered tan uniform coat with stained red facings. On his shoulder rested the distinctive long rifle of the Pennsylvania regiments. “Sergeant Armistead. Good to have you.”
The big sergeant nodded and responded in a thick Scottish accent, “Happy to help, sir.” He nodded to his left at the two men next to him. “Brought Haskins and Lewis, sir.”
Nodding, I asked, “How are the rest of the men?”
The big sergeant shook his head and responded, “Able passed of the flux last night. Johnstone and Blackman caught the fevers, and Murphy’s finger turned to gangrene. He’s in hospital. Perhaps they’ll save th’ arm. Perhaps not.”
“Damn.” I shook my head and regarded the three men, then remarked, “So we are the last of the mighty Fourth. What a sad lot we are, indeed.”
The big sergeant nodded and gave a crooked smile. “Sad we may be, we aren’t finished yet, sir.” He looked sideways. “Right, lads?”
Haskins and Lewis smiled grimly and nodded in acknowledgement. I turned to Lieutenant Turley and asked, “How are the men for arms, Lieutenant?”
The young officer replied, “Sir, your riflemen have double loads of shot and powder, and a freshly issued saber each from the armory. My Marines have muskets with bayonets, and a cutlass and pistol each.” He gave an amused look at the green-coated Marines standing in the ranks and added, “And like as not, they’ve extra weaponry and other devices of mischief secreted upon their personages as well, sir.”
Amused, I replied, “They may well need them, should we encounter a British patrol. How are we for horses and consumables?”
The man gestured to a line of horses tethered nearby and replied, “Fresh mounts from the general himself’s stables, and three days of hardtack and jerky.”
“Very good. You have the maps?”
The Marine patted the case at his side and replied, “Indeed, and your sergeant has a copy as well.”
Impressed with the young officer’s efficiency, I replied, “Very good. Your eight men plus my riflemen bring us to thirteen.” I paused and noted wryly, “Not a number known for luck.” With a twist of a grin, I added, “Fortunately, we don’t believe in luck. Do we, Sergeant Armistead?”
The big man rumbled in r
eply, “We make our own, sir.” He patted the long, sheathed knife slung on his right hip.
Lieutenant Turley grinned, motioned to the horses, and said, “If there’s nothing else, shall we proceed, sir?”
“Indeed we shall, Lieutenant. Move the men out.” I turned and prepared to mount my horse. Settling into the familiar comfort of my campaign saddle, I waited as the soldiers mounted and formed into a column. Sergeant Armistead lead off, with me and Lieutenant Turley bringing up the rear. After a brief glance at the sky, I noted that the pure blue was now scudded with low-hanging grey clouds, and the sky to the south loomed with dark, tall clouds, as if hiding something dark underneath them.
Turley noticing my look to the sky and, mistaking my expression, said in a matter-of-fact tone, “Those speak to more snow, sir. We’d best hurry before we lose the trail.”
“Indeed.” I clucked at my horse and gently tapped his sides to set him to motion. As we headed south, we passed a wood and earthen palisade, which I couldn’t help but notice was being methodically reinforced with additional wooden stakes being added, and the walls were being heightened by grim looking soldiers. They didn’t sing or joke as they worked, merely toiled, and occasionally glanced at the woods to the south of the encampment. Turley gave me a questioning look, to which I responded with only a slight shrug.
****
A half hour of gentle riding later, we came to a fork in the small road guarded by several nervous looking sentries. The road cut through the forest, which had grown thicker around us.