Brave Enemies - A Novel Of The American Revolution

by Robert Morgan

  I felt so ashamed for what had happened, and I felt ashamed that Mama might have seen it. She was not well and I didn’t know what she might do. Mr. Griffin lurched away from me toward the barn, brushing his clothes and patting his hair in place.

  As I walked toward Mama I began to cry. It was like the worst thing in the world had happened and I was afraid to look Mama in the face. Everything was twisted. The air was twisted and the day was wrenched around. I sobbed as I got closer to Mama. I wanted her to take me in her arms. As I reached out to her she hissed, “You hussy! You shameless girl!”

  “No,” I said, and tried to take her elbows in my hands. But Mama flung my hands away and slapped me hard, and then she raked my cheeks with her fingers, cutting the skin.

  TWO

  AFTER MAMA TURNED AWAY from me and ran toward the house, I stood under the poplar tree sobbing. My cheeks were bleeding and my tears stung the cuts Mama’s nails had made. Mr. Griffin had disappeared into the barn and I was alone in the yard between the house and hogpen.

  I was soiled and disgusting. I had to wash myself off and I had to get away. I wanted to die. I stumbled toward the pine woods and fought my way through the brush and limbs. I knocked briars and vines out of the way like they were hands reaching for me. When I got to the creek I knelt on rocks and began to wash myself with the cold water.

  Maybe it was the surprise of the creek water on my face that made me stop crying. It felt like I had been blinded and the cold water made me see again. And I saw that things had gotten so bad and desperate that I had to think clearly. I had to be cunning if I was to survive. Mr. Griffin was evil and Mama was insane.

  I washed my face and my arms and legs. I washed between my legs with the cold creek water. I tried to get the mud off my torn dress and I picked mud out of my hair. I cleaned myself as best I could and looked at my swollen, streaked face in the water, and then I sat on a rock and planned what I would do.

  It was impossible to ever go back and live as we had before. Mama had attacked me. Mr. Griffin had violated me. I had no choice but to leave. I shivered as it got dark and cold, and I saw what I must do.

  First I crept back to the shed at the edge of the yard and took a pair of shears Mama used to snip flowers. While there was still a little light, I knelt over a pool in the creek and cut my hair shorter. Hair fell in hanks into the water, floated for a while, and then sank. I tried to make my hair look like a boy’s.

  After it was dark I crawled and crept back through the thicket to the edge of the yard. I was cold and sore but no longer crying.

  There was a light in the kitchen where Mama and Mr. Griffin must be eating supper. I stood at the edge of the woods and watched the lighted window, and I watched the stars get brighter in the wide sky over the house. It was scary to be outside.

  When the light in the kitchen disappeared I knew Mama and Mr. Griffin had gone to the parlor. Mr. Griffin would smoke his pipe and have a glass of sweetened rum, and Mama would sew. I shivered in the chilly air and crossed the yard to the woodpile.

  The ax we used to chop wood and split kindling and kill chickens was stuck in the chopping block. I worked the ax loose and rested the head on the ground while holding the handle. I waited in the cold air.

  Before he went to bed, Mr. Griffin would come out into the backyard to relieve himself. It was impossible to know when he would— it depended on how much rum he had drunk, or how soon he got sleepy.

  I moved to the edge of the house and stood in the shadow of the porch. The moon had risen over the oak trees and threw eerie light across the fields and yard. It did not seem possible I was standing outside my own house holding an ax, but there I was.

  Mr. Griffin must have drunk more rum than usual that evening, for soon I heard steps in the house. The back door creaked open and there were steps across the porch. Sometimes Mr. Griffin pissed from the edge of the porch, but in good weather he usually stepped out into the yard. I was relieved to see him walk down the steps into the moonlight. He moved almost to the woodpile before he stopped. I heard the hiss and tinkle of piss on the chips and saw the flash of his arc.

  Quietly as I could I stepped up behind him and raised the ax. I brought the ax down hard as I could but must have missed his head and hit his neck or shoulder, for he called out and spun around. I raised the ax again and hit him in the face as he turned toward me. He moaned as I hit him on the head, and the skull popped like a terrapin shell he had stomped. As he sank to his knees I thought of him pushing me down in the muck of the hogpen and tearing my dress, and I hit him again.

  When Mr. Griffin lay still in the moonlight, I listened to see if Mama had heard the commotion and come to the door. The house was still. I walked on tiptoes up the steps to the back door. I hoped Mama had not gone to bed but was still sewing in the parlor.

  The only light was in the parlor and I slipped down the hall to their bedroom. Feeling my way into the room I opened the door of the wardrobe where Mr. Griffin kept his clothes. Quick as I could in the dark I ripped off my dress and put on one of Mr. Griffin’s shirts and a pair of his pants. If I could look like a man or boy I might be able to survive while traveling in the hills. I got Mr. Griffin’s winter coat and slipped it on, and I took his spare Sunday hat.

  I knew Mama kept her coins tied in a handkerchief in the top bureau drawer. I fished around in the drawer until I found the handkerchief and slipped it into a coat pocket.

  My plan was to hurry back into the night without Mama seeing me. I needed to get far away from the house by daylight. But as I tiptoed down the hall I hit a coat tree and knocked it over. The crash seemed to shake the house.

  “Is that you, Charlie?” Mama said. She turned and saw me in the lamplight in the parlor door. Because I was wearing Mr. Griffin’s clothes she started screaming. I stepped toward the light to quiet her and saw the blood on my fingers. Mr. Griffin’s blood had splashed on my hands and wrists and on my face. Mama screamed again when she saw the blood, and I ran out of the house and into the night, taking care to avoid Mr. Griffin’s body by the woodpile.

  IT WAS COMPLETELY dark in the woods, and I plunged into the pines and ducked and pushed limbs aside until I found the trail. The hat kept getting knocked off. Where are you going? I said to myself. Do you know what you’re doing?

  When I found the river trail I walked faster. The trail was wide enough for a horse and rider, and there were puddles and boggy places along it. I stepped in mud holes and hurried. I didn’t want to be seen by anybody I knew. I didn’t know where I was going, but I wanted to get there as fast as I could.

  The trail ran down to the Catawba River and along the river. There was a ferry there and a low ford where you could drive a wagon across. But I wanted to cross the river secretly in the dark. There was wilder country west of the river and nobody knew me there. I ran along the trail and jumped over rocks.

  It was so dark I couldn’t tell exactly where the ford was. I found a wide place where the river was shallow and the bottom was rocky. I took off my shoes and pulled off Mr. Griffin’s pants and held my bundle to my chest. As I started wading, the water was so cold it bit and burned. My feet ached as I stepped over rocks into deeper water. The river smelled of mud and sour leaves, but it smelled clean compared to the hogpen.

  The glow in the clouds glistened on the rippling water. The river dimpled and swooped over rocks. I was about halfway across when I stepped into a deeper place and the water came up to my groin. The river pushed me and I almost fell. The cold water stung where I was so sore. I braced myself and took short steps. Water splashed up on my bundle, on my face. I worked my way step by step over the rocks to the mud of the western bank.

  I didn’t have a lantern and I didn’t even have a flint for starting a fire. I was only sixteen and I’d never been across the river. It was October and getting cold. I dried myself off with the pants and put them on and pulled the shoes on.

  Josie, you are lost, I said. You are plumb lost in the dark woods. I knew there were wolves
and panthers in the mountains, in the woods to the west. I knew there were bears and rattlesnakes, though the snakes quit crawling after the first frost. I had Mr. Griffin’s coat to keep me warm, but I needed a roof over me and a wall to keep out wind. I needed a scrap of fire to warm by.

  The river slurped and whispered. I wasn’t hungry. I was too tired to be hungry. But I would be hungry the next day. The little handkerchief of coins wasn’t worth anything in the woods.

  A shooting star flung off sparks above me and I shivered, wondering if it was a portent for me. I saw Mr. Griffin lying in the yard with his head mashed in.

  I looked for the trail up the bank of the river. I picked my way around a birch tree and some hazelnut trees. It looked like there was a kind of trail. But was it just a rabbit trail or a deer trail? There were settlements on the west side of the river, but I didn’t know where they were. I knew Gilbert Town was farther west. I climbed up to the level ground and looked around.

  In the dim light I saw a steep hill way off and some tall trees against the sky. A bird screeched in the woods not too far off. When you’re confused it’s better to go slow and calm yourself, I told myself. Maybe if I thought hard and was careful I’d see what to do.

  As I climbed up the hill trying to find the trail, it got so dark I couldn’t see my feet. Limbs slapped my face and briars raked my pants legs. I strained to see what was ahead, looking right into the shadows. When I looked sideways out of the corner of my eyes I could see a little better. I could at least see the dim shapes of trees and avoid hitting them. I turned my head and stepped to the side, then stopped and listened. But all I heard was a bird squawking down toward the river. There was no light except a few stars.

  Stumbling and feeling my way between limbs and bushes, I climbed till it felt like I was on level ground. But there was no light of window or campfire in sight in any direction. I took a few more steps and turned around, and wasn’t even sure where the river was anymore. The dark looked the same on every side.

  I held out my hands and touched a big limb. Following the limb I came to a big tree that felt like an oak. The tree was wide as a wall and the ground under it was thick with leaves. I thought I would sit down and lean against the tree for a while and think about what I could do.

  Wrapping Mr. Griffin’s coat tight around me, I pushed myself against the big oak so it could protect me from the damp breeze. The tree was like a big friend comforting me in the dark, with its roots deep in the hill and the limbs high above. A current seemed to be flowing in the tree and from the tree. It was rooted deep in its place and was calm. I wanted to be calm and certain as the tree.

  I thought of Mama alone in the house with her mind so confused and troubled. And I thought of what I’d done that day. Tears squeezed into my eyes and they wouldn’t stop coming. My throat got stiff and sore and wrenched with a sob. I put my face against my knees and cried.

  After I sat there a long time the dampness seeped through my clothes. The cold began to sneak between the threads and fibers of Mr. Griffin’s coat. I must have gone to sleep and dreamed, for I thought the river flew by me two or three times like a big bird. And when I woke it seemed I’d just heard a scream. I listened and heard only the breeze stirring limbs, and a flutter off in the leaves. A dog barked so far away I wasn’t even sure it was a dog.

  When you are out in the cold your body burns like its own stove. I could smell my warmth against the cold dampness. I shuddered as the warmth of my blood and the smell of my sweat fought the cold soaking in through the clothes. My skin tried to seal itself off from the cold as I huddled in the little house of myself.

  I hunkered down in Mr. Griffin’s coat and tried not to breathe. I sat still and hoped to hold in all my smells. When you stay awake the night stretches out longer and longer. I sat there listening to all the rustles and flutters, the chirps and barks. I listened for snakes crawling and bats flying. I must have gone to sleep again, for when I opened my eyes again there was light and I could see the trees around me.

  What a relief that day was coming. I’d made it through the night. I was comforted to know I had lasted through the night. Without shelter or fire I’d stayed the whole night in the strange woods. But I had to find something to eat. And I had to find a place to stay for the next night. I felt the handkerchief with the coins in my pocket.

  As the sky got brighter it was clear which way the east was, and which way the river was. I needed to go farther away from the river. I needed to keep going to the west. I stretched myself and felt how stiff and sore I was where Mr. Griffin had hurt me. I’d have to walk slowly until I felt better.

  The oak woods that had appeared closed in in the dark looked open in daylight. I picked my way through trees; there was no sign of a path or trace. I was hungry and cold. I had to find a farm or camp. But there was no clearing in the woods. I couldn’t even find a rabbit trail.

  I must have walked a mile when I heard a shout. I froze and listened, and there was another shout. Something banged like a stick on a log. The sound came from far down the long hill. I heard a cry and then laughter.

  Where there were people there might be something to eat. I started running toward the shouts, but as I got closer I slowed down to tiptoe steady and quiet. I was so short of breath I thought I would smother.

  I came to a creek among laurel bushes, and the shouts seemed to be on the other side. I waded through the gravel and mossy rocks and climbed into the thicket. When I pushed a limb aside I saw a kind of road through the woods. A party of men was coming and I slipped back out of sight.

  Through the laurel leaves I saw the men were carrying something on a pole. It was big enough to be a bear or panther. There were at least a dozen men shouting and laughing. And someone was crying. As they got closer I saw the thing slung on the pole was not an animal but a woman, an old woman. They reached an opening in the trees and stopped, and they cut the woman’s feet loose so she could stand with her hands still tied to the pole.

  “Long live the king,” she cried. I saw she didn’t have any teeth. All her clothes had been torn off. Her face looked old but her breasts appeared surprisingly young.

  “If we cut your eyes out, granny, you can’t be no Tory spy,” a man carrying a pistol said. He had long brown hair and a big belly that pushed through his vest. He seemed to be the leader. Another man had started a fire, and they hung a bucket over the flames. The bucket had a stick in it and I could smell tar. “We’re going to dress you up, granny,” the man with the pistol said.

  “You’ll burn in hell,” the woman spat out.

  A man with a razor caught her head in the crook of his arm and started to shave her head. The gray hair came off in hanks and bunches. When all the hair was gone her scalp looked raw and was bloody in places. The man with the pistol took a gourd and dipped tar out of the bucket. With a rag he smeared hot tar on the woman’s face and head. The hot tar must have scalded her, for she screamed and kicked at him. He wiped tar all over her shoulders and back, over her breasts and thighs and legs.

  Another man opened a sack of feathers and shook feathers on the tar. Feathers fluttered across the clearing and men ran to pick them up. They covered the woman’s face and body until she looked more like a snowman than a person.

  “We don’t want you to get cold,” the man with the pistol said, and threw a handful of feathers in her face. As soon as she was covered they cut the woman loose and she fell to the ground. But then she picked herself up and started stumbling away. She limped and tripped, caught herself, and started running.

  “Squawk, squawk, squawk,” the men shouted, and flapped their arms like wings. They cackled and laughed as the old woman ran down the road shedding feathers like a broken pillow. Soon she was out of sight.

  “This calls for a drink,” the man with the pistol said. Someone passed a jug to him and he hooked his thumb through the handle and took a long swig. The jug was passed from hand to hand and they all took a long drink.

  “I think we ought to
go to McIver’s next,” one of the men said.

  “No, we promised to settle with Brattle first,” another said.

  “Why don’t we go to Brattle’s and then to McIver’s,” the man with the pistol said.

  “What if somebody warns them?” a man with spectacles said.

  “That’s why we have to hurry,” the man with the pistol said.

  I wished they would leave so I could go to their fire and warm up. If I had fire I could have a light in the dark, and I could cook a fish if I caught one in the creek. The men didn’t seem to have anything to eat, but at least there was the fire. I held my breath and stayed still.

  They took their time and passed the jug around again. And then the man with the pistol took the bucket off the fire and opened his pants. He pissed on the smoldering sticks and when he finished there wasn’t even a wisp of smoke.

  They finally started walking down the road, and when they were out of sight I ran to the charred sticks and found only ashes and the smell of urine. Feathers were scattered all over the clearing and tar was dripped on the sand.

  I started walking again. I was so hungry I felt I was dreaming. I walked away from the road toward the west, away from the river. My legs and feet were numb. I kept thinking I heard somebody walking behind me, or to the side of me, but when I turned to look nobody was there. A hawk floated far overhead. A ground squirrel scurried away in the leaves. I hoped my mind wasn’t going strange the way Mama’s had.

  I walked all day through the woods, and near dark came to a little river. Without taking my shoes off I stepped across the rocks and shallow places. Then I climbed up the far bank and sat down to rest. I didn’t want to spend another night alone in the woods. I had to find something to eat, and I had to find shelter. I had to find somebody to help me. As the sun disappeared the air got colder. I couldn’t sit against a tree for another night. I looked around at the darkening woods.