Casca 38: The Continental

by Tony Roberts

  Casca gave them a day before the redcoats would come knocking with loaded muskets and sharpened bayonets, and if Sir Richard was still here, orders to shoot first and ask questions later.

  So to where? North was the obvious answer, or maybe south-west across the sound to New Jersey, but that was a much more hazardous route. Either way, Casca had to take Rose and young Cass away from New York. Philadelphia was the obvious destination, and Claire’s home the perfect place. Katherine was there and she’d make her grandson and daughter feel at home. Thereafter Casca could rejoin the Continental Army and carry on with the war to its conclusion.

  They came to a halt and Overton called the two of them out. They pushed the sacks aside and clambered to their feet, brushing the detritus off their clothing and out of their hair. They were at the ferry and no soldiers were in sight.

  The crossing was uneventful and the remainder of the journey much more comfortable with Claire and Casca sat in the back atop sacks rather than lying buried underneath them.

  They got to the farm. Claire made her way to the house, dragging Rose and Cass junior after her, while Casca and Overton took care of the wagon and horse. Not much was said but Overton was tense. He knew trouble was on its way. “What’s going to happen to you?” Casca asked.

  “We’ll fight on,” Overton said. “But you’ve got to get those two out of here.”

  “I know that. Do you have a route north to the Continental Army camped at White Plains?”

  Overton shook his head. “Too many soldiers in the way. We’ve tried but they’ve got the countryside sealed off. They’re there to stop any attack from the Continentals but the effect is to block our way out that way. It’s across the water to New Jersey for you.”

  “A long way, and not one I’d like to take in daylight let alone at night.”

  “Night?”

  Casca leaned against a door post and faced Overton. “The Royal Navy has the Sound covered. It’ll only take one pair of eyes to spot me rowing across to call out one of their ships and it’s all over. It’ll have to be at night. So I’ll need a directional beacon or something. I bet it’ll take a couple of days, too.”

  “You can go west around Manhattan and up the Hudson.”

  “I bet they’ve got that way blocked off. One ship can do that. The Sound is too wide for them to block.”

  “You’re probably right. I’ll go speak to the other guys here. Some of them are locals – they know the area better than anyone.”

  Casca nodded and walked to the house. Inside Claire was organizing Rose and feeding Cass. The boy was tucking into a plate of bread and cheese, oblivious to the fuss and bother going on around him. Casca thought he had the right idea. “We need a boat, Claire.”

  “Ye’re going to row across the Sound, then?”

  “No other choice, is there?”

  “Ye can hide on Long Island. Plenty of places there, and the British never patrol deep into the interior – they won’t have the manpower once this new lot go south.”

  Casca shrugged. He’d never considered that option. “So where do we stay?”

  “I’ll get Overton to take ye. It’ll have to be by foot. I’ll tell him of a place.”

  A few hours later as darkness fell they finally sorted out the travel arrangements. They would cross the East River onto Long Island and make their way deep into the interior until contacted. An escape route would be worked out to get them to Philadelphia, but until then it would be best that they lay low away from the British garrison.

  They spent their last night at the farm. One of the farmhands had left to contact friends in New York in order to get the escape route planned, and the four to go to Long Island had gathered backpacks, clothes and provisions and piled them by the back door, ready to go at first light.

  Casca spent the night dozing fitfully in a chair in the kitchen, a musket by his side. If the enemy came at night he didn’t want to be caught flat-footed. Overton slept in a similar fashion by the front door.

  As the sky began to lighten Casca roused himself, splashed water onto his face and went to the front of the house and shook Overton awake. The Dutchman sprang to his feet, instantly alert, and followed Casca to the kitchen. Claire appeared yawning. “I’ll go get Rose and the child,” she said sleepily and vanished.

  A few moments later one of the farm hands came bursting in breathlessly. “Get going!” he urged, “the redcoats are comin’, loads of them! They’ll be here in five minutes!”

  Their time had run out.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The back way out was the furthest from the long line of advancing redcoats so Casca ushered Rose out quickly. She carried a protesting Cass with her and Overton brought up the rear, constantly looking backwards anxiously. Although both he and Casca carried muskets, they’d be outshot if they ran into a squad of the British soldiers. Casca couldn’t see whether Sir Richard was amongst the group of officers directing the line of men from horseback, but he wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case. The fact his wife – again – and his son had been taken from his home and his butler killed would be enough to get his orders to sail changed.

  Claire waved them off urgently. “We’ll try to hold them off as long as we can. Get going now!” she said, her Ulster accent more pronounced, a sure sign of stress.

  Casca led them along a narrow trail through the thigh-high yellowing grass towards the stretch of water that separated Long Island from the mainland. They were trapped unless there was a boat waiting for them, but Casca guessed the group wouldn’t have left that to chance.

  He set a good pace and Rose came on close behind him, her breath audible to him. She was trying to keep young Cass as quiet as she could, but the child was getting fractious. Half of his breakfast had been left behind and he wasn’t best pleased. She was promising him a drink soon when they stopped.

  Overton, wearing his wide brimmed hat, brought up drag and kept glancing over his shoulder. The redcoats were closing in on the farm from three sides and so far the small group hadn’t been spotted. The buildings helped mask their departure and Casca hoped they could get far enough away not to be seen by the time the farm had been searched.

  At the farm Claire waved the three men with her to take up positions in the farmhouse behind windows. The building was reasonably built, made of thick wooden beams and a low stone wall at the bottom, and this gave them enough protection on the ground floor.

  Sir Richard was leading the line of men, his face thunderous. He had been driving the men on ruthlessly. Enquiries had led him and his men to this point. The wagon with what clearly had appeared to be his wife and child in the front had been identified by the soldiers manning the north east exit from the city from his descriptions, and they had followed the road and head checked all households and possible hideouts on their way. The death of Bradbury had left Sir Richard unmoved save for the fact his death had conveniently given him the excuse to find his wife and son from ‘murderers’ and ‘vagabonds’. Lord Cornwallis had given express permission for him to find his wife before sailing down to Savannah to take up his post with the 67th there under his command.

  Corporal McGinnes waved a few slackers on his right to hurry up and close in on the farmhouse. They were lagging behind and it wouldn’t do, not with Sir Richard in a black mood. Two other officers were with Sir Richard. One was his adjutant, the other a Major appointed by Lord Cornwallis to help in the search. Cornwallis was quite clearly concerned Sir Richard would take too much a bloody retribution should his search find the culprits. Cornwallis wanted to interrogate those responsible to find out who else was helping the rebels.

  “Sir!” one soldier from the left called out, having reached one of the outlying buildings. “We’ve found a wagon!”

  The three officers trotted over to a long low outhouse and saw that indeed a wagon resembling the type that had been described by the soldiers in New York was resting against it. “Damn it, we’re onto them, by Jove!” Sir Richard exclaimed, thumping
the pommel of his saddle.

  “Careful, Sir Richard,” the other Major cautioned, “this is a common type of wagon in these parts. They may be innocent.”

  “Innocent be damned, Major Ross. My wife and child have been taken by force and my butler slaughtered in cold blood! Heads will roll, mark my words. Corporal McGinnes, find those who live here and bring them to me at once!”

  “Sah!” McGinnes shouted in response and waved at a group of five men to check the main farmhouse.

  Three men made their way towards the front door, and it was then that the sharp reports of muskets being discharged broke the peaceful summer morning. Puffs of smoke billowed from windows and two of the soldiers staggered and fell, one slowly, the other much quicker. McGinnes swore and dropped to one knee, screaming orders to the other men to take cover.

  Instantly the other redcoats sprang forward, their pieces leveled, seeking cover from the unknown assailants. Sir Richard looked at his companion. “Innocent, sir? Not one bit of it. I shall hang these black-hearted scum. See if I don’t!”

  Major Ross set his lips in firm determination. “Lord Cornwallis was most insistent, Sir Richard! You are to take prisoners!”

  “That remains to be seen,” Sir Richard spat back and gestured curtly to his adjutant. “Tell the men to spread out and approach from the rear as well as the front, Lieutenant.”

  The Lieutenant saluted and galloped off, shouting orders to a knot of soldiers standing by a wall.

  Claire tapped one of the men in the house to watch the rear. Now they had attracted the British attention, it was important to hold out as long as they could in order to allow the others to get as far away as they could.

  Shots came spattering into the house, smashing windows, splintering furniture and chipping walls. The two men at the front kept up a steady rate of shooting, keeping the soldiers occupied as much as they could. The man at the rear shouted a warning and discharged a shot as the second group of redcoats came for the rear door. One folded over in agony, struck in the stomach, and he went down screaming. The back door was kicked in and two angry looking soldiers burst in. The man at the rear was struck by two bullets and was pitched against the kitchen wall. He slid to the floor, his eyes rolling upwards, a bloody smear left on the wall marking his slide. Claire cocked a pistol and pointed it down the passage. The first soldier who appeared got shot through the ribs, and Claire threw away the pistol, knowing there was not enough time to reload.

  Three soldiers came running with bayonets thrust forward. The nearest of the two men left turned to shoot but was run through, and the other man took a bullet through the head at the same time. Claire backed up against the dresser as the soldiers came through into the living room, checking the bodies of the fallen.

  One of the soldiers leered as he forced Claire up against the wall, the point of his bayonet against her throat. “Stay still, my pretty,” he growled, and ran one hand down her blouse, feeling her breasts through her clothing. “You’ll be a good girl, won’t you?”

  “Hey, cut that out, Fred,” his compatriot said warningly, “officers comin’.”

  Fred scowled and assumed a more orthodox position, both hands gripping his musket. The lieutenant appeared, sword in hand, grimacing at the corpses. The smell of discharged powder filled the air, and the haze of smoke drifted about. “I say, a woman!” he exclaimed.

  “Yes, sir,” Fred said. “I think she’s the only survivor.”

  “Jolly good. I’ll take her to Sir Richard.”

  “Careful sir, the bitch killed John.”

  “Really? This pretty young thing?” the lieutenant said, surprised. “By heavens.”

  “Escort you, sir?”

  “What? Oh, yes, yes of course. Carry on, Private.”

  McGinnes came in, kicking the front door open. “Got them? Good. One dead one wounded, sir.”

  “Very good, Corporal. Check the rest of the house. I’m taking her to Sir Richard.”

  “Yes, sir. Right, Weaver, Clark, with me. The rest of you check the house for anything useful.”

  Sir Richard was waiting impatiently when Claire was brought to him at bayonet point. Recognizing her, he slowly dismounted and walked up to her. “You! You’re behind all this, aren’t you? What the devil are you doing here?”

  “I was in yer household all this time, and ye never knew.” Claire smiled in contempt.

  “Where are my son and wife?”

  “I’ll not tell ye, ye black hearted bastard.”

  Sir Richard’s face went red with anger. “You disgusting scum!” he exclaimed, slapping her across the face.

  Major Ross sucked in his breath. “Sir Richard! Bad show!”

  “Bad show be damned! She’s responsible for stealing my son from me.” He turned back to Claire. “Where are they? And that damned Lonnergan?”

  The Irishwoman glared at him, fingering the red welt on her face. “Damn ye to hell, and all ye British! I’ll not tell ye anything!”

  “By damnation, woman or not, I’ll beat the truth out of you, so God help me!”

  Major Ross had heard enough. “Sir Richard, you will not strike this woman any further!”

  They sat on their mounts, facing each other, then the spell was broken by a shout from beyond the farmhouse. “Sir! They’ve crossed over to Long Island! Our scout spotted them five minutes ago.”

  Sir Richard bared his teeth. “Then we must follow. I leave this woman in your hands, Major Ross. You have what you want, now I must go and get the same.”

  The major nodded curtly. It had been a dangerous moment. He decided it was best to take the prisoner back to New York away from Sir Richard. Ross waved two soldiers over. “Escort the lady and myself back to New York. Our business here is concluded.” He touched his hat at his fellow officer. “Sir Richard.”

  Sir Richard nodded and called McGinnes out of the farmhouse. Corporal McGinnes came trotting out of the farmhouse and ran up to his commanding officer. “Orders, sir?”

  “Corporal McGinnes, time we were gone from this place in pursuit of our quarry. Organize a crossing to Long Island.”

  McGinnes was tempted to ask the major if he had a hunting horn, but resisted the urge. Now wasn’t the time for flippancy. “Very good, Sir. Come on you lot, jump to it.” McGinnes waved his squad to follow him and Sir Richard as they made off past the farmhouse, leaving Claire, the major and two soldiers alone.

  “I thought for a moment he was going to order ye shot,” she said.

  Ross wiped a sweaty neck. “Hmph! Perish the thought. Now, my good lady, shall we make our way to New York ourselves? I have to ask you further questions concerning your activities here.” The major and Claire followed the soldiers, bound for the army headquarters.

  Meanwhile Casca had led the party onto Long Island thanks to a boat they had taken from a house on the waterfront, climbing quietly onto it and pushing themselves on poles across the stretch of water to the far side. The house they’d sneaked past seemed unoccupied. The owner probably was busy selling something in New York.

  Leaving the boat tied to a tree by the waterside, Casca led the small group up a slight rise and then across a wide expanse of grass. This was land he’d campaigned in three years before when the American forces had been pushed off the island. Now he was back, covertly. He had no idea how many soldiers may be on duty here, or whether the population favored the British or the Americans. Best to keep out of sight.

  “Where is this place Claire was talking about?” he asked Overton.

  “Three miles, over the Gowanus Heights,” the other man said, nodding ahead.

  “I don’t think Cass can make it that far,” Rose said.

  “We’ll carry him, Rose, don’t worry,” Casca said. “We can’t stay here out in the open. Who knows when pursuit will come this way? I also don’t think it’ll be long before the theft of that boat is reported and even the British will work out who took it. They’ll be here before you know it.”

  Rose nodded and looked behi
nd in worry. Nobody stirred, so she followed the broad back of Casca plowing through the long grass, making his way towards the wooded ridge ahead of them.

  They were climbing the slope towards the wooded summit when they heard a faint shout behind. All turned to see a long, distant line of red advancing across the plain towards them. “Damn it!” Casca spat. “Another five minutes and we’d’ve gotten over the other side.”

  “What do we do now?” Rose asked fearfully, holding onto her son.

  “Carry on over the ridge,” Overton said suddenly. “I’ll distract them away from you. Keep on heading east. I’ll take them south east.”

  “You can keep ahead of them?” Casca said.

  “Aye,” Overton nodded. “Let’s get to the top and then over the other side split. They’ll not know we’ve gone into two groups.”

  “C’mon then,” Casca urged, taking hold of Rose’s hand.

  “But they’ll catch you!” Rose said in dismay to Overton.

  “A hazard I’ve run since I joined the rebellion, Miss. My choice, which is what this war’s all about, isn’t it?”

  Rose could say nothing more. Casca led them up and over the top into the trees, and then down the slope on the other side, a much steeper one. At the bottom the track split. Overton nodded to the left. “Go that way. I’ll make sure they follow me. After two miles you’ll come to a fork. Take the left hand one, the north-east fork. After another mile there’s a small house near a creek. That’s the safe house. I doubt you’ll be able to stay there more than one night now they know we’re here. Best to find a way to the mainland and the Continental Army as soon as you can.”