Liberty 1784: The Second War for Independence (42 page)

“Then what do we do?” Arnold asked.

“Attack,” Tarleton snapped. “We do what we should have done in the first place. We attack all along the line and overwhelm them. They are too few and cannot be everywhere in strength.”

“With respect, General,” Fitzroy said, “Based on what I’ve seen, it’ll be some time before the army is able to attack. Even so, I doubt there’ll be any enthusiasm for another frontal attack, however overwhelming our numbers might appear. Our men might just refuse to go. It wouldn’t be the first time an army has refused to attack. Besides, we have other problems, ammunition and food, for instance.”

Burgoyne smiled tightly. “You are simply full of good news, Major.”

Fitzroy flushed. “Sorry, sir, but I assumed you wanted the truth.”

“I do, however little I might like it. Continue.”

“Our food supplies might last us a week, sir, but that’s all. We must either withdraw to our closest depot or arrange for supplies to be shipped to us. Either way, our men might be hungry for a day or so before we got there.”

No matter how he’d tried to phrase it, the statement was an implied criticism of Burgoyne. The army had continued to use supplies when it had been expected that they would be on their way back down the trail to the depots with large numbers of prisoners.

Fitzroy continued. “Ammunition is a more severe crisis.” He turned to Arnold. “I hope I don’t have to remind you that our reserve supply is now on the bottom of the St. Joseph River. What ammunition we now have is what our men carried less what was expended today. We were perversely fortunate that General Grant insisted that only his front ranks actually fire their weapons so that the bulk of the army still has what ammunition it started with. However, there is little more. One more battle and we will be using bayonets simply because we are out of powder and lead.”

Burgoyne looked stunned. He stood and the others did as well out of courtesy to his rank. In the dim and flickering light, Burgoyne looked like a confused and wounded animal.

“What now, my dear General? What will you do to save the situation and our hopes?” Tarleton asked sarcastically. Fitzroy wanted to punch the smug bastard in the mouth.

Burgoyne had too much dignity to respond in kind. “We will rest this night. All of us, and that includes every general and private in the army, will rest so we can think clearly and dispassionately. Tomorrow we will have hard decisions to make.”

* * *

Hannah Van Doorn deposited Will with General Stark and departed with a sad smile on her face. The note she’d given him was in his pocket. Stark was in conference with Schuyler and Tallmadge. Both of them were bloodied and worn, but they had survived. Stark, by far the older, looked exhausted. Tallmadge looked up and nodded. Will stepped forward and stood at attention.

“Relax, Drake,” Stark said. “We’ve got more important things to do than stand on useless formality.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you well? You’re not wounded, are you?”

“Only in spirit, sir. This has been a dreadful day.”

Stark continued. “Indeed it has, which is why I wish you to once again be an intermediary for me. We must do whatever we can to end this, once and for all, at least once and for all for this time. I wish you to get a good night’s rest, either alone or with your lovely Sarah. Then I wish you to be dressed in a fine and clean uniform and then to go out and discuss a serious proposition I wish to make to General Burgoyne. As a sign of my good faith, you will also take with you the sword that once belonged to their General Grant and return it. One of our men had liberated it,” he said wryly. The once lucky soldier had doubtless thought it was worth a fortune.

“I’m sure the gesture will be appreciated, sir.” Will was astonished that General Stark even knew about Sarah.

Stark clasped his hands behind his back. “I hope more than that. I hope it will be an opening as well as a reminder. Go get some rest. I need you alert when you meet with the British.”

Later that evening, Will thought he’d be too tired to even think of making love. However, Sarah had other ideas. She wanted to purge herself of the savagery of the day and her way of doing it was to draw him into her, crying and sobbing, and hold him so tightly that there was nothing else in their world. Then they slept.

* * *

Will and Sarah were awakened a little past dawn by a wild-eyed and haggard Tallmadge, who wasn’t in the least embarrassed to see the two of them in bed and scrambling to cover themselves. “I hope you’re not planning to sleep all day, Drake, we have a task for you. I’ll be outside. Don’t dither. And Sarah, you look absolutely lovely.”

“You can go to hell, too, General Tallmadge,” Sarah snapped, but then smiled.

Will washed and dressed in a clean blue uniform, the same one he’d used the last times he’d met with the British officer. He then ate a couple of biscuits with butter and washed them down with something that was called coffee but was not. After that, he reported to duty.

A visibly shaken Tallmadge was again with Stark and, to Will’s mild surprise, so too was Benjamin Franklin. The old man looked haunted by what he had seen, although he managed to smile warmly at Will, while Tallmadge looked away. Will thought he saw a hint of madness in his eyes. He wondered if stresses were finally getting to his friend.

They sat Will down and discussed with him what they wished him to say and do. What they told him more than surprised him and he shook his head, puzzled.

“Why are you having me do this? This isn’t like the first meeting where we were all fencing around. Shouldn’t someone of higher rank be involved in something this important? Why not yourself?” he inquired of Stark.

“Perhaps later,” Stark answered. “In fact, hopefully later. For this preliminary meeting, I still think it best that you meet with someone of equivalent rank and that you are simply a messenger, although a messenger who is free to discuss and even negotiate.”

“Dear God,” Will said.

“Doubtless so, if you believe in God,” Franklin said with a twinkle in his eye.

Stark put his hand on Will’s shoulder. “Just do your best and if you fail, we shall try again. Perhaps what you say will be rejected out of hand, which would not surprise me. Burgoyne may require more time to come to grips with reality. Thus, while a rebuff to you would be annoying, a rebuff to me or Schuyler or Tallmadge would be far more serious.”

“I will do my best,” Will answered in a soft voice. He wondered if he would be up to the task at hand. Then he thought of the tremendous opportunity he’d been given and the easy out if he failed.

A few moments later, he stood on the earthworks with Grant’s blanket-wrapped sword under his arm while a boy drummer beside him banged away on his drum. On the earthwork behind him, a corporal frantically waved a white flag. Nobody was shooting this day, but nobody wanted a mistake to happen.

All of the dead had been dragged away and much of the earthworks had been repaired. The thicket of tree limbs had been replaced, with only a narrow path for Will to walk through. The rain of the previous day had washed away much of the blood, although there were dark stains here and there as ghastly reminders. One could almost imagine that thousands of men had not been killed or wounded on this field. Even the craters caused by Franklin’s exploding bombs had been filled in, perhaps to give the impression that there were more exploding bombs. The ground was still muddy and slippery, which would further impede any British attacks.

Will had a dire thought. What if there actually were more bombs, or what if all the bombs hadn’t gone off? What if one exploded when he walked over it? He smiled and supposed that Stark would find another volunteer.

A white flag waved from the other side. Will signaled the silly little boy to stop his drumming and began the lonely walk to meet the future.

* * *

Will and Fitzroy greeted each other reservedly. Whatever good will they might have felt for each other after the first meeting had been dispelled by the flowing of so much blood. Still, each was pleased that the other had survived the carnage. For his part, Fitzroy was slightly embarrassed that he had personally seen no combat as he’d been beside Burgoyne throughout the fighting.

“Let me extend our thanks for the return of General Grant’s sword,” Fitzroy said as he received the peace offering. “It will be sent back to England along with his remains which you so graciously permitted our men to retrieve.” Fitzroy smiled wanly. “Grant’s remains will be pickled, of course, which is a devil of a demotion for one so brave.”

Will nodded and reached into his pocket. He withdrew the note from Hannah. “This is for you. A very nice lady who apparently thinks highly of you requested that I give it to you.”

Fitzroy blinked and took it. He looked over Will’s shoulder and grinned. “Is that her on the earthworks?”

Will turned. Hannah was a couple of hundred yards away but her blond hair stood out like a beacon. “I believe so,” he laughed.

Amenities done, Will turned serious. “I have a message from General Stark. The slaughter of yesterday was a lesson for both of our sides. It cannot be allowed to repeat itself. He has a very simple proposal to end it. Are you interested?”

“Of course, assuming that you realize we are both pawns.”

“Indeed we are. If our conversation turns to nothing, then we will be removed from the board.”

Fitzroy chuckled. “Understood. Now let me hear your proposal.”

“General Stark implores General Burgoyne to surrender.”

Fitzroy nearly staggered. “You must be joking.”

“I am not.”

“We are within an instant of destroying you Americans. One more attack and what’s left of your army will crumple and disappear.”

“Quite possibly, but you know as well as I do that there will be no second attack. Your army is spent both physically and emotionally. It needs time to recover and refit, and you will not have that time. Neither General Stark, nor Cornwallis, who wants his army back, by the way, nor the weather, which will begin to turn cold in a few weeks, will permit you that luxury. And let’s not forget the fact that you must replace your brave General Grant and many others who fell yesterday.

“And even if you did manage to muster an attack, it is highly unlikely that your army would be willing to destroy itself again against our defenses. They would simply go to ground rather than repeat yesterday’s horrors. And even if everything I’ve said is wrong and you do indeed manage to push us off this bloody hill, you will have accomplished nothing. We have changed our strategy. If you take Fort Washington and Liberty, you will have taken nothing. We will burn everything and retreat west with all the food and supplies that we can carry and leave you here to starve and freeze. At least until Burgoyne is again reminded that he has to return what would then remain of his army to Cornwallis.”

This last statement was a lie. Will knew that nothing had changed and that his fellow Americans were not in a position to migrate anywhere at this time.

Fitzroy found himself both amused and frightened. The Americans fully understood Burgoyne’s dilemma. “We would hardly starve. We would get supplies from our depots or by water from Detroit. I think Burgoyne would decide that Cornwallis can bloody well wait.”

Will smiled. “You will get no supplies.”

He gestured and a man appeared on the earthworks. He was guarded by two American soldiers. Will gestured again and the man began to stumble forward. A few minutes later, he stood before them, his hands bound behind his back. Fitzroy was astonished.

“Girty?”

Simon Girty, bloody and bruised, his clothes in rags, snarled his answer. “Of course it is. Now untie me so I can kill this rebel bastard.”

“Time enough for that,” Fitzroy said quietly but firmly. Girty’s eyes glowed with hate. “There is a truce here, and I don’t want it broken.”

Will nodded agreement and Fitzroy continued. “What happened, Girty? You and your men deserted, didn’t you?”

Girty spat on the ground. “You can call it deserting if you want, but I call it retreating to save our skins. But it didn’t work out that way. First we were attacked by the fucking red savages on our way east. Then, when we’d fought our way through them we were attacked by rebels coming east from the bloody damned depot. They captured me and killed the rest of my men. The rebels have taken your depot and all the supplies, and yes, Fitzroy, and don’t look so damned shocked. The Indians have declared for the rebels and there’s another rebel army coming down the road and ready to jump all over your ass.”

Will smiled. “Why not send him on to tell his tale to Burgoyne?”

Fitzroy recovered from his shock and agreed, sending Girty stumbling toward the British lines. “I rather wish you’d kept the pig,” he muttered.

“I like the idea as well, but there would have been a riot. Too many of our people wanted to skin him alive. Now, let me elaborate on what Girty said. There are two American armies in your rear. One consists of a force commanded by Isaac Shelby and has come from the south. They have taken Detroit and are rolling up your precious depots. Detroit fell quite easily, by the way. The defenses were in ruins, the garrison stripped by Burgoyne, and a very discouraged Major De Peyster was found drunk in his bed.

“The second force came from Boston and is commanded by General Edward Hand and, while he isn’t the best and brightest of the litter, he is smart enough to have taken a defenseless Fort Pitt and is moving on your base at Oswego.

“In sum, Cornwallis holds only New York and Boston and may be evacuating Charleston. Further in sum, you and General Burgoyne hold the ground on which you stand and nothing more. Girty will confirm what he has seen and heard and Burgoyne will, of course, send scouts out to confirm it. You have not won anything, although you might yet take some useless ground and cause more deaths. You are surrounded and cut off with any possible reinforcements half a continent and many months away. That is, if Cornwallis sends them at all on something which he might think is a fool’s errand. General Burgoyne is in even worse shape than he was at Saratoga. In effect, the frontier of our new nation has been pushed westward by a good five hundred miles and I cannot imagine Parliament at all enthused by the thought of sending another army to take it all back.”