CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The headquarters of the 4th Virginia Regiment were a cold, dismal affair compared to the fancier homes that Washington and his inner circle enjoyed. Under the command of Colonel Adam Stephen, the regiment arrived earlier in the month to join with General Washington’s Continental Army and none of the men, or their leaders, had been happy about it. The long walk north had been one of misery as lengthened supply lines left the men with ragged uniforms and ill-fitted supplies for the brutal New England winter. Captain George Wallis made his way through the bevy of small campfires and clusters of men huddled over them to the Regimental Headquarters—a small drafty cabin that belonged to a family whose names Wallis couldn’t remember.
At the rickety porch, a lone guard snapped to attention and opened the door. As he stepped inside, General Adam Stephen sat reclined in a chair and studying maps by candlelight. A bottle of amber liquid and an accompanying glass rested by his trembling hands.
“Wallis,” Stephen said. “Come in.”
“You asked to see me, sir?” Wallis stood in front of the table watching his commander fingering the glass of whiskey. For a moment, he hoped the general would share it. “You have an assignment?”
“I do,” Stephen said and pointed at the river. “Since those Jägers shot us up the other night, I’ve decided we should repay their damage in full. Nobody kills my men without retribution. Private Conley was from your company, was he not?”
Wallis nodded. “A good man, too, sir.”
“Then you would be interested in such a mission of great importance?”
“Yes, sir.”
Stephen nodded and stood. “Come here, George. I want you to look at this.”
Wallis stepped closer and saw that Stephen’s map was of the Delaware River at Trenton. It was the first time he’d seen the network of roads up close. “Trenton, sir?”
“Yes.” Stephen pointed at a spot in the river just north of the small falls where Conley caught a lucky musket ball. “Here’s where they shot at you, right?”
“About there, sir.”
“Then where, Captain?”
Walling stiffly pointed a little further north and closer to the known Hessian position along the River Road. “There, sir.”
“Fine.” Stephen waved away the interruption. “I want you to get a measure of revenge, Captain Wallis. I want you to take fifty men, crossing here”—he tapped the map at Yardley’s Ferry barely two miles from the edge of Trenton—“and rile up the Hessians as you see fit.”
Wallis brightened. Sitting around puny fires marking time hadn’t sat well with him. “Sir, you want me to simply attack the Hessian positions and retreat?”
“I want you to harass them, Wallis. Drive them crazy with quick actions and double quick retreats. Use the night for your cover and harass them at every turn. Supposedly they are already exhausted from constant fear. I want you to do more than tire them, Captain. I want you to engage them and take revenge for Conley before our fearless leader bungles his opportunity and loses this bloody war.”
Wallis said nothing. General Washington was not the butt of sarcasm often. He knew that General Stephen had served under Washington during the French and Indian Wars and they’d tangled in the Virginia legislature for years. “Sir, does General Washington know—”
“Of course not!” Stephen glared. “I don’t want him to know! He expects us to sit here and wait out the winter while the Hessian bastards pick us off one by one or we die of dysentery in these awful conditions! He gets a big, warm farmhouse and we get a goddamned shanty!” Stephen reached for the empty glass, fiddled with it for a moment as if pondering another drink, and set it aside with a thump.
Wallis shifted uncomfortably from side to side. “Fifty men you said, sir? And we’ll have the provisions ordered?”
“Of course,” Stephen said. “I’m not stupid, Wallis. You’ll have what you need. You’ll return to McKonkey’s Ferry for retrieval twenty-four hours later. I’ll arrange your transportation. You”—he paused and wiped at his mouth—“have to simply aggravate the Hessians and avenge the loss of Private Conley to General Washington’s ineptitude. Are we clear?”
Wallis nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll see the quartermaster to set aside the rations and ammunition for my men. We’ll be ready to leave in an hour.”
“Not that fast,” Stephen said. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow evening, to be specific. After a day of lounging around in preparation for holiday meals and the like, neither the Hessians nor General Washington will expect anyone to cross the river. You’ll be able to get across without detection and conduct a proper raid with minimal casualties and return to McKonkey’s Ferry for extraction.” The general’s fingers returned to the glass and poured the whiskey. Stephen stared at it for a second and then drained the glass before pointing roughly at Wallis. “I am told you are the right man for the job, Wallis. A bit wild at the edges, but a good man? The kind who just needs to be set free?”
Wallis nodded. “Conley deserved better than to be shot riding in a damned boat, sir.”
“Of course he did, Wallis.” Stephen grinned. “We all deserve better than this. Our fearless leader feels it’s best to sit and wait on the Congress to help us with supplies and pay chests. They’ve run for Virginia, leaving Philadelphia at the first sight of the British army across the bloody river. He’s too weak to make them support us.”
Wallis said nothing as Stephen stared silently into space for a long moment.
“You know, Captain Wallis, I served with General Washington many years ago against the French. He hasn’t changed at all. Willing to let others take their shots at us while he waits for a miracle. Well, I’m not about to sit and wait. The bloody Hessians and the Sassenach have taken the last of my men without a goddamned fight! You’re going to go over and make them pay for it.”
Wallis grinned. The proposition beat sitting around trying not to get dysentery. “Fifty men and provisions?”
Stephen nodded and set his glass down with a thud. “Yes. I will have your weapons, powder, and rations ready by tomorrow at noon. As soon as night falls, you’ll dispatch up to McKonkey’s Ferry. I’ll arrange your passing with Colonel Glover. You’re carrying an important message on a critical mission, but say no more than that. No one outside this room needs to know what your real mission is.”
Wallis nodded. There was no message. All he was meant to do was bring chaos on the Hessian encampments around Trenton. The fire in his stomach lit from boredom and stoked itself into a fresh, roaring rage. “I can do that, General.”
“Splendid,” Stephen grinned in response. “You’re dismissed, Captain Wallis. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
“Sir,” Wallis straightened and saluted. As Stephen returned the gesture, Wallis spun on his heels and moved to the door. Immediately outside, he me the expectant eyes of his regimental commander, Lieutenant Colonel Robert Lawson.
“Well?” Lawson asked. “Any issue with your orders, Captain?”
Wallis shook his head. “No, sir. You’re aware—”
“No,” Lawson said and leaned closer. “General Stephen was adamant that your orders are meant for no one else. All I know is that tomorrow, you’ll take fifty men and cross the river on an urgent mission for our commander. That’s all.”
Wallis nodded. What have I gotten myself into?
“If something happens to us, at least you’ll know where we went, right?”
Lawson nodded. “Messages have to get through, Wallis. Whether we send them once successfully or it takes a dozen times, the message must get through.”
“Yes, sir,” Wallis said. As they parted and Wallis stepped again into the cold December night, he looked up through a ragged tear in the low clouds and saw the stars. The Hessians were going to get his message the first time.
And maybe, a second or third message as well. Of that he was damned certain.
* * *
Lord General Charles Cornwallis stood looking out the thin glass window of his bedroom. The streets of New York teemed with people celebrating Christmas Eve. Occasional choruses of familiar hymns floated down the alleys and reverberated into his quarters. Cradling a glass of wine, he looked back into the maelstrom of his personal belongings being prepared for travel. Three more days, he thought. With the army in garrison for the winter, and Washington out there running around Pennsylvania with his wisp of an enemy force, Sir William Howe’s guidance had been clear.
“Go home, Charles.” Howe smiled up at him. “I cannot promise you’ll be home for Christmas, but sometime closely thereafter. You’ll spend two or three months at home and return vibrant and ready to wipe Washington’s army from the face of the earth.”
Cornwallis hadn’t been listening after hearing the word home. His heart thumped and threatened to beat out of his chest. His beloved Jemima had been ill most of the fall. Her letters were hopeful and cheered him, yet the unspoken worry of her fragile health penetrated his every thought of her. Since returning to New York, he’d written her daily letters and dogged his aides to place them on any ship headed for England. With the word of his leave, he’d written exultantly to her that they would be together soon. Every passing day seemed to take forever and he found himself hating the reality of an army of war in garrison.
His days were spent in paperwork that made his temples throb until it was time to consult those delinquent in their duties from the night before. Many were simply drunk and had either not returned for morning muster or had chosen to spend their evenings, and a copious amount of their salaries from the coffers of His Majesty, in the awful brothels of New York. Entering the names in the record, doling out their punishments, and seeing their reactions only exacerbated the pain in his head. Most nights, he retired early and lay upon his bed with a wet rag on his face and tried not to think of his command. That only left him thinking of Jemima.
Amongst the chests filled with his uniforms and equipment were presents for her he’d purchased from local vendors. Dresses and bonnets so extravagant that no colonist would ever wear them lay between presents for his children and a few trinkets for their home. He’d decorated their home with items from Greece and France as tokens and reminders of his service to the Crown. The urge to do the same with their certain victory in America had been too strong not to complete before victory had been achieved.
It’s a matter of time, he thought. The near thirty years of his service taught him that certain things were inevitable. Victory would occur soon after an enemy had lost their main route of supply. The capture of New York dealt a massive blow to Washington and the quick advance through New Jersey panicked the Continental Congress and pushed public opinion of the war lower. Intelligence operatives reported that the bulk of the Continental Army enlistments ended at the turn of the new year. As few as 800 men would be left in Washington’s command.
Victory was as inevitable as duty. Cornwallis looked past the chests to where his dress uniform coat hung. Sometimes duty meant standing around and looking pleased and interested in the people around him. Sometimes it meant leading troops into a volley of musket and cannon fire thick enough to stand on. More often than not, Cornwallis would have chosen the latter.
There was a knock at the door. His butler’s voice came muted from the other side. “My Lord? Your carriage has arrived.”
Cornwallis did not move, except to sip his wine. Soon, he wouldn’t have to answer the door for anyone. No one would be allowed to disturb his leave. He could sit and sip wine with Jemima until dawn and enjoy every lasting moment. As a conversationalist, his beloved wife was unparalleled. Every minute spent in her company was far better than even the best situations inherent of his service. The needs and calls of Sir William Howe or any other general placed in command over him could then wait.
Why not leave the service now?
The thought surprised him for a moment, and then he laughed at his own impetuousness. The price of his commission had seemed so great when he was a boy. And yet, its importance had grown to take hold of his heart. He could not leave the army behind so easily. There were many things to do. One, though, was what he wanted more than anything in his illustrious career. Washington.
The orders given to him by Lord General Howe were clear and he felt only half-sated in their completion. The expectation was that Cornwallis would find Washington and destroy him before the weather changed. Across New Jersey, the British army and their Hessian mercenaries succeeded in driving out and driving back the rebels. Washington hid somewhere across the Delaware River near Philadelphia. Rather than tempt the weather gods, Howe instructed Cornwallis to garrison the army for the winter. Cornwallis had objected, at first, until he realized that his commanders no longer felt that Washington’s army was a threat. With the Continental Congress currently disbanded, the rebel logistical support channels were strained. In a harsh climate, Washington’s army would dissolve itself, leaving little for the British to defeat as soon as the weather turned warm. Still, Cornwallis wanted the thrill of the chase to never end. Even as he learned that Washington’s army dwindled and hid to lick their wounds and survive the winter, Cornwallis craved closure.
Cornwallis looked out into the night and as far west as he could see. “Where are you, old man?”
He laughed. At forty-five, and Washington only a few years older than himself, they were hardly old men. Washington, though, presented a unique challenge. He understood terrain and subterfuge more than any American commander Cornwallis had opposed since the war began. Washington used information to his advantage and, more importantly, was a charismatic leader of men. It was too bad he served on the wrong side of the war, Cornwallis believed. Washington would have been a tremendous ally for His Majesty’s army instead of a pointed thorn in the side of the British army.
There was only one thing to do. Washington had to be found, drawn out to fight, and eliminated. No other recourse would do. Whether it was on the New Jersey frontier or someplace else, Cornwallis knew it would be his destiny to dispel the rebel army and return America to the monarchy. Short of defeating Washington in open combat, there were other practical ways to destroy the resistance within the colonies. Splitting them from each other, isolating the metropolitan areas, and targeting the general populace would all reap benefits by drawing Washington out. For his misgivings, Washington was an honorable man and the suffering of his people, or those whom he felt he defended, would never do. Still, the older man was not prone to rash decisions, so anything Cornwallis would choose to do had to work toward an end result that even Washington’s shrewd planning and aversion to combat would have to face.
Maybe then this war will end.
Maybe then he could spend the rest of his life in England seeing to the growth of his children and the tenuous health of his beautiful wife.
Maybe then. As long as Washington did not do something stupid and jeopardize Cornwallis’ leave, there would be time to prepare for the inevitability of American surrender. Cornwallis shook away the thought and sat down the wineglass to put on his uniform and make it presentable. Leaving his spacious room, Cornwallis looked back at the collection of chests ready for departure in a few days’ time and smiled. All too soon, he’d be back in England regardless of what Washington did.
Jemima waited.
* * *
The silly thing wasn’t where it was supposed to have been. At the end of the summer, just before the weather cooled, Emily had washed all of her dresses and hung them outside to dry in a warm western breeze. She’d mended a hem and resewed lace trimmings on another while they dried in the sun. All of them were packed safely away in her mother’s old traveling chest save for one. At first, finding the missing dress was a trivial concern. After she’d torn the house apart, she’d even risked looking in the secret compartment in the barn floor only to come up empty-handed. Her father would have chastised her digging around in their cherished belongings for the dress, but he would have understood that the pursuit of the missing dress helped to quell her frayed nerves.
A loaded pistol rested by her thigh as she sat in the parlor waiting for her father to return. The rustle of breeze outside kept her awake and when it failed and her eyes became heavy, she walked the floor of their small home until her feet ached from the effort. At half past three in the morning as she sat in the chair, her father walked into the house and shook off his coat and stood before the fire.
“I was worried about you,” she said.
“Nothing to worry about,” her father said. “Mason and the squad are across the river with General Washington as we speak.” He sighed suddenly. “I’m glad they are. Here, they could be a danger to us and themselves.”
“They are better than that,” she said. “Mason is a good leader and he has good leaders with him. They can help General Washington win this war.”
Daniels nodded. “I’m more worried about the next few days. If what Mason says is true actually takes place, the war will turn a corner. The British will come with all their might.”
There was something unsaid behind his countenance that left his face puzzled and calm at the same time. If the British came, they’d be further at risk. Their identities and allegiances would certainly come under increased scrutiny. “You believe we’ll have to move from here.”
“I don’t want that to be the case, but it may be best for us,” he said. “Now, get some sleep. Let an old man sit by his fire and think for a bit, please.”
“Yes, father.” She gathered her candle and book and was all the way to the top of the central staircase when she remembered the dress. “Father?” she called down the rickety stairs. “Have you opened mother’s chest again?”
“No. Why?”
“My red dress isn’t there.” She frowned. “Mother’s dress?”
She heard his footfalls through the small kitchen and he appeared at the narrow foyer. “It’s missing?”
“It’s certainly not here.”
Daniels walked up the stairs. He turned into his daughter’s room and looked into the chest with her. After a long moment, he slid the chest a few feet across the floor and pried up a board with his fingernails. A small notebook lay hidden underneath. He took a deep breath and released it. Their most important secret remained safe.
“You think someone took it?” she asked. “That they were looking for your book and took my dress as some type of warning?”
“No,” Daniels said. “The only people who’ve been here with us are Mason and his squad. One of them came up here and took it, most likely. The same person who took my old boots from inside the front stoop.”
Emily nodded. A flurry of thoughts came together. “Dunaway. The shy one.”
“She’s not shy.” Daniels looked at his daughter. “Try again, love.”
The game wasn’t easy, but she’d grown more comfortable with it over time. Since the beginning of the war, they’d tiptoed around both sides with the grace of dancers. Now, things were getting serious. His trust in her soared even as the danger increased. Emily took a breath, composed her thoughts, and spoke slowly. “She doesn’t want to be a soldier. She’s going through the motions.”
“And?” Daniels smiled in agreement. “What else?”
“You heard her talking, Father. That’s not fair to me.”
Daniels shook his head. “I need your wits about you tomorrow, Emily. Tell me.”
The shy girl studied everything. Only two types of people study others so intently. “She’s an actress, or at least believes herself to be one. She’s no spy.”
“I think”—Daniels slid the trunk over the concealed notebook—“you are correct. She has your dress and, most likely at the most inopportune moment, she’ll leave Mason and the others behind.”
“Why would she do something like that?”
“Opportunity. She sees a way out and believes she can pull it off.” Daniels put his hands on his daughter’s shoulders. “She doesn’t see the risk as being hers to bear, unlike you. You’re walking into a den of lions tomorrow, daughter. Do you understand the risk?”
“I wouldn’t go if I didn’t, Father,” Emily said. Her voice was strong and more confident than she felt inside, but it was correct. “I can gather as much information as you can in half the time.”
Daniels laughed and it made her smile. Since her mother’s death the summer before, he’d not smiled much. He’d supported the rebellion ever since, using his contacts and reputation with the British and the somewhat reformed Hessians in the Trenton area to spy on the enemy for Washington. As he’d repaired the British and Hessian weapons, he’d tinkered with them and tried to make them less accurate and more likely to fail. If there was a major battle and Washington’s forces did not prevail, they’d come for them both.
“Only get what we need.” Daniels lowered his chin and looked into her eyes. “When the time is right, encourage Captain Sutton to bring you home. Do not stay later than is necessary.”
“I won’t, Father.” She smiled at him. “The rumors are clear that Rall is afraid. I cannot see this party lasting beyond ten o’clock. Their men are tired.”
Daniels grinned. “And just where did you hear that?”
“From you,” she said. “You spoke the other day of endless alerts and pauses. That has to be exhausting, even to a professional soldier. You’ve said as much from your time in the war, too. Even Captain Sutton looked tired—well, as tired as that man could look.”
Daniels released her shoulders and nodded at her. “The Hessians are constantly on alert. The strain on the men alone will cause confusion if an attack were to come. We saw the same things under French artillery fire in the war. The longer a man goes without sleep, the simpler tasks become difficult. When a man cannot buckle his pants correctly, he can hardly be expected to muster and fire a weapon with any degree of accuracy.”
Emily snorted. “What is that, Father?”
“Mason never asked me to reload their ammunition. I think it’s time I tried to make it work.”
“Didn’t he take all of the cartridges?”
“When they cleaned their weapons? Dunaway left a cartridge on the floor.”
“That girl is going to get them killed. Maybe it will be for the best if she leaves them soon.”
Daniels nodded and reached into his pocket. The brass cartridge with the funny crimped end gleamed in the firelight. “I have to try, I think. Especially if they do not find their missing one. The redcoats will certainly use it to their advantage. We have to beat them to it.”
Emily moved her stance to be in his line of sight. She hated it when he stared into space. “You believe you can?”
Daniels shrugged. “If I can’t, then no one can. I believe that I have to try.”
Emily recoiled. “What could that girl be thinking?”
“She’s thinking about a warm bed and good night’s sleep at all costs, daughter.”
“As should we, for now. Tomorrow will be a difficult day for both of us.”
They said their good nights and Emily turned to her bed. It was a long time before she slept.