Decision at Fletcher's Mill
Page 3
Ira was away from Fletcher’s Mill preaching near the coast when the jealousy and contempt of his family’s enemies finally exploded into conflict. The resultant tragedy changed everything. Some men who hated him as much as they had hated his father used his absence as an opportunity to raid the village. The raiders apparently intended to hang Ezekiel, but they couldn’t find him. Instead they killed Ira’s son, Isaiah, on his own front porch. Ira’s daughter-in-law fled to Ira’s house with the baby. The fiends set fire to Ira’s home and tried to destroy the mill before the villagers rose to fight back and put the last of the fires out.
Ezekiel managed to break into the house, pull the baby from her dying mother’s arms, and carry her outside to safety before the roof collapsed and took Mary and her daughter-in-law to join Isaiah in heaven. Ezekiel refused to give up the baby even when some of the local ladies tried to pry her from his shaking arms. He was severely burned in several places and finally passed out from shock. One of the ladies, Mona Partridge, carefully pulled the baby free and cared for her until her grandfather returned.
Some of the villagers said they recognized the scoundrels. Two of the raiders were caught and held until Ira returned from his trip to learn of the disaster with a grief and fury that bordered on madness. After questioning the two prisoners, Ira had them beaten until they lost consciousness. He waited patiently for them to wake up, and then had them hung by the neck from a tree in the village square. Ira’s grief was vented in violence as he led a group of mounted villagers to the next county. They found each of the culprits and exacted the most excruciating vengeance Ira could imagine. He was not the same man when he returned home several days later. Years passed slowly after that as Ira, Ezekiel, and Mona struggled to rebuild.
The “troubles,” as they were known at the time, started quietly and far away. Rumors of colonial subjects voicing and acting on their discontent with the British crown and the sometimes onerous Acts of Parliament reached Fletcher’s Mill very slowly. Year passed into year and the “troubles” came ever closer to home. Ira tried to maintain his reputation as a loyal subject of the crown, while he couldn’t help nursing a growing appreciation for the resentments of the colonial leaders. This was especially true with the new “Stamp Act.” News of open armed conflict in far off Lexington, Concord, and Boston was alarming in 1775, but the clash was expected.
Ira was a close friend of Dr. William Bull II, who was the acting royal governor in the absence of Lord Charles Montagu who held the actual royal appointment. Dr. Bull was replaced as governor in June of 1775 by Lord William Campbell, who held the position for less than four months before fleeing Charleston to save his own life in September of the same year. The South Carolina Committee of Public Safety seized control of the colony under the leadership of Mr. Henry Laurens who would later become the president of the Continental Congress.
Laurens was a very wealthy man who was deeply involved in the slave trade as coowner of Austin and Laurens, the largest slave trading company in North America at the time. Ira and Henry Laurens were in complete disagreement regarding slavery. This made them natural political enemies. Henry Laurens’ son, John, also disagreed with his father. Henry’s animosity intensified when his son sided with Ira. Most of the wealthiest landowners in the colony tended to dislike Ira for the same reason. He was naturally thought to be a loyalist by both the British authorities and the leaders of the growing rebellion.
The initial colonial defense of Charleston from British invasion in June of 1776 was greeted with celebration on the part of local people who agreed with the rebellion. Many people in the Carolinas chose to remain loyal to the mother country, while their neighbors, friends, and family members vehemently chose to rebel. It wasn’t long before simple disagreements became openly violent acts that threatened to tear the fragile society apart. Ira and other civic leaders did what they could to maintain the peace to no avail. Old grudges and animosities were now increasingly settled with acts of cruelty that would earlier have seemed like sheer madness. Houses and barns were burned. Crops were destroyed. Enemies were named. Sides were drawn. People were both angry and terrified.
The British again besieged Charleston at the end of March 1780. The rebel Continental Army held out until May 12 when their commander, Benjamin Lincoln, finally surrendered his 4,650 troops to British General Sir Henry Clinton. Clinton left control of the southern British campaign in the hands of Lord Charles Cornwallis and sailed back to New York after Charleston was captured. Cornwallis led a ruthless campaign to bring all of South Carolina under submission to the Crown as his army moved north. The continentals suffered another humiliating defeat about 50 miles east of Fletcher’s Mill at the Battle of Camden on August 16 of the same year under the abysmal leadership of General Horatio Gates. Both armies did extensive foraging along their routes of march, but Fletcher’s Mill was far enough away from these routes to be left mostly alone by both sides. Or so it seemed to Ira.
George Washington replaced Horatio Gates with General Nathaniel Greene as commander of the southern Continental Army following the disaster at Camden. Continental resistance in the Carolinas almost completely disintegrated except for dispersed small bands of irregular militia by the end of September 1780. These partisan forces began a guerilla war that wrought havoc on British supply lines and any Tory groups they could identify. On October 7, about 900 continental militia fighters known as “Overmountain Men” led by James Johnston, John Sevier, and William Campbell almost annihilated a larger British and Loyalist force of 1,200 men led by British Major Patrick Ferguson at the Battle of Kings Mountain. This ferocious hour-long battle resulted in 290 British killed, 163 wounded, and 668 captured. Conflict between loyalist and rebel colonials became almost indescribably brutal.
CHAPTER 3
Colonel Tarleton sensed his anticipated rout of the rebels when he saw the retreat begin. He demanded that the infantry commanders press their attack forward at higher speed. They lost effective control of some of the smaller units with the deaths of their junior officers. The lines began to lose cohesion until the senior sergeants took over the duties of their missing commanders.
Billy and the other retreating militiamen were moving swiftly around the colonial left flank toward the rear when they were passed by Colonel William Washington and his continental cavalry moving in the opposite direction toward the battle. Billy managed to get his rifle reloaded somehow. He could feel the raw emotion and anger of the men around him. They could still hear the drums and gunfire behind them.
The British infantry continued to move steadily up the hill and finally came in contact with the massed lines of continental regulars. A large contingent of Maryland troops was already engaged at close range by the vaunted 71st Black Watch regiment of Scottish Highlanders. The rhythmic music of the bagpipes and drums provided an eerie background to the measured tramping approach of this feared regiment in their dark green kilts. A confused message caused the Maryland Continentals to begin a slow fighting withdrawal back up the hillside until the orders were clarified and they stopped to face the oncoming enemy. They were now standing their ground and firing volley after volley in disciplined precision into the advancing ranks of Highlanders.
Rage and grief took over Billy’s senses. He was crying and shouting at the same time as he moved out ahead of the running militiamen. They continued to the rear slope of the hill before pausing briefly for their stragglers to catch up. Colonel Pickens was shouting something that slowly began to make sense to Billy. He intended to keep them moving all the way around the hill and reenter the fight on the British left flank. That was all Billy needed to hear. The colonel moved his horse out of the way so the men could pass on around the hill.
Billy shouted his own encouragement to the older men behind him and ran toward the roaring sound of massed musket fire. The others hesitated at first, but when the colonel didn’t do anything to hinder this young fool, they followed him in their own mad, screaming, glorious attack with nearly complete a
bandon. What some of them would later call the “fighting furies” gripped all of them. Billy wildly continued to charge toward the growing roar. He felt no fatigue, just an increasing rage that seemed to grip him deep in his chest and propel him onward. The thundering footfalls and fighting howls of the other men striving to follow him added greater impetus to Billy’s relentless charge.
General Morgan was watching the battle from near the top of the hill with his staff as he communicated with his commanders through several breathless couriers. He saw Colonel Washington’s cavalry smash into the British infantry on their right flank. Then he heard a strange screeching noise over the gunfire coming from the lower side of the hill to his right. Glancing in that direction, he saw Billy leading a mass of charging militiamen as they rounded the hillside and crashed into the British on their left.
The smoke was thick and the noise was almost unbearable. Many British bodies lay strewn on the battlefield, but they continued to close ranks, reload swiftly, and fire into the line of continentals fifty yards away. These were tried professionals. They knew they could outfight any standing army in the world. They would surely force these ragged colonials from the field. Many of them had fought the rebels into shameful retreat on numerous battlefields from New York to Philadelphia and Charleston since the beginning of this long war.
The rebels weren’t showing any sign of retreat this time, however. The British regulars encountered the shocking force of a massed continental cavalry attack as they tried to follow the fleeing militiamen and turn the rebel left flank. They found that the Maryland troops were reinforced by more continental regular units when they shifted focus back to the center of the rebel line. The British left flank was then hit with the shrieking charge of the now returning militia.
Billy hadn’t reached the British line in his headlong rush when he saw a Highlander sergeant trying to pull his soldiers into a square to face the charge. Billy hauled the long rifle to his shoulder, while still running, and shot the man from thirty yards away. These screaming militiamen appeared to have gained the strength of wild animals as their unformed but powerfully compact mass slammed into the stalled British regulars. The British line reeled back as it absorbed this unexpected shock. Billy’s rifle was empty again, but he didn’t care. He was completely caught up in the madness of this moment. These people had killed his friend. He continued to attack any British soldier he saw before him. The madness seemed as if it would never let go. He moved back and forth trough the enemy line using his rifle butt as a club with a speed and agility that shocked those militiamen who were still with him. They strove to follow his example with little conscious thought.
Billy parried bayonet thrusts and sword blows until his arms were numb. He kicked and screamed as he beat the terrified enemy soldiers to the ground. The resulting fear in the British troops caused them to pull away from this seemingly unstoppable maniac and the wild men behind him. The left flank of the British line slowly began to falter and then totally collapsed. The melee seemed to last hours, but it was over in a few terrifyingly violent minutes. Without warning or command, the British simply stopped fighting and began to drop their weapons. They were flanked on both sides. They now faced a disciplined advancing infantry force to their front. The militia charge gradually lost energy as the militiamen realized that the fight was gone from their enemy.
A sharp fight continued between the remaining British dragoons and Colonel Washington’s cavalry. The continental horsemen held a contempt for their British counterparts that wasn’t just the result of rumors they heard about “Tarleton’s Quarter.” They were taken with the same mad fury displayed by the militiamen on the opposite rebel flank. Colonel Washington saw the two grasshopper canons in the enemy rear and led his men to attempt the capture of this valuable artillery. He found himself personally engaged in the battle as the British fought to stop this from happening. A few of the enemy cavalrymen wore the green uniforms of the legion.
Colonel William Washington was a distant cousin of General George Washington. He was a master horseman and a valiant soldier. He held a solid reputation as a leader and commander in his own right, apart from being related to the commander in chief. Washington suddenly realized he was facing Tarleton himself in this desperate part of the battle. He narrowly escaped death from a British saber slash when his own manservant drew a pistol and shot the enemy soldier at point-blank range. The British managed to rescue the canon and flee with them into the woods at the lower end of the meadow. Most of the feared members of Tarleton’s Legion never entered the battle. He was holding them in reserve to “clean up” the battlefield after the rebel army tried to surrender. When the incredible defeat became obvious, they simply fled. The whole affair lasted less than one hour.
The battlefield became eerily quiet before cheering started among the continental ranks. Billy found himself doubled over in near exhaustion, strangely close to where he was when the battle started. Orders were being shouted as continental soldiers were detailed to take charge of over eight hundred British prisoners and collect all of their now discarded weapons. The smoke slowly cleared as the cold winter breeze continued to blow. The area where he and Silas began their day looked barely familiar to Billy. It was now strewn with the dead and wounded bodies of both men and horses. The debris of this awful modern warfare was everywhere. The cheering died away, and the cries of the wounded replaced it. The stench of open wounds and burnt powder was almost overwhelming even with the breeze.
Billy was nearly blinded by tears as he searched the battlefield for the body of his friend. Some militiamen began to slap him on the back and gleefully congratulate this ferocious young madman. They had followed him into a headlong charge that would be thought suicidal when considered by anyone not directly involved. All the shame of his earlier lie was now totally forgotten. These men were looking at him now as if he was some kind of hero.
Billy no longer cared what they thought. He was looking for Silas. He was desperate to find his friend. Silas didn’t abandon him earlier when he found himself at the lowest point in his life since his father died. He knew that Silas saved his life in the opening moments of the battle here today. The charging dragoon would surely have killed him this morning if Silas hadn’t heroically charged the horse with the butt of his rifle. Billy felt tremendous shame that he had survived when Silas had not. He suddenly found himself standing over Silas’ body. His knees lost their strength and he collapsed at his friend’s side in overwhelming grief. The sobs began to ebb, and Billy reached out to roll Silas over. He was again shocked to find that the broken cavalry saber only penetrated Silas’ coat under his arm and pinned the folds of the garment to the ground. Silas was bloody and unconscious, but he was still breathing.
CHAPTER 4
Old Ezekiel Miller slowly shook his head as he looked further into the parlor of the house. He turned toward the girl and said, “Now Miss Elizabeth, you know your grandpa isn’t gonna like this! He’s gonna blame me for this mess, and I’ll have to spend the rest of my day cleaning up while he carries on like the world done ended!”
Seventeen-year-old Elizabeth Fletcher laughed, “Oh shush, Zeke, I know what I’m doing, and I know Grandpa will love it.” She continued to sort the small cloth patches into various piles of different colors.
Elizabeth was on a mission to sew the most beautiful quilt she could for her hope chest out of this seemingly worthless collection of old garments and cloth scraps. She had been cutting and sorting all morning when Zeke came in from the mill and saw what she was about. Mona Partridge was teaching her to sew. Elizabeth was determined to make something of it. Zeke and Grandpa would have to recognize that she was just as intent on growing up as they were in keeping her a little girl.
Grandpa Ira was away on another preaching circuit. Elizabeth was the woman of the house. She was going to make this quilt or bust before he got back. She said, “Now Zeke, you just go back to the mill and leave me alone. I love you, but you’re in my way now.”
She laid down the cloth and shears she was holding and gently pushed him back outside, saying, “Shush now. It’s all right. Go on back to work.” She closed the door and he was left standing, bewildered, on the front porch.
Ezekiel didn’t have time for this foolishness. There was over a ton of grain to process and bag before tomorrow morning. There was work to do on the lower wheel, and he was expecting “special visitors” later tonight. Zeke was having trouble with the Johansen boy, and he considered letting the boy go. He just couldn’t do it, though. Zeke possessed a God-given love for the people around him. He genuinely cared for the two young men who worked with him at the mill. Tobias Griffin was clearly the more intelligent of the two, but Zeke also saw a promising future for Peter Johansen if he could just get over his selfishness and pride.
Ezekiel believed he understood Peter better than Peter understood himself. Tobias’ family lived in the village, but Peter had no one. The boy seemed to be lonely most of the time. Peter built up such a shell around himself, though. He was very difficult to reach. Zeke regularly prayed for both boys just as he prayed for Ira through the years. He shook his head again with the detached grace of his seventy-five years and started up the road toward the mill.