Decision at Fletcher's Mill

by David Caringer

  CHAPTER 19

  Major Throckmorton was still furious. He couldn’t believe the treatment he suffered at the hands of that insolent little pup. He would have his comeuppance. Throckmorton was not a man to be trifled with. The anger seethed in and through everything he now did. He knew the course he chose was probably unwise, maybe even a little foolish. He would not be denied, though. Shortly after the main rebel force departed from Cowpens with General Morgan, Throckmorton decided to follow Lieutenant Morgan and his group of militia pirates. He and his helpers left the larger force at the first opportunity and doubled back down the now heavily trampled road. It was fairly simple to find the southern road once they got back to Cowpens.

  Throckmorton might have blundered into the ambush set by Lieutenant Cloyde if he hadn’t chanced upon evidence showing where the four wagons left the main road further north. These wagons left a distinctive trail that was easy enough even for him and his companions to follow. Nightfall and cowardice brought his pursuit to a halt several miles behind his quarry.

  Throckmorton and his minions rose early the next morning and once again headed south. He was certain the small convoy had come this way. The wagon tracks were quite clear and there were a great many different footprints mixed closely with those tracks. These prints appeared to be as fresh as the wagon ruts. They didn’t need to be cavalry scouts to follow this trail. He realized that they should easily catch up with the wagons today, and this brought the major a new frustration.

  Throckmorton didn’t exactly know what to do when he did catch up with the wagons and their escort. He didn’t have any more real authority now than he did yesterday. That young fool lieutenant would rightly resist him again. He would just have to wait and see what happened. This was dangerous territory, and any number of things might occur to change the situation in his favor. He would avoid another confrontation unless the circumstances changed. Meanwhile, he intended to stay as close as he could to the cargo in those wagons. It was very valuable and he didn’t intend to lose the opportunity he saw here.

  Major Throckmorton was mulling through these thoughts a few minutes later when he imagined he heard the faint sound of gunfire far ahead to the south. He brought his small party to a halt. He had no intention of getting caught up in any kind of battle. The very thought of the horrible carnage he saw in the aftermath of real battle at Cowpens terrified him. It was only with great cunning and tremendous good fortune that he managed to stay out of that melee two days ago. The major decided to move closer to the sound of the guns now with great trepidation. No courage was involved in this choice. It occurred to him that the battle he was hearing probably involved those supply wagons and the fools guarding them.

  Pragmatic greed drove Throckmorton forward. Maybe this was the sound of opportunity finally presenting itself. His two companions glanced at each other briefly, then spurred their mounts into motion behind him. The sound of gunfire became intermittent as it grew louder with their approach. There was a momentary increase in the noise and then sudden silence. He was now torn between fear at the sound of the guns and a new anxiety with regard to the silence. The distant fight was apparently decided one way or another. He desperately hoped he was not too late to take advantage in the aftermath.

  Throckmorton and his helpers were moving up and over a hill with a sharp turn in the trail ahead. Suddenly, they were confronted by a strange spectacle rounding the turn to their immediate front. It was a wagon pulled by a sweat frothed draft horse that was being beaten with a whip by an obviously frantic driver. The trace harness looked somehow distorted to the major until he realized that there should have been two animals in the traces rather than this one horse. The harness and leather yoke for the missing horse were partially cut away and trailing along under the front of the wagon.

  There were other men in the wagon with the driver. All of them faced back the way they had come. These men were in civilian garb, and heavily armed. Throckmorton thought they must be members of the militia party he was trailing at first. He realized his error when the wagon’s driver saw him and yelled at his companions. Three of the men spun around. One of them fired immediately in Throckmorton’s direction without aim. A second shot, better aimed, struck the larger of Throckmorton’s helpers squarely in the chest. The other assistant abandoned his mule and disappeared into the brush at the side of the trail with a speed that seemed incredible aside from the terror that precipitated it. Throckmorton froze in fear. He wanted to turn and flee, but momentum brought the two parties face to face before his brain signaled his hands to pull the reins around for that purpose.

  The wagon driver was standing as he hauled in on the distressed draft horse, bringing it to a splashing spluttering halt. Major Throckmorton’s helpers were wearing civilian clothing. He, unfortunately, was not. The six Tory occupants of the wagon were suddenly shocked and delighted. They had managed to run away from the surprise attack they encountered back at the Phillips farm, only to have a fully uniformed Continental Army major ride right into their laps. The capture was complete within seconds with no further shots fired.

  The strange captive was soon trussed and thrown into the back of the wagon. The driver quickly managed to tie the damaged side of the trace harness together well enough to incorporate the added strength of one more captured horse to pull the wagon. The other two captured animals were now ridden by Tories. The rest of the men remained in the wagon with their prisoner as they frantically continued northward away from perceived pursuit.

  The wagon was halted a short while later at the top of a hill from which the men could see a considerable distance back down the trail to the south. The leader of the group was a tall well-dressed young man with a livid scar under his left eye. His frightened expression quickly gave way to the ferretlike curiosity and cruel demeanor of a rich young bully. He climbed down from the wagon seat and walked back to stare at Major Throckmorton for a moment. The man suddenly lunged forward, grabbed the terrified major by the lapels, and yanked him unceremoniously out onto the muddy ground. The major began to whimper pleas for mercy. This ended abruptly when the young man kicked him in the stomach and yelled, “Stop yer blubberin’ you filthy rebel scum!”

  The Tories were all standing nearby now. They formed a curious circle around the groaning and gasping Continental officer. Some of them stared down the southern trail in fright. The rest were overcome with curiosity about their captive. The Tory leader reached down and pulled Throckmorton to a seated position by the sparse hair at the nape of his neck. Leaning over to stare into the major’s face, he asked, “Just who are you, mister?” Throckmorton didn’t immediately reply. This was rewarded with a swift slap in the face that knocked him back down into the mud. He frantically searched the faces of the other men for any sign of compassion. He saw nothing but hate. The major’s helpers were gone. He was alone with these fiends, and he was terrified.

  Major Throckmorton couldn’t believe this was happening. He thought himself to be a well-to-do gentleman. His wealth largely came from shady business dealings and the misfortune of others, but this did nothing to dampen pride in his possessions. He enjoyed feeling superior among people of lesser social standing. He desperately wished now that he hadn’t decided to chase after that fool lieutenant and those wagons. He should have stayed with the army and returned to North Carolina. He could have taken any number of actions from there to recover the value of the material in those wagons. It was too late for all of that. He felt himself being yanked upright again and cringed for the expected blow. It came in the form of a boot to the center of his back followed by a punch in the face. He feared this may have broken his nose, but there was no time to think about it. The pain was excruciating. He heard himself crying out, “Stop, please stop! I have information for you! Please stop!”

  The Tory leader shouted, “What are you saying? What information could something like you have for us?” Throckmorton somehow squirmed onto his knees. His wrists were bound tightly behind him. He felt blood flow
ing freely down his face and neck and he was afraid that he may have lost two of his upper front teeth. He was dizzy and in terrible pain. He knew he wouldn’t survive much more of this. His instinct for self-preservation brought him to a quick and unceremonious decision. He told this group of evil young men everything he knew about the wagon loads of military supplies, the number of men guarding the wagons, how they were armed, and their intended destination.

  The beating stopped. A muffled conversation was held a few yards away between two of the Tories and their outspoken leader. The discussion ended abruptly. Throckmorton found himself once again thrown into the back of the wagon. They were moving again very quickly. The men in the wagon talked freely between themselves. Throckmorton knew his actions were treacherous. There was still a fading part of him that actually cared. This small inner voice was easily shouted down as he bounced along in the back of the wagon. His face was horribly battered, his back and stomach were on fire, and his hands went to sleep from the cold tight lashings around his wrists. The suffering allowed him to rationalize his actions to his own satisfaction. He even began to see the possibility of personal gain in this. He soon learned from the conversation between his captors that they were on their way to the British garrison at Rocky Mount.

  CHAPTER 20

  Ira stomped through the early morning blackness in his dark fury with no real destination in mind. He didn’t feel the cold. He had been betrayed by Zeke’s words, and he didn’t understand why. Was his pride so powerful that he couldn’t listen to advice from his oldest friend? Was he really so dependent on wealth that he wasn’t able to imagine life without it? He recoiled from these thoughts as he paced. Several minutes passed before he realized that he was now standing in the frigid darkness right outside the lower mill entrance. Why had he come here? Why was his life blowing apart like wheat husks in the wind? His troubled mind critically realized that only a miller would naturally think of winnowing wheat in the middle of seemingly impossible difficulties.

  Ira opened the door and entered the inklike darkness of the front office storeroom without thinking further about the process. His movements seemed mechanical even to him. He knew this place so well that he really didn’t need a light. He used flint and steel to light a candle anyway as he stepped up to the makeshift desk at the back of the room. This was the same spot where Ezekiel confronted Captain Crispin a few days ago. Was that only a few days? It seemed like a month. So much occurred in this lower level of the mill during that time. He felt his empty stomach churn as he considered that the Johansen boy was brutally murdered in the storeroom down the corridor less than twenty feet from here. The anger flared again. He forced back the feeling that he should have let Tobias beat that miserable coward Crispin to death with his father’s hammer that day.

  The militiamen were occupying the upper floor of the mill now. Captain Robertson said something earlier about wanting to be high enough to have easy access to the roof and a clear view of the area surrounding this fortresslike building. Ira could hear muffled laughter and a quiet conversation from the floor above his head. He stepped over to the stairs and shot the bolt to lock the door from his side so that the men couldn’t interrupt his activities or thoughts. He then stepped back to the entry and bolted that door as well.

  A sudden gust of wind rattled the glass pane in the front window. A latent draft made it through the crack at the base of the door, causing the candle flame to flutter. Ira still didn’t feel cold, but he started briefly at the unexpected movement of his own shadow. There were too many people here now. Too many strangers occupied this most familiar of all places. He felt himself inexorably drawn to the secret place. He was threatened. Elizabeth and Zeke were in danger. His home was threatened. Mona was in danger. Ira didn’t think it odd to consider Mona in that way here and now. He removed an oil lantern from the top of the back storage cabinet, opened the glass, and trimmed the wick. He lit the lantern from the candle flame and blew the candle out before putting it in his front coat pocket.

  Ira sat the lantern on the countertop and stepped away from it to look furtively around. He was convinced that he was alone here before he picked up the lantern and moved out of the room. He walked quickly up the back hallway past the storeroom that was used as a prison for Crispin and his wounded sergeant. A few more strides brought him to a door separating the front office from the lower milling station. He appreciated the organized display of tools, equipment, and materials in this room along with the smaller but still massive lower mill wheel. The room and its contents gave silent testimony to Ezekiel’s work ethic.

  Ira passed through the room to a large oak door that was heavily bolted and padlocked at the rear. He sat the lantern down to remove the keys from his inner coat pocket and open the locks. He carefully scanned the mill room before opening the heavy door. The dark smell of earth greeted him in the velvet blackness of the greatly enlarged natural cave. The lantern light only penetrated a short way into the cavern. He could barely see the huge stacks of bags, barrels, and casks along the far wall. An afterthought caused him to step back into the milling room. He took down a small fine flour sack from a peg on the main support pillar next to the wheel and put it into his coat pocket.

  Ira removed the padlocks from the door bolt on the mill side and picked up the lantern before stepping through the doorway into the cavern. He put the lantern down on this side and pulled the door shut behind him. Closing the bolt on this side of the door, he hung the padlocks in the eyelets without engaging them. He was now certain that no one could enter the cavern behind him. There was one other way to get into the cave through a narrow winding tunnel that exited through a small natural vent in the side of the hill nearly a quarter of a mile away. This vent was very well hidden. Only he and Zeke knew about it. They discovered it accidentally long ago. Part way down this small tunnel they had found the narrow vertical crevice concealing the entrance to the room now holding the chest. He and his son Isaiah worked with Ezekiel in diligent secrecy for months to make the existence of this tunnel and the secret room impossible to find again in some future accident of discovery.

  Ira moved quietly to the right side of the cave as he stepped away from the entry. Three rows of tall wooden storage shelves were lined up in parallel on huge flagstones less than ten feet from the door. The rest of the cavern floor was raw stone and dirt. The flag stones appeared to have been set in place to provide a level foundation for the shelving. All of the shelves were full of heavy crates, casks, and bags of grain. Ira stopped between the second and third shelf and placed the lantern on the stone slab floor. He then reached into what appeared to be a natural knot hole at the end of an upper shelf timber and grasped a wire loop. Pulling this loop, he withdrew a long iron bar.

  Ira placed the end of the bar in a socket at the other end of the shelf and leaned over the bar so that his body weight forced it slowly downward with a quiet creaking sound. The timbers at the lower edge of the bottom shelf drew upward less than an inch so that a hidden set of eight iron wheels were fully supporting the weight of the shelving and its contents. Ira reached over to the end of the shelf and inserted the short blunt rod at the end of the brass padlock key into a small hole next to the socket holding the larger iron rod. He then released his weight from the lever and it stayed in place.

  Ira moved to the far end of the shelving again and pushed. The entire shelf moved easily forward about three feet. He reached down and grasped a now exposed iron ring to pull a surprisingly light and thin piece of flagstone into an upright position revealing a dark hole with an iron ladder that disappeared into the cavern floor. Ira picked up the lantern and climbed down the ladder to a small chamber below. A strongbox with a heavy lock was on the floor near the foot of the ladder. This box contained enough silver coin to captivate the attention of anyone who somehow discovered it. Ira ignored it. He stepped over to the far end where a small stone seemed to be protruding from the floor at the base of a much larger stone forming the wall. Reaching down, he gras
ped the small stone and yanked it upward. The stone came free and he sat it aside. Still holding the lantern, he put his shoulder to the side of the larger stone and pushed. It rotated away revealing a narrow tunnel that disappeared into the darkness.

  Ira followed this tunnel through a series of turns until he came to a spot where it bent more sharply to the left and continued into the distance. He stepped past this turn and looked back to where a narrow vertical crevice naturally cut the tunnel wall from top to bottom. The feature remained screened from view unless you knew where to look for it. Even then, it didn’t look wide enough to walk through, but this was an illusion. He stepped through this opening and entered the small secret hiding place for the heavy chest that contained most of his earthly treasure.

  Ira stood in the small cavern and stared at the top of the chest for several seconds. His mind was racing. He was no longer angry. The physical effort required to reach this secret place helped him focus on something other than the shame he felt regarding his own selfish pride. He knew Ezekiel was right. He knew his security did not consist of this old oak chest and its contents. Or did he? He believed in God. His father had believed in God. Ezekiel certainly believed the gospel and spent every waking moment living out his faith with a love that was unmistakable for the people around him. Ira had made a public commitment to follow Christ. He preached the gospel mixed with his own fiery rhetoric all over the colony for many years. He believed that he was blessed by God and that his wealth was clear evidence of that blessing.

  Ira mechanically kneeled to open the lock on the chest and slowly lifted the heavy lid. The chest was nearly full of stacked silver and gold coins. It also contained a few small bags holding several rare costly gems. The light of the lantern glinted from the precious metal coins as he gazed absently inside. His mind barely acknowledged the wealth in the box. The flicker of lamplight on the gold brought the horrible memory of flames rushing back into his mind. His precious wife Mary, his only son Isaiah, and his daughter-in-law Natalie had died in those flames. Why did God allow that to happen? What possible good could come from the horror of that night? Ira blinked to try and clear his thoughts as he reached into the chest and removed a substantial stack of gold coins. He pulled out the flour bag as his mind began to wonder again. He sobbed quietly as he placed the coins inside the bag and tied it shut before returning it to his pocket where it settled with a heavy clink.