Blood at Dawn

by Jim R. Woolard

  Starkweather sighed. “Well, thank God, we’re finally demonstrating genuine interest in finding the redsticks. But idleness is the soul mate of shiftlessness. It destroys an army’s resolve. What is the mood of the levies?”

  “They’re threatening mutiny once more. Their enlistments expire on the first day of the month, if not before, and Adjutant General Sargent believes nothing will keep them from showing their heels. He believes the militia will follow them to the man, that is, if the Kentuckians don’t bolt first.”

  Starkweather sipped from his cup and stared at the fire. “The horns of General St. Clair’s dilemma are particularly sharp, my young buckos. If he advances with a weakened, hunger-stricken army and suffers defeat, he will be reviled and condemned by his superiors. If he retreats without a fight, he will be equally condemned.”

  Andy Young couldn’t contain himself. “What would you do, Captain?”

  “An army gains nothing by retreating. I would undertake forced marches every dawn. The needed provisions will overtake us, and besides, men if they must can fight on an empty belly. General Butler was correct. Every day General St. Clair doesn’t advance, his chance of engaging the enemy with suitable numbers at his disposal diminishes accordingly. And if we can’t bring the Shawnee to battle, we must destroy their villages on the Saint Mary’s and establish a fort in their stead before retiring from the field. It is the least expected of us by President Washington.”

  With that sobering assessment, we grew quiet, and little else was said throughout our evening meal, the high points being the jug whiskey and Jared’s freshly baked bread. I bided my time and finally had an opportunity to talk privately with Andy Young during midnight sentry duty, a chore Starkweather rotated among his troop regardless of rank. What I learned from Andy Young was to keep my nerves on edge the next several days, for as I had feared, Erin Green was not safe at Fort Jefferson, and the danger came from a totally unexpected quarter.

  Our exchange began harmlessly enough with my asking, “Who rode into camp with Court Starnes?”

  “The tall thin one with the bandaged jaw, Hookfin, and the stubby horse master, Val Dodd. The others I didn’t recognize. No sign of your father or those in his direct hire.”

  “I was hoping Tap or Bear was with the pack train, and you might inquire of him how Erin Green’s mother is faring,” I admitted, my disappointment obvious.

  “Or more likely Erin herself, huh, my friend?” the ensign countered.

  Andy Young’s head lowered, and even in the dark I could tell he was studying his own booted feet. Did he know something about the mistress he wasn’t sharing? And if that were true, why was he being secretive? Had she been hurt or worse?

  He was quiet for the longest of minutes. I stayed my tongue, afraid the simplest noise might convince him he should remain silent. Then, with a shrug of his shoulders, he cleared his throat. “Ethan, I must have your word that if I reveal what happened as I departed St. Clair’s headquarters, you will curb your temper and not abandon your post. I must have your promise for your own protection. Starkweather wouldn’t hesitate to hang an aide-de-camp for desertion. Do I have it?” Andy Young demanded, voice lifting.

  I’d no choice but to honor his request, for he had me so het up, I was suddenly standing tiptoed. “Yes, damn it, you’ve my word! Now, tell me!”

  And with a deep breath, Andy Young yielded. “First, let me assure you Erin has not been hurt or suffered harm in any way. But the thin one, Hookfin, was at the general’s tent with Court Starnes. He saw me waiting outside and sidled over beside me. He has learned of our acquaintance, for he had an urgent message he wanted carried to you. Not wanting to appear rude, I’d no choice but to listen. It seems Starnes encountered the mistress at the Fort Jefferson spring, the same spring where the deserters kidnapped her, and he was taken aback by her beauty.”

  My tongue broke free. “He didn’t—”

  Andy Young raised a placating hand. “No, Starnes did nothing that offended or frightened her. Had he done so, I’m certain Hookfin would have been most happy to inform me in great detail and thus gain a measure of revenge for your unfortunate punching of him. What the miserable blade of a dog did impart was Starnes’s bold brag that no matter the outcome of the campaign, he will have Erin for his own ahead of every man alive.”

  My heart thumped wildly, and I suddenly had to swallow. Starnes’s boast couldn’t be dismissed as a casual brag from someone overwhelmed by a woman’s beauty, meaningless prattle spoken in admiration on the spur of the moment. Coming from Starnes, a brazen, powerful bastard capable of killing and maiming if he couldn’t secure what he desired by sly, peaceful deceptions, such a boast was a serious threat to Erin’s well-being, perhaps her life, if she resisted him, which she would, come what may.

  “You haven’t told Captain Starkweather?”

  “No, I have not,” Andy Young responded. “He has enough of a burden preparing the troop for what lies ahead to fret about matters occurring to our rear. Frankly, I believe we can warn the mistress by our own devices.”

  He was after what I craved the most, and my interest in what he was proposing swelled like wind filling a sail. “I’m all ears,” I assured him.

  “I’ll be visiting St. Clair’s headquarters before dawn for new orders on behalf of the captain. I will arrange for you to accompany me on the pretext you may need to do so alone in the future. On our return, we will seek out Val Dodd. I recall Tap Jacobs remarking that Mr. Dodd is trustworthy, despite the source of his pay. Is that not correct?”

  “Yes, we can trust Val Dodd to do what is right by us.”

  “Excellent. We will ask him to not only warn Erin Green and those guarding her but also convey our worries to Mr. Jacobs. Your friend wasn’t with the Starnes train but should course past Fort Jefferson with the larger shipment Starnes described to General St. Clair.”

  Whether by oversight or design, Andy Young had not seen fit to make Paw aware of our private scheme to warn Erin, which was just as well in light of how my spontaneous rescuing of her had fostered the discord bedeviling the two of us. The worst eventuality would be for Paw to order Tap to steer clear of troubles not of his concern or making. At the bottom stair, given his undeniable fondness for her, I was counting on the old scout to keep some form of watch over the mistress till the army undertook its retreat.

  Hobbled horses stirred behind us. We came alert, rifles at the ready, and two dragoons, our relief, emerged from the chill night. We relinquished our post with proper salutes, a requirement and not mere formality in a command as strict as that of Miles Starkweather.

  The perpetual northwest wind was blowing briskly enough to bend tree branches, and we walked just as briskly to Jared’s spent fire, a pile of bright embers and gray ash at this late hour. Morning drum wasn’t far off, and Andy Young and I spared ourselves unnecessary good nights, slipping quickly into the servant’s tent, accommodations we now shared with the captain himself. Starkweather was sound asleep in the upper portion beneath his wolf pelts, an amenity he refused to surrender. Jared flanked him, wrapped in a simple wool blanket and snoring merrily as always. Andy Young and I bedded down at their feet.

  The ensign dozed off in a flash, his snores as rank and honking as those of Jared. Me, I lay awake for a spell, praying at length on behalf of Erin Green. I prayed over and over that the Lord would bless her above all others. I prayed an equal number of times that the Lord would watch over her and protect her against those who would take advantage of her till I could assume that duty myself.

  A man need be careful of what he asks from his maker. I will never be so haughty as to intimate the Lord heard my prayers that late night and deigned to answer them. Nevertheless, either at his behest or by a quirk of fate, I was to find myself in the presence of my beloved Erin Green sooner than I would have imagined possible, and in circumstances that imperiled both our lives.

  Chapter 26

  29 October till 3 November

  To insure we intercept
ed Valentine Dodd before the Starnes crew took their leave, Andy Young altered our orders to proceed directly to St. Clair’s headquarters after morning parade and rode instead for the packhorse camp. The ensign further surprised me by not stating his intentions to Captain Starkweather, who was occupied at that early hour updating his journal. The ensign’s willful breaching of his orders was solid proof Andy Young loved the mistress no less than I.

  We walked our horses south along the western perimeter of the main army encampment, passing the breakfast fires of the discontented levy battalions, the small bullock herd that had to date escaped the butcher’s knife, then the haphazard collection of carts and wagons at the rear belonging to the hundred or so civilians still tagging after St. Clair’s forces. The specter of women and children huddled in shivering clusters to ward off the morning cold reminded me again how grand it was Erin and her mother were ensconced in a snug, wann cabin downcountry.

  The Starnes campsite butted against a thick copse of hickory shorn almost entirely of leaves. We arrived just in the nick of time, for the horse crew had extinguished their fire and were stringing out their animals for the day’s journey. Val Dodd was at the near end of the line. Much farther along, at the head of the entire string, I could make out Court Starnes, mounted on a huge white-stockinged horse black of hair and rippling with muscle. The detestable Hookfin was nowhere to be seen.

  Val Dodd’s brief smile of greeting wrinkled his thin mustache. “Good morning, Monsieur Downer, and you, too, Ensign Young. To what do I owe your company this gray thing of a morning?”

  Since we were out of earshot of the Starnes crew, Andy Young stated our business right off. “Mr. Dodd, we assume you are aware Court Starnes has bragged openly he will have Mistress Green for his own, despite any objections she or others may raise to the contrary. Is this so?”

  Dodd’s smile vanished and he glanced quickly in the direction of Starnes. “Yes, not from his lips, but those of Gabe Hookfin.”

  “Do you believe he would take the girl by force if that were required?”

  “Yes,” Dodd answered, head nodding slowly. “Starnes is a brute loose amongst what he counts a herd of sheep. He is a scabrous beast. His sole mission is to wreak vengeance on Ethan’s father, the only man to nearly whip him in a fair fight. How better if he steals the beautiful woman holding the heart of his enemy’s son, I ask you.”

  “But Paw doesn’t know of my feelings for Erin,” I objected.

  “Perhaps, but thanks to his faithful puppy Hookfin, Court Starnes does, and he will act accordingly,” Dodd replied. “He not only craves to destroy his particular enemies but all near and dear to them as well. Never have I witnessed hatred so monumental and unforgiving, never.”

  Dodd glanced down the long line of packhorses again. “Talk quickly, Ensign Young. We’re about to have company.”

  Court Starnes, his features still showing the damage of his fight with Paw, was indeed bound our way. “Please call upon Mistress Green and warn her of Starnes’s vile brag. She must not be caught alone and unawares. It would be most helpful,” Andy Young finished hurriedly, “if you would alert Tap Jacobs as to her predicament.”

  “Consider it done, gentlemen,” Dodd promised over the thud of approaching hooves.

  Court Starnes reined his huge black horse to a halt. His swollen blue eyes impaled Andy Young and me. There was nothing friendly in the rigid set of his bruised Roman jaw or the musket slanting across his broad chest. His right hand was of such immense size that it smothered the whole of the musket’s lock. “Trouble, Dodd?” he boomed.

  “No, monsieur, just a chat twixt acquaintances,” Dodd said softly.

  “What about?” Starnes demanded, puffed lips slurring his speech slightly.

  “Their superior, Captain Starkweather of the First Dragoons, insisted they inquire as to when our next shipment will arrive,” the horse master lied. “Their captain is most impatient to move north and engage the Shawnee.”

  “He’s a fool then, a dead fool he don’t come to rightfully fear the redsticks. Tell your fool of a captain the largest pack train he’s ever seen be three days’ travel south of here. We’re away, Dodd,” Starnes announced brusquely, waving his waiting crew into motion.

  With a farewell wag of his arm, Val Dodd obediently moved off, but Starnes sat his huge black horse, watching me closely. “You can depend upon something from me without your asking, Downer. I’ll be sure and mention to a certain young red-haired gal soon as I see her how we met up this morning, it being sort of unexpected like and all.”

  His riling barb successfully launched, Starnes reined the big black abruptly about and rode after Val Dodd. I closed my eyes and held stone still, gripping the stock of my long gun so tightly my knuckles throbbed with pain. Had I looked after him or moved, I would have blown a hole plumb through his retreating backside then and there. “Never let me alone with him, Lord,” I murmured, “’cause fair or foul, I’ll shoot the bastard in a heartbeat.”

  Fingers clasped my elbow. “I admire your restraint, Ethan. I thought of shooting him myself. But neither of us would be of any benefit to the mistress if we were to be hung, would we now?”

  “No, that we wouldn’t,” I allowed, opening my eyes.

  “Well and good. We have dispatched our warning, and we best hustle to the general’s headquarters before we’re tardy and incur the captain’s wrath.”

  Our ride around the eastern perimeter of the main encampment out of Starkweather’s sight did little to brighten the melancholy that seeped over me. It saddened my spirits that events had come full circle. I had started out rescuing Erin Green from captors first red of skin, then white. Now her association with me placed her in perhaps the greatest jeopardy yet. Maybe I should have accepted Paw’s punishment and gone home to Kentucky and been less of a bother for all concerned. Just maybe.

  My spirits did brighten a degree once we were caught up in the bustle and gravity attending General St. Clair’s headquarters. His marquee, centering a circle of smaller tents, lacked the size and colorful striping of Starkweather’s, but it was evident from the constant comings and goings of officers of high and significant rank that the truly important decisions influencing the fate of our campaign were rendered beneath that peaked roof. The marquee and its frontal environs endured a multitude of bodies, and my solitary glimpse of our commander-in-chief was achieved quite by accident. A trio of First American Regiment officers had just stepped forth, and past their vacating bodies I spied General St. Clair and witnessed the truth of his health. A wide swatch of bandage circling his neck encased his left arm, and his coloring from throat to forehead matched the sickly pallor of his frazzled gray wig. The undersides of his eyes were black as midnight. He was dressed in an unbuttoned vest, rumpled linen shirt, breeches, and green slippers without heels. Two aides, their faces puffing from strain and the efforts of one virtually thwarted by the general’s bandaged limb, supported his bulky, unwieldy frame as he lowered himself onto a canvas stool that sagged under his considerable weight. Major General Arthur St. Clair was most unimpressive this morning, the farthest cry possible from the magnificently uniformed and stalwart officer Tap and I had encountered on our ride to the Ohio a mere twenty days before. Inexperienced I might be, but it couldn’t bode well for any army when its commander-in-chief was too crippled with gout to sit his horse.

  A tug of my sleeve dispelled my stare and turned my attention to other matters. Andy Young bore a bright smile. “Major Hamtramack has confirmed we will march tomorrow if the general’s personal messengers signify the precise location of the next pack train by evening today. He will accept but the word of his couriers, having lost complete confidence in the contractors. All companies, foot and mounted, are to be prepared to march on short notice. We best advise the captain. It’s never wise to tax his patience.”

  I mounted Blue, and the ensign swung aboard his gray mare. “Can the general travel, bad off as he seems?” I inquired.

  “Blessing, his ser
vant, says he will be carried in a canvas sling twixt two horses, much like a corpse. The officers are betting as to how many of them will be required to lift him from the ground.”

  I chose not to embellish that unholy picture of absolute embarrassment for the general. “Any sightings of the enemy?”

  Andy Young tugged his tricorn tight against a breeze warm and mild. “Yes, an infantryman of the Second was killed and scalped three miles from their tents yesterday morning. His hunting companion was shot through the body, but had the fortitude to flee and hide in the bushes till dark. Blessing indicated he would probably die of his wound. Nothing else of consequence.”

  The captain, sensing movement by the army was imminent, if for no other reason than to curtail a new spate of desertions, had already reversed the troop’s schedule and dispatched foragers. At the conclusion of Andy Young’s report, he declared the troop would rest themselves and their mounts the balance of the day. Out came the boiling pot and his Mahon razor, and we stripped to the waist in the warm air to shave and wash ourselves. Then, while Jared laundered and dried our shirts and breeches, we surrounded the fire swathed in our blankets and sipped jug whiskey. We exchanged tales of home and family, though the ensign and I did the gabbing, the captain content to listen and share in our laughter. Regrettably, that fine, unseasonably mild afternoon expired without my deciphering anything new as to the future romantic plans of Miles Starkweather.

  A messenger of the general’s delivered an express at dusk announcing the army would indeed march at nine in the morning, and we retired early. With the minds of the sentries on our pending departure, the night was mostly bereft of slain shadows and false alarms, and suffering no bad dreams, for once I slept soundly.

  Despite it being the Sabbath, the army cast off on 30 October at the appointed hour, the Kentucky militia now at the forefront of the column, General St. Clair having decided they could provide some useful service after all by camping ahead of the column nightly, which positioned them to guard the advance fatigue party widening the road during the daylight hours. Though allowing he meant no vicious slight, Andy Young did remark in the hearing of the captain that it was somewhat more difficult to desert if those taking unbidden leave had to sneak past the entire army in full darkness, what with the Indians prowling about. Starkweather’s concurring nod was reluctant but unmistakable.