“No, sir.”
Washington watched the approaching ranks and said evenly, “I don’t think they want to die any more than we do. If we put up a show of force, I think they’ll allow us to surrender—then they can go back claiming victory.”
That, to Adam’s surprise, was exactly what happened. He wondered afterward how Washington could know such things, but at the time he simply obeyed orders.
The French and Indians advanced, flanking the fort. Washington drew his men into the palisade, stationing them in the trenches, and the battle continued through the afternoon.
Heavy clouds gathered and the rain began, making steady firing impossible. Water soaked into the guns, and the flint sparks only hissed in the wet powder. When that happened, it was necessary to draw out the wet charge with a ramrod fitted with a screw.
“I wish that new gunlock of yours was finished, Winslow,” Washington remarked once as Adam’s piece misfired. “But at least they’re having the same trouble we are.”
As darkness fell, the French commander called out, “Voulez-vous parler?” “Do you want to negotiate?” Wash-ington’s interpreter met with the French officer and returned after a while with articles of surrender. The French had won, but Washington was allowed to leave on the condition that he and his men would return home.
The next morning the sun was high in the sky when the English, with the wounded supported by able-bodied soldiers, marched out with drums beating and colors flying. As they left Fort Necessity, Washington looked back, and said to Adam, “Though war is terrible, there is something strange about being in the thick of it, Winslow.”
“Yes, sir?”
Washington was not a talkative man, and Adam saw that he was trying to find words for something. There was a strange look on his face, and finally he smiled and looked into Adam’s dark eyes.
“Those bullets whistling around our heads—” he paused, his eyes lighting up with wonder. Then he finished, saying slowly, “Even when one is in danger of death, there’s something quite charming in that sound!”
* * *
The morning sun crested the tall elms that shaded the shop as Adam slipped from the back of the leggy gelding that had carried him from camp. He had marched back with the army to Williamsburg, but after two days in camp, had gone to Washington, saying, “Sir, if you don’t have any use for me, I’d like to get home.”
The Virginian had smiled, shaken his hand and said, “Certainly, Winslow. I’ll be leaving myself shortly. Take one of my horses. You can return it to Mount Vernon later.”
Adam walked across the plank walk, and was surprised to find the door closed, even more so to discover it bolted. “James! James!” he called out. “Where are you?”
At first there was no answer, but soon he heard footsteps, and then Hope Tanner, James’s wife, asked, “Is that you, sir?”
“Yes, it’s me, Hope.”
The door opened and he went inside, asking at once, “Is James sick, Hope?”
She hesitated, then shook her head, saying, “No, Adam, he’s in jail.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “Jail! What for?”
Hope Tanner was a middle-aged woman, steady and firm, but there was trouble in her eyes and she twisted the cloth she held in her hands nervously. “Well, sir, it’s bad news for you, I’m thinking.”
Startled, Adam thought immediately of Molly. “Where is Molly? Is she sick? Is she—” He started to say dead, but said instead, “Is she all right?”
“She’s not sick, Adam. But she’s not here.”
Adam stared at her, then cried out, “For God’s sake, Hope! Tell me what’s happened!”
“Well, you maybe didn’t know, Adam, but that English lord, he’s been after Molly real hard.”
“I—I knew he was interested in her,” Adam hesitated. “And I thought she liked him.”
“Never!” Hope cried out indignantly. “She never did! It was him, the dog!”
Adam grew tense, and then he asked directly, “What happened, Hope? Let’s have it all.”
“Well, he kept coming here, bothering her, Adam. Kept pestering her to go off with him, but she wouldn’t do that. Then last Wednesday, me and James went to church, but Molly stayed here alone. When we got home, we seen his carriage in front of the shop, and then we heard her crying out! Like she was hurt or scared!”
She bit her lip, then forced herself to go on. “We run in and he had her pinned up against the wall, pawing at her. Her dress was torn and she was fightin’ to get away from him, but he was too strong for her—the beast!”
Adam’s temples throbbed, he felt lightheaded, as he always did just before rage came. He listened carefully, his fists clenched as Hope said tearfully, “James jumped at him and when Stirling hit him in the face, James knocked him down, then he picked him up and threw him out of the shop!”
“And next James was arrested for assaulting Lord Stirling, is that it?”
“They come the next day and took him, Adam,” she nodded. “I knew he’d come again, so I sent Molly to stay with my sister over close to Alexandria. She didn’t want to go, but I couldn’t protect her here.”
“Thank God you and James were here, Hope!” Adam said fervently. He went over and put his arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry about James; they can’t hold him.”
“But, Adam—”
“Is Stirling still at my brother’s house, do you know?”
“Yes, but he’s been here every day to try to get me to tell where Molly is.”
“You stay here, Hope.”
She watched carefully as he walked over to the wall and took down a small pistol. It was a twin-barreled over-and-under flintlock with a tap action. He loaded it, saying nothing, but there was something frightening about his intensity, and Hope said as he put the pistol in his belt and headed for the door, “I—I’ll pray for you, Adam.”
He shot her a look from under his narrowed brows, his dark blue eyes frosty and cold. “Pray for his soul, Hope—for he’s a dead man!”
He left the shop, mounted, and turned the horse’s head toward his brother’s plantation. The rage that had fallen on him in the battles at Washington’s side had no comparison to the frozen hatred that seemed to eat away at his heart. Not for one moment did he consider the consequences that would follow if he killed Stirling, and if he had any cries from his conscience, he stifled them.
He arrived at the house at dusk, and the short, fat slave who took his horse recognized him immediately. “Mist’ Winslow!” he cried out, taking the reins of Adam’s mount. “You done been gone a long time!”
“Is Lord Stirling inside, Jim?” Adam asked.
The black face suddenly lost its toothy smile, and Jim swallowed, for he saw something on the white man’s face that frightened him. “Yessuh! The gentulmens is playing cards in de den.”
Adam walked around the carriage in front of the door, then paused and stared at it. His lips curved slightly in a smile, and he reached out and plucked the buggy whip from its holder, then walked to the front door. He went in, almost running over Minnie, the house slave who had come to admit him. She took one look at his face, then wheeled and left as quickly as she could without a word.
The den was a large room off the hall, and as Adam went toward it, he heard the sound of laughter. He paused outside the door, listening for a moment, then pushed it open and entered.
The five men seated around the table looked up at him, and a silence fell on the room. Charles was seated next to Lord Stirling, and across from him was John Franklin, a wealthy planter. Next to Franklin sat Lawrence Carter, a member of the House of Burgesses, and to his right was a lean man with a pale face that Adam had never seen.
The table was covered with cards, and each of the men had a glass at his hand. Tobacco smoke was thick in the air, and the sudden silence was heavy as Adam stood there, the whip in his hand.
Charles turned pale, but tried to carry the thing off. “Why, Adam, you’re back!” He rose to his
feet, forcing a smile. “I believe most of you know my brother, Adam—he’s just returned from serving with Colonel Washington.”
Adam paid no heed to his brother. He was staring at Henry Stirling. The large man had been slumped in his chair, but now he came slowly to a rigid position, for there was death in the eyes of the man who stood framed in the doorway.
Charles tried again, saying, “Adam, sit down and join us. We must hear all about the battle! You’re quite a hero around here, you know!”
His words fell flat, and there was a ghastly silence broken only by the sound of a slave out in the yard singing a song about Moses and the Lamb.
“Stirling, you’re a dog!”
Adam’s deliberate words cut across the nobleman’s nerves, and he jumped to his feet, his face livid. “I won’t be insulted by you, Winslow!”
Adam’s dark blue eyes were unwavering, and his voice grew quiet and menacing. “I didn’t come to insult you, Stirling—”
“You’d better retract!” Stirling cried out in rage, striking the table angrily.
Adam raised his own voice, his words cutting like a knife. “I didn’t come to insult you—I came to horsewhip you!” He cut the air suddenly with the whip, filling the room with the loud whishing sound.
Charles jumped forward, crying out, “Adam! You’ve gone crazy!”
“Stand still, Charles!” Adam said, not taking his eyes away from the Englishman. “I have a few ‘brotherly’ remarks to make to you later, but not now.”
“Can’t you do something, Winslow?” the thin, pale man said loudly. “I can’t believe you’d let your guest—especially an honored guest such as Lord Stirling—be insulted!”
“Adam, just let me explain—!”
“I’ll do the explaining.” Adam bit off the words and swept the room with disdain. “This ‘distinguished guest’ of yours has assaulted a young woman in my care. He forced himself on her, and when a friend of mine intervened to save her, he had him put in jail.”
“I’ll see the fellow sent to Botany Bay for life!” Stirling cried. “He’ll be taught a lesson.”
“He’ll be out of jail tonight—or you’ll be cut to ribbons right now.”
“I won’t—!”
Adam suddenly flicked the whip across the table, the tip catching the end of Stirling’s cigar, snatching it from his fingers and flinging it across the room.
“Stirling, you can have your choice.” Adam’s steady voice was almost a whisper. “Either you give your word in front of these men that James Tanner will be out of jail tomorrow—or I’ll open you up like hot butter!”
Stirling turned pale. He licked his thick lips, then running his eyes around the room, suddenly stood up. He made a dash for the end of the room, and Adam let him go, seeing what he was attempting.
There was a musket on the wall, a Brown Bess, such as the British soldier used, with a bayonet gleaming on its end.
“We’ll see who does what, Winslow!” Stirling yelled venomously as he lifted the rifle high, then lunged across the floor, thrusting the blade at Adam’s belly.
Adam waited on the balls of his feet. As the naked steel shot toward his unprotected midsection, he reached out with the whip and forced the blade to one side. With his free hand he whipped a sudden blow into Stirling’s stomach. The rifle clattered to the floor, and the big man fell, holding his stomach and gagging.
A movement to his left caught Adam’s eye, and he turned to see the tall man pulling at a pistol that was in a coat hanging from the back of his chair. He came out with it, but the fire in his eyes died as he looked down the barrel of the pistol that had seemed to jump into the hand of Adam Winslow.
“Either use that, or drop it!” Adam commanded, and stood there waiting.
The thin man had the pistol almost lifted. Just a little move of the wrist and he would have it dead center, but he could not do it. There was something frightening in the smile on Adam Winslow’s lips, and he let the pistol drop hurriedly, his face suddenly ashen.
“Second thoughts are usually best,” Adam said quietly, then turned to look at Stirling, who was struggling to his feet. He waited until the man was upright, his face pale as paper, and then he said, “I won’t ask you again. You have five seconds to decide if you’ll have Tanner out of jail—or if you’ll have a horsewhipping. Which shall it be?”
“He’ll do it, Henry!” Charles cried out loudly. “He’d do it if he knew he’d die for it two minutes later!”
Stirling took one long look at Adam, then slowly, with hatred freezing his face, nodded once.
Adam said, “These men see that you have agreed.” He put the pistol back in his belt, tossed the whip on the floor, then wheeled and went to the door. He paused and looked back at Stirling, saying, “If you don’t keep your word—you can ask my brother what will happen.”
Then he turned and was gone.
There was not a sound in the room, but Charles said in a whisper, “I can’t answer for him, Henry! I know he’s my brother, and I’m sorry for it all—but I have to tell you, if you’ve got any idea of not keeping your word, forget it!”
“Why, I’d have him locked up, Stirling!” the lean man cried.
“It wouldn’t help, Ralph,” Charles said, shaking his head with a bitter smile. “He’d dig out somehow, Henry, and you’d never have a night’s sleep—because you know Adam would get you.”
“I’ll kill him for this, Charles!” Stirling whispered, and there was an insane gleam in his protruding eyes.
“No doubt you’ll try, Henry,” Charles shrugged. “But you’re too shrewd to do it head-on.” He slowly put a cigar between his lips and his hand trembled as he lifted a candle to light it. As the blue smoke rose, he said bitterly, “Let it rest, Henry. For now. He’d kill you out of hand—and I need you.” Then he said quietly, “Shall we continue the game?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“I WANT TO BELONG TO YOU!”
“General Braddock, this is Adam Winslow—he served with me at Fort Necessity.”
Major General Edward Braddock, a foot shorter than Washington with more fat than muscle in his bulk, peered at Adam from his shaggy brows, his small eyes suspicious. The powdered wig under his winged hat and the uniform blazing with bright decorations and embroidering seemed garish in the plain room where the three men stood.
The stubborn Englishman’s nose flared in disdain. “You mean when you were defeated at Fort Necessity, before you had even reached your objective.”
Washington refused to be humbled. “As you please, General. But you have asked me to be your aide, and it’s my duty to tell you that Adam Winslow knows the terrain as well as the Indian scouts; we’ll need his kind to guide us.”
Braddock grunted and snapped with some irritation, “You mean you need us, Washington! Orthodox war, that’s what I intend! No games, no hiding behind trees and jumping out at the enemy like children!” The bulldog of a man looked up with his eyes hard as marble. “Put him in uniform if you please—but I want only men who respect my authority!”
He nodded shortly, then left the room, and Washington shook his head, smiling grimly. “I never said he was an easy man to deal with, Winslow, but he is one of the most experienced soldiers in the British army. He’s a long-time career officer. At the Battle of Culloden he broke the enemy with his headlong charges, much to the satisfaction of the Duke of Cumberland.”
“Well, sir, if he tries to charge massed troops into a thick woods bristling with sharpshooters and Indians, it’ll be a different story.”
Washington bit his lip, then shrugged, saying only, “I have no authority, you understand?”
“A shame it is, too, Colonel!”
After the battle at Fort Necessity, Washington had been awarded thanks by the House of Burgesses for negotiating a surrender that allowed him to bring his troops home. He had been offered a command by Governor Dinwiddie, but the English government had issued an order that officers holding the King’s commission should rank above pro
vincial officers. The degradation of being outranked by every whipper-snapper who might hold a royal commission by virtue of being the illegitimate son of some nobleman’s cast-off mistress had been more than Washington’s temper could bear. He rejected the offer.
But when on February 20 of 1755 Braddock had arrived with two regiments to make a fresh attack on the French, he had decided that the young soldier’s experience would be valuable; he had offered him a place on the staff with the rank of lieutenant colonel, where he would be subject only to the orders of the general. Washington had accepted.
Adam had known of this, and resented the treatment of the tall soldier whom he had learned to admire. “Why did you agree to serve under Braddock, sir? He obviously despises all soldiers who aren’t regulars in the British army.”
“I want to learn,” Washington rubbed his chin, and there was a determined light in his eyes as he stared at Adam. “These are the picked troops of England. They have been unbeatable on the Continent. Braddock says they’ll sweep the French out of the west—and he must have his chance.”
“Yes, sir.” Adam pondered a thought, then asked, “You want me to go with you, Colonel?”
“It would be a personal favor. You will be my aide, not a regular.” The tall man smiled and said, “Maybe we can get some of our own back on the French, eh, Winslow? Can I count on you?”
Adam warmed at the thought of serving with Washington, but hesitated. “When will the army move, sir? I need to make a trip to Boston right away. My family is in the fur business, and I’ve got to freight last year’s pelts to our warehouse there—and then I’d be willing.”
“You’ve got plenty of time for that! This army doesn’t know the meaning of hurry! It’s been almost a year since our battle, and it’ll be another month at least before this army takes a step!”
“With your permission, then, I’ll make my trip, and report back to you for duty as soon as possible.”
“Fine—fine!” Washington gave one of his rare smiles and asked, “Still working on that rifle of yours?”
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