Brave Enemies

by Robert Morgan

  “We will take the right side of the road,” the major said. He sat on his horse and talked calm as a judge. I reckon Major McDowell had been at Kings Mountain and in a lot of other battles too. He seemed sure as the boss of a plantation giving orders.

  “We are the skirmishers and marksmen,” he said. “We will pick off British officers and then fall back. Give me two shots and retreat to Pickens’s line.”

  The major rode up closer to us, like he didn’t want to be overheard. “I know you boys can hit a squirrel in the arse at a hundred yards,” he said. “Just kill an officer and you will serve your country well.”

  We stood shivering in the early dawn. The east was turning faintly yellow. The sky was partly cloudy. The air was damp and cold.

  “Get behind a tree or behind a cedar bush or log,” the major said. “Or just lie in the grass and hold your rifle steady.” In the gold light I could see him clearly.

  “Be sure you reload while you’re running back,” the major said. “The enemy is not expecting that.”

  I looked around and saw most of the men had long rifles. They held them like they were used to using them. My rifle felt awkward in my hands. I didn’t know if I could shoot it or not. It didn’t seem possible I was out here holding a rifle to shoot somebody. I wanted to do my part, but I didn’t want to kill anybody.

  “After you fire twice you will not start running,” the major said. “You will move back orderly, then turn and fire from Pickens’s line.”

  I looked over to the right. It was a long way to the thick woods. Oaks and black gum trees were scattered down the gentle slope. I banged my hands together to warm them and my breath smoked like a beekeeper’s pot. I blew on my red fingertips and held the gun in the crook of my arm. Everybody else was blowing and stomping in the grass too.

  “Find a tree to steady your rifle on,” Major McDowell said. “And spread out so you can hardly be seen.”

  There were chestnut oaks and hickories and post oaks scattered around. Each of us looked for a tree to get behind. Most trees were too slim to hide a man. My teeth chattered and I couldn’t keep my knees from shaking. I had to piss something terrible. This is your punishment for pretending to be a boy, I said to myself.

  “The redcoats fire in volleys,” Gudger said. “They all shoot at once and then rush up and run a bayonet through your guts.”

  I tried to find a tree for myself. I didn’t want to stand out in the open if there was a bush to get behind. I felt cold and naked. I picked a little oak that wasn’t bigger around than my leg. It didn’t give much cover, but I could rest my gun on a limb. Gaither and T. R. got behind trees a few yards away. The major rode off to the side and Captain Cox took a stand near the Green River Road in the middle of the pasture. The road ran like a red vein to the south. The sun had not come over the ridge yet, but the east was turning red as a carbuncle.

  The air got awfully quiet around us. I heard the general hollering at the lines behind us, but all I understood was “This day you must play your part for honor and liberty’s cause.” His voice flung across the field and faded.

  We were on the lowest slope looking way down the road. It was a long way to where the road came out of the woods to the south. Pickens’s men were behind us, and the Maryland and Delaware regulars were behind them, alongside the Virginia militia. There were trees scattered all through the pasture, but the pasture was so open you could see a good way. The slope behind us leveled off where Pickens’s men stood, and then rose up again to where the Continentals were ranked. Washington and his cavalry were way back to the left, milling around near a clump of pines. I wondered how they were going to help us from so far away.

  Beyond the clump of pine trees were the mountains to the north, looking blue and coppery in the early light. I told myself if I ever got out of the army I’d go to the mountains and never leave them. I’d live in a cabin beside a spring and I would have my baby. I would get far away from this place. I would sew and spin wool and knit. The mountains looked so peaceful up there, like the edge of heaven.

  I had to pee so badly my belly felt swelled up and sore. My bladder ached and scalded right through my middle. I stood on one foot and leaned on the oak tree, then I stood on the other foot, shivering. Hundreds of men behind me watched for the British to appear any second in front of us. I throbbed something awful. I was scared and I was aching. And then I saw Gaither beside his own blackjack bush pissing in the broom sedge. He made a loud noise like a horse, and his water shone in the red light. Good old Gaither, I thought. Boys have it so easy.

  I let off a squirt in my pants. I couldn’t bring myself to pull down my pants and squat in front of all those men. I let out another squirt and the pee ran hot on my leg. The wetness ran down my leg under the coat and nobody could see it. I kept pissing and it felt wonderful.

  I stood by the oak tree and looked at the frost on the ground. There were sticks and leaves in the stubble, and rocks here and there. It was just ordinary ground, with a cow pile here and a briar there. I hoped Tarleton and his Green Dragoons wouldn’t show up at all. I looked at the few brown leaves still hanging on the oak tree. They fluttered a little in the dawn breeze.

  “Look to your right,” Gudger said. “You ain’t got nothing to protect you. And on your left you ain’t got nothing but cowards from Georgia. Ain’t no swamps close by for you heifers to crawl into. The river’s nigh six miles behind us. You got no choice but to fight, like the major says.”

  Gudger talked just loud enough for T. R. and Gaither and Jenkins and me to hear him.

  “First son of a bitch that runs without firing his two shots I will shoot myself,” Gudger said, and spat in the grass. “And I can tell if you’re aiming or not.”

  Gudger’s face was red like he’d been sitting by a fire, or it was a hot summer day. He took a drink from his canteen. “This rifle will get you before you run twenty yards,” he said.

  For the first time I saw how scared Gudger was. He’d been scared all along. He was scared to tell on me, afraid people would laugh at him. He was afraid I would tell on him. He was hollering at us, but he was saying too much. He was saying things over and over again. He was trying to keep himself from getting scareder.

  “Their muskets won’t shoot far as our rifles,” Gudger said. “That’s why they fire in volleys.”

  My hands were so cold I put them in my coat and then drew them up into my sleeves. I wondered if it was too cold for powder to burn. It was harder to light kindling when it was real cold. But if our guns wouldn’t fire maybe the British muskets wouldn’t fire either.

  The ground under the broom sedge and wild peavines was hard as an anvil. You could stomp it and it was like kicking a rock. Gudger banged his hands together. His pistol was stuck in his belt and his rifle rested in the crook of his arm. He blew on his knuckles.

  The field was brighter now. There was only one flag raised that I could see, held above the Maryland regulars, a red flag. But that was so far away I couldn’t see any design on it.

  “Who’s that?” T. R. said, and raised his rifle.

  We jerked to the right and saw a rider gallop out of the trees, swinging across the field in front of us.

  “Don’t shoot!” Captain Cox hollered from his position near the road. When the rider got out in the open we saw he was one of General Morgan’s scouts. He was riding fast and I guess he hadn’t seen where the skirmish line was. He swerved in front of us and galloped up the road behind us. Other men hollered back there, saying not to shoot, same as Cox had.

  After the rider was gone it was awfully quiet. It was like the moment at a meeting when the preacher stands up but hasn’t spoken yet. The whole field was waiting. There was just a little breeze in the trees, a morning breeze. It was going to be a cold day, and the sun was about to come up through the clouds across Thicketty Mountain. Some crows were fussing way over where the tall pine trees stood. I saw this hawk way up in the air and heard a whistle. The hawk circled like it was looking for a littl
e chicken to grab. I guess it had spotted us and wanted to see what we were doing.

  “Hey!” somebody yelled over on the Georgia side of the line. They could see farther down the road than we could. We all raised our rifles and aimed down the Green River Road, to where the red track disappeared through a gap in the trees.

  Something was coming up the road, but it was so far away and so little you could hardly see it. Was it somebody crawling? Was it a short man? It was moving fast. Was it some kind of trick? Every barrel was trained on it.

  “Don’t shoot!” Cox hollered.

  Captain Cox must have had sharper eyes than the rest of us, but soon as he gave the order we saw it was a deer, a buck, running with his head high and steady. A doe moves her head up and down when she runs. The buck loped almost up to us, and when he saw the line of men he swung aside and jumped high into the brush. His tail throbbed like a white flame until he was out of sight.

  Somebody else hollered and pointed down the road. Two more deer came running up the red track. But they saw us sooner, or maybe they saw the first buck turn aside, for they followed him and leaped into the trees.

  I strained my eyes and put my hands to my brow to block out the first sun. Something black lumbered out of the woods and lurched across the broom sedge and dead peavines. It was a bear running into the open, and then it turned to the left toward Thicketty Mountain and the low swamp between the pasture and the ridge.

  “Don’t fire,” Cox said.

  I reckon a lot of the men would have liked to shoot a bear. Bears were getting scarce. As we looked across the field little things came running out of the woods, rabbits and possums, squirrels and raccoons. A wild turkey hopped along taking jumps and trotting in the tall grass. Crows way off to the left still made a racket.

  This thing the color of a Jersey cow stepped out of the woods. Its tail curved up over the broom sedge.

  “Looky there,” I said to Gaither and T. R. It was a panther.

  “Shut up and look for Tories,” Gudger said.

  The panther never did come right out in the open. It walked along the edge of the woods, pacing fast and low. Its tail reared up over the broom sedge like it was floating. And then I couldn’t see it anymore. I wondered if it had lain down in the grass and was waiting for its prey, the way a cat will.

  When I looked back at the road all the animals were gone. I didn’t even see a possum or rabbit any more. The pasture was empty and still. The shadows behind trees were getting shorter, and the field was streaked with sun sparkling on grass.

  And then I saw the horse and rider. He rode straight in the saddle and wore a tall black cap. He came right up the road and out into the open. All at once I saw his coat was green, and I saw the men behind him wearing green. It was Tarleton.

  “Hold your fire,” Cox said.

  Tarleton and his dragoons were a good ways off. The men on horses didn’t see us until they had come farther along the road. Suddenly the one in front that sat so straight raised his hand and they all stopped. He pulled something from his saddlebags and put it to his eye. I reckon it was a spyglass, and he was trying to see where we were.

  We weren’t hidden exactly, but most of us were near trees and our coats and caps were nearly the color of the brush and broom sedge. In the early light everything looked orange anyway, including the frost on the ground that looked like somebody had crushed a mirror into meal.

  When Tarleton pulled out his long saber and raised it over his head, my feet turned so cold they ached. I didn’t feel like myself at all, but up above myself or out behind myself. I couldn’t even watch myself because I was way off to the side. Josie, what are you doing here? I thought.

  The saber flashed in the sun like it was a long icicle. The men behind Tarleton raised their sabers too, and they lined their horses up on either side of him. I reckon there must have been more than fifty of them out front. Tarleton raised up in his saddle and hollered to somebody behind him. And then I saw another group of men on horses and they were wearing red. The men in red rode between the dragoons in green and got in front of them. Their horses were prancing and nervous. The men hollered, but we couldn’t tell what they said. The men in red pulled out their long sabers. Their faces were in shadow, but the blades flashed in the sun.

  “Them blades look sharp as razors,” Gaither said from behind his tree.

  I looked around and saw the general sitting on his big white horse. He had ridden all over the field and come back to our line. The sunlight made him look like a bronze statue. The scar on his cheek looked silver.

  I shivered and scrunched my toes inside the rags. The general rode along maybe twenty feet behind us. “I won’t leave this field till I have whipped Benny Tarleton’s arse,” he shouted.

  A yell went up across the field. It was the red dragoons in the front line. A drum started beating and a kind of pipe played. Colorful flags were raised along the British line. With their sabers lifted high the dragoons yelled something like “Huurrraahh!” The drum beat louder and the pipe played faster. It was a fife sparkling a merry tune.

  “They have given us the British halloo,” Old Morgan bellowed. “Now let’s give them the Indian halloo.”

  I can’t say what happened next, for it happened so fast. But I yelled out till my lungs were stretched. I hollered so loud I could hardly hear anybody else. All along the line we screamed like Indians giving a war whoop. It just came out of us when the general said to yell. Didn’t anybody have to study on it. The shout went all up and down the line.

  Just then the dragoons started galloping toward us and the yell died in my throat, like my breath was just turned off. Didn’t seem possible they were galloping right toward us. And it looked as if the one out front was headed straight toward me.

  “Cock your guns,” Gudger hollered.

  “Shoot at the epaulets, men,” Old Morgan bellowed. “Hit the epaulets and the stripes.”

  The dragoons charged like they were on a fox hunt. They galloped like they were going to race for miles. I raised my rifle and leaned it against the little oak tree. I cocked the hammer with a trembling thumb. My arms and knees were shaking. Before I had time to aim at any of the dragoons I saw behind them ranks of soldiers marching out onto the field. It looked like there were hundreds of them, forming a line as soon as they came into the open. Some had red coats and some had blue-and-red coats, and some had bright green coats just like the dragoons. They formed into ranks with flags waving above them while the drum was groaning and the fife was sparkling out a tune.

  The red dragoons turned aside off the field and the soldiers behind them reached to their sides and pulled out long knives. They did it all at the same time: they were fixing bayonets. The blades flashed in the sun like sabers.

  I don’t know which of us fired first. It all happened so fast. Somebody fired at the dragoons as they galloped off to the side, and the British infantry stepped forward in the orange sunlight. All up and down our line men hollered. I think the first shots came from the left, on the Georgia side of the road. Or it might have been some of us, Jenkins and Roberts, or even T. R. There was one shot and then another. A horse stumbled and fell.

  My own gun was not even aimed. I couldn’t make myself sight down the barrel. I was too scared and I was shaking. I looked over at Gaither and T. R., but they were busy aiming. I looked around to see where Cox was.

  “Aim, you fool,” Gudger screamed.

  “Shoot the epaulet men,” the general shouted.

  I looked down the barrel of the rifle and it shook even though it leaned against the tree. Guns were firing all around me and the air smelled like smoke. The dragoons were still far enough away so their caps looked like bears’ heads. You must shoot for John and for the sake of your baby, I said to myself. Don’t let them know you are a girl. And don’t let Gaither and T. R. and Captain Cox down.

  “Two shots and fall back,” the general hollered.

  Off to the side three horses fell and the dragoons yelled whe
n they hit the ground. One rider stumbled to his feet and raised his saber. His hat had slid crooked but was held by the strap under his chin. The bead on my rifle trembled as I trained it on the dragoon’s head. I couldn’t really aim, I was shaking so badly, and I didn’t think to squeeze the trigger or steady the barrel by pressing it harder against the tree. I jerked the trigger and the dragoon fell. Whether it was my shot that hit him or somebody else’s I couldn’t tell.

  “Reload, you stupid heifer!” Gudger shouted.

  “Give them one more shot,” Captain Cox yelled.

  Major McDowell was riding behind us. “Hit the epaulets,” he barked.

  I lifted my powder horn, but my hand was trembling so I couldn’t touch the point to the end of the barrel. The soldiers were coming on and hollering like they’d been stung by hornets and bitten by mad dogs. I didn’t think I could reload before they were at me. My fingers fumbled on the cold shot in the pouch. I pulled out a ball and it squirted right out of my hand into the grass. I pinched another one tight in a patch till it squeezed into the end of the barrel.

  By the time I got the bullet and patch in, the dragoons had gone into the woods on the right. But through the smoke I saw the ranks of soldiers coming closer out of the sun. Light flashed on their shoulders and caps. Old Morgan had said we didn’t have to stand up to the bayonets.

  “Fire, you fools,” Gudger hollered.

  “Eeiieehh!” I yelled, trying to give the Indian war whoop again. But it didn’t come out right. I just sounded scared.

  I crammed the bullet and patch into the barrel and pushed them down with the ramrod. My hands shook and I wasn’t even sure they were pushed in all the way. I pulled the rod out of the barrel, but couldn’t guide it back into its rings.

  The redcoats were getting closer. Their buckles and badges flashed in the sun, and their bayonets reached out toward us. Their gorgets sparkled around the officers’ necks. I raised the rifle and leaned it against the oak again, and tried to stop my hand from jerking. I had to fire one more shot before I could run back to the second line. And I had to aim too.