Brave Enemies

by Robert Morgan

  “Chess is so clear,” the colonel said. “Chess has rules and logic and honor, unlike this savage rebellion.”

  I had learned to say little about the war to the colonel. I did not want to provoke his anger.

  “The militias are the dregs of society,” Tarleton said as he studied the board. “Many are thieves and criminals. The colonies are populated by convicts, footpads, the lame, and simpleminded. It is a humiliation to fight such rabble.”

  He hit the table with his fist, and then apologized for his outburst. He saw me looking at Susie whose bosoms had fallen completely out of her gown. A grin spread across his flushed face. “Do you like women, parson?” he said.

  “I am a man,” I said, studying the board, “no better than most, and with the help of God no worse.”

  “At Oxford I knew some parsons who weren’t interested in women at all,” the colonel said. He moved a castle out to the center of his rear line, beside his queen, putting my knight in check. I moved the knight and took his pawn. The brandy made the lantern light in the tent seem ripe as peaches in August.

  “It’s a shame to fight rabble who don’t know how to fight, who don’t want to fight,” Tarleton said. “What honor is there in defeating farm boys and rude laborers, tramps and lunatics?”

  “Darling, you always win,” Susie said, and put her hand on his cheek.

  “It’s not so much that I win as that they always lose,” Colonel Tarleton said. “There’s a difference. They would lose no matter who opposed them.”

  He moved his other castle out to the square beside his king, exposing my bishop. I moved my bishop and he took my knight. “Careful, padre, the night is young,” he said.

  I was not used to drinking brandy. The brandy thrilled my senses and I could not think ahead the way you must in chess. I looked at Susie’s neck and at the earring in her lobe. I looked at her hand on the colonel’s knee and could not anticipate his next move. I couldn’t visualize the consequences of my moves.

  “Have you ever had a woman?” Colonel Tarleton said. He looked at Susie and laughed, and then back at me. “No, that’s a rude thing to ask,” he added. “Forgive me for saying that.”

  Thunder banged above us like empty barrels in a bouncing wagon. I moved a castle out to the center of the board. “You should not have done that,” the colonel said, and took my castle with his knight. I felt foolish to have made such an obvious mistake. And yet I knew that even if I were at myself I should let the colonel win. It was not a mistake to lose to him.

  “I’m married,” I said. “Your men took me from my wife.”

  “Now that’s a shame,” Tarleton said, and grinned at Susie. “You must be lonely here in this muddy, bloody wilderness.”

  “I will do my duty,” I said.

  The colonel poured more brandy in my goblet and I took another sip. I had only had brandy a few times before in my life. The purple and maroon colors of Susie’s shawl were vivid. Her eyes were very blue and her skin fair and her hair black as a gypsy’s.

  The colonel called his orderly and told him to bring the girl called Sharon to his tent. A few moments later she appeared wiping the rain from her face. When she took off her hood I saw her blond curls and pink cheeks.

  “Surely you know the Reverend Trethman,” he said to Sharon.

  “Course I do,” the girl said.

  “The reverend can teach you to read,” the colonel said.

  “Aw, go on,” the girl said. “I don’t need to read nothing.”

  Colonel Tarleton put his goblet down and drew Sharon to him with his right arm. He sat with an arm around either girl, and when his turn came he told Susie to move his piece on the board. He won in four more moves. The brandy clouded my mind and the girls distracted me, but he would have won in any case.

  Sharon’s face was prettier than Susie’s, but I thought her skin was not so fine. Sharon was slender with freckles on her chest. She sat on the colonel’s knee and put her hand inside his jacket. I stood up to leave.

  “Thank you, Reverend, for a decent game,” Tarleton said. “I fear you let me win.”

  “Not at all,” I said.

  “Then I am the beneficiary of good luck,” the colonel said.

  “And I’m a little out of practice,” I said. A gust blew against the tent and made the air press on my ears. The brandy hummed behind my ears.

  “Reverend, there’s something I want you to do for me,” the colonel said. He looked at Susie and he looked at me. “I want you to pray with Susie. Her brother has been killed and she is grieving.”

  I knew I was being mocked, but I could not say to the colonel I would not pray with her. Susie looked at Tarleton as if confused.

  “Take Susie to your tent and pray with her,” the colonel said.

  “I cannot refuse to pray with anyone,” I said.

  “Then go,” Tarleton said.

  Susie took my hand and led me out into the rain. Lightning flickered, showing tents scattered in the dripping woods. Susie put her arm around my waist as we splashed through wet leaves and mud to the tent where I slept.

  To my brandy-befuddled mind it did not seem strange that the other men who slept in the tent were gone. There was only the candle burning where I had read earlier, and several empty cots with blankets over them.

  “I’m all soaked,” Susie laughed, and took off her shawl and unbuttoned her dress. “Would you dry me off, sir, before I catch my death?” She handed me a linen towel from one of the cots and I rubbed her neck and shoulders. I rubbed down her back and then I wiped the drops off her chin and off her breasts. I started to say something about the death of her brother and grief, but she put a finger to my lips and with her other hand she loosened the dress somehow so it slid down to her hips.

  The buzzing in my ears and behind my ears got louder. Because of the brandy I could not think clearly. The shout in my blood went from the tips of my toes and fingers to deep in my belly. The bigness of Susie’s thighs and bosoms enveloped me. I was wrapped in vast contours and nipples, the cushions of womanhood, motherhood, the comfort women are made to give.

  I will not say I could not help myself. I didn’t want to help myself. The shout in my veins was closer and louder. Susie took off my shirt and dried my skin. She kissed my nipples as she loosened my pants.

  “We will pray together,” she said, and blew out the candle. As I drew her to me she was swollen and perfect every place I touched. Far behind me thunder shouted and urged and threatened.

  “Where is that girl?” someone yelled, and thrust a lantern into the tent. I saw it was Lieutenant Withnail. He stared at our nakedness and laughed as though he had discovered a treasure. “I’ve looked everywhere for you, Susie. Come with me,” he said.

  Susie gathered up her clothes, and as she left the tent Lieutenant Withnail winked at me. “Sorry, parson,” he said.

  I heard laughter outside as I pulled up my breeches, and terrible thunder shook the ground. I saw that Lieutenant Withnail had had his revenge, and perhaps the colonel also. But I saw also the fault was mostly mine, and the author of my embarrassment was my own ordinary frailty. I was made of common clay, and I had much to pray about. I had much to be humble about, and I still had much to learn.

  THIRTEEN

  THE GENERAL AND COLONEL PICKENS rode out in front of us as we crossed the mouth of the little dip where Washington and his cavalry had waited before. The horsemen had seen us running and had dashed out to drive Tarleton’s dragoons off our heels and necks. I hoped Colonel Washington’s men would see us now, calm and stepping in ranks. But the cavalrymen were gone, chasing Tarleton’s legion.

  By the time we had stepped up out of the dip, everybody had reloaded. Sweat dried on my forehead, leaving a kind of tight dust. I had gotten separated from the North Carolina militia. I was with Pickens’s men. There was still frost on the weeds we tramped through. As we climbed the hill the firing ahead seemed to get worse.

  Suddenly the cavalry appeared on our left, riding hard b
ack to the gully. They had blood on their white coats now, and blood shining on their sabers. They rode past us hollering, and one soldier looked like he had taken a bayonet in his kneecap. His pants were cut and blood poured into his boot.

  The cavalry had ridden out to save us from Tarleton, and we gave them a cheer. In the cold morning air we screamed our thanks.

  “Now it’s your turn,” one of the riders yelled at us.

  “Kill the damn British,” another said, and raised his saber.

  I felt gratitude so sweet it made my eyes wet. Nothing I’d seen that day stirred me more than the sight of those riders returning cut and bloody. They had charged out and saved us, and now they watched us marching by with our guns loaded. They had done their part and now we had to do ours again. I hollered before I knew it. My pants were wet, but my heart was full and hot.

  The cavalry cheered back as they turned into the gully behind us. The horses sank into the shadows of the dip and only their sabers flashed in the sun. Boom boom, went the brass cannons. Men at the back of the Maryland line fell even as we ran behind them.

  “To the right,” Colonel Pickens shouted and pointed toward the flank of the Virginia volunteers. We ran around the end of the militia and spread out and took our places. Some of us knelt down to aim, and some lay down to steady their barrels on rocks and stumps. All that could find a tree or bush hid behind it. I saw a little hickory and put my rifle across the lowest limb. My hands weren’t shaking now. I was scared, but not the same as before. This is something that will always be remembered, I thought. You will never be the same after this day.

  The British line stopped a hundred paces away to fire a volley. It took them maybe half a minute to reload and fire again. “Ready, aim, fire,” their sergeants yelled out, and smoke puffed out all across their line. It was an awful noise coming out of the smoke. It was like the world was cracking to its doom right in front of your face. I aimed my rifle while the smoke rolled out and parted.

  The regulars on our left fired whenever they were ready. Pop pop pop pop, their guns went. They had to reload with their bayonets fixed, but they kept shooting and reloading, calm and businesslike. And the redcoats dropped in their tracks down the line. I aimed at a tall man with gold on his shoulders, and when I pulled the trigger he crumpled into the grass. I never would have thought I could have killed so easily. I was amazed that it seemed so natural. I was aiming and firing just like the men.

  “Ready, aim, fire,” the redcoats called, and there was another blast from their muskets. Smoke boiled out across the ground between the two armies like a wildfire in the grass. Nobody could see anymore. The pops and cracks on our side paused as the smoke reached us, and I heard the British drums, and the chirping of their fifes.

  As the smoke started to clear, both sides began advancing with their bayonets. We volunteers couldn’t do anything but watch because we didn’t have bayonets. And we didn’t have swords either. Most of us didn’t even have long hunting knives. I reloaded and waited for another chance to shoot.

  But out of the smoke on our right came the strangest sound you ever heard. It was like a scream that rose high in the air. It was like both a woman mourning and a fly whining. Then I remembered the bagpipes. As the smoke thinned I saw the battalion of Highlanders coming toward us on the right. They had swung around the Tory line and were coming at us from an angle.

  Now it was the oddest thing. The Highlanders were marching at us from the right and the Virginians hadn’t even seen them. They were too busy firing and watching the bayonets advancing in the smoke. I reckon they must have heard the squall of the bagpipes, but they didn’t pay it any heed.

  The bagpipes were shrill as the sound of madness. I guess they were meant to make you feel you were going crazy. It was the sound of birds and a swarm of awful hornets and giant mosquitoes. The pitch of that noise made you want to start slapping the air and shielding your eyes. I’d heard the Highlanders were the best of the British army and had never been beaten.

  I had reloaded and I turned my rifle toward the Highlanders. My hands were steady. By then I must have been scared calm. I drew my bead on a tartan cap. And then another strange thing happened. The Virginians saw the Highlanders on our flank and an officer among them yelled, “About face, left.” I thought that’s what he said. The Virginians turned away from us. And they kept turning until they faced backward like they’d been ordered to retreat. When they started retreating the rest of us began to back up too. All of us did. We thought an order had been given.

  The Maryland and Delaware Continentals must have seen their brother patriots retreating, for they stopped shooting and began to pull back too, just like an order had been shouted. I figured their colonel had given the command, for you could hear their drum. But you couldn’t tell what was said, for the cannons were booming and the British muskets and the bagpipes were whining. An awful cheer went up from the British, for they must have thought they’d won. Through the smoke they saw us retreating.

  “Death to Whigs and traitors,” somebody yelled.

  “No quarter,” another shouted.

  An English officer stepped out of the smoke and pointed his sword at us, and the awful cheer went up again from the red and green coats. I swung my rifle toward the officer that had pointed his sword, and when I squeezed the trigger his head splashed blood like a pumpkin hit by a rock, and he sank into the broom sedge.

  With a terrible halloo and cry the redcoats started forward. But they were no longer in a firm line. They charged every which way, firing in the air and stabbing with bayonets. I guess they thought they’d already won.

  We retreated with the regulars and the Virginians. We didn’t have any choice but to fall back with the others, for the Highlanders were advancing on our right. I stepped fast, trying to catch up with the others. We had dropped back into a little dip and started up the next rise when General Morgan came riding out of the smoke. His hat had fallen off and his gray hair rippled in the wind.

  “Are you beaten?” he hollered out to Colonel Howard. “Have you lost the day?”

  Colonel Howard rode up close to the general. “Do we look beaten?” he yelled, and pointed to his men retreating in good order.

  “Then turn when I say to and give them one more fire,” the general yelled. His eyes glittered like an eagle’s as he watched the advancing British. “Old Morgan was never beaten!” he shouted.

  Our line followed the Old Wagoner up the hill till he pointed to a place and yelled, “Stop!” We all stopped, and all up and down the line you heard the order to turn and fire at the redcoats. We all turned around to face the bayonets. But it happened so fast I hadn’t reloaded. All I could do was watch.

  The British had broken into a run toward us, with their bayonets lowered. It sounded like every musket and rifle and pistol on the American side fired at once. A sheet of flame stretched from the far left to the far right of the field. The air was full of thunder and smoke. Our volley hit the redcoats right in their faces and chests. They had thought they’d won, and now they were caught in the worst fire they’d ever seen. They went down like clothes on a line that is cut. Bayonets stuck in the dirt and stuck in bodies already down. Men staggered back onto the bayonets of those behind them. Some fell holding their muskets pointed to the sky. The Tory line melted all the way across the field.

  The Marylanders stepped forward with their bayonets aimed. It all happened in a few seconds. One minute the redcoats were charging at us, thinking they’d won the day, and the next they sank into the grass. Everything changed in a few seconds. The Continentals stabbed with their bayonets, and redcoats backed away and started to run.

  SOMETIMES I DON’T think time means anything. It was just an instant, but it could have been half a lifetime for the way things had turned. The field shifted in that moment, as the regulars and the volunteers turned and fired their barrage. The whole battle, maybe the whole war, turned around in a second. Before, the flood of men had been streaming one way, and the ne
xt the tide was washing back the other way. Didn’t seem to have a thing to do with anything you could have named. I can still smell the smoke from that moment, and the sweat of fear. There’s a smell of gunpowder and blood and cow piles that’s not like anything else. And the smell of sweat and shite. I was a girl and I had been a part of it all.

  WHILE THE MARYLAND and Delaware regulars and the Virginia volunteers were charging with their bayonets, I reloaded. I didn’t have a bayonet, but maybe I could shoot at a redcoat or a dragoon. I belched up brash and spit it out as I drove the ramrod down the barrel, packing the bullet and patch in. My hands were dark with dirt and soot. Here I was a girl, and I had fought and killed just like the men. It didn’t seem possible. But then I remembered that I had killed before.

  I saw the brass cannon on the left side. But the other one, on the right, I couldn’t see. Boom, the grasshopper went, and after a few more seconds, Boom again. I saw it wasn’t aimed at the Continentals anymore. It was aimed at Colonel Washington’s cavalry riding around the hill and behind the British line. Whoosh! the shots went out over the hill.

  The men in blue-and-red coats and white britches worked like they weren’t paying attention to anything else. Two rolled the gun forward again and tilted it up, and one stuck a wedge behind it. Another placed a charge in the barrel and one rammed it down with a pole. Another placed a canister and wadding in the barrel and the man with the pole shoved it down. Another stood holding the linstock, and with the sharp pick he made sure the vent was clear. Another poured powder in the vent and the one with the linstock touched his smoking string to the hole. The cannon jumped back two feet in the air, and smoke bloomed from the end as I heard a whizzing above. I don’t reckon the whole thing took more than a minute. The men in blue and red carried the cannon forward on poles and started all over again. I aimed at the one with the ram pole and when I squeezed the trigger he sank down like a drunk man into the weeds and peavines. Another man took up the pole and rammed it in.