He rushed to the mouth of the cave, but instead of jumping outside, he listened for a moment. The crack of a musket ricocheted through the rain, and it felt as if his insides ripped into two as well.
Elisha swore.
Nathan reached for his musket, but he didn’t leave the cave. If the British found Porter’s ship, they would search for the supplies. Nathan needed to guard them with his life.
There were more sounds of muskets and men shouting.
He despised the sound of mayhem.
He and Elisha sat inside the mouth of the cave with their muskets loaded, waiting for the British to come up the hill. He wouldn’t cower, but he would do everything he could to protect the supplies.
The shouts continued for a few more minutes, and then as quickly as the shouts came, they dissipated like vapor.
He strained his ears, trying to hear what was happening below them.
Then he heard voices not far from the mouth of the cave. A small group of men with British accents were talking about the supplies found in the wagon. They weren’t using a lantern, and he was grateful of it. If they looked up the hill, they would discover a whole trove of food and ammunition.
The rain fell harder, and Nathan held his breath, afraid that even the sound of his breathing would alert them to his position. He and Elisha might be able to fight this group, but he had no idea how many soldiers were behind them.
The men’s voices began to fade, and Nathan breathed in the cool air.
What happened to Micah and the other men?
“You’d best stay here,” Nathan said as he stepped outside the cave.
Elisha placed his hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “The general said to protect you—”
“It is more important to protect these supplies.”
Gray light began to seep over the horizon as Nathan hopped down to the ground. He carefully skirted through the tall grasses until he was five yards from the shore. Scanning the beach, he saw no sign of British soldiers nor of the wagon that had carried the last of their supplies. The schooner was gone as well.
But there was something lying on the sand, at the edge of the water. He rushed forward to see what the British left behind.
His stomach turned.
They didn’t leave something behind. They left someone.
Micah lay face down in the water, the tide rushing over his back. Nathan rolled him over, but there was no breath left in him.
Nathan sat down on the beach and pressed his fists against his forehead.
He hated war, hated the lives lost for no reason, hated that young men passionate about doing right were swept away at the onset of their lives.
Light illuminated the beach now. He couldn’t stay any longer, not even to bury this soldier.
He scanned the murky water for Lemuel and Benjamin—and the crew of the schooner—but it seemed as if they had disappeared. Would the redcoats return this morning to search the area? For the sake of those soldiers who remained alive and the colonists who were relying on him, he must act quickly.
The rain fell harder as he dragged Micah’s body out of the water and hid it in the tall grass.
When he climbed back into the cave, he sat down beside Elisha. “Micah’s dead,” he said.
“What about Lemuel and Benjamin?” Elisha asked.
Nathan leaned back against the wall. “I did not see them.”
“It don’t matter much to me who wins this war, but I hate seeing the lives of good men taken when they’re so young.”
Nathan unrolled his blanket beside Elisha and covered his wet clothes with it. Micah was one of thousands of casualties, but Nathan hated that anyone would have to die. And yet each one of those men was a hero.
Once they had succeeded in obtaining freedom, he would never forget to celebrate the lives of the men who’d made it possible.
A breeze swept into the cave, and his eyes began to droop.
There was nothing else they could do until the sun went down again.
Aunt Emeline eyed the plate of raspberry tarts with her lorgnette and then gingerly lifted one to her lips, taking the slightest nibble off the edge. Sarah watched with fascination as her aunt’s lips puckered and her eyes crossed ever so slightly.
Aunt Emeline waved her eyepiece. “We cannot possibly serve this to our guests.”
The cook stepped forward. “There is no decent sugar to be had in the markets.”
“Then we must borrow some from our neighbors.”
“I fear no one will loan us any more.”
Sarah’s aunt had a terrible sweet tooth and kept the staff busy, trying to accommodate her penchant for sweets. None of the neighbors were willing, it seemed, to part with any more of the sugar that was so difficult to obtain.
“Take it away,” her aunt commanded, and Louisa swept the plate out from under Aunt Emeline’s hand and rushed it away so quickly that Sarah barely had time to swipe a tart off the plate. They tasted, well, a bit tart, but other than that, she thought it would be a wonderful treat for the women attending Aunt Emeline’s luncheon.
“If I may,” the cook said, “perhaps we should consider serving dumplings with molasses to the guests.”
Aunt Emeline reached for her fan and propelled liberal amounts of air over her perplexed face as if the thought of serving dumplings and molasses might be the death of her.
“Or I could use applesauce to make a cake,” the cook offered.
“Nonsense. I will personally go and ask Mrs. Richter for a loaf of sugar.”
The cook bowed her head, backing away. “Of course.”
Sarah finished the rest of the tart. “The women should not care whether they are served a fancy dessert.”
Her aunt looked at Sarah as if she’d lost her mind then turned and followed their cook toward the kitchen.
Sarah glanced out the window, searching the street as she’d done a hundred times before, hoping to see Grayson walking toward their house. He was supposed to be in Philadelphia three weeks ago, and there was still no word of where he was or when he would return.
Her heart trembled. When he returned, she hoped they would resume the conversation they’d started down at the docks. If Grayson did propose marriage, Sarah knew her brother would be happy for her, and Father would try. Commodore Hammond had always supported men who stood by their principles, and Grayson had stood behind his.
She was proud of Grayson for supplying the Continental Army with the rations they needed to survive and ultimately win this war. Now, instead of hiding away in her plantation, perhaps she could convince him to let her join him in his work.
When Aunt Emeline returned, she moved to the window beside Sarah. “I am certain he will come soon, dear.”
In the midst of her excitement, Sarah couldn’t help but worry. Grayson had disappeared from her life before. It was possible he would do it once again. And if he disappeared without telling her where he had gone, she didn’t know how she could ever let him back in.
How many times could she let him break her heart?
The front bell rang, and she leaped.
Aunt Emeline wrung her gloves. “I must procure the sugar before our guests arrive.”
Sarah nodded as her aunt bustled toward the back door, and then her gaze returned to the window. Seconds later, a man was escorted into the parlor, his vest and pantaloons dirty and torn, his long hair ratty over his shoulders. She struggled to remember where she had seen him before.
Then she remembered—she’d met him with Grayson down near the docks. Zadock was his name.
She reached for the arm of a chair, balancing herself. Why had this man come without Grayson?
“He insisted on seeing you,” Louisa explained, distraught.
“It is all right,” Sarah assured her before she turned to Zadock. “What happened?”
“Our boat was attacked in Virginia.”
“Where is—” Her voice cracked. “Where is Porter?”
“The British have taken him and his
boat along with most of the crew.” Zadock paused. “Porter said if anything happened to him, I must come find you.”
She released her grip on the chair. Thank God, he was still alive. “Where have they taken them?” she insisted.
“I’m not certain,” Zadock said. “But there was a wharf nearby, outside their camp in York.”
She hadn’t been able to save Thomas or the others from the British.
But perhaps it wasn’t too late to save Grayson.
PART THREE
Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered;
yet we have this consolation with us,
that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.
THOMAS PAINE, THE AMERICAN CRISIS, 1776
Chapter Twenty-Six
September 1781
Sarah insisted that Zadock and his small band of men escort her to where Grayson lost his schooner. Aunt Emeline protested with flurry even as Sarah left the house, but during war, there was no time to concern oneself with propriety and material comforts. If she lost Grayson due to her fears, she would never forgive herself.
She didn’t know how Zadock had secured the sailboat, but it served the four of them well as they traveled the waterways down into Virginia. As she helped the men sail, she imagined herself as Madam Sarah Knight traveling into the unknown—except that Madam Knight wasn’t searching for the man she loved.
Sarah Hammond wouldn’t stop searching until she found him.
When they stopped at a port in Virginia, another privateer told them that he’d seen a new prisoner ship at a camp a mile south of York. The information came for a hefty price, but Zadock had the gold to pay for it. Sarah asked him about the money, and he explained that a shrewd privateer always carried extra funds, reserved for intelligence and bribery. Information that cost nothing, Zadock explained, was usually worthless.
Zadock left Sarah and the other men north of York for an entire day. When he returned, he had three other men with him. One was a soldier named Lemuel, who was searching for his comrade, and another was the courier named Nathan, who had secured her travel to Philadelphia. It took her a moment to recognize the third man.
“Elisha?”
“Miss Sarah,” Elisha said, reaching for her hand to shake.
Tears wet her cheeks as she engulfed him in a hug. It was so good to see the husband of her beloved maid. “You are free?” she asked.
Fear flashed across his face. “It’s of my own doing.”
She nodded. “Then we shall keep it that way.”
“Have you any word of Morah?” he begged.
“I am afraid there is none.” She paused. “But we cannot stop hoping.”
“Aye. I will not stop until I find them.”
She understood. She would not stop either, until she found the man she loved.
Nathan said he knew where the ship was, but he also said it would take a miracle to recover Grayson and his men. She would pray for a miracle.
They left their boat and the two hired sailors north of York and continued their journey south on foot. Nathan led them far around York, through a dense forest, before they crossed over a small footpath and an abandoned mill by a stream. Wind rushed through the leaves, tangling her skirt and the ribbons on her cap, but they pressed on until they reached the edge of the trees.
Elisha waved her forward. “Be careful, miss.”
Peering through the trees, she saw the two masts of Grayson’s schooner on the shoreline. The privateer had told them the truth—the ship was docked south of York. But he’d neglected to mention the hundreds of British soldiers crawling like red ants on the grassy hills nearby.
How were they supposed to steal away Grayson and Benjamin and the rest of the men?
Any survivors of the attack were probably being held on the ship—and Sarah refused to let herself believe in anything except Grayson’s survival. To the left of the tents were the camp followers—hundreds of women and children clustered together around campfires. The smoke rose, and she could smell boiling meat. Her stomach ached from hunger, but there was no complaint in her. Grayson and his men would be much hungrier.
She backed away from the edge, retreating into the safety of the trees. She doubted anyone would see her in her brown gown among the tree trunks, but Nathan had warned them about guards roaming through these trees. If they were caught now, she might see Grayson, but only as a fellow prisoner. Then, she feared, all hope would truly be lost.
Sarah and the men walked a good half mile into the trees. There they set up their bedding and ate the hard biscuits they’d brought from the ship along with berries she’d collected on their hike through the forest.
After unrolling her sheet and blanket, she stared at the dark limbs above her. She’d always wanted to travel, but she’d had no idea that her desires would take her here, sleeping beside four men in the forest. If her father knew, he would pretend to be perturbed with her, but she suspected he might actually be proud of her courage.
The men were silent, their best defense in the darkness. Sarah closed her eyes, remembering Grayson’s small kindnesses to her when they were young—the plums and grapes and apples he used to pick for her. As she drifted to sleep, she prayed that God would give Grayson the sustenance he needed until they could find him.
She awoke to the smell of smoked applewood and meat and opened her eyes to an animal roasting on a spit over the fire. She started to sit, wanting to help the men prepare breakfast, but she stopped when she heard Zadock say it was impossible for them to stage any kind of rescue.
She refused to entertain the word impossible.
“I might be able to sneak into camp,” Nathan said, lifting up the barbering kit he kept in his satchel.
“But what then?” Zadock asked. “The guards will never let you on that ship.”
“I could think of a reason—”
Zadock stopped him. “Even if you found a way on, Porter and the others will be too weak to swim away.”
Lemuel stirred the fire. “And it would be impossible to sneak them back through the camp.”
Sarah’s mind raced. If the men were caught, both rescuers and prisoners would likely be shot on the spot. But there was little hope for Grayson’s life if they left him on the ship.
“There must be a way,” Elisha insisted.
“We could take them food and water,” Nathan said. “Enough to keep them alive until we can rescue them from the boat.”
“It is impossible.” Zadock shook his head, resigned. “We’ll never be able to get them off the boat.”
Sarah sat up. “It is not impossible.”
The men looked over at her.
“You might not be able to get into camp.” She took a deep breath. “But I can.”
Silence met her words as the men glanced at one another. She held her breath as she waited for their reaction.
Nathan spoke first. “We cannot let you go into the camp alone.”
She took a long sip of water from her canteen. “You said it would be impossible for any of you to go.”
“But that does not mean we allow you to do so,” Nathan said.
She glanced at the trees around them. Who knew how many British scouts were roaming the forest, looking for invaders? “I will be as safe as I am out here, probably safer. I shall simply pretend to be one of the women living outside the camp.”
“Perhaps it is possible,” Elisha said, and hope began to well in her again.
Zadock cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, miss, but you don’t look much like a camp woman.”
While she appreciated his sentiments, she didn’t believe him. Over the past week, her dress had become torn, her hair tangled in knots. After sleeping outside again, she probably looked more ragged than many of the women who camped for weeks in one place.
“I doubt they will question my appearance,” she said. “But I shall need a good reason to venture into the camp.”
“There are plenty of good reasons for women to go
into the camp,” Lemuel said. “You could bring in food to sell or ask to wash clothes.”
Zadock crossed his arms. “Porter would never forgive me if something happened to you.”
Sarah’s mind flashed back to her hours in the dovecote, hiding as the enemy ravaged her house. Her own life had been spared, but she had been too cowardly to attempt to rescue Thomas and her other Negroes.
Her cowardice wouldn’t stop her again. She wouldn’t run from the chance to rescue the man she loved. “I would never forgive myself if something happened to Grayson.”
Nathan looked up. “I thought the man’s name was Porter.”
Sarah licked her lips. “It is—now.”
“Did you not meet him in Philadelphia?” Nathan asked.
“I saw him in Philadelphia, but I have known him since childhood.”
“Grayson,” Nathan said twice, as if he were trying to recall where he had heard the name before. His eyes narrowed. “You have not told me all the truth.”
Her glance shifted from Nathan to Elisha, whose eyes had grown wide.
“I told you both what you needed to know,” she said.
“Is Porter . . . ?” Elisha started, but his voice trailed off.
Nathan untied the ribbon from his hair, and his long hair fell across his shoulders. “Grayson is her brother.”
Lemuel leaned closer to them. “Whose brother?”
Sarah pulled her knees toward her chest, her gaze still on Nathan. “His family mustn’t find out. He is protecting them.”
Nathan looked down at the yellow ribbon in his hands, and Sarah glanced at the other men, gauging their reactions. Then she looked at Elisha. “You must understand that I have no choice but to try this. You risked your life every week to visit Morah and Alden. You would risk it again to save them if you knew where they were.”
Elisha’s gaze rested on the fire. She knew he understood her pain, her need to rescue Grayson, but she also understood his hesitancy. Lord Caswell was the reason Elisha’s wife and son had been sent away in the first place. Now Sarah was asking him to rescue his master’s son, a man who’d lashed his back long ago.
The Courier of Caswell Hall (American tapestries) Page 20
