by Ron Carter
Washington glanced at the small calendar on his desk.
“That battle was fought March fifteenth? Eight days ago?”
“Yes.”
“Did you observe it?”
“I was in it. I came from there, directly here.”
“I’d like to know the particulars.”
“I’ll need a map.”
Washington pointed, Eli walked to a table against a wall, and returned with a scroll. They unrolled it on Washington’s desk, and Eli studied it for a moment before continuing, pointing as he spoke.
“To understand the Guilford fight, you’ve got to know what happened after Morgan took down Tarleton at Cowpens. Here.” He pointed.
“The day after the Cowpens battle, Tarleton reported to Cornwallis. He was at Turkey Creek, here, twenty-five miles from Cowpens. Cornwallis spent two days waiting for Leslie to get there with more troops and some heavy wagons and cannon. Leslie was late, and Cornwallis couldn’t wait longer, so he marched to the Little Broad River, here. Thought he’d find Morgan at the river getting ready to attack the British at a little town called Ninety-six. But Morgan was going the other way, toward Ramsour’s Mill, here. When his scouts told him, Cornwallis started to follow but found out Morgan had covered just over one hundred miles and crossed two rivers in just five days.”
Eli stopped for a moment to read names on the map.
“So Cornwallis stopped at Ramsour’s Mill and used two more days, burning his own wagons and heavy equipment. Tents, food, all of it. Smashed about fifteen or twenty barrels of rum.”
Washington started, then leaned forward, blue-gray eyes intense. “You say Cornwallis burned his own equipment?”
“Yes. Figured it was slowing him down too much to catch Morgan. If Morgan could travel light and fast, Cornwallis figured he could to it, too. Cooked up some food and had his men put it in their backpacks, and burned everything else.”
Washington leaned back.
Eli went on. “It was there at Ramsour’s Mill that Cornwallis decided to go after Greene instead of Morgan, and he marched for Cheraw Hills where Greene was camped. I scouted for Greene and told him Cornwallis was coming, so he moved his whole camp and all supplies north, just over the Dan River, here, at the Virginia border. Then Greene asked me to take him to Morgan, so we rode out together with a few cavalry. Covered one hundred twenty-five miles in two days. Greene sat down with Morgan and laid out his new plan.”
Washington held up a hand. “One hundred twenty-five miles in two days?”
Eli nodded, waited for a moment, and continued.
“Greene’s new plan was simple. Hang off out ahead of Cornwallis, just out of gun range, and draw him as far north, into Virginia, as he could. Greene’s supplies and equipment were up there, and Cornwallis’s supplies were clear back down in South Carolina. What was worse for Cornwallis, to catch Greene he’d have to cross four major rivers, here. The Catawba, Yadkin, Deep, and Dan, and Greene figured to ambush Cornwallis’s troops at every ford.”
Eli paused to order his thoughts. “Morgan was concerned about all this. He figured it was too risky. Might be better to get away from Cornwallis and take him on later when they were better prepared. But Greene went ahead with his plan, caught the British crossing the Catawba, here at Cowan’s Ford, and did some heavy damage.”
Eli stopped long enough to locate the small village of Guilford on the map.
“By that time Isaac Huger had joined Greene and Morgan, and altogether Greene had over four thousand men in his command. Cornwallis had about two thousand, so Greene figured he could finally take him on in a head-on fight. He picked Guilford for the battle, but to get there Greene had to take his troops across the Dan River. Cornwallis heard of all this and figured to get to the river first and stop Greene before he got to Guilford. There was a race for the Dan, and Greene won. Crossed the river and set up his troops near the courthouse. Cornwallis had little choice but to cross and go on to Guilford if he intended destroying Greene’s command.”
Washington interrupted. “Can you give me the battle order used by General Greene?”
“A copy of the one used by Morgan at Cowpens. Militia up front, Continentals behind. The militia were ordered to fire two volleys and fall back to let the Continentals with their rifles take on the British.”
“The result?”
“Cornwallis attacked Greene’s positions, and it worked just about like Greene figured it would. When the battle ended, the British had lost about five hundred fifty troops, including twenty-nine officers, and Greene about two hundred sixty. No question who won the fight, but it was Greene who withdrew and gave the field to Cornwallis.”
Washington asked, “Greene withdrew? Gave the victory to Cornwallis? Why?”
“Figured he’d done what he set out to do, which was to stop Cornwallis in his tracks and cripple his army a long way from home. He’d taken down about one fourth of Cornwallis’s troops, and figured he’d seriously crippled any plans Cornwallis had for taking Virginia. He didn’t want to risk losing more of his own troops, maybe his whole command, so he drew them off to Troublesome Creek, here. He knew Cornwallis had burned all his food and supplies clear back at Ramsour’s Mill, and the only way he was going to feed his army was to get back down to his supply base in South Carolina.”
Eli stopped to straighten, then sat down. “So, Cornwallis retreated. He couldn’t do anything else. He claimed victory at Guilford because Greene gave him the battlefield, but it was Cornwallis that took the beating. Greene did exactly what he set out to do. He drove Cornwallis out of Virginia and North Carolina, clear back to South Carolina.”
Washington leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers across his chest, caught up for a moment in deep thought. “Remarkable.” He leaned forward once again. “You haven’t mentioned Morgan. Is he safe?”
“Caught a fever, and rheumatism crippled him bad. He had to leave. May have fought his last battle.”
A wistful look came into Washington’s eyes, and for a time he sat still, remembering. Then he spoke once again.
“Do you have any information regarding how the citizenry down there view General Greene? Are they hostile?”
Eli shook his head. “The other way around. Greene has called in every militia leader down there—Marion, Sumter, Pickens, Davie, Davidson—all of them, and talked with them. Told them he’s not down there to take over. Asked their advice. Told them they were critical to winning. He’d try to back them up just as fast as he could if they’d move against the British. Word got out in the countryside, and people down there are coming to support Greene any way they can. Greene is a good man.”
Washington drew a great breath, and let it out slowly, and Eli saw the tremendous wave of relief flood through him. Washington tapped the message from Greene, still on his desktop.
“And now Greene intends following Cornwallis down into South Carolina to harass him there. I’ll do everything I can to support him.”
Washington rolled the map and laid it aside. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes. I lost track of my friend, Billy Weems. I was told his company volunteered to go down there, and I looked for him. Didn’t have enough time to find him. Can I go back down and find him?”
Washington saw the deep need in Eli, and for a time he stared at his hands, pondering, before he made the only decision he could.
“For now, I wish you would stay here. I don’t know what will develop down there. I don’t know when I’ll need you again. As soon as I can, I will send you back down, and you can stay until you find him.”
Eli could not hide the disappointment. “I’ll stay. Anything else?”
“No. Nothing more than my personal commendation for your report. You are dismissed.”
Notes
The battle at Guilford Courthouse was a critical turning point in the campaign for the South because the loss of five hundred fifty of his troops and twenty-nine officers left General Cornwallis badly crippled in his pla
n to invade Virginia and take the Chesapeake. Eli Stroud is a fictional character; however, every other name in this chapter is that of a participant in that battle and the events leading up to it. The names of all rivers are accurate, and the sequence of actions by both sides is historical. At the conclusion of the battle, General Nathanael Greene did write a letter to General Washington, and it was delivered by special courier to Washington just days later. In said letter, Greene announced his intention to “ . . . carry the war immediately into South Carolina,” as reported herein. Because of age and heavy physical infirmities that crippled him, this was the last battle fought by the heroic General Daniel Morgan (Leckie, George Washington’s War, pp. 604–19; Lumpkin, From Savannah to Yorktown, pp. 163–75; Higginbotham, The War of American Independence, pp. 368–71).
The peculiar name “Ninety-six” was given to a small village in South Carolina because it is located exactly ninety-six miles from the next Indian village, named Keowee (Lumpkin, From Savannah to Yorktown, p. 192).
Boston
Late May 1781
CHAPTER XXX
* * *
In the warmth of the afternoon May sun, Matthew Dunson strode thumping down the gangplank from the Swallow to the black, heavy timbers of the Aspinwall wharf on the Boston waterfront, seabag thrown over his shoulder. He pushed his way through the confusion of bearded, weathered men, loading and unloading crated and baled goods from ships coming from and going to ports of call all over the world. He turned down to India Street and angled west, away from the familiar sights and sounds and smells of tall ships with furled sails, undulating on the long sea swells of the incoming tide.
He hurried through the crowded, cobblestone streets, anxious, oblivious to the glories of another spring that had brought greens and reds and yellows to the trees and flowers lining the yards and fences. He worked his way past the church, to the Thorpe home, where he pushed through the front gate and hesitated for an instant at the sight of the front door standing open. Inside he saw Adam and Prissy and Trudy standing in the parlor, and fear leaped in his heart.
Kathleen! She’s in trouble!
He sprinted to the door and burst in. The children all jumped as they turned and he nearly shouted, “Kathleen! Where’s Kathleen?”
Adam pointed down the hall off the parlor. “In there. Everybody’s in there like something’s wrong. She’s having a baby.”
Prissy looked at Adam, disgusted. “Nothing’s wrong. She’s in the bedroom with Mother and Dorothy Weems and Brigitte. Doctor Soderquist is in there with them. He says she’s fine.”
Matthew dropped his seabag where he stood and stepped quickly down the hall as the door opened, and Walter Soderquist, paunchy, bulbous nose, great shock of gray hair, walked out of the bedroom to meet him.
“Decided to come home, I see. Well, you got here at just about the right time. Kathleen’s in there getting ready to deliver your first child.”
Matthew’s eyes were points of light. “Is she all right? Is there trouble?”
Soderquist heaved a sigh. “Only the usual. Got women in there, falling all over each other trying to help.” He shook his head. “I’ve delivered half the babies in this town for the last twenty years, and some day I hope I figure out what there is about it. Doesn’t make any difference about age or experience. When babies come, every woman who can find a way to get into it is there.” He chuckled. “Well, maybe I better hush up about it. The Almighty made these arrangements, and I suppose he got it right the first time.”
He put a thick hand on Matthew’s chest. “She’s fine. In stage three of her labor right now. Didn’t start until about an hour ago. This little person is coming fast. If I don’t miss my guess, you’re going to be a father within the next half hour.”
Soderquist couldn’t miss the relief and the surge of excitement that sprang in Matthew’s eyes. “Can I see her?”
“For about the next five or ten minutes. When she starts to deliver you’ll have to leave. I’ll handle that with the women. Come on in.”
He opened the door and Matthew bounded across the room to stand over the bed where Kathleen lay, partially propped up by great pillows, with a comforter pulled to her chin. Without a sound he reached to pull her into his arms, and he held her to him while her arms closed about him. For a time he said nothing, eyes closed, as the feel of her reached inside to touch the wellsprings of his soul. Then he loosened his hold, and he kissed her tenderly.
“Are you all right? Oh, how I’ve missed you. I don’t know the words.”
Eyes brimming, she murmured, “I’m fine. My prayers are answered. You’re here.”
“We dropped anchor less than half an hour ago. I came as fast as I could.” He was touching her face, her mouth, her eyes, as though to memorize them. “It’s so good to be here.”
Suddenly he stiffened and turned his head as though coming from a far place. “Mother! I didn’t mean to—”
Margaret cut him off. “Don’t worry about us. You and Kathleen have more important matters right now.”
Matthew stood and embraced his mother, then Dorothy Weems, and finally Brigitte. “It’s so good to see you all.”
He turned back to Kathleen. “Walter said it started not long ago.”
She nodded. “Less than an hour. I really don’t know what all the fuss is about. I feel fine. A little discomfort, but nothing bad. How long can you stay?”
“Walter said until—”
“I mean, how long before you have to return to your ship?”
“I don’t know yet. At least ten days. We’ve got to scrape her hull and refit her a bit, and lay in stores. Maybe two or three weeks. Depends on what happens with the French and the British down in the West Indies.”
She reached for his hand. “Oh, Matthew, it is so good to see you. So good.”
She tugged, and he knelt beside the bed, and for a time they clung to each other in silence.
He felt her tighten, and he pulled back. “Pain?”
She nodded. “Something’s happening.”
Soderquist laid a hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “I think you’d better leave.”
“Is the baby coming?”
“Likely.”
“Can’t I stay?”
“Better not. From here on, this is a doctor-woman thing.”
Soderquist steered Matthew out the door and closed it. Matthew walked back to the parlor where the children stood wide-eyed, caught up in the wonder of the miracle they were witnessing.
“Did he get born?” Adam asked.
“Not yet,” Matthew answered. “How do you know it will be a boy?”
Adam shrugged. “Just seems that way.”
Matthew began to pace, then walked down the hall to walk back and forth in the hallway, pausing to listen through the door from time to time.
Inside, Doctor Soderquist took charge.
“Margaret, get her sitting up on the bed with her feet on the floor. Dorothy, prop her up with pillows. Brigitte, get out to the kitchen and bring hot water and some towels.”
Matthew jumped as Brigitte darted out the door and returned with a kettle of hot water, then ran back out to gather towels and washcloths.
“Is the baby coming?” Matthew exclaimed as she hurried past.
“Soon,” was all she said as she closed the door with an expression on her face that clearly said, “This is the only part of life that the Almighty gave to women, so you stay out!”
Doctor Soderquist placed his broad hand on Kathleen’s midsection and closed his eyes to concentrate on the rhythmic contractions.
“About thirty seconds apart.” He looked at Kathleen. “Bad? You all right?”
She shrugged. “It hurts a little. Not bad.”
Soderquist shook his head. “First delivery, and it looks like you’re getting through it with almost no trouble at—”
Kathleen groaned, and the fluid came gushing onto the bed, down onto the floor.
“Well,” he said matter-of-factly, “we’re
on the way.”
Margaret stood stone-still, waiting for an outcry of pain from Kathleen, but there was none. Brigitte was like a statue, wide-eyed, mouth slightly agape as she watched.
“Lean back,” Soderquist said, and Kathleen eased back onto the pillows. Soderquist slid his hand upward, and a smile spread.
“Here it comes.”
The little head crested, then the shoulders, and the hips, and Soderquist gave the little person a slight tug and the feet slipped out, and he held the baby in his hands, dripping, a thin crown of dark hair plastered down.
“It’s a boy. A fine boy.”
He held the wrinkled thing up by the heels and thumped it smartly on the bottom. The little soul gasped and let out a howl that was heard clear into the parlor. As the baby continued its lusty protest, Dr. Soderquist worked to clear the mucous from the mouth and nose, then tied the umbilical cord off and cut it.
Margaret wiped at brimming eyes as she reached to take the baby, to wash it with warm water and cloths, while Dorothy mopped up the mess on the floor and Doctor Soderquist worked with the afterbirth.
They covered the stain on the bedding with fresh sheeting, and Dorothy lifted Kathleen’s legs back under the comforter and straightened her in the bed. Margaret came with the baby, washed and wrapped in a clean white towel, and Soderquist stepped back to let her lay the baby in Kathleen’s arms.
The women stood quietly with brimming eyes as Kathleen lifted the top of the towel and for the first time looked into the face of her firstborn. A door opened in her soul. Never had she seen anything so beautiful as the small, red, wrinkled little soul just arrived from the Almighty. As she studied the small mouth and nose and eyes, a feeling arose in her heart that transcended anything she had ever known, and a radiance came into her face that had never been there before. With wonder, she tenderly touched his face, then opened the towel to look at the perfect little fingers and hands. In that moment, the world she had known vanished, and she entered into a new world, one that she had never supposed existed. A world filled with wonder and a bond of love for the little soul she held so close.
