Chapter 60: George, RIP

I missed seeing General Washington and the French officers arrive in all their splendor, but then I had seen the Old Fox briefly up at Trenton in the snow and later at Monmouth in the heat, where his colorfully coarse vocabulary had impressed me. I knew what he looked like. Besides Gloria and I were much too busy, deeply involved you might say.

She was a well-practiced swiver of uncertain years who knew that she was good at what she did for a living. Full of moans and groans, fake shivers and grasping fingers, she gave me three acts and a brief intermission, also very entertaining in its way, before we both decided breakfast was in order. Once we had met a few other bodily needs, we returned to George's tent for a second, stirring performance devoid, I believe, of artifice.

"Damn," she said, as our sweaty bodies rejoined, "you got enough there for at least two men an' a boy. Don' you ever get tired?"

"I thought you liked rogering," I said between grunts. "If you're wore out, say so."

"Roll over," she said, without missing a stroke, "I think you busted one a'my ribs or somethin'."

We turned to the other side of the tent, and she struggled upright on my loins until her curly head was against the warm canvas. "Now," she said, licking her lips and pushing a vagrant lock out of her eyes, "let's see how you like bein' rid." Fortunately for me, I had months of training at this exercise and liked it just fine. Felicity would have been proud of me. Gloria went through the usual paces, including back and forth from walk to trot a few times, before trying canter, prodding me with her feet.

"Don' you like to post?" I asked her as the pace increased, but she stayed down in the saddle. I cannot say that I remember much after that, but I think we got kind of rambunctious after a while and attracted a small but appreciative audience.

A week later, after the heavy artillery arrived, several formal parades had been held, and Washington was ensconced in Wythe's house, we were just about ready to lay siege to Yorktown and Gloucester. The main forces moved up into the prepared trenches. I do not know how many men we had then, but it was a lot and more were marching into camp every day. We even had a bunch of French soldiers including cavalry on our side of the river, the Gloster side (that's how they sometimes spell it down here).

This was at the end of September, on the day before the British for reasons unknown, abandoned their outer defenses and pulled everybody back to the lines and redoubts closest to the town. Captain Foster had decided that he needed a couple of prisoners out of York to find out what was going on, so he sent for George and me and shoved us out there with orders to bring him a talker who knew something worth hearing.

"Now how are we supposed to know that?" George asked.

"Question him and make a decision. What do you think we're paying you all this good money for?" Captain Foster shook his head and waved us off, finished with the conversation. Gloria smiled at us from his back door as we left. The captain had found an empty brick house to use in place of his tent, and I suppose the woman went with it. I'm sure she seldom got rained on.

There were three or four pretty-good-sized British ships out in the mouth of the York River so we went rowed our borrowed boat straight across the river landing near a small creek just behind the French lines. This was right before sunset. We had the password and the papers so we did not have too much trouble making our way past the impressive trenches the Frenchmen had dug to a place where we could see the first British redoubt. It was on the edge of a swampy region near the main road from Williamsburg to Hampton.

Using my little telescope we studied the small fort and the land around it. The British had cut down most of the trees and put them in a long row with their branches pointed toward the French. The redoubt had two big guns and three smaller ones emplaced as far as we could see. They probably also had some mortars we could not see and maybe a howitzer or two. There had already been some shelling back and forth, mostly by the British. Cornwallis may have lacked many things, but ammunition was not one of them. We figured we could not row down to it, neither of us could swim and we finally decided that the only way to approach the place was through the swamp.

"Fine," George said. "You go an' I'll stan' watch. Most likely there's snakes in there."

When it got fully dark and before the moon rose, we both went. A hundred yards into the woods we found creek and followed that to where it turned left toward the river. We emerged, full of insect bites and soaked to the ballocks, behind the redoubt.

"Damn," I said, "we went too far."

"No, this is good," George said, looking at the dark fort. "This side's open. We could walk right in if we was wearing the right kind of suits."

Just about then we heard a squishing sound behind us and turned to find a very young ensign with a sword and a half-dozen Redcoats with bayonet tipped muskets. One of them was carrying a shuttered lantern. We raised out hands in the fan of light, and I tried to think what the papers I had in my pockets said.

The ensign took my telescope away from George and looked through it briefly. "You're spies," he said. "We'll shoot you in the morning I suppose. How's that?"

"No, sir," I said. "We're soldiers, scouts. Captain Foster's company, Von Steuben's regiment. We demand quarter."

The boy hit me backhanded with his sword still in his fist. He had to reach up to do it, but it was a pretty solid blow. The hand guard split open my cheek and his knuckles broke my nose again, smashing it sideways.

When I howled and swung back at him, George made a break for it, running toward the dark river, staying low and weaving left and right. Somebody whacked me to the sand with a musket stock, and I took a couple of kicks so I stayed down.

"Fire!" the young officer yelled as he kicked me in the shins and jabbed the point of his sword into my butt. I rolled up into a ball. "Shoot him you fools."

Two Redcoats fired at once, bright flares in the darkness that almost blinded me, and then a third knelt and fired, hitting George in the back somewhere. He yelled and fell to his hands and knees. I looked toward the swamp, but the officer quickly detailed two men to watch me and took the other four to where George crawled toward the water. The young man stuck his boot under George's arm and turned him over. My night vision was returning, but I found what happened hard to watch. The ensign nudged the man on his right. "Your turn, I believe," he said. "Another one killed trying to escape. Pity."

The Redcoat set his open lantern down and bayoneted George very low in the belly. He screamed. The soldier pulled out his spike and thrust it into my friend's thigh, yanking it upward, tearing open his leg. The next jab was to the stomach and brought forth a coil of intestine. George was trying to crawl away on his back, pushing with his hands and heels.

"All right," the office said calmly, "finish him. We still have work to do tonight."

The soldier put his boot on George's arm and stabbed him in the middle of the chest, withdrew his bayonet and did it again. The officer, stepped up, careful not to let the flowing blood soil his boots, and slashed George across the throat, almost beheading him. "Drag that out to the river and toss it in," he said, wiping his blade on the dead man's arm. He walked back to where I stood, held by both arms. He sheathed his sword, looked at me, smiled, and said, "Bring him along."

I thought we would be heading for the main line of British defenses some half-mile away. We did not. They marched me into the back of the redoubt and locked me in a small room at the rear of what I assumed was the magazine. I slept, curled on the floor, and thought about curling up beside Gloria, spoon fashion.

Early in the morning, well before sunrise, two soldiers fetched me. They marched me to a small log office lit by two lanterns. The young officer who had captured us and another man wearing a naval uniform sat behind a table. I stood before them for about ten minutes while they talked to each other and looked at some papers.

The naval officer looked up. "What is you name?" he asked.

I told him my name, said I was a sergeant and that the ensign had brutally and needlessly killed my friend on the river bank after we had been captured.

"Did he?" the man said, turning toward the ensign. "How many is that now, twelve? fourteen?"

'Yes, sir, fourteen," the boy said, smiling at me and trying to look wolfish.

"Excellent," the man said. "Now what were you doing, sergeant, what was your assignment?"

"Scouting," I said. "He let one of his men bayonet a man who was shot, bleeding, who had surrendered and was lying on the ground, helpless."

"How awful," the naval officer said. "Did he really? Now suppose you tell us how many men the French have out there."

"I don' know," I said, "Maybe ten thousand or so."

"Who commands them?"

"Rochambeau," I said.

"And how many Americans?"

"I don't know. They're still comin' in. Maybe eight, nine, ten thousand or so."

"And who commands them?"

"Lincoln," I said. "General Lincoln."

"Where is Washington?"

"Williamburg, last I heard."

"Doing what?"

"Waiting for Cornwallis to surrender," I said.

"Never," the young ensign squeaked. "Never."

"Thank you sergeant," the older man said, standing and brushing his sleeves. "Perhaps we shall meet again." He left the room.

"Rider," the young ensign yelled. A door opened behind me. "Bring a bucket of water and send for Corporal Thomas," the boy said, smiling at me. "Now, we'll find the truth."

The game worked this way. I knelt, my hands still tied behind me, and the two Redcoats dunked my head in a big bucket of water and held me under until I stopped making bubbles, sometimes banging my head against the bottom of the bucket. Then they let me up, asked some stupid questions and did it all again. After a few dunkings, I learned to hold my breath and stop gasping for air. I was surprised how long I could hold my breath. This seemed to take the fun out of it so after a while I was dragged back to my small room and tossed inside.

I think I slept for a while, but then I awoke, thought about George for a bit and went hunting for some way to get the ropes off my wrist. Unfortunately I was unable to find any loose nails, bit of rusty iron, hooks or even splinters to give me hope.

A commotion outside drew my attention, and I bent to the small, barred window in the door. The sentries had brought in an American officer, I guessed he was at least a major from his uniform, and the ensign was screaming at him, almost jumping up and down. The American was bleeding from a wound in one arm and holding his side. The furious ensign finally pushed him away, turned and said something to one of the Redcoats with him. That solider pointed to another member of the guard detachment. The young officer nodded, and the Redcoat raised his musket and shot the American in the back. He staggered forward a step, fell to his knees and then on his face. I watched them drag the body away.