Nineteen more days,” Bob Randall commented. He and John scanned from beyond the fort’s clearing to the forest as they slowly walked the perimeter of the watchtower.
“Soon we’ll be counting the hours.” John had been doing that for some time already He prayed constantly that Lily and his sons had done as he’d pleaded in his letter and left the cove. The French and Indians had taken particular interest of late in the area between the Susquehanna and the Schuylkill Rivers.
Bob nodded. “I’ve been away so long, baby Laurie’s cryin’ will be like music to these poor ol’ ears. Did I tell you she’s been walkin’ for months now?”
“Only about a hundred times.” John quashed a wry grin.
“Sure hope Edith didn’t cut off those pretty curls of hers. They’re cute as anythin’.”
John shifted his stance and peered more closely at the woods. “That’s right. I forgot she cut off little Charlie’s when he turned one.”
“Well, he was startin’ to look like a girl. He’ll be four in a couple a days. I’ve sure missed a lot. Don’t think I’ll ever want to leave home ag—” He stared hard into the distance. “Hey, somethin’s out there.” He pointed toward the edge of the clearing.
John wheeled around.
A figure attired in French blue stood silhouetted against the trees, a hundred yards or so away!
John peered through the spyglass. “I see him. A man in uniform.” Quickly he scanned the forest shadows on either side of the enemy soldier, but saw no one else. Of all the times for Captain Busse to be downriver at the fort at Harris’s Ferry. For days, the man had been too sick to make the return trip to Fort Henry.
He handed the telescope to Bob. “Watch him. If others show up, give a holler. I’ll go report.”
He descended the ladder and hastily covered the ground to headquarters. Reaching the open doorway, he saw Ensign Biddle, now in command, at Busse’s desk. A couple of other men stood in front. “Corporal Waldon reporting, sir. We spotted a French soldier out there. Seems to be alone.”
“Where?” Biddle’s chair scraped back as the stocky man lunged to his feet.
“At the edge of the forest, sir. In the southeast.”
Several soldiers who’d come onto the porch after John flew by now blocked the entrance. One spoke up. “You think the bloke’s come to ask us to surrender? Are we surrounded? I knew it was dumb to let ’em order so many of our men up to Fort Augusta.”
“We won’t have a chance,” another muttered. “Not with so many of our guys out rovin’ right now.”
John was amazed at the outburst. Captain Busse would never abide such disrespectful conduct.
The ensign broke past the mouthy pair without a word and charged for the watchtower with John at his heels.
Once they reached the platform, Bob handed the spyglass to the commander and pointed toward the forest. “Over there, sir. Must be lost or somethin’. He just stood there watchin’ the fort, then plunked hisself down. Been right there ever since.”
“I see.” Biddle’s face scrunched up as he squinted into the spyglass. “He’s armed. He’s got a musket across his lap.”
John prompted the ensign to issue an order. “What do you think Captain Busse would want us to do?”
“Uh—yes.” Biddle returned the spyglass to Bob. “You two stay here and keep checking all around. I’ll send two or three men out to learn why he’s there.” He shook his head. “We can’t afford to weaken the fort any more than it already is.” With a last glance at the French solder, he hurried back down to headquarters.
John saw Ensign Craighead and two other men dispatched in short order. From his vantage point, he could tell they weren’t anxious to be going out there alone. Striding a number of feet apart, they held their weapons at the ready as they scanned the forest edge.
No one else appeared.
The Frenchman rose and strode forward, his musket held crossways above his head.
“He’s surrenderin’. Don’t that beat all?” Bob frowned in confusion.
“Keep watching. It could be a trick.”
But it wasn’t. The soldier relinquished his weapon and came quietly along with the militiamen.
Once safely inside the gates, the enemy soldier began jabbering in French. From time to time he would put his fingers to his mouth, indicating he needed food.
Militiamen converged as the soldier in the light blue coat was escorted to headquarters. One snatched away the Frenchman’s tricorn, affording John a better view. Even from the watchtower, he could see the feared enemy was nothing but a shaggy-haired lad of sixteen or seventeen. Still, if he’d been wandering out there so near the fort, there could be others close by. How many? Would there be a full-scale attack?
John’s heart plunged. Why now, with only nineteen days to go? Nineteen days before he was to leave for home to be with his boys and his darling Lily, if they were still there. Once again he sent pleas heavenward for their safety and for Fort Henry.
An hour had passed since the French soldier was escorted to headquarters. In the tower, John and Bob continued to survey the surrounding woods, all the while vitally interested in the information the lad was giving the officers.
John knew everyone at the fort shared his concern. Whenever he glanced down into the fort grounds, he saw fellow militiamen keeping close watch as they waited outside the building to hear what was transpiring in that room.
Suddenly the door opened, and company clerk Carson hurried out. He dashed over to the cook tent, then ran back with a trencher of food without a word to the waiting men.
Unable to hear the conversation being bandied about on the grounds, John surmised from the way the other soldiers milled around that their anxiety matched his. Everyone itched to know if an enemy force lurked nearby ready to launch an attack.
From across the platform, Bob hiked his chin. “That lad may not be so hungry once he tastes that slop we eat.”
John grinned at his friend’s dry humor.
He caught a movement in the distance. Placing the spyglass to his eye, John zeroed in on the spot. Just a deer. He relaxed.
Then Carson came out the headquarters’ door again. “Anybody here speak French?” he yelled from the porch.
No one stepped forward.
The ensign turned on his heel and returned inside.
Bob snorted. “Well, we got ourselves a prisoner, for all the good it’s doin’ us.”
“Too bad we don’t have any English regulars here.” John’s gaze continued to rake the edge of the clearing. “Some of them might know that language, with England being off the French coast.”
“Far as I’m concerned, the Brits an’ the Frenchies should be fightin’ the whole blamed war by themselves. Us colonials shouldn’t have ta risk our lives over some tree-munchin’ beavers across mountains you an’ me’ll prob’ly never cross just so’s them two greedy kings over the water can fill their treasure chests.”
John cocked his head in thought. “Must be hard, trying to keep hold of so much territory. But there is a bright spot. Did you read the broadside the dispatch rider posted on the board yesterday?”
“Naw. I don’t work my brain that hard ‘less I have to. ‘Sides, if there was anything worth tellin’, you would’a already told me.”
“Ha! Well, there was something you might consider interesting. Seems the English have whipped the French in Bengal. Maybe some of those soldiers will now be sent here.”
“Bengal? Where’s that? Up north somewheres?”
“No. India.”
“India. Are you tellin’ me they’re fightin’ over land in India, too?”
John nodded. “And someplace in Africa called Senegal.”
“Well, now. Ain’t they the busy ones.” Bob’s tone sharpened as he studied something in the distance. “Hand me the spyglass.”
John tossed it across the deck to his friend then came alongside. He strained to see what had drawn Bob’s attention.
His friend lowered the telescope with a sheepish grin. “Just some leaves on one of the trees wavin’. Thought mebbe somebody might’a climbed up it. But it was just a bear scratchin’ its behind.”
Moments later, their relief for sentinel duty climbed up the ladder.
“You fellas heard anythin’ yet?” Bob asked.
The first one to reach the platform answered. “Yep. Finally. Since nobody could understand that lad’s jibberish, it took awhile to find out he was with thirty-three Indians, Delaware and Shawnee. Somehow he got separated from them.”
John gave a huff. “Sounds to me like they lost him. Deliberately. They probably didn’t relish taking orders from some green kid.”
“Likely they won’t wanna head back out without plenty of scalps, neither,” Bob added.
The second man rested an elbow on the watchtower’s rail. “One thing, at least. We here at the fort can relax. No thirty-three Indians would ever try to take this fortification.”
John nodded and headed for the ladder. But he knew that breaking up into armed parties of five or six, those thirty-three savages could do a lot of damage, roaming the area. His urgency to return to his family intensified. Nineteen more days.
The delicious aroma of baking bread permeated the air, and now that the nights had grown chilly, the glorious colors of autumn filled the countryside. Breathing deeply of the fresh, crisp air, Lily was glad to be outdoors, despite her icy hands. Wash day had become a huge undertaking, and she appreciated sixteen-year-old Cissy Dunlap’s help as the two of them pinned up the last load of wet laundry.
A wisp of light brown hair wafted over Cissy’s shoulder as she peered from around a sheet flapping sluggishly in the breeze. “I really wish you’d marry up with Jackson. If you don’t, he’ll probably go looking for a wife somewheres else, like Frank did. He don’t hardly ever come home no more since he found his Hildy.”
Lily rolled her eyes. At least once a day, someone provided her with a reason why she should choose either Robby or Jackson. “The Lord hasn’t nudged me in that direction as yet.” She loved giving that answer, since it usually put an end to the topic.
“Well, just so’s you know,” Cissy persisted, jamming a pin over the draped sheet, “Jackson don’t show his best side when he’s out and about. When we’re home, he’s always good about bringin’ in water and fillin’ the woodbox without bein’ asked. He’s like that. If he sees something needs doin’, he up and does it.”
“That’s an admirable trait.” Lily shook out a dish towel to hang and changed the subject. “How are you and Donald getting along?”
Cissy’s face pinkened as she brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “Oh, he can be so silly. Yesterday he gave me a bouquet. At least, that’s what he called it.”
“A bouquet? Where would he find flowers this time of year?”
“Aw, it was just some tree branches with pretty colored leaves. But he arranged ’em real nice. If we was at home, I could a put ’em in our blue china vase and set it on the table to look fine.”
Lily averted her gaze into the distance. “I know how anxious everyone is to return to their own homes. ’Tis so crowded now that we all stay inside at night, with only the cabin, the carpenter’s shop, and the blockhouse for shelter.”
“You know, if I was to home, Donald could come callin’ proper-like, like the fellas did for my older sisters before they married up.” Cissy pulled another piece from the basket on the ground and came up with a sigh. “That’s another thing that makes me sad. Esther and Betsy wed before we came out here, and I ain’t seen ’em since. They both got young’uns already, too. Just think, me, an auntie.” Turning to pin up the towel, she froze, and her eyes widened. She pointed with the wet article in her hand. “Look! Smoke!”
Lily spun around. A huge black cloud climbed the northern sky.
“Oh, no. Do you think it’s our place?” Cissy cried.
“Call in the children. Quick!” Leaping over the basket, Lily ran to the house and bounded through the door. “Quick, everyone, grab what food you can and get to the blockhouse.”
“What is it?” Edith came from the hearth, a large wooden spoon in her hand.
“Smoke. To the north.”
The women dodged past each other as Ruth bolted to the bedroom for her baby then ran outside screaming for her other children.
“Stop!” Millie Dunlap hollered above the chaos, her hands on her hips. “Ever’body stop. The men are workin’ at our place today, boilin’ down sorghum. Remember?”
“There’s far too much smoke,” Lily countered. “Dear Lord in heaven, my boys are with those men. Grab all the food and bedding you can.”
She lifted down her musket and hastened outside. Quickly pouring powder into the flashpan of the weapon she always kept loaded, she fired a signal round. She prayed that the Randall twins and MacBride girls would hear it. They were supposed to stay close while out picking up wild walnuts. After reloading as fast as she could, she rammed the wad down the barrel, then dashed back inside, propped the rifle against the wall, and climbed up to the loft.
Lily scooped up an armful of blankets littering the floor and threw them over the railing to the floor below. “Grab some and go to the blockhouse,” she yelled to anyone still about.
Descending the ladder, she saw that the large cauldrons of food the women had been cooking for supper were already gone. She hurried to the corner by the hearth and slung a sack of cornmeal over her shoulder. Then, with a last glance around, she grabbed the musket and ran after the others, who were already disappearing beyond the springhouse.
A sudden eerie feeling made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end. She cast a glance behind her. Seeing no one, she took off again, the heavy canvas bag bouncing against her spine with every step.
She’d just crossed the creek bridge when she heard a distant gunshot. Then another. Two more. Desperate to know what was happening, she stopped, gasping for breath, as she strained to hear any others. Matt and Luke are out there! The thought was too much to bear.
Why, oh why hadn’t she made the boys leave when she had the chance? John had been very explicit in his letter. If anything happened to them, she’d never forgive herself.
And neither would John.
“Hurry up, Lily.” Edith Randall called from the blockhouse. “We need to bar the door.”