Elijah counted off three days since his capture. Redcoats had come to remove bodies from the barn that first morning after the battle, dragging them out to a mass grave, but all had been quiet since then. No one had questioned him about Trumbull’s death; either it had been forgotten as the British worked to secure their hold on Brooklyn or they acknowledged the man wasn’t worth a damn. There had been no discussion of what would be done with the prisoners. There had been no food or water, either.
Elijah’s stomach cramped painfully as he lay on the floor, awakened by hunger pangs. He wished he could fall back to sleep—time passed slowly when every second was spent anticipating when your next meal would arrive. The warbling of the morning birds that eased the sun over the horizon with their song confused him—sunlight usually followed the bird song, but darkness still reigned beyond the cracks in the wooden slats of the barn.
Elijah scanned the space, taking in the huddled silhouettes of his fellow prisoners. He had thought the Continental Army sad when compared to the finery and might of the Crown’s fighting forces, but now they were wretched by any standards. The last thing Elijah had eaten was a wizened apple he’d found beneath a tuft of hay. Now even the hay was gone, chewed by starving prisoners in search of the slightest bit of nourishment. The air of the barn was befouled by the odor of unwashed bodies and of the stall that had become a makeshift latrine. Even horses were allowed the dignity of a stable boy to shovel their muck.
He sighed and thought of the farm outside of the city, the place he had called home for so many years. He missed the peaceful feeling of being astride one of the horses he cared for, controlling a powerful creature that he had brought to heel with hours of hard work. Some men thought one must use force to gain control over an animal, that the will of another being was something to be broken. Elijah knew that it simply took patience and self-control. If you couldn’t control a beast without resorting to force, it was a sign of your weakness, not your strength. Men from miles around, and even out of state, brought their animals to him, filling his master’s coffers. It was hard, backbreaking work, but the excitement of getting a strong-willed creature to give itself up to his control—because it wanted to—was incomparable.
An image of Kate flashed in Elijah’s mind then and he tried, unsuccessfully, to push it away; this exercise had become a regular occurrence during his imprisonment. He endeavored to hate her, to drive her from his thoughts, but what had she really done? She hadn’t invited him to address her out on the marsh and place himself in the path of roving lobsterbacks. If he had kept to his own affairs, he would have made his way back to his regiment and never thought of her again. But since he hadn’t, he’d been able to see her kindness as she watered the prisoners, circling the barn several times to make sure no man had been overlooked. He’d seen her sympathy for a dying stranger. He’d seen the flash of something hot in her eyes and the shaking of her hand beneath his, as if she were a shy girl instead of a woman able to kill in her own defense. Elijah’s grief and fear and mortality had gotten all jumbled up in him in those moments after Michael’s death, and he’d wanted nothing more than to pull Kate flush against him and let her warmth remind him that he was alive.
He remembered the tears escaping the dark pools of her eyes and the way her hand had felt clasped between his: he’d touched her supple skin and soothed the tremor of tendons and fragile bones, and it left him wanting more.
He’d sent her away that night, but in his imagination she returned many times over. The unwashed captives vanished and they were alone in the barn. In the private space concocted by his mind, he pulled her close, tasted her lush lips, and ran his hands over the subtle curvature of her body. He shushed her cutting remarks by lashing her with his tongue until she begged him for release. He plunged into her and they climaxed in a shuddering, sweaty act of mutual supplication. Hell, if impure thoughts of Kate were sustenance, Elijah would be round and gouty from his feasting.
But thoughts of a woman determined to turn her back on the Colonies had no place in his life. His future was in America. Elijah rolled onto his side on the hard floor of the barn, as if the strange pull he felt toward Kate was something he could turn his back on.
“Sutton, you awake?”
“Aye, Wallace, I am.”
The wiry New Englander with thinning hair and bulging eyes had taken a liking to Elijah, as had several other prisoners. Elijah was fairly certain that his size, and not his sparkling personality, was the key attractant, as escape was on every man’s mind.
“Do you think we should try today?” Wallace whispered. “If General Washington could have spared the troops to burst in and free us, they would have done so already. We must fight now, for soon we’ll be too weak.”
Most of the men were already too weak, in truth, but Elijah simply grunted in response. They had been hoping to ambush the next group of soldiers that came in to feed them, but they had waited in vain. It would likely be suicide, but more than one soldier had already gone mad, banging on the doors of the crowded barn until his hands bled, pleading to be released all the while. They had been packed together since joining the Continental Army, but tight quarters were quite different when you chose them and when your enemy chose them for you.
Outside of the barn, the morning bustle of soldiers stirring sounded. Elijah tried to focus on only the most important challenge he faced, escaping from this place and returning to his regiment, but when the smell of breakfast wafted in he thought he might sell his very soul for a strip of pork fat. He hadn’t cried since he’d been pulled from his mother’s arms as a gangly youth, but he came close as the delicious scents assaulted him.
“Bastards,” he groaned as he clutched at his stomach. The door to the barn creaked open then, revealing a misty darkness caused by heavy fog. Several soldiers with loaded muskets marched in and trained their weapons on the prisoners. An imposing man decked out in a long uniform coat of the deepest scarlet and with an elaborate powdered wig stepped into the room behind them. Ornamentation at the lapels of his coat signaled his importance, as did the fine fabric of his uniform compared to the Regulars. His nostrils flared and he pulled a handkerchief, likely scented, from the sleeve of his coat and held it to his nose.
“I am Captain Nathaniel Bellamy and I’d have your attention, you pack of filthy reprobates,” he bellowed. His voice was deep and resonant, and any man who had been asleep when he walked in was surely awake now.
“I’m no expert on the psyche of the American Colonist,” he began when he knew he had their attention. He was obviously a man who enjoyed an audience. “The seditious acts committed by you and your so-called commanders have given me cause to travel to these shores for the first time, and, on the whole, I find you miserable and ignorant. Hypocrites of the highest order, crying for freedom while owning human chattel, and entirely crude, although I do admit that there is some charm to your thinking you can win against the Crown.
“However, given the length of my military service, I do know about soldiers in general and about those who have been taken prisoner in particular. You spend your free time plotting your escape, and when not engaged in that futile endeavor, imagining that the cavalry will soon arrive to free you. I have come to tell you that neither of those things will pass under my watch.”
Elijah raised himself to a sitting position and glared at the man. The tension in the room was palpable; Bellamy’s drawn-out theatrics were shredding the already fragile nerves of every prisoner.
“Say what you mean to say and be done with it,” Elijah said, his voice raspy with fatigue and irritation. Every head, and a few musket barrels, turned in his direction, and there were rumbles of approval from the prisoners. The soldiers remained silent as they waited for a cue from Bellamy.
Elijah expected a reprimand, but Bellamy simply stared at him for a long moment before continuing.
“Very well. This morning, it was discovered that Mr. Washington and his army had fled during the night, using heavy fog to hide his cowardly evasion. Brooklyn has been reclaimed by the Crown and the island of Manhattan will surely follow.”
He said the words with relish, emphasizing his insult to Washington’s rank. He momentarily lowered his handkerchief and revealed the smile he sported as he took in their dismay.
Elijah’s empty stomach lurched at the words, and the groans and gasps of his fellow Patriots rose around him.
It couldn’t be. General Washington had taken flight? They’d known the city would be hard to hold without a naval fleet, that the Americans were vastly outnumbered, but this was a devastating blow. Elijah thought of Kate’s words about the devil you know. Maybe she hadn’t been mistaken.
Where tension had recently filled the barn to the rafters, despair now crept in.
“Most of you will be moved to the prison ships docked at Gravesend,” Bellamy said, hands clasped behind his back and gaze searching the faces of the broken-spirited Patriots. “Some of you will remain to be used as labor. And some of you will need to answer an important question.”
There was a bustle from behind Bellamy. In the breaks in the fog, Elijah could make out swaying skirts and dark skin. His eyes searched for that familiar straight-backed stance, but his vision was obstructed by the blanket of mist. The Captain continued.
“You few Colored soldiers: stand and come with me.”
Elijah’s eyes flew to the lean, ochre-skinned man seated a few yards away from him. A million speculations flew in the gaze they shared.
Is this related to Trumbull’s death? Elijah wondered, hesitating. Perhaps he had been mistaken to assume that the ramifications of the battle would overshadow the loss of one vile Englishman. He should speak up, before each man with dark skin was punished in his stead.
“Come along.” Bellamy snapped his fingers and a few of his men stepped into the barn, pulling out the handful of visibly Negro soldiers and forcing them toward the door.
They shuffled out, slowed by their dwindling energy reserves. For just a moment Elijah thought of slipping away as the Captain walked ahead of them, head held high, but then two of the armed soldiers detached and followed behind them.
“Kate, Lettie, bring breakfast for these men,” the Captain said as he passed the group of colored women that had assembled near the barn. Elijah heard the rustle of skirts, and then there she was beside him. He tried to catch Kate’s eye but she turned away as soon as he glanced at her, as if she had already been watching him. She quickly became a silhouette in the fog; it swallowed her up as if she had never been there. When she disappeared from his sight, Elijah felt something within him strain after her.
It’s your belly, he thought ruefully. You’re so starved, you’re willing to resort to cannibalism right now. But as he trudged forward with the other men, it was feasting of another sort that hovered at the edges of his thoughts. He was surprised to learn that a starving man could desire more than food, although he reassured himself that this ridiculous fixation would dissipate as soon as he had eaten and his brain was fully functional.
A large white tent loomed up before them.
“You may wash here,” the captain said, directing them to a barrel of water a few feet away from the tent’s entrance. It was an order, not a kindness.
The men stripped their shirts and waistcoats and scrubbed, passing a lump of soap between them. The cool water was invigorating, and it felt damned good to scrub away the grime of the last few days. They were presented with clean shirts, of much finer quality than the tattered ones they had just shed. Elijah’s was too small, and he heard feminine giggles as he struggled into it. He turned, hoping to hear Kate’s laughter, but she stood staring at his back with a haunted look on her face. She had seen the scars, then.
After receiving a slightly better fitting shirt, he turned and entered the candlelit space of the tent, and the other men followed him. The captain was seated at the head of a large, roughly hewn wooden table, likely looted from one of the homes nearby. He waved his hand to indicate that the prisoners should take their places in the other seats.
The tent flap opened again and the women entered, carrying pots of tea and plates laden with buttered bread and roast meat. Elijah’s stomach cramped tightly at the bevy of scents and he crossed his arms over his chest to restrain himself. His thoughts warred against each other, pride struggling valiantly against hunger. A dark hand with long, tapered fingers placed a plate down in front of him. He looked up to find Kate gazing at him, one brow slightly lifted in annoyance. Elijah wondered if his sudden dizziness was a result of his close proximity to the woman or to the food she held.
“A starved man can neither turn coat nor fight back,” Kate whispered as she poured his tea. Was he that easy to read, or was she chiding all of the soldiers? He watched her make her rounds: unless she was an accomplished ventriloquist, he was the only man to receive her admonition. He picked up his bread and ate, relief swelling him down to the cell as he chewed and swallowed.
Bellamy watched as they ate, and Kate stood against the wall behind the man, ready to serve if so asked. She stared into the distance, avoiding Elijah’s curious gaze.
“Now, I will be plain with you men: the Crown offers Negroes freedom and the Continentals do not.”
The man beside Elijah choked on his bread, and Elijah gave him a hearty pound on the back. Bellamy sipped his tea as if he hadn’t just nudged them toward treason, and then came right out with it.
“If you side with the Crown, you will be granted freedom when your service is complete, be it here, England, or one of our other colonies. It is as simple as that. Has your Mr. Washington made such an offer, or has he been too busy counting his losses?”
Elijah looked around the room, at the Black women bustling to serve and clear. Was this the brave new world that the British were offering? If so, it looked very similar to the one they were being offered relief from.
The other Patriots considered their food, chewing slowly to give themselves more time in which to respond. Elijah wiped at his mouth with a napkin, and placed it on the table beside his empty plate.
“I’ve seen nary a black face in your ranks, sir,” Elijah said. “I’ve seen these women used as serving wenches, much as they are at my master’s estate. Why should I trust anything you have to say?”
The Captain’s smirk faltered, but only for a second. Behind him, Kate stared at Elijah with wide eyes. He remembered that she had thought him a freedman, and apparently the whip lashes crisscrossing his back hadn’t fully disabused her of that notion.
“You don’t have to trust me, just as I don’t have to offer you and your compatriots’ freedom. I do so because a man I admire greatly, Lord Dunmore, believes it is the right course of action. You might be especially valuable to me because you have some experience soldiering and a natural tendency toward leadership, if I interpret your insouciance kindly.” He looked at Elijah with a possessive gleam in his eyes, one not very different from the men who had squeezed his muscles and stuck their fingers in his mouth when he was sold off. “You could train Negro regiments, and lead them in battle. But if you wish to see how our colored forces are treated in the meantime, I will allow one of them to show you. Kate—”
He raised his hand without looking behind him, as if knowing that she would come when he beckoned. An unfamiliar sensation swept over Elijah: jealousy. When Kate stepped up next to the Captain, head bowed subserviently, Elijah wanted to shake her. Where was the strong woman who managed to rile him every time he encountered her? Why should this Captain choose her out of all the women? What did she mean to him?
“Since you seem to have elected yourself as the representative of this group, Kate will show you around the Negro encampment. You can report your findings back to them upon your return.”
“You’re allowing me to travel through these camps alone with a woman as my guide?” Elijah asked, hoping his surprise covered his irrational annoyance. What designs the Captain had on Kate was the least of his problems, or should have been.
“I trust you to return, as I’m sure you don’t want these men to pay for your escape attempt with their lives,” the Captain said easily. “Besides, Kate hates the Colonies as much as we do. I have complete faith in her ability to change your mind.”
Elijah had to concede that the Captain was canny. He had already isolated the colored soldiers from the rest of the prisoners by giving them special treatment. When word got back to the barn, they would likely be treated with suspicion. Now, he was singling Elijah out and sending him off with a beautiful woman, sure to raise the ire of the handful of troops who’d been pulled out with him. Envy was a useful tool for those who knew how to wield it.
Elijah stood, looking at Kate and not the Captain when he spoke.
“You may show me your camp, and I shall report back to these men.” He then turned to his fellow prisoners. “I will not be moved, but I will speak truthfully when I give my accounting.”
It took more than a pretty face to change his allegiance, but if this was to be his only chance to get a lay of the land and plan an escape, it wouldn’t hurt to have Kate at his side while he plotted.