Ashes (30 page)

“Stand still.” I hopped onto an upended log, my hand on her shoulder for balance, so I could better study the crowd coming up from the trenches. All I could see spread out before me were groups of tired, bedraggled, triumphant soldiers, slapping one another on the back, bowing, cheering, and drinking from mugs that I doubted contained coffee.

Ruth tugged on my skirt. “Isabel!”

I stepped down, planning how to discover the news I was so desperate for. I'd keep Ruth here minding the pies and porridge, whilst I ventured down to the trench in search of an officer.

“Isabel!” This time Ruth shouted. “Turn around, ninny–there he is!”

Curzon.

T
WO NIGHTS AGO, MY
E
LIZA, MY DUTY AND MY HONOR OBLIGED ME TO TAKE A STEP IN WHICH YOUR HAPPINESS WAS TOO MUCH RISKED
. I
COMMANDED AN ATTACK UPON ONE OF THE ENEMY'S REDOUBTS; WE CARRIED IT IN AN INSTANT, AND WITH LITTLE LOSS
. Y
OU WILL SEE THE PARTICULARS IN THE
P
HILADELPHIA PAPERS.

–L
ETTER FROM
C
OLONEL
A
LEXANDER
H
AMILTON TO HIS WIFE
, E
LIZABETH

H
E LAY MOTIONLESS ON A
blanket carried by his friends, his face swollen and blood covered. His eyes were closed; his mouth hung slack. One arm and hand were wrapped in blood-soaked rags.

Curzon.

The world stopped spinning. The sounds of celebration and cannon fire silenced.

Curzon.

Hands lowered the blanket, moving slow, as if everyone were trapped in honey. I ran, unable to make sense of this horrid madness. The distance could not have been more than twenty paces, but it seemed to take years to reach him, as if I were running across the bottom of the sea.

I fell to my knees.

“Curzon, no!” His cold skin smelled coppery, like the slaughter yard. My heart stopped. I cradled his face in my hands. The ragged voice did not sound like it belonged to me. “You can't be dead,” I cried. “Please don't be dead.”

I leaned closer, hoping to feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek. My tears splashed on his face. My fingers slid to the spot on his throat where the beat of a heart might be felt.

“Don't leave me,” I whispered.

My fingertips felt the low, steady thud-thud of his heartbeat.

He blinked, peered up, and lifted his unbandaged hand to my face.

“Hello, Country,” he croaked.

Sunlight filled my heart.

“Hush.” I took his hand in mine. “Did they shoot you? What hurts?”

“Poor lad,” said Isaac. “First ye tell him to hush, then you fire your questions at him. He's encountered a bayonet with his arm, took a few punches to his nose.”

“Gave more than I took,” Curzon muttered.

“Twisted his knee fierce, but it ain't broke,” Drury continued the accounting of injuries. “The ground in the redoubt was pockmarked with holes big enough to hold an ox. All kinds of twisted ankles and complaining knees.”

“Did the fighting go on all night?” I asked, studying Curzon from head to toe. His eyes were again closed, as if he'd decided to take a nap in the midst of this commotion.

“Only minutes!” came the chorus of response.

Isaac limped over, his arm around the shoulder of Tall Will. “Colonel Hamilton led the charge, with all of us screaming like the night was on fire. The fighting was fierce, but we conquered them right quick. We was ordered to stay the night there, in case the lobsterbacks sought a counterattack. They didn't dare.” He grinned, then winced, for he'd taken a blow to the mouth that left it swollen and raw.

I looked at Tall Will. “Why didn't you take them to the hospital tent?”

“We tried,” Tall Will explained, “but Curzon caterwauled fierce and said we had to come here first. He sooner trusts you to sew him up.”

“There are men with worse injuries needing the doctors,” Henry added.

“Carry him to the fire, then,” I said, grateful that I'd thought to secure the vinegar while I could. “I'll clean him up, take a look at the bayonet wound. If it's not too deep, I can sew it.”

I went to stand, but Curzon's hand, which had relaxed its grip on mine, tightened again and would not release me. “Isabel.”

“We're just going to move you a wee bit,” I said.

“I have a surprise for you.” His eyes opened again, and I leaned closer to hear his words. “I think we won.”

“I have a surprise too.” I put my mouth to his ear. “I love you, Curzon Smith.”

“God's grace, Country.” He sighed. “Then we have indeed finally won.”

O
UR WATCHWORD WAS
“R
OCHAMBEAU,” THE COMMANDER OF THE
F
RENCH FORCES' NAME, A GOOD WATCHWORD, FOR BEING PRONOUNCED
R
O-SHAM-BOW, IT SOUNDED, WHEN PRONOUNCED QUICK, LIKE RUSH-ON-BOYS.

–J
OURNAL OF
S
ERGEANT
J
OSEPH
P
LUMB
M
ARTIN
, C
ORPS OF
S
APPERS AND
M
INERS

T
HE BLOOD, CURZON TRIED TO
assure me, was mostly from the redcoats. In this, as in so many things, he was boastful. The bayonet had gone through his sleeve into the meat of his arm between the elbow and the shoulder, but not all the way to the bone. I set the vinegar over the fire to heat up again and had a quiet word with Henry, who then went off in search of rum.

As I studied the swollen messes of his knee and Isaac's ankle, the other fellows dug into my pies, which, they declared, were the best pies that had ever been created in all of the history of pies. I told them the secret spice I used was called “hunger.” This set them to roaring with laughter again. The day itself had been seasoned with victory and relief, and served with a bowl of fatigue, so they were in the greatest cheer imaginable.

Isaac preferred to clean his own cuts and bumps, possibly on account of the rather severe look given to him by Curzon. That freed me to clean the cuts on Curzon's brow, his knuckles, and his split lip. As I washed the dirt from his wounds, and he grunted and tried not to complain, the lads told and told again the stories of the night before, whilst Ruth served a second round of my apple and turnip pies, which Bram dubbed “Isabel's Irresistible Victuals.”

Our men had attacked redoubt 10, and a French company of a similar size had attacked redoubt 9 at the same time. I could tell he was softening the description of the action, thinking to spare me the worst of the details. Of the eight hundred attackers, twenty-four were killed and more than one hundred were wounded–broken ribs, bones shattered by musketballs, and limbs and bellies torn open by bayonets.

As soon as the redoubts were in our possession, thousands of men attacked the second parallel with shovels and pickaxes, digging like an army of moles through the night. The dawn shone down on the second parallel completed from the west end to the east, where it led direct to our newly captured redoubts. Before the sun had even warmed the ground, men were dragging cannons to the redoubts. They were pointed at Yorktown.

The captain of our company, older than most and wealthy enough to own three changes of uniform, visited our cook fire for the very first time to check on Curzon and Isaac. He brought rum, at Henry's suggestion, to ease the painful work of the cleaning and sewing of the bayonet wound.

“I buttered him like a parsnip, I did,” Henry whispered to me as the captain shared a few words with the heroes of the redoubt. “Filled him with tales of the lads' glory. He's sending along enough for the entire company this eve.”

Ruth and I fetched the morning bread whilst the captain and lads exchanged tales of the night's work. By the time we returned, Henry had gotten Curzon well muddy in drink. As I approached him, armed with needle, thread, and steaming-hot bandages, he gave me a lopsided smile and slurred, “Did I tell you we won, darling Isabel?”

The things he shouted during my assault on his wound do not bear repeating. I made the stitches deep, necessary close together, and tight as could be. When the sewing was done, I asked the lads to hold him fast as I poured the rest of the still-warm vinegar on the needlework I'd stitched into his wound. 'Tis thought that the sharp tang of hot vinegar balances the humors within a wound and so helps with the healing.

“I thought you wanted me alive!” he roared.

I winked at him. “Seems I got my wish.”

  *  *  *  

Everything happened right quick after that.

Henry explained the facts mathematical to me. The cannons positioned at the first parallel had needed to fire six hundred yards to hit the enemy, he said. From the second parallel the distance was less than half of that. The guns on the second parallel fired a constant cannonade against Yorktown, an attack so violent, all wondered how any living thing could survive it.

By midday Monday Curzon's knee had swollen to the size of a sheep's head and was as hard and unmovable as a stone. I sent Drury in search of one-eyed Cristena, for she knew where leeches could be found in the marsh. He brought back a half dozen of the tiny, writhing creatures, which happily attached themselves to Curzon's knee. The sight of it made him puke up his breakfast. By the time darkness fell, the leeches had gorged themselves and dropped to the dirt. Thanks to the leeches, the swelling of the knee was so much reduced that I no longer feared it would split open. I stayed with him through the night, putting on fresh poultices and forcing him to drink willow bark tea. Come morning, his knee was soft as a boiled apple, tender but not fatal.

Between the knee and the arm Curzon was greatly pained, tho' he thought he was actor enough to hide it from us. He tried to stand as the other fellows went off to patrol for foolish British soldiers.

The entire company ordered him to fasten his backside to the ground.

  *  *  *  

Tuesday was gray and unsettled.

Wednesday dawned cold and wet, but the air quickly filled with laughter that spread from tent to tent, cook fire to cook fire, until the camp was roaring with delight at the news: Lord Cornwallis had tried to escape in the night . . . and failed.

His plan had been to row his entire army across the river. It was not a frightful distance, but as the evacuation began, the most extraordinary storm of pelting rain and violent wind boiled up and prevented the boats from crossing. It called to mind the night of the Battle of Brooklyn years earlier, when a thick fog rolled in that allowed the Patriot forces to escape capture by the British. God always seemed to provide favorable weather for the Americans, folks said. That was the sign that He supported General Washington and our fight for liberty.

Later that day, as I was sewing the tear in Curzon's sleeve made by the British bayonet, the world fell silent. Seemed as if a gigantical velvet cloak had somehow been thrown over all the things that made noise: cannons, drums, wagon wheels, hammers, saws, calling voices, shouts, and laughter.

“Run to the regiment headquarters and ask what news,” Curzon said.

I picked my skirts up and took a few steps, but he called after me, “Stop! Come back!”

“You cannot have it both ways,” I said.

He motioned to Ruth to help him stand. “I must go with you.”

“You can barely stand,” I said.

“I could lean on you.”

He put his good arm over my shoulders, gritted his teeth, and took a step. Before he could take a second, Drury and Bram appeared, running, waving their hats and hollering.

“The British have surrendered!”