Brave Enemies (37 page)

“Form into ranks,” Colonel Pickens called. “And reload while you march back up the hill.” I was surprised to see I was still holding the ramrod in my left hand and the rifle in my right. I hadn't even thought of the gun while I was running.

I
T HAD BEEN TWO
weeks and I thought constantly of Josie. As we roved over the wilderness of South Carolina I had no news from Pine Knot Branch or North Carolina. But my thoughts of Josie helped sustain me.

I felt we were tending toward some great battle and the outcome would be terrible. Josie was with me every day and every hour in my thoughts and prayers. I didn't know where she was, or even if she was still alive. For all I knew she was burned on the tree outside our cabin. Yet I was certain in my heart she must be alive and that I would see her again some day.

It was one of the miracles of my life that Josie was sent to me. I had never thought I would have a wife, a companion for my pilgrim ministry and for my person. She was sent to me as such a surprise, and in such a way I could not avoid her. It was inevitable that I should come to love her.

The past two weeks we had swung through much of the backcountry of South Carolina. Often I did not know where we were. We waded
swamps and swam rivers. We fought our way through thickets and briars and tangled vines. We veered from Fort Ninety Six to the Enoree River, parting endless canebrakes.

Once we passed a little church in the wilderness called Zion Hill, and tears came to my eyes, seeing a place of worship set there in the pines, and the name from the Bible, so far from any town. It reminded me that the Lord is everywhere, and of the debt we owe those who came before us, and handed the church down to us.

I had come to care for those men and respect them, in spite of their depredations to the country. I had even come to love them, for they were tired and scared, confused and disheartened, however much they kept to discipline and protocol. Even those who swaggered and swore were worn out and uncertain. Twice we had been attacked by militia hidden in the woods, and at least a dozen men of the Royal Fusiliers had been killed.

The colonel's dragoons fought at Hammond's Store in December and many were killed. I conducted the funerals, and sang and read from the Book of Common Prayer, and I was grieved as if they were my own people.

More than ever I had come to see the hopelessness and futility of war. War was repugnant to me, and useless in the end, for violence only leads to violence. One act of hate only leads to another. We are commanded to love one another, not to kill one another. We are commanded to turn the other cheek and to forgive seven times seventy. If a dispute cannot be settled by love and reason, it cannot be settled.

I began to see I had been sent there to learn that the only true way was the way of peace. I was not just being punished. I was also learning. My service with that army had made me rededicate myself to my ministry and to my love. The cruelty I had seen, and the loss, reminded me of my choice of the way of prayer and praise. I was more convinced than ever that I had chosen the right path. In the past I sometimes doubted my call. And I doubted my worthiness to follow the call. But there in the
wilderness, the brutality of men unredeemed had made my mission clear. Only a message of love and peace could win. Only humility and compassion could see us through to a better life. I was weak and I was an imperfect vessel, but the message was clear.

Sometimes I lay awake at night and looked at the stars, and thought of the silence and cruelty in the world. God seemed far away from those mad skirmishes. But I knew it was we who had pushed Him away, and it was our own cruelty that we witnessed day after day.

On the worst days I was reminded I was being punished for my weaknesses and my deceptions. It was I who had failed my congregations, and failed Josie, by my deception, by my lack of courage. My penance was to lose Josie and to serve with Tarleton.

It was my privilege also to be called to serve. I had known no greater honor than to pray with those men so far from home, and comfort them with Scripture and song. Rough soldiers came to me late at night and early in the morning to weep and confess their sins. Officers asked me to pray with them.

Even our brash young Colonel Tarleton sometimes showed his weaker side. By day he was all confidence and bluster. He never paused but acted on impulse. His forthrightness was admirable in an officer, though he may have put his men at risk too often. He did not swagger so much as plunge ahead from task to task, from order to order, never looking back. By day he had his campaign, and by night he had his wine and the several women who traveled with the regiment.

A number of women followed the army in wagons and carts. They were mostly for the officers, though women in some wagons offered themselves to private soldiers for a shilling, it was said. Colonel Tarleton also had a good supply of wines and spirits, as well as tea and coffee. And one wagon was loaded with barrels of rum for the men's daily ration of grog.

After the cavalry returned from Hammond's Store with many wounded and several dead, Colonel Tarleton called me into his tent. He was drinking from a silver flask and his eyes were swollen, as if he had been
weeping. We had just buried several of his dragoons, and I had helped nurse the wounded.

“Tell me, parson,” the colonel said. “Tell me why these wretched people are so determined to betray the Crown.”

“I don't know, sir,” I said.

“They have gone mad,” the colonel said, and slammed the table with his fist. “They will be damned for their blasted perversity.”

I dared not comment on the patriots and the American cause in his presence. I had come to understand the frustration and fury he and his men felt.

“Why will they not surrender and return to law and order?” Colonel Tarleton said. He glared at me as though he blamed me for the rebellion. I stared at the ground to avoid his eyes.

“I'm just a preacher and a hymnodist, sir,” I said.

“If you are so wise, tell me this,” the colonel said. His eyes burned at me and his words came out as scalding hisses. “Tell me why your god permits such suffering and slaughter. Who is the author of so much pain in the world?”

The colonel was so grieved by the loss of his men his voice trembled He was shaken by the rebellion that had gone on and on. “Tell me what satisfaction your god can get from this unending calamity,” he said.

I told him what I could, that the ways and purposes of the Lord were often a deep mystery, beyond our limited human understanding. Perhaps we were not meant to understand all.

“You parsons always talk that way,” he said. There was anger in his voice, but also grief and confusion. I had not seen him so shaken. His face was flushed and his eyes glistened. I wondered if I should leave his presence. Was I embarrassing him in his justified grief? I was about to turn away when he said, “Is that all you have to offer, padre?”

“My only comfort is in humility and prayer,” I said.

“Then pray with me,” he said.

I sank slowly to my knees, for it didn't seem right to stand there. I
dropped to my knees, and much to my surprise the colonel knelt also. He took a drink from the flask and closed his eyes.

“Lord, we do not understand the trials and pains of this journey,” I said. “We do not understand the grief and danger, the anger and loss of life.”

I prayed as plainly and directly as I knew how. I prayed with the colonel as I would with any other supplicant or mourner. My prayer was one of submission and surrender. I felt inspired to be simple and truthful. When I finished the colonel thanked me and turned away. I left the tent and stood beside a campfire and stared into the flames.

If I ever found Josie again I vowed we would go far away from armies and live in peace and honest work in some hidden valley. I would build a church and invite all to come. And I would raise a subsistence on my own fields.

For I had come to believe there was really no right side or wrong side in war. All killing was wrong and all hatred was wrong. I guess I had come to think as a Quaker in that way. It made no sense to kill and then kill again. Better to avoid the fight. Better to be humble and forgiving.

Those weeks in the wilderness had helped teach me that, and my weakness and my love had helped teach me that. For my love had sustained me, sinner that I was, and would sustain me, as I walked in that dark and lurking world.

I
ALWAYS THOUGHT
there was something ominous about thunder in winter. After I had been with Tarleton's legion about twenty days it began to rain, not a steady rain but violent cloudbursts that clawed at the canvas tent where I slept with several other men and threw cold water in my face while we were marching. The rain came suddenly, accompanied by thunder. I studied thunder the way I once had studied clouds. Sometimes the thunder grumbled around the edges of the sky and sometimes it barked in the night like a frightened dog.

Winter thunder would rumor on both sides of the sky like a story repeated
again and again until it was worn out. But then the thunder blasted and shouted as if the sky was tearing apart. One night I felt the thunder was talking to me, preaching to me. I felt it brought a message about my unworthiness, a warning about my future. I wished I knew how to interpret what the thunder said. I sat in the tent and tried to read a passage from Revelation about a new heaven and a new earth, after the great battle of Armageddon. I wondered what the new earth would look like as rain gnawed at the canvas and thunder barked its threats. The candle flickered as if reluctant to burn in the damp air.

An orderly lifted the flap of the tent and said, “The colonel wants to see you.”

The colonel usually disappeared into his tent at night with his whores and senior officers. I knew they played cards and drank fine brandy. Sometimes I heard them sing far into the night. It was odd he would summon me in the middle of a thunderstorm.

I closed the Bible the colonel had given me and looked out into the night. A flash of lightning lit up the forest, turning the trees and sky blue. Rain touched my face like a swarm of little wings. A few campfires were burning but they gave little light. Tucking the Bible under my coat I ran to the colonel's tent through mud and dripping brush. Thunder cracked the sky so loud it seemed time stopped, and the world was breaking apart. Rain fumbled at my eyes and I had to wipe my brow to see as I entered Tarleton's tent. I expected to see several officers there playing cards, but found only the colonel and one of his girls.

“Reverend Trethman,” the colonel said, “thank you for joining us on such a beastly night.” A chessboard was set on the table before him. He pointed to the pieces and asked if I would honor him with a game.

“I'm not very good,” I said, and told him I hadn't played in years.

“Nonsense, parson, I know you are a man of keen intelligence,” Colonel Tarleton said. He held a goblet in his right hand and fondled the girl with his left. I couldn't help but look at her. She was a brunette with fair skin, and her shawl was open so her bosoms were exposed.

“I'm a rotten player myself,” Colonel Tarleton said, “but Susie here has agreed to help me.” He stroked her breast as he spoke and I tried to look away. He offered me a goblet of brandy and I accepted. Rain hammered on the cloth of the tent and thunder shook the air and ground. The girl named Susie yelped with surprise.

“I like a game of chess to sharpen my wits,” Colonel Tarleton said. “This war has turned me into a lout. Far from the theater, far from the gaming table, and far from family and his stable of horses, a man becomes a savage. It takes a woman to keep a man civilized.”

He drew Susie to him and kissed her neck. She giggled and glanced at me. I could not take my eyes off the soft skin of her bosoms. I sipped the fine brandy and felt it burn across the back of my tongue and warm my throat.

The colonel held out his closed hands and I chose the left, the black pawn. He replaced the pawns on the board and moved a white one. I moved a black pawn and he moved a knight. Our opening moves went like clockwork as he brought a bishop out to the center of the board. I took another sip and began to feel the lift of the brandy. I moved a bishop into my opponent's territory.

“Chess is so clear,” the colonel said. “Chess has rules and logic and honor, unlike this savage rebellion.”

I had learned to say little about the war to the colonel. I did not want to provoke his anger.

“The militias are the dregs of society,” Tarleton said as he studied the board. “Many are thieves and criminals. The colonies are populated by convicts, footpads, the lame, and simpleminded. It is a humiliation to fight such rabble.”

He hit the table with his fist, and then apologized for his outburst. He saw me looking at Susie whose bosoms had fallen completely out of her gown. A grin spread across his flushed face. “Do you like women, parson?” he said.

“I am a man,” I said, studying the board, “no better than most, and with the help of God no worse.”

“At Oxford I knew some parsons who weren't interested in women at all,” the colonel said. He moved a castle out to the center of his rear line, beside his queen, putting my knight in check. I moved the knight and took his pawn. The brandy made the lantern light in the tent seem ripe as peaches in August.

“It's a shame to fight rabble who don't know how to fight, who don't want to fight,” Tarleton said. “What honor is there in defeating farm boys and rude laborers, tramps and lunatics?”

“Darling, you always win,” Susie said, and put her hand on his cheek.

“It's not so much that I win as that they always lose,” Colonel Tarleton said. “There's a difference. They would lose no matter who opposed them.”

He moved his other castle out to the square beside his king, exposing my bishop. I moved my bishop and he took my knight. “Careful, padre, the night is young,” he said.