The Blacksmith's Daughter: A Mystery of the American Revolution (27 page)

"We left Augusta at four
o'clock in the morning, having received a tip that you were headed to
Alton.
 
I admit admiration for the trail
your Creek friends left.
 
We almost
followed them back to Alton, thinking there were five of you headed south,
rather than the two Creek."
 
Interesting.
 
Adam didn't realize
Runs With Horses and Standing Wolf had come with them to South Carolina, and he
didn't suspect the brothers were out there in the woods somewhere.
 
"When I left Augusta, the O'Neals
hadn't yet awakened to find you missing and read your letter.
 
Apprise me of the content of this
letter."

"I intended it for Thomas
Brown."

"Of course you did.
 
Cease stalling."

"I told him I remembered that
the Spaniard who held me at knifepoint referenced the Ambrose spy ring as
French-loving fools and implied that their mission was to strip Britain of her
military command."
 
Adam stared at
her.
 
"I also related to him that
I'd become a subject of ridicule to the inhabitants of Augusta.
 
I found this distressing, body and spirit,
and deemed it best to spend the duration of my pregnancy with a relation
elsewhere.
 
That's why I was headed to
Ninety Six."

"And Clark shall meet you
there when?"

"I've already told you I don't
know where he is or what his plans are."
 
She studied the blanket again, her head nodding.
 
It was becoming as difficult to stay awake
as it had become obvious that Adam meant to capture Clark and administer the
King's Justice, despite his profession of friendship and concern.

"Who is this relation in
Ninety Six?"

"I've not told anyone, not
even my foster parents."

Adam knelt, grasped her upper arms,
and forced eye contact.
 
"If you
don't tell me who you're visiting in Ninety Six, I shall consider that portion
of your story to be a lie."

"Martha Neely, my father's
aunt."
 
Perhaps the old woman was
still alive.

He released her and stood.
 
"Bah.
 
Women run after their husbands and forget about their kin when they're
distressed."

"The sampling of women on
which you base your conclusion appears to be —"
 
She searched for the right word.
 
"— rather
small
.
 
Sir."

He digested the insult without
retort in a moment of icy silence.
 
"I doubt you'll provide me with more useful information
tonight.
 
However, on the morrow we
shall resume this conversation.
 
Geoffrey."

One of the Rangers trotted over and
saluted.
 
"Sir?"

"Bind these three."

"Yes, sir."

Joshua, who'd been sitting nearby,
struggled to a standing position and faced Adam.
 
"Bind us?
 
Why,
Lieutenant?"

"We've been on the road almost
as long as you have.
 
I don't plan to
post a sentry tonight and won't let you run off after going through such
lengths to capture you."

"We're too tired to run
far."

"You'd be surprised how far
rebels can run when they're tired.
 
Good
night, madam.
 
And good night,
gentlemen."

***

Betsy fell asleep with her eyes
full of Altair, Deneb, and Vega, brilliant blue-white stars forming the Summer
Triangle.
 
Too exhausted for her bonds
to impact sleep, she also ignored her grimy clothing and the sultry, stifling
night.
 
She jerked awake, exhausted, to
the stench of rancid bear grease.
 
Starlight glinted on a knife in the hands of an Indian kneeling beside
her.
 
The first second, terror tore
through her.
 
Then she recognized
Standing Wolf, who signed for her silence and cut her bonds.

After he helped her up, she trudged
with Joshua, Tom, and the warrior to the horses, where Runs With Horses held
their mounts and firearms ready.
 
Lady
May dragged along, as unrefreshed as Betsy.
 
Runs With Horses brought the mare into the moonlight, caressed her
flanks, withers, and neck, and whispered to her, whereupon the mare revived a
bit.
 
He turned the reins over to Betsy.

The five walked their horses well
around the camp of snoring Rangers in the pre-dawn humidity.
 
Only when they reached the road half a mile
south did they risk speech.
 
Joshua
clasped arms with both Creek.
 
"Thank you."

"Thank Creator, who opened a
way at last."
 
Runs With Horses
gestured west, where the Rangers lay asleep.
 
"Why you don't let us slit their throats?"

"Trust me, they'll head to
Ninety Six at dawn, not Camden."

The warrior grunted.
 
"We must ride for Camden until dawn,
then, two hours at most.
 
Horses are
tired.
 
We are tired.
 
But we know a place safe for rest."

Chapter Twenty-One

WHEN THE CREEK guided them back to
the Duffys' cabin, Joshua agreed with his cousins on their choice of
haven.
 
Neither the Duffys nor their
neighbors were returning.
 
Betsy was too
tired to object out of principle.

The horses were picketed out
back.
 
The travelers took turns at
watch.
 
Mid-afternoon Betsy awakened with
her right shoulder knotted from one-handed musket firing.
 
While the men waited outside, she washed and
changed her shift to the spare she'd taken with her to Alton.
 
Then all of them polished off a pot of
rabbit stew full of vegetables from the garden and mopped out their bowls with
slabs of day-old bread from the beehive oven.
 
To replace the knives Runs With Horses hadn't been able to recover from
the Rangers, they confiscated three pristine hunting knives from the family's
collection.

They left the cabin in the evening
about six, bypassing the road south to Orangeburg within minutes.
 
By sunset their road had taken an
east-northeast bearing.
 
Beneath
moonlight, the swelter eased from the air.
 
They put twenty miles between themselves and the cabin before camping
off the road near a creek in the pine forest at the west edge of the Saxagotha
Territory.

One homesteader they'd passed just
after the Orangeburg Road had given them a cheery wave and mentioned they were
the first travelers he'd seen all day.
 
Still,
they ate trail rations for supper and lit no fire.
 
Odds were great that the Rangers had galloped to Ninety Six in
search of their escapees.
 
The
homesteader's greeting seemed to confirm it.
 
But no one wanted to risk being caught.

Tuesday morning dawned clear.
 
The party took to the rolling road again
before full daylight.
 
The excellent
time they made placed them near Fort Granby and the junction of the Broad and
Saluda Rivers before noon.
 
The swampy
terrain hosted the first mosquitoes Betsy had encountered on the trip.
 
She and her companions waited several hours
amidst the mosquitoes for the ferry that crossed the Congaree River.

After debarking the ferry, they
pressed on northeast.
 
Nightfall found
them camped north of the road leading to King's Mountain: an easy day's travel
to Camden on the morrow.
 
They built a
campfire and partook of roasted rabbits, dried fruit, trail bread, and coffee
for supper.

Betsy studied the Creek.
 
For the first time she wondered how far her
father had adopted Indian ways.
 
Did he
look like Runs With Horses and Standing Wolf, an oiled, muscular mass of
tattoos with a shaven head and teeth glinting white in the firelight?
 
She visualized her mother in the arms of a
Creek warrior.
 
Her imagination yielded
an alien, queer, and disquieting picture.
 
Beyond blood ties, did she and Mathias Hale have much to share with each
other?

Surely she and her husband had much
more in common.
 
Supine on her bedroll,
she fell asleep contemplating the familiar territory of her dilemma with
Clark.
 
But later she dreamed that
Laughing Eyes, wise and unsmiling, whispered Creek in her ear.

***

Camden, South Carolina entered
history as the Fredericksburg township on the east side of the Wateree River
circa 1733.
 
However, not until the late
1750s did trade in the area assume cohesion and an actual town emerge.
 
Fredericksburg metamorphosed into Pine Tree
Hill, a quaint name that yielded to the politics of prominent citizens,
predominantly one Joseph Kershaw, who wished to honor Charles Pratt, Lord
Camden, for his intercessory measures in Parliament on their behalf.
 
In 1780, Camden was one of but a handful of
South Carolina towns to possess a genuine courthouse, no small accomplishment
for a backcountry hamlet that had, one generation earlier, been just a few
plantations.

Five major roads fed the town like
anchoring strands that draw insects into the heart of a spider's web.
 
Betsy and her companions entered Camden on
the afternoon of Wednesday, July 19, after passing Fort Cary and taking the
ferry across the Wateree.

Camden's non-wartime population
probably equaled that of Augusta, but the presence of Francis Rawdon's portion
of the British Army and its civilian followers doubled that population and
quadrupled the business opportunities and headaches of residents.
 
The five walked their horses on the main
east-west road, taking in the throbbing, laughing, stinking, sweating colorful
life cluttering the streets.
 
Betsy had
never seen so many redcoats in one place; and the excursion provided her first
exposure to Jägers and Hessians.
 
Many
soldiers weren't "coated" at all and had, in deference to the
relentless, un-British heat, doffed their wool coats to become "white
shirts."

Sutlers spilled over from Market
Square into the town square: entrepreneurs taking advantage of soldiers ready
to part with their coin.
 
Tom ogled a
bosomy chicken vendor.
 
When the young
woman pulled a feather off the mound of one breast where sweat had pasted it
and blew it after him, a grinning Joshua brushed Betsy's sleeve.
 
"I wager he doesn't remember later that
she sells chickens."
 
Betsy
chuckled.
 
Tom's bright hair would, no
doubt, attract the attention of many ladies.

They turned north, away from the
portion of city enclosed in a palisade by the redcoats, onto Broad Street.
 
Betsy and Joshua rode side by side, the
Creek followed, and Tom brought up the rear.
 
Joshua bent over to her.
 
"You think you'll be all right here with your cousin?"

"Oh, yes.
 
You're headed west on the morrow,
then?"
 
His nod of confirmation
brought a wave of ambivalence to her.
 
In the realm of the Creek, she wondered whether she'd ever feel sure of
herself.
 
Tracking down her husband was
more important than locating her parents.
 
"Does my father resemble you?"

"We both look like Mother, but
I'm half a head taller and have more meat on my bones."
 
A rakish grin ate his expression.
 
"And I'm more handsome."

"With half a head more room to
absorb flattery."
 
She mirrored his
smile.
 
"When you find them, both
of them, tell them where I am.
 
Tell my
mother I love her.
 
And when you go back
through Augusta, give my love to Sarah and Lucas."

"I shall do that."

Tom trotted his gelding ahead to
them.
 
"You cannot miss the Leaping
Stag in this town.
 
Look yonder."

In retrospect, Betsy realized she'd
set her expectations too low.
 
What
greeted them was a two-story brick hybrid inn and tavern the size of several
townhouses.
 
From the look of it, the
place could sleep two-dozen guests.
 
At
least as many horses stood hitched out front, and it wasn't yet four o'clock.

Joshua craned back his neck.
 
"Jove's arse, Betsy.
 
All of Alton would fit inside that
place.
 
I wonder what one week's worth
of rum costs."