The Blooding. James McGee

It seemed unlikely.

      “Well done, William!” Sir John clapped the Negro on the back, sending puffs of dirt into the air.

      Intrigued, Wyatt hovered as the barrels were deposited on the ground. A bayonet was produced and a lid was levered off. It looked at first glance as if the cask was full of old sacking.

      Odd, Wyatt thought, until the top layer was removed.

      Wyatt had never seen a pirate’s treasure trove unearthed but he suspected it probably wouldn’t look much different to the sight that met his eyes. The barrel was stuffed to the gunnels with what was clearly a fortune in silver plate. Salvers, decanters, tankards, punch bowls, coffee jugs, gravy boats, condiment shakers, even serving spoons; all individually wrapped. He stared as each object was divested of its Hessian cocoon and placed reverentially on the ground.

      “Belongs to my family,” the colonel explained. He seemed unconcerned that Wyatt was loitering. “Bequeathed me by my father. We weren’t able to take it with us when we went north, so we concealed it beneath the floor in the cellar.” Sir John indicated the manservant, who was brushing himself down. “William here was the only person we entrusted with the hiding place. He’s kept it safe these past four years. Well, this time, it’s coming with me. I’ll not have those damned rebels lay their hands on it. I’ve seen too many friends who’ve had their inheritance usurped by those scoundrels.” He watched as the last piece of silverware was exposed before turning to the lieutenant. “There should be around forty pieces all told. Split the load. One item per man. Full inventory to be taken.”

      “Yes, sir.” The lieutenant turned and waved an arm towards a small detachment of troops waiting by the blockhouse. “Number Two Company, fall in! Quartermaster to me! Sharply now!”

      The troops ran across to form a line and began to open their knapsacks. The Quartermaster produced his ledger and licked the point of his pencil. As the plate was distributed, a description of each item was written alongside the name of the soldier to whom it had been entrusted.

      Wyatt couldn’t help but smile to himself. How, he wondered, would the army function without lists? It didn’t matter if they concerned cockades, cannons or the colonel’s heirlooms; lists were as integral to military life as marching and muskets.

      Having satisfied himself that the inventory was being conducted to the required standard, the colonel turned to McDonell and the other officers who’d been with him around the table and who’d been observing the disinterment with considerable interest.

      “Right, gentlemen – back to business. As I recall, we were conducting a situation report. Captain Anderson?”

      A dark-haired, thin-faced officer dressed in the uniform of a Grenadier stepped forward.

      “Colonel?”

      “The patrols that were sent to retrieve our people should have returned by now. How many civilians have we collected?”

      “By my count, one hundred and fifty-two, Colonel.”

      The colonel looked towards Wyatt. “Better amend that, Captain. Make the total one hundred and fifty-three.”

      “Yes, sir. We’ve also acquired thirty-two Negro servants.”

      “Very good. Prisoners?”

      Captain Anderson consulted his figures. “Twenty-seven in total, mostly civilians …”

      There was a pause, then Anderson continued “… including Sammons and his brood.”

      A nerve flickered along the colonel’s jawline. “Release those that are too young or infirm. We gain nothing by subjecting them to the rigours of the return march.”

      “And Sammons?” Anderson enquired tentatively.

      Several officers exchanged glances. After the colonel’s escape and following his wife’s departure from the valley the mansion and grounds had been seized by the Tryon County Commissioners, who’d appointed local Patriots to act as caretakers until the property could be sold. The Sammons clan, former neighbours of the colonel, had been selected for the task. The patriarch, Sampson Sammons, along with his three sons, had been among the first prisoners captured by the raiding party upon its arrival at the Hall, where the colonel, in a deliberate display of bravado, had set up his temporary headquarters.

      “You can let the old man go; Thomas, too. Jacob and Frederick aren’t going anywhere save to Canada with us.” The colonel smiled. “The walk will do them good.”

      The comment drew satisfied grins all round. Jacob Sammons was the Commissioners’ chief overseer at the Hall. His face, when he’d realized who’d come to interrupt his slumbers in the dead of night, had been a picture to behold.

      For the family’s part in the occupation of the estate, the father would remain free to reflect on his impudence on the understanding that two of his sons were to be marched as prisoners to a Canadian stockade by the very man whose property they had usurped.

      Justice had been served.

      “Yes, sir …” The captain paused once more. “And the militia captain, Veeder?”

      “Release him, too. He’s given me his word that, if we let him go now, he’ll look upon it as the first half of an exchange. He’s promised me the Americans will reciprocate and free one of our own: Lieutenant Singleton. You may recall he was wounded and taken prisoner during the Stanwix engagement.”

      Anderson frowned. “You trust Captain Veeder’s word, sir?”

      “He gave it as an officer, and I knew the family in happier times so I see no reason to doubt him. He comes from good stock. His brother’s a lieutenant colonel in the county militia. I think it’s a risk worth taking if we can get Singleton back. Three years’ incarceration is enough for any man.”

      Still looking sceptical, Anderson managed to force a nod. “Very good, sir.”

      Sir John turned. “It would appear, gentlemen, that in the light of what we’ve accomplished, our enterprise has been rather successful, though a number of Captain McDonell’s raiding parties have yet to report back – correct?”

      “Yes, sir,” McDonell said.

      The colonel looked up to where the smoke clouds were staining the eastern sky. “The evidence would indicate that they’ve been performing their duties admirably. In which case it’s time we started to organize our withdrawal. I’d hate to think we’ve outstayed our welcome.”

      The officers smiled dutifully.

      The colonel picked up his hat from the table and brushed it down. “Prepare to dismantle the camp. Also, the civilians need to be advised of their responsibilities. It took us nine days to get here from Champlain. We’ll need to step up the pace if we’re to get back to the rendezvous point without mishap. Our enemies may have slept through our arrival, but they know we’re here now and will, I suspect, be most anxious to make our acquaintance. Captain Duncan, how many fresh horses have we acquired?”

      “Sixty-seven, Colonel.”

      “Very good. We can put them to use as baggage animals and as mounts for the elderly and the youngest children. The ablest of the ladies and the older children will have to walk with the men. You’d better tell them they should wear suitable attire. They’ve been told to travel light, I take it? See to it they adhere to that. Anything they can’t carry gets left behind. No exceptions.”

      He turned to a stocky officer with salt-and-pepper hair. “As to the troops: Captain Scott, your regulars are to act as escort. Captain Leake’s Independents and the other irregulars are to deploy as individual commanders see fit. The same goes for your riflemen, Captain Friedrich, if you’d be so kind. We will have use of them, should a delaying tactic be required.”

      A slim, officious-looking officer, with hair so blond it was almost white, dressed in the uniform of a Hessian Jaeger, inclined his head. “At your command, Colonel.”

      “Good.