Barley again spat on the ground. “Does not look like an invading army.”
Owen stood up and waited until they saw him. He walked slowly toward them, his rifle in the crook of his arm. Barley walked a few paces behind him and to his side. When they were a few paces away, Owen stopped.
“Name yourselves,” he ordered.
The older man stood as tall as he could. “My name is Abraham Goldman. These two young men who think I am so weak I will fall over are my beloved but idiot sons. The other two men used to own a tavern across the river from Detroit. The little one is named Hannah and she has been a great help to me.”
“Are you really a Jew?” asked Barley, stepping up alongside Owen. “The lieutenant tried to tell me that Jews were bigger and all covered with fur.”
As Owen rolled his eyes, Goldman smiled tolerantly. “As monsters go, I’m a small one. And it’s springtime, so my fur has molted.”
Owen eased his grip on his weapon. “And what else are you to tell me, Mr. Goldman?”
“Tell General Tallmadge that his ‘doves’ have arrived.”
Owen nodded and smiled. “I will, but first let’s get you some food and water.”
* * *
“Another epistle from Cornwallis,” said Fitzroy. “And again full of lamentations and complaints about us taking so long fiddling in the forests while Rome, or perhaps New York or London, is burning.”
Danforth sat on the edge of his cot and sucked on his pipe. If the stinking mess he was smoking was actually tobacco, then dogs had just become cats. “Well, why don’t you write the details in your journal so they can be stolen again?”
“Unfair,” Fitzroy said and hid a wince. It reminded him again of Hannah and the wound was still fresh. He marveled that he still held strong feelings for her despite her betrayal. And, he had indeed been keeping his journal and the hell with what either Burgoyne or Tarleton thought.
“So what does the great Lord Corn of Wallis worry about this time?” Danforth asked. He had been spending less and less time in headquarters. He was now tasked with working alongside Benedict Arnold and overseeing the completion of the sailing barges, despite the fact that he knew nothing about boats other than that they floated on water. Or were supposed to, he’d joked.
Fitzroy chuckled mirthlessly. “Despite denials and such from Cornwallis and their lordships in London, the American public is aghast at the information that they would become vassals or serfs at the end of the taking of Fort Washington.”
“Can’t imagine why?” Danforth said. “Who wouldn’t jump with joy at the chance to become a serf on his own land? I would be absolutely enchanted at the thought of working endless days for starvation wages and having my wife and female children sent out as whores to supplement my income.”
“Cornwallis reports that insurrections have broken out in many areas and that Boston may now be under rebel control. He further said that partisan activity in the southern colonies has increased to the point where Charleston is under virtual siege. As to New York, Cornwallis has strengthened the landward defenses of Manhattan and thinks that there would be an insurrection if not for the presence of a half a dozen Royal Navy warships and their assorted cannon.”
Danforth scoffed. “And a British victory at Fort Washington would change all that? Methinks he pins his hopes on a slender reed.”
“He hopes it would be so. At least it and the return of his army would only give him enough force to put down what he is confronting now.”
Danforth put down his pipe. “Dear Lord, are you saying that this war could go on even longer? I thought this campaign was to end the war in the colonies once and for all.”
Fitzroy sat on his cot and pulled out his journal. “It was, but that was before the king and his cronies fucked it up so royally.”
* * *
Will and Tallmadge walked through yet another warehouse. As with the others, it was filled with weapons of all categories, although many were of the very simplest types. Along with muskets, these included pikes, bayonets, and tomahawks.
Still, there were enough muskets to supply far more than the army at Fort Washington. It was testimony to the organizational skills of Schuyler and the improvisational techniques of Franklin. Who would have thought that the iron ore to make them existed in quantity just a few hundred miles north of them? And who would have thought that it could be mined with relative ease, melted into ingots, and then brought down in the large canoes used by the Indians when making long trips with sizeable crews and cargoes? While there would never be enough quality iron or implements to cast cannon, there was enough to manufacture the smaller weapons that filled the warehouses.
“Who will use all these?” Will asked. “Are you expecting company or is this wishful thinking?”
“Perhaps a little of both. Surely, we’ll have more soldiers coming in when the British begin to move on us, but I’m just as certain that a number of our heroic stalwarts will flee anywhere they can, rather than actually fight. Human nature, I’m afraid.”
“Summer soldiers and sunshine patriots,” Will mused. “Tom Paine was correct. And what of Mistress Adams’ ideas?”
Abigail Adams and a deputation of women had proposed to General Schuyler that they function as messengers and couriers within the army. There was a hint that women should also be allowed to load weapons for the men during the fighting that was sure to come. All the suggestions had been met with shock and skepticism. However, they had not been rejected.
“Much will depend on the requirements of whoever actually leads the army,” Tallmadge said, adding that it had been Schuyler’s response.
“And who will that be, and who is that man I’ve seen you talking with? You know, the one who arrived with Glover. Or is he just another of your spies?”
“He’s an old friend.” Tallmadge said with a knowing smile. “Just like you are, which permits you to take such liberties as you do with a high-ranking general such as I am.”
Tallmadge took Will by the arm and steered him out of the warehouse. “Don’t pressure me about him and I’ll share a secret with you.”
“Which one?”
Tallmadge grinned wickedly, “As how I get my information so quickly.”
Will allowed himself to be led back to Tallmadge’s headquarters. As always, the wood-shingled roof was covered with scores of pigeons and stained white with their droppings. A dozen or so flew off and whirled around as the men approached, while others stayed and observed. Instead of going through the front of the building, Tallmadge led him through the back. Inside, Will’s jaw dropped as he saw cage after cage filled with pigeons.
“What is this, dinner?” he asked.
Tallmadge laughed. “Hardly. Cook them forever and they’d still be too bloody tough to chew. Will, this is the secret. The pigeons in these cages are homing pigeons and have been trained to return here once released. A small, short message is tied to their legs and they can make it from a place like Detroit to here in an astonishingly short period of time. It is a trick that’s been in use for perhaps thousands of years. Of course, I must wait for a more detailed explanation to arrive in the traditional manner, such as when you finally show up covered with filth after plodding through the woods.”
“And this is what you lost when the British raided that tavern, isn’t it?”
“In part. Of course it wasn’t the only location sending messages by pigeon. It was, however, the best. I’ve been reconstituting other sites. When the British finally move, their location will be sent to us by a variety of means and we will be able to react rather quickly.”
“Doesn’t that presume we’ll have an army to react with?”
“It does indeed,” Tallmadge said sadly, “and that is the flaw in the plan. We have to have a bloody army and someone competent to lead it. And still that might not be enough.”