“Thank you for the kind thoughts,” Fitzroy said and rubbed his forehead. He felt the onset of a massive headache. Still, Danforth’s comments were nothing he hadn’t thought of before. For better or worse, his star was hitched to John Burgoyne’s. If Burgoyne soared, so would James Fitzroy. If Burgoyne plummeted to earth, so would he. Damn.
So, who would finally lead the rebels? Would Morgan regain his health or would Schuyler recover his men’s respect? And where the hell was this John Stark?
* * *
The women were organized into ten groups of ten each. In front, directing each group was a sergeant or a lower-ranking officer. The women held pikes, and the spear-like weapons were longer than the women were tall.
Even though training women on pikes had been agreed upon and was strictly voluntary, there was concern on the part of Schuyler and others as to whether giving weapons to women was the right thing to do. First and foremost, training women on the use of the musket had been ruled out. The musket was a large and cumbersome weapon and it was doubted that many women would be able to handle it effectively in the heat of battle; thus, even though there was a surplus of muskets and even though there were women who already knew how to use them, they would not be issued to the women. It was tacitly understood, however, that whatever happened when the fighting began would be beyond anyone’s control.
The instructors understood the fundamental problem. The pikes were far heavier and more awkward than anything the women were used to handling. Thus, after a few clumsy near-stabbings, the first part of each drill focused on developing strength and familiarity with the pikes. After a few weeks of training, it now showed. The women, thin Winifred Haskill included, wielded their pikes with a degree of alacrity, and some with unexpected and new found strength. Winifred enjoyed anything that might bring destruction to the British.
“Thrust,” Sergeant Bahlmann yelled at a group that included Sarah Benton and Winifred. Faith was absent this day, because of female problems, but Hannah Van Doorn was enthusiastically present. Bahlmann was a Hessian deserter and an expert with both the bayonet and the pike. Sarah and the others yelled and jabbed at an imaginary target. They had done this a hundred times and were getting bored as their arms grew leaden. The sergeant knew it. “Shoulder your weapons and follow me.”
Puzzled, the women did as they were told. They were among the first groups who were being trained. What they learned and how well they learned it would set the tone for future trainee groups. It was a technique brought to the American army by von Steuben.
Congress and General Schuyler had reluctantly come around to the idea that females who wished it should be taught to defend themselves. No one thought for a second that it would alleviate the Continental Army’s shortage of numbers in comparison with the British, but it might help in some small matter.
Besides, it made the women feel that they were contributing to the cause and, as Benjamin Franklin told Sarah, that was more important than anything. Sarah had given serious thought to hitting the old man when he’d said it, but he’d laughed and she’d realized he’d been teasing her.
The ten women and their sergeant were marched over a hill and were quickly out of sight of the others. Bahlmann halted them, turned, and stood before them. Behind him, a dead sheep was tied to a stake. They stared at it, knowing what was to come.
“Can you kill them?” Bahlmann asked in his accented English. “Them” came out as “zem.” “Or do you just hope that you can? Or maybe you are here to impress someone with your bravery? A lover, perhaps. That there thing on the post is a dead sheep, not a living Redcoat, so the wee dead lamb won’t try to stab you or shoot you any more than a chicken would. But can you jab that pike into it? Because that’s what I want you to do. I want you to know what it’s like to stick a pike into meat, and feel it driving into flesh.”
There was silence as some of the women were openly dismayed at the thought of actually stabbing something. That they’d killed chickens and sliced meat from a cow or a deer was somehow now irrelevant. This was supposed to represent a living human being.
“We can do it,” Sarah muttered. Hannah nodded, while Winifred looked enthusiastic.
The sergeant grinned. “I thought it would be you, Mistress Benton. Take a position in front of the attacking sheep and imagine that it is about to kill you.”
Sarah did as she was told. “Lunge,” she was ordered and she complied, the pike stopping just short of the carcass.
“Into the damned thing, Mistress Benton! Tickle it like you’re doing and he’ll come at you and kill you and then go baa-baa over your body.” Sarah lunged again and felt the tip go an inch or so into the sheep’s torso before stopping.
“You just hit a rib, Mistress Benton. People have them and so do sheep, and they’re supposed to protect people from things like pikes. If you’re very lucky you won’t hit one, but most likely you will because there are a lot of them, so you will have to hit with enough force to break your way in. Do it again.”
Sarah tried once more and was again stopped by the cadaver’s ribs. Bahlmann yelled that she was a weakling, a child, a fool. She was getting angry. She pulled back slightly, screamed, and pushed forward with all her might. The pike hit flesh, then bone, and then went through. She tried to pull it out, but it caught on something and she wanted to gag.
“Twist and pull back,” the sergeant said, and she did. The pike released itself. The spear point was covered with congealed red matter. Behind her, she heard a couple of the women snuffling and crying. She turned on them angrily.
“And what did you think was going to happen when you stuck someone?” she said while Sergeant Bahlmann grinned. “Sergeant, what happens if I can’t get the bloody thing out by twisting like you said?”
“Leave it and get another one if you have to, but first try hard to get it out. If the Redcoat’s lying on the ground, just put your foot on his chest and jerk it out. It should come out if you do that. Don’t worry about him looking up your dress and seeing your sweet furry cunny ’cause he’s going to have other things on his mind if that spear’s so far inside his gut. However you do it, you must get it out fast before another British soldier comes up on you.”
Sarah glared at him. “I have no intentions of wearing a dress in battle, Sergeant.”
Bahlmann laughed and chose another victim and put her through the same paces. One woman couldn’t do it and was dismissed from the group. To no one’s surprise, Winifred Haskill had no problems, attacking the carcass with a ferocity that surprised and impressed Bahlmann.
The sergeant was good. He’d made them do things they never really thought were possible. The drill instructors had been sent over by von Steuben from the Hessian camp and were considered the best. She could see why. Franklin might have teased her, but Steuben was serious about the women’s efforts.
The group was dismissed after cleaning their pikes and Sarah walked over to the fence where Will lounged. He took the pike from her. They would put it in the armory on the way to their respective quarters.
“Feel like dinner?” he asked.
Sarah realized she’d worked up a tremendous appetite. “I would love dinner. What are you serving?”
Will grinned wickedly. “Mutton.”
* * *
A few yards away from the building where congress met, and ignored by the Americans nearby, two Indians watched intently as important white people exited the hall. One Indian was a blind old man and the other a boy in his early teens. They were dirty and dressed in rags. They’d been in the camp on a number of occasions, selling game or just simply watching. They were considered harmless as were a number of other Indians who came and went. Some came simply to beg and scrounge and it was accepted that some were calculating the strength of the American forces.
The older man was named Owl and not only because he was wise. A birth defect had made him wheeze and hoot when he talked. He looked towards the boy he couldn’t quite see. Age had made his vision cloudy.