The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [297]
“I thought as much. Let’s have a look.”
He led them out into the clearing, moved up the long rise, saw a ridge stretching across the field, beyond, higher ground still, another ridge. Along the edge of the fields were small patches of tall trees, and he pushed forward, stared out.
“The Broad River?”
“North and northeast of our position, sir. Five miles, or less. Should we bring the column up quickly, sir? Not much daylight.”
He turned the horse, looked for the voice. He saw a young man, a burst of red hair over a mass of freckles.
“How old are you?”
The young man glanced at the others, and Morgan heard small laughs.
“I’m old enough to fight, sir.”
“I’m not looking to send you home, boy. I just wanted to know how old you were.”
“Seventeen, sir.”
“Well, Mr. Seventeen, let me explain how an older man sees this ground. You’re thinking we should make for the Broad River. You think old Benny Tarleton might be too much for us to handle. You live around here?”
The young man was beginning to wilt under the attention, and Morgan could still hear the low laughs, smart comments from the others.
“Yes, sir. Up . . . thataway, sir. Across the river. My family’s got a farm . . .”
“Yes, I’m sure it’s a right lovely place. You itching to go home, then? It’s all right, boy, we’re all itching for something. Let me tell you what would happen to you if we crossed that river. You’d be thinking about that damned farm, your soft feather bed. Your mama probably cook up a big meal for you, your sweetheart would come cryin’ to you, all lathered up cause you’re home at last.”
“Sir, I wouldn’t run away . . .”
“Hell yes, you would, boy. A good many of your friends too. The rest of you, with your smart mouths. Militia, the lot of you. Some of you would stay with me, but the rest of you, you’d be like Mr. Seventeen here. Smell your mama’s cooking. Off you go. That’s why we’re going to stay down here, this side of the river.”
He looked out across the field.
“There’s another reason we’re going to stay here. You doubt I know something about the British?” He turned the horse, his back to the men, peeled off his coat. He pulled his shirt up, fought the stiffness in his back, the shirt now up to his shoulders, his bare back to the men. He heard the quiet gasps, smiled, said, “A long time ago, had some British boy about your age, Mr. Seventeen, thought he was an officer. Tried to tell me left was right, and when I argued the point, he slapped me with his sword. Ought not to have done that. I knocked him out of his boots.” He pulled the shirt down, turned, saw what he had always seen, wide-eyed stares, even from Washington. “They claimed they gave me five hundred lashes, but the British don’t count too well. There’s only four hundred ninety-nine. I told ’em they weren’t done, but they insisted. They still owe me one.” He let the story sink in for a minute. “If I know something about the British, it’s their arrogance. Benny Tarleton’s no different, maybe the worst of the lot. He’ll keep chasing us ’til he catches us. The only way to take care of him is pick the place. Let him find us where we want him to find us.” He looked at Washington, saw the man gazing out across the rolling grassy fields.
“You agree, Will?”
Washington nodded.
“We probably wouldn’t make the river anyway. Tarleton’s pushing his infantry hard. My cavalry’s not strong enough to hold him off for long.”
“Didn’t think so. Well, then, Mr. Seventeen, tell you what we’re going to do. You’re looking here at a very nice place to make a fight. I want you to go back and find Colonel Pickens, and tell him I need the militia up here as quick as they want to eat their supper. Take one of these smart mouths with you. We’ll camp out there, beyond that far hill. Get moving, boys!”
The young men seemed grateful to leave, pulled their horses around, and were gone. Morgan looked at Washington again.
“Bring the cavalry up here too. Plenty of hay in these fields. The horses will need their rest. If I’m right, Tarleton will be here in the morning.