Robert Conroy - Liberty - 1784

Owen’s escape from Manhattan Island had gone extremely well at first. He’d managed to land his stolen boat on Staten Island, and had carefully snuck across to New Jersey and then into Pennsylvania. There he’d felt emboldened enough to work his way openly north and west. He’d had no specific plans. All he wanted to do was put time and distance between himself and the authorities in New York.

He’d been no fool and had kept away from the trails and occasional road. He also avoided contact with the few households and bypassed the villages. He assumed that anyone who looked prosperous was a Tory, while anyone who looked impoverished would turn him in for a reward. If he saw a traveler, he hid in the brush. During the days and weeks of his journey, he’d rehoned the skills he’d possessed as a youthful poacher in his native Wales. Although he occasionally regretted throwing away his musket, he didn’t need it to catch food. A trap and snare made from local materials were more than enough to catch rabbits and squirrels and he reveled in their taste when cooked over a small fire that was also easy to make.

Thus, getting caught was gallingly stupid. Why had he thought he was far enough away from British-controlled land to ask someone how far he was away from this “Liberty” place? He had naively presumed that people so far from New York and well into Pennsylvania would be rebels and that he could drop his guard. But no, he had run into a small band of bounty hunters looking for rebels and deserters just like him, and now he faced being dragged back to New York and hanged if he was lucky. If he was unlucky, he’d be sentenced to a thousand lashes, which meant that he would be flogged to death, screaming his lungs out for the mercy of death while the white bones of his ribs and spine were exposed to the air. He’d seen men whipped like that and watched as they became something less than tormented animals before they finally died.

Stupid, stupid, stupid he said to himself. The four-man bounty hunter team was now drunk and asleep. The bayonet he’d kept lay beside one of them. It was further proof that he was a deserter.

The small fire they’d burned was dying out and Owen wished they’d thought enough to feed him. They hadn’t, and were only giving him water to sustain him. They’d rather reasonably decided that it made no sense to waste food on someone who was going to die anyhow, and a weakened prisoner was easier to control.

Owen froze when he sensed rather than heard motion in the trees behind him. It was not an animal-too large. It had to be a man. Maybe it was an Indian who would slice his throat and then scalp him. As horrible as it sounded, that would be preferable to what the Royal Navy would do to him when they got their hands on him. Whoever it was, he was only tolerably good at prowling through the woods. And whoever it was apparently didn’t want the four sleepers to wake up, which meant he wasn’t on their side. Owen tried not to hope and didn’t make any kind of a sound or move. His captors were drunk, but that didn’t mean they might not suddenly wake up and get vicious.

He continued to hold still when he felt a gentle tugging at the rope that curled behind the tree to which he was bound. It sagged and he was free. A firm hand on his shoulder meant that he should stay still. He did as he was told. Then the hand tapped him and gestured for him to move away from the camp. Owen’s muscles were cramped and he found it difficult to walk silently, but he managed to do so without alerting the sleeping outlaws. His rescuer followed a few seconds later.

When they were a ways away, Owen whispered. “Why didn’t you kill them?”

His liberator turned. He now carried a pair of muskets taken from the bandits and a pistol was stuck in his belt. Owen didn’t see his bayonet and didn’t care. The hell with it, he thought.

“It would be murder and I’ve done enough of that lately. Don’t worry. They won’t follow us without weapons.”

Owen gulped at the response. “Then tell me who you are.”

“I have the guns so you tell me first.”

Owen thought that was reasonable. After all, hadn’t the man risked a lot to untie him? He told him and, as they continued to trot through the forest, he quickly explained that he was a deserter from the Royal Navy and how he’d managed to get his stupid self captured. He added that he sincerely hoped his new friend had nothing to do with the English.

The other man laughed. “I’m Captain Will Drake of the Continental Army. If you really want to find that Liberty place I’ll help you. If it exists, of course.”

“You’ve been there, Captain?”

“No, but I think I stand a better chance of finding it than you do.”

Owen grinned. “And you’re less likely to make a fool of yourself by getting caught like I did. I’d be honored to serve under you, Captain.”

“I thought you might,” said Will. They’d come to the place where Will had been camping. They were a couple of miles away from the bounty hunters camp and had heard nothing of an alarm behind them. The four men would have a most unpleasant surprise in the morning. Perhaps they’d even be thankful that their throats hadn’t been sliced.

Will handed him a spare musket. “Take this.”

Owen grasped it and checked it out. “You think those bastards might still come after us?”

“No. I’d been watching them for about a day and I don’t think they can track very well at all, not that I’m that much better.”

Owen chuckled. “You were good enough to free me without alerting them, Captain. Personally, I don’t think those four could find their asses in the dark with both hands.”

* * *

Sarah and her family had also traveled into Pennsylvania, but that only put them close to the English troops headquartered at Fort Pitt and the adjacent city of Pittsburgh. Banastre Tarleton, the English general commanding the sprawling area, had troops and patrols on the lookout for people heading to and from the rebel enclave out west. His cavalry roamed the trails and roads looking for people to stop and question.

Thus, when they heard the thunder of hooves behind them, they quickly ducked into the thick bushes that lined the trail they’d been following. They dismounted and held their horses steady. Sarah and the others held their breath as about twenty green-coated cavalry pounded past. “Tarleton’s men,” her uncle muttered. “Dragoons, and Tories all, damn them.”

They waited. The enemy seemed to be on a mission, looking for someone or something. Finally, Uncle Wilford stood. “Time to get moving, I guess. But we’re staying off the trail.”

There was no argument. They began to move cautiously through the woods on foot, leading their horses to keep them quiet. After a short while, they heard the sounds of cries and screams. They looked at each other. Whatever was happening up ahead could have easily happened to them. Nobody wished ill on anyone else, but that’s how it sometimes happened. They’d gotten lucky and that’s all there was to it.

Wilford led by a few yards. He paused and signaled the others to wait, but that Sarah should come forward. He indicated that she should crouch or crawl and she complied. He pushed the branches of a bush aside and she saw what had happened.

A group of maybe a dozen travelers had been intercepted by the dragoons who had just ridden past them. There were men and a handful of women along with a couple of children. The women were on the ground, naked, and were being held down and raped by Tarleton’s men, who were whooping and hollering as they took their turns. The men in the group, also naked, were all bound and gagged, except for one man who lay limp and bloody on the ground, probably dead. The children ran around screaming hysterically and were ignored by the British, except for one who was kicked by a dragoon when he tried to get close to one of the women.