Robert Conroy - Liberty - 1784

“No one seems quite sure, but they departed during the night along with a number of men and several other ranking officers. Apparently they felt that surrender was all too likely and neither man felt they would survive capture and imprisonment because of the crimes they’ve committed against the rebels. Tarleton is a murderer and Arnold is a traitor to the rebels. Joseph Brant and his handful of surviving Iroquois have also fled, as has Girty.”

Burgoyne sat heavily on his camp stool. He began to shake and an unbidden tear fell down his cheek. It couldn’t be happening again, could it? He had spent so much time and political capital recovering from his surrender at Saratoga and now was history going to repeat itself? The gods could not be that cruel, could they?

Of course they could, he thought bitterly. His army was effectively leaderless, low on food and ammunition, and surrounded by an enemy that would only grow stronger as word of his weakness grew. He could march his mauled army to a strong point and fortify, but to what avail? What relief column would be coming to help him? No, they would starve. The rebels ate the fish from the lakes, but he doubted there were enough fish to sustain his mauled army.

Even if Cornwallis were so inclined, he had been left with only a small, defensive force with which to hold New York and a handful of other cities.

Burgoyne pulled himself to his feet. He loved theater and it was time for him to put on a bravura performance. He forced a smile.

“James, my dear cousin, kindly find a drummer and inform General Stark that I would talk with him.”

A few dozen mounted scouts under William Washington rode well ahead of the main body as it entered the city of New York. Behind them came a company of mounted rangers led by Owen Wells.

The British appeared to have left the devastated city, but no one trusted them. The last of their ships, a pair of frigates, were still in sight but well out of cannon range and headed towards the Narrows. The ship of the line carrying Lord Charles Cornwallis was but a distant speck on the horizon. But who knew if they’d left bombs or assassins in the ruins of what had once been the proud and prosperous city of New York?

The scouts signaled that all was well and the main body, some fifty senior officers on horseback, plus a thousand or so infantry marching behind, moved cautiously forward. After a while, they reached the tip of Manhattan Island and halted.

“What a dismal sight,” General John Stark said. There was no argument. They were surrounded by ruins. Before leaving, the British had torched what remained of the city and blown up the fortifications in what appeared to be nothing but an act of mindless spite.

“No matter,” the general said laconically. “New York didn’t exist at one time and it can be built again.”

This was important as a rebuilt New York was high on the list of possible locations for the capital of the new country. The congress currently resided at Philadelphia, and there was agitation for a decision to be made regarding its permanent location. Was it to remain in Philadelphia or elsewhere, such as New York, or even a new city that would be built in the south? Some were campaigning for such a new city along the Potomac River. For the time being, it would be in Philadelphia.

Even if New York didn’t become the capital, the magnificent harbor and the wide Hudson River leading to the country’s interior meant that a new and prosperous city would soon be rebuilt on the site.

It had been a year since Burgoyne’s surrender at what Americans were referring to as the Battle of Fort Washington, despite the fact that Fort Washington had been a couple of miles away from the fighting. But then, thought Will, the battle of Bunker Hill had taken place on Breed’s Hill and nobody seemed to care.

Burgoyne had been paroled and allowed to go home in disgrace, while his army had been held in captivity until a treaty was signed. When that occurred, the British found to their dismay that about half the men taken prisoner had no intention of returning to Great Britain. The addition of several thousand trained soldiers was welcomed by Stark, although many in Congress argued that, with victory, there was no need for such a large standing army.

Numerous people had escaped death on both sides. Tarleton and Arnold had emerged in Canada after a long trek through the woods, and Simon Girty was now active down the Mississippi, stealing and killing near Spanish-held New Orleans.

On the American side, John Adams, Alexander Hamilton, and Henry Knox had escaped from captivity on Jamaica, thanks to the exploits of John Paul Jones. Diplomat John Laurens had been released from the Tower of London. He and John Jay had negotiated a treaty between Great Britain and the colonies. After the defeat at Fort Washington, the British decided they wanted nothing more to do with fighting the thirteen colonies who were now calling themselves the United States of America. The defeat had struck George III particularly hard and there were rumors that he was mentally unhinged by the event.

Thomas Jefferson, author of the Declaration of Independence, was dead of a fever that had gripped him while in prison. Dead, too, was Benjamin Franklin. His aging body had finally given out, but not his mind, which had remained sharp and clear to the end.

Franklin’s death had struck Sarah particularly hard. She had come to love the old man as a father or grandfather. Will had become fond of him as well, and his well-attended funeral had served as a memorial for all who had died in the war and the final battle at Fort Washington.

Will was maybe fifty yards behind the more senior officers and generals, which gave him time to think and muse. He realized that he had ridden past the spot where the prison hulk Suffolk had gone down. There was nothing, not even a piece of rotten wood sticking out of the water to remind him of that horrible part of his past.

To his astonished pleasure, Homer had simply showed up the night before. He’d been living in Halifax, Canada, and had returned to see just what the new nation would be like. Since he considered himself to be a rebel, he was uncomfortable with the fact that thousands of Tories were migrating to the Halifax area. He also wanted to see what remained of the city where he had spent almost all of his life.

“It’s my home and the home of my ancestors,” he’d said. “Of course I’m interested in what’s going to happen. If I like what I see, I’ll return here, find a good woman and set up shop doing odd jobs. It’s also too damn cold up in Canada. Of course, I’ll probably have to stop stealing stuff and killing people.”

“Probably a good idea,” Will had said with mock solemnity.

“Unless, of course, they try to cheat me or steal from me. Then they might deserve it.”

“Understood. Now, do you still call yourself Homer or something else?”

Homer had laughed. “My real name is Homer. Homer Brentwood, and I come from a long line of Brentwoods and, no, I have no idea where the name Brentwood is from. I was having you on when I said that Homer might not be my real name.”

They’d spent the rest of the evening talking and catching up. Homer declined to march in the victory parade. Instead, he was back with Sarah, waiting for the reoccupation of the city to take place.

Benjamin Tallmadge had suffered an emotional collapse and simply disappeared. It was said that he felt responsible for the carnage of the battle. After all, it was Tallmadge who had Hannah forge Cornwallis’ signature to a “message” from Cornwallis ordering the army’s return to begin within a week of receipt. Owen, dressed in a British uniform, had delivered it. Even though the battle had resulted in an American victory, it had been too much bloodshed for Tallmadge to deal with.