-= 100 =-
10 January, 1782
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Captain John Andre, a/k/a Jonathan Andrews of New Hampshire, repeatedly wondered how these Americans had achieved so much. In his youth he'd seen dog fights in London, animals beaten into viciousness tearing each other apart, and they reminded him of this Congress. Reverend Witherspoon had been right: They showed almost no unity whatsoever. Indeed it was from their discussions that Andre's plan was born: If the peace treaty could please enough states, then it would pass even if other states were hurt in the bargain, and the northerners had far more votes than the south.
"Indeed, what escapes me," Edward Rutledge roared, "is how intelligent men such as yourselves can even consider this
odious proposal!" He was out of form today and he knew it. The God damned Brits had crushed his plans without even trying! "With apologies to our honored guest," he sketched a bow in the British woman's direction, "her masters obviously believe us fools, easily pacified by inconsequential grants of land that not only fail to strengthen America, but in fact weaken her!"
"Stuff," John Adams admonished. "This is land our scouts have been through in the past few years. Prime land, sparsely settled at best. This is exactly what we need, Mister Rutledge: Land to expand and develop. Land that my children and your children can use to make America great. We wanted to announce ourselves to the world, Mister Rutledge, and if this does not make clear that we are a power to be reckoned with, I do not know what will!"
"It is not power our brother nations will consider when they see this treaty, but how easily we are duped. I've read these scout reports, Mister Adams. You said yourself: sparsely settled. A series of trading outposts and farms connected by a road system that even the Indians would scoff at! How much will it cost to maintain these settlements? More than we can earn in taxes, I assure you. How much harder will it be for us to maintain order in the nation if and when we have to station a permanent garrison by Hudson Bay of all places?"
"The chair recognizes Mrs. Foster?"
The British woman rose and lifted her chin defiantly to the men. Fools, all of them. She glanced at Captain Andre, then turned to Rutledge, the only real danger in the room. "I regret that South Carolina is concerned by our proposal," she began mildly, "but I assure him there is no dark conspiracy to make anyone look foolish. Our only goal is peace - an honorable peace. While some people in this room might wish that Britain abandons all her possessions in North America, that is not reasonable and will not happen." Foster gripped the chair in front of her and smiled at the northern delegates.
"I am gratified that others agree that we have spent enough time fighting each other. Britain's interests have been and will be with her colonies and friends. You have declread you are not the former, so we are interested in the latter. I do not need to counsel you gentlemen that as a nation, indeed as a world power there are protocols to be observed...and one of them is not to embarass your foe unnecessarily. It is not civilized. You wished to make a point, and do so by arms? Very well, we concede your point. There is no more need for bloodshed." She cast a glance over her shoulder. "Or does South Carolina believe the only good Englishman is a dead one?"
Rutledge rose stiffly. "Certainly not," he answered a little coldly. "However, we do expect that if Britain is so eager for peace, as all right thinking men are, they will make a reasonable offer. Savannah and Saint Augustine are in our hands. Mobile, Montreal and most of the St. Lawrence River valley are under siege. New Brunswick is under our control. With a few adjustments I am certain we can reach a compromise."
"It grieves me to dispute you." Foster didn't sound grieved. "But I do not have the authority to negotiate, but only present. This is what His Majesty's government is prepared to offer at this time. I
suppose if you wanted to present a counteroffer, you could do so..in London."
"Agreed." Rutledge turned. "Mister Thomson, I would like to prepare a counterproposal to be sent to..."
"That would take weeks," John Jay of New York interrupted, "then weeks more to sail to England, get a response and come home. C'mon Rutledge, be reasonable!" He had no wish to see New York invaded
again, not with Arnold's army now unable to protect them.
"Haven't we all forgotten something important?" John Hanson of Maryland retorted.
"What?" Jay demanded. Andre leaned forward, interested.
"Georgia. Gentlemen, this treaty is interesting but it leaves Georgia squarely in enemy... in British hands. Doctor Hall has been with us since day one offering us counsel and advice. Georgia was one of our reasons for going to war!" He pointed to the embarassed and upset doctor. "If we are indeed united, if what we wrote in Jefferson's letter about pledging our lives, fortunes and honor is to have any meaning, then it must apply to all the states. You
will find Doctor Hall's signature on that letter!"
"Hear him!"
Adams shook his head. "Oh be quiet, Rutledge!" He paused. "Georgia will be in good hands. If you look in Article IX of the treaty, you see general amnesty is offered to anyone who joined us during the fighting. We made sure Hall and his family would be cared for. Mister Thomson, this bickering is pointless. I call for a vote!"
"Do we have a second?" Thomson dipped his pen in ink and began writing.
"Aye," New York answered.
"Fine. Resolved, the British proposal for an end to hostilities received on the 19th day of December, 1781 should be accepted. Please indicate your agreement by voting aye, or rejection with nay. New Hampshire?"
"New Hampshire's not ready," Andre replied. "Please come back to me." No sense revealing his hand unless it became necessary.
"Massachusetts?"
"Aye!" Adams slammed his hand on the table.
New York agreed also, eager to reclaim their lands. Rhode Island and Connecticut followed their stronger neighbors. New Jersey's new delegate, shaken by Witherspoon's death, was eager for peace and a chance to settle in. Pennsylvania wanted time to figure out what to do with the Shawnee on their border and also agreed.
"Delaware?"
Thomas McKean had served off and on since 1774. America would remain free, that's all he cared about. "Aye."
"Fine," Thomson looked up. "The motion passes, and..."
"I would like the rest of the congress polled, if you please," Rutledge called coldly.
"That is your right." Thomson didn't see the point, but shrugged. "Maryland?"
"Maryland votes no," Hanson answered angrily.
"Virginia?"
James Madison glanced at Hanson. His orders were to vote yes, but he saw no reason to antagonize
both Virginia's neighbors on a vote that no longer mattered. "No." Not surprisingly, North and South Carolina followed suit.
"Georgia?"
Hall rose unsteadily. "After my vote it will be 7 to 5," he announced softly. "Seven votes to violate your promises to your brothers in arms. Seven votes for expediency rather than honor. Seven votes to betray friends and allow tyrannny to prevail. Will not one of you recast your vote?" He paused. "No one?" The silence lengthened.
Finally Thomson coughed uncomfortably. "Georgia votes nay?" he asked gently.
Lyman Hall looked around one last time. For a moment he slumped and Rutledge reached for him, but shrank at the Georgian's furious glare. Slowly he walked to the room's large tally board. It consisted of thirteen blocks, one for each state, running on slides between yea and nay. It remained unused now that Congress had no clerk. Patiently, using a long stick, Hall updated the board. When he reached the last slot, he tore Georgia's block off the board and held it.
"My only regret," he announced quietly, "is that I should have lived to see this day. The words you wrote to the different assemblies, promising freedom, justice and brotherhood were lies. Your pledges to support and defend each other were worth less than the paper you used to write them. Even the youngest child, even the basest knave knows better than to abandon his friends!"
"Doctor Hall," New Jersey began. "You are hardly being just. The matters before us..."
"Oh, do shut up," Hall snapped. "Since '73 your state has not once suffered at British hands, not once seen the switch of reprisal nor the carrot of a broken promise. Mine has seen both repeatedly. It is far easier to cry that it's time to stop fighting when your people aren't the ones suffering! No sir! You will be silent! I have observed all of you for years, watching your bickering, double dealing and outright stabs in the hope that this Congress would come together long enough to accomplish one good thing, and in the end you cannot even be trusted to keep your word. He regarded them coldly. "You want respect? One must earn respect, and all you have proven today is that you are liars and cowards, and that when the trials grow too rough you will turn on each other like rabid dogs." He threw the block down, and stalked out.
"Get up," Edward hissed.
"Eh?" John Rutledge jerked, then nodded and stood.
"Where are you going?" Adams demanded, rising.
"The air in here is a bit rancid," Rutledge retorted. He walked out, followed shortly by the North Carolina, Virginia and Maryland delegations.
------------------------------------
North of Mobile, British West Florida
Smoke still whispered upwards, grey and black on pale blue as Thomas Heyward approached the campsite, flanked on either side by Colonel Preston and Dieter von Zahringen. Two Indian trackers brought by the German fanned out on either side, while three American scouts rode ahead.
"He was just behind this hill," von Zahringen reported solemnly. "I left him tied to a tree with five Cherokee guards."
"Obviously it wasn't enough," Preston retorted, glancing at Tom worriedly. Heyward had never recovered from his first brush with Stewart, continued to ramble about his greater evil. It was General Steving who'd finally convinced him that only through decisive action could this war end and the killing stop. Steving insisted it was all shock, that it must be somewhat disconcerting to know someone is trying to kill you in cold blood. John wasn't so sure.
He suspected Heyward was going insane.
Tom seemed game enough when he'd heard Stewart was captured, however. He would've ridden in the middle of the night if they'd let him. "You're sure he wasn't hurt when you left him?"
"A blow to the head, nothing more." von Zahringen shook his head. "My Indians were very careful. They wouldn't have started a fire, and I assure you Herr Stewart couldn't have."
"Isn't it obvious? Stewart escaped. Probably sliced up your Indians too," Preston huffed.
"I doubt this."
"He's still there," Tom informed them.
He has to be!
One of the Indians turned to the Badener and said something.
"He believes your scouts should have returned by now," von Zahringen turned back.
"He has a point." Preston drew his pistol. "Wait here." He kicked his horse lightly and rode up the hill.
Heyward slowed to a stop and sighed as von Zahringen drew his new rifle and studied it intently. Awkwardly he opened the side breech and inserted a bullet.
"It's backwards."
"Pardon?"
"The bullet's backwards." Heyward turned expressionlessly.
"Is it?" von Zahringen sounded pleased. "How did you know? I've never seen a gun like this before!"
"I have." Heyward returned his gaze to the hill. He nudged his horse into a trot.
"Where are you going!?"
"I have questions for Mister Stewart."
They found Preston and his scouts in the campsite, staring at a tree. One man had already been sick: The smell of a surgeon's tent in mid-battle - vomit, feces, blood and fear - filled the air. Another scout crossed himself repeatedly and muttered a prayer that sounded suspiciously Catholic. von Zahringen paled. Preston made an automatic grab for Tom's reins, but Heyward simply rode past him and stared up.
Henry Stewart had been nailed to the tree, dangling by his shattered wrists. Someone had sliced his side open, and behind the stinking, bloody wound Tom could clearly see part of his large intestine. Heyward regarded him silently.
Damn.
The Indians finally caught up. After exchanging a shocked glance and wondering at the savagery of the white man they began searching for clues among the broken bodies of their friends. None, just a footprint no one could identify...a huge footprint.
"Bloody hell," Preston swore. "He's alive!"
Heyward looked up quickly. Stewart's eyes were open, though he doubted the assassin could truly see anything. "Who did this?" Tom demanded.
"..who?" Stewart asked through broken, blood crusted lips. If he felt any pain, if he felt anything at all it didn't appear.
"Who did this to you?"
"General Heyward," von Zahringen offered. "Perhaps..."
"TELL ME!" Tom roared. He jumped off his horse and shook Stewart's tree, eliciting a weak, shrill cry. "TELL ME!"
"General!"
"Tom!"
"...black..."
Heyward glanced at von Zahringen's appalled face. "Mister Black? Your superior?"
"...yes..."
"Is he a Nazi?" No response. "Wake up, damn you!" Heyward shook the tree again. "Is he a Nazi? I said, IS HE A..."
"Yes!" Stewart cried with the last of his strength before slumping again.
Tom stared for a moment. "Just so." He mounted his horse and turned for the army camp.
Preston and von Zahringen exchanged glances. "Uh...Tom? I mean, General?"
Heyward stopped his horse but didn't turn. "Yes?"
"We can't leave him like this. It's not..."
human.
"Eh?" Tom glanced over his shoulder. "Right." He drew his pistol and casually shot his nemesis in the head. "Burn the body. Tell no one about this."
He rode away.
END OF PART TWO
