South Carolina
August 1784
He heard distant roaring, as if from a waterfall. Occasionally shouts and running feet would join in, but always the waterfall. Strangely it smelt of human sweat and tasted like blood. He lifted his face to feel the water, but nothing. Still hot air, and so very dark. Occasionally he'd see a flash like lightning and pain would sear across his chest, but otherwise nothing.
Finally the flashes and pain settled and he dreamt of a clear, spring day. Cassie was there in a yellow dress with Christina on her lap, clapping her hands. Tom Heyward sat there as well, their past troubles forgotten, and he had a woman with her...Anne Whiting? Something about her presence soured the dream, adding a dark undertone to the otherwise pleasant...picnic?
They talked amiably for some time, John would never remember about what. Suddenly Tom stood, scattering their picnic. His pupils widened to engulf his eyes so they looked black, soulless. He pointed behind John and shouted, "LOOK OU...."
John Preston woke with a start, half sitting up. His ribs instantly noted this wasn't proper behavior and he fell back, gasping.
"You're awake, Colonel," said a voice from the darkness. "I'm pleased."
"Governor?" John asked. He twisted his head this way and that. "Where are you?"
"Nearby," Moultrie answered. "Try not to move. You have three ribs stove in and I don't have any medicine."
Preston sat up anyway, despite his chest's strong disapproval. It made it easier to breathe. He sat, gasping for awhile. God, he was tired. "Where are we?"
"The Arsenal, so pardon my not striking a flint." Moultrie sounded amused. He paused as people shouted Þnearby. Impossible to tell what they wanted. "You've been asleep for maybe two hours."
"The Arsenal?" Across the street from St. Michael's and the State House. The center of town. "God, we have to get out of here!"
"You're not going anywhere. Anyway, they'll not think to look for us here."
"They'll want ammunition...powder, shot."
"Do you hear gunfire? No, John. The fight between your Guard and General Allen's traitors ended an hour ago. We won't know who won until morning."
Preston grunted.
Moultrie shifted, a soft rustling sound and something glass rattled towards John. "Whiskey. It may ease the pain."
He groped around until he found the bottle and gulped it down. "What happened after I.. after the fight?"
The governor didn't reply for several seconds. "When Allen's men ambushed us, I ran into the nearest building and from there to here. We were outnumbered and my fighting days are behind me. You appeared and made a bold effort, but too late. I saw their leader beat you..."
"Pierce. Captain Pierce. He wanted to kill me so he could take over."
Moultrie paused. "Did he?" His tone hardened. "How unfortunate for him." He took a moment or two to master himself then continued: "You stabbed him and there was some argument about what to do next. They left you there to go help with the fight at the docks. That's when I came out and dragged you back here." Somewhere a musket fired. More shouts.
Preston nodded at the darkness, leaned against a barrel and closed his eyes.
"How did you do it?" Moultrie asked curiously.
"Eh?" John drank some more, the warmth in his stomach displacing the pain nicely.
"The Guard. Under Captain Barcer they could barely load a gun, yet here they've stood line to line against a professional army and at least fought them to a standstill. How did you train them?"
Preston shrugged. "I took your advice. You said,
Don't listen to what others say, pay attention to what you see. If you don't like it, don't haunt them about it but help them find ways to do better. Then I stole a page from von Stupi...er...Baron von Steuben: I found some folk who agreed with me, we worked out what we wanted to see, trained some folk and taught them to train their mates and so down the line."
"I see."
"What will we do tomorrow?" Preston asked.
"If your men won, then we let them find us and bring you to a doctor. If not, the innocent people of this town will wonder what is amiss. We will find someone we can trust and proceed from there."
"Alright." Preston was too tired to care, and the whiskey offered a warm, welcoming darkness. "We'll have to get a message to Cassie." He closed his eyes again. "I guess I'm in your debt."
"For what?"
"For the rescue. And the drink."
Moultrie smiled at the night. "Loyal service is the only payment I require."