South Carolina
August 1784
"Is he the last of them?" asked Major General Roland Steving. The Virginian peered down the long table at Colonel Preston. As the closest general officer Governor Moultrie could get his hands on, he presided over the series of tribunals and court martials that dominated Charleston.
Preston flipped through his notes. "Yes, he's number forty."
"Thank God!" cried a North Carolinan colonel, rubbing his face. "I declare, this last week has been harder than receiving British cannon!"
"Was you in the war?" Preston asked, whose pock-marked face resulted from just such an encounter, .
"No sir, but it cannot be as bad as this!"
Steving leaned back and nodded at a servant, a young lieutenant who hoped this would get him noticed. The boy ran forward, filling Steving's glass of water before doing the same for the other four judges. "It will be good to go home," he said.
The other South Carolinan colonel and a Massachusetts lieutenant-colonel unlucky enough to be passing through nodded grimly.
"Will you be alright here, Colonel Preston?" asked the latter. "I see your 'Guard' in the streets maintaining order, but the people seem uneasy. Frightened."
"We don't need your help," he snapped.
"What I am
sure the Colonel means," Steving interrupted firmly, "is that it is natural people should be concerned after recent events. I am certain after our work is done and the Guard can relax their vigil, life will return to some semblance of order."
"Speaking of work," the North Carolinan said, "is there any doubt about this last man? Private...?"
"Cheshire," Preston said. "Adam Cheshire."
"It's a shame," the South Carolinan offered. "Such a young chap."
John smiled but said nothing. Moultrie already promised to pardon them all after the trials. He just wanted to scare them first.... except for Captain Pierce. As the highest ranking rebel (no sign of Allen alas),
he would hang. Preston's smile broadened.
Everyone shook their head regarding Cheshire's fate. Steving glanced at the two soldiers flanking the door. "Bring him in."
A moment later the former soldier, not yet twenty in a white shirt and pants, darted his head around looking for a sign of hope from the cold, grim faces.
Steving cleared his throat and glanced at the clerk, who nodded. "At a court-martial assembled and held in Charleston, South Carolina - the court being first duly sworn proceeded in pursuance of a request from William Moultrie, Governor of South Carolina, his charges, if upheld, constituting a violation of the Articles of War - and having examined the occasion, and maturely and deliberately considered every circumstance, the court is of the opinion that Private Cheshire did attempt to execute an insurrection against the lawful authority of a member of the United States."
"It isn't true!" Cheshire cried. He lunged forward, but one of the soldiers restrained him.
"And in so doing," Steving roared, "Private Cheshire was, in concert with his fellows, responsible for the death of seventeen members of the South Carolina militia. He is condemned accordingly and remanded to the custody of the State of South Carolina with the recommendation of death by hanging."
Cheshire struggled. "It isn't true!" he repeated as the two soldiers dragged him away. "It isn't true!"
In the appalled silence that followed, the Massachusetts colonel turned to Preston. "You're quite satisfied as to his guilt?"
"We found him with the others," Preston replied grimly.
-----------
Governor William Moultrie stood under the hastily erected gallows at Cummins Point. He'd expected something of a crowd, but after a night of terror followed by three weeks of uncertainty it seemed the entire town wanted to see this end.
Men loyal to Preston found the two of them the next morning. John's ribs would need time to heal, but otherwise he'd be sound. He had to admit the Carolina Guard did well keeping order, heavily patrolling the town looking for trouble that never came.
Four nooses hung from the gallows. One was already occupied by the defiant, glaring Captain Pierce. Flanking one end of the platform sat a cannon, armed with grapeshot and aimed at the thirty-nine nervous, condemned men herded into a small pen like cattle by Preston's Guard. Some distance away from them men, women and even children from town watched expectantly.
Moultrie frowned at them. He needed to handle this delicately. "Colonel Preston!?" he roared to be heard by the crowd.
He strode forward. "Sir?"
The governor looked at the pen. "These are the men lawfully condemned by court martial?"
Preston glanced their way. No one could possibly have slipped in or out. "Yes, sir."
"Good." Moultrie walked towards them. Captain Pierce took this opportunity to spit in his face. The governor turned and
smiled. "I will deal with you soon enough." Back to the condemned: "Men!"
John glanced at Cassie and winked. The reprieve.
"You have been found guilty of a capital offense. Let it not be said, however, that Carolina is without a sense of mercy. Therefore, while you may never hold office, and must spent a period of penance serving the needs of the military, in recognition of your past service to this country the sentence of death is repealed. You may go to your families."
Hope. Smiles. One cheer, quickly cut off. The crowd seemed mixed, some pleased and others uncertain. Preston grinned.
"With the following exceptions!"
His grin died.
"Privates McCallum, Bunch and Cheshire, Their crimes are greater than the others.
You will deliver them to the gallows. Now."
John stepped forward. "Sir..."
"Not now, John." Moultrie glared at the reluctant men, shifting and looking away. "Deliver them now, or I will order the gunner to fire into you!"
"Sir!"
Moultrie whirled. "As you were, Colonel!"
Self preservation overcame camaraderie and friendship. Three separate scuffles broke out within the pen. Men strong armed their thrashing, crying former companions. Guardsmen seized and dragged them forward.
A woman burst from the crowd and fell to her knees at Moultrie's feet. "Please governor, he's my husband!"
He turned and stared down at her. "What of it?"
"Please be merciful!"
"As he was merciful to the seventeen men he helped butcher?" Moultrie cried. He glared at Preston. "Pick her up. She's embarrassing herself."
John opened his mouth, closed it as the governor turned his back on them. He looked at the solemn, wide-eyed crowd. Cassie looked like she might pass out. Grunting he reached for the woman. "Come, ma'am."
She didn't stand. "Please!"
Preston's ribs arced fresh lightning bolts of pain along his spine as he tried to lift her. "Come on!" he growled, finally wrenching her up.
On the platform, Governor Moultrie walked to Pierce. The condemned captain turned and spat. Once more Moultrie smiled and nodded to the executioner. "Mask him."
"I don't need a mask!"
"Mask him anyway," Moultrie growled. The executioner obeyed, then did the same for the three trembling privates. One forgot himself in his anxiety, another muttered prayers with St. Michael's reverend.
He leaned close to Pierce. "I told you I wanted Preston alive. You disobeyed me. You shouldn't have done that, Kyle."
"Eh?" Pierce asked, muffled by the mask. "Allen? H..how? It's...that's not possible!"
"Anything's possible." Moultrie stood back and signaled the executioner, who pulled his lever. The three privates died instantly, their necks broken. He'd made sure they cut Pierce's rope too short: He dangled and thrashed as it slowly choked his life away.
Reaction from the crowd ranged from excitement through sorrow. Moultrie waited until Pierce died before stepping forward. "Such is the fate of all who keep treason in their hearts. Rejoice, for today justice has been done and in so doing we serve the Lord."
--------
Some time later, after the crowd dispersed and thirty-six dazed convicts returned to their lives, John approached. "Governor?"
Moultrie continued communing with Pierce's body for several seconds, an amused smile on his face before turning. His smile faded at Preston's confused anger.
"The three privates. Why? I thought you were releasing all of them?"
"You thought wrong."
"They were all equally guilty. Why single them out?"
"Why not?" Moultrie asked coldly.
"Governor! I....That's not justice! That's..."
"Barbaric? Go ahead, say it. Words do not frighten me." He smiled. "You would be wrong though, it is barbarism that we are fighting against."
"That doesn't make sense!"
"It makes perfect sense." Moultrie indicated the three dead soldiers. "Do you know what 'decimate' means?"
"To destroy utterly."
"In effect. It is Roman." He turned to John. "When a legion fled, turned or otherwise did something unforgivable it wasn't productive to destroy every last man. Instead, assuming everyone was equally guilty, they picked one out of every ten - deci. They then ordered the other nine to kill them. If they refused, they too would die. The other nine always chose life over loyalty."
"By doing this, the Roman commander took away any sense of camaraderie or mutual support these traitors may have felt for their action. It replaced pride with shame and ensured they would never rise up again. It also warned the other legions that if they also betrayed the Empire or fled in battle, they too could be made to suffer, either in death or by surviving."
"You were supposed to win them over by pardoning them!" Preston cried. "They will hate you!"
"They already hate
us." Moultrie replied coldly. "Otherwise they wouldn't have risen up. Mercy without justice is weakness, it only encourages them to try again because they think we won't punish them. Now they know we will. They will still hate us. That cannot be changed. Now, however, they will fear us as well."
"And the town?" John demanded.
"Will be pleased that justice is served. Further, they will know that defying us invites a steep penalty indeed."
"I don't understand," Preston fumed.
"I know." Moultrie smiled again. "I will teach you."
