The Incredible William Bowles. Joseph J. Millard
learn,” Pryne said disgustedly. “Tomorrow the fortunes of war may change again and they’ll pay dearly once more for their windy crowings.”
Washington had elected to make his stand on the heights along Brandywine Creek, southwest of the city. There he waited, while Philadelphia held its collective breath and the British advance rolled ponderously and steadily toward the collision. The night before the battle Pryne had an endless stream of visitors. He came down in the morning, openly exultant.
“We may see the end of the war today, Will. Washington’s in a trap and doesn’t know it. He thinks he’s commanding the only fords within twelve miles, but there’s an easy crossing he doesn’t know about. While a token force keeps him occupied, our scouts will lead the main army around behind to close the trap on the whole American army.”
The news that dribbled into Philadelphia throughout the day’s heavy fighting was fragmentary and confused, but the wagonloads of wounded that began pouring in around noon were real enough. It was not until after midnight that one of the Tory scouts slipped in with accurate information. Pryne came down, scowling and driving his fist into his palm.
“That fox! That devilish sly fox of a Washington! The man must be in league with Satan himself. Our plans went off without a hitch, but that rascal sensed the trap before it was closed. He took heavy losses, at least three times ours, but the point is he got his army away. He’s on the loose, with ample time to replenish his stores and hit us again.”
But now the good luck that had ridden at Washington’s side for so long abruptly deserted him. He was poised for a smashing attack when a violent cloudburst struck. The poorly made American cartridge boxes disintegrated in the downpour and four hundred thousand rounds of powder were ruined. The army had to flee ignominiously without firing a shot.
On the heels of that disaster, a Tory farmer betrayed the presence of “Mad Anthony” Wayne with two brigades in the woods near Paoli.
The British made a surprise attack with bayonets and the Paoli Massacre, as it became known, cost Wayne some hundred and fifty casualties. Worse, the thought of being skewered on British bayonets so unnerved Washington’s green militia troops that they deserted by battalions.
The crowning blow came with an impenetrable fog that turned the Battle of Germantown into bloody chaos. Philadelphia awoke to find the British army encamped only five miles out from their defenseless city. Congress fled to Lancaster, then on to York. The roads were once more clogged with the wagons and horses of fleeing patriots. Washington was some twenty-five miles off, trying to reorganize and re-inspire his battered army.
On September 25 British officers rode in through a driving rain and handed proclamations to several prominent citizens to be read to the public. The first occupation troops would not enter the city until the following morning. Meanwhile, the citizens were advised to organize patrols for the purpose of protecting the city through the night.
“The arrival of the British troops,” read the notices, “will be orderly. There will be no looting or seizures. The persons and property of all citizens will be respected and protected. Any supplies required for the subsistence of the troops will be paid for promptly and generously in pound sterling notes.”
Will, huddled under a wooden awning, heard the proclamation read to a large crowd gathered in the rain. There were scattered cheers from some loyalists, but for the most part the announcement was received in numb silence. Will headed back toward the shop, feeling as if a crushing weight was at last being lifted from his shoulders.
He was a block from the shop when a familiar voice hissed from the darkness of a deep doorway. “Will, lad! In here—quickly.”
Will darted into the doorway and made out the shadowy figure of Samuel Pryne. “What is it? What are you doing out here? What happened?”
“Betrayal,” Pryne said hoarsely. “For months we have unwittingly nursed a viper in our bosom, a spy for that infernal Council of Censors. He has betrayed our whole work and they mean to wreak their vengeance tonight, before our troops arrive to protect us.”
“Then you’re in danger every minute we stand here,” Will whispered. “We’d best get out of the city at once.”
“Not until the others are warned, Will. I want you to deliver this letter to Adam Fenter. And take this bottle of my medicine. If you’re stopped for questioning, say you’ve been sent to deliver a healing potion for his ill wife. Afterward, make your way out the Germantown Road to where General Cornwallis and his occupation force are camped, only two miles beyond the city. Under no circumstances come anywhere near the shop again.”
“But where will you be?”
“I’ll join you at camp as soon as I’ve recovered some vital letters from my bedroom. Now hurry! We’ve neither of us a moment to lose if we value our lives, Will.”
Will completed his errand without being halted or even encountering another person. The rain-washed streets were dark and empty of life. The whole city seemed paralyzed by the enormity of the disaster it had so long feared and anticipated.
At the corner of High Street again, Will turned westward toward the Germantown Road, but after a few steps he came to a stop. His mind was still reeling from the suddenness of the calamity. He knew that, as Pryne’s assistant and intimate, he could never convince the patriots that he was not a full partner in the whole conspiracy. If caught he would face the same penalty as the others.
But stronger than fear for his own safety was concern for the man who had become a second father to him. Pryne had flatly forbidden him to return to the vicinity of the apothecary shop. Suddenly nothing mattered but to find the gallant little druggist and see him safely to the British camp. Will whirled and went back down High Street at a grim trot.
A block from his destination he stopped in a doorway to reconnoiter. As far as he could see, there was not a living soul on High Street and the shop looked exactly as he had left it earlier that evening. A soft, reassuring glow of light came through the small-paned window.
After a cautious wait, Will angled across the street and peered in the window.
His body went rigid and a cold chill raised the nape of his neck. Behind the peaceful facade, the shop was a shambles. The flickering light of a single candle glinted on piles of broken glass and dark puddles of spilled liquids. The counter and shelves had been ruthlessly smashed to splinters. Bottles of medicine had been shattered against the walls, leaving great ugly stains. A glow of candlelight came from the back room but there was no sign of life or movement.
With ice in his veins and his heart in his throat, Will gently lifted the latch and stepped into the shop, his boots crunching loudly on the litter of broken glass. He stood for a long moment, listening and hearing no sound from either the back room or Pryne’s quarters above.
At last he stepped cautiously toward the doorway into the back, stabbed by a gnawing fear of what he might see. He stepped through and stopped short, his breath locking in his throat.
His eyes met the same scene of frenzied destruction, but that he had expected. What he had not anticipated was the gaunt, coarse-featured man in homespun who sat on the wreckage of his bed. A cocked musket lay across the stranger’s bony knees, its muzzle gaping straight at Will’s middle.
“Come in, boy,” the man said in a rough voice. “Come all the way in and tell me who ye are and what you’re doin’ here. And I give ye fair warning, boy, if your story doesn’t tickle my fancy, you’re in trouble. Bad, bad trouble.”
Chapter 7
“Well? Well? Speak out, boy. Has the cat got your tongue, or do ye expect I’ll allow you the rest of the night to think up a good lie?”
“I expect you’d allow me to catch my wits,” Will managed sullenly. “It’s not every night I walk in to find a shop all broken up and a stranger pointing a gun at me. I’d say you’re the one ought to be coming out with an explanation.”
“Never you mind that, boy.” The pale, cold, suspicious eyes narrowed. “You