“Yes, sir.”
The general knelt and took a map from his pocket, reading it by the distant yellow firelight.
“You’re one of them. They’ll listen to you. Don’t let them break rank, Lightfoot. They must fire three shots. Stay among the trees, but do not retreat until the call is made.” He ran the edge of his knife along the land’s contour lines. “While you reload, another man steps forward to fire. Three volleys. That’s all I ask. The Continental regulars and Virginia militia will be here.” He tapped the map where the lines indicated a slope. “Colonel Tarleton will expect you boys to run the moment they return fire. But we’re going to outsmart him.” The general clapped Hamilton on the shoulder. “I’d like nothing more than to prove that old butcher wrong.” The British colonel was renowned for his savagery. “Can I count on you?”
“Indeed you can, sir.” Hamilton dabbed the warm perspiration from his cold brow. The sensation was familiar, haunting. An echo of his father crying out for mercy floated through him.
Then he imagined Uncle Laurence, burned and charred. And Esther, pistol-shot and collapsing under Twimball’s bullet. His senses tasted revenge.
“You’re a good man, Lightfoot.” The general rolled up the map and returned to the fire. “Fill your bellies, boys, then rest. Tarleton prefers a dawn attack. Remember, three shots. Then lead those blasted redcoats into our trap.” He looked each one in the face. “Fight with courage. For your families. The Almighty is on our side.”
Hamilton sat on the log by Ralphie.
“Your stationery.” The boy handed him the stiff, folded pages.
“Thank you.”
“What’d the general want?”
“For me to make sure we each fire three shots before retreating to where the Continentals wait. Can I count on you, Ralphie?” Hamilton settled his stationery on his knee.
“Yes, sir.” Ralphie motioned to the letter. “Do you have a girl, Hamilton?”
He tapped the paper with his pencil. “I’m not sure.”
“How is a man not sure? I know I don’t have a girl, and I’m glad of it. I’d hate to wonder what she was feeling now. It’s bad enough I know my ma is wearing through the floorboards with her pacing.”
Hamilton roped his arm about the boy’s narrow shoulders, sensing a slight shiver. “But won’t she be proud when you return home a hero?”
“I want to be brave but—”
“Bravery is fighting in the midst of your fear, not in absence of it.”
Ralphie grinned. “You sound like Pa.”
Hamilton stood. “Come on, let’s try for sleep.”
Stretching out on his bedroll next to Hamilton, the boy was asleep within moments. But Hamilton lay awake, hands cupped behind his head, listening to the sounds of the night.
Creeping to the fire, he kicked another log into the smoldering embers and closed his eyes, letting his heart speak instead of his head.
Hannah’s Cowpens
January 16, 1781
My dearest Esther,
My recent actions have not Demonstrated my sincerest affections. I seek to Remedy any confusion now, on this Eve of Battle. Remember me as Before. When my Deeds, if not my Words, proved my Heart.
I love you. ’Tis no other Truth.
Affectionately Yours,
Hamilton Lightfoot
CHLOE
Chesnee, South Carolina
