“We have to find Frank and get home,” Tillie said fiercely.
She was right. But Virginia did not move, thinking about Devlin standing on the quarterdeck of theDefiance,commanding his men, ordering them to attack her town, her people, Tillie and herself.
The baby kicked and she soothed him with her palm.
But she was sick, and it was not the illness that had been afflicting her these past few months. How had their marriage—their love—come to this terrible moment?
“Virginia, let’s go,” Tillie said, gripping her arm.
Virginia took one last look at the strip of beach, but to her amazement and utter dismay, still no militia appeared to stop the invaders. Hundreds of redcoats were running up the beach and would soon reach the town. She turned away, beginning to tremble with fear. “Let’s go,” she said hoarsely.
Holding hands, they lifted their skirts and ran down the block and around the corner. The moment they did so, they skidded to a stop.
Hundreds of British soldiers, including some cavalry, were rushing down the street, muskets blasting, sabers raised. The militia who were charging to meet them formed a pathetic resistance, a mere handful of men. Aghast, Virginia could not move, watching the massacre taking place before her very eyes. One by one, every single American militiaman was slain in the matter of a moment. Virginia had never seen so much blood and death. She gagged, clutching her belly, vaguely aware of the tears streaming down her face.
Devlin was a part of this.
Virginia turned and retched.
Tillie held her, whispering urgently, “We need to go! There’s more on the way!”
Virginia’s heart pounded with sickening force. She turned and fled back the way they had come, her arm in Tillie’s, and when they turned the corner they paused, facing each other in real fear. Virginia wondered if her eyes were as wide and horrified as Tillie’s. “They must have planned a second assault from the rear—they must have landed other troops farther up the inlet,” Virginia whispered, trembling.
“How do we get out of here? We cannot leave Frank,” Tillie cried.
Virginia did not know how they were going to get out of the town. “Come,” she whispered. They could hardly stay where they were, so close to that terrible battle, and as they ran down the block, a building behind them exploded, then burst into flames. They turned onto another street and then leapt back against a brick house. A hundred British troops were fighting some dozen militiamen with muskets blazing and swords clanging. Within moments, not a militiaman was left standing and a river of blood ran through the street.
Virginia choked on bile.
Tillie was sobbing, but soundlessly.
The redcoats hadn’t seen them as they stood huddled in a doorway, the mounted officers ordering the infantry to regroup. Their predicament had become crystal clear.
The town was overrun. Hampton would fall. It would be a massacre. How in God’s name would they escape? Could they even survive?
“Virginia,” Tillie said tersely, poking her with an elbow.
Virginia followed her gaze and froze in abject horror at the sight of a mounted officer wearing the blue coat of the British navy.
“Over there,” a British army officer shouted.
Virginia jerked and saw a man stepping out of his stable. She knew him well—it was the Hampton blacksmith, John Ames, holding his hunting rifle. As he lifted it, a dozen muskets blasted and he fell.
A woman screamed. She came running out of the stable, screaming still, and Virginia shouted, “No, Martha!” to his wife, but it was too late. Martha flung herself down on her husband’s body as Virginia saw a marine aim his musket at her. The British soldier fired and hit the woman, clearly killing her. Virginia could not move, stunned.
Tillie had taken Virginia’s hand. “They’re murdering innocent people,” she said hoarsely. “We’ve got to go.”
Virginia turned, her heart lurching with dread, seeking out the naval officer in blue. Instantly she found him. She cried out.
“What is it?”
It was Thomas Hughes.
She stared at him across the street, a battlefield of the wounded and the dead, and a chill went down her spine.
What was he doing there? As far as she knew, his career had been spent in the offices of the Admiralty in London. But she could not think about him now.
Because Tillie was dragging her away and shouting at her to run. Virginia realized that they had been seen—and a dozen marines had turned their way.
