Blood Upon The Snow by Ganzglass Martin

Author:Ganzglass, Martin [Ganzglass, Martin]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Peace Corps Worldwide
Published: 2016-04-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10 – A Death Wish and Close Encounter

The scream began as one of fear of anticipated horror. It rose in a pitch of agony and continued as a shriek of pain before descending into uncontrollable wails of misery.

Bant and McNeil stood up with some of the others in their scouting party, sixty men strong, turning their heads toward the piercing sound. They had been lying hidden amongst the shrubs of this lightly rolling hill country, grateful for the limited shade and respite from the hot August sun, watching the dusty road winding down toward the flat coastal plain below and waiting for some sign of the enemy. They were part of a newly formed corps of light infantry, riflemen all, composed of one hundred volunteers from each Continental Brigade. The corps, under the command of Scotch Willie had left the main army and marched south to gather intelligence and harass the advance guard of the British Army. 1

“That is not the cry of a woman being ravished,” one of the men said quietly.

“How would you know?” another asked.

“Tis true,” another said “It is more the cry of hopelessness.”

Lieutenant Patten asked for volunteers and Bant and McNeil stepped forward, together with six others. Quickly, they left their camp and loped away, using the shrubs that sporadically bordered the road as cover. Around the second bend, they came upon a clearing with a roughly built one story stone house, tucked in amongst a copse of scraggly pine trees. A woman lay motionless on her back with a boy, no more than ten, kneeling next to her, holding her right arm straight up in the air. Blood covered the white cloth bandage wrapped around her hand. The boy started when the riflemen appeared, but remained defiantly by the woman’s side.

“We are Continentals,” McNeil said. “Who did this?

“Some soldiers came,” the boy said bravely trying to contain a sob. “They broke into our house. My mother could not take off her ring fast enough. They cut off her fingers,” he said breaking down and pointing from his mother to a thin line of fresh blood on the dark brown, desiccated pine needles. It formed a pool below a wooden stump chopping block near her feet. The woman’s four fingers lay at its base, like pale white grubs revealed when one turns over a rotting log.

“In which direction did they go? How many are there?” McNeil asked. “Quickly, boy if we are to catch them.”

“Four or five, I think,” he said hesitantly, and pointed to a narrow path to the left of the house, which disappeared into the bushes heading uphill. “They are after our cow.”

The eight riflemen ran up the trail in single file. They had gone less than half a mile when they heard laughter and the guttural language of the Hessians. Creeping closer they found four of them in the shadows, on the edge of a sunlit meadow, squatting in a semi-circle around their pile of plunder- cups and plates, pewter candle holders, some clothing

- laughing and holding different items up to the light.

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