A Shiny Reddish Colour
Jessica Bruce
“After having Stayed in this position some short time we proceeded and by the time we were Clear of the Wood all the fireing and the Indians and Roialists [Loyalists] were bringing in the Wounded & prisoners. When we had got on the Clear land Called Gages Heights* we for the first time got Sight of the fort. On their Seeing us very thick on the Hill they fired three Shot from a Six pounder which was in the fort at us, without any effect. Near this place was a Small hollow sufficiently large to cover our party from the fire of the fort, in which we formed, and from thence the Major sent a flag of truce to Summons the fort.” – Octor 10 1779; Lt. John Enys, British Soldier
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During this moment the flag was at the fort, we saw some men that lead in a wounded person. I supposed it was an Indian being the top of his head was so red and shiny. Upon a closer approach, the man was a Rebel, recently scalped. By the top of his head, I dare say I took immediate notice to the thin layer of black hair that clung to the flesh, which the wound was about six inches wide. It slipped a bit off the side but it was turned over. The underside delivered more fresh blood secreting and other unpleasureable views of damaged veins that seemed to still pulse. I wished to not see his scalp any longer, so I merely nodded, but cast my attention to the prisoner’s clothing. He wore tattered, dark blue rags that barely stayed on the frame of his sagging shoulders. This I guessed was the remains of his uniform. His cotton shirt laid in strips down the man’s chest, which presented a most disagreeable display of mud and bones of the human ribs.
“I believe I should recognize him, Lieutenant Enys,” a Corporal said, then proceeded to force the prisoner’s head upright with the hilt of his sword.
“Oh?” I asked curiously and cocked my right eyebrow.
“You do not know him?” the same man of our regiment asked.
Before I was able to respond, a sharp groan escaped from the prisoner. We – a Corporal, Private and myself of our regiment – all looked. The other two soldiers stared, and I must further comment, their staring is rather crude in nature for one that hardly appeared alive.
“I do not know,” I said after a few moments.
A slender man stepped up close to me. “I recollect, Sir. He was a deserter from our regiment and from your party. He once served with the Artillery in ’76,’” the Private said.
The hilt found still under the chin that arched the prisoner’s neck back, I approached closer and asked firmly, “These accusations are true?”
The prisoner at first coughed rather violently, which I clearly saw bits of blood settled on his teeth and then he shuddered. Perhaps, he might have been choking on his own blood due to the coughing fit but it not certain. His tongue, however, wallowed and twisted about inside. I believe he was attempting to speak but words were a great source of difficulty. Silence might have been this one’s solution when faced with malignant peril but his strength in keeping himself upright with each arm supported over the necks of two different soldiers; it should also be recognized of remarkable resilience.
“Corporal, rest your sword. Let us see if he can speak without further discomfort,” I commanded.
Obliged to agree, the Corporal sheathed his sword but from the corner of my eye, his left hand remained on the hilt, ever ready if he must put it to use.
The head of the prisoner slumped. I encircled him and bore witness to his arm hiding behind but it jutted outwards in an unusual angle, I presume by a shot. I took also to notice, there were three very deep wounds at the back of his head, possibly resulted from a tomahawk. Blood leaked freely from these wounds too. I came to the front
again, and so violent of a concussion he has also received, surely never poor a fellow suffered more than this one did.
Not expecting any sort of a satisfactory response, I asked but once more in a less commanding tone to the prisoner since if he once had been part of the Twenty-Ninth and a soldier of our regiment, the very least he deserved were not raised voices. “Two men remember your company. Do you know it?”
His chest rose underneath the rags of clothing but exhaling proved to be the near end. He shook so hard, I supposed the men who were supporting him were taken aback by the sudden outburst and which they let go. The prisoner upon the earth just laid there, silent as a lamb but now his eyes had shut. His breathing appeared laboured, as in every breath he tried to take in, choking and gasping sounds were the result.
“Bring him to his feet,” I commanded softly.
The prisoner foremost screamed and yelped when the other two men from a different Regiment lifted him quickly to a standing position.
“I must ask but are the accusations brought forth against you, are they truthful?” I asked promptly.
“Aye,” the prisoner muttered to the earth feebly.
“You have abandoned your comrades and country?” I pressed.
“Aye,” he said with little delay.
“You do realize the penalty for desertion?”
He flinched and spitted blood. “Aye, Sir. I res… da… Pa –leeze. I…” I watched the whites roll up, then fall below inside the prisoner’s eyelids. His lips twitched but then parched into an, ‘O,’ than again, they twitched some more.
“Are you trying to speak?” I asked the obvious question but if it is true, it should be inquired.
The prisoner grunted in response but then his voice attempted to address us with much effort. “I…” He convulsed for a bit of time whilst we waited for the fit to cease. “I res – pect… full – eee…Da, da, do.”
I clasped his shoulder, glanced straight into his eyes and held contact for a few minutes. When satisfied, I motioned for the other men to lead him away to another ship until the Twenty-Ninth shall return to ours. The prisoner yelped as he was dragged away but due to his credit, he did not put up a fuss in the way of painful outbursts, nor attempted to flee. I watched the nobility of one soldier who traded his life for a less becoming offer, and his sacrifice was pure.
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Word has just reached my ears that notwithstanding all which he lived for some days afterwards, that particular prisoner died on board of one of the ships on Lake Champlain, after our party had barely returned to ours today.
*Gages Heights according to Enys, might have been “Fort Gage,” south of Fort George.
Source: “The American Journals of Lt. John Enys.”
My Own, Warped Imagination.
Cya around, Sam.
