January 17th, 1776
Last night, another two raids, both successful.
In the first encounter, we exchanged fire with a white man of the house, son or servant, possessed of a pistol and fowling-piece. He stood by the door and fired while a sister or maid reloaded for him; still, she was untrained in the science of charging a piece, and we found it no difficult matter to fright them from the door and then, Corporal Craigie barking us forward, to shatter the windows with two volleys and batter through another with our bayonets, that the fear might not relent. This treatment being administered, no other opposition followed, and we made off with two cows and a bull, ten swine, a quantity of flour, and a multitude of fowl.
We returned to the ship to find a strange envoy from a man of wealth but two miles down the river. He begged us to give him some small recompense for all that we wished to remove from his plantation, take what we would; explaining that, being loyal to his King, he suffers under constant threat of having his whole property seized by the Committee of Safety, and wishes that we would use these stores to supplement our efforts, rather than allowing them to fall into the hands of rebels greedy for gain. He instructed that he should leave lanterns burning upon the dock early in the morning, so that we might land there and pursue the bargain under cover of darkness.
We approached his dock with trepidation, expecting an ambush, but found no resistance, and indeed an old slave left to lead us to the house. We every minute anticipated some rush at us, and marched up through the paddocks and orchards with great care — our muskets charged — and the ship itself glowering offshore, threatening violence with its small guns if any irregularity should ensue.
There was no deceit practiced upon us. We found the owner anxious and affable; Serjeant Clippinger paid him a small requisite sum for his livestock and an excellent supply of grain. The man then requested that we beat him, so that he might claim he resisted our sortie. His scheme is, now without any goods to his name but with a small sum, to remove himself out of the country entirely and away from the scrutiny of the rebel scoundrels who wait to imprison him; he shall settle in some place to the north, where he shall tell tales of how he lost all in a raid by the dog Dunmore, and shall thus achieve honor little accorded to him here, where he hath spoken too frequently of his service to the King.
The gentleman stood against the wall to take his beating and said, “’Pon my honor. Who’ll have at me?”
When none stepped forward to engage in this strange office, Serjeant Clippinger surveyed us; I was struck with surprise when he called out my name. “Private Nothing, he’s our pugilist, as you might say.” To me, he nodded. “Strike him,” he said.
I little liked this commission. I inquired where I should strike.
“Bloody nose, sir?” Clippinger offered.
“Nay,” answered the gentleman, “I must have swelling. Swelling or nothing. I should be greatly gratified by a goose-egg above the eye.”
Clippinger nodded. I weighed my fist, and observed my target; but I found I had no will to strike the gentleman. He stood erect, eyes closed.
I struck him, but it was as a child’s punch. He swore that ’sdeath, ’twas nothing, and Clippinger bade me strike him again.
“Think on your friend,” Clippinger told me. “Private Williams. Strike the gentleman like he was Williams.” The Serjeant thought himself clever, and smiled an awful smile in his spotted chops. “Go on, then.”
I faced the man again, and could not strike. I was sensible of the restiveness of the others. I felt shame at my failure.
“You was lately so anxious for to strike a man,” Clippinger taunted. “Where, pray, did that go?”
Private Cudjo stepped forward and said, “I strike him.”
Supplanted, I stepped aside; and felt manhood retreat before me. Upon the deck of the ship, safe upon the waters, concealed by gunwales, protected by cannon, I had dreamed of violence; and now I could not lift my hand against a man who desired it — and “No,” said I, stepping before Cudjo. “No — I shall undertake it.”
“Whence this arguing, sir?” demanded our host.
“Never you fear,” said Serjeant Clippinger. “A blow from Private Nothing is like to a cradle-song from any other body.”
Wishing to acquit my honor, I stood firm and handed my musket to Slant, who blinked in soft concern.
We sat the gentlemen in a chair; Private Cudjo held his head gently, and this time I struck him with vigor just above the eye so it might swell shut, and then beat him once with a wooden spoon to assure a lump upon the forehead, so he might claim he lost consciousness.
He swore an oath in pain, then, having recovered, exclaimed, “’Pon my honor — excellent, Serjeant.”
There followed a discussion of how we might create the illusion of struggle, to which I did not closely attend, being distracted in my thoughts and anxious for no reason I could own, holding my musket trembling in two hands, the knuckles of one still stinging.
The Serjeant recommended we break furniture; our hostess’s wife remonstrated that this was not to our purpose.
Pomp suggested we might tie the gentleman to a chair, conformable to tales of robbery; which suggestion, I may relate, met with no disapproval. Private Cudjo chafed the gentleman’s wrists so they bled, and then tied them fast, that it might appear he had been subject to all the indignities of martial harrassment.
Once tied down and paid, he was exceeding pleased with the whole proceedings, and merrily instructed us where we might find his cattle and pigs. We were assisted by his Negroes, one of whom wished to depart with us, but was forbidden by his bound master. Slant, kind soul, whispered that the man should simply hide himself aboard the transport; but was detected in this subterfuge by Clippinger, who berated him for thus abusing a gentleman who had dealt so openly with His Majesty’s forces.
As a final favor to the planter, whose wife provided us with tea when we had completed our labors, we set two hayricks and his drying-house on fire and released two volleys of shot into the air before we set off into the night.
Following this second raid, we perceived that the countryside was roused against us, and slipped down the river once again.