“Then they should join us!” someone yelled from the middle of the formation.
“Come forward, soldier,” the general demanded. The men shifted, looking at each other, but the dissenter did not reveal himself.
“I would ask you, as soldiers and men who have been charged to uphold and defend, to do what you agreed to do,” the general entreated.
“You have not done what you agreed to do,” another man spoke up. “None of you.”
The general nodded, his mouth set, and he asked once more, “Who is responsible for this uprising?”
Every head bowed and every man was still. Then, from the back of the line, Phineas stepped forward and said, “I am responsible.”
My bad leg buckled and the bile in my stomach became ice. Phineas looked at me then and shook his head, the movement almost imperceptible, but the general saw it.
“What is your name, soldier?”
“Lieutenant Phineas Thomas. Colonel Putnam’s regiment. General Paterson’s brigade.” His mouth twisted in mockery, and a few men snickered as he added, “We are all in your brigade, General.”
General Paterson’s brow lowered and then cleared as the name registered. “Phineas Thomas,” he murmured, but Phineas heard him.
“Yes, sir.”
“And you are responsible?”
“I am.”
“And who else?” the general asked again. “Does Lieutenant Thomas speak for all ninety-eight of you?”
More shuffling.
“And will you let Lieutenant Thomas take your punishment as well?”
No one else stepped forward.
“General Paterson,” I blurted. “May I speak on behalf of Lieutenant Thomas?”
My heart was pounding so loud, I could only hear my voice inside my head, but the men had all turned to look at me, so I knew they had heard. Phineas was shaking his head and General Paterson was perfectly still.
“Lieutenant Thomas has served since 1775. He is one of ten brothers, all of whom enlisted. Four of them are dead. No family has given more than his. I would ask that you show him mercy,” I pleaded.
Phineas shook his head, vehement. “No. I don’t want mercy. I want justice.”
“I can’t give you justice,” the general said. “I can’t give any of you justice.”
“Then why are you here? Why are any of us here?” Phineas shouted.
The mutineers at his back rumbled in agreement.
“Why indeed?” the general shot back. “It is something I have asked myself every single day since this conflict began. Why am I here? What is it all for? That is something each man must answer for himself.”
The men looked at each other and back at Phineas, and the general spoke directly to him.
“There is nothing I can do to repay you, Lieutenant. Nothing anyone can do to compensate you for what you’ve given and what you’ve lost. There is no justice for that. It doesn’t exist. But I will give you my back and let you take your vengeance.” He took off his coat and threw it down and proceeded to unbutton his waistcoat and shrug off his shirt, until he stood, naked but for his boots and his breeches.
“Hand Lieutenant Thomas the whip,” the general instructed Colonel Sproat.
The silence was absolute, but my horror was reflected on the face of every soldier.
“Sir?” I protested, but the general didn’t acknowledge me at all, and I bore down on the howl that crouched behind my teeth.
“Give Lieutenant Thomas the whip!” the general repeated.
Colonel Sproat nodded to one of his men. A moment later, a lash was brought forward.
“It is not you who has wronged me, General Paterson,” Phineas protested, stunned, but he accepted the whip.
“If not me, who? I lead your brigade. I make sure you are paid. And fed. And heard. And you have not been paid. Or fed. Or heard. None of you have. You have not been adequately thanked. And you are weary.”
Phineas nodded, his chin wobbling and his eyes bright. “Yes, sir. I’m tired.”
“So take your vengeance, Lieutenant. You took responsibility, and I will take responsibility too.”
General Paterson turned and offered the broad expanse of his naked flesh to the ninety-eight men who still stood in their lines and to Phineas, who was frozen in place.
Terror sat sour and unsettled in my belly, and I moved closer to the general, my musket loaded and raised, afraid that his vulnerable position would be seen as an opportunity to scatter or attack. Colonel Sproat seemed to have the same idea, and we stood in the ready position on his left and right.