“Stand back, Shurtliff,” the general demanded, raising his gaze to mine. “Sproat, you too.”
Phineas tested the weight of the lash and gave it a practice snap. Any boy raised on a farm had learned to use a whip.
“How guilty are you, General?” he asked softly. “How many men have you let down?”
“At least ninety-eight,” the general said.
“You have no post to cling to,” Phineas hedged. “How do I know you will not run?”
“Proceed, Lieutenant,” the general ordered.
Phineas drew back, his teeth bared, and let the whip crack against the general’s back.
“One!” he yelled.
I closed my eyes. He drew back again. “Two!”
By the time he reached ten, I had begun to shake and my face was wet with sweat and tears, but the general had not stopped him, and Phineas seemed completely unaware of anything but the power in his hand and the pleasure of the motion.
“That’s enough, Lieutenant Thomas,” Colonel Sproat roared, raising his musket. Phineas ignored him and struck again. From where I stood, I could not see the damage being done on the general’s back, but the mutineers, to a man, stood with bowed heads, taking no delight in the display. The soldiers who guarded them were as distressed as I.
“Enough, Thomas,” Sproat repeated. “Put the whip down.”
“He still has eighty-seven lashes to go,” Phineas said. “I want justice for these men too.”
“I’ll not have an innocent man taking my stripes,” a man burst out. He marched forward and placed himself in front of the general. “I’ll take my own.”
Phineas’s chin sank to his chest and his shoulders fell, as though he’d suddenly become aware of himself again.
“Has justice been served, Lieutenant Thomas?” the general asked.
“Yessir,” Phin answered, weary.
The general straightened and turned toward the men again. His back was sliced and bloodied, but he didn’t appear weakened or faint.
To the man who had stepped forward, he asked, “Are you responsible for this uprising, soldier?”
“I am responsible for my own part in it, General Paterson, and I will take responsibility for the five men in my company who are here because of my example. I have not been paid for months. The paper money I have received is an insult . . . it’s an insult to all of us. It’s only good to wipe my arse, and I have a wife and five daughters at home who have been too long without me. My three years are up, but my colonel says I signed till the end of the war.”
“What’s your name, soldier?”
“Captain Christian Marsh, General, sir.”
“What justice can I give you today, Captain Marsh?”
“I’ll take ten lashes for my men. No, eleven. Same as you. And I’ll go back to my post and I’ll stay to the end of this godforsaken conflict. I’ll stay to the end if you do, sir.”
“Agreed.”
Captain Marsh stripped to the waist, and with a set jaw and clasped hands, took eleven lashes from Phineas Thomas with the same stoicism the general had exhibited. Other officers among the mutineers stepped forward and negotiated their own terms, much the same as his: eleven lashes, immediate return to duty, and a promise to stay as long as the general remained as well.
Phineas was soaked in sweat and weaving on his feet, but he did not want to relinquish the whip. It wasn’t until several more men stepped forward, pledging their recommitment and extracting a pledge from the general in return, that Phineas finally surrendered the lash to Colonel Sproat. He was then given water and returned to the line.
Each man signed his name or his mark to paper, and General Paterson put his name beside each one. By midafternoon, every mutineer had been seen, heard, and punished according to his own judgment. All had agreed to return to duty, reassured by the promise that General Paterson would continue to fight for them.
Every man who had taken part in the uprising would need to be escorted back to his post and remanded to the custody of his commanding officer, and until they were, they would be guarded like mutineers. No weapons were returned, the men were divided up according to their companies and encampments, and assignments were given to their guards.
The heat and the humidity, especially for those with open wounds on their backs, was unbearable, and the weariness of the soldiers who had slogged through twenty miles of rain and mud the night before was severe. The detachment with wagons, horses, and supplies had not yet arrived, but the consensus was to head back toward Peekskill Hollow, with the hope that we would intercept them before too long and rest once we had reinforcements.