Igor, Froderick
04-19-2011, 12:53 PM
Ever since watching Revolutionary War documentaries on the History Channel as a child, I have been intrigued by history--especially the American Revolution. In this story I thought it'd be interesting to combine a murder mystery with the war.
Murder in Washington’s Camp
The murders were taking place in and around camp. Everyone was on edge, including General Washington—a man whose undaunted composure appeared to be unshakable. He told me to get to the bottom of it, and to do so with the utmost secrecy, as the commander did not want the army to be even more distracted than it already was. Lack of food and clothing was not helping the soldiers’ morale, or the war effort. Washington also wanted to limit his soldiers’ further apprehensions of the morbid treachery capable of British agents, once the culprit or culprits were found out.
Whoever was committing the cowardly acts was well trained in stealth and execution. General McGregor was found in his tent, hunched over his desk, blood leaking from his slit throat onto freshly penned correspondences. Clasped in his hand was a brief note that read give up, written in someone else’s hasty handwriting. No murder weapon was found. The guard on duty said it must have happened when he went to relieve himself for a few minutes. The killer had waited for the right moment.
A few days later, General Oliver was riding back to camp from a meeting with Washington and his staff late in the evening. He and his aides were passing a grove of trees when a shot rang out and the general fell dead from his horse. The assassin was not found.
These were the most recent murders. There had been systematic slayings of generals in other camps, and Washington was fed up. The army could no longer afford to lose any more of its leaders. I was assigned to make sure that it didn’t. I was given complete leeway in my methods, for Washington trusted my experience, having served in his majesty’s service in the French and Indian War. This time I was in the service of American liberty, and I was just as concerned as my superior in matters crippling our cause.
Washington concluded our meeting with a parting surprise. “One more thing Nathan, before you go.”
“Yes sir?” I said.
Washington motioned to one of his aides standing off to the side. The man walked up beside the general. “I want you to have some help in your inquiries,” said Washington. “This is my aide de camp, Lieutenant Colonel—
“Mr. Hamilton,” I said with a formal bow.
“Please, Nathan. Call me Alex,” he said.
Washington raised his eyebrows, glancing at both of us. “So you are already acquainted. Good then, I want you two to put your heads together and find out whoever’s committing these egregious atrocities.” He gave us our queue with a dismissive salute and turned back to his desk, mumbling directions to his other aides.
Alex and I walked away from the commander’s tent in silence. I liked working alone, but something told me I was going to need my new partner’s help. I had met Alex a few times around camp and at meetings. He was somewhat of a perfectionist—at times, to the point of arrogance. But I knew, if help was needed, he was the man to have at your side. After all, he didn’t get promoted Washington’s aide without being industrious.
“General O’Connor’s next.”
“Excuse me?” I said, turning my head to Alex.
“The murderer has been taking out Washington’s most experienced generals. McGregor fought with distinction at Harlem Heights and White Plains. Oliver, the general’s fist at Trenton and Princeton. They are both dead. O’Connor’s next.” Alex looked at me, his face blank with a calm seriousness.
“You and I are of the same thinking,” I said. “My only concern is if there is more than one perpetrator.”
“I believe it is one man—one man radical enough to kill in secrecy, a coward defending a country unfit to rule its colonies.” Alex spoke with his customary matter-of-factness.
“I hope you are right,” I said. “It’s bad enough that one could be capable of such malevolent cowardice, let alone two. Do you propose we keep watch over General O’Connor these next few days?”
Alex flashed a brief, determined smile. “You read my mind.”
That night Alex and I kept an eye on General O’Connor’s tent a short distance away. We had talked with the general’s two guards, letting them know of the threat involved and that we would be keeping close watch throughout the night. Even though it was summer, the temperature dropped at sundown and the wind occasionally served a chill breeze. Light emanated from the surrounding tents and brief soldier talk was made before bedding down for the evening.
Alex and I stood in front of our small, designated tent. We spoke little, focusing our gaze on O’Connor’s quarters. Candles began to go out and the camp quieted, leaving room for the symphony of crickets and gusts of wind swaying the trees. As darkness took over the camp, Alex walked into the tent and blew out the flame. The moon cast a pale glow over our surroundings, just enough light to see any moving shadows.
A few hours passed as we both stood to the side of our tent, watching carefully. One of the guards had left to use the necessary once. Nothing happened. My feet grew weary from standing and from time to time I buckled them to help the circulation. I was used to being on my feet, but the boredom was getting to me. There was no room for intense conversation with Alex as we certainly would wake soldiers and notify the murderer should he be in the vicinity.
My eyes were getting heavier and I put my hand over my face to help rouse myself. As I did this, I heard a grunt and saw one of the guards double over in front of O’Connor’s tent. Before I knew it, Alex was running towards the scene and I was following swiftly behind.
There was shouting coming from inside the general’s tent. “After him… Helllllp! He tried…he tried to kill me!” General O’Connor finished yelling and looked at us with surprise as Alex and I entered his tent. “Hurry! He ran that way.” O’Connor pointed at the tent’s torn-up flap just passed his bed.
Alex and I ran through the new opening in pursuit and saw the other guard running away with his sword drawn. With surprising speed, Alex sprinted up to the guard, tackled him, and knocked him down. As I caught up, he stood over the guard and had his sword up to the man’s chest. “No, no. He’s getting away!” the guard said, lifting a wounded, bloody arm and pointing in the direction he had been running.
I saw a man sprinting away from the three of us, intent on escaping capture. I quickly pulled my pistol from my belt and ran after him. Realizing his mistake, Alex soon followed a ways behind. Tents whizzed passed me as I kept a steady pursuit of the murderer, which was quite difficult as the man moved like a stallion at full gallop. He was carrying some object in his hand that looked like some sort of club.
We made it to a clearing at the edge of camp where the armed man made for a wooded area two hundred feet away. “Hold! Stop or I’ll fire!” I yelled, but the man kept running. I leveled my pistol, aimed, and pulled the trigger. Through the rising smoke I saw the man drop his weapon, land on his knees, and fall forward.
I made my way up to him. He was groaning and had his left hand covering the bullet wound on his right shoulder. Had the bullet pierced him an inch or so to the left, he’d be a dying man. I drew my saber and pointed the tip of the blade at him. “No more running,” I said. He only grimaced in pain.
Alex came running up sword in hand when I noticed the light reflecting on the object our culprit had dropped. It was a native’s tomahawk with a razor’s edge and its handle carved with intricate patterns. I walked over, picked it up, and showed it to Alex. “This man’s no colonist,” I said.
Alex and I looked at the man lying on the ground. He mumbled angry words in his native tongue as he rocked back and forth. Alex said, “Well, Nathan. It looks like this man is an Indian agent working for the British. They’re an easier recruit and can blend in with our regiments that enlist their kind. The British promise them land off limits to whites, except for trade purposes—once the war ends in their favor. Some of them fall for it. This’ll make Washington even more dubious towards our Indian allies.”
I nodded in agreement.
The next day the Indian would not talk, but others from his regiment did. It was learned that he did know some English, which accounts for his being able to write the short, but impactful note in McGregor’s tent. Others spoke of not knowing his whereabouts the night Oliver was shot from his horse. The Indian had also seriously wounded the two guards and made an attempt on General O’Connor’s life.
That evening, Washington had ordered his execution but was not present. Other generals were, including O’Connor. Alex and I also watched as two soldiers placed a bag over the murderer’s head and lead him out to a clearing. A line of soldiers all fired in his direction, each hitting his mark.
As the smoke cleared, Alex and I made our way back to Washington’s headquarters, ready for our next assignments.
Murder in Washington’s Camp
The murders were taking place in and around camp. Everyone was on edge, including General Washington—a man whose undaunted composure appeared to be unshakable. He told me to get to the bottom of it, and to do so with the utmost secrecy, as the commander did not want the army to be even more distracted than it already was. Lack of food and clothing was not helping the soldiers’ morale, or the war effort. Washington also wanted to limit his soldiers’ further apprehensions of the morbid treachery capable of British agents, once the culprit or culprits were found out.
Whoever was committing the cowardly acts was well trained in stealth and execution. General McGregor was found in his tent, hunched over his desk, blood leaking from his slit throat onto freshly penned correspondences. Clasped in his hand was a brief note that read give up, written in someone else’s hasty handwriting. No murder weapon was found. The guard on duty said it must have happened when he went to relieve himself for a few minutes. The killer had waited for the right moment.
A few days later, General Oliver was riding back to camp from a meeting with Washington and his staff late in the evening. He and his aides were passing a grove of trees when a shot rang out and the general fell dead from his horse. The assassin was not found.
These were the most recent murders. There had been systematic slayings of generals in other camps, and Washington was fed up. The army could no longer afford to lose any more of its leaders. I was assigned to make sure that it didn’t. I was given complete leeway in my methods, for Washington trusted my experience, having served in his majesty’s service in the French and Indian War. This time I was in the service of American liberty, and I was just as concerned as my superior in matters crippling our cause.
Washington concluded our meeting with a parting surprise. “One more thing Nathan, before you go.”
“Yes sir?” I said.
Washington motioned to one of his aides standing off to the side. The man walked up beside the general. “I want you to have some help in your inquiries,” said Washington. “This is my aide de camp, Lieutenant Colonel—
“Mr. Hamilton,” I said with a formal bow.
“Please, Nathan. Call me Alex,” he said.
Washington raised his eyebrows, glancing at both of us. “So you are already acquainted. Good then, I want you two to put your heads together and find out whoever’s committing these egregious atrocities.” He gave us our queue with a dismissive salute and turned back to his desk, mumbling directions to his other aides.
Alex and I walked away from the commander’s tent in silence. I liked working alone, but something told me I was going to need my new partner’s help. I had met Alex a few times around camp and at meetings. He was somewhat of a perfectionist—at times, to the point of arrogance. But I knew, if help was needed, he was the man to have at your side. After all, he didn’t get promoted Washington’s aide without being industrious.
“General O’Connor’s next.”
“Excuse me?” I said, turning my head to Alex.
“The murderer has been taking out Washington’s most experienced generals. McGregor fought with distinction at Harlem Heights and White Plains. Oliver, the general’s fist at Trenton and Princeton. They are both dead. O’Connor’s next.” Alex looked at me, his face blank with a calm seriousness.
“You and I are of the same thinking,” I said. “My only concern is if there is more than one perpetrator.”
“I believe it is one man—one man radical enough to kill in secrecy, a coward defending a country unfit to rule its colonies.” Alex spoke with his customary matter-of-factness.
“I hope you are right,” I said. “It’s bad enough that one could be capable of such malevolent cowardice, let alone two. Do you propose we keep watch over General O’Connor these next few days?”
Alex flashed a brief, determined smile. “You read my mind.”
That night Alex and I kept an eye on General O’Connor’s tent a short distance away. We had talked with the general’s two guards, letting them know of the threat involved and that we would be keeping close watch throughout the night. Even though it was summer, the temperature dropped at sundown and the wind occasionally served a chill breeze. Light emanated from the surrounding tents and brief soldier talk was made before bedding down for the evening.
Alex and I stood in front of our small, designated tent. We spoke little, focusing our gaze on O’Connor’s quarters. Candles began to go out and the camp quieted, leaving room for the symphony of crickets and gusts of wind swaying the trees. As darkness took over the camp, Alex walked into the tent and blew out the flame. The moon cast a pale glow over our surroundings, just enough light to see any moving shadows.
A few hours passed as we both stood to the side of our tent, watching carefully. One of the guards had left to use the necessary once. Nothing happened. My feet grew weary from standing and from time to time I buckled them to help the circulation. I was used to being on my feet, but the boredom was getting to me. There was no room for intense conversation with Alex as we certainly would wake soldiers and notify the murderer should he be in the vicinity.
My eyes were getting heavier and I put my hand over my face to help rouse myself. As I did this, I heard a grunt and saw one of the guards double over in front of O’Connor’s tent. Before I knew it, Alex was running towards the scene and I was following swiftly behind.
There was shouting coming from inside the general’s tent. “After him… Helllllp! He tried…he tried to kill me!” General O’Connor finished yelling and looked at us with surprise as Alex and I entered his tent. “Hurry! He ran that way.” O’Connor pointed at the tent’s torn-up flap just passed his bed.
Alex and I ran through the new opening in pursuit and saw the other guard running away with his sword drawn. With surprising speed, Alex sprinted up to the guard, tackled him, and knocked him down. As I caught up, he stood over the guard and had his sword up to the man’s chest. “No, no. He’s getting away!” the guard said, lifting a wounded, bloody arm and pointing in the direction he had been running.
I saw a man sprinting away from the three of us, intent on escaping capture. I quickly pulled my pistol from my belt and ran after him. Realizing his mistake, Alex soon followed a ways behind. Tents whizzed passed me as I kept a steady pursuit of the murderer, which was quite difficult as the man moved like a stallion at full gallop. He was carrying some object in his hand that looked like some sort of club.
We made it to a clearing at the edge of camp where the armed man made for a wooded area two hundred feet away. “Hold! Stop or I’ll fire!” I yelled, but the man kept running. I leveled my pistol, aimed, and pulled the trigger. Through the rising smoke I saw the man drop his weapon, land on his knees, and fall forward.
I made my way up to him. He was groaning and had his left hand covering the bullet wound on his right shoulder. Had the bullet pierced him an inch or so to the left, he’d be a dying man. I drew my saber and pointed the tip of the blade at him. “No more running,” I said. He only grimaced in pain.
Alex came running up sword in hand when I noticed the light reflecting on the object our culprit had dropped. It was a native’s tomahawk with a razor’s edge and its handle carved with intricate patterns. I walked over, picked it up, and showed it to Alex. “This man’s no colonist,” I said.
Alex and I looked at the man lying on the ground. He mumbled angry words in his native tongue as he rocked back and forth. Alex said, “Well, Nathan. It looks like this man is an Indian agent working for the British. They’re an easier recruit and can blend in with our regiments that enlist their kind. The British promise them land off limits to whites, except for trade purposes—once the war ends in their favor. Some of them fall for it. This’ll make Washington even more dubious towards our Indian allies.”
I nodded in agreement.
The next day the Indian would not talk, but others from his regiment did. It was learned that he did know some English, which accounts for his being able to write the short, but impactful note in McGregor’s tent. Others spoke of not knowing his whereabouts the night Oliver was shot from his horse. The Indian had also seriously wounded the two guards and made an attempt on General O’Connor’s life.
That evening, Washington had ordered his execution but was not present. Other generals were, including O’Connor. Alex and I also watched as two soldiers placed a bag over the murderer’s head and lead him out to a clearing. A line of soldiers all fired in his direction, each hitting his mark.
As the smoke cleared, Alex and I made our way back to Washington’s headquarters, ready for our next assignments.