“I need to stay here until I am able to travel. Get me some grease or ointment for these burns so that we can treat my worst places, and be sure to take care of my horse. You will be well paid, and I will not forget you in the future, when I return.”

The innkeeper merely nodded, certain that the man would, for the rest of his life, stay as far from Augusta as possible. He couldn’t know that within the befouled and pitiful man there was an obsessive hatred and determination to repay his tormentors, and that it would be the all-pervasive commitment of his life.

After two full days of fitful rest, with his head pounding and his vision blurred, Brown notified Jarvis that he would be leaving early the following morning. The innkeeper suggested that he hire someone to accompany him to his homestead, but Brown declined, not revealing that he had decided instead to make the journey across the Savannah River to Ninety Six, the nearest post where a contingent of British troops were stationed. Despite the need for further treatment of his lacerated head and the burns over his body, his immediate priority was to find his way back to British authorities, where he could marshal support for a forceful return to Augusta. Even though it would mean penetration by Carolina troops into a different colony, he was sure that responsible officials in Georgia would welcome any punishment that could be inflicted on the traitors who had attacked him and had perpetrated a similar crime in Savannah.

Brown could hear rain pounding on the roof a few inches above his head, and the murmur of sounds of tavern customers downstairs, with his name mentioned every now and then, but Jarvis provided food and other services in his room and carried out orders that he not be disturbed.