Widecombe-in-the-Moor in Devon, England, is a village of fewer than 200 households in the middle of Dartmoor, which has been protected by National Park status since 1951. Many of the hedgerows and stone walls that divide the landscape date back hundreds of years. The walls have become natural rock gardens, covered with stonecrop, navelwort, maiden-hair ferns, and lichens.
“The edge of the gentle downward slope was anchored at its base by a giant yew tree. From there the lane gradually rose again for about 30 yards. Another low, decaying stone wall adjoined a weathered wooden fence, blocking the entrance to the courtyard of a two-story stone cottage set back against rolling green hills. A decrepit stone barn stood to the east, and an overgrown garden was to the west. Aaron dismounted his horse and opened the wide, slatted gate. Its large rusted hinges were generously greased. Despite a high-pitched scraping sound, it swung open with ease.”
Despite the superior numbers of the American Patriot forces, they were resoundingly defeated by the British in the Battle of Camden in South Carolina on August 16, 1780. It was a bloody battle, with both sides suffering many killed and wounded. The Royal Army’s 33rd Regiment of Foot, in the front lines of the fighting, was particularly devastated.
“Late that night, Joseph was sitting on a patchwork quilt blanket in the garden next to the meadow behind the great house that served as Army headquarters and the Camden residence of General Cornwallis and his officers. The moon was full, and he stared out at the silhouettes of the towering pine trees beyond the redoubt, listening to the serenade of bullfrogs, as he tipped a small silver flask to his lips and felt the smooth burn of the Scotch whiskey easing down his throat. He was barefoot, in his shirt sleeves. His unbound hair, hanging loose around his collar, was tousled by a soft summer breeze.
“There was a muted click as someone opened the gate. Joseph looked over his shoulder and was surprised to see two tall men walking towards him. At 20 yards, they were too far away in the darkness for him to determine who they were. He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed, then pushed the ground with his fist and stood up.
“‘As you were, Major Buckleigh,’ said a familiar voice. It was Colonel Eades. The larger man with him was General Cornwallis. ‘As you were.’”