A fictional story by Jeannette Holland Austin
Brennerei Farm
Evan Schwartz, a tall, slender man from Germany, strolled across his sprouting barley field. His family had long since crossed the seas and made their home in Virginia, among other German families in the village of Germanna. Ultimately, as his children grew to manhood and drifted away into other regions of America, Evan and Dora settled on a farm near Charleston, South Carolina where Evan practiced his brewery trade. The location on the warm breezes of the Ashley River seemed ideally suited for the elderly couple.
But the applecart suddenly spilled all of their hopes and aspirations as the war for independence unleashed itself in the region. As young men enlisted in armies, neighboring families created a gossiping, political division amongst themselves.
And, when the British soldiers attacked Charleston during March of 1780, the siege lasted four months before the British had their victory and captured some six thousand troops from the patriot armies. Afterward, the British plunder of the area prompted Evan to hide his horses and cows, and barrels of grain. As the thundering hoofs of British troops approached his farm, he attempted to hide the kegs of distilled beer that he planned to sell to local taverns. Yet, he was discovered and threatened while the soldiers carried off his stock of distilled beer.
The British victory was painfully overwhelming to the residents, capturing more than six thousand prisoners. While ships in the harbor were employed for prisons, many were also transported along the waterfront to Haddrell’s Port in Mt. Pleasant, South Carolina. Having too many prisoners was a major problem for the occupying British Army. During the first week, as many as one thousand prisoners escaped. Meanwhile, the troublesome situation prompted Tory residents to report escaping prisoners.
Despite the commotion of the British in the captured city, the spring and summer days passed quickly, and Schwartz planted the barley seeds in his winter garden while a brisk breeze trickled through his long, gray beard. He walked the distance of the farm, scooping up sandy dirt intohis fist, wondering if the land had another year of fertility. He was determined to distil the beer in the spring, despite British occupation, and endeavor to sell it to the taverns. But it was to be far more risky than he had supposed.
It was a warm March morning when dared to rescue a hidden keg of ale and load it onto a wagon. His attempt to sell the kegs was daring, but seed money was needed. From his stable of several thoroughbred horses, he selected a nag to hitch up to the wagon, and tossed some blankets into the wagon to cover the beer.
While navigating the dirt road into the city, he saw a frail figure of a soldier emerge from the Ashley River, stumbling as he went, and faint. Schwartz stopped his wagon, and ran into the brush. Schwartz lifted the young soldier onto his wagon, and returned to the farm.
“A boy, not more than fourteen years of age,” he told Dora, his wife, as he lifted a frail, scarred and beaten patriot into his arms.
“Put him on the bed,” she said, “and I will clean him and feed him, like I did the others.”
Evan nodded. “He was starved, and badly beaten. The poor boy must have swam the distance from the prison ship on the river.”
“And yet you dare to hide prisoners!”
“They will pay for their keep, as we need them to distill the beer.”
“How many are sleeping in the barn?”
“Two others.”
Dora washed the young boy’s body of its muddy blood, and dressed him in a nightshirt.
— to be continued —