Tim and the Highway Robbery

Second in the Tim Euston Series

Roddy Thorleifson

(2016)

 To see what they wore and what things looked like, check “Chapter Illustrations”

Characters, in order of appearance.

Tim Euston (17) apprentice to carpenter.

Nat Pellis (22) storekeeper.

Frederick Philipse (51) justice of the peace.

Adam Frye (29) spy.

Dan Eliot (18) Tim’s friend.

Sam Baker (45) Continental Army major.

Alvin Wyre (25) Trader. Sold pistols to Simon.

Simon Hull (50) Friend of Dan. Lost pistols at cards.

Sadie Euston (15) Tim’s sister.

Clay Boodle (50) ferryman.

Horace Davis (45) tailor.

Robby Lewis, (20) British private.

Ollie Payter (19) British private.

Matilda (Pellis)Walker (46) Nat’s sister.

John Gainer (40) Tim’s master.

Abby Euston (36) Tim and Sadie’s mother.

Eustace Gainer (36) John’s wife.

Saul Stemple (25) British lieutenant. Robby’s cousin.

John Cooper (38) British captain.

Dora Boodle (48) Clay’s wife.

Chapter 1
May 21, 1777.
Yonkers, New York.
The rain was starting again as Tim walked around to the back of the store hoping to find his little sister. She had turned fifteen a few days before and he finally had the silk ribbon he promised her. Earlier that day she told him she would be helping Bessie, who cooked for the storekeeper.
“Sadie?” he said quietly as he opened the door. He did not want to disturb anyone doing business in the storefront. He listened for an answer, spoke her name again, and waited. “That’s odd,” he thought. “It’s mid-afternoon. At least Bessie ought to be here.”
“Anyone home?” Tim asked as he walked into the dimly lit room, hearing the rough plank floorboards creak beneath his feet. He was feeling uneasy. He would do occasional work for the storekeeper, hauling goods to and from the city, but that gave him no right to snoop around.
The first thing Tim noticed was a pair of feet. There was a man lying by the base of the massive fireplace. “God bless me,” whispered Tim, and this was said with deep sincerity. No one would want to take chances when spirits might hover in the presence of death. And this man certainly did look dead. Tim had never seen a dead man before, except when laid out for a wake. But he had seen dead animals, and they would always have an awkward look to them. And this man had that look. 
“You all right?” asked Tim as he crouched and shook the man’s shoulder. The body was not yet stiff and it rolled, exposing his half opened eyes to light coming from the window.
Tim jumped to his feet. His breath came in shallow gasps. He could feel his hair standing up and a cold sweat forming on the back of his neck. Forcing his eyes off the corpse, he noticed a poker on the floor. Maybe that’s what he was killed with? he wondered as he crouched to pick it up for a closer look. It was cold and heavy. It could have easily killed with a single blow.
“What is this?” shouted the storekeeper behind him, sounding more angry than startled. Tim spun around, holding the poker as a weapon.
“He’s dead!” said Tim.
“Dead?” the storekeeper asked. “Did you killed him, then?” He was a young man named Nat Pellis.
“No, I didn’t!”
“Who is he?” 
“I... he…”
“Put the poker away!” ordered Nat, who had taken a step forward to have a better look at the dead man’s face.
“I’d just come here looking for Sadie,” said Tim as he took two steps to put the poker back where it belonged by the fireplace.
“We will have to find the watchman,” said Nat in a stern voice that suggested he was about to deliver a murderer to the proper authorities. He had a good voice for this, and his thick black eyebrows framed an expression of cold command that could bring silence to a crowded room.
“I…I...could go fetch him for you.”
“No no, Tim Euston, I’d think it best if we went together.”
“But... who will stay with the body?”
“The body can take care of itself. We won’t be long, will we?”
“No, we won’t,” agreed Tim, and he started imagining what would happen once they found the watchman. Nat Pellis – a merchant, the heir to property – would say he had caught a seventeen year old apprentice with the murder weapon in his hands. Tim could deny it but the watchman would feel obliged to accept Nat’s word. Tim would find himself in jail with no means of proving his innocence. And why would the watchman want to do otherwise? The whole town would be reassured. An unsolved murder would leave people looking over their shoulders and afraid to go out. So long as somebody had been charged and jailed they all could rest easy. And it may as well be Tim Euston in jail, a boy who had no father to protect him – a boy who was rumored to be involved with rebel spies and saboteurs.
“But I really ought to go to the justice of the peace!” insisted Tim. “He needs to know about this!”
“The justice of the peace will find out about it when the watchman makes his report,” said Nat as he stepped towards Tim. 
The backdoor opened and Bessie came in, carrying a basket. “Good afternoon, sir,” she said, nodding to her employer. She stepped between them, sat her basket on the table, turned to the fireplace and gasped, “What? What’s he... who’s he?”
“Perhaps you should not be here,” said Nat in a fatherly tone as he took her arm and guided her away from the body. Tim took the opportunity to creep to the door. Nat heard the latch click. He turned quickly but it was too late. Tim was through the door and running down the garden path.
“Tim! Come back!” Nat roared, racing out after him. He looked back and forth and saw Tim leap over the fence. It would be pointless to go after him. He would only catch up if Tim stumbled, and splashing through all the puddles would ruin his suit.
“Why’d he go running off like that?” asked Bessie as she followed him out.
“Why do you think?” muttered Nat.
.   .   .   .   .
Tim followed a pathway that wound through apple orchards and towards the creek. He kept up a fast pace, coming to a bridge that led to the mansion. Colonel Philipse, the justice of the peace was a wealthy and powerful man. If Tim could give his side of the story first there was a chance he could stay out of jail. Nat Pellis was obviously convinced that Tim was guilty and he would twist everything to suit his conviction. Tim needed to do the twisting first.
As he ran up to the large and imposing house, Tim wondered whether he should go to the front door, since he had important news. Or maybe he should go to the backdoor because he was a lowly carpenter’s apprentice. His decision was made for him by the appearance of the man himself – an extraordinarily fat man waddling slowly around the side of the house, his right hand gripping a cane. With him was his steward. 
“If it please ye, sir!” gasped Tim as he stopped well short of the men, pulling off his hat and bowing low.
“What is it?” asked the steward, sounding angry.
“There’s been a killing, sir!”
“What?”
“A killing! And… and he’s a spy,” lied Tim, almost in a whisper. “A rebel spy! And he calls himself... Adam Frye.”
“Adam Frye?” asked Philipse.
“Oh… ah… no!” stammered Tim. He was wondering why he felt that he needed to tell a lie. “No, not the Adam Frye from hereabouts. It’s another one… with the same name. He was pointed out to me once, down in the city. I don’t know for sure but... but that’s what I was told about him. And I’m sure it’s him too! And he’s there now, lying dead… in front of the fireplace at the Pellis store. I just went there looking for my sister, and there he was, and...”
“And you say he’s been killed?” asked Philipse.
“Well… I don’t know, but… but he sure looks dead, and… there’s blood under his head and… and the poker was lying on the floor right next to him. So maybe…”
“Did Nat Pellis send you here?”
“Nat… Mister Pellis… he wasn’t there. Then he came in when I was about to leave and come here to tell you. For I felt you should know. But Nat… he was out, but… but I saw another man there, just as I came in – another one – not the dead one. He was at the door that goes into the front – into the store. He just stuck his head in and then pulled it back... and… and he had guilt on his face and… but… but Adam Fry… the one on the floor – he’s probably a rebel spy. That’s what I’ve been told about him.”
“Why do you think him to be a rebel spy?” 
“Because that’s what I was told.”
“Told by whom?”
“Well… it’s a fellow who calls himself Jock. He’s a drunkard – a sailor – in the city. He’s off to sea now, but he was always wanting me to buy him a drink but I’ve never bought him nothing. He just said the man’s a rebel spy, and that he calls himself Adam Frye.”
“Adam Frye the rebel spy, eh?” said Philipse with a nod.
“I don’t know! I was just told that! I’ve never seen him before, except that once but… but… but he was still alive and his last words were… Sam Baker!”
“Sam Baker?” asked Philipse as his eyes grew wide.
“He said ‘Sam Baker’ and he pointed, like… like he was telling me who did it to him.”
“Did he now?”
“You said he was dead when you came in,” said the steward.
“Well… ah… not at first. But he was sure looking dead when I left to come here. He made noises like… But maybe he’s not dead yet and... The fellow named Jock, he… he… he said that Adam Frye works with a man called Sam Baker! He did! Yes… I believe… he… he did say that! I should have come and told you back then but… but I didn’t believe him, for he’s just a drunkard and a sailor.”
“Ah yes, well… well, boy,” nodded Philipse who looked like he was thinking. “And you say you got a good look at his face? The other man, the one who’d ‘stuck his head in and pulled it back.’ ”
“Well… I don’t know who it was but… but… I did get a good look.”
“Well well well,” Philipse said with a smile.
“And then Nat came, through the back, just after the man left. I think he left. He went back into the store. I didn’t follow him. I didn’t know what to do! There was blood! But… but I suppose maybe Nat got a look at him too, maybe.”
“You suppose so?
“So you don’t know for sure,” said the steward, “whether the man on the floor is dead?”
“No, I… I suppose not,” said Tim with a shrug.
“Well well well!” said Philipse, “Have the wagon brought around. I’d like to go talk to Nat, and perhaps this Adam Frye as well.”
“He’s… he’s not much to look at,” said Tim. “I mean…”
“I don’t suppose you’d be either,” chuckled Philipse. “Not in his state, whether he’s dead or alive still. But you’ll have to keep your eyes open, won’t you, in the days to come? In case you spot the other fellow.”
“I will.”
“Because if he is Sam Baker, and you’re able to call for help, and we’re able to get our hands on him…”
“I’ll watch for him! I will!”
“You’re still out and about on your wagon?”
“No, they’d only wanted me until the ice was off the river. It’s cheaper to ship by boat now. My master was hauling by wagon until the ice was off and the boatmen were more willing to go out. Because before, what with great blocks of ice a-flowing down…”
“Of course, of course.
“But still, around here, I’m coming and going and…”
“I think we’ll have to get you back on a wagon again. Get you out and about and seeing faces. I can’t tell you how important this could be. Sam Baker’s the worst of them. The absolute worst!”

Frederick Philipse III (1720 – 1786) is a historical character, and he was extraordinarily fat. After he fled to England in 1783 his land was confiscated, most going to tenant farmers. Philipse Manor Hall is now a museum.
 

Chapter 2
Back to my wicked ways.
Tim ought to have been feeling pleased with himself as he drove the wagon along the road that led from New York City back up to King’s Bridge. Only the day before he had faced a false accusation of murder – as serious a mess of trouble as could be imagined. But he had got himself out by his own courage and cleverness – by his own artful invention.
Tim’s quick decision to go straight to Colonel Philipse with news that would please him had worked as well as could be hoped for. When they got back at the Pellis store, Philipse had been in high spirits, gloating over the corpse like a hunter over his prize. Tim retold his made-up version of events, expecting that Nat Pellis would not want to contradict him when Philipse was so pleased. Nat just said that he had stepped out after a stranger had asked for some cream of tartar. He had told him he had none in stock but could go find him some, and the man had said he would be back in an hour.
But, wondered Tim, the colonel must now be wondering what a pair of spies were doing in the Pellis store. And he’ll now have reason to wonder about Nat. And Nat will have good reason to be furious at me. But I had to do what I did. I could have been accused and hanged! And I wasn’t, and all’s turned out well. As well as could ever be hoped. And here I am, out driving a team again.
“Tim Euston!” called a voice, startling him. He turned to see a young man running to catch up. He had just driven passed him. “Gimme a ride!” the man called. 
“Dan Eliot! You’re looking tired!” laughed
 Tim as he pulled back on the reins. Dan was a friend who had been ordered to work on a nearby farm after being convicted of battery. It had been a drunken brawl and the loser’s father had persuaded the justice to lay charges. Dan was a sailor and had been expecting to be pressed into the British Navy but, though it was late in May, he was still on land.
“Oh tired right out, I am!” groaned Dan. He sounded drunk, which was odd. He had sworn he would never get drunk again, out of fear of the trouble he might get himself into. “So good to see you!” he panted as he climbed onto the wagon. He stunk of rum.
“How long have you been walking?”
“Since Simon Hull’s!”
“That’s only a mile!”
“Ooo, but I’d walked so many miles before that! And I’ve so many more to go!”
“It might do you good...”
“Too much good!” groaned Dan. He pulled off his hat, scratched his curly blond hair and let out another sigh. He was eighteen and Tim was seventeen but hard work had made them both look older. “I’ve been down to the city delivering this and back up to Yonkers delivering that. Ten miles this way and twenty miles that way! I’ve worn holes through my soles!”
“You were in Yonkers yesterday?”
“I was, and back to my wicked ways, I was, as well,” he said with a malicious grin. “And then I was into the city again – walking the whole distance! Spent the night at Simon’s”
“Simon’s? How is the old fellow?”
“Drunker than me! And it’s the worse for him too! He was losing money at cards, he was, and I’ve been on a winning streak. For two days now! Making easy money, I’ve been. Playing cards and drinking good rum – up to no good in so many ways. Doing dirty deeds, I’ve been – in the eyes of some. But take a look at what I’ve got as reward for my wickedness!” As Dan said this he opened up the canvas sack he carried and pulled out a small pocket pistol. He cocked it and held it up to Tim’s nose. “Your money or your life, if you please!” he said, mimicking an upper class Englishman.
“Where did you get that?” asked Tim as he stared cross-eyed down the barrel.
“Off of old Simon! Won them cards! A pair of them! And he got them from Alvin Wyre. You know Alvin Wyre? And here’s the mate to it. Lovely, aren’t they? I reckon they’d cost four pounds new – four for each of them maybe! A fortune! Look at them! A nice pair, wouldn’t you say?”
“Did he tell you where Alvin stole them from?”
“From a redcoat officer probably,” shrugged Dan. “And when he saw them in my hands he looked – he looked so sad! Teach him to drink and gamble, won’t it?”
“Now it’s taught you that you’ll profit from drinking and gambling.”
“So it has, so it has,” sighed Dan in mock sorrow. “And it’ll be the ruin of me, it will. From this day on it’ll…”
“What are you going to do with them?”
“Sell them. I’ll likely get two pounds for the pair. Don’t you think? At least! Imagine that. It would take me a dozen weeks at sea to earn two pounds! And I’m an able seaman!”
“And it’ll likely earn you a dozen years at hard labor when the redcoats catch you with them.”
“Ah, but there’d be no justice in that – no justice!” said Dan, now mimicking the lofty tone of a lawyer in court. “And I am no thief! Nor is the man who stole them – seized them! Weren’t they taken from a British officer and doesn’t that make them the lawful spoils of war?”
“Maybe,” said Tim quietly. He was wondering what Dan had been up to in Yonkers the day before. And what did he mean by “dirty deeds”? Had he been involved with the killing?
“Nay nay, Laddy,” said Dan, now mimicking a Scottish preacher. “Common thievery ‘tis and defiance of the written word of the Lord!”
“Well, it is,” said Tim, sounding like his mind was on something else.
“But no!” said Dan, going back to his lawyer’s voice. “The redcoats are the invaders of an independent nation, they are! Are they not? Hath not the Declaration of Independence made us a free and sovereign nation, and is not the State of New York free and independent, and has it not been invaded by a foreign army? Yea, we’re at war against the hoards that have come to enslave us all! And that my friend – that is what makes all that is seized from them the lawful spoils of war! Does it not?”
“Well…” said Tim as he eyed Dan with suspicion, “not according to the generals who call for looters to be hanged.” 
“Bah! Only for the soldier who steals from an innocent civilian. Were I to be charged for this, it’d be a defiance of the ancient laws! Laws since time immemorial! The natural law! Whoever took these fine pistols did so by right of plunder, he did, and when Simon Hull lawfully gambled them away to me, I then became their just and rightful owner. You cannot deny that, can you?”
“The privateers would not deny it,” shrugged Tim.
“Of course they’d not. Because it’s the truth. Isn’t it?”
“But did Simon say they were seized by a licensed privateer, or by a soldier sworn into a lawful army?”
“Pish! That don’t matter! Half the plundering is done by the women – the camp followers – after the battle. They strip the corpses naked to make work easier for the vultures.”
“But do you really think it’s safe to try to sell them down in the city?”
“Safe enough,” said Dan with a shrug. “Well… I might take them across to Jersey when we go join up. There I can sell them out in the open – auction them off to the highest bidder – and likely get more for them too.”
“Maybe. But you don’t fight battles with little pocket pistols, do you?”
“And on that matter,” said Dan as he pointed his finger at Tim. “Just when are the two of us going to be going? We should be in Morristown now – training for battle! Ready and able to fight for our freedom! To fight for the sacred cause of liberty! I… I fear the war will be over before we get a chance to fight!”
“I suppose it might,” sighed Tim.
“How long has it been now? Didn’t Sam Baker tell us to wait a month and then he’d take us over? It’s been near two months already! Two months! We should have been over there and sworn in by now – soldiers in arms – serving under General Washington – ready to march into battle and fight for our liberty!”
“Well… Sam must have his reasons,” said Tim. He and Dan had provided a service to the notorious rebel spy. They had then told him they wanted to join the army and fight, and Sam had advised them to wait another month. He would take them across to New Jersey, vouch for their honesty and reliability, and get them in with a good sergeant. But now Tim was wondering if Dan really was honest and reliable. What had he meant by “wicked ways” and “easy money”. Dan Eliot was what people called an “excitable boy”. What had this born troublemaker been up to?
“I don’t see why we’re still being kept waiting,” grumbled Dan. “I figure we should go across ourselves. How do we ever make it into an elite unit with next to no time for proper training? It ain’t enough to be studying a manual of arms and paying an old man to drill us. He’s likely forgotten half he ever knew.”
“Well…”
“And how do we ever gain promotion to corporal and then to sergeant without being in amongst the better sort of soldiers that get the best chances to demonstrate their courage? I wanna fight! I wanna bag me a redcoat and mount his head on a wall!”
“Well, here’s a couple of redcoats now,” said Tim quietly as he looked up the road, “so you’d best be quiet or they’ll be bagging you.”

How old was an “old man.” Detailed census information was not collected at this time, in either America or England, but life expectancy would not have changed a lot between then and seventy-five years later when numbers are available. A twenty-year-old white man or woman had even odds of making it to sixty. Half of men who made it that far survived to age seventy-five, and women to seventy-seven. During the 1770s small pox would have worsened the odds, but not a lot. Likely about one in thirty was over sixty-five, compared with one in five today. While there were fewer elderly, they would have been far more visible, often sitting on benches in front of a house, doing handy work.
In 1777, one day of semi-skilled labor by a healthy young man would usually earn him room and board plus twelve English pence (or a quarter of a Spanish dollar, or half an American Continental dollar.) It would take him at least forty days of scrimping and saving to buy an ordinary pistol. It fired one shot, and without a lot of practice it would take a half a minute to reload. A used pistol would cost less, especially if it tended to misfire. A hundred years later, twenty days of labor – half that – could buy a new Colt .45 six-shooter, and one more day would earn enough for thirty bullets. Today, saving for a similar pistol requires less than a week.
 

Chapter 3
A pair of live prisoners.
With all their talking, Tim and Dan had failed to notice a wagon stopped in the road. It was the sort of location where the British occupiers would often set up a temporary checkpoint. With so many smugglers, deserters and rebel spies, constant vigilance was a necessity. Or so they claimed. The locals hated all the delays and demands and wondered whether the checkpoints served any use other than to remind everyone of who was in charge.
The two soldiers were looking frustrated about something and the rain clouds above them only darkened their stern expressions. Tim reined in his team and brought the wagon to a stop. He smiled, pulled off his hat and brushed back his straw colored hair, trying to look humble. He started to speak but then just smiled again, looking innocent with his freckles and dimples.
“What you got in there, boy?” asked the taller of the soldiers as he peered into the wagon. It was loaded with casks, bags and crates.
“Just some stock for folks up at Yonkers. I’ve come from the city.” As he said this, Tim was pulling out his traveling papers. One was a passport written in fancy handwriting and signed by Colonel Philipse, saying that Tim Euston had permission to take a wagon and team to New York City and back again. Another showed that his master had paid for a permit to allow him to cross at King’s Bridge at the north end of Manhattan Island. All travellers needed these and justices of the peace could charge a shilling – a day’s pay for an ordinary man – for the few minutes it took to write one up and attach a wax seal to make it official.
While the soldier read through both letters Dan was looking around. There were no other soldiers with them, which was odd. Only these two and they were not much bigger than Tim and himself. And there was not one other person in sight – just a wagonload of hay going the other direction, and it was at least a half a mile away.
The soldier handed the papers back, but he was still giving Tim a look of suspicion. “Well then,” he said slowly with another glance at the load, “maybe we’ll need to take a look at…”
“Stand off, boys!” roared Dan as he rose with a pistol in each hand. “Put your hands up where I can see them or I’ll… I’ll…” He was about to lose his balance and fall when Tim caught hold of his leg to steady him. His obviously drunken state made the soldiers all the more fearful for their lives and they held their hands high as they could.
“Easy now,” said the shorter soldier. “We’ll not defy you.”
“Indeed ye had better not!” growled Dan. “I aim to shoot me a few more redcoats before the war’s over, and this might be my last chance before your generals beg for terms and you all get shipped back home to where you came from. Two balls – two redcoats! But I’d reckon you’re worth more as prisoners, eh? Prisoners of the American Army? What do you say to that?”
“Aye aye, worth much much more as prisoners – good for exchange!” said the taller soldier with a frantic smile. He had heard stories of rebel soldiers who were half crazed with blood lust from spending too much time hunting in the wilderness.
“Indeed much better, much better,” nodded Dan, who was quickly sobering up. He had made no plans for the taking of prisoners and now wondered what he would do with them. “We’ll… we’ll… Tim! You lead their wagon down yonder into the woods,” he said, pointing a pistol to a narrow road that led to the shore of the Hudson River. “And you two! You’ll be walking ahead of us, won’t you be? All nice and obedient-like.” 
As Dan said this he hopped down from the wagon, almost stumbling and falling. He caught his balance and swung around, grinning savagely – trying to keep the soldiers afraid of him. He hardly needed to make the extra effort. The two were white with terror – their eyes wide and their legs and hands trembling. A crazed drunkard with two pistols talking wildly about taking prisoners and bagging redcoats – it was reason to anticipate an untimely death.
“Now now, sir,” begged the smaller of them. “I’ve got coins here in my pocket – right here! And you can take the horses too, eh? They’ll sell for…”
“Quiet! Down the road like I says!” ordered Dan as he waved the pistols back and forth. The soldiers obediently started off, their hands straight up and fingers spread wide. Both were glancing back and forth, hoping other British soldiers might be on the road, but there was no one in sight. Even the wagonload of hay had crossed the far hill. “Not too fast and not too slow,” snarled Dan. “We want a pair of live prisoners, don’t we now? Ha! Though it hardly matters, eh? Live or dead?”
Tim was following behind, leading the team of horses that pulled the half empty army wagon. His hands were shaking as much as the soldiers’. The road curved downhill into the dense woodland that rose from the river’s edge. And what about my wagon? he wondered. Will it get stolen while I’m stealing this one?
“Halt!” ordered Dan. “Now Tim, you tie the team up to that branch there and you run yourself back. Go get a boat and meet us back here, by the river.”
“Yes sir,” said Tim, but right away he wondered why he was calling Dan “sir” when he might just as well have called him a crazy suicidal fool.
“Now be quick,” called Dan. “We don’t want to be keeping these poor boys a-waiting, do we?”
“Ah… no,” replied Tim as he tied the reins. He turned and ran back up the trail. Out on the road his team stood patiently waiting. By now a pair of women carrying baskets had come along but they continued past, arguing about something and paying no attention. Another wagon was following along but its driver looked half asleep. Tim hopped on the wagon, gave the reins a shake, and continued on his way.
Get a boat? Tim asked himself as he grew more frustrated. From where? And what about the patrols that are always out on the river and along the shore? This is suicide! But… but if we can do it – if we can get them across! That’d make up for a lot, wouldn’t it? It’d raise eyebrows! 
There would be boats by the dock at Yonkers, where Tim lived. There was always at least one or two, though they would be chained to posts with large padlocks. Boats were not just left around for the taking. But Tim had once seen the local ferryman, old Clay Boodle, lock up his boat and hide the key above a timber of a storage shed, below the eaves. 
Maybe the key’s there now, Tim wondered. If I could find that key I could unlock the boat and get back to Dan in no time, so long as I’m not stopped by a British patrol boat. But that’d likely not happen.
And I won’t be stealing it either, Tim reassured himself. I’ll be seizing it. And I’ll be acting in support of the cause of liberty and in the defense of my nation. And… and after we get the prisoners across, we can leave the boat where somebody can find it. We could leave a note. And we wouldn’t have to because ‘Clay Boodle, Yonkers’ is carved into the front of it. He’d surely get it back within a day or two. It’ll all work out splendidly! We’ll just wait ‘til after dark and cross the river, and we’d just have a quick walk to Morristown. And what a fine first impression we’ll make,” thought Tim, his eyes gleaming. What’ll they think when we walk into town with two redcoat prisoners-of-war? Not yet sworn in and already taking prisoners! How many recruits could boast of that? Why… it seems almost too easy?

This story is set in May of 1777, in the third year of the War for Independence. It had begun just over two years before in Massachusetts. The British Army – the regulars – had tried to suppress a colonial assembly that had been stockpiling military equipment and supplies. Local militia firing rifles drove them back and surrounded Boston. News spread fast and throughout New England, revolutionary committees took control of local government. Two months later 1500 patriot militia fought 2500 British regulars at the Battle of Bunker Hill. Though the Americans were driven from the hill, almost half the British were killed or wounded – a number that surprised British commanders. The rebellion spread and by May of 1776 not one British soldier remained in arms in the thirteen colonies. The Americans felt they could now persuade their king to return things to the way they had been before he had started to try impose new taxes. Only a small minority dreamed of full independence with a government of the people.
For years, the colonists in North America and the Caribbean had been protesting efforts to impose new taxes and stricter controls. For over a century they had been largely left to rule themselves and the only taxes paid to England had been customs duties that had usually been evaded. The Americans insisted they should pay no new taxes without the right to vote for their own members of Parliament. It was an era of protest with demands for political and legal reform heard throughout Europe, with rebellion in Corsica and riots in Madrid, Ireland and London.
A Continental Congress met in Philadelphia. Delegates elected by assemblies insisted they were loyal and issued their demands in the king’s name. In 1776 the mood changed and in July, they voted to declare their independence. A regular army, called the Continental Army, with George Washington as commander, grew to 23,000 men, but their enthusiasm was not matched by either their equipment or their training. King George sent a force of 32,000 that landed at the mouth of the wide Hudson River. Its goal was to split the new country in half, destroying the people’s will to resist. His Majesty’s Army in North America, under the command of Major General William Howe, went on to defeat the Americans in five battles out of six, capturing Staten Island, Long Island, Manhattan Island and all of New Jersey. 3,600 Americans were killed, 4,000 taken prisoner, and thousands more simply gave up and walked home.
Fear and despair was alleviated in late December when Washington scored a surprise victory at Trenton in northern New Jersey. The good news carried on through the winter with the British suffering heavy losses in many small actions. The dream of liberty was renewed and, as spring’s sunshine warmed the land, the American patriots were rebuilding their armies and preparing to take on the red-coated invaders.
 

Chapter 4
You’re better off caught.
Tim was worried by the look of the sky. Dark clouds were building in the northwest as he drove the wagon to King’s Bridge. But why should that matter? he then asked himself. Won’t we just be less easy to see under the cover of rain? It’ll be a safer crossing over!
At an army base by the bridge he could see soldiers being drilled on the grass of a lush spring meadow. The rows and columns of red and white uniforms moved mechanically to the call of a sergeant and to the rhythm marked by fife and drum. When the sun peaked out from behind a cloud, their coats were bold as blood. Tim could see sunbeams reflecting off of fixed bayonets and an image came to his mind of one of them stuck through his stomach. He looked away.
At the bridge a few wagons formed a line, waiting to cross. Tim could see guards taking quick looks at papers. No one was being searched.
Tim’s turn came. One soldier examined his papers while another climbed into the box of the wagon to poke around. Why me? Tim wondered, expecting them to start opening casks, crates and sacks to look for contraband. But then the man climbed back off again. No order was given for a search and Tim was allowed to cross.
Past his greatest obstacle, Tim drove the horses hard to cover the last four miles home to the village of Yonkers. First he had to stop at the Pellis store and unload. Strangely, Nat came out to help and seemed almost cheerful. Nothing had to be raised to the attic by rope and pulley so it did not take long, but still it seemed to take forever.
Tim’s next stop was the stable kept by the blacksmith. The man was at home next door eating his supper. His wife told Tim to put the horses in their stalls and to feed and water them. It took a while, taking off harnessing, hanging it on hooks, pushing the wagon into its place, getting the feed.
Once all was done, Tim headed for the town dock, not even thinking about stopping at home for his supper. He could not have forced himself to eat anyway, not with his stomach tied in such a knot. It was not far to the dock though, along the main street and then a short ways down a side street.
A talkative neighbor asked Tim how the ride had gone and he stopped, thinking that to rush by would raise her suspicions.
“A…a good trip d… down,” he stuttered. “The… city’s busy as always. S.. soldiers ev…everywhere.” It was not working. She was looking at him as if she feared for the state of his mind. He would have been better off giving her a one word answer and keeping on going. “Good-day to th… thee. G… got to be home,” he said with an imbecilic smile and turned to continue on. But now he faced his sister Sadie, and she looked as worried as the neighbor.
“What’s the matter with you?” she asked as Tim rushed past. She ran to catch up.
“Nothing!” he said, increasing his pace.

“Tim, wait!” she said, and again broke into a run.
“I’m busy!” he whispered. “I can’t talk now!”
“No, of course not,” she agreed, as if she already knew why.
“It doesn’t concern you!”
“Then it’s best that I not know, isn’t it?”
“Then get on home!” Tim ordered.
“But I was going this way!”
“Going where?”
“Bessie’s!”
“Good!” he said as he pressed on. When he turned in the direction of the town dock she kept following. “What are you doing?”
“Bessie’s moved down here,” Sadie lied.
“She has not!”
“You’ll see when we get there.”
“We? I’m not going to Bessie’s,” muttered Tim while keeping his eyes ahead.
“You don’t need to be telling me all about what you’re doing,” she huffed. With her freckles she looked a lot like her brother. “It’s not my concern. And what I don’t need to know I don’t need to hear about.”
“Good!” he said as they came to the dock. There was only one boat sitting out tonight but it was the right one – the one Tim could probably get unchained. “Now get yourself off to Bessie’s.”
“There’s no rush, Brother. What’d you come here for anyway?”
“I told you! I can’t tell you! Now will you take yourself away so I can get to work?”
“Go ahead with your ‘work’! I was just on my way anyway,” said Sadie, sounding highly offended. She turned and walked back up the road. Tim watched her go. She looked back, her eyebrows arched with resentment. It was the same expression he was wearing and it made the two of them look even more alike. She went around the side of a house and Tim suspected she would stay hidden and then peek out to watch. There was nothing he could do about it. She was as stubborn as she was nosy.
Tim crouched to take a look under the upside-down boat. The oars were there, tucked under the seats. To be careful, he turned and walked a few steps along the path that followed the river. He stopped, turned back and looked around. There was still no one in sight. Everybody was eating supper. A light rain was starting to fall. That was good. It would keep them inside.
Tim went to where he hoped to find the key. The shed was built of roughly squared timbers. Its exterior had been plastered and whitewashed but most had since fallen off. On top of one of the exposed timbers, under the eves, was a chink wide enough hide a key. Tim took another look around, trying to appear calm and unconcerned. Still, no one was in sight. He nonchalantly reached up and felt for it. It was there. A short key that would likely fit the fat padlock that secured the boat to a post.
Tim walked slowly over to the boat and looked around one last time. All was quiet except for the chirping of a blackbird and the distant barking of dogs. He took hold of the lock, inserted the key and turned it slowly. He pulled and the lock slid open, as nicely as could be hoped for. After another glance around, he gathered the chain and placed it neatly on the ground.
It was not large, twenty feet long and six wide. Tim would have to flip it over and push it down the bank and into the water, but he was sure he could get it in. After another glance back, he went to the side of the boat, lifted it with all his strength and rolled it over.
Now Tim had to move fast. He rushed around and began pushing. It slid slowly across the sticky river mud.
“That’s as far as you’re going!” shouted Clay Boodle as he came out from behind the shed, pointing a long gun. It was a lightweight fowling piece and was likely loaded with birdshot. But up close like this it could kill.
“I… I was…” stammered Tim as he held his hands in a pleading way. “I was just going to borrow it! It’s necessary…”
“Necessary? Necessary is it?” growled Boodle. “Indeed it is. Necessary for my livelihood, it is! Now get along down the road! You can tell the colonel how ‘necessary’ my boat is to you.”
“But... but it’s not for me,” Tim whispered, sounding like he was letting him in on a secret. “It’s… it’s for the… the cause!” 
“The cause?” Boodle asked quietly.
“It’s in support of the Continental Army.” Tim said these words slowly and with deep conviction. He had never heard that Clay Boodle was a secret supporter of the army that had been created by the revolutionary Continental Congress and that was commanded by George Washington. But, if he was, then he might be willing to permit the use of his boat.
“Oh, for the Continentals, is it?” whispered Boodle with his brows raised high. “Well well well, boy. Why didn’t you say so?”
“I can’t explain now but you’ll have your boat back within a day or two. I would have gone to you directly but I was not sure whether you’d be willing to loan it out, and we need it badly.”
“Ah, of course you weren’t sure,” nodded Boodle, though he still kept the musket pointed and his finger on the trigger. “And what business is it that so urgently requires a boat?”
“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say,” whispered Tim as he glanced to the side. “At least not yet.”
“Not at liberty to say? Or perhaps you’ve just not invented your story yet!” said Boodle, his voice rising as he spoke.
“No no no! It’s true! It’s in support of the great cause!”
“The ‘great cause’, is it? Yea it is, and isn’t that why I’ve been hearing about you, Tim Euston. Too much about you! Caught in Nat Pellis’s kitchen with the murder weapon in your hands, I’ve heard! Yea, and that on top of the rumors about you’re being mixed up with the… the ‘great cause’ as you call it. And I heard that you’d run off from your master and went and tried to join up in their army of rebels. Didn’t you? Indeed, last fall it was, and I heard about it the day after. Word gets around. And I’m told they wouldn’t take you, for being too short. And lucky it was that you were too short, for if you had been taken in – well! Then what? Then you’d likely be in jail now, wouldn’t you be? Or dead? Or maybe you’d be off in the hills somewhere with the rest of them, hiding away and sick with hunger and disease. That’s the reward that all the young fools have been getting for their… enthusiasm! Five battles fought and five battles lost! That’s what your Continental Army has achieved. Eh? Isn’t it?”
“But… but we won at Harlem, and then at Trenton and Princeton, and then...”
“Won? Ha! Those weren’t battles! Those were skirmishes and ambushes! And your Mr. Washington won’t be finding his enemy sleeping again, not after those bits of treachery. The rebellion’s a lost cause boy, and you’re lucky to have been turned down by their army of fools. And if now you’re aiding and abetting them again… well, you’re better off caught. And you’re a fool for doing it, you are! A fool! ‘Tis a crime against man and God to raise rebellion! A crime against man and God!”
“But it’s…”
“No buts!” Boodle growled, looking like he wanted an excuse to pull the trigger. Over the years he had built himself a reputation as a dedicated participant when the local militia came out for training.
Maybe, thought Tim. I should try make a run for it. After all, Boodle likely wouldn’t shoot me, and he’s getting old and likely isn’t too fast on his feet.
“What’s this?” asked another voice as a hand grabbed hold of Tim’s collar. “Out a-hunting tonight, eh? Out a-hunting boys now?”
Tim could turn his head far enough to see. It was Horace Davis, the tailor. He was actually more of a farmer than a tailor, with forty acres not far from town. He did his tailoring during the slow times, on rainy days and through the winter. But though he had nimble fingers he was still bigger, stronger and likely faster than Tim. Tim had waited too long and the option of running was no longer available.
“Caught him about to make off with my boat, I did,” said Boodle. “Had the lock opened and the chain off, and he had it turned over and he was a-pushing her in – a-pushing with all his strength, he was! Almost had her off and away!”
“Caught again for the second day in a row, from what I’ve heard. Isn’t that so?”
“Indeed, the second time in two days,” nodded Boodle as they started to walk up the street, dragging Tim along. “If I hadn’t come out the door when I did, he’d be rowing away now with a smile on his face.”
“No smiles on your face now, though,” said Horace to Tim as he gave him a shaking. He was enjoying himself.
Tim said nothing and kept his eyes on the ground, suspecting that trying to explain would only earn him a slap across the back of his head. What’ll happen to me now? he wondered. If I’m convicted, I could be hanged. Well, likely not. I’d likely be given the option of joining the redcoats and then be transferred to serve on some sugar island in the tropics – and there to die from the sleeping sickness like so many have.

What were the battles that Tim and Clay Boodle spoke of? On August 22, 1776 the British came ashore on Long Island and attacked Continental forces on the Brooklyn Heights. The Americans had reason to feel confident. The British had been forced out of Boston, the fortress of Ticonderoga had been seized, and a naval attack on Charleston had been driven back. But on this day the defenders would try to hold onto an island, without control of the waters that surrounded it. William Howe, the British commander, had learned at Bunker Hill that defeating the Americans would be no easy task. On Long Island he was better prepared and more cautious. His forces outnumbered the enemy two to one and, as well, he had got lucky, managing to sneak around behind the Americans during the night to attack from both sides. After hard fighting the Continental forces were driven back and cornered, but then Washington got some luck of his own. A favorable wind was followed by heavy fog and he was able to evacuate his army across to Manhattan Island.
Nineteen days later the British rowed across the East River, defeating Washington again and forcing the Continental Army to withdraw from New York City. This was a major blow. It was the new nation’s second largest city and it took up a full square mile on the southern tip of the island. When the British advanced north the Americans were able to drive them back at Harlem Heights, and though it was a small victory it provided a big boost to morale.
Washington had to protect the strategic Hudson River. Two forts, one on each side, would be ready to bombard British ships coming upstream. Fort Washington was on the highest hill at the north end of the island, and Fort Lee was directly across in New Jersey. With a third of his army Washington crossed over to the mainland at King’s Bridge but was defeated again on October 28 at White Plains, only ten miles north of Yonkers. Losses were small though and he managed to cross the Hudson into New Jersey. But now things went from bad to worse – a lot worse. On November 16, Fort Washington was attacked from all sides and twenty-eight hundred soldiers were taken prisoner – one fifth of the entire army.
On November 20 the British followed them into New Jersey and quickly captured Fort Lee. Washington made a fast retreat south. His tired and ragged army barely managed to make it to safety across the Delaware River and into Pennsylvania. The war seemed all but over and Major General William Howe felt comfortable enough to call it quits for the winter.
But Washington was not ready to quit. On December 25 he crossed back over the Delaware to attack the Hessian forces at Trenton. (Called Hessians because many came from the region of Germany called Hesse.) They were said to be the best soldiers in the world, but they had been celebrating Christmas with heavy drinking and had posted few guards. Washington surprised them and captured nine hundred prisoners with all their arms.
The British were shocked to hear the news and rushed south, but on a small road Washington was marching north, sneaking around them. On January third, the army scored another victory at Princeton. Over the days and weeks that followed, news of these victories spread across the land and patriots who had been despairing found themselves rejoicing. Hope continued to grow with many small victories in northern New Jersey and by spring the revolutionary forces were getting the new recruits they needed to press on.
In the meantime the British held complete control of Staten Island and Manhattan Island, and as well they had partial control over areas called neutral grounds. These included the no man’s land that ran north of King’s Bridge and up to the mouth of the Croton River. Yonkers was at the south end of this neutral ground and its residents had to consider the risks they faced with the coming of fighting season – the season when roads were dry and nights were warm enough for soldiers to sleep out in the field.
 

Chapter 5
Two steps ahead of the game.
On the wooded shoreline of Manhattan Island the rain was falling in fine droplets. Dan Eliot sat leaning against a tree, a pistol in each hand, trying to look like he was on the brink of a violent act. His two prisoners sat cross-legged on wet grass, trying to look harmless.
“Did you take your place in the line of battle last fall?” asked the taller one. He was bigger than Dan but now he looked almost comical with a humble smile spread across a wide face. He was assuming his captor was a Continental soldier. The army was young and poor and most of its men still had no uniform. The official uniform called for a brown coat with cuffs, collar and lapels in a color that represented the regiment. But hardly anyone had that. Some wore the uniform of their local militia. The rest wore the everyday clothing they had on when they joined, along with whatever could be found since.
Dan said nothing and stared back through half closed eyes, his lips on the brink of a sneer. With his curly blonde hair tied in a queue, pudgy cheeks and squinty eyes, he was particularly good at looking menacing. He wore his work clothes, which were ragged and patched. His knee length breeches were held up by a rope, his feet were bare, his shirt was a mass of stains and his black felt hat showed the white markings of dried sweat. He was what every British gentleman would imagine when he read a description of an American soldier. Officers would often read stories in the popular papers to their troops, and these included descriptions that poked fun at the rabble of rebellious provincials who foolishly dreamed of defeating a professional army.
“We might have taken a shot at each other last fall,” joked the shorter of the prisoners. He had an irritating habit of sniffing and scratching.
“Indeed,” said the taller one with a smile, “we both were there for the action. Look sharp now! Hold your fire! Be quick! Be still! Hurry up! Wait now!” They were both hoping the officious-looking frontiersman would be less likely to pull the triggers if he could start thinking of the two of them as fellow soldiers rather than sworn enemies.
“Did you hear about the murder,” asked the taller one. “Up in Yonkers it was, just yesterday. They’re saying it was a rebel spy. Or at least that’s what the boy who found his body is saying. Or the boy who was caught in the act of murder I should say – the weapon in his hands! That’s what the storekeeper is saying. A carpenter’s apprentice he is – he’s the one who’s saying the man’s a rebel spy. He ran off from the store to tell the justice of the peace. And the grocer, he still figures the boy’s a murderer. But the justice of the peace – the squire of the county – he believed all that the boy had to say. Just because he went to him first with good news, the grocer say, good news because he says he saw the face of the notorious Sam Baker! A-peeking out from the storefront, he’s saying. And the old fellow must like good news as much as the rest of us. And they’re saying the boy’s not as thick as some say he is, though everybody calls him Tim Useless.”
At this Dan felt his stomach twist into a knot. “Tim Useless” was Tim Euston. It was the nickname given him by his master’s eldest son because Tim was useless for carpentry because he was forever making mistakes with measurements. Dan wanted to ask questions but he could not. To maintain his authority he had to maintain his stern expression. By saying nothing he told them they had no power over him. But what, Dan wondered, was Tim doing at the scene of what might have been a murder? And who is this dead spy? Is it Sam Baker, himself? It could be! Nobody in Yonkers knows what Sam Baker looks like. Nobody who’d admit it. And why did Tim run straight off to inform the most prominent and powerful tory on the neutral ground? Frederick Philipse is as much a tory as any tory in the New York colony. And why didn’t Tim say anything about this?
“Are you from around here originally?” asked the shorter one. “You sound like a New England boy, eh? Just a bit?” Dan said nothing and the soldier wondered whether saying this had been a mistake.
“I am that,” Dan said slowly and with a nod. “Massachusetts.” He said this last word in a threatening tone. Englishmen believed that most the hardcores came from in or around the infamous city of Boston. Back in old England it was widely agreed that most Americans were loyal subjects of the king – simple sorts who had been bullied into silence by fanatical rebels. And most of these fanatics were descendants of the puritans zealots who had settled New England.
“Myself,” said the taller one, “I hale from the colony of Nova Scotia. Robby Lewis’s my name. There’s a whole slew of us Lewises up there – fishermen and farmers we are, for the most part – depending on the season, eh?”
“And you’re not in the navy?” asked Dan, sounding like he did not really care.
“I might have been, had the choice been left up to me. I was ordered by my grandfather to join the army – join the king’s regulars. The same ones that you rebels chased out of Boston, a year ago last March. And we owe you a thanks, because merchants like my granddad have done a good trade since they’ve been there, keeping them fed and all, eh? Good times for grandpa, it’s been.”
“So then why are you in the regulars and not in some loyalist regiment?”
“Well…I suppose that’s where I’d rather be,” said Robby as he rolled his eyes, “for I’ve been the butt of many a poor joke about ‘colonial boys.’ They think we’re all ignorant peasants. Or so they seem to, to hear them talk. But my grandfather decided that I was more of an East Sussex man than a colonial boy so it was the king’s Forty-Forth Regiment of Foot for me. They recruit out of East Sussex, supposedly. And that’s where all the Lewises come from, originally. So my grandfather offered me up to them and they were glad to have me.”
“But you were born over here?”
“Me and my father too, we were born in Nova Scotia. He’s dead now, of a fever. I barely remember him. I remember him lifting me high and calling me ‘my little man,’ and then I remember him a-coughing and spitting into a pot. That’s about all. My mother was his second cousin and they married when she was only sixteen. She says I’m no better than he was.”
“Ha!” laughed Dan. “Well, if your mother says it then it must be true.” But right away he straightened his face, realizing this could be taken as a sign of weakness. A smile could encourage the two. They might think he was letting down his guard, and that would make them more likely to attempt an escape. Dan’s pistols were not even loaded. The prisoners, of course, did not know that. But even if they had been loaded, the weather would surely have dampened the powder. Powder can be kept dry if you wrap dry cloth round the pan, but not in a weapon that sits open to damp air, ready to fire. Dan knew that once the two soldiers concluded that the weather must have had its effect, they could decide the odds were in their favor and inform him that he was their prisoner. Dan might be strong but he was no match for two regulars.
“Well… yes,” shrugged Robby. “I suppose she’s right.”
“So you took the king’s shilling then?” asked Dan, trying to recapture his surly tone.
“Well, I had to join, for otherwise I’d have been cut out of Grandfather’s will and cast from the family. With my father dead there’s only him for us now. And it was hard to refuse the wise old man’s advice when my own mother was on his side – the whole blessed family was – all a-shaming me and a-calling me down. Calling me a coward, some were!”
“Well then,” said Dan, “it sounds like you had your punishment coming.”
“Well,” shrugged Robby, “in their eyes I was deserving of it. But I’d prefer to think that I’ve been made to suffer for what I believed in. There are freedom loving men to be found everywhere, aren’t there? Wherever you find true Englishmen! And all I did was to associate myself with those who wanted to do more than moan and groan. Or maybe to tar and feather a man who’s too willing to bow to a tax collector. We never actually did anything, not to speak of, but we were plotting. And that sort of plotting would be an honorable task in the eyes of a New Englander, wouldn’t it be?”
“I suppose it would be,” shrugged Dan.
“We were as angry as any by all the outrages,” said Robby, sounding like he meant it and pointing his finger as he talked. “All those new taxes and all their devices for tightening the royal grip – to rule over our trade and to deny us our ancient liberties! Or at least most of us were. Grandpa was angry too. He was, until they signed the Declaration and protest turned into rebellion.”
“Most all of you were?”
“Indeed, indeed! We’ve as much reason as anybody to think…”
“So then why,” interrupted Dan, “did the colony of Nova Scotia never send delegates to the Continental Congress and lend its name to the protests?”
“Oh… I don’t know. There was talk about it but it never came to anything. And there’s this preacher there, who’s been a-firing everybody up with religion. There were too many men who were too busy saving their souls and not enough trying to save their liberties.”
“Ah yes, the ‘new light.’ It’s still got you going,” nodded Dan.
“But I figure we’ll still come around, soon enough, though… well… I imagine we will. I haven’t been back home for a long while now, so I can’t say what people are thinking there. And we’re isolated too, aren’t we? You could never march your Continental Army up to help us out, could you? It’s like we’re on an island. And it’s the same with Quebec. The Royal Navy can sail up the wide Saint Laurence as easy as it would the English Channel. We’re no better off than the isles of the Caribbean Sea. And you know it’s upon the islands of New York harbor that you’ve so many tories. Wherever you’re within spitting distance of the Fleet.”
“Well…”
“Whoever rules the seas will rule the islands. It’s the truth.”
“I suppose they will.”
“So here I am – a rebel in a red coat. Doing penance is what my mother would call it. She keeps sending me letters all full of religion. You should see them! All about my great sins and my great need to repent before it’s too late. I sometimes wonder if one of my sisters were to die, whether my mother might forget to mention it.”
“P.S.” joked the other prisoner, “our youngest passed away last month, God spare her soul.”
“And you’re from Nova Scotia too?” asked Dan.
“No no, I’m a Payter from East Sussex – jolly old England. East Sussex born and bred, and I don’t need to lie about it,” he said with a smile to Robby. “Yea, Oliver Payter’s my name, though most call me ‘Olly’.”
“But he’s for liberty too, he is,” insisted Robby. “He’s not here fighting for the love of the ruling class and their anointed king, no he’s not. He’s just a soldier of fortune, out for adventure and profit.”
“I am that. Truly I am. I’ve been doing my duty, but not for my love of George of Hanover, and not out of any allegiance to the great families that rule over county and parish. Us Payters have been for reform since the days of Cromwell, we have. Good east-country boys. There’s Payters who fought and died – fought against King Charles and his papists, we did! And there’s a lot of good men back home who sympathize with your demands and protests. Or… well… at least there were, before your Declaration.”
“They’re not anymore?” asked Dan.
“Well, our reformers felt a bit betrayed by it. We were all pushing for reform, all together – brothers all. And now it seems like you’ve abandoned us on our own. But… I don’t know. Like Robby here, I’ve been away from home. We only hear the opinions of our fellow soldiers now, and they’ll not tend to speak in favor of the enemy.”
“Not when an officer might be listening,” nodded Dan.
“What news we get to hear usually comes from a chaplain,” said Robby, “to keep us awake through the sermon.”
“So how did you hear the news from way up in Yonkers?” asked Dan, who now felt the two of them were likely telling the truth. There were a lot of deserters from the regulars and many were joining the Continental Army. They would usually be put together in units that did a lot of digging and cutting wood. The officers were reluctant to trust them, since they had already demonstrated their willingness to betray the oath they had sworn when they entered the British Army.
“We’re working, across the bridge. Beyond Yonkers, at a farm.”
“Ah yes, that’s where I’ve seen you,” said Dan. “Out on the road I’ve seen you. What you doing up there?”
“Digging a well.”
“Ooo, that’s a pleasant task.”
“It pays well enough though. We’re averaging a shilling a day for each of us. We’re paid by the foot with a bonus coming when we hit water.”
“A shilling a day?” asked Dan. “Good enough! You’re doing better than me. How’d you find work like that?”
“There’s a fellow with the commissary that’s comes and goes around here. Alvin Wyre’s his name.”
“Alvin!” laughed Dan. “I know him. A jolly fellow. He’s the one that had my pistols before the fellow I got them from.”
“He does a little trading on his own account,” said Robby with a knowing smile. “And not necessarily the legal kind.”
“The profitable kind then,” nodded Dan. “That’s what I need to do more of. I cut and saw wood, and I hoe the fields and for that I’m getting my room and board and no more. Except for whatever I can earn on my own by cutting extra firewood and selling it myself. I’m permitted to do that. But still, it ain’t no shilling a day.”
“I thought you were a soldier,” said Robby.
“No no, not yet. I’m ready and willing to fight but as of now I’m just convict labor. I got drunk and got in a fight. I won it fare and square but the boy was a sore loser and his father was even sorer! He got me charged and convicted for battery. I was told I’d be serving for the Royal Navy, but so far they’ve no need for me. Or maybe they don’t trust me. So, I’ve been rented out to a farmer. But not for long though. Me and Tim are going to join up, and you two are to be offered up as a gift.”
“So you’re one of us then, you might say,” chuckled Olly. “Sworn to serve the king, you are. And you’re just as ready as we are to desert.”
“I am that,” nodded Dan. “Only it’s not quite the same though, is it?”
“No, not at all” said Robby. “Now you don’t need to be aiming those pistols. We’re not about to make a run for it.”
“If we do make a run for it,” said Olly, “it’ll be to race you to the river and fight you for the boat.”
“To enlist with the Continentals?” asked Dan.
“And we wouldn’t be the first ones to do it either,” said Robby with a nod. “There’s plenty that have deserted to go join the rebels. The patriots, I should say. Though we hear your George Washington is loath to put us malcontents in with you good colonial boys. Infect his troops with their bad attitude, he figures. And I suppose he’s right about most of them.”
“You’re both wanting to stay here in America?”
“Stay here and live free!” said Olly with a nod. “And why not? What have I got to go back to in old England? Or Robby up in Nova Scotia? You live better over here, you do, the ordinary folks. A man just has to open his eyes and look around to tell. The houses are bigger and the cattle are fatter and everybody looks better fed and better dressed. And sooner or later there’s going to be peace talks and a general amnesty. That’s what they’re saying. The generals are talking tough but word has it that our Sir Billy – our Major General William Howe – is going to be the generous general in the end. They say he was only sent here because he loves you all so much. They say he even used to go and visit your Benjamin Franklin at his townhouse in old London town – part of his circle of admirers, he was.”
“I’ve heard that,” nodded Dan.
“But we’re figuring,” said Robby, “that if a man is thinking of staying and settling, then he’ll be two steps ahead of the game if he joins your army first. I figure we need to get to know a few people. And why? Because that way we’ll get to find out where a man’s best off going to settle, and what kind of business or trade to get into. And we’re told that they’ll grant a hundred acres of good land to every recruit, plus they’ll pay an eighty-dollar bounty upon enlistment. That’s what the talk is. Though some say that’ll only be paid at the end of the war. And they’re saying too that men of property, to avoid being drafted, are paying up to twenty pounds for somebody to sign up in his place and serve as his substitute.”
“So you two boys,” asked Dan, “have already been making plans to desert over to us?”
“Us and plenty more of us! There’s no work over in England. Seems like half the privates in the army are weavers who couldn’t find work weaving. If peace comes, King George won’t know what to do with us all.”
“Ah, but you’d best keep pointing those pistols at us,” joked Olly, “for then if we’re caught on our way across the river, then those pistols will spare us a charge of being absent without leave. And that’ll save us a few strokes of the lash, won’t it? That’s what you get, and they tell me the lash really stings.”
“Indeed, I’d best keep them pointed,” said Dan, trying to sound angry again, “for how do I know you ain’t just a-trying to sweet talk me and get me off my guard?”
“Well, I suppose you don’t know!” laughed Olly. “We could take you back as a rebel spy, couldn’t we? And those pistols would be all the proof they’d need to hang you. And we’d likely collect a reward too!”
“We would,” said Robby with a smile, “and we could use the money to get us across the river and off to join up with the Continentals!”
The conversation went on like this until the dimming of evening light started them wondering what had happened to Tim. Dan had gradually grown to believe that Robby and Olly were sincere in their desire to desert and immigrate. And that meant it was just the honesty and sincerity of Tim Euston that Dan might want to question now, what with Tim’s reluctance to mention his involvement with a killing that might be a murder.
They kept talking as they walked back to the wagon. Though it was raining again they were warm with enthusiasm, and before parting they agreed they would all go across and join up together in the same regiment. Dan and Tim would no longer have prisoners of war to show off, but they would get credit for bringing in two deserters who were eager to serve.
“Well,” said Olly. “I’m hoping your friend hasn’t got himself into trouble. Folks must be nervous in Yonkers, what with talk of a murderer on the loose.”
“They must,” agreed Dan.
“And with nobody in jail yet,” said Olly with a grin, “the women must be afraid of every shadow.”
“Half the men too,” said Robby. “You suppose your friend might have been caught up in the hysteria?”
“Oh… likely not,” shrugged Dan. “Now have I gotten you boys into trouble, keeping you out so late?”
“No no no,” said Robby, “nobody saw us, likely. We’ll just say we were kept waiting to load.”
“Now Dan,” asked Olly, “are you going to try walking across the bridge with those pistols?”
“Well, it’s either that or I leave them here.”
“Well, now…”
“I’m to use them to go and fight with, aren’t I?” said Dan as he straightened his shoulders. “So I’ve got to be willing to lay my life on the line, sooner or later.”
“Well, why don’t you take one of our little sacks of flour here and bury them down inside? I got a needle and I can sew the sack back up just like new.”
“You can spare me a sack full of flour?”
“Oh surely. Things get stolen off wagons now and then. We can’t keep our eyes on them all the time, eh? They’ll understand. They might make us pay for it but…”
“I’ll pay you for it.”
“No no no! You get us across the river,” said Robby, “and vouch for our good intentions. Then you won’t owe us anything.” 
“I’ll do that just as soon as Tim finds a boat,” said Dan, shaking his head. “We should have seen him rowing past. I wonder what kept him?”

The word “tory” comes from the Irish, toraidhe, which means pursuer. It was a term for an Irish bandit until the 1680s, when English reformers started to apply it to supporters of the king.
The sugar islands Tim was thinking about were the Caribbean Islands whose staple crop was sugar cane. This was a highly profitable crop and import duties made it an important source of government revenue. 
The dollar Robby referred to was the “Continental dollar” issued by the Continental Congress. At this time it traded for about one English shilling, a half-day’s pay for an ordinary worker. 

Chapter 6
The wickedness foretold of.
Sadie Euston stayed back and watched the two men march her brother up the street. What was he wanting to steal a boat for? she wondered as she followed, well behind them.
Old folk of the town, sitting on benches in front of houses, pointed and laughed. They could see Tim slouched over as Horace Davis held him by the collar. Clay Boodle walked alongside in a stiff, angry posture, one hand in a fist and the other gripping his fowling piece.
“What you got there?” called a man with grey whiskers. “Out a-hunting, have you been?”
“And a good day’s hunting it was!” Boodle called back with a smile as he lifted his weapon in triumph.
“Bagged a big one, looks like,” said another man.
“Not too big,” called a third from further along.
“’Twill be a fine hide to mount upon his wall,” called Horace. Laughter at this was heard all the way along the street.
Sadie wondered whether she should try catch up.  But what for? she wondered. Is there anything I could possibly do or say? Still, she could not allow herself to walk away. It was embarrassing though, to be seen like this – even to be following at a distance. She went between two houses and cut through a meadow to come to the bridge that crossed the creek. She could see them, already past the bridge and up to the Philipse mansion. They were going around to the back, looking like they were delivering a carcass to the kitchen. 
Once they were out of sight she crept slowly, hoping to get in close without being noticed. She went around the side of the mansion. It looked like no one was about. She went through a gate and crept along the path through the flower garden, past yellow tulips and blue irises, crouching with her head turned sideways to watch out for anyone who might be there. She made it to where stables and other outbuildings surrounded a square yard.
And there they were, with Tim standing between them. They looked like they were waiting for someone. Clay had set the butt of his fowling piece on his toe and leaned his weight on it, looking like a bored sentry at his post. Horace still had his hand on Tim’s collar but was allowing him to stand straight. Tim’s lower lip stuck out and he stared at the ground.
Then, from behind Sadie, came an explosion of furious barking! She shrieked, thinking she was about to be attacked and killed. A pair of mastiff hounds was in front of a kennel and they charged out to the end of their chains. They had allowed the men to pass without a growl, but the sight of Sadie, creeping along in so sneaky a posture, had raised their suspicions and ignited their fury.
“Ah-ha!” called Clay Boodle. “And here comes his partner-in-crime, eh?”
“No no!” gasped Sadie in a high-pitched plea. “I was only…”
“Another Euston, up to no good? Yea forsooth and we’ve all heard about the two of ye – the one instigating the other. Well then, maybe you should stay around and find out what happens to boys who are up to no good. See what might be in store for the girls who aid and abet them.”
“I… I just wondered what had happened,” insisted Sadie. “Is… is there anything wrong?”
“Wrong? Wrong she asks! Indeed there is something wrong! There’s plenty wrong, if you call the attempted theft of valuable property ‘something wrong’.”
“Theft of property?” asked the steward as he came to them.
“Yea, thievery ‘tis,” nodded Boodle. “Grand theft it is, and no less! Grand theft! And this here young scoundrel had the lock picked, the chain off, and my boat pushed halfway down and into the water. ‘Twas my livelihood that he was taking from me, and without a thought about any but himself. And then, once I confronted him, he did not even deny the malice of his intentions – not for a moment! Nay, he boldly admitted that… admitted that…”
“His intention to commit a crime?” asked the steward, helping him finish his sentence. “Well Tim Euston. I’m seeing a lot of you these days, aren’t I? And I’ve heard what the storekeeper, Nat Pellis, has had to say, I have. Indeed I have. So then boy, what have you to say for yourself this time?”
Tim hung his head and said nothing, knowing that to admit the same thing as he had told to Clay Boodle could get him hung for a spy. He had to come up with a story.
“He tells me,” said Boodle in a low voice, “that he was planning on rowing it down to the city and selling it. He was thinking he could get himself enough to have himself bound to a ship’s carpenter.”
Tim looked up at him, just for a moment, and looked back down. Boodle was lying to protect him from the far more serious charge.
“Well well, boy,” said the steward as he shook his head. “Does theft now seem a small offence on the day after a murder? Is that it? And here you’ve been apprenticed to a good carpenter – here in a fine town. But not good enough for you though, is it? Not up to your expectations? You’re not willing to earn an honest wage and take what’s been offered to you – generously offered to you? Not enough for your ambitions, is it? Eh? Is that it, boy?”
Tim kept his eyes on the ground, hoping the man would think him too ashamed to speak. “No, I suppose it wasn’t,” Tim finally said, so quietly he could barely be heard.
“No, he supposes it wasn’t,” sighed Boodle, shaking his head, “and ain’t this just in keeping with the spirit of the times we live in. When rebellion is all about us and when men rise up in defiance of their betters, then what sort of an example does that leave for poor stupid boys like this? Here he’s got it into his head that he can up and run off from his rightful master and steal my boat. And for what? To get himself more money, working somewhere down the river. Selling himself to the highest bidder!”
“Indeed,” nodded the steward, “it’s a sorry pass we’ve come to. The boy hears all the talk about rebel militias and rebel armies and then a rebel ‘Continental Congress.’ And from that, he conceives the notion that he can rebel against his master and against law and order – against all that stands in support of peace and security and godliness!”
“Tis the anarchy that was predicted,” said Boodle, shaking his head. “Yea, that is what it is. Murder and mayhem! Lawlessness and anarchy! And weren’t there a hundred sermons preached?”
“Weren’t there a thousand?” nodded the steward.
“Indeed, as wise men have said and written so many times – with rebellion will come a breakdown of all order. They’ve said that crime will abound and that we’ll soon have the rebel armies splitting into factions and fighting each other. Yea, and along with it a thousand errant boys, like this one here, will be out a-stealing and a-killing for their own profit – like we see here today! And perhaps yesterday, eh? How is it you were there at the scene of the crime? Was it a mere coincidence? Yea forsooth, ‘tis the wickedness foretold of – lawlessness and anarchy – the scourge of democracy!”
“Are you listening to this, boy?” asked the steward, as he gave a light slap to the side of Tim’s head. “Do you see what you’ve come to be a part of? Eh? Do you now?”
Sadie only heard this as she crept away. This sermonizing would likely go on and on, and she did not want to listen to it. She had received the same message enough times from her own master and mistress, for she lived in a tory household where only one opinion was allowed a voice.
“What’s he got himself mixed up with now?” asked a woman as Sadie made it onto the road.
“Ah… oh … he’s just…”
“Trying to steal Clay Boodle’s boat, is it?” asked another. “Now ain’t that a shameful thing...”
“Indeed yes, ‘tis a most shameful thing,” nodded Sadie as she continued on. She did not want to stay for this either. The woman would be airing her opinions and suspicions before other neighbors for as long as they would stay and listen. Everybody in the town would soon know, what with all of the clever remarks Clay Boodle and Horace Davis has shared with the town as they had led poor Tim up the street.
.   .   .   .   .
“He’s in jail?” asked Abby Euston when Sadie was back home. Both she and her mother served the same household.
“They’re saying he tried to steal a boat so he could sell it down in the city,” said Sadie. She had overheard what Tim had said to Clay Boodle, about the boat being needed by the army, but she could not tell their mother about that. Their mistress was there and listening. The Walkers were a family that was firm in its loyalty to the king, and Sadie could expect no sympathy. So Sadie only told them the story invented by Clay Boodle.
“What are they going to do with him?” asked Matilda Walker. She sounded angry and she could hardly be blamed for it. As servants, Abby and Sadie were members of the Walker household. The reputation that Tim was gaining for himself would reflect upon his sister and mother, and that in turn would taint the family who had taken them in. And this was not the start of it either. Rumors had been going around. People said the fatherless Eustons were rebels.
Abby had brought her two children from Boston four years before and many suspected they had brought with them the rebellious spirit that had infected so many in the infamous colony of Massachusetts. But Matilda Walker had another problem. She had always liked to keep her hands busy and she had spent too much time in the kitchen. Working alongside Sadie and Abby, she had grown fond of them – and Tim as well, who was often over to visit. She had even encouraged Tim and Sadie to practice their playing and singing so they could entertain her guests. She would even pay for instruction and coax Tim’s master to give him time off work to allow him to improve his talents. But Matilda’s generosity was not a sentiment shared by her husband. He had heard the rumors and was already wanting to throw them out onto the street. And now Tim Euston had been arrested for trying to steal a boat. It was not going to help matters.
“I don’t know what they’re going to do with him,” said Sadie, “but I’d imagine they’ll put him in the jail for now, it being a felony.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” sighed Abby. Stories would make it to the Philipse mansion and from there would go to British high command. Tim would certainly be interrogated. Anyone who tried to steal a boat was potentially a smuggler of illegal weapons or deserting soldiers. The thought of it – of what methods they might use to extract information – it terrified her. Sadie and Matilda could see it in her eyes. Abby held one hand to her cheek and she shook her head slightly, looking exhausted. She was not very old but with all her teeth gone she looked old. From a distance with her cap tied on, you would assume it covered hair that was already grey.
“I think we should get him some food,” said Sadie. “And I’ll have to be there right away, before they lock him in and go home. Though I suppose I could hook it onto a stick and poke it through the bars.”
“No no, girl!” ordered Matilda. “You can’t go in the jail yard.”
“No ma’am,” said Sadie. It was hardly a jail yard, or even a jail. There was a rough picket fence surrounding a little hut that was as much a community storage shed as it was a jail. In the fall it would likely be full of sacks of grain, and there would be no room for drunkards or thieves.
“Get the leftovers,” sighed Matilda. “I’ll get it to him.” She stood much taller than either of them – taller even than her husband. “And give him the meat too – there’s not much. And a blanket.” This was generous but Matilda had always been kind to them. Besides, Tim would soon be punished severely enough.

How would Tim be punished? If he was willing to swear his allegiance to the king, he might be sent off to sea. By spring the British Navy would need more sailors, especially if France joined the conflict. Rumors from Paris said the King of France had already made the decision. Tim would likely go to sea but not as a carpenter’s apprentice. He would be a common seaman, trained to work up on the masts. The captains preferred small wiry types for this, and they would need to have spares to replace those who were lost to disease and in battle. French admirals liked to use chain shot. This device was a cannonball made up of two halves of a thick iron shell. Each half was attached by a short length of chain. When fired at an enemy ship the two halves would spread out, pulling the chain tight. When it hit rope it tore right through. Dozens of ropes held the ship’s rigging in place to allow sails to be raised and turned. Canvas and heavy wooden timbers would come crashing onto the deck, taking sailors with them. As well, when ropes broke, the captain lost control of the ship, making it an easy target for enemy cannons that could be brought close and turned towards the hull. Whether a ship surrendered or managed to get away, there would always be dead sailors to be cast off the side. And Tim Euston could soon be one of them.
Tim could refuse this option, and many American prisoners of war and captured American privateers did. But then his prospects would be worse. As a thief he would not be eligible for a prisoner exchange. It is thought that about eight thousand Americans died of hunger and disease in prisons operated by the British, mainly in and around New York City. This would equal the eight thousand American soldiers who died while in service of the army or one of the state militias. When compared with the total population of two-and-a-half-million, it makes the War for Independence as deadly as the Civil War.
 

Chapter 7
They’ll call you cowards.
When Dan walked into Yonkers next morning it was still cloudy and humid. The mud on the road was sticky and made his shoes heavy. I ought to have carried them, he thought.
In town he went directly to the house of John Gainer, the carpenter who employed Tim. While he was stopping in front to scrape the mud off his shoes, another one of John’s apprentices came out, saw him and said, “You hear what happened to Tim?”
“What?”
“In the jailhouse!” grinned the boy. “Caught trying to steal a boat – Clay Boodle’s. Caught red-handed they’re saying. Quick marched up the street at gunpoint!”
“Well… what’d he want with a boat?”
“They’re saying he meant to sell it in the city and get himself bound to a ship’s carpenter.”
“The thieving devil!” laughed Dan.
“And the day before, Nat Pellis caught him at the scene of a murder – the weapon in his hands, he’s saying!”
“In his hands?”
“And then Tim ran to the colonel and told him who the dead man was! He said he’s a rebel spy!”
“Tim went to Colonel Philipse?”
“He did, but they’re saying that Nat figures he made it up and that Tim’s the murderer himself.”
“Why’s he think that?” asked Dan.
“Don’t know. ‘Cause he was there. And there’s been rumors about Tim. They say he’s been up to no good, eh? Suspicious activities! Him and his sister both, they say!”
“Do they?”
“And now they’re figuring Tim’s likely to be a-going to sea anyways, only not to learn the ship’s carpenter’s trade. They’re saying he’ll be a-swabbing the deck and a-climbing the rigging.”
“Or cannon drill by the hour!” laughed Dan. “Yea, that may well be. Sailor Tim. Silly fellow, eh?”
“Always was a bit odd,” said the boy as he continued on his way.
Dan turned and walked in the other direction. “In jail?” he muttered, shaking his head. “Well, bless my cursed luck!” Dan’s hopes for advancement in the army had rested upon Tim. It was Tim Euston who was on closer terms with Sam Baker. He and Tim had helped Baker, and Baker was willing to help them, but mostly Tim. And other than Sam, neither of them knew anyone who was high up in the army. Dan had only met Sam once. He had only helped him on one day. That was all. But Sam had confided in Tim and placed his trust in him. And if an ordinary sort like me, thought Dan, wants to be more than just another pair of hands to be given a shovel, then it’ll have to be with Sam Baker’s introduction. It’ll have to be Sam who vouches for me, and he’ll have to rely on Tim’s advice. Tim will have to say that I’ll be willing to do my duty, whenever and wherever. I’ll need to be thought of as the kind of soldier who will get the task done and the goal accomplished. And it’ll have to be Sam Baker who says that Dan Eliot would be a good man for special operations, like going out on horseback to scout out the enemy, or risking capture to go burn a bridge, or going on a raid to capture prisoners and provisions. “I’ve got to get Tim out of jail,” muttered Dan as he shook his head, “for my time as a soldier might not be long and I don’t want to spend it at the digging of trenches.”
“Who are you talking to?” asked a girl’s voice. It was Sadie. She had been working in the garden.
“What’s happened to Tim?” asked Dan as he came over to her.
“I don’t know!” huffed Sadie as she went to the gate to come out onto the street. “Yesterday he came into town saying that he had to get something done and saying that he couldn’t tell me anything about it. He said it wasn’t my concern. Acting right uppity, he was! So I followed him down to the dock. He told me to go home but I stayed and I got to see him try steal a boat. And then I got to see Clay Boodle come out of hiding, a-pointing his fouling piece – ready to pepper Tim’s hide. And then I got to see Tim escorted up the street like a common thief – Horace Davis’ hand upon his collar – old folks laughing at him! And now he sits in the jailhouse.”
“Well…”
“And this after Nat Pellis claims he caught him red handed at the scene of a murder. It’s got the whole town talking! He had Colonel Philipse fooled for a while but not anymore.”
“Well what was he doing there anyways?”
“I was hoping you’d tell me,” she said, sounding like it was Dan’s fault.
“I don’t know nothing! I talked to him yesterday and he didn’t tell me nothing about it! All I know is what I’ve heard from redcoat regulars!”
“Regulars?”
“Well… ah… we were…” Dan said quietly, glancing back and forth to make sure no one was close enough to hear, “we’d captured two redcoats and we were going to take them across the river.”
“Captured?”
“Indeed we did!”
“Who’s we?”
“Me and Tim. Redcoat regulars they were, and still are. I had to turn them loose.
“You captured regulars and then turned them loose?”
“Yea indeed, and ‘twas me and Tim! You’ll never believe it! They were ready and willing to desert! They’re as eager as we are to get themselves across the river and over to join the Continentals and fight for liberty!”
“Were they?” asked Sadie, sounding doubtful.
“For sure they were! And still are! We talked a long time, we did, while waiting for Tim to fetch the boat.”
“Is that what…”
“But Tim never showed up so I released them. But they’re saying they’re still wanting to go along with us…”
“And you believed them?”
“Well,” said Dan as he stepped back. Sadie was almost nose to nose with him. “Without Tim and the boat I didn’t have much choice, did I? What with all the mist and drizzle my pistols likely couldn’t have fired anyway.”
“Pistols?”
“Indeed, pistols! Two nice little pocket pistols they are! I won them at cards! Worth four pounds! Maybe more! Likely more! Best luck I’d…”
“At cards?” asked Sadie, again stepping forward and forcing Dan back.
“From old Simon, it was.”
“Old Simon?”
“He got them from Alvin Wyre. He’s a trader…”
“I know who he is. Always flirting, he is.”
“And always dealing,” chuckled Dan.
“So you just decided to place your trust in redcoat…”
“They could have taken me prisoner! They could have grabbed me and taken me in for a reward! My pistols would have been useless, even if they had been loaded. And neither of them tried nothing. But what they did keep doing was asking about opportunities here in America. And they even gave me a sack of flour to hide the pistols in so I could smuggle them across the king’s bridge. They could have taken me in and got a reward and…”
“They might yet!”
“Well… they haven’t yet!”
“And what are we going to do about Tim?”
“Well… ah… is he still in the jailhouse here?”
“He was still there an hour ago. I went into the jail yard and talked to him through the window.”
“Into the yard? You didn’t get caught?”
“No! And I wouldn’t have cared if I had. All I’d ever get would be a caning.”
“Well… that’d be bad enough.”
“And how are we going to get him out? They’re saying he’ll likely be sent to sea with the navy. Or to one of the sugar islands!”
“Well… ah… I guess if they haven’t taken him to the city yet… well… then they’ll likely not be taking him today. We… we could go out and see Robby and Olly.”
“Who’re they?”
“The redcoat prisoners.”
“What kind of stupid…”
“They want to go across to Morristown and join up! They’re for the cause of liberty and they always have been. They want to stay here to be Americans and to live free.”
“And you believe them?”
“Yes I do!”

Dan and Sadie went out to look for Robby and Olly at the farm where they said they had found work. Another hired laborer pointed the way to the new well. Dan could see Olly turning a crank to lift a pail of mud out of the hole. Around him was lumber, cut and ready. They would fit together each section of the cribbing and put it in place as they went deeper.
“Robby must be down at the bottom digging,” said Dan to Sadie.
“Or hidden in the bushes with the other redcoats and ready to come...” 
“Olly boy!” called Dan. “You don’t look so fancy now, do you?” Instead of his uniform, Olly wore a dirty shirt and breeches with a ragged straw hat. His feet were bare and muddy.
“Oh, and it does feel so good,” he said smiling. “Dan’s here!” he called down the hole to Robby. “And it looks like he’s brought his wife!”
“Only in my dreams,” said Dan to Sadie with a sweet smile. Sadie rolled her eyes in disgust.
“Haul me up!” called Robby. After the bucket was emptied, Olly lowered it back into the well. Robby was raised sitting on top of the bucket.
“Well,” said Dan, “I found out what happened to Tim and the boat. He got caught trying to steal it, and now he’s sitting in jail.”
“In jail?”
“Well, it isn’t much of a jail. Good enough for drunks and lunatics. Just in town, here.”
“Is there a guard?” asked Robby.
“One of the town’s watchmen lives next door,” said Sadie.
“This is Tim’s sister, Sadie,” said Dan. “Even prettier than Tim, wouldn’t you say?”
“That still doesn’t say much for me,” said Sadie dryly.
“I am honored to meet you, Maid Sadie,” said Robby with a bow. “We only just got to meet your brother briefly, before Dan here led us away at gunpoint.”
“So I heard.”
“He had us shaking in our boots too,” said Olly with a grin. “A right crazed in the head frontiersman he looked to be – one of the sorts who was always a-creeping around and shooting at us from behind the bushes – all last fall. I’m still waking up at night hearing the sound of balls whizzing past, fired by one of your riflemen.”
“If they missed you,” joked Dan, “then it must be that you were meant for a better purpose.”
“Fortunately for me!” laughed Olly.
“Ah, but you’ll be safe in the arms of the Continental Army soon,” said Dan. “We’ll be granting you refuge, and we’ll maybe even teach you how to shoot a rifle, yourself.”
At this Robby and Olly gave a nervous look to Sadie and then back to Dan.
“Oh, worry ye not, my boys!” said Dan. “Sadie’s as firm a patriot as ever there was. She’s been reading all the seditious books and she even memorizes the stirring passages. Her and Tim both! They could recite sedition all the day long, they could! Recite some Tom Paine for us,” he said to Sadie. “Something from Common Sense.” She frowned and looked away.
“You ever read Common Sense?” Dan asked the others.
“Well, as a matter of fact, we’ve…”
“Tim and Sadie Euston could recite half of it to you by heart, they could,” said Dan with a nod. “It’s like they figure Tom Paine to be a prophet of the Almighty, it is, almost! Go on! Recite us some…”
“That’s not necessary,” said Robby with a sympathetic smile. “We got hold of a copy ourselves and we’ve been reading it.”
“Have you?” asked Sadie, as her eyes lit up.
“And the two of them play and sing together too,” said Dan. “Tim on his fiddle and her on hers! Oh, and you should hear them sing. Like a pair of doves they are.”
“Now that I’d like to hear,” said Olly. “Only we’ll leave off Tim.”
“Let’s get back to pressing matters,” said Robby, as a courtesy to Sadie. “I’m impatient to be crossing over and heading for Morristown.”
“We all are,” agreed Olly, “just as soon as we get some better luck at the stealing of boats.”
“The seizing of boats,” corrected Dan. “What we do is in rightful defense of a sovereign nation.”
“How will you break him out?” asked Sadie.
“Well…” said Robby, but he said nothing more. They all remained silent.
“What’s it like?” asked Olly.
“You could pry the doors open with a good big crowbar,” said Sadie. “You’d only have to feed the neighbor’s dogs until they’re too lazy to bark. It’s been done before.”
“And we’ve got my two pistols,” bragged Dan.
“Is it right in town?” asked Robby.
“Right in the middle.”
“It’d be risky. The town must be jumpy, what with a murderer on the loose.”
“And Tim being a suspect,” chuckled Dan.
“Tim is?” asked Robby.
“Oh yes. It was Tim that the storekeeper caught at the scene of the crime.”
“So then it was Tim,” asked Olly, “who went to the justice of the peace and said that he was a rebel spy?”
“It was,” said Dan. “I just learned it all now, from Sadie.”
“Well well,” sighed Robby.
“But we still ought to get him out,” said Dan.
“Ah… well,” said Olly, sounding reluctant. “It’ll be risky.”
“You can’t just leave him there!” insisted Sadie. “He got caught trying to help the two of you desert! How will it look over in Morristown when word gets out that you left one of your own behind when you could have gone back for him? They’ll call you cowards and they’ll laugh at you!”
“Ah… well…” shrugged Olly as he looked down at his muddy feet.
“He had to go to Colonel Philipse,” said Sadie, “for the storekeeper was accusing him of being the killer! Who’d have taken the word of an apprentice over a storekeeper? And especially with all the rumors about his suspicious activities! Tim’s as true to the cause as any you’ll find!”
“We do need him,” said Dan. “He’s the one who’s in good with higher-ups in the army. And if we want to fight we may as well be ready to start risking our necks now as later. We’ve got to show them what we’ve got to offer. And now we’ve got an opportunity, don’t we? What do you think? Show them what we’re made of?”
“Indeed we ought to,” said Robby with a nod.
“You’re just lucky,” said Sadie, “that Tim wasn’t taken down to the city already. They don’t leave them here in Yonkers for long.”
“Well then,” said Olly with a confident smile, “I suspect they’ve left Tim too long already, for they’ll be a-losing him tonight! Won’t they be?”
“Or they’ll be gaining three more,” teased Sadie.
“Four more,” laughed Dan, “for you’ll be helping us, girl. We’ll be needing you to keep feeding the dogs.”
“What’ll we do if the dogs start barking?” asked Olly.
“But you’ll be there in your lovely uniforms,” joked Sadie, “so you could grab Dan and tell him he’s under arrest and go collect a reward.”
“Aye aye, there’s an idea!” said Robby. “Why don’t we just put on our uniforms and go get him? We say we’ve orders to take him to the city. We’ll say there’s a call out for all the convict labor they can get their hands on. And if the watchman asks to see a written order then we could say we were told to make haste. We’ll tell him that he’ll have to answer to our colonel if we come back empty handed.”
“We ought to go get him right away then,” nodded Dan. “He’ll likely still be there until tomorrow, but who knows?”
“We’ve our uniforms right here,” said Olly, pointing to a pair of knapsacks.
“Indeed, and nothing to hold us back then,” said Robby with a smile. “It’ll be easy as stealing a boat.”

What was a caning? A caning was a severe spanking inflicted with a cane. This was a stick about a yard long and no thicker than a man’s thumb. It was not necessarily less painful than a whipping with a whip made of rope or leather. Caning was for children under sixteen – a boy on his bare buttocks and a girl through her shift – a light linen under-dress. An adult was whipped on the back. An adult woman would be whipped through her shift, unless guilty of prostitution, blasphemy or another particularly vile crime.
Whether a harsh sentence was imposed would often depend on local tradition and the disposition of the judge. There was little consistency in the severity of either a caning or a whipping. The intensity of pain, the humiliation and the degree of any scarring varied greatly with the individual. After thirty or forty lashes, numbness would usually set in and the pain would decline. A particularly proud and determined man or woman would often endure a large number of lashes without collapsing or crying out.
Very few people at this time would have thought of caning or whipping as unjust or immoral, so long as the number of strokes was not great. A common sentence for a minor offence, like slander or trespass, would be ten shillings or ten strokes of the lash. A shilling was a good day’s pay, so very often an ordinary sort would opt for the whipping.
 

Chapter 8
If you want to fit in.
“Such a pair of dandies,” chuckled Dan as he shook his head. “I have never seen the like of it, I am sure.” He was watching Robby and Olly help each other with their rollers. The three of them were in a barn to wash up. They had been clean in five minutes but dressing seemed to take forever. A “roller” was a bandage swath worn around the neck. It had to be wrapped almost tight enough to cut off the flow of blood and was so stiff it forced the soldier to maintain an erect stance.
“You try being less than dandified,” said Robby, “and you’ll be made to regret it.” He was trying to make a joke out of it but Dan could hear the resentment in his voice.
“Oh yes,” said Olly, “you’ve got to make sure that you’re as clean and presentable as any in the line or the sergeant will call you forward and use you for demonstration purposes. And if the sergeant doesn’t give the business his full attention then he’ll hear about it from the lieutenant. Appearances are a serious business in the regulars.”
“Ah, but our mothers and aunties are all so proud to see us in our uniforms,” said Robby who now stood straight and tall. “And when they see you on parade, marching up and down! Oh, their faces beam, they do.”
“And the girls too – all a-giggling and a-sighing,” nodded Olly with a wink. “They’ll all be thinking you so fine and handsome. You should see the way they behave back in old England.”
“Oh they’re like that here too,” said Dan as he shook his head. “Here as much as anywhere, I’d suspect. But especially since there’s been battles fought. Now that they’re all scared for their lives, they’re a-falling in love with soldiers faster than ever. And it’s especially the better dressed soldiers – as if they’re more capable of protecting them.”
“Truly? There are well dressed soldiers here?” joked Robby.
“Some of our militias come out in fine uniforms. You should have seen the...”
“Now you remember, Dan Eliot,” interrupted Olly as he pointed a finger. “You too will be wanting yourself a nice suit of clothes, once you’re in the army. With all your schooling you’ll surely be an officer before too very long. Now I am, of course, assuming you’ll be demonstrating courage in battle to round out your qualifications. But that won’t be enough, no no. Schooling and courage under fire is both needed – and still that won’t be enough. What they’ll want, is to see you dressing the part of a gentleman. And why not? It’s just human nature to want the better sort to be better dressed, isn’t it?”
“I suppose it is,” said Dan. “I’ll just have to figure out where I’ll find the money to buy the clothes.”
“Oh it’s easy,” said Robby. “You wait ‘till the next battle and after you win you stay behind, find a corpse your size and strip him.”
“You make it sound easy,” snorted Dan. “Now we’d better be getting going while Tim’s still…”
“Your clothes will determine how far you’ll go towards your goal.”
“And you’ve got it easy, compared to some,” said Olly, “It’ll be way cheaper to get yourself qualified for promotion in your army than it would in the king’s regulars. The purchase price of a commission in the British Army is… well it’s a lot.”
“So I’ve heard,” shrugged Dan. “No, an officer’s commission in this land doesn’t require proof of family wealth and...”
“But truly, is it like that in every colony, and every regiment too?”
“Well I don’t know,” said Dan. “At the start of the war the ones who got commissions were those who’d already been an officer in the militia. That or in another army. The redcoats, some of them, or a foreign army. And, of course, it helped to have friends in the state assembly. But they’re saying now that there’s going to be more promoting from the ranks.”
“And at no cost?” asked Olly.
“Well, you can’t say it costs nothing, for your father has already paid for your education, hasn’t he? But now that there’s been a few battles then they’ll surely be offering promotions as reward for… for feats of exceptional courage. I suppose you could call that the paying of a heavy price.”
“Or the placing of a heavy bet,” said Olly. “It’s the fallen heroes who’ve paid the heavy price.”
“In the Continentals,” said Dan, “it costs what it takes to make yourself worthy of the promotion, and that’s still a lot.”
“Well, it should cost a lot… of something,” shrugged Olly. “But in the English regulars… well! You’ll see seventeen-year-old captains shouting out orders while thirty-seven-year-old sergeants try not to laugh!”
“And it isn’t just the experience they lack,” said Robby, “it’s often the basic aptitude. There’s some who were just never meant to be a soldier and they end up commanding soldiers. Forced into the army, they are, by fathers – and mothers too. Forced in and then promoted by purchase – when their true calling was to be a priest or a physician. But enough talk. Let’s be off after poor Tim.”
“How’s your hand writing?” Olly asked Dan.
“Oh… tolerably good.”
“An officer needs to wield a pen a good deal more often than a sword, and his writing ought to be as elegant as his clothing. And too, he has to be well versed in his social graces.”
“Oh, them I’ve been schooled in,” said Dan as he rolled his eyes heavenwards. “We learned all about them back at Boston Latin. The schoolmaster had a book called The Rules of Civility and Decent Behavior and he drilled us on them like they were the Law of Moses. He liked to make us copy them out for punishment. ‘Strive not with your superiors in argument, but always submit your judgment to others with modesty.’ ”
“Well,” chuckled Robby, “no wonder you can sound well schooled when you choose to. You aren’t at all the nasty little beggar we first took you for.” 
“So there you have it, then,” said Olly. “You’ll be ready and fit to take up your commission, just as soon as you’ve lasted through a battle or two without soiling your breeches. You’ve just got to hope that a redcoat sniper has created an opening for you, by killing your ensign.”
“And don’t forget,” said Robby, “to have your fancy new clothes ready in advance.”
“Yes yes yes,” agreed Olly. “And you won’t have to dress the part just when in uniform. It’ll be when in your civilian attire too. And that’ll cost you a few pounds, but still, it’ll be way cheaper than a commission in the regulars.”
“What does a commission cost?” asked Dan.
“Well, it depends on the regiment and on the posting,” said Robby. “The official rate to start yourself out as an ensign is four hundred pounds.”
“Four hundred!” said Dan, shaking his head.
“Though what you’ll actually pay,” said Robby, “can be quite a bit more, or less, depending upon the… well, on the supply and demand. And the list says it’ll be five hundred if you want to rise to lieutenant, though you’ll get your four hundred back when you sell your ensign’s commission to the next one to come along with an offer to purchase. Now you used to pay that much at least, back before the war, but since your riflemen have been creating so many vacancies, they say the price has been driven well down. And they say that out upon the sugar islands you could buy yourself in for even less – much less.”
“Oh but the heat and wetness there fouls the air awfully,” said Olly, “so you’ll run a severe risk of dying from some sort of tropical fever. And even if you don’t, you’ll be commanding conscripts and convicts and their vileness of temperament will foul the morale of everyone – including you. And your wife, too, if you’ve got one, and if she ain’t dead of a fever too.”
“Well, I don’t know that it’s as bad as they say,” sighed Robby. “Some think the islands a wonderful place. Some talk of how there’s never a cold draught and the sun shines forever. I don’t know who to believe.”
“Well,” said Dan as they started back down the lane, “they say you’re always taking a gamble when you choose your trade.”
“Indeed, always a gamble,” shrugged Olly, “though with better odds for the better sort of man.”
“But four hundred pounds for a good posting,” said Dan. “I was at sea for six months and I only saved four pounds and that’s more than most of us put aside. Though they say that, with the war, a sailor’s wages are two or three times that now, if you survive to collect them. And I could have made myself another one or two had I spent every spare hour at handiwork – knitting socks or carving spoons. So… that means that if I sailed every summer and if I spent every winter chopping wood, then I’d maybe save eight or ten pounds in a year. Maybe fourteen while the war lasts. And at that rate I could be an ensign in only… what? Forty years?”
“No no,” said Olly, “you’d rise to able seaman and then to boatswain, or maybe even to shipmaster, since you’ve got your schooling. Then you’d be trading on your own account. You’d have your four hundred in only… well, likely in ten years if you don’t spend half of it on women and rum. But faster still if you were to go a-privateering and have yourself some luck.”
“I’m still considering privateering.”
“But you’d need more than just the purchase price of your commission,” said Robby. “If you’re not born into a military family then you’ll likely have to make a substantial gift to the colonel to get yourself a referral, though it might not be quite so much now. And you’ll need a hundred or two to get yourself an adequate horse and a handsome sword and a spare uniform and all the rest. Now once you’ve got your commission you’ll earn an income of seventy pounds a year but they’ll take a lot off for expenses and taxes, and then you’ve got your mess bills. You’ve got to maintain the standards of a gentleman or you’ll be all but shunned by your fellow officers.”
“Now don’t go using the word ‘gentleman’ too loosely,” said Dan with a smile. “For some in this land it’s come to mean something less than flattering.”
“Has it?” laughed Robby. “Well good for ye then! But truly, if you’re an officer and you’re not spending your inheritance, you’ll have to be plundering the enemy or taking bribes or getting mixed up in some other corruption. You’ve either to be rich or resourceful, as they say.”
“There are some officers who live on their income,” said Olly, “Robby’s cousin, for example. He’s got a cousin who’s a lieutenant in our regiment. But it’s not much of a life for him. He’d be happier were he a sergeant, I’m sure.”
“So then why,” asked Dan, “would any ordinary man ever want to be an officer in the regulars?”
“Oh… ambition… pride.”
“Foolish pride is what it is,” said Robby. “Some are just not satisfied with what hath been accorded unto them by the Almighty.”
“But four hundred pounds,” said Dan, “just to be an ensign. What a system – rewarding you for your parent’s wealth rather than your own ability! But I suppose that’ll be why we’ll end up driving all you redcoats back into the sea – because we’ll have promoted our officers on merit. And you’ll lose the war for lack of merit.”
“No no no, there’s still plenty of merit,” said Olly. “Merit just doesn’t happen to be what they’re handing out most promotions for, at least not in the infantry. But the officers have their pride and they’re still willing to make an effort to educate themselves and to do their best. Usually they are. Some even spend a year of two in one of the military schools in France, though they’re as much schools for training gentlemen as they are for training military officers.”
“But you’ll likely win the war nonetheless,” shrugged Robby. “That’s what older and wiser men are saying. They say that so long as enough of you’re determined to keep up the fight, year after year, then eventually the taxpayers of old England will buckle under the strain. And they’re saying they’re a-buckling already. You’ll win the war for liberty, and only because we’ll lose the war for funding.”
“Now now boy, say not that,” joked Olly. “Both you and I have got to be saying ‘we’ will win the war for liberty. Once we’re across the river, the two of us have got to start getting used to saying ‘we’, before we forget to say it when we’re over at Morristown.”
“And maybe” chuckled Robby, “we should start by addressing Dan as ‘sir’.”
“Well sir, we could give it a try,” said Olly as he came to attention and gave Dan a salute.
“If it please ye, sir,” joked Robby with a bow and a tone of deference. “But I would think we’ll need to be keeping our distance from you, sir – you being a known associate of those who murder rebel spies and inform on them to a tory justice of the peace.”
“Ah yes,” laughed Dan. “Tim Euston, a friend to a rebel spymaster or maybe the murderer of a rebel spy – a patriot or perhaps an informer to a prominent tory. But… fear ye not, boys. The rumors are wrong, for Sadie and I know that Tim’s honest to the patriot cause and surely our best of friends.”
“Indeed he surely is,” said Olly. “Now no more talk. Let us pick up our pace and hope all goes well.”
“Oh I’m sure it will,” said Robby, “so long as Tim hasn’t sent a message to his friend, Colonel Philipse!” They all laughed at this but grew solemn as they gave it more thought.

What was an ensign? The order of military rank was: private, corporal, sergeant, ensign, lieutenant, captain, major, colonel, general. A sergeant commanded a squad, a captain a company and a colonel a regiment. Once the fighting started these groups were usually reorganized into platoons and battalions. An ensign was sometimes called cornet or second lieutenant. A cadet was a boy in training to become an ensign.
As the lowest ranking commissioned officer, an ensign would have authority over sergeants much older and far more experienced than himself. Unlike a sergeant, an ensign would always have to be well educated. This would allow him to study manuals and legal codes, and to examine accounts and records. Ideally, an ensign would have been brought up to be a gentleman, giving him more of a stake in the established order.
“Gentleman” was never a legally defined term but everyone knew what it meant. Gentlemen looked, talked and dressed like members of the gentry. The gentry’s clothing was expensive and in the current year’s style. They studied literature, law and foreign languages, and had to be willing to spend heavily on the entertaining of those who shared their rank in society. Gentlemen made up the leadership of church, armed forces, courts and all other levels of government.
Whether rich or poor, it was a rare person who did not accept a division of society into lower, middle and upper classes. In practice, about 50% were regarded as lower, 45% as middle and 5% upper. This allocation of political responsibility was, however, much less clear in America, especially New England, where many advocated a leveling of social hierarchy. Still, most believed that some sort of structure had been ordained by God and was necessary for peace, security and prosperity.
 
 
Chapter 9
Looking for a jailhouse.
By the time Robby and Olly were into town the midday heat was burden enough to take their minds off the threat of getting caught and hanged. Sweat was dripping from their brows and stinging their eyes. The uniforms imposed upon British soldiers were never comfortable and even with the coat off the tight fitting costumes were a torment.
Dan had walked faster and was already through town by the time they arrived. There were people in the street but it was still quiet for Yonkers. The summer before twice as many had resided there. Those who remained were wondering whether they would come to regret their courage. There was sure to be more fighting. Control of the Hudson River was seen as necessary by both armies. It was a wide and deep river with tidal currents flowing far inland. If the British invaders could sail back and forth without fear of bombardment from fortresses atop the cliffs and hills, they would be able to supply a chain of garrisons – all the way to Albany, one hundred and sixty miles inland. They believed that they would gain the support of the majority of residents, who were still loyal to the king but had been scared into silence by rebels. Control could be maintained over the whole region and the thirteen colonies would be split in two, preventing army troops from rushing to where they were needed – to wherever the British might choose to invade by sea.
“Now remember,” said Robby to Olly, “we’re tired, we’re hot, and we just want to get the prisoner delivered and ourselves home in time for supper. As long as that’s how we look and talk, then we’ll not be suspected of anything. If we start smiling and being extra courteous then we’re asking for a noose round our neck.”
“Keep your advice to yourself, soldier-boy,” sneered Olly, showing how well he could play his part.
Robby looked to a woman in a white bonnet and an apron covered in stains. “We’re looking for the jailhouse,” he called.
“That would be it right over there,” she said, pointing as she continued past. The structure was small, looking more like a farmer’s granary. It had one door on the ground level and an outside stairway that led to a second door under the peak of the roof. The lower door was bolted securely. Prisoners got in and out by being lowered into the cell through a trap door. In the fenced-in yard, a pair of goats nibbled on the spring grass. There were houses on both sides of the lot and two men sat on a bench in front of the further one. An old dog lay at their feet. Robby and Olly walked towards them.
“Where would we find the watchman on duty?” Robby asked, sounding tired and impatient.
“That would be me,” said the smaller of the two.
“You’ve got a prisoner?”
“We do have one, just next door,” he said, pointing to the jail with the stem of his pipe.
“We’ve orders to take him down to the city.”
“Well do you now?” he said, smiling with sincere relief. “Well and that is a blessing for me, then.” With the sun out and clouds showing signs of dryer weather to come, farmers would be cutting grass and stacking hay. Almost every man in Yonkers farmed, even if he has a busy trade. Transporting a prisoner to New York City would require a full day. The watchman would be reimbursed for the cost of a horse and wagon, but watchmen were volunteers and a good day wasted would be money lost.
“The army’s transporting any and all prisoners now?” asked Clay Boodle, who sat next to the watchman on the bench.
“It seems so,” sighed Robby. “Anything to be of service.” He sounded like he felt it was more than the watchmen of Yonkers deserved.
“Building goodwill,” said Olly with a shrug.
“Ah yes,” said the watchman as he got up, “so that we’ll decide to start paying our taxes. Well you know, some of us were willing to pay them all along, if only the Sons of Liberty had allowed…”
“Good to hear it! Now we’re needing to make haste.”
“Oh, don’t you worry now, boys,” nodded the watchman. “I’ll have the young miscreant out for you in two wags of a dog’s tail. This fellow here,” he said pointing, “was the intended victim of the crime – our town ferryman, Clay Boodle.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Robby with a nod.
“Caught him in the act, I did,” Boodle bragged. “I knew he was up to no good when I saw him coming along the street, his little sister tagging along and him trying to get rid of her. I got my old fowling piece out and snuck up on him. Like a-hunting rabbit, it was.”
Robby only nodded, as if he did not want to waste time. The watchman had gone in the door and was back already with a key.
“You’ve got your orders with you?” asked Boodle, sounding suspicious.
“On paper?” asked Robby. “Didn’t give us one. Captain Cooper just told us to go get him, and it’s always best when you don’t ask any questions, eh?” said Robby with his brows raised.
“The soldier’s life!” laughed the watchman. “I remember it well. Hurry up and wait! Don’t ask questions or you might get the answer you didn’t want. Indeed, I remember it well. Follow me, boys,” he said and started to the jail. 
Robby took a brief glance back at Boodle. He looked displeased. As they walked away, following the watchman, Robby was expecting to hear him say something – to demand some evidence of authority. He was so sure of it he felt a tingling in his scalp, like he used to feel when he was a boy and the schoolmaster was about to hit him over the head with a stick. His muscles were tightening, his neck hurt and he was sweating out of every pore. Boodle could cause them serious problems, but so far no words had been spoken. No call of “Just hold on there!”
“He’s not too big a boy,” said the watchman as he opened the gate. The two goats came to them, hoping to be fed something better than grass. The children often brought them treats from a garden. “You’ll have no great trouble with him. I’ve a length of rope if you want, to tie a leash to his leg so you don’t end up a-chasing him down the road.”
“We’d thank you for that,” said Olly. “I remember last fall, a prisoner bolted from his guard and escaped. He tried to catch up but the boy outran him and got clean away. Earned his guard a hundred lashes, that did.”
“Oh dear! That’s a heavy price to pay for not running fast enough.”
“But he didn’t even have his hand on the boy’s collar,” said Robby, sounding like he felt no pity for the guard.
“Well,” said the watchman, “this one we got here is a short one, but sometimes the short ones will run like a rabbit, eh? And he’s reason to run. There’s been rumors about him and his suspicious activities. Some say he’s as vile a rebel as any. And just yesterday, he was caught stealing a boat and the day before he was caught at the scene of a murder. He ran to the justice of the peace and told him it was a rebel spy. The old gentleman believed him but there’s some who aren’t so sure. But… nobody’s got any better idea of who the killer might be. But whatever may come of it, there’s more than one who won’t be sorry to see Tim Euston tried and convicted.” The watchman was saying this as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. Inside, they saw a trap door with a very large padlock. The watchman crouched to unlock it and pull it open. The cell was dark and a bad smell rose out of it. He took hold of a rope that hung from a pulley over the trapdoor.
“Tim Euston!” he called down the hole.
“What?” replied Tim, sounding like he had just been woken up.
“Up and on your way, my boy!” the watchman called in a teasing voice. “The redcoats have come for thee. The hour of judgment in drawing nigh!”
Judgment? Tim repeated to himself, expecting the worst. He had not even considered the possibility that anyone might try help him escape.
Using a winch with a large crank, the rope was lowered into the cell. On the end was a stick. Tim put it between his legs, held on tight and, with a loud squeaking, the watchman cranked him up. When his head came through the hole he saw the faces of Robby and Olly. He knew immediately that they were up to something, and he was sure Dan was somehow involved. Tim’s eyes grew wide with hope, but then he remembered the watchman and quickly looked away. Robby froze. He realized that Tim might have betrayed them and he turned to the side, praying the man had not noticed.
“Pull him over,” said the watchman. Olly took hold of the rope, pulled Tim away from the hole and helped him off.
“There you go, boys. Yours to keep,” said the watchman. It was only then that Robby let go of his breath. The man must have had his eyes on the winch and not on Tim. All was still going as they had hoped. Now, they only needed to make it past the suspicious Clay Boodle.
“And a piece of rope?” asked Olly.
“Ah yes, a leash for the dog,” chuckled the watchman and he went for the short length of twine that was hanging from a wooden peg. He tied one end around Tim’s ankle in a firm double knot and handed the other end to Olly who wound it round his fist.
“Duly delivered into your worthy hands,” joked the watchman as he held the door for them to leave. Robby went out first, keeping his eyes lowered as he backed down the steps. On the ground he glanced up and down the street, expecting to see Boodle with other men – to see a row of accusing eyes. But there was only a boy pushing a wheelbarrow and beyond him a stray pig sniffing around for something to eat. Perhaps Boodle had been called away on business. Either that or he was rounding up enough men to take on the suspicious looking soldiers.
“Well, I do thank ye for taking him off my hands,” sighed the watchman. “Or I thank your superiors, eh? Whoever gave the order.”
“Always of service,” said Robby. Again he was trying to act bored and impatient but this time his voice had not come out as intended. His words were anxious and afraid. The watchman gave him a curious look but said nothing.
“We wish you a good day,” said Olly and they turned to walk south towards the edge of town, first slowly and then faster. All three could feel their hands shaking. This was a major offence. They could hang for it, alone. They kept going, waiting for a shout – waiting for the sound of running feet.
A dog barked furiously at them from where he was tied up close to a house. He could sense something was wrong – that they were up to no good. But still, no one called out.
Once out of town they picked up the pace, praying that their plot was going to succeed. But even if it did, questions would be asked. Word would eventually get back to their superiors. But by then, with luck, they would be across the Hudson and on their way to Morristown.
 

Chapter 10
Delivered to the enemy.
“Not too fast now,” whispered Olly as they walked along. It was a rainy spring and they carefully avoiding ruts filled with water. While they were in town a bank of dark clouds had been building in the west. It had now caught up to them and the wind carried spits of rain.
“Don’t look back,” said Robby. “They might be following and for sure they’ll see the fear in your eyes. And that’ll be enough to inspire them to act, won’t it?”
“Just like running from a dog,” said Olly. “You run from a dog and the dog will come after you.”
“Indeed,” said Robby, “they’ll not want to interfere with us so long as they think we act under orders. But if we betray our fear they’ll know what’s what and they’ll know how to earn themselves some of the king’s silver.”
“When can we look back?” asked Tim.
“Wait wait,” said Olly. “Tim, you could look back. They’ll not expect a cool look in your eyes.”
“Of course,” laughed Tim and he glanced back. “No one! Not a soul!”
“Well, thanks be!” gasped Robby in relief. “I thought we were done for! I thought they were there for sure! I could feel their breath on my neck! That old Clay Boodle looked ready to… ready to raise a hue and cry and lead the whole town after us and...” 
“So what are we going to do?” asked Tim.
“Well… I don’t know,” said Robby with a shrug. “Back in Yonkers they’ll be thinking that you’re going down to the city to stay. That’s where they’re taking all who’ve been charged with major crimes. So you’ll have to keep yourself well clear of Yonkers. Dan went ahead of us and through town. Maybe he’ll think of something.”
“But what if he doesn’t?”
“Go hide in the woods, I guess, and hope it doesn’t rain.” As Robby said this a fresh gust of wind brought a few more drops. They turned to take a look at the clouds. Rain was coming for sure.
 “Maybe there’s an empty shed somewhere,” suggested Olly.
“No,” said Tim, shaking his head, “not that I know of. Not unused.”
“Doesn’t Dan live around here?”
“Yes, but there’s dogs outside and the house is full of women. If one of them sees me and goes to town and talks, then I’m found out. I could… I could go hide in the cowshed behind where my sister lives. I could follow the woodland over there and circle back towards town and then wait ‘till dark. The garden backs out onto a pasture and there’s woods beyond. And the dog there knows me and won’t bark. I could get myself inside and when she comes out to milk the cows, I could get her to bring me some food.”
“Now you’re assuming you can make it there,” said Robby. “That old Clay Boodle – he might smell you coming.”
“He might,” shrugged Tim, but as he said this they heard someone whistle from down a narrow lane. In behind some trees they could see someone half hidden behind branches.
“Over here!” he called with a wave of an arm. It was Dan Eliot.
First they looked back to see who was on the road. It was empty, except for a wagon that was far in the distance. The woman on the road must have gone down a pathway. Keeping their pace slow, they followed the lane. If the man on the wagon could see them then they would have to hope he had not been talking to Clay Boodle.
“All went as planned?” asked Dan with a grin, once they were into the woods and hidden from sight.
“As well as could be hoped for,” said Olly.
“But we’d best be getting a boat as soon as we can,” said Robby.
“And that’s easier said than done,” muttered Tim.
“But since we’re all together,” joked Dan, “we could grab Clay Boodle and take him as prisoner.”
“We could dress him in Robby’s uniform,” laughed Olly. “Robby won’t be needing it anymore!”
“Wait wait!” said Dan, sounding like he had just realized something very important. “Before we cross over, we should try to grab the next pair of redcoats who passes by. There’s sure to be one or two coming along. There always is.”
“Maybe we ought to just get ourselves across the river,” said Tim, sounding more mature.
“No no no!” insisted Dan. “Since we’re going anyways, we may as well take a boatload. And I want to go back for my pistols. They’re at home. They’re worth too much to leave behind.”
“We’ll need a crowbar if we’re going to pry the chain off a boat,” said Robby. “We’re not likely to find a boat left for the taking. There’s too many thieves and deserters about these days.”
“And murderers, if we can believe Nat Pellis,” joked Dan with a wink at Tim. “But with my pistols we could fight them off! I could be home and be back here again with pistols and a crowbar in no more than a half hour. Not even that! And meanwhile the three of you could keep an eye on the road for redcoats. You could lure a couple of them down here with a promise of a bottle of rum, and then say you’re waiting for me to bring it. We could break the news to them once I’m back and I pull out a pistol instead of a bottle.”
“No, wait,” said Olly, with his hands up as if in amazement. “I know what’s better than redcoat prisoners – and easier to carry too. There’s those three crates of cartridge boxes in the storehouse, isn’t there? Didn’t your cousin tell us of how they’re so short of good ones in the rebel army?”
“Aye aye, he did,” said Robby.
“They’re short of cartridge boxes?” asked Tim.
“Oh, indeed yes,” agreed Robby, nodding his head. “We’ve been told your army is having to make do with shoddy goods. My cousin – he’s a lieutenant – he says half the time they aren’t using cartridges at all – still using powder horns and taking forever to reload. But when you do use cartridges then you’ve got to protect them from getting wet or getting broken open, so you need a good strong cartridge box with a thick leather flap – a good wide one too. You’ll need it for when there’s heavy rain, like we’re probably going to be getting tonight.”
“Can’t they just make cartridge boxes?” asked Tim.
“I suppose they would if they could. There’s been a scarcity of good leather and the Continentals are always short of money, aren’t they? Cousin says they’ve been trying to use painted canvas instead of leather but the paint cracks and then the rain gets through. And often they don’t have proper shoulder straps either. They’ve been tying them on with rope and that makes for slower reloading because the thing flops around.”
“But how could there be a shortage of leather here?” asked Tim. “There’s cattle everywhere!”
“Well, you’ve too many tories and not enough whigs, I suppose,” said Robby with a sympathetic smile. “Or maybe your whig farmers are only patriotic until it comes time to go to market. More hard money in the hands of George Washington would solve most all of your problems.”
“Well!” huffed Tim, but he could say no more. It was embarrassing to think of it. Everybody had heard of how poorly equipped the army was.
“But just wait,” bragged Olly, “until the generals over in Morristown see us bringing in three crates of them. Three hundred of the best quality – the finest English leather – fashioned by London craftsmen. Why, when they see them, their eyes will light up like… like boys at a Christmas feast.”
“Where are they now?” asked Dan.
“Sitting in the storehouse. It’s a plain little building, but what’s inside of it is worth a king’s ransom.”
“If only we could take it all,” laughed Robby. “But pound for pound, it’s those cartridge boxes that hold the greatest value.”
“How could we get them out?” asked Dan.
“A wagon,” joked Robby. “We’ll just have to hope no one notices us driving off.”
“And we’ll have to hope,” said Olly, “that no one notices us loading them, and no one notices us going out the gate.”
“Tim could get a wagon,” said Dan. “That’d be the easy part.”
“Steal a wagon from Clay Boodle?” asked Robby.
“No no! He’s been driving a team down to the city. His master’s a carpenter but there’s been more money in firewood, so he’s been hauling it. And other stuff too. His master’s got more boys than ever and they’re spending all their time a-cutting and a-sawing and a-hauling. Tim drives it to the city. The guards at the king’s bridge see him coming and going all the time.”
“But there’s one problem” said Olly. “Tim’s supposed to be in the city awaiting trial.”
“He is,” agreed Dan, as the smile faded from his face.
They all went silent, but then Robby said, “He could be tried and released, couldn’t he? The jails are full to overflowing. And you’re a convicted prisoner, aren’t you?” he said as he gave Dan a friendly shove. “You’re a convict and you’re out and about like a free man.”
“But everybody saw me get tried and convicted” said Dan. “The courtroom was packed!”
“But,” said Robby, “a justice of the peace will often deal with a small offence on his own. ‘Out of sessions’ they call it. When the prisoner is willing to admit to his crime and beg for pity.”
“But stealing a boat’s no small offence,” said Tim.
“It’s a small offence,” said Robby, “if a New York City justice of the peace says it’s small. If there’s too many for court day they’ll thin out the docket. He’d just have to make a deliberate error in his estimation of the true value of the boat. If it’s a leaky old tub then it’s only a misdemeanor. And Clay Boodle won’t protest. He’d never go and argue about the value of his boat – making extra work for them. If he’s got any sense at all, then he’ll be always trying to keep them happy. He’s surely hauling goods for the army. And he’ll have his ferry license to think of too.”
“You’re right,” nodded Dan. “He’s not likely to complain.”
“Tim,” said Robby, “you’ll just need to hide in that cowshed for a day or two and then walk into town looking greatly relieved to be back again. You can say you begged forgiveness and was convicted and then ordered to go home and wait until somebody comes for you.”
“You’d be convict labor,” said Dan with a grin, “just like me.”
“For sure, the truth will come out,” said Robby, “but if we hurry we’ll already have the goods and be over at Morristown, showing them off to George Washington himself.”
“That’s assuming we ever get our hands on them,” said Tim.
“It’ll be getting them past the gate that’ll be the problem,” said Olly. “If only we could forge a letter of requisition.”
“Why couldn’t we do that?” asked Dan.
“Well… they come written up on good paper and they’re in nice longhand and they’re sealed with red wax. And when we see one, we hope to recognize the handwriting. You can’t take any chances, not with thieves and spies and saboteurs out and about – sneaking and scheming.”
“They’re the devils, ain’t they? Especially the ones who kill spies in general stores,” laughed Dan as he gave Tim a slap on the shoulder.
“Maybe it’s all too risky,” said Tim. He took a quick look at Dan and then turned away.
“But let’s not give up so fast,” said Robby. “There must be a way.”
“If you went in to see the commissary,” said Olly to Robby, “and he wasn’t there and nobody else was about, then maybe you could write a requisition and put a seal on it.”
“No no,” sighed Robby, shaking his head. “Anybody at all could walk in while I’m doing it. And I’d be sitting there with a pen in my hand and a stupid grin on my face.”
“That wouldn’t strike them as odd,” joked Olly. “You’ve always got a stupid grin on…”
“But down in the city,” said Dan, “you can buy paper with a red seal – from a scrivener. And the stationers sell them too. Tim could pick one up the next time he’s there.”
“But they’ve got to have the right seal,” said Robby. “And the handwriting has to be nice and elegant.”
“It ought to be but it doesn’t have to be,” said Olly, “for if it’s one of us two who’s there at the storehouse to receive it, and… well… a boy can always make a mistake when he’s in a rush, can’t he? And anyways, the letter will be staying with us and we’d be giving Tim a pass to get by the guards at the gate. And they likely won’t be wondering anyway. They won’t know that it’s anything important in the crates. They aren’t marked. It could be biscuits or whatever. And even if they do get suspicious and start asking questions, then Tim can say he’d just been sent to make a pickup and delivery, and he doesn’t know any more. And when they come for us, we’ll have a decent looking letter of requisition to point to. We’d only get punished for carelessness – only a whipping for a misfeasance. The true thief would be whoever gave Tim the forged letter, and they’d never find out – not unless one of us broke down and confessed.”
“Or sold out the others for the easy profit!” laughed Dan.
“Whipped for carelessness?” muttered Robby. “I won’t look forward to that. Three hundred cartridge boxes add up to a lot of carelessness. We could hang for that kind of carelessness.”
“What? You’re not scared, are you?” teased Olly.
“No, I’m just…”
“Ready to turn and run already?”
“I just think that…”
“Poor boy,” said Olly quietly to the others. “It was his mother – always kept him near. And now he’s…”
“I am not scared! And I’d like to see you try…”
“I’m ready to risk all,” bragged Olly as he thrust out his chest.
“And I am as much as you and more so!” sneered Robby. “You can go get your stationer’s seal, Tim my man! Whichever of us is closest to the door when the wagon arrives will be the one who risks his skin.”
“Good boys,” grinned Dan. “So then, I suppose Tim will just have to wait until he’s sent with a load, and then he’ll get the letter written.”
“No, I won’t have to wait. It could be either my master or the grocer who wants me to make a trip. I’ll just tell each that the other’s said he needed a shipment, and ask if they’ve got anything to add to the load.”
“Good idea,” said Robby to Tim. “And the quicker the better. And you should bring the piece of paper straight to me. It’ll have to be written up nice and properly – worded the right way.”
“Either of us would know how it’s to be written,” said Olly. “And either of us could write it in a nice hand.”
“Naw, you write like a blacksmith,” said Robby. “I’ll do the writing.”
“Or maybe I should,” said Dan. “I had the best penmanship in Boston Latin. Or near to it.”
“No no no,” said Tim, shaking his head. “It’d be my sister who can write it like an English gentleman. You should see it – better than most gentlemen.”
“A girl?” asked Olly. “I thought she was a kitchen maid.”
“No no,” said Dan, “there ain’t nothing common about Tim and Sadie Euston. They were bred up for quality, they were, originally. You should hear them playing their fiddles – performing before family and guests – the both of them singing and playing too.”
“You’re both trained as musicians?” asked Olly.
“The two of them started out as quality but then their father…” Dan stopped, seeing the look in Tim’s eyes.
“We fell upon hard times,” said Tim. “My father never married my mother. He was a merchant and a gentleman but… he already had a wife. He’d often spend an evening with us. But mom told everybody stories about a legitimate father who had died at sea before Sadie was born. It’s what she told us for years. Our schooling was paid for and we did well enough but… well… but now we all have to work for a living.”
“Well, that explains it then,” said Olly with a smile to Tim, “I’d been thinking that you spoke rather well for a woodcutter.”
“And they’ve kept up with their learning,” said Dan. “That’s the amazing thing. They can work all day – her a-scouring her pots and him a-swinging his axe – and then at night you’ll find them together in the cowshed, practicing their music or reading to each other. Always from Tom Paine – the foreign agitator that the two of them worship like a god! Reading and memorizing they’ll be, almost every night. They never rest!”
“We’re given time off work to practice our music,” said Tim, sounding apologetic.
“Aye aye,” nodded Dan, “and his sister – she’ll even practice her penmanship for the pleasure of it. Folks have been paying her to write letters for them – even those who can write themselves but want it done up nice for an important letter.”
“That is true,” said Tim, “and the master lets her keep half the money for herself.”
“But,” said Robby as he shook his head, “I doubt that she’s better than me.”
“Well well!” chuckled Olly. “We’ll just have to have ourselves a competition then, what do you say? He or she with the best hand will get to write a fraudulent letter of requisition to be delivered unto the enemy!”

The shortage of cartridge boxes was as severe as they say. It was a leather pouch containing a block of wood drilled with holes, one for each cartridge. It hung from a belt that went over an infantry soldier’s left shoulder. In battle, he could reach back with his right hand and pull one out. The cartridge was a piece of rolled paper that held a load of powder and a ball.
Muskets (usually called firelocks) were single shot muzzle-loaders. They were fired by a flintlock – a device that caused a stone to scrape against a cup shaped frizzen producing a shower of sparks igniting the gunpowder on the priming pan. Like a fuse, the powder burned down the touchhole and ignited the powder in the barrel. The burning of gunpowder released more oxygen than it consumed causing an extremely rapid buildup of gasses that blasted the ball out of the barrel.
To load his musket a soldier took a cartridge from his box, opened the pan of the flintlock mechanism, bit off the end of the cartridge that held the ball, and kept it in his mouth while he poured a small amount of powder onto the pan and closed it. This kept the powder in place while he turned the musket muzzle upright to pour in the rest of the powder. The ball, still wrapped in paper, went in next. He pulled the ramrod from its place under the barrel and rammed it all down.
 
e written,” said Olly. “And either of us could write it in a nice hand.”
“Naw, you write like a blacksmith,” said Robby. “I’ll do the writing.”
“Or maybe I should,” said Dan. “I had the best penmanship in Boston Latin. Or near to it.”
“No no no,” said Tim, shaking his head. “It’d be my sister who can write it like an English gentleman. You should see it – better than most gentlemen.”
“A girl?” asked Olly. “I thought she was a kitchen maid.”
“No no,” said Dan, “there ain’t nothing common about Tim and Sadie Euston. They were bred up for quality, they were, originally. You should hear them playing their fiddles – performing before family and guests – the both of them singing and playing too.”
“You’re both trained as musicians?” asked Olly.
“The two of them started out as quality but then their father…” Dan stopped, seeing the look in Tim’s eyes.
“We fell upon hard times,” said Tim. “My father never married my mother. He was a merchant and a gentleman but… he already had a wife. He’d often spend an evening with us. But mom told everybody stories about a legitimate father who had died at sea before Sadie was born. It’s what she told us for years. Our schooling was paid for and we did well enough but… well… but now we all have to work for a living.”
“Well, that explains it then,” said Olly with a smile to Tim, “I’d been thinking that you spoke rather well for a woodcutter.”
“And they’ve kept up with their learning,” said Dan. “That’s the amazing thing. They can work all day – her a-scouring her pots and him a-swinging his axe – and then at night you’ll find them together in the cowshed, practicing their music or reading to each other. Always from Tom Paine – the foreign agitator that the two of them worship like a god! Reading and memorizing they’ll be, almost every night. They never rest!”
“We’re given time off work to practice our music,” said Tim, sounding apologetic.
“Aye aye,” nodded Dan, “and his sister – she’ll even practice her penmanship for the pleasure of it. Folks have been paying her to write letters for them – even those who can write themselves but want it done up nice for an important letter.”
“That is true,” said Tim, “and the master lets her keep half the money for herself.”
“But,” said Robby as he shook his head, “I doubt that she’s better than me.”
“Well well!” chuckled Olly. “We’ll just have to have ourselves a competition then, what do you say? He or she with the best hand will get to write a fraudulent letter of requisition to be delivered unto the enemy!”

The shortage of cartridge boxes was as severe as they say. It was a leather pouch containing a block of wood drilled with holes, one for each cartridge. It hung from a belt that went over an infantry soldier’s left shoulder. In battle, he could reach back with his right hand and pull one out. The cartridge was a piece of rolled paper that held a load of powder and a ball.
Muskets (usually called firelocks) were single shot muzzle-loaders. They were fired by a flintlock – a device that caused a stone to scrape against a cup shaped frizzen producing a shower of sparks igniting the gunpowder on the priming pan. Like a fuse, the powder burned down the touchhole and ignited the powder in the barrel. The burning of gunpowder released more oxygen than it consumed causing an extremely rapid buildup of gasses that blasted the ball out of the barrel.
To load his musket a soldier took a cartridge from his box, opened the pan of the flintlock mechanism, bit off the end of the cartridge that held the ball, and kept it in his mouth while he poured a small amount of powder onto the pan and closed it. This kept the powder in place while he turned the musket muzzle upright to pour in the rest of the powder. The ball, still wrapped in paper, went in next. He pulled the ramrod from its place under the barrel and rammed it all down.

Chapter 11

My odds will be pretty good.

“Sadie!” whispered Tim from the loft.

“Oh! You beast! You nearly scared the life out of me! What are you doing up there?” She had just come into the cowshed with her buckets to milk the cows.

“I had to hide somewhere,” he apologized as he climbed down the ladder. “We figured I’d only need to be gone for a day and then I could come back and…”

“Come back? What’s the point of escaping if…”

“I’m going to tell everybody that I was convicted of misdemeanor theft and released and…”

“Misdemeanor? For stealing a boat?”

“Well, just because Clay Boodle might be offended doesn’t mean he’d be stupid enough to go raise a fuss about it. Not when we’re under martial law and every justice of the peace is in the service of the invaders. And they got no room in the city for more prisoners anyway, do they? If Clay Boodle complained, they’d just call him a pest. His name would get around. It’s not in his interest to say anything. Is it?”

“I suppose not.”

“And Robby didn’t think it’d be all that strange either, what with so many prisoners in the city. As is, they can’t feed them all.”

“Or they don’t choose to feed them.”

“I can just go home later today and tell them that. And I won’t need to make up any reasons,” said Tim, with a smile. “I’ll just say I don’t know why they wanted rid of me, and I’ll say that they ordered me to take myself home and stay there and wait ‘till somebody comes for me.”

As she listened Sadie got her little milking stool from the wall where it hung from a wooden peg. She put it by the cow that she always started with. The cows always behaved better when she followed a routine. “When do you cross the river?” she asked, sounding frustrated.

“Not just yet. We’ve got a plan for how we could get ourselves a better reception in Morristown.”

“Another plan?” she asked, as she rolled her eyes.

“It’s a brilliant plan! We’re going to steal some… seize some cartridge boxes from a storehouse at one of the encampments on the island close by Kings Bridge.”

“Why cartridge boxes?”

“They’re badly in need of them in the army. Good ones, anyways. And there’s three crates of them there and we’re going to seize them and…”

“Well, that should be easy,” drawled Sadie as she shook her head. One of the cows offered a low moo, as if in warning.

“We can do it! Robby and Olly work in the storehouse when they’re not up here digging the well. They say I could just wait ‘till they’re sure to be there and then I could bring the wagon to them with a forged letter of requisition. They’ll take a quick look at it and they’ll fail to notice that it hasn’t got the right seal and they’ll load up just like usual. And if I’m searched at the gate I’ll shrug my shoulders and say I was just doing what I was told and…”

“You couldn’t even ‘seize’ a boat.”

“Well! We’ve got to try! We’ve got to demonstrate our courage and… and our resourcefulness. Otherwise we’ll be no better than any other recruit who wanders in off the field. We’ll never make it into an elite unit – the ones that do the special operations. They’ll just give us a pick and a shovel and we’ll spend all our time digging trenches and toilet holes.”

“Tim!”

“We’ll miss out on any chance to make a name for ourselves! The war isn’t going to last forever!”

“Maybe you’ll miss out on getting killed, too!”

“People die all the time! I might die here!” said Tim, looking away.

“Oh, come off it! Your odds of getting killed are way better in an elite unit! Everybody knows that! Likely the only ‘special operation’ you’d ever do is stand in the front line and take the first volley of musket fire.”

“Well! I don’t want to be a ditch digger!”

“You’ll not be paid any better for being first in line for getting killed.”

“But I’ll get paid more once I get a promotion and it’s those who make it into the elite units that get the promotions! Almost always. And I’d get more respect too! And what with my education and all my studying of the manuals and practicing the drills, I might even rise to ensign. I’d get one field promotion after another as I demonstrate my courage under fire.”

“Each time you’d be replacing somebody who just got shot.”

“And proud to do it, too!”

“And then as an officer you’d be way more likely to get shot at. The sharpshooters are always trying to take out the officers. They see a sword and a sash and they aim their rifles!”

“But… but if I don’t get to be an officer then I’ll never get better pay and I’ll never get a bigger land grant when the war’s over and... and I’ll never be a… I’ll never move up! And that means I’ll never marry a girl with a good dowry and… and if I don’t, then who would fund your dowry so you can get yourself a good husband?”

“I’ll… I… I’m a skilled milkmaid, aren’t I? That’ll get me a good husband.”

“You’ve got aspirations beyond dairy wife.”

“Aye aye,” muttered Sadie, after a sigh. “But… I just don’t want you getting shot, and I don’t want to see you ending up a drunken old gimp a-limping about on a peg leg.”

“It’s sickness that’s killing them more than anything. And I’ve always been healthy. I’ve not run a fever in a year now – more then a year. And it was the smallpox that I had then, and still I came back, strong as ever. Look how small my pockmarks are. It shows how strong I am. And I’m not fool enough to volunteer to lead any charges.”

“Not until you get excited and somebody dares you.”

“Well…”

“You likely won’t get a field promotion if you don’t lead any charges.”

“Well… my odds will be pretty good so long as I use my head.”

“But that’s always been your downfall.”

“Oh! But I’ve too much to gain by making the…”

“But Tim, as an officer you’ll have to be filing your reports and keeping your accounts. And what’s happened whenever you’ve been given a task more demanding than the cutting of firewood? What’s happened when you’ve been given any actual carpentry to do? You’ve been forever getting your counts and measurements wrong.

“Well…”

“Your mind is always wandering off when you ought to be listening. How’re you going to attend to your superiors?”

“I’ll… I’ll… I’ll rise to the challenge. I do it with my music, don’t I? I’ve just never been challenged with enough of a… a responsibility. Have I?

“No, I suppose you haven’t,” replied Sadie, with a tone that said she did not want to hear any more.

Tim sighed, paced back and forth, sat down on a bench and leaned back against the wall. He sighed again, got back up and finally took the second bucket and went to start milking the other cow. But first he took the washcloth and washed the cow’s udder, the way Sadie had shown him. Milkmaids were known for their obsessive cleanliness. “Have you heard anything about the dead fellow at the Pellis store?”

“Most are saying he’s likely a rebel and most think you’re likely involved, somehow. Nobody knows anything for sure.”

“He’s probably just some poor redcoat deserter who was dreaming of prosperity in the New World.”

“Probably.”

“Did you see Dan Eliot in town on the same day?” asked Tim, in a voice that immediately raised Sadie’s suspicions.

“Why?” she asked.

“Well… the day after it happened I met him on the road and he’d said he’d been in town and that he’d been doing dirty deeds and earning easy money.”

“Doing what?”

“He… he said he couldn’t tell me and… so I’m wondering whether he had something to do with the murder.”

“Dan Eliot, killing for hire?”

“Well… I don’t know! And he has a pair of pistols and he said he’d won them at cards from old Simon.”

“At cards?”

“He’s probably telling the truth.”

“Probably!” she said as she stood up. “And maybe he’s a smuggler and a killer and a spy, and you’re being led…”

“We don’t know that!”

“You’re conspiring with redcoats who want to desert! What kind of a fool are you to be risking your life for the sake of a convict laborer and a pair of enemy deserters!”

“But I don’t know that they’re lying! And they could be saying the same about me, couldn’t they?”

“You’re going to risk your neck for their benefit and you’re going to be used up and tossed aside just like the fool you’ve always been and…”

“You don’t know that! And maybe our plan will work out just like it ought to and we’ll arrive at Morristown with a stack of cartridge boxes and I’ll be hailed as clever and courageous and…”

“So long as you’re not in New York, dead and hanging from a gibbet!”

“Well…”

“Don’t tell me any more about it!” said Sadie as she pulled the cow’s teat so hard it mooed in protest. “If you’re not to be hanged here then you’ll be shot in battle, trying to show how brave you are! I don’t want to hear any more about you and your clever plans!”

How dangerous was it to go into battle? The latest of military technology was necessary to inspire confidence in soldiers but the killing power of muskets has often been exaggerated. In a parade day demonstration a soldier could be seen loading and firing five balls in under a minute. On the battlefield however, an ordinary soldier with his hands shaking could rarely manage more than two shots per minute.

An excellent musket with a tight fitting ball and high quality powder was effective at three hundred yards but most balls fired in battle fell to earth in less than half that distance. Sometimes the quality of the powder was poor. When powder and ball were not rammed down solidly the power of the shot was reduced. Officers often called for slower, more careful loading but anxious soldiers had a hard time complying. A musket ball often only left a nasty bruise.

Muskets were inaccurate, as well. There were no rear sights and the order to “take aim” was not bothered with. The ball’s shape and position determined which way it came out spinning and that dictated which way it curved. The shape of the stock meant the kick of a musket drove the barrel upwards. Officers would tell the men to aim low but soldiers in battle, rattled with fear, would still not be ready for the heavy recoil. As a result they were forever firing high and the balls would whistle over the heads of the opposing line.

When wind blew the powder off the pans or when rain rendered it too wet to burn, as few as a quarter of muskets fired. But when they did fire, muskets made a lot of noise and smoke. In spite of everything, a thunderous volley followed by a bayonet charge often carried the day. Though soldiers might be determined to hold their ground, the sight of an enemy line, screaming at the tops of their lungs and charging out of a cloud of smoke with bayonets fixed – it could speak directly to the subconscious mind. Out of the corners of his eyes a soldier would see men on either side flinch. He would imagine he was about to be left behind. It would happen in a half second and everybody would then be turning and running.

Bayonets rather than bullets caused the majority of severe wounds, and when a soldier was wounded, his predicament was often worsened by poor care. A surgeon’s dirty hands could introduce the infection that finished him off. But in spite of all the balls and bayonets, an ordinary soldier in an average battle faced no worse than a one-in-fifty chance of death from a wound. Still, a soldier’s loved ones had good reason to fear he would never return home, but the primary threat did not come on the battlefield. Fewer than one in four soldiers who died on an eighteenth century military campaign were killed by a wound. Sometimes only one in ten.

Before the late nineteenth century the great killers in war were bad water, bad food, and disease made deadly by malnutrition and cold nights. A major breakthrough in military technology would arrive three decades after the War for Independence, when Napoleon Bonaparte was looking for better ways of storing food for his soldiers and sailors. A major prize was awarded to Nicholas Appert for a superior method of food preservation. In his 1810 publication of L’Art de Conserver, he described how food could be preserved in bottles that were sealed with an improved laminated cork and then heated in a bath of boiling water.

Chapter 12

You are a lucky boy, indeed.

Late in the afternoon, Tim peeked out through one of the vertical chinks in the cowshed wall to see if anyone was working in the garden behind the house. No one appeared to be but it was a big garden and he could not see all of it. Someone could easily be there, hoeing weeds in a corner. And what’ll they think, he wondered, when they see me coming out? And if they’ve been out here for a while and they know that Sadie’s been off somewhere else, then they could start to wonder.

But after thinking this through several times, Tim decided he had to take a chance. Trying to look unconcerned, he stepped out and walked casually along the garden path. He heard no voice and hoped that meant that no one was there. As he passed by the side of the house he could see out into the street where people were coming and going. Getting ready for supper, he thought as he opened the gate.

“Tim?” asked a neighbor.

“I… I… wasn’t…” stammered Tim.

“Did they let you out,” he chuckled, “or are you on the run?”

“I… I begged forgiveness and… and I was convicted out of sessions and he just told me to go home. He gave me a year at hard labor and said that somebody might be coming to fetch me back when they’ve found a place for me. Or I’d just work it off under my master.”

“Back for my boat, are you?” asked Clay Boodle as he came up from behind, making Tim’s heart start to race. He turned and, with more stuttering and stammering, gave the same explanation, his eyes kept low in shame.

“Headed for the navy, likely,” said another neighbor who had come to join them.

“More likely a sugar island,” said Boodle. “They’ve likely heard about his doings of last year. About your little effort to go join the Continentals, eh?” he said, turning back to Tim. “Last August, wasn’t it?”

Everybody knew everybody’s business in Yonkers. When British forces had landed on Staten Island the past July, men with patriot sympathies were ready to fight. Tim and five others had walked to the city to get sworn in. All of them had been welcomed into the army, except for Tim. He had been rejected for being too short.

“That’s where they’ve been sending a lot of convicts and conscripts,” continued Boodle. “Sending them to where they’re easy to find if they run off, eh?”

“I’d reckon so,” said Tim. “And I swore allegiance,” lied Tim in a quiet voice, trying to sound deeply ashamed. He did not want them to think he was ashamed about having sworn allegiance to the king, but rather for having placed his allegiance to the king in doubt in the first place. Tim knew that rebelliousness and dishonesty were seen as one in the same and he needed to persuade them he had done all he could do to deserve being let out and allowed to go home. Hopefully, it would give them less to talk about. “If only,” he thought to himself, “there’d be a fire somewhere to get them talking about somebody else, just long enough for me and the others to get ourselves across the river.”

“Now, you’ve got to remember Tim,” lectured Boodle, “that you can’t be expecting it’ll always be good enough to swear allegiance and make promises. You’re not a little boy anymore. You start committing a man’s crime and you’ll have to start paying your debts like a man, won’t you?”

“I will,” said Tim as he stared at the ground.

“We’ve all to shoulder our share of the burden, don’t we? We’ve all to do our part in keeping this a good and godly land where we need not live in fear of robbery – in fear of seeing the fruits of our labors lost to thieves and rebels.”

“Yes, we do.”

“You’d best be getting yourself home. You go a-strolling about town and you’ll have folks wondering if you’re thinking of running off. You don’t want to be finding yourself back in a jailhouse, do you now? And especially not in the times we’re living in nowadays.”

“No sir, I sure don’t.”

“Well, get going then,” ordered Boodle and Tim turned to head straight for his master’s house. He heaved a sigh of relief. They had accepted the story, or at least it sounded like they had. There would surely be more talk about it, though. He just had to hope the talk would not make it back to anyone who knew that it was a lie.

“Tim! What are you doing back?” asked his master’s wife when he came through the door.

“They let me go,” he replied with a smile, and he recited the same story he had given the others.

“Well well, and ain’t that the oddest bit of luck,” said John Gainer as he scratched his bald head. He was the soft-spoken carpenter who had taken Tim on as an apprentice three years before. Tim would remain legally bound to him for another four. When Tim had tried to join the army he had violated the law that tied an apprentice to his master for the term agreed to. John could have punished him severely. He had not though, being a supporter of the cause of liberty himself. Most of John’s fellow whigs had fled the region, but John had stayed behind and just stopped talking about politics. Even his wife did not know where his sympathies lay.

As much as anyone, Eustace Gainer had been angry at the English Parliament – angry at all the new taxes and the denial of the traditional rights of Englishmen. She had been, until the Congress in Philadelphia had voted in a declaration of independence, ten months earlier. When news of that event arrived she declared it was “rebellion against God and man”. She had lectured the family on it, along with every visitor who came through the door. John knew it would do no good to argue with her. She would have harangued and harassed him until he either agreed with her or beat her. And even beating her would have done him no good for she would have just taken her bruises to Colonel Philipse and signed a complaint for battery, and convince him that it was excessive. And she could do it too! John would have been convicted and fined – likely ten shillings or ten strokes of the lash. She was just that sort of a woman. Most folks around town would have sided with John and called her a “scold” but she would have remained stubborn. John knew her too well and had decided to keep his opinions to himself.

“You are a lucky boy indeed,” said Eustace Gainer in her strong, clear voice. “Yea, with disease and bad food – what they’re saying they’re all getting – in all those temporary jails. You’d be starved and sick and… I shudder to think of it.”

“They might just leave me here and forget about me,” said Tim, hoping to calm her.

“I suspect I may have to pay a day rate for you,” said John, “for now you belong to them and not me.” When he said this he sounded like he might not chose to do so. There was no shortage of laborers these days, not with so many British soldiers available for hire, along with all the refugees who had refused to swear the oath to the new State of New York; an oath to be faithful citizens and to reveal all plots against the liberties of America.

“The man who convicted me said somebody would be coming out to talk to you about it,” said Tim, hoping to stop John from going into the city and asking questions about a non-existent conviction. Tim knew that John was for the cause but if he started to worry then Eustace might get suspicious and do more watching and listening. “But truly I think they just wanted to be rid of me,” said Tim. “You should have seen it there. There were piles of paper on tables, and people coming and going – begging for this and demanding that. They looked… well… they looked to be at their wit’s end.”

“Yea, and I suppose they would be,” sighed John. “Thirty-two thousand soldiers and four thousand prisoners. What do they do with them all?”

“And all the refugees too,” nodded Tim.

“Yea, indeed, the poor beggars!” said Eustace. “Driven out of their rightful homes by rogues and rebels for the ‘crime’ of loyalty to their anointed king! Running for their lives, they are! ‘Tis a dreadful pass we’ve come to. Rebels burning down good men’s houses and beating them – killing them sometimes! Women and children scared half out of their wits! It’s just awful!”

“Indeed it is,” said John in a soft voice, hoping he could calm her. Sometimes she started off angry at rebels and ended up angry at him. She would take something he said and twist it around, accusing him of meaning something he had never even considered.

“And with them so busy,” said Tim, “maybe it’d be best if we just steered clear of them and not give them ideas.”

“Oh indeed yes,” said John with a nod, “steer a wide path around them. Likely they’ll just forget that you’re here. If they’d wanted you, they’d have kept you.”

“That would be best for sure,” said Tim, and again he could silently sigh with relief. He was free and all seemed to be progressing as well as could be hoped. All he needed now was an excuse to take a wagon to New York City.

Chapter 13

You’ll do no better than the military.

Next morning, Tim went back to work like usual with two others. They went to a small woodlot south of town where they had been chopping down trees and sawing them for firewood. John had other workers but they had been lent out to farmers to help with spring planting. This did not pay John as well as having them cut wood, but the planting had to be done and it was everyone’s duty to help out the farmers when the season and weather called for prompt action.

Today, they worked under cloud cover with a cool wind blowing from the west. After an hour, Tim announced he had to go in to see John about hauling a load. The others looked at him. They had not heard their master mention this and were not sure whether to believe him. Tim just ignored their looks and walked away, whistling a tune.

In town, Tim went straight to Nat Pellis’ store. There was another customer being served so Tim waited while a woman tried to talk down Nat’s asking price for some fabric. When the bargaining seemed to be at an impasse, Nat looked at Tim and asked what he wanted.

“The master’s got some lumber to go to the city and he’s wondering whether you’ve anything to go along?”

“Oh… I suppose I’ve a few sacks of beans you can try sell for me at the market.”

“I’ll come for them in a half hour then,” said Tim and he bowed as he wished them both a good day.

Tim was sweating as he went back home. In the breeze he started to shiver and he kept his trembling hands clutched behind his back as he went around to the work shed. He found John talking to a neighbor who wanted a price on repairs to his leaky roof. This was just as well. If John was busy he might give his consent without giving it any thought.

“If you’ll excuse me, sir,” Tim said when John gave him a look, “but Nat Pellis wants some stuff shipped to the city and he’s wondering whether you’ve enough wood to make it a load?”

“Oh… yes, of course,” John said quickly. “You can take it to the market.”

“I’ll be on my way then,” said Tim with a bow to the two of them. He went into the house to get his traveling papers, hoping he would not have to face Eustace. Fortunately, only the girl-of-all-work was there and she just wanted to tease him about his future in the Royal Navy. But when she looked up from her work and saw his expression, she stopped speaking and gave him a curious look. Tim lowered his eyes, wondering whether she could tell how anxious he felt. If she could, then likely others could too.

Back outside, Tim had to walk the whole length of the town’s main street. Men would be out on benches in front of houses and shops. If one of them was Clay Boodle or a watchman, they could start asking questions. It would seem strange to see Tim Euston out on his own, and even stranger when he came back along the street driving a wagon. But that’ll only be if I can get one, Tim thought to himself. They might all be rented out. Both Nat and John would have assumed the other had made arrangements.

The blacksmith had a barn where he kept horses for rent. Yonkers was not big enough to support a fulltime livery stable. The blacksmith was a surly man who always expected the worst, and with rebellion and war his gloomy outlook on life had not improved. Only a month before, “skinners” had taken two of his horses when they had been out with a rented wagon. These were gangs of armed men who would often act in support of the revolutionaries. They imposed unofficial taxes on residents who refused to swear allegiance to the new nation. They were called skinners by the loyalists because they were said to be willing to take everything from a man – including his skin. The robbery of the blacksmith’s horses had not been a complete loss, because a farmer east of town had held a half share in the horses. But still, it was frustrating, and there would likely be more horses lost before the war was over.

“If you’ve got a wagon and team to spare,” said Tim as he walked in, “then John could put them to use.” The blacksmith was busy at his forge and did not even look away from his work.

“If you can harness them yourself,” he replied, sounding frustrated, “then you can take them.” He knew that Tim could harness them. He was just in one of his bad moods, this time from working with an inferior piece of bar iron that kept cracking when it was hot enough that it ought to bend.

Tim said nothing more, praying no one would come in and ask why the town’s newest felon was about to ride off with a wagon and team. Tim was not even sure why the blacksmith had not questioned him. He was not a talkative sort though, and it might be he just had not yet heard about the escapade involving Clay Boodle.

Tim rushed to get the horses and wagon ready but did not look forward to what he was about to do – drive down the street and load sacks at Nat Pellis’ store, right out in the open before the whole town. He climbed on the wagon but just sat there, reins in his hands, too afraid to start out.

“Don’t fall asleep!” snarled the blacksmith who had noticed him out of the corner of his eye while straightening up to stretch his back.

“No, I won’t,” said Tim and with no more hesitation he shook the reins and started out. If luck stayed with him he would not be seen by anyone important. Especially not… but there he was. There was Clay Boodle, right in front of him, talking to one of the watchmen. “It’s all over,” Tim whispered to himself.

But instead of looking at Tim and asking questions they just kept talking.

“And I still haven’t been paid yet!” said Boodle. “Not a penny!”

“No, they never…” started the watchman but he stopped to turn and look at the young woman who had just stepped out of the tailor’s shop, looking lovely as a bed of daffodils in yellow and white linen. She held their attention just long enough to let Tim drive past behind their backs.

An older woman carrying a basket gave a look at Tim’s red face but then she too was distracted by the sight of the new outfit. Tim kept on at a slow pace. At Nat Pellis’ store the bags were already out front waiting for him. There were other people in the street but fortunately their minds were occupied.

Tim stopped, climbed off, quickly loaded the sacks, rushed back up on the wagon and continued on his way. There would be talk about him later, but for now he was riding past the last house and was out into the countryside, able to shake the reins and drive the horses to a trot. He burst out laughing at his luck. Tim Euston – an escaped felon – out on a wagon he had taken under false pretenses – on his way to arrange for the forging of documents to accomplish the theft of military equipment during time of war. They were all high crimes. This was treason. He could be hanged six times over for all he was doing. And at the same time it was all legal and proper because he was acting in support of a free and independent nation that had been invaded by a hostile foreign power. It was all so confusing and all so exhilarating.

When Tim got back to his fellow woodcutters, he called to them to help load bundles of firewood. They did not like being ordered around by someone younger than themselves – especially not by somebody who was a thief and likely a rebel troublemaker. But Tim claimed that an angry sounding John Gainer had told him to make haste. They could not refuse because he might be telling the truth. Fortunately, there were not too many bundles and it took little time to get them all loaded and tied down.

Once back on the road, Tim kept troubling thoughts from invading his mind by reciting passages he had memorized from the writings of Thomas Paine. He had even memorized the entire Declaration of Independence and could recite it with all the energy and eloquence of a lawyer before a court. He was so carried away with all these words of wisdom he was almost to King’s Bridge before he thought of something he should have realized right from the start. He might be delayed by the British soldiers who guarded the bridge, collected the tolls, and kept an eye out for deserters, smugglers, saboteurs and spies. He had been hoping to get himself into the city and back again in one day, but now he realized how unlikely that would be. It was already noon. And how long could my luck have lasted, he moaned as the horses came to a stop behind the last wagon in the lineup to the bridge. He pulled out his papers and waited for someone to ask whether he was the same boy who had just been jailed for trying to steal a boat.

But instead a bored-looking soldier glanced at the papers and casually waved him through. Well, thought Tim, Maybe things will go as well at any other checkpoint. And there might not be any more checkpoints at all. When rumors of trouble were going around there could be several and all would be slow. An easy passage through one usually meant easy going all the way. If it did not rain, Tim could be into the city within three hours.

. . . . .

New York seemed more crowded than ever. Most of the British soldiers were spread around in military encampments but the refugees were packed into the city. For over a year Tim had seen them passing through Yonkers along the post road. After the invasion, General Howe had offered protection to all who swore their loyalty to the king. Then, in January, Washington had published a proclamation requiring all who had accepted this offer to renounce it and swear an oath of allegiance to the United States. They were given thirty days to think it over. Those who refused would be “deemed adherents to the King of Great Britain and treated as common enemies of the American States.” A decision to go to the British occupied city would usually come after the man of the house had been forced to choose between swearing an oath of allegiance to the new nation, and going to prison. Tim would see a small group walking along, looking tired, carrying bags over their shoulders or pulling small carts by hand. A white haired man would often be leading a sad looking assemblage. He would wear an expression of stubborn anger, certain that the rebellion would soon collapse, the rebels would receive their well deserved punishment, and he and his family could return to their home. Once in the city these refugees could be seen sitting or standing about. They would talk to each other, curse the rebels and wonder how long it would take His Majesty’s Army in North America to finish the job of crushing dissent and bringing justice back to the land.

Tim went to the open markets on Broadway. He accepted the first offer he got from trader who agreed to take the whole load. Had he tried harder, he likely could have gotten more for John and Nat. They would not know any better, though. The market price changed so much from day to day.

With an empty wagon, Tim went to the scrivener’s shop where he had seen the sheets of blank paper with red wax seals. He arrived just as the man finished writing a letter for young woman that would inform family of her husband’s death. Tim chose a sheet with a seal that looked a lot like one he had seen on an official army document. He wondered whether this was deliberate. There were rumors of corruption. Maybe others were doing the same, and not with such honorable and unselfish motives.

Tim paid for it out of his own savings. Since he had been given the job of driving a wagon, he had been doing some trading on his own account. He would buy garden produce from neighbors – root crops and dried peas and beans – and then sell them in the city. This was an accepted practice for the drivers of wagons.

Tim was about to leave when he stopped to look at a selection of used books that sat across the counter on shelves. Squinting, he could make out the word “Military” on one of them and asked if it was some sort of an officer’s manual.

“Oh, yes yes yes. Likely sold to pay off a lieutenant’s gambling debts.”

“Probably,” chuckled Tim, though he suspected it might have been stolen. He already had a ragged copy of a popular manual called the “Sixty-fourth,” and Pickering’s An easy plan of discipline for the militia. He and Dan had been studying them with the help of a former redcoat corporal from close by Yonkers. In exchange for rum and firewood, the old fellow would help them make sense out of the confusing descriptions of drills and tactics, and at no extra cost he would tell amusing stories about “blockheaded” officers. “Could I look at it?” asked Tim.

“Oh yes. An excellent work it is,” said the scrivener as he picked it up. “By Humphrey Bland. A Treatise of Military Discipline. Yea, if you’re a-wanting to advance in this world you’ll do no better than the military. And for sure you’ll be needing a book like this one.”

“So they say,” said Tim with a smile, thinking that the price would go up if the man thought he was seriously considering it. But this book looked even better than his other ones.

“And this came in with it,” said the scrivener. Military Instructions for Officers Detached in the Field: Containing a Scheme for forming a Corpse of a Partisan by Stevenson and Ferguson. Now that’ll be a necessity for any man who leads troops into this land, wouldn’t you say? Teach you how to think like the enemy?”

“I suppose.”

“They’re saying it’s likely to degenerate into ‘partisan warfare,’ as they call it. A cat and mouse game with a vicious little attack here and a nasty act of sabotage there? Raiding the outposts and eating away at manpower? That’s what’s been going on across the river in the Jerseys. All winter it’s been that way, they say. And it’s what’s working for the rebels, isn’t it? And our saviors in red will have to respond in kind, won’t they? It’ll be like back in the French and Indian War, only worse, won’t it be? And a lot closer to home.”

“I suppose it will,” shrugged Tim.

“Yes yes, but with these two fine volumes and a few dozen hours of study, you’ll be ready to debate tactics with any man, won’t you be? Yea yea, a necessity for any young boy keen on the military, aren’t they?”

“Or… as a gift for my grandfather maybe,” said Tim with another shrug. “Always talking about this battle and that, he is. About whose fault it was and who’s the hero.”

“Well then, these would make him the local authority, wouldn’t they?”

“If he ever read them,” shrugged Tim, “and… well, if he starts reading them, then he’ll probably decide to read them out loud for the nightly benefit of the whole family. And then my poor old mother… well, she won’t never forgive me for that, I don’t think.”

The scrivener burst out laughing. “It’s a sad world for pacifist women, eh?”

“So what are you wanting for them?” asked Tim, and after some bargaining he spent the last of his money, buying both.

Dan will likely share in the cost, Tim told himself after he got back out to his wagon and started towards Yonkers. And maybe Robby and Olly too. It was late in the day but the sun was still shining in the west. He might actually make it home but would have to drive the horses hard and hope things went well at the checkpoints.

Chapter 14

You are all stupid enough.

“When will you find the time to study them?” asked Sadie the next day as she looked at the books Tim had bought from the stationer. It was in the cowshed where Sadie was skimming the cream.

“Once we’re over to Morristown there ought to be plenty of time,” said Tim with a shrug. “Surely they’ll think it time well spent.”

“I’d hope so.”

“Here’s the writing paper. Look at the seal! Have you ever seen a real one?”

“The master will have them out on his desk, sometimes.”

“Well, this is almost what an army one looks like. At least the ones I’ve seen. I’ve seen a couple. Could you get us a good quill and some ink?”

“I suppose,” replied Sadie. “The master’s away so he won’t notice it missing.”

“I was telling them that you ought to be the one who does the writing of it, since you’re likely the best.”

“Best out of who?”

“Well, Robby’s been saying he’d surely the best.”

“He’s educated?” asked Sadie.

“They both are.”

“And they’re assuming we must be a pair of unlettered servants?”

“Well, they haven’t had much reason to think otherwise. I’m dressed the part. And you’re a kitchen maid.”

“I suppose I am.”

“But Robby and Olly think that all four of us will likely move up in the ranks of the army, so long as the war lasts long enough. People say they’ve reconsidered their policies and they’re going to be promoting for merit and for bravery under fire.”

“They’ve run out of wellborn fools who actually want to go out and draw fire?”

“No, they just want to have the best man for the task.”

“But that will be the one with the best father, won’t it?”

“Well it often is but not always. And we know that promotions won’t come to us any time soon. But maybe after a while – after we see some action, and we’ve shown them what we’ve got to offer.”

“After a few near misses?”

“Robby and Olly would have to convince them that they’re dedicated to the cause and in it for the long haul. Sometimes deserters will up and run off again, as soon as they get angry at somebody about something. Sometimes they go right back to their old regiment.”

“I thought they hanged deserters?” asked Sadie.

“Well, they do sometimes. But what I’m told is that they only do it if the generals figure that they’re needing to make an example out of somebody. Then they’ll choose a deserter who’s remaining defiant or… well, if he’s just not wanted back in the ranks.”

“Not wanted?”

“If they’re a malcontent or a good-for-nothing, and too if they’ve not got family that’d raise a fuss. Or if there’s just nobody who much cares if they’re back, or whether it’s…”

“Hanged for not having friends?”

“Well,” said Tim with a shrug. “I suppose that’s got to be part of it, doesn’t it? In the harsh light of reality, as they say. Somebody would ask around – ask whether the fellow’s likely to reform himself. And then, what’s said about him – whether or not he’s considered worthwhile – it could be for

all kinds of reasons, couldn’t it? Personal spite. It’s just human nature.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Robby told us about a fellow who was hanged for desertion after they found out he’d been deserting and then turning around and enlisting again under a false name in another regiment, just so he could collect the signing bonus.”

“Truly?”

“He did it a few times, they said, and he just drank up the money. It was thirty shillings he collected each time. ‘Twas theft, pure and simple.”

“Stupid fool!” said Sadie, shaking her head.

“Well, they say that most criminals who are caught would have evaded capture but for their stupidity, and most who are condemned to death would have been shown leniency but for their pride.”

“That doesn’t bode well for the four of you then, does it?” joked Sadie.

“And while the stupid are punished,” said Tim, ignoring her remark, “the smart are rewarded. We’ll show what we can offer with our bold and clever seizure of the cartridge boxes. And they’ll be noticing us spending our spare time a-studying away at our books, instead of gambling and lazing about.”

“Then they’ll ask why you killed one of their spies in Nat Pellis’s kitchen.”

“And then they’ll ask about our education,” continued Tim.

“Each of you have education enough to be a commissioned officer?”

“Indeed we do – each of us – eight or ten years at least. A bunch of misfits we’ll be amongst the rank and file of unlettered clods.”

“Even Dan Eliot?”

“He is too. He don’t look it but Dan’s a scholar. He went to Boston Latin, he says. And he’s been studying my other manual. So all four of us could study the books together. We could quiz each other and we could probably even pay an officer to tutor us, and then once we know it all backwards and forwards we’ll be more than ready to rise in the ranks. At least to sergeant.”

“All but me,” Sadie sighed in mock dismay.

“Well… of course not. But you could marry an officer, couldn’t you? There’s some that’ll take a pretty face over a handsome dowry.”

“The stupid ones?”

“A lot of good men are smart and dumb at the same time though, aren’t they? Look at me,” said Tim with a smile.

“Indeed yes. And are you all stupid enough to want to be an officer, even though you’re just the more likely to get killed?”

“Well… once you’re either a sergeant or a lieutenant you’ve doubled your pay over being a private. And there’ll be land grants after the war. They’re saying they’re going to be offering two hundred acres to a lieutenant and only a hundred to a private.”

“But that’s not official yet.”

“They’re saying it will be. And there’s likely going to be an officer’s pension on top.”

“But only paid out if the right side wins the war.”

“And that’s not all. An officer often goes on to be a magistrate or a justice of the peace, and that gets him even more opportunities, doesn’t it? They get to know all the right people.”

“But before you’re promoted, you’ll have made good friends in the lower ranks,” said Sadie in a melancholy voice. “Then once you’re an officer you’ll have to turn your back on them.”

“Well… I suppose so. It has to be that way though, doesn’t it? No fraternizing with the lesser sorts. It’s that way in every army. If there’s fraternization there’ll be favoritism. But… but you lose old friends when you move away to a new town, don’t you? You’re always making new friends and leaving old ones behind, and sometimes you make better friends. Besides, Robby says the ordinary privates already think of him and Olly as above them... or different from them… apart from them. He says that he and Robby are half shunned by them, for all their reading of books and their using of big words.”

“Maybe they’re deserving of it for putting on airs of quality.”

“I… I doubt…” stammered Tim. “I suppose that just studying a book is putting on airs of quality, isn’t it? In some people’s opinion. And it could be reading of the Bible too – it amounts to the same, almost. Some will just decide that your education must have made you a snob and then they wait and watch. Sooner or later you say something that they can twist around. Then they’ve got the evidence they’ve been waiting for, to accuse you of pride.”

“I know that!” huffed Sadie. “It happens to me too! They get their mind made up but they won’t say anything to my face. All I see is the looks they give me, so I’m never sure. And I never get a chance to explain what I had meant to say when I offended them.”

“But are we any better? Wouldn’t we do the same towards others if.... What if I got rich somehow – seizing a colonel’s strongbox – and then went to university in England? There I’d be suspicious of all the young gentry that I meet. And I’d be expecting them to be thinking of themselves as above me…”

“But in that case you’d be justified!”

“Well…”

“Do you really think they’ll want to give promotions to redcoat deserters?”

“Well,” shrugged Tim, “isn’t General Charles Lee a redcoat deserter and wasn’t he second in command for the whole Continental Army?”

“Robby and Olly ain’t no Charles Lee. And I’ve heard that George Washington is suspicious of redcoat deserters. They say he’ll have them put into separate units and then send them off to do garrison duty where they can’t do any harm. And they surely aren’t considering them for promotion. That’s what I’ve been told.”

“Well… that’s why we would have to seize the cartridge boxes, because…”

“Aye aye aye,” sighed Sadie, “you’ve got to show ‘em what you’ve got. So, I should be the one who writes the letter, but Robby is figuring he ought to be?”

“Dan says we ought to have a competition. I figure you’ll be the winner, easily.”

“Who’ll be judge?”

“Well, we’d each have a vote.”

“Excellent. So we’ll need extra paper for the competition then?”

“We will,” nodded Tim. “Can you get it right away quick?”

“If our mother doesn’t stop me. She was the only one in the house when I left. You know, the master and mistress have been hearing rumors about your being involved with rebels.”

“Have they?” asked Tim, even though he knew. “But didn’t he hear that I ran straight to Frederick Philipse to inform on a rebel spy?”

“Only once he was dead. And the whole town knew you tried to join the Continentals last summer. Some wonder why John Gainer keeps you on. And some say that if he cast you out, you’d just go and enlist. And then ‘Mister’ Washington would have himself another soldier.”

“Well… they’re right on that count.”

“And Bessie said that some are wondering why me and Mom are still being kept on. They’re thinking that we’re likely secret rebels too. And surely our being from Boston’s never helped. I know that Matilda wants to keep us, but… it’ll be the master who decides in the end, won’t it be?”

“It will.”

“So… we might be heading down the road too,” said Sadie, sounding frustrated.

“I’ll be gone pretty soon and that’ll make things easier for you. Don’t you think?”

“Make it easier! And how easy is it going to be for us when you’re in a New York jail, and… and what if one of your new friends has already earned a fat reward for informing you for a traitor and… and for a fool!”

“That’s not likely!” said Tim, his face turning red. “And… sure, anytime we could be caught but… but this is a time when all good patriots have to be willing to lay their lives on the line for what they believe in. Isn’t it?”

“There’s a difference between a calculated risk and a foolish risk. You still don’t know what Dan Eliot was doing in town on the day you found a dead man in the Pellis store. Do you? And you don’t know what he meant by doing ‘dirty deeds’ and earning ‘easy money’. Do you? It’ll likely be him that ends up by earning ‘easy money’ by betraying you to whoever it was that paid him ‘easy money’ the last time.”

“But… but Dan hasn’t been showing any sign of being deceitful, has he?”

“Signs?”

“We haven’t seen any look of guilt in his eyes. Or at least I haven’t.”

“There’s many a man,” said Sadie, “who can lie better than he can tell the truth.”

“Perhaps, but I don’t think that Dan’s one of them. He’s just not the sort who could lie to a friend without any hint of it in his eyes. And we’ve both been watching for it and we’ve not seen it. And neither of us can stand aside, always taking care to guard against all risks. Can we? Isn’t this a time of crisis? Haven’t we all got to do what we can do for our country? Isn’t that what Tom Paine wrote in Common Sense? What have we been doing reading and memorizing his writings for? It isn’t just to learn new words. It’s to learn of a better way. It’s to call us to action!”

“I suppose,” sighed Sadie as she looked away.

“Well…and…and I suppose we should go out to see Robby and Olly right now. Dan’s likely there already. The more time we spend putting this off, the more likely I’m going to be found out for an escapee.”

“You go ahead now and I’ll come when I’ve got pen, paper and ink.”

“And an extra sheet for the competition.”

“Are these cartridge boxes really worth the risk?” asked Sadie, but before Tim could speak she held up her hand, said, “But of course they are,” and turned to go.

Chapter 15

Surely I’ve broken your spirit.

“A Treatise of Military Discipline,” said Robby. “Well, it’s undoubtedly a good one but you really should get yourself a copy of the ‘Sixty-Fourth.’ ”

“If by that,” said Dan, “you mean The Manual Exercise as Ordered by His Majesty in 1764, A Military Guide for Young Officers, then we’ve that one already. There’s a lot who have it here and me and Tim have studied it in detail.” They were sitting by the well, enjoying the jug of small beer Dan had bought from the old woman who lived by the edge of town. The tavern keeper had complained to Colonel Philipse about her brewing beer and selling it without paying for a license, but he did not think she was selling enough to do him any harm. Besides, she had to support herself somehow. There were already enough old women on the county dole.

“And studying books isn’t all we’ve been doing,” continued Dan. “We’ve drilled with the militia. For years we’ve been doing it. Just because you’re not old enough to have it demanded of you doesn’t mean they won’t let you train with them. And too, there’s an old fellow here named Alf Dagg who’s been helping me and Tim learn how to drill each other. The way the book says you should. He was a regular in the French War. And too, he’s got an old blunderbuss that he’s kept hidden and we’ve been practicing our loading on it.”

“Teaching you to drill each other?”

“Oh indeed he has,” said Tim. “And he knows his stuff. My master, and the women who are supposed to be overseeing Dan, they’ve been turning a blind eye to it. They know we’re aiming to go a-soldering for the cause of freedom but they’re secret supporters. There’s lots of them hereabouts, keeping quiet and waiting for a chance to do what they can do. And lately, me and Dan have been doing more training than working, almost. And Alf Dagg says we’re fast learners. We’ve been reading the Sixty-Fourth so much – reciting it to each other like we’re preachers in a pulpit – a-waving our arms and a-beating our chests and shouting it out! We’ve got it near to memorized!”

“Well well well,” chuckled Olly. “Good for ye, boys. Now you’d best get to work on the other half.”

“You’re not the only ones who’ve been memorizing it,” said Robby. “My cousin has his own copy and he quotes from it like it’s the Bible.”

“Only with greater reverence,” joked Olly. “You should see him – Lieutenant Saul Stemple. He’s taken the two of us under his wing, he has. We’re his project. He’s in charge of the storehouse, back at the base. Just south of the King’s Bridge we are. He likes to get us ordered over to there to work with him, whenever he can. And then, while we load and pack and unload and unpack, he’ll lecture us on… faith in our Lord and duty to our king. But mainly he’ll preach the gospel of military logistics – the proper supplying and provisioning of a modern army.”

“Oh yes yes, you should hear him,” said Robby, who did not sound like he thought it was amusing. “All the generals have it wrong, he says. He’ll quote the history books, telling us about all the battles that have been lost due to a simple failure to have the weapons and powder and food and tents and boots and blankets – to have them all dry and ready, when and where they’re needed. I suppose he’s right but it’s so tedious to hear him going on and on.”

“He’s a man on a mission, he is,” said Olly. “He thinks he’s doing the two of us so great a favor by helping us – molding our minds, he calls it. With both of us having some schooling, he thinks we could rise to sergeant and learn so much that we’d be kept on even after peacetime comes.”

“So, when the other boys get to relax and play cards,” grumbled Robby, “or even on payday when they get to go and have themselves a pot of beer – we’ll be back at the storehouse, listening to him talk of duty to king and country. It is enough to drive an honest man against his blessed king and country!”

“Aye aye, it is truly,” sighed Olly. “And it’s just been driving the two of us further to the rebel side.”

“I’d like to tar and feather him!” joked Robby.

“Was he born in Nova Scotia too?” asked Dan.

“He was – conceived in Sussex, born in Nova Scotia. So that means the other officers call him a ‘colonial boy’ and make him the butt of their jokes. And he’s not a gentleman either, not truly. He’s got the schooling but he’s son of a merchant and that adds up to two great strikes against him, doesn’t it – born in a colony and son of a merchant – two great shortcomings.”

“Well, he doesn’t fit in at all, then, does he?”

“No, he does not. And he tries so hard too. It’s sad.”

“He’s more polite and polished than many of them,” said Olly, “but they still like to taunt and tease him. His problem is that he’s got a… a superior air about him. He thinks his mental gifts ought to take precedence over their birth and breeding, and that almost makes him a rebel at heart, doesn’t it? And he is better than they are in so many ways, but not the ways that count, not in their eyes.”

“But it’s his own fault,” said Robby. “He truly does have too much of a superior attitude, and that’s his greatest shortcoming. He needs to be taken down a peg or two – and he always has! I figure the other young officers are really just acting in kindness when they tease him. They’re trying to improve him. Their teasing ought to do him benefit but it can’t because he just isn’t willing to learn from it.”

“He’s got the two of you slaving away every day?” asked Dan.

“Not every day, fortunately,” replied Olly. “There’s not enough to do there. That’s why we’ve been let out to go earn some money on the side. A soldier’s pay is next to nothing, once they’ve deducted all your costs. You get to travel the world and avoid starvation, but that’s about all you get.”

“Oh, but we’re to be grateful for one thing though, as soldiers,” said Robby. “We’re getting to wear our fancy uniform, aren’t we? Just ask my cousin and he’ll tell you how grateful we should be, and tell it with great eloquence too.”

“How can an officer,” asked Dan, “as dedicated and diligent as you say that your cousin is, still be only a lieutenant?”

“Oh, he’s doing all right. He’s not that old, just twenty-four. But he could likely be a captain tomorrow for only fifteen hundred pounds, though the price is surely down. And he’ll likely fetch close to five hundred when he sells his lieutenant’s commission so he’d only need a thousand.”

“A thousand!” chuckled Dan as he shook his head. “And five hundred pounds just for lieutenant!”

“And where,” asked Robby, “did he get money like that? From none other than my dear old grandfather! Cousin Simple always was his favorite. That’s what we used to call him – Cousin Simple. But my mother called him ‘A good and godly boy.’ ‘Born an adult,’ she’d say. ‘Studious and scholarly!’ And what a pain it was to forever hear about it! It was always ‘why can’t you be like your cousin’? I had eighteen cousins but any one of us would know just who she was talking about!”

“The schoolmaster loved him too, I suppose?”

“Oh yes yes yes. The lovely boy would sometimes even prepare a lesson for him and he’d let him teach it – and sometimes to the older boys too! He would even go to Grandfather and ask about something… about whatever… and then sit and listen and listen. He truly preferred that to going out and horsing around with the other boys. And that five hundred pounds – it was half the old man’s fortune, at least! That’s what we figure it was – four hundred to be ensign and then another hundred to get him to lieutenant. And there it all went – buying one commission and then another. It was at least half of all the old man had saved in his lifetime. We aren’t a rich family! Five hundred! That’s what we figure but… who knows? Those are the official prices for commissions in the regular infantry – official as opposed to actual.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t usually pay the official price. An officer sells his commission when he retires or gets promoted. Now, of course, it’s the colonel’s choice as to who will be the replacement, but the seller and buyer still have to agree on a price.”

“Your grandfather might have done better than the official price?” asked Tim.

“Well, they’re saying the official price would be at least as much as he actually had to pay, for there was nothing to bring down the prices then. Everyone was assuming the war would be easy to win. And so there it went – the greater part of the family fortune. Maybe all of it! Maybe he went into debt! It’s a small fortune! I’d bet your John Gainer hasn’t earned five hundred pounds in the last five years combined! Maybe not ten! Not even earned, what than saved! And he’s a master carpenter with a half dozen in his employ! I’d bet he doesn’t spend more than… what? Not fifteen pounds a year to feed and clothe any one of you boys. And it was five hundred pounds, at least, we figured!”

“And it’ll be another thousand on top to take him to captain,” chuckled Olly.

“Well… we’re suspecting that the rank of lieutenant is as far as Grandfather can afford to take him, or he’d have done it already. But what that means is that there’ll likely not be much left for any of his other heirs – and that includes his own children!”

“So nothing for you, then?” asked Dan.

“Well, I don’t know that I’d be in line for any of it anyways. Not anymore. And certainly not after I desert to the rebels!”

“Now,” said Olly with a sly grin, “if only Cousin Simple was dishonest. Then he’d get the money for his captain’s commission soon enough. With his hands on that fat lovely storehouse full of all sorts of pricy arms and munitions that could be so easily stolen and resold. He could arrange it to look like a highway robbery. Crooked officers do it all the time, they say. He could get himself enough to take himself up to colonel! And then he’d soon be wealthy, so long as he didn’t get caught and hanged.”

“He could do it, likely,” said Robby, “but he wouldn’t. As honest as you or I, he is.”

“We’re honest?” laughed Olly.

“Well… we’re only planning this stealing – this seizing. We’re only doing it for the cause of liberty. What have we ever stolen before now?”

“Apples,” said Dan.

“What?”

“What boy hasn’t stolen apples off a tree?”

“Well…” shrugged Robby, “that’s different.”

“But,” said Olly, “I’d bet your Cousin Simple has never stolen an apple. Has he?”

“Well… not when I was there to see him. No, he probably hasn’t. He’s too honest! You know what? What he is, is so honest that he could be easily taken advantage of. He would never stop to wonder what a dishonest man might be thinking and what kind of schemes he might be coming up with, and then, one day, one of his dishonest superiors might do some stealing and arrange things to point the finger of blame for it on poor Lieutenant Stemple.”

“No no, I don’t think so,” said Dan. “If you want to pull off that sort of a trick you need a crooked lieutenant for your victim. If everybody knows how honest your cousin is, then nobody would believe him to be guilty. They’d start asking questions, wouldn’t they? Everybody’d be talking! A clever scoundrel would try to pin it on someone with shifty eyes, wouldn’t he – somebody with gambling debts. Somebody they’d already be suspicious of. But never on a Cousin Simple.”

“They’re all starting to call him that now, back at the base,” said Olly, “Lieutenant Simple. Well… a few of them are. But they do respect him, even so. And he may rise in the ranks by merit alone.”

“Not likely on his kind of merit,” said Robby. “Heroism in battle maybe, but not for excellence in prompt and accurate provisioning.”

“Unless it was the provisioning of comely young women to lusty old generals. Promotions are handed out for that sort of provisioning.”

“Are British officers really as corrupt as everybody’s always saying?” asked Tim. “I’ve been wondering if it’s just our wishful thinking.”

“Well… I don’t know,” shrugged Robby. “I suppose if old England was as ridden with corruption as the Methodist preachers claim it is then…well… I suppose it can’t be. How could England have gained such great riches and so vast an empire? You can’t build up that sort of a kingdom if everybody’s stealing and nobody can trust each other.”

“So, perhaps there are more ‘Cousin Simples’ out there than we suspect?”

“Well… maybe… likely,’ sighed Robby.

They all stopped to think about that while they listened to the distant call of gulls.

“Is that her coming now?” asked Olly, pointing. Sadie was crossing the pasture from the road, looking lovely in her white cap and apron, and her blue blouse and skirt. The sun had been in and out of clouds but now its beams broke through brightening the colors, and in the wind her apron flapped and the ties of her cap fluttered.

“Your brother’s saying you’ll outdo me at longhand,” called Robby.

“It’s not a certainty,” she said, sounding like she felt it was. “Here’s a sheet of paper with the ninth commandment printed on the top. That’s the one that forbids the telling of lies. We’ll each copy it down in longhand and then afterward we’ll all of us look at them and we’ll each admit to our honest judgment.”

“Honest!” laughed Olly. “That’s asking a lot of a redcoat!”

“Yes, it will take uncommon moral courage,” sighed Sadie, “but Tim says you’ll have to demonstrate some kind of courage sooner or later. And they say honesty is the better part of courage, don’t they?”

“I thought honesty was the better part of fear.”

“No, I believe fear is the better part of wisdom. Now, I’ll go first,” she said to Robby. “That way, you can see how it’s done.” She set a smooth board on the stack of planks and sat down next to it on another stack. From her sack she took a bottle of ink and a quill. With a small jackknife she carefully sharpened the quill and then laid out a sheet of paper. One hand held the edge of the paper against the wind and with the other she dipped the quill and wrote, “Thou shalt not bear false witness.” The first “T” was larger and more complex and the final “s” had a series of additional curls that gave a visual foundation, lending a greater sense of universality and permanence to the truths that flowed from the sacred words.

The others looked at it. Every line was smooth and confident. They knew she had won, but Robby went ahead and did his best. His effort was good, but not as good as Sadie’s. Olly and Dan tried as well, and theirs were even worse.

Robby was the first to speak. “You have humbled me, Sadie Euston,” he said with a sniffle, “but I am willing to own up to my failures and bear the burden of my shame… and I’ll be a better man for it.”

“Oh Robby,” said Sadie, in a voice full of pity. “I shouldn’t have done it. This must be so hard for you. Surely I’ve broken your spirit and you’re useless for soldiering now. But… I suppose you could still follow along with the women and you could help with menial tasks.”

“No, Sadie, I will bear the burden of my defeat and… and surely it will make me stronger. Yes, it will make me stronger! I’m certain of that Sadie…but,” he said, falling to his knee, “but only… only if you would agree to be my wife.”

“Ha! Then there’s no hope for thee, poor Robby!”

“Well, let’s get to work on it then,” said Tim, who was wondering whether he ought to feel embarrassed by her.

“Now, on the wording,” Sadie said to Robby, “I must concede your greater knowledge. You, or... one of you, will dictate and I will write.”

“Robby,” said Olly with a nod. “You can take the lead in this, being cousin to the great Lieutenant Simple.”

“Indeed,” Robby nodded. He cleared his throat and dictated a simple requisition for three hundred cartridge boxes. Sadie wrote and afterward they all agreed it looked more than good enough.

What had seemed like the most difficult part of their plan was complete. Now they were ready to go ahead with what ought to be an easy task. They just needed to wait until Olly and Robby were back at the storehouse, and Tim was back on the road with the wagon.

Chapter 16

I’ll kick and scream and fight.

An hour later, Tim was driving the wagon away from the blacksmith’s door with the wind to his back and the expectation that all would go well. “But,” he wondered, “should I really feel this good? Sure, every part of the plan has gone off easy but doesn’t a run of luck always have to come to an end?”

There had been bad omens. There was the owl watching him last night, and there was the snake in the grass, just that morning. And now, it was the wind. Since dawn, gusts had been whipping up dust, and that too could be seen as a bad omen. While he had been eating his breakfast he had heard it rattle the shutters, and now on the street, he was wiping dust from his eyes. And what should have been even more ominous were the looks on the faces he had seen in the street – the unnatural lack of suspicion – each one of them as indifferent as the next. They had all let him pass without question. They had ignored him. It simply was not right.

To get the wagon, Tim had again told John that the storekeeper needed some goods delivered and that he would have room for wood. He had agreed without even looking up from his work. But was there any reason why he should have felt any mistrust? Haven’t I always shown myself to be honest and reliable? Tim asked himself. I’ve never once cheated him or ever deceived him. Well, not often. But still, the man at least could have stopped to wonder. He could have asked a question or he could have just scratched his head, instead of acting as if he was under a spell.

At the blacksmith’s the apprentice said his master had been called away. “But nobody’s asked for the wagon, so I guess it’s yours for the taking. And I suppose you’ll be wanting horses too, unless you aim to pull it yourself!” He had pointed to the only two horses in the barn and had burst out laughing. “You can pull a boat, I’m told! Easier to pull a wagon though!”

Tim harnessed the team, hitched it up and drove away. No one in the street even so much as gave him a second look, though they were distracted by the weather – squinting their eyes and holding onto their hats.

As Tim drove past the Walker house, he saw Sadie hoeing the garden. He pulled back on the reins and looked at her – his little sister. And today might be the last time he ever saw her. Probably it won’t be though, he told himself, looking away. My dying in battle isn’t that likely to happen. But he decided to stop anyway, to reassure her and tell her that everything was going well.

Tim got down and went through the garden gate. She saw him and stopped her work. Her cap was tied at her chin to keep it in place and its brim fluttered. Tim held his hat in his hand as he told of the how easily he had got the wagon. “And then we’ll have the cartridge boxes by noon,” he said with a modest smile and shrug.

“And then you’ll be off to Morristown,” she said, keeping her eyes lowered as she started back to work.

“Off and on our way!”

“And you’ll have proof of your courage and initiative.”

“We will have that,” he agreed. “A good start on it.”

“Primed for promotion.”

“When the time comes,” shrugged Tim. “That’s what we’re hoping.”

“Then why is it that you’re looking scared as a rabbit?”

“Well! Well… like they say, the better part of wisdom is fear.”

“Well, you must have plenty of wisdom then,” she said with a look to the side, as if she had had enough of looking at his face.

“There’s nothing wrong with being scared,” said Tim, taking a step back. “Only a fool isn’t scared when he faces danger.”

“You’re wearing your fear like it’s your new uniform.”

“I’ve been scared before and I’ve got past the checkpoints. The redcoats like it when you look scared. You’re supposed to be scared of them! They want you to look scared!”

“Not so scared that your face is confessing your crime,” said Sadie as she straightened up and took the hoe over to the side of the house to lean it against the wall. “Come,” she said, and she walked to the wagon.

Tim followed, expecting her to send him on his way with a few reassuring words, maybe with a stirring quotation from Thomas Paine. Instead she climbed on the wagon, sat on the bench, patted the seat next to her and said “Let’s be off, my boy.”

“What?”

“Let’s be going.”

“You’re not coming!” he whispered, loud enough to be heard across the street.

“Yes I am, and you should be grateful that I’m willing to.”

“Grateful? For what?”

“With me along to hold your hand, you’ll not be so scared. And neither will you have as much reason to be. Who would take their little sister along on a robbery?”

“No, I…”

“Hop on, boy! The day’s a-wasting!”

“This… it’s too dangerous!” he said quietly as he glanced around to make sure no one was close.

“I live upon the Neutral Ground, Brother. There’s bandits and deserters creeping about, and there’s enemy soldiers a-coming and a-going. How could my coming along with you be any more dangerous than all the dangers that I face every day?”

“It is!” he whispered, amazed by her stupidity. “How can you…”

“If you’re caught then I’ll just be sent home, won’t I be? I’ll whimper and I’ll wipe away tears and they’ll pat me on the head and send me back home to my mama. They might even send a handsome redcoat along to escort me and he’ll be charmed by my worried eyes and by my lovely face, and he’ll be asking me to marry him by the time we’re home. Nobody would think me part of any vile plot. I’m just too pretty. Now get yourself up here and start driving before somebody comes along and sees the look on your face. White as a dove you are, poor boy.”

Tim looked around again. A neighbor’s servant was giving them a suspicious look. He climbed onto the seat, took the reins, and gave them a shake. As they went along the street, Tim kept his eyes on the horses. Sadie waved, said good-day to neighbors, and called out comments about the wind.

“That went well,” she said as they passed the last house.

“You were drawing attention to us! Deliberately!”

“Of course I was! No one would ever expect such behavior from someone who was up to no good.”

“You’re getting off now and you’re going back home!” he demanded, bringing the wagon to a stop.

“No I am not! You look scared silly. You look guilty as sin! I’ll be your salvation.”

“Off, Sister!”

“No, Brother!”

“You… you don’t realize the dangers you might face,” Tim pleaded. “If we’re caught they’ll… they’re soldiers! You... if…if they think you’re a thief and a traitor, then they’ll figure it for some sort of implied permission to… to…”

“To what?”

“What do you think?” hissed Tim, as he held his hand high as if in a plea to God.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You! They! You! Hasn’t anybody ever warned you! Look what happened to Jane Haggerty!”

“Aye aye, and wasn’t it awful,” sighed Sadie, her hand to her cheek. “Ruined for life, they say. Four of them it was, poor dear. And now she’s pox-ridden as a pirate and no good man will ever want her.”

”No he wouldn’t!”

“Damaged goods, she is.”

“Indeed she is!”

“Lost her most precious asset.”

“That she did!”

“So, I’ve got to take care.”

“Indeed you do!”

“But I am taking care! You’re my big brother. You’ll protect me. You’ll defend me. But you won’t be doing much defending if you’re off in prison or out on a ship, somewhere. Or if you’re standing guard over the slaves of Barbados. I’ve got to make sure you’re…”

“You’re going home! Now!”

“Quiet!” she whispered with a look behind. “Someone’s listening!”

Tim looked back. No one was there. “Go home!” he groaned, now begging.

“And what makes you so sure that I’ve still got my ‘most precious asset’?”

“What?”

“Maybe I’m pox-ridden too,” she said, nodding her head. “I’m always sent off on errands, aren’t I. Out of town sometimes. I’m just a common servant girl who goes where she’s sent and...”

“Get off this wagon!” he said, pointing the way for her.

“It’s true,” she said, looking down and now sounding serious.

“What?”

“It happened… a month ago.”

“What did?”

“Three Hessen soldiers, it was.”

“What?”

“Pox-ridden and ruined I am,” she said, her voice shaking with sorrow. “Like poor Jane.”

“Why…”

“Hans, Herman and Heinrich.”

“You…”

“So there’s nothing left to lose then. I might as well come along. ‘Tis my dear brother who’s my most precious asset now, and I must do all in my power to protect him from harm, for my own good. So drive on, Dear Brother!”

“You’re lying!”

“What?” she gasped, looking at him with mock horror. “Are you… are you asking me to prove it?”

“No! You! You…”

“Calm yourself down, boy! It didn’t happen. I’m still worthy of a proper husband. And if it does happen it won’t be today in the middle of an army base where provosts and chaplains are walking about. But I can’t say the same for you though, can I? How much worse off will you be, once you’re caught stealing military weapons during time of war? And while on the run from another criminal charge? They’ll hang you for a thief and a traitor. You’d be worse than ruined for life. You’d be dead! So I must come along with you now and it’s for your own good and mine as well! And mother’s too, the poor thing. Now drive on, boy!”

“No!”

“If you want me off this wagon,” Sadie said in a hardened voice, “then you’ll have to beat me off, and I’ll kick and scream and I’ll fight like a weasel! Just try it, Brother!”

“You…”

“I’ll scratch your eyes out,” she said bringing her hands to his eyes with her fingers bent like claws.

Instinctively Tim pulled back and held up his arm in defense. “You’re daft, Sister!”

“I am not! I know what’s good for you and me together! And mother too! Now drive on! The day’s a-wasting!”

“Stupid girl!” Tim muttered as he shook the reins. The horses, unnerved by all the shouting, took off at a trot. Nothing more was said.

Chapter 17

Fox hunting, you might call it.

As they drove south the wind blew harder, and by the time they rolled up to the gate, Tim and Sadie were filthy with road dust. The soldiers allowed them through, even though Tim did not offer the letter of requisition that would explain why he ought to be allowed to drive a wagon onto a military base. He would only have taken it out if demanded, for the guard might notice something. Tim just said he had been told to ask for Lieutenant Stemple. Still angry at Sadie and frustrated by the wind, he said it in a stern, impatient voice. Accustomed to a similar tone from officers the man respectfully gave him directions and let him pass.

The older farm buildings formed a square around a small yard. The large house served as a headquarters and outbuildings were for storage, horses and cattle. Soldiers had used squared timbers to built small huts, each meant to house six men.

Tim drove to the storehouse. It was within the yard and he could see a redcoat standing on the loading dock. The man had his back to him but Tim could tell from his shape that it was Olly. The letter would stay at the storehouse and Olly would give Tim a pass to get back out the gate.

With luck, Tim would have the wagon loaded and be off to their place of rendezvous; the place where Dan had originally taken Robby and Olly, four days before. The crates could be hidden in dense undergrowth until they were all together again with a boat.

As Tim came to a stop, Olly turned. But the man who faced him was not Olly. Worse, he did not look stupid. He was older than most soldiers and he looked to be the watchful sort who would always take precautions. Tim felt his heart start to pound. The letter was in his hand and his hand was shaking.

“What is it, son?” the man asked, stepping forward.

“It’s… it’s… it’s this letter,” Tim said as he reached in front of his sister to hand it to him. “It don’t look right, does it? Look at the seal. The man that gave it to me said it was an official army requisition, but it just looks like an ordinary scrivener’s seal. Doesn’t it? I don’t think that it’s army at all, and…”

“No, it certainly is not,” said the man, as he examined the letter. “Who gave this to you?”

It was only then that Robby and Olly arrived, looking wide-eyed and helpless. They had offered to take over from the man but he had declined, acting as if he was doing them a favor. They had been trying to think of how they could have him called away without raising his suspicions but had not yet succeeded.

“It was a trader in the city,” explained Tim. “He paid me half a shilling and said I’d get the other half as soon as I was back. I’d seen him there before. And I’ve permission from my master to take extra loads. It helps pay for the wagon.”

“Don’t be fretting now, boy,” said the man with a kind smile. “You took a good look at the seal, didn’t you? That’s more than most drivers would have done, eh? Now, come along with me.”

Olly had just noticed Lieutenant Stemple coming out of a building and had gone to alert him, to throw suspicion off himself and Robby. Stemple came over and asked to see the letter. “Come with me,” he said to Tim, without looking up. “You just stay here,” he said to Sadie, who was still sitting on the wagon. They walked across the yard to the house. Its clapboards were bright with fresh whitewash.

Inside the door, Tim saw tables and shelves where letters and account sheets were neatly stacked. Two officers examined a ledger sheet. One was older with grey in his hair and the other had dark eyes and black hair. They both looked up but just for a moment.

“If you would, sir,” Stemple said, and then he went silent, waiting for permission to continue.

The younger of the two officers held up a finger as if to say “in a moment” and their attention returned to the sheet.

Stemple remained still. Tim stood very straight, clasping his hands together as he glanced back and forth. The room seemed to be more like a merchant’s counting room than a regimental headquarters, though he had never really wondered what one ought to look like. Everyone was dressed in very nice uniforms. It was such a contrast to the privates he saw on the road, with coats that were faded by sun and rain, and with patches on the patches. At another table, a young ensign was writing a letter. He looked tired and seemed frustrated about something. He probably does this all day every day, thought Tim, feeling sorry for him.

Tim looked back to the other two officers and remembered that his pity ought to be aimed at himself. There were worse things than tedium, like prison followed by an execution. He squeezed his hands even tighter to stop them from shaking. Finally, the younger of the two officers turned and said, “What is it?”

“Captain Cooper, sir,” said Stemple, “This boy was sent by a trader with this.” He held out the letter. “It reads like a standard order of requisition, but the seal is false.”

Tim wondered whether this could really be the “Cousin Simple” he had been told about. How could he be the opinionated fool that Robby and Olly liked to poke fun at? The tone in his voice and the look in his eyes suggested competence and levelheaded intelligence. And he seemed to possess emotional strength and cool nerves. Tim could easily imagine him on a white horse leading a charge.

“Excellent handwriting, at any rate,” said the older officer.

“Indeed,” said Cooper. “And where, my boy, did you meet with this trader?” The captain was impressive too, with a swarthy face and bushy black eyebrows.

Tim gave the same explanation as before while keeping his eyes cast down to show his respect. He was red faced and shaking but this would not seem odd. Colonial boys were supposed to be in awe of British officers. It would only be seen as a sign of proper respect.

“What is his name?”

“Don’t know, sir,” shrugged Tim. “He didn’t tell me and I... I’d seen him before, in the market. I’m sure I have! I just thought he was another trader and… and… he offered a shilling! I didn’t want to turn it down, seeing as… I’ve permission to take extra work! I didn’t think…”

“That’s enough…” Cooper said holding up his hand. “Now, had you managed to get hold of these items, where would you have taken them?”

“He just said to meet him back at the same place where he’d come and hired me. And he said he’d take them from there and pay me the other half shilling. He said that’d be to avoid confusion. And then he pointed over to a tavern and said to go look for him there if he wasn’t outside in the market.”

“Well then,” said Cooper, “perhaps you should deliver the goods just as planned and we’ll come along to keep you company. We’ll maybe capture a thief, and if we do then you’ll capture yourself a small reward. Good sport, eh? Fox hunting, you might call it.”

“Yes sir,” said Tim with a smile. He was now wondering what would happen to him after they went there, waited for a trader who did not exist, and finally had to give up. Surely the captain would start asking questions.

“Now you just stay right here,” Cooper said to Tim, “while we make a few preparations.” He told Stemple to go find three dragoons and get them into civilian clothing. They both went out and left Tim standing.

Tim watched the ensign at work, hoping to keep his mind off of what loomed ahead. He tried to guess what the young man was so busy at. The ensign got up and took a portfolio from a shelf, untied the two small red ribbons that fastened it, and opened it on his table. He took out a stack of documents, flipped through them, stopped at one and started to read. He picked up his quill to write another letter. Across the room a much older officer sat at smaller table. He got up with a sigh and showed the ensign a sheet of paper.

“Where did this end up?” the older man asked.

“No sign of it yet,” replied the ensign.

The officer sighed again, shook his head and went back to his table. It was covered with his own neat stacks of papers and a small clear space to write. Another officer came in and went to the shelf for another of the many portfolios. He untied the red ribbons, put a sheet of paper inside, retied it and placed it back on the shelf. He then spoke to the ensign about arrangements for a funeral.

He must be a chaplain, thought Tim, and he wondered how many documents this man generated each month in the course of his ministry. Maybe everything demands a letter, Tim told himself as he shook his head.

For at least a half hour Tim stood there as the same routine kept on. There was an almost constant noise: the shuffling of papers, the folding of paper and the scraping sounds of quills on paper. And there were the smells of ink and hot sealing wax. There would be a few words spoken now and then. They would mean little to an outsider, but Tim recognized terms he had learned from the manuals he had been studying with Dan.

“Let’s go, my boy,” said Captain Cooper as he came through the door in civilian clothing, looking like a merchant with a brown coat and black tricorn hat. His upper class accent might raise suspicions but that would likely not matter. Until the arrest was made he would have little reason to speak.

“We’ll load the wagon,” he said in a perky voice to an older officer, “with three crates filled with goods of lesser value – less than cartridge boxes. I doubt we’ll meet with the same fellow right in the marketplace. We’ll more than likely make his acquaintance on the road there. And likely with a couple of his friends with him – a few of them maybe – perhaps more than we can deal with.”

“Take more men.”

“Well, we may risk drawing attention to ourselves. Lose the small fish by casting too large a hook.”

“Indeed,” replied the older officer, sounding as if he had a more pressing matter on his mind. He asked about a social event that was coming up and about the needs of officers’ wives. After more discussion he seemed satisfied and left.

“Come,” Cooper said to Tim and they walked out to the wagon. On it were three crates but no Sadie.

“I’ll drive the wagon out of the gate and then I’ll mount my horse,” he said to Tim. “You’ll go ahead and the four of us will come along after, spaced out far enough to seem less like we’re traveling together. We can close the gap once we’ve need to. Hop on, Tim my boy,” he said as he climbed onto the wagon to take hold of the reins, “the hunt is on and the day’s a-wasting!”

“Yes sir,” replied Tim as he rushed around to climb on the seat next to the captain, too preoccupied to wonder what had become of his sister. As they drove off, Tim realized the best thing that could happen now would be an actual robbery. The robbers, no matter what story they gave, would be presumed to be part of the plot. It seemed ironic to Tim. Since he had started driving the wagon, he had lived in fear of highway robbers. Now he was praying for one.

Chapter 18

He’ll be furious!

While her brother was being led away to the colonel’s office, Sadie had stayed on the wagon. At first she just sat waiting, but with fresh gusts of wind whipping around the side of the storehouse she decided to find someplace more sheltered. She climbed down, took a few steps, and wondered where to go. The grey haired officer came out, holding onto his hat, as he walked towards her.

“Your brother will be helping us for a little while, to try to catch a thief. It may take them an hour or two or it may take a day or two, so I was thinking you’d be in need of one of these.” He said this with a kind smile and handed her a traveling paper. “This will allow you back across the King’s Bridge without having to pay the toll.”

“Oh, how kind of you,” said Sadie with a timid smile as she took the paper from him. With all the excitement she did not need to pretend to be on the brink of tears. “I… I was wondering what would… Isn’t it awful that such a thing would happen to poor Tim!”

“ ‘Tis a shame but I fear it’s been happening all too often. But don’t you worry about it. Your brother did the right thing. And if we manage to catch hold of the rascal who hired him then he may get a reward.”

“I do hope so.”

“Now, you’d best be on your way while there’s plenty of daylight.”

“I will, and thank you ever so much,” said Sadie as she turned to leave. She walked slowly towards the gate but had only gone a short distance before she turned and watched him going back through the door and into the house. She folded the paper, put it in her pocket and turned to one of the other buildings. She had seen ordinary types coming and going and felt this building was likely where they had allowed a subtler to set up shop selling food, drinks and small provisions to soldiers. Once inside, Sadie saw two long tables with benches on each side. At the far end was a bar made out of a pair of planks that ran from one barrel-top to another. No one stood behind it. Close by were two young women sitting and talking, each with a mug of tea. There were always women and girls on a military base, mostly wives and children of sergeants and other officers. And one more won’t look out of place, Sadie thought to herself as she sat down. They turned to take a look at her.

“Would you by chance be knowing,” asked Sadie, “of anyone who might be looking for a girl-of-all-work? I’m well enough trained.”

“Don’t know,” said the closer one, “but you never could tell. Have you asked the fellow what runs the place? He’s in the back.”

“Oh… I’ll do that,” said Sadie, and asked them what sort of pay a girl could hope for and what sorts of duties would be demanded of her. Before they could answer, three soldiers came in, looked at them and came over to flirt with the new girl. This would, at the same time, make Sadie more conspicuous and less suspicious. More conspicuous because they were all looking at her, and less suspicious because they would act like they knew her.

As they talked, Sadie listened carefully for the squeaking of the wheels on Tim’s wagon. Wheels often squeaked and were particularly noisy when first starting out. When she finally heard wheels, officers calling out orders and the hooves of horses, she got up to peek out the door and saw Tim on his wagon. She thanked the others for their advice, went out and started for the storehouse – not straight to it but around the side. Tim was on his way to the gate and horsemen were riding alongside. None of them were soldiers though, or at least they were not in uniform. It frustrated her to see him going. Without even telling me! she thought. Sure the old man probably said that I’m already off for home, but still! That brother of mine! He’s always going somewhere and leaving me behind! She could see Robby and Olly on the loading dock with the officer Robby had called “cousin” when he had asked him to come look at the requisition.

One of Sadie’s red coated admirers had followed her from the commissary and was still trying to flirt. They both were peaking round the corner of the building and she felt they were likely to draw attention. “Here, you stand in front of me,” Sadie said to him, pulling him around by the sleeve. “I want to listen in on my cousin.” The soldier obliged with a sneaky grin and they both listened.

“Indeed,” she heard Stemple say, “it shows how great a value the rebels place upon them, doesn’t it? Yea, the fortunes of war can make cheap goods precious and precious goods cheap,” he said as he held his hand up and his palm open, as if showing them the way to wisdom. “In a matter of days it can – in just a few hours sometimes. A weapon worth killing for, with only a brief turn of events, can be transformed into a thing to be dumped in a pit and left behind. Not unlike the market value of farm produce, is it? Prices will always rise and fall with the weather. But in time of war this market price obeys forces subject to sudden change. And doubt it not, my boys, it is value of which we speak – true value – for necessity and scarcity is the mother of value, is it not? And where is necessity felt with greater urgency than in a military conflict? And when is scarcity the more likely to occur? Where else than in the clash of such strong wills – the will to persist and the will to prevail. Where else than in a kingdom whose destiny – whose very existence – is at stake? Truly it can be said that an army running short of weapons feels its need with the urgency of starving men in need of food.”

“And we’re lucky the young boy was on his toes,” nodded Robby, but the lieutenant did not seem to hear. Robby had not said it with any conviction anyway. His mind was on his own problems – on his own failure. He was in no mood for his cousin’s military wisdom and his expression showed his frustration and anger.

“Yea, indeed,” nodded Stemple and he paced back again, his eyes full of sincerity and thought. He was obviously building towards the airing of another profound opinion. Again, Robby and Olly would be forced to endure it, even if they had heard it a dozen times before. But then Sadie noticed a change in Robby’s expression. He had obviously just thought of something amusing, and his eyes twinkled with mischief.

“And in my considered opinion,” said the lieutenant, “it is always…”

“Oh dear!” moaned Robby. “The captain! Captain Cooper! He’d… he’d wanted the cartridge boxes, didn’t he? He’s gone off with the wrong blessed crates! And they’re here, sitting right here! Bless me! He’ll be furious!”

“You there!” Stemple called to a wagon driver who was just pulling up to the loading dock. “We are in need of your wagon for urgent military business. You two,” he said, turning to Olly and Robby. “Load them on! We can catch them yet!”

Sadie felt a shiver run up her spine. Stemple had taken command of the situation with such ease – so quickly and so firmly – so impressively. Though the young lieutenant represented the hated enemy of liberty, he was so handsome in his uniform and stood so straight and tall with his square jaw and his pale blue eyes. Sadie found herself feeling angry at Robby – angry at what was obviously just a joke. And not a very good one either! she told herself, her arms folded and her brow furrowed. She was almost tempted to step forward and tell him so, and demand an apology.

“Hop on, both of you,” Stemple ordered, once they had the crates loaded. Robby and Olly climbed into the wagon box while Stemple took the reins.

Again Sadie found herself gripped with envy as she watched them start off. First Tim and now them! she thought as she looked at the soldier who stood by her. Going off without me and leaving me to keep company with this… ogling creature!

On an impulse, Sadie ran after the wagon as it was pulling away. Like a boy she leapt onto the back, threw her leg up, and climbed over into the box and behind the crates. She knew the flirtatious soldier would have watched her, and likely others as well. To keep him quiet, she peeked over the back of the wagon, gave him an impish grin and put her finger to her lips to shush him.

Stemple drove the team at a trot along the lane. Sadie got herself down flat. There was a tarp made of canvas sailcloth and she pulled it over herself while wondering what excuse she could offer if they found her. I was just hoping for a ride home! she said to herself. And I just thought they were headed north to Yonkers! I must have misheard them! But she did not need to give it much thought, for the lieutenant simply ordered the guards aside. They rolled through the gate, down the bumpy road and onto the highway going south.

Chapter 19

You’re done for, my friend.

What am I doing here? Sadie asked herself as she began to give some thought to her reckless action. Too anxious to lie still, she stuck her head out from under the canvas and raised herself on one hand to look back over the wagon’s gate, squinting as the wind blew dust in her eyes. Seeing no one following, she turned around. The wagon bounced over another rut and swayed back and forth. With her hands on a crate she pulled herself high enough to look forward and see Robby and Olly. They were crouched and holding onto the bench where Stemple was half standing as he drove the horses along, cracking the whip and shouting.

So very manly, thought Sadie as she got herself up onto her feet to avoid being jarred by the bouncing. Olly noticed her first and his eyes bugged out. He slapped Robby’s shoulder and pointed. Robby’s eyes flashed with anger. Instantly Sadie was just as mad. “I’ll come along if I choose!” she hissed, feeling tempted to shout.

But just then they hit a deep rut and the rear of the wagon bounced, throwing Sadie and the crates into the air. “OH!” she cried out, but Stemple did not notice. He was rounding a curve and his attention was riveted to the horses. Again they hit a rut and this time two wheels left the ground as the wagon swayed over to one side. They were going to overturn! At the last second, just as the wagon was halfway over, the fast thinking Stemple yelled, “Jump for it!” and he leapt clear to escape being crushed as it rolled.

But the wagon did not roll. It teetered on two wheels and rocked back, crashing down and almost turning over in the other direction. The horses, frightened by Sadie’s shrieking, galloped on even faster.

Robby, who had been clinging to the driver’s seat, climbed up and over. The reins had fallen and could not be reached. With a step down onto the tongue of the wagon, he leapt across and onto one of the horses. He grabbed hold of the harness straps and pulled himself onto the back of a galloping horse. “Whoa! Whoa!” he shouted as he took hold of the reins and pulled back.

“Whoa!” he ordered again in a deeper voice, and was finally able to slow the horses and bring them to a stop.

“What are you doing here!” demanded Olly.

“I needed a ride home!” sneered Sadie. “What are you doing here?”

“He’s down!” said Robby, looking past her and back along the road.

While Robby climbed off the horse, the others stood up to look back. Sadie could see nothing for dust.

“There he is,” said Olly, pointing. “And he ain’t moving.” As the dust cleared, they could all see Stemple’s red coat.

Robby took hold of a bridle and pulled the team around to start back. “Now we’re in for it,” he moaned as he climbed back on.

“We?” asked Olly.

“This was all just your idea of a joke!” accused Sadie, swatting him on the shoulder. “I saw the smirk on your face! You deceived him!”

“What are you doing here, anyways?” growled Robby.

“I’m… you’re…” she stammered but said no more. Robby was driving as they came to where Stemple lay, still not moving.

He reined in the horses and looked around again, hoping no one was close by. Thankfully, the road was clear. He jumped down and the others followed. They crept up slowly.

“Are you all right?” asked Sadie as she crouched and put her hand on his shoulder. There was no reply.

“Let’s roll him over,” said Robby. Together, they pulled him onto his back. Stemple opened his eyes, held up a hand and said, “Easy now… easy now, boys!” He looked and sounded confused.

“You’ll be all right, cousin,” said Robby with an apologetic smile. “We’ll get you back now.”

“Got to… got to catch up,” said Stemple urgently and weakly at the same time. They took hold of arms and legs to lift him into the wagon. Sadie supported his head.

“His leg looks like it’s broke,” said Olly.

“Oh God,” moaned Robby, sounding like he was praying in earnest.

Awkwardly, they carried him to the wagon. The gate of the box was closed so they had to lay him back on the ground so it could be opened. The crates were moved to make room. Olly spread out the canvas. He was lifted back again with Sadie saying “Careful! Gently!” She sat by his head to cradle it in her hands. Robby took the reins and they started back to the base.

“It’s broken, for sure,” said Olly who was fingering the leg. Stemple whimpered, twitched and gasped for air.

Robby said nothing. Looking as scared as he felt, he kept the horses to a walk, in part to go easy on his injured cousin and as well to delay what lay ahead for him. There had been others at the loading dock listening to Stemple’s insights into war, necessity and value. If Sadie had seen Robby’s grin and had guessed at his motives then surely others had as well. It was a deliberate lie. Robby could not deny it. The captain, himself, had been there when the other crates were loaded onto Tim’s wagon. He could testify that Robby must have known that there had been no mistake.

“I’m done for,” murmured Robby as he shook his head.

“Yes, I’d reckon you probably are,” agreed Olly. He was holding onto the broken leg to protect it from being jarred.

“But he isn’t dead!” said Sadie.

“Not yet,” sighed Olly.

“But he’ll likely pull through, won’t he?” asked Robby.

“Yea, pull through and live to testify against you,” said Olly as he shook his head. “Reluctantly and with regret but testify he will, as is his duty. You’re done for, my friend. They’ll hang you for sure.”

“But... but,” stammered Sadie, “you don’t have to go back! Do you? You could make a run for it! You could find a boat and cross over! And… and… and just take him with you! Why not! He’s your prisoner now, isn’t he? And… and the crates! Look! You’ve got the precious cartridge boxes right here! You’ve got it all! All you need is a boat and… and Tim and Dan!”

“We do,” said Olly, as he grasped the obvious “We do have it, don’t we? Don’t we?”

“We do,” said Robby quietly, “It’ll be a highway robbery, but still.” He stood to take another look up and down the road. There was a wagon coming, pulled slowly by oxen, but it was far off. There was no sign of soldiers.

“We’ll circle around and go back,” said Olly, pointing, “about a quarter mile. Take the lane there. I’ll lead to the river. There’s a farm. They’ve got a dock there and surely they’ll have a boat or two. We’ll commandeer one. They won’t try to stop us, will they? We’re soldiers in uniform and we’ve an injured officer. And we’ll be leaving a wagon and horses. But we’ll wait for dark before we cross over. It’s our best chance. It’s… it’s your only chance!”

Without speaking, Robby dropped the reins and again hopped off the wagon to grab a halter and lead the horses around. The poor beasts were getting frustrated by all the anxious words and inconsistent orders. Pulling hard, he got them turned towards the south and then climbed back on the wagon.

“Not so fast!” demanded Sadie as he drove them to a trot.

“No ma’am,” muttered Robby but did not rein them in.

“Down there,” said Olly. “There’s no one in sight.”

Robby steered the team around the corner and onto the grassy lane. He could not decide whether to take it slow and look innocent or to whip the horses along to get them hidden behind the trees that lay ahead. All three kept looking back and forth. They could see the wagon drawn by oxen just coming over the crest of a hill but its driver looked half asleep. From the other direction, a child was coming on foot but he would likely not be suspicious. They would look like they were going somewhere on army business, picking up purchases from farmers like they often did. And they were in uniform, so no civilian was likely to defy them.

“This ain’t the place,” said Olly as they started down the slope towards the river. The lane was not worn by frequent traffic.

“What do you mean it ain’t the place?” asked Robby.

“This ain’t the farm I was thinking of.”

“Where are we?”

“I don’t know!”

“I’m turning around!” fumed Robby.

“No no no! Let’s see what’s here. They don’t clear roads for nothing. Maybe there’s an old bachelor living here.”

It ended at the burned out remains of a small farm. By the river there was a dock but no boat.

“What do we do now?” asked Robby.

“Try the next lane that comes.”

“And what if somebody comes along?”

“Well… we can’t take him back!” insisted Olly. “That would amount to you turning yourself in. Wouldn’t it?”

“And a demand for trial and punishment,” agreed Robby.

“I could go back and get Dan,” said Sadie. “He and Tim could find a boat.”

“No, I’ll go back,” muttered Robby, sounding as if he felt it was his duty. “I’ll have an easier time getting through any checkpoints.”

“And too,” said Olly, “one of us has to go back and get our things. Get clothes and stuff.”

“I’ll take back the wagon and say that you and Stemple went on to the city, and that we put you on the road to walk home. I’ll say we caught up to them and that Cooper wanted the wagon taken back to its owner. And then I’ll get our things together and I’ll go get Dan and then we’ll find a boat and come back for you. Together me and Dan can get one for sure. We’ll have his pistols and we’ll get a crowbar for any locks.”

“You really think you’ll manage so easily?” asked Sadie.

“Oh! I don’t know!” Robby moaned as he came to a stop. “We’ll probably all hang! Let’s get these stupid crates into the woods before someone comes rowing past.”

They unloaded the crates and carried them to a thicket of brush, about a hundred paces into the woodland that followed the banks of the Hudson River. Lastly, they took Stemple. Using the canvas sheet as a stretcher they carried him gently and laid him where a small clearing allowed the grass to grow thick. He came to, still confused, again saying that they needed to catch up. But his voice soon faded and he fell back into unconsciousness.

“I’m off then,” said Robby, sounding hopeless as he went back to the wagon. “Wish me luck.”

Chapter 20

We saw it with our own eyes.

Lieutenant Saul Stemple woke from a nightmare of being trampled by horses. The pain in his leg had been a dull ache, much like the pain in his head, but now it had suddenly sprung to life.

Olly had decided to try setting the broken bone and he was fingering it while moving it about, trying to guess which way he would have to twist it once he had it stretched.

The contrast between what Stemple felt and what he saw could not have been greater, for he had awoken to find himself gazing into the lovely face of Sadie. She wore an expression of deep concern – on the brink of tears – feeling pity for the poor soldier’s suffering and at the same time anger at Robby for what he had done. Framing this vision of beauty were the tall trees above, whose branches moved about in a wind that sighed with the sounds of a thousand fluttering leaves.

“I don’t think it’s that far out,” said Olly as he stared at the leg with his brow furrowed. The previous September, during the battle on Long Island, he had helped carry back a wounded soldier, and was ordered to assist a surgeon. Along with all the horrors of blood and agony, Olly had got to see how a bone was set. While he and other soldiers held a man down they listened to a surgeon who liked to talk while he worked. He even let them feel the broken bone, both before and after it was back in place, saying they might need to set a bone someday.

Equipped with this knowledge, Olly felt he ought to give it a try. To do nothing would be the greater evil. He placed one foot on the man’s crotch, grabbed hold of his ankle and pulled. Nothing happened other than Stemple’s frightened yelping. This was immediately hushed by Sadie. She lay on her side, across his chest, one hand holding back an arm and the other covering his mouth. His other arm was pinned down with her two legs. She had learned how to wrestle from a girl who had three brothers. With the lieutenant weak and confused, she could just manage to keep hold of him.

Olly’s first effort had not succeeded. He had not pulled hard enough and Stemple’s muscles were already going stiff from the shock of his fall. The surgeon had told of how this stiffening of muscles would so often make it difficult to set a bone. Olly pulled again, harder. Stemple, who did not understand what was happening, shrieked in pain and fear. Sadie held her hand solidly over his mouth. Olly yanked on the leg with all his strength. Stemple shrieked again.

“I did it,” said Olly, feeling the bone. “She’s right in place.”

“Do you hear that?” Sadie whimpered, her face close to Stemple’s. “It’s in place! Your bone’s in place. You’re well again!”

“Wh…wha…what is it? Wh… what do… what do…?” stammered Stemple. In spite of his pain and confusion he was starting to sense they meant him no harm and that his leg was somehow better.

“Keep him lying still,” ordered Olly. “I’ve got to get this splinted and all secured in place.” Olly had several pieces of birch bark ready that he had cut with his knife. With strips of fabric taken from the canvas, he bound them tightly from the ankle to above the knee. As long as he and Sadie could keep him from trying to walk on it, his leg would likely heal completely.

“Where am I?” asked Stemple.

“You’re safe now, sir,” said Olly as he crawled to his head. “The surgeon’s just finished setting your broken leg and he says it’s back in place and that it’ll knit just fine. You’ve just got to keep off of it. A month or two of rest, he said. And for now – for the next few hours at least – you’ve got to be keeping very still on your back and resting. Of the utmost importance, he says. Stay very still and quiet. And you’re head’s taken quite a blow too, it has. For sure you’ll need to stay very still – and very quiet! You could delay your recovery for weeks, he says. Months even, if you don’t keep still and quiet!”

“What… what happened?”

“You don’t remember, sir?”

“I’ve… I’ve a broken leg?”

“Indeed you do, I fear. But it’s not too bad a break. That’s what the surgeon says. It’ll mend nicely.”

“How… how did I…”

“Ah… well, sir… it… it was… in battle, sir. Or… a skirmish only. You don’t remember anything?”

“No... not at all. I remember taking the wagon and the two of you, and…”

“Oh, but then we were called back, we were. The colonel sent for you. Asked for you by name, he did. And we were sent out on a raid.”

“A raid?”

“For sure, to assist with a raid. ‘Twas kept secret ‘till the last moment, for fear of the word getting out. And ‘twas a last minute change of plans, he said. Going over to give them rascally rebels a taste of their own medicine, is what he said. Raiding the raiders! Needed a few good men, he did, and there you were, ready to go – ready and willing to serve as commanded. And so, there we were, racing back to the base – getting ready – all in a rush and confusion – loading weapons on a boat. Our dragoons were across already but it had been decided that they ought to have additional support. And so across the river we went.”

“Dragoons? Across the river?”

“Ah… just a few. They were there already, though. We were assisting them. I didn’t know myself what was what, but we were needed and we were rowed across and then we were led up a path and then we were told to hide in the undergrowth and wait for the dragoons upon their horses, to drive the rebels at us and we’d be there and waiting – ready to open fire.”

“And he called for me?”

“He did, the colonel himself, no less. And a fine decision he made too, yes indeed! We were there with loaded muskets ready to fire! And fire we did! And then they were down – two of them! Thrown from their mounts! Off their horses but still full of fight and fury! And there you were too, into action! Up you jumps, with sword and pistol in hand, and you leads us in attack! Well, he must have been an officer, for out comes his sword and there you were with yours as well, unsheathed and ready for action! Parry and thrust! Fast as lightning it was and there you had the rascal down! Knocked the sword from his hand and had your blade to his throat! Taken prisoner, he was!”

“Prisoner?”

“And him an officer too! But then comes another of them, still on his horse – coming from behind. He had turned back and now along he comes and he rode you down from behind. Yea, down and trampled under hooves! But we fired upon him and he took off. But then we got our hands back on your prisoner, for he was stumbling about! And we all had seen how you had performed so well – so well indeed! And for sure, we’ll all tell of your gallantry, indeed we will! The colonel will hear of it, sure he will – the general! The general and all the gentry – talk of the town you’ll be!”

“The general? Did I… did I really…” asked Stemple, confused but with a bright smile.

“Aye aye, in the face of grave danger you had summonsed your courage and you’d struck forth, sword in hand! Cool headed and full of courage! Yea, a lesser man would have frozen in his tracks, he would. Another man would have turned and run. But not you sir, no! And the captain will know of it too, he will, and the colonel as well. And the generals likely – for we all saw it with our own eyes.”

“But… where are the others?”

“Oh, after the rest of them. And taking prisoners down to the boats. Ordered me to stay here, he did, and keep an eye on you. On surgeon’s order, it is.”

“The surgeon was here?”

“And a good thing for you weren’t the only one wounded. He set your leg. Just now he did. Says it’ll heal nicely.”

“And… and he saw it all too?”

“If he was here with his head up then he saw it for sure. And he’ll speak well of you. But of course he would, for it was all so very impressive. Not a moment’s hesitation and you were up and your sword was out and ready. Most impressive, sir! Most impressive!”

“Oh… well… it was only my duty as… only my duty…” he said faintly as he started to fall back into unconsciousness.

“Lieutenant? Can you hear me? Can you hear me, sir?” Stemple did not respond. “Ah well,” Olly said to Sadie, “he’ll be needing his sleep, won’t he? That’s what the surgeon would say. Best that he sleep. And the more of it the better. Though… though the surgeon might have drawn off some blood too, mightn’t he have? You suppose maybe we ought to bleed him a bit?”

“I… I don’t know,” replied Sadie, shaking her head. “But… but I’d suppose maybe we ought to. That’s what the surgeon did when Ebby Reed – a neighbor or ours – when he’d fallen off a ladder. The surgeon drew off a good pint. And Ebby said he felt better already.”

“We’ve not got a cup here to measure it with, though, do we? I wouldn’t want to take too much. Too much of a good thing, as they say.”

“We could… you could make a sort of a cup measure with some of your birch bark. Fold it into a cone. We’d only have to measure it as it bleeds. We could eyeball it, well enough, and stop when it looks like we’ve taken a pint, more or less.”

“I’ll do that then. And you’ll need to keep an eye on him if he comes to, and tell him to lie still. Sing a lullaby, maybe.”

“He’s so weak,” said Sadie. “I don’t think it’ll be hard keeping him asleep.”

“And that’s good,” said Olly as he got his knife back out and stood up to go to a birch tree. “Everything’s going well, isn’t it? And now we’re almost ready to be going, aren’t we? Off to Morristown! Well… we are as long as Robby and Dan can get themselves back sooner rather than later.”

What’s a dragoon? Before horses were replaced with motorized vehicles, a dragoon was a mounted soldier who carried a firearm. The term dragoon was originally given to their weapon because it exhaled smoke and fire, like a dragon. The dragoon rode a horse into battle, like a cavalryman, but he was part of the infantry. They were usually armed with a sword and a lightweight musket called a carbine whose ball was half the size of the musket’s one-ounce ball. Also referred to as “light horse” the dragoons were elite soldiers who would often be out scouting and raiding while the foot soldiers were digging trenches.

Chapter 21

A strange farewell.

Where am I going to find a boat? Robby groaned to himself as he drove the wagon back to the base. As soon as he had left the others, his troubled mind had returned to questions about Tim Euston. He was practically a stranger. He could turn them in for a reward. Tim seemed sincere but Robby could not help but wonder what he had been doing at the scene of the murder in the Pellis store? Should we be trusting somebody, he wondered, who would go straight to a tory justice of the peace – to Colonel Fredrick Philipse? The little charmer might at this moment be happily selling information to Captain Cooper. They could be on their way back to the base. They could be there already! Am I the greatest fool in the land? And… well…if only I knew where I could find a blessed boat.

The sun was behind dark clouds and the wind had picked up by the time Robby made it to the storehouse. The driver of the commandeered wagon was still waiting, sitting on the loading dock, his hat over his eyes. He had even managed to fall asleep.

“Back already!” announced Robby, as he bent down, picked up the man’s hat and tousled his mop of hair.

“Oh! Blast you! Well… how long were you gone?”

“An hour, I’d suppose. Still plenty of day left. What are you in need of?”

The man pulled out his letter, Robby looked at it, and they started loading the wagon.

“Did you catch up with them?” asked a young private who helped them load. Stemple had ordered him to guard the storehouse while they were gone.

“We did. The captain decided to take Olly and the lieutenant along, and for me to come back with the wagon.”

“He wanted both sets of crates?” the private asked in a doubtful tone. He had a narrow face and a nose that pointed downwards, making his doubt the more obvious.

“Strange, ain’t it?” said Robby as he continued loading the wagon, pretending not to be interested.

“But… with six crates and two extra men…” continued the private.

“Now, that is what I was wondering,” said Robby as they continued loading. “Maybe they’re going to toss aside the false ones in favor of… well… better bait for the trap, I’d suppose – clearer evidence of a wrongdoing. In case whoever it is who comes to them decide to demand to inspect the goods? Who knows? But… unless they’re planning on having Olly and Stemple lying under the canvas, then... well. I don’t know. They didn’t ask my advice.”

“But if...”

“You’re all loaded up,” called Robby to the wagon driver, practically shouting even though the man was right next to him.

“I am,” he said and climbed onto the seat.

“What’d they do with the girl?” asked the private.

“The girl? Oh… she was just told to walk herself home. She had it in her head that we were going north.”

“But she was right here and... that was a clever trick you played on...”

“A stupid trick!” chuckled Robby. “But it all turned out well though, thank goodness. The captain decided he wanted the real goods, and the extra men too.”

“Lucky for you,” said the private.

“Oh indeed, my guts were in a knot,” said Robby quietly. “I don’t know what devil get’s into me sometimes. But it…”

“So you’re here to stay, then? And I can be on my way?”

“Oh…” Robby said, wondering what to do next. It was his responsibility to remain at the storehouse. He was authorized to ship and receive goods and the private was not. Somehow, Robby had to convince him that he should remain there a while longer. “Ah… Lieutenant Stemple told me to go ask about something, so you’ll have to stay on just a little while.”

“Ask about what?”

“A shipment.”

“But what do I do if someone comes?”

“Just tell them to wait until I’m back!” snapped Robby.

“All right,” said the private, after a pause.

“I’ll be back in no time,” said Robby as he turned to walk to his hut. Each of the structures housed eight men. They had been built out of roughly squared timbers the past November. Before that, they had all been in tents. Inside, Robby was able to get the things they needed out of their padlocked crates. Other soldiers were there as well, like usual, but fortunately they were all busy shooting dice and calling out the standard cheers. Gambling was against army rules but that only added to their pleasure. Robby had Olly’s padlock key and he quickly got out the most necessary possessions and tied them tightly in a blanket. Without a word said to the others, he was able to get himself out. He kept his eyes on the ground and tried not to show any expression.

Already, there was another wagon at the loading dock and both its driver and the suspicious private were standing there, looking at him. Robby had to deal with it. He examined the man’s papers and they started to unload casks.

“I suppose I can be off then?” asked the private, sounding as if he expected he could not.

“No, we’ll still need you for just a bit,” apologized Robby, as he finished giving the teamster his letter of receipt.

“Who’s ‘we’?” asked the private. He had always been like this, and it would not be unlike him to go straight to his sergeant and insist they go to a higher officer, and he would not give up until his curiosity was satisfied.

“I don’t know exactly, myself,” sighed Robby, shaking his head. “I’m just following orders.”

“What orders?”

“Well ‘to make haste’ for one,” he replied with a smile but still trying to sound stern. “Now, I’ve just got to deliver this package and then I’ll be back.”

“What’s in it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Borrowing?” the private asked quietly, with a knowing smile.

Robby felt a shiver run up his spine. “Well… ah… if anyone’s borrowing,” he whispered after a glance to the side to see who might be close by, “then I’m thinking it must be my cousin.”

“Stemple? Naw!”

“Shush shush! Not too loud. I wouldn’t have thought so either but… but haven’t you ever wondered whether his ‘sense of duty’ is a bit too much – overacted, as they’d say?” The officers were always playing skits for their own amusement and to entertain the men. That meant the language of theatre was always in their conversation. “And, continued Robby, “if you and I can catch him in the act then… then there’ll be reward money for us to share, won’t there be? And maybe a promotion, eh?” Robby patted the man on his right shoulder when he said this – on the spot where a knotted woolen cord would be worn to indicate the rank of corporal. “Now, you’ve got to stay here and keep your eyes open and I’ll be back shortly. Then I can tell you more.”

“Uh-huh,” said the private, still unsure about this new information.

Robby prayed that it would keep the man thinking long enough for him to get off the base. The sun was out from behind the clouds and that was a hopeful sign. When he got to the gate, the guards were arguing about who really ought to have been declared winner of the wrestling match they had watched the evening before. These supervised matches were a popular daily event. Somebody always wanted to wrestle.

Robby simply nodded as he walked past and they ignored him. And why shouldn’t they? he told himself. I’ve always had proper permission in the past.

The guards at the bridge were just as easy. They were busy searching a wagon and bits of straw were carried in the wind as they moved things about.

“Called back to work,” grumbled Robby at the first one who took a look at him.

“Good!” the soldier joked. “It’ll keep you out of trouble.”

“At the farm?” asked another one, who was jabbing a bayonet into a cask full of grain to see if anything else was in it.

“One of the boys cut his foot, “ said Robby.

“Ha! I should cut mine!” joked another soldier.

“I’ll be back the day after tomorrow,” said Robby.

“Keep your hands off the girls now.”

“If only they’d keep theirs off of me,” joked Robby and he walked on, crossing the bridge, but he knew his voice had sounded strange. A gust of wind blew dust in his eyes as a wagon passed. He blinked, and with the pain and temporary blindness he felt fear grip him. He was certain they were all watching him. His temptation to look back was great – almost unbearable – but he managed to keep his eyes on the road ahead and to keep on going. The seconds crawled past. His heart pounded and his hands shook, but still no one called out. Finally, he made it up the hill and around the bend. Only then could he take a deep breath and wipe the sweat from his brow.

. . . . .

When Robby knocked on the door of the house where Dan lived, he was met by the younger of the women. From behind her he heard Dan call him in. He was finishing his supper and the old women insisted Robby come in and have some stew.

“I would like that,” he said, smiling, “but… but I must tell Dan something first.” He motioned to Dan to come out and they walked up the lane while Robby explained what had happened.

“This is excellent!” said Dan, grinning and shaking his head in amazement. “This is… this is a sign from God, no less! We’re ready to cross over, aren’t we? Readier then ever!”

“Not exactly as we’d planned it, though.”

“But this is more than we could have hoped for! A captured officer to present to them!”

“If he lives.”

“Oh, sure he will. And we’ll be more welcomed than ever. And you and Olly will have proven yourselves worthy of their trust.”

“Perhaps.”

“Aye aye, and we’ll get ourselves across, and then later we’ll come back to get Tim, just as soon as we can.”

“But is it worth the risk?” asked Robby.

“What do you mean?”

“Can we trust him? What was he doing at the scene of the murder? Why did he go to Frederick Philipse, of all people?”

“We… he had to get himself out of a predicament, didn’t he?” shrugged Dan. “Nat Pellis was accusing him of murder and he had to do what he had to do.”

“But… but haven’t you had any doubts?

“Well, at first. But… I’ve known him and… and we’ve got to take a few chances, don’t we? Quite a few! This is war, and we’ve got to…”

“Yes yes,” moaned Robby.

“So we’ve got to go get a boat and get going!”

“If my nerves can take the strain,” said Robby as they turned to go back to the house.

“Come now, boy! You’ve fought in great battles! You’ve been…”

“In battles you’re just doing what you’re ordered,” muttered Robby, half to himself.

“No no, we’ve reached the summit and we’re heading down the easy slope. All will turn out well.”

Dan had already told the family of how he was getting to know some of the redcoats. He said a good number of them sympathized with the demands of the colonists and were just waiting for the opportunity to defect. They immediately assumed Robby was one of these and were curious about the politics of Nova Scotia. Robby answered questions while he ate and after he had finished two helpings he felt much better. Maybe I was more hungry than scared, he told himself.

When Dan came back from where he had hidden the pistols in the barn, he found the women encouraging Robby to spend his life in New York. Robby was just smiling and shrugging his shoulders and asking questions about the price of land.

“I have something to tell,” said Dan as they were about to leave, “and… it shouldn’t come as any great surprise, of course. This here fellow and me, and a couple of others, will this night cross the Hudson and go on to Morristown to join the army.”

Robby turned to look at him.

“Ah, don’t you worry now, boy,” laughed Dan, slapping the back of his hand against Robby’s arm. “These here folks are as true to the patriot cause as any you could ask for. They’ve just had to keep quiet about it.”

“You’re going?” asked the younger one, as if she had not heard him right.

“To get yourself enlisted?” asked the older.

“And to fight and win! Aren’t we, Rob?”

“We are,” replied Robby, still not sure he should admit to anything.

“Well now…” started the older woman but she could say no more. After a tearful good-bye and many hugs and wishes for safety they let them go, but only after the two of them were loaded with all the smoked meat in the house.

. . . . .

“A warm farewell for a convict laborer,” said Robby as they started along the road.

“I’ve been here for over three months now, and I arrived when they needed me most. The old man was wounded on Long Island, fighting you and the rest of the foreign invaders. He was here in the house, a-hiding out back, not wanting to be seen. He was wounded and taken prisoner but they’d let them take him home because the surgeon said he was going to die anyways. But he didn’t, and they’ve had to keep him hidden inside. I was brought here by the landlord to cut wood and do the man’s share of the work. Too much work! But I don’t mind. I’ve always got to rush about or else the day lasts too long. I cut wood for the landlord but part of what I cut is to go to them so they can sell it, to pay for my food. But I gave them more wood than the landlord had counted on, so they’ve grown fond of me. And too, I got their garden all dug up and ready – bigger than ever. Working like a demon, I’ve been, and they know how to appreciate it. And I think the younger one was hoping I’d stay and marry her. And I may yet someday, after my time is up. Who know? She’s kind of pretty, ain’t she? And a good cook too!”

“Maybe we should bring her along.”

“Oh… well…I don’t…”

“Now now, don’t fret about it, son,” joked Robby. “You don’t need to be deciding right now. What we need to do is to decide how we’re going to get ourselves a boat without getting caught.

“I’ve got the pistols.”

“But Clay Boodle’s got that fouling piece, doesn’t he? And he’s got neighbors with ears on their heads. And with the first shot fired, we’d bring out the whole town.”

“Wait now,” said Dan. “We don’t have to steal a boat. Couldn’t we just rent one? We’ve got money. Couldn’t we just say to him that we’ve need of his boat to get some goods down river?”

“Does he rent it out?”

“You’re in uniform, aren’t you? Couldn’t it be for some army business? The generals are always up to something – keeping you boys occupied. And you could tell him that I’ve volunteered to do some sort of service. A dangerous task! Say I’m trying get myself a pardon. And then, you could tell them you’re volunteering for risky missions too, in hopes of getting yourself promoted.”

“I suppose I could. But he didn’t look too gullible when we saw him three days ago, did he?”

“But time has proven his suspicions wrong, hasn’t it? Tim was convicted out of sessions and let out on his parole. He told them so and everyone believed him. Didn’t they?”

“I suppose,” sighed Robby.

“And Boodle will have no reason to doubt your word, or mine either. Will he? I didn’t fight with the rebels. I was off at sea when all the battles were being fought. Missed them all! And I’ve kept my opinions to myself, so no one’s got reason to think that I’d serve the rebels.”

“So we could go straight to Clay Boodle and he’d just give us his boat?”

“I don’t know. You could say we need to be taken across the river and back, and then leave it at that. Give him a nod and a wink. And then we’d give him the story later, once we’re across.”

“We could. And I’d say that I can’t tell him more. Not just yet. And I could say that we have to make haste, eh? Duty a-calling?”

“And once we’re out on the water, I could hold a pistol to his nose...”

“No no,” said Robby, “we wouldn’t need to do even that much. I could say I’ve been ordered to take possession of the boat and we’d drop him off somewhere. What could he do? I’m in uniform! He can’t risk refusing, can he? He’d not know otherwise. If I say I’m acting under orders then he’d risk trouble for himself if he tried to deny us the use of his boat.”

“You’ll just have to be firm and stern.”

“Indeed, and he’d fear being charged with the impeding of a military operation. He could be whipped for that. I’ve seen it happen. And he could lose his license to operate a ferry.”

“Yea, he could indeed,” nodded Dan. “Now, why don’t we bundle all our packs together and I’ll carry all on my back. Let you look more like you’re in charge.”

Chapter 22

They’d want to reward us.

In town, Robby knocked on Clay Boodle’s door. A woman opened it far enough for one eye. “And what do ye want?” she said in a tone that rendered Robby breathless. His voice started in a hiss, but after clearing his throat he was able to speak.

“We’re needing to be across the river, straight away. Is the master in?”

“The both of ye are to be going?” she asked, with a doubtful look at Dan.

“Yes, the both of us. And we’re under orders to make haste.”

“An operation?” asked Clay Boodle as he pulled the door open.

“Yes. But I can tell you nothing,” Robby murmured, and he looked to the side to see who was in the street. “Not tonight at least.”

“No no, of course not,” said Boodle.

“Perhaps in day of two.”

“Ah ha.”

“But can we be getting on our way?” asked Robby with another look to the side.

“Indeed,” said Boodle quietly. “I’ll just get my hat.”

“Will he be gone for long?” asked his wife, still appearing to doubt Robby’s word. He was, after all, a mere private and he was accompanied by a convict and neither of them looked older then eighteen.

“Likely not,” replied Robby.

“Just across the river, eh?” asked Boodle.

Ah... well,” said Robby, pretending to be unsure of whether to answer. “Yes, and that’s all. There and back. Dan, here, will be staying and I’ll be coming back. I can take a turn at rowing if that’ll make it any quicker.”

“Oh no, that’ll not be necessary,” said Boodle as he put on his hat. “It’s a rare boy who can out-row an old ferryman like me.” He said this as he pulled the door shut so his wife could not interfere. “There hasn’t been much activity on the river in the last day or two.”

“More activity down on the island,” said Robby, trying to sound like he knew more than he could tell.

“Ah yes, army life. I did my time at it, back when we were a-fighting the French and their Indians. Served with the regulars, I did – Pepperrell’s 51st Regiment, it was. And I made sergeant before the war was won.”

“Did you?”

“Yea indeed, and I did consider sticking with them and making a life of it. I was told I had the makings. But there was a woman here who wanted to marry me, so I stayed for the quiet life. Though, I don’t know that ferrying is all that much safer than soldiering, what with ice floes in winter and robbers the whole year round. Bears even!”

“Bears?”

“I almost had one on my boat once – right with me – along for the ride! Just over a year ago, only. Wanted to be a passenger, and without paying the fare! Ha! There was fresh fish aboard and he was probably just out of his hibernation. Smelled them fish and decided he wanted to try them out for his supper. I usually cast out a line or two as I cross over. Some days I earn more a-fishing than I do a-ferrying. We shouted and waved our arms and then I was rowing! He even hopped in the water and started swimming after us! We threw the fish in, right at him, but he didn’t even notice them. Thought they were still in the boat! My word, I was a-fearing for my skin I was! Scared for my life and I ain’t ashamed to admit it.”

“Not when a bear’s coming at you!” laughed Robby. “A bear! That’s one creature I’d not want to face. I think going into battle would be easier!”

“It is!” bragged Boodle. “I’ve done both and it’s the bears that have me a-riding the nightmare, it is!”

By now they were to the creek, just below the dam and near the river. The wind had finally died and the water was almost calm. Field dust that hung in the air combined with smoke from faraway. The sky was a brownish grey, and the sun in the west was a golden disk that you could look at briefly without blinking. Boodle unlocked the chain that secured his boat. Dan and Robby helped push it into the water. They climbed in and he started rowing.

“There’s some of your mates, yonder,” said Boodle, squinting across the water.

“There is,” agreed Robby as he looked at a boat with a half dozen redcoats aboard.

“On patrol?” asked Dan.

“Looks like it,” replied Robby, and he started to think of a story that would satisfy whoever was rowing directly for them. He had a good one prepared by the time they were within calling distance. At least he hoped it was good enough.

“Sergeant McDougal!” called Boodle, as if to an old friend.

“Good evening to thee,” the man replied, eyeing Robby as if he were already under arrest.

“Ask no questions tonight,” said Boodle with a smile. “If I can’t ask them then I figure you shouldn’t be able to either.”

“Can’t I now?” asked the man.

“Under orders he is,” said Boodle quietly but with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Ah-ha, I think I know then,” said McDougal with a smile. “Offering themself as bait, are they?”

“I know nothing!” laughed Boodle. “But by the looks of the two of them they’re doing a job they didn’t ask for! Knees a-knocking loud enough to scare the fish!”

“Ha! Are they! Now don’t you boys be a-worrying yourselves. The rebels can only skin your hide once, eh?” They all laughed at this.

“We’ll just keep thinking of the money,” said Robby with a lame smile. The sergeant seemed to be satisfied. Their looking sacred as they felt had turned out to be an advantage.

“Now, I think we’d best be on our way,” said Boodle, sounding very sure of himself. “The two words that these boys could share with me was ‘make haste’.”

“Be brave, me laddies,” laughed the sergeant as Boodle rowed away. “Your odds of making it back are at least fifty-fifty!” Everyone laughed again.

“You must get to know everyone on the river,” said Robby after he took a long breath.

“I wish I did! There’s too many strangers on this river. And nowadays it’s riskier than ever. Fighting season is coming hard upon us, it is. And the generals are making their plans. Who knows who’s a spy or a scout or a smuggler? Though… it’s not all bad, not for an honest ferryman, for I’ll be able to ask a higher rate, won’t I? Danger pay it is! And then there’ll be a payment here and there for providing information to men in red coats, eh? Information’s worth money, ain’t it?”

“Sometimes worth a lot of money,” agreed Robby with a smile, “and there’s a fellow here in this boat who just might be earning a quite bit of it.” He said this quietly and with a glance over to Dan. “That and a pardon for past crimes.”

“Well now, good for thee, Dan Eliot, good for thee,” said Boodle with a nod. “I’d figured you for a man with grit in his guts. Serving your king and earning back your good reputation. May God’s good blessings be upon thee and thy task.”

“Let’s just wait to see if I make it back,” shrugged Dan. “Then I might have a good story to tell.”

“Ah, don’t say ‘might’,” said Boodle with a shrug. “Say you will and you won’t be jinxing your luck.”

Robby was starting to relax and he told them a story about a scouting mission that he had heard from a dragoon, and it lasted until they were across to the New Jersey shore.

“Well now, Clay Boodle,” said Robby, looking him in the eye and sounding like he was getting down to serious business. “I am at this point required to inform you of my orders – one of them, at least. By the order of Captain Collins of the King’s Forty-Forth Regiment, I must commandeer your boat.”

“Why’s that?” Boodle responded, after a pause.

“I fear I cannot tell you why.”

“You can’t?”

“No, but for your service to your king you will be making some good money. The captain says he can hardly ask a ferryman to risk his boat for less than what he deserves.”

“Of course not.”

“We’ll have to leave you here on the shore, for a while at least, but someone will be along shortly to ask you what you’ve seen, so we’d appreciate your keeping an eye on the river. Now, I’m sure you aren’t too happy about this but as we all know, there comes a time when we’re called upon to do our duty for our sovereign and his realm and…”

“Say no more, my boy,” said Boodle. “In uniform or not, I’m ready when my duty calls. And especially where there’s money involved.”

“Good man,” said Robby with a smile. “With loyalists like you we’ll have this rebellion crushed by Christmas.”

“And the sooner’s the better, too. We can all pray for that,” said Boodle as the boat ran into the muddy shore. He handed the oars to Robby and hopped off, agile as a man half his age. “You two take care now, but not too much,” he said with a chuckle, as he gave the boat a push to get them back out into the river.

“If no one comes by dark,” called Robby as he rowed away, “then take yourself up to the nearest farm and stay the night. And try to be back here by daybreak.”

“Not a problem,” said Boodle with doubt in his voice. “I know which door to knock on.”

. . . . .

“That all went nicely,” said Dan, once they were well away from the shore.

“Good old Clay Boodle.”

“Yes, and with a few more hours of good luck, we’ll all be on our way to Morristown.”

“But what about Tim?” asked Robby.

“Well… we’ll have to go back for him as soon as we can – with Sam Baker’s help. And what’ll we do about Sadie? We’ll have to get her back home.”

“That should be the easy part. We don’t have to have her home tonight, do we? The important thing is to get one prisoner, two deserters, and three crates over the river and into safe territory.”

“Indeed,” said Dan with a nod.

“Across and on our way west by the break of dawn?”

“What do you suppose those cartridge boxes are worth to them? I mean, what if we were to hide them away somewhere and then just go to Morristown with a sample and an offer to sell them?”

“Oh… I don’t know. They’re in need of them. That’s what my cousin says. I don’t know what they’d go for in London but I’m sure they’d sell for twice as much here.”

“Three times, likely. But I suppose Tim won’t be happy if they aren’t freely given, as a sign of our commitment to the cause.”

“Well,” shrugged Robby, “couldn’t we name our price and then tell them that we’re willing to exchange them for something other than money? Maybe negotiate for preferential treatment – joining under better terms. Olly and I could demand that they take us into the same regiment as you and Tim – a fighting regiment. And too, we could extract a promise for a good suit of clothes, couldn’t we? And a better quality of training?”

“I suppose we could.”

“Army life can be dismal. And the worst of it isn’t standing guard or marching up and down the parade ground. The worst of it is all the hours you spend at the digging of trenches and the building of dikes.”

“Yea, ‘the earthwork fortifications so essential in this era of musket and cannon’,” said Dan, quoting a line from a manual.

“But if we want to be part of the elite of soldiers who do the scouting and raiding then… well. They’ll only give us the training that we’ll need if they know that we’re committed to the cause. And that’s why me and Olly will need you and Tim – especially Tim. You two will need to convince them that you’ve gotten to know us well enough to know that we’ll place the interests of our newly adopted nation ahead of our own. They’ll have to know they can count on us to do our duty, no matter how tempting it might be to do otherwise. And you can’t blame them if they’re suspicious, can you? There’s many a soldier who will shrink from danger by finding himself an excuse for being too cautious. And there’s even more of them who will waste precious time with the taking of plunder. And I’m told that your army’s been plagued with desertions and that a lot of them have been walking themselves back home with a stolen musket over their shoulder. We’ll have to convince them that we’ll never stoop to that sort of corruption and cowardice.”

“We will have to do that.”

“But how,” sighed Robby, “when we show up as deserters with three crates of stolen cartridge boxes?”

“Maybe Tim’s right and we should just offer the cartridge boxes as a gift.”

Dan and Robby kept on talking like this as they crossed back over the river to where Olly and Sadie waited. In the twilight they could still see the silhouetted outline of the fortress on top of the high ridge of land – the former Fort Washington that had been captured the past October. This landmark allowed Dan and Robby to guess where the others had been left behind. Dan took a turn at rowing while Robby kept his eyes squinted, watching for the burned out remains of the farmhouse. An almost full moon was in the sky but under tall trees they could see only blackness.

Riding the nightmare? When people were forced to ride horses for transportation, the most common bad dream was of riding a horse that had been frightened and could not be reined in.

Chapter 23

He would want us to.

“Quiet!” whispered Robby, holding up his hand. Dan stopped rowing. They listened carefully but heard nothing.

Then came a soft voice that called “Hulloo!”

“Who is it?” asked Robby

“It’s me, you blockheads!” replied Sadie. “With all your arguing you couldn’t hear anything.”

The two of them had been discussing whether to turn back and row upstream, thinking they had again gone too far.

“I ain’t no blockhead!” whined Dan, pretending to be offended.

“Oh! And I am!” joked Robby.

“Get over here!” ordered Sadie. “Where have you been?”

“We’ve been past here twice at least,” said Dan. “We’ve been rowing all night.” It was not yet dawn but Dan could tell from the position of the Big Dipper that dawn would not be long in coming.

“How’s my poor cousin doing?”

“He’s sleeping,” said Sadie. “I told Olly to lay himself next to him and I wrapped the two of them together in the canvas to keep him warm. Olly had set his broken leg and splinted it. I told Olly to say a long prayer to keep him calm and he put himself to sleep! They’re both snoring! How could anybody sleep after this?”

“Olly set the bone?” asked Robby.

“And splinted it. With birch bark and strips of cloth.”

“Well! Poor boy, now he’ll walk like a birch tree. Have there been any patrol boats coming by?”

“There have been boats but I wasn’t sure whether they were you or someone else. We should have decided on a signal. It’s a good thing you started arguing.”

“We’d only started arguing after we’d perceived the need,” joked Dan. They were up to the shore and he was climbing out. “And we’re figuring that what we ought to do, right away quick before dawn, is to get prisoner, crates and deserters across.”

“What about Tim?” asked Sadie in a surly voice. She had not been appreciating their humor.

“We’ll have to come back for him later.”

“When?”

“Well,” sighed Dan, “we figured we ought to get the goods over to Morristown as fast as we can. Waiting might just mean giving more time for the redcoats to find us and get them back. Same with Stemple. We’ve got to get him shipped and delivered. He might not be in any condition to run away but was he to overhear someone coming by… well. He could cry out for help, couldn’t he? Even when gagged, he could make a lot of noise.”

“If you’re thinking of leaving Tim behind,” said Sadie, “then it might be me who does the crying out!”

“We’re not going to leave him behind forever.”

“Tim stuck his neck out further than any of you! And you’re not going to… you’re not going to take the profit and leave him the expense!”

“We’ll go back for him!” said Robby. “He’s fairly safe for now anyway. They’ve no reason to doubt his story. They’ve likely heard he’d won the trust of Colonel Philipse. All they’ll do is fail to find the mystery man with the forged requisition.”

“That’s right,” said Dan, “and then they’ll let him loose and he’ll go home.”

“And,” said Robby, “with Stemple and the cartridge boxes gone, they’ll be out chasing rebel raiders and forgetting about Tim altogether.”

“But then once he’s home,” insisted Sadie, “he’ll have to try explain what he was doing taking the wagon when neither his master nor the storekeeper wanted anything delivered.”

“He’ll make up a story,” said Dan. “He’s good at that. He could say he had an opportunity to earn a shilling for himself. At worst John will give him a caning for lying.”

“That’s right,” said Robby. “A dozen strokes is likely all he’d get – likely not even that. And maybe he’d have to pay the cost of the wagon. And what if me and Olly were to be caught now? For us it’ll be a thousand strokes of the lash, followed by a hanging.”

“Not likely,” said Sadie.

“Theft, kidnapping and desertion? They’d call us traitors and deal with us as such!”

“If we can’t go back for Tim right away,” said Dan, “then Sam Baker’s going to be…”

“Sam Baker!” snapped Sadie, now even angrier. “Isn’t he the one who’s been long gone for two months now? And aren’t you the one who’ve been saying he’s forgotten about us!”

“But we’ve at least got to get the crates and Stemple across,” said Robby, “and if we don’t, then Tim’s no better off, is he? It’d be bad for Tim and worse for the rest of us. And Tim would know that, and he’d want us to get them across. Wouldn’t he? For the cause!”

“For the cause?” she asked as she stepped forward to block Robby’s way up the bank. “But the cause ain’t worth much if the cause is for a nation where men don’t stick together with their fellow patriots! Is it? So how soon are we going to go back for Tim?”

“If we get across the river quick enough,” said Dan, “then me and you could come back before dawn.”

“Good!” said Sadie, turning to Dan. “We take them across, and then we’ll come straight back and get him. Are we agreed?”

“Somebody would have to stay on the other side…”

“Fine,” agreed Sadie. “Somebody stays on the other side! Both Robby and Olly can stay there safe and sound, and you and me can come straight back again and go looking for Tim.”

“Well…” started Dan.

“An excellent idea,” interrupted Robby. “Me and Olly will stay with Stemple and the crates. We’re the deserters, after all.”

“Indeed you are,” said Sadie. “An excellent strategy.”

“You and Dan can go back for Tim and we’ll find some bushes to hide in that are so thick that my cousin won’t be able to see anyone coming or going. And then, we can all meet back over there, and together we’ll all go on to Morristown.”

“Well…” said Dan.

“It’s a fine plan,” nodded Sadie. “Sound and sensible.”

“But what do we say,” asked Dan, “if Clay Boodle’s gotten himself back across the river and is now out a-looking for his boat? We’d left him on the Jersey shore and Robby told him we’re part of some sort of military operation.”

“You can tell him you were sent back by Robby with the boat,” said Sadie. “You say you were offered money and he didn’t tell you what for and that you’re still wondering when you’re going to get paid. You say that he said it was military business and that he didn’t tell you nothing more. You’ll invent a story just like you think Tim ought to.”

“I suppose.”

“And you’ll be there at the crack of dawn,” said Robby. “Surely Boodle’s still over where we left him, sound asleep in the house he said he’d go to. And likely you’ll find Tim and then you’ll be back in no time.”

“Well… we’d best hurry then,” said Dan, shaking his head, “or we’ll be rowing back across in the light of day and we’ll be telling our stories to redcoats in patrol boats.”

“You could go pick up Boodle.”

“No!” snorted Dan. “Then we’d lose the boat! I figure it’ll be best to hold onto it and hope Boodle stays there. Now, let’s get to work.”

It was difficult finding their way through the underbrush in the darkness. It was not completely dark, for the moon was still up but that did not protect them from being scraped and poked by unseen branches. In spite of it all they managed to get the crates loaded and into the boat. Again, they used the canvas as a hammock to carry Stemple.

“What… what is this?” asked the lieutenant when he woke up to find himself wrapped in canvas and swaying back and forth.

“You’re fine, sir,” said Olly as he pulled back the fabric. He was walking alongside while the others held onto each end. “They’ve got a boat now and we’re crossing back over to the New York shore. The surgeon was back again while you slept and he says you’re doing well. A full recovery he’s predicting, so long as you keep off that leg. You’ll be marching into battle come July, he says. And the captain, he’s heard of your doings and they say he’s sounding quite pleased.”

“Is he?”

“Oh, indeed he is, sir. Or so they’re saying. We’ve all been talking about it. Now, you’ve got to stay calm while we cross back over. The surgeon was saying that too much stimulation might provoke a brain fever. Best you say a few prayers or… or recite some poetry. Anything to calm your mind, he said. You could say a prayer out loud too, if you’re up to it. That’d be something that would calm us all, wouldn’t it? Or perhaps that’d be too great a strain on you.”

“We’re lifting you into the boat now, sir.”

“Is that you, Robby?” asked Stemple.

“Indeed it is, sir. And I heard about your swordplay.”

“Did you?”

“Aye aye, most impressive… easy now,” said Robby as he backed into the water. They lifted him over and laid him gently into the boat, his leg propped on one of the seats.

“All comfy, sir?” asked Olly.

“No, not at all,” joked Stemple. “But well enough, considering.”

“He’s laying on something,” said Sadie, as she pulled a bailing pail out from under him.

“Who’s that?” asked Stemple.

“Just my wife,” said Dan. Sadie said nothing.

“What’s this… crate?” asked Stemple as he felt beside himself.

“That… oh…the… the rebels had it with them,” said Robby. “Provisions of some kind. We’ve not had a chance to open it up.”

“Capturing supplies?” said Stemple with a smile. “Good work.”

“A successful raid it was,” said Olly. “I’m looking forward to hearing the whole story. Captured prisoners, captured supplies – an excellent night’s work it was. But you don’t go exciting yourself now, sir. Orders of the surgeon.”

“Of course,” replied Stemple, and following Olly’s suggestion he quietly recited a prayer of thanksgiving as they began rowing across. He might have realized by looking at the stars that they were traveling in the wrong direction, but he was very tired and fell back to sleep almost immediately.

Chapter 24

You didn’t deserve no mercy.

“Well now! I’m a-looking at Clay Boodle’s boat, but I’m not seeing a Clay Boodle in it!” This witty observation came from Horace Davis, the tailor who had grabbed Tim by the collar just five days before. He was standing on the shore as Sadie and Dan rowed up.

When they had started back across the river, the stars had still been out and the sky was a lovely deep blue. The morning was now bright and the rising sun shone directly into their eyes.

“Oh! He’s… he’s upriver,” said Dan as he hopped off the prow of the boat and started pulling it onto the shore.

“Upriver?”

“Indeed, yes… he… he sent us down,” replied Dan as he pulled hard to get the boat onto the muddy bank.

“He sent you with his boat and he stayed behind?”

“He did.”

“And why would he want to do that?” asked Horace as he stepped closer.

“We… we… were to go…”

“For help,” interrupted Sadie.

“For help?”

“Well, he…”

“He broke his leg,” said Sadie. “Not a bad break though.”

“Clay Boodle broke his leg?”

“He did. ‘Twas up at Jost Pelt’s farm. I was there already.”

“And who is he?”

“He’s… renting land. There were rebels living there until last fall.” Sadie was using the name of a peddler from the city. More than one farm had changed hands since the fighting. “And Jost’s already got the bone set. He just pulled on it – gave it a proper good yank. And it popped back into place, just like nothing at all. He had himself and Mister Boodle sitting on the ground, facing each other, and he had hold of his foot. And then all of the sudden he gave it a good tug and there it went back into place! But it hurt the poor old fellow so that he cried out in pain, but just the once. Though you could see he suffered great agony – eyes bugged out and the wrinkles on his brow! My goodness! I’ve never seen wrinkles quite like that before, not on his brow or any! It was a fright just to look at him! And then he bound it up in birch bark for a splint. He says it’s got curative powers. He said it’ll be strong as ever in a month or two, so long as he stays off it.”

“Will it be?” muttered Horace, who had his doubts about backwoods medicine.

“Aye aye, that’s what the fellow says,” nodded Dan. “He says it worked for his brother who’s been up and walking for seven years now without an ache or a pain.”

“Has he been?”

“That’s what the fellow said,” nodded Sadie as she tried to scrape the river mud off her shoe with a stick.

“Well then,” said Horace, “we’d best be going to tell his wife.”

“Tell her what?” asked Dan, who had started up the street.

“You were sent for help, weren’t you?”

“Oh. Oh! Oh, of course! I’m… I was just going to see the poor woman now. And… and we’ll have to be fetching him back, won’t we be? Poor old fellow. Get him back home soon. It’ll be the care of a good woman that he’s a-needing, won’t it be? Though… maybe he’d be better off not moving about, not just yet.”

“Why not?”

“To rest the leg… let it start to mend.”

“Well… perhaps he shouldn’t,” said Horace with a shrug. “We’ll have to tell her that, won’t we? Let her decide.”

“Of course. And she’ll likely want to be heading upriver to see to his care, won’t she be?” said Dan as they walked to the house. He did not feel hopeful about how well he could keep it up – answering so many questions with so many lies.

. . . . .

“Dear me!” gasped Dora Boodle, whose face had gone white as soon as she heard the news. “Well well! And how’d he go and do that to himself?”

“Maybe you’d like to sit down,” said Dan as he reached out to take her arm. He guided her to a chair and Horace held it for her. “He’ll be well again for sure, and in only a few weeks likely. Or so the fellow said. Jost Pelt’s his name.

“The trader?”

“No, not him. Must be another. And he’s not no surgeon either but still he set the leg and splinted it with birch bark, just like he’d done it a hundred times before. Said it went back together just as nicely as you could ask for. Easy as anything, he said.”

“How did he break it?”

“It was the strangest thing. He just jumped down from a wagon. He’d been bumped off… by one of the boys… who was taking a step back. Just an accident, it was. And your Mr. Boodle was looking the other way and… talking to a man. And he was bumped from behind, and …”

“That’s just what they said about my Uncle Isaiah,” she interrupted. “He just slipped upon the ice when he wasn’t expecting to, and there it was, broken in two. And the surgeon said that was not unusual at all – not at all. And it doesn’t mean necessarily that you’ve weak bones either. It just depends on how you fall.”

“Truly it does,” nodded Dan as he sat on a stool next to her. “When I was younger, I fell right off a tall ladder once. A big tall painter’s ladder! Went down with it as it fell! I must have dropped fifteen – maybe twenty feet, for it was a tall ladder. I was painting the meetinghouse when it happened and had her set too steep. Well, the ladder went down and me with it and I landed all in a heap, the ladder on top of me. And I didn’t break nothing. They said I was lucky I wasn’t killed and… and there I was getting up and getting back to work and I was all a-worried about whether the ladder was broke and whether I’d have to pay for it! ‘The ladder?’ asked the fellow that owned it. ‘What about yourself?’ he’d asked. Then the minster came over and said that surely it was by the grace of God that I wasn’t dead. And then, when my mother heard about it she said ‘Probably because he landed on his head!’ Ha! She was like that. Though, had I been killed, she’d likely have been fit to be tied!”

“Well!” said Dora, shaking her head. “I’d hope that she would be.”

“I remember once we’d cut down a tree – my cousin and me. And then we’d seen her a-coming along the path looking for us. So we got an idea. We lifted the log and I climbed under. And when she came up and she sees me lying there – a-lying under a fallen tree – looking dead as anything! Well! She was just a-hollering ‘Danny! Danny!’ I couldn’t help but laugh and when she saw that, she went from sorrow to rage in a snap of a finger, she did. She grabbed a stick and commenced to whipping me as I lay under the log – unable to free myself! A-begging for mercy I was, and getting none!”

“You didn’t deserve any mercy either,” said Horace.

“Indeed you did not!” said Dora, her finger wagging. Her tears of sorrow had turned to anger in support of Dan’s mother. “A wicked thing, that was. To do such a thing! Wicked!”

“Oh… well, I suppose it was,” nodded Dan as he looked down. “And I feel the shame coming upon me every time I think back on it.”

“Could have given her a paralytic fit,” nodded Horace. “Could have been the death of her!”

“The whipping she gave was… well… surely I know better now.”

“But let’s not be worrying about that now,” said Dora as she stood up. “I’ve got to be getting out to see to Clay’s care and to be getting him back home, poor boy.” Again there were tears in her eyes. “And you can row me there,” she said, pointing to Dan.

“I can?”

“You know where to find him,” she said taking down a basket. On the shelf was a row of bottles filled with a variety of ointments, tinctures and powders. Neighbors often went to Dora for advice on dosing and curing.

“But won’t he be in need of his rest?” asked Dan, who was wondering how he would go about finding Tim and getting back across the river while he was busy taking Dora Boodle to a nonexistent farm.

“Indeed he will,” said Dora, while examining a bottle. “He’ll be in pain and torment, most likely. It’ll be swelling up, I’d expect. When old widow Carpenter broke her arm it swelled something awful and she had to keep loosing and retying the splint. Hurt like anything, she said. Poor old woman. Drunk on rum for a week, she was.”

“Tried to get up and about too soon, most likely,” said Dan, nodding his head.

“Maybe she did,” said Dora, who was wiping away tears again. “I’ll have a hard time keeping poor Clay down and at rest. He’s always pacing the floor on Sundays when he’s supposed to be taking his rest. Praying for Monday is what I suspect him of. Now, you’ll be needing a piece of bread to eat before we’re going, won’t you be?”

“Oh… me?” stammered Dan. “Oh… I suppose I would. And… and I’ve got to be telling the women back where I stay about my whereabouts too. Me being convict labor and all.”

“I suppose you will be,” agreed Dora. “I’ll just send the boy next door…”

“No no no! I’ll just run out there and I’ll be back in no time. I’m supposed to be back now already, I am! Once before I sent a boy to tell them that I’d be kept at work, when I’d been lent out to another farm. And the old woman was quite vexed and annoyed, she was. Said it was to be me and none other to be coming back and telling her, for how’d she know that the boy wasn’t telling lies for me and that I wasn’t on the run and never to be seen again? A stern woman she is when it comes to law and order.”

“Oh well…”

“And you’ve got to get yourself ready still,” insisted Dan, “and likely you’d benefit from a bit to eat yourself, wouldn’t you. Though you might not feel it now. But I’ll be back in no time – two wags of a dog’s tail!” said Dan as he backed to the door and let himself out. He immediately broke into a run to avoid their coming out and telling him otherwise.

Chapter 25

I’ve got to run while I can!

“Tim? He ain’t here,” shrugged the apprentice who was in the backyard sawing firewood. “He went off on a delivery, yesterday. He took a wagon and he was supposed to be back. But he ain’t been back yet.”

“Must have been held up then,” said Dan. When he had stopped at John Gainer’s house to ask after Tim he had gone around the side, hoping to avoid facing the master and mistress. He did not want to start them wondering. One of them might decide to go talk to the storekeeper. “Just say I was looking for him,” said Dan as he turned to leave.

“I won’t be here likely.”

“Well… it don’t matter.”

“I’ll tell them inside,” he said, putting down the saw. He appreciated any reason to take a break.

“No no no!” insisted Dan as he turned to leave. “I was just stopping to visit. Just wanting to waste both my time and his.”

“You’re sure now?” he called, but Dan was already around the corner of the house.

Not back yet, Dan wondered to himself. And what am I supposed to do now? If Captain Cooper had waited only a few hours for the mysterious merchant, then Tim would’ve had plenty of time to make it back before dark. Once at the base, it’d only be a few more miles to Yonkers. And even if Tim couldn’t make it home before dark, he could’ve left at sunup. He ought to have been home, by now! What’s keeping him? How badly might things have gone? The captain would surely by now have heard about the disappearance of Lieutenant Stemple and the precious cartridge boxes. He’d have heard about it just as soon as he got back. And he’d not have been in a good mood, not after all the waiting and watching in the city and getting nothing for his efforts. Tim might’ve been kept for questioning – tough questioning. Redcoats could even be on their way to Yonkers right now, and as soon as they arrive, they’d find out that Tim had been taken from the Yonkers jail – taken by a pair of red-coated privates – the same ones who had disappeared with Lieutenant Stemple and the cartridge boxes.

“Where’re you going?” asked a sharp voice. Dan spun around. It was only Sadie. She had followed him out of town but had kept to a walk to avoid attracting attention.

“Going home to tell them where I am,” he said as he turned to keep walking. “At least that’s what I told Dora Boodle. She’s saying she wants me to row her upriver to see to her husband’s care.”

“Where would you take her?” asked Sadie, who walked alongside, her arms folded in front of her.

“Well, I can’t take her anywhere, can I? I don’t know where Jost Pelt lives.”

“Jost Pelt lives in the city and he’s not a farmer. I just made that up.”

“Well… either way,” said Dan, “I’ve got to get out of town and stay out. It’ll be me in the jailhouse next, for stealing a boat, if not for anything else. And I’m a convict! I could hang for it! Boodle could have just hailed a boat and got himself back across the river, and then I’m…”

“Where’s Tim?”

“I don’t know! He ain’t been home yet. And he might not be home for a good long while to come. Who knows what they’ll be wanting to do with him? He might never be back! In jail for months most likely, and then away to sea or off to… Barbados maybe. How can I know?”

“Or he could be on his way back home right now!”

“If he is then we’ll… we’ll just leave old Dora Boodle waiting and… I ought to go home and get my… well, I could get some more things…”

“Didn’t you already get your things when Robby came for you?”

“But I could always get more.”

“You don’t need any more!” said Sadie, pointing her finger. “You should go watch for Tim. I’ll go get some food and money for him. And he’ll have to go home and get clothes and… I don’t know. But he can’t just go off to Morristown with nothing. They don’t always provide, do they? Barefoot soldiers – skinny as rails? That’s what they tell us they are. Last October, when the army was passing by, on the way north to White Planes, they said they looked like a bunch of drowned rats.”

“Well, I guess…”

“You wait over there. Down in the woods,” she said, pointing. “Wait there and watch for him. So long as you’re in hiding you’ll be safe. Dora Boodle won’t expect you to be back right away. She won’t start to wonder for an hour at least.”

“Well, I...”

“Just go there!” she said, pointing again to where the woods started, across a bean field. “I’ll be back with blankets and money and some food.”

“I am hungry.”

“And don’t fall asleep! Keep on your feet!” Sadie ordered, as she turned back.

Dan sighed and turned to continue on. He felt scolded and angry and tired. And now he remembered that he had gone the whole night without sleep – and even longer without food. With all that had been happening – with all the danger – he had been neither hungry nor tired. But now, he let out a groan and shook his head. Once up to the patch of woodland he left the road, climbed through a hedge and crossed the bean field, without even thinking to look back to see if someone was watching him.

In behind a thicket of alder and birch Dan found himself starting to relax. Then it all hit him at once. Drowsiness descended upon him like a wave and he felt an overwhelming temptation to lie down on the soft grass and just go to sleep. All his worries could wait. The grass looked so soft – so tempting – all warmed by the gentle sunlight that filtered through fresh spring leaves. And it was there, right before him, beckoning him – reaching out to take him in its arms and comfort him. He was just bending his knees when he realized what he was doing and jumped up straight and shook his head. “Got to stay awake!” he said out loud as he waved his arms in the air.

Out on the road Dan saw a wagon. Tim? he wondered as he squinted his eyes. No, it was just some farmer going into town. He paced back and forth. Clay Boodle’s boat must still be sitting there on the shore, he told himself. He didn’t lock it up, did he? Nothing would stop me now from going straight there and pushing it in and just rowing away to safety. And Tim, he’d know that my waiting here is likely the stupidest thing that I’ll ever do. And how long should I wait here anyways? Horace and Dora Boodle, might just decide to go and take the boat themselves? No, they can’t. They don’t know where Jost Pelt lives. But they’ll soon be starting to wonder about it all, won’t they be? And besides, at any time, Clay Boodle himself could walk through the door of his house and say that he’d been left stranded over in New Jersey. And that his boat had been taken from him by a redcoat and… and that convict, Dan Eliot! And he won’t have no broken leg, neither! Surely then they’d go out in the street and raise a hue and cry. And half the men in town would come out a-looking for me. They’d have everybody watching! And they’d start asking more questions too, wouldn’t they? Boodle would say it was the same soldier that had come four days ago – one of the same two who had come for Tim and taken him away. And without any orders written down on paper either. They’d say it was so strange that Tim had been back again so soon, and that he hadn’t been kept down in the city for trial. They’d conclude the obvious. And they’d know that Tim had likely been out a-telling lies! And then they’d know that I’d been part of it all and they’d all start to think that it’s all nothing but a rebel conspiracy! They’d all come out, looking for me! And sooner or later I’d be caught and jailed and then taken to face the redcoat officers! I’d be told to confess my deeds or face the consequences! And what would I say then? I’d lie and they’d beat me and I’d lie some more and they’d beat me even more – it’d never end! This… this… this is all too much! I could end up tortured and hanged! And it would all be for nothing, for the cartridge boxes are likely long gone and on their way to Morristown! I’ve got to run while I can. Tim can find his way somehow else. Once across I could go find Sam Baker and tell him all about what’s been happening and he’d send someone for Tim. And surely Tim’s better off without me getting myself hanged for nothing!

With these grim thoughts in his mind Dan started back for the road, determined to let nothing stop him. Again, he forgot to look and see if anyone was there. And sure enough someone was. A farmer was on the road wondering who was trampling his newly sprouted beans.

“What you doing down there, boy?” he said as Dan climbed through the hedge.

“I… oh… well… I thought I saw a man down there. Least I think I did. I… I thought maybe he was a redcoat deserter in hiding – that’s what I thought. I was hoping I could maybe collect me a reward for capturing him and turning him in.”

“So did you find him?”

“No no. No sign of anybody. Wishful thinking it was, I suppose. It was just out of the corner of my eye that I thought I’d seen him.”

“Could have been a redbird.”

“It could have been.”

“Though maybe not. Zeb Pollard caught himself a deserter,” said the farmer with a nod. “Found him hiding in his barn. Zeb told the fellow that he was whig, and said he’d be willing to help him get across the river. Instead of that, Zeb went straight to the King’s Bridge and he brought back a pair of redcoats and they captured him and took him in. It wasn’t desertion though, for the fellow still wore his uniform. It’d be just ‘absent without leave’ they said. He’d just get a whipping, they said, or maybe a stay in the black hole. Just so long as he begged forgiveness and showed potential for reform.”

“It always pays to beg for forgiveness,” said Dan with a smile.

“It worked for you, didn’t it! Haw! At your trial it did! I’d gone in and I’d seen you there – a-begging like a dog you were!”

“Yes, it sure did work for me good. And this has been an easy sentence that I’ve been serving – a warm bed and good food and the company of kindhearted women.”

“Now, you’re sure there ain’t nobody hiding down there?” asked the farmer as he squinted his eyes, looking at the woods across the field.

“No no. Not a sign of him. No tracks. Though there wouldn’t be. Not in the grass. Not that I could notice.”

“Maybe I’ll just go take another look,” said the farmer. “If a fellow thinks he’s seen a redcoat, then it’s likely not a redbird. And I’m a good tracker too. And Zeb said he got himself four shillings for his reward. Easy money, eh? But it would have been way more if the boy had been out of uniform. For then it’d be a charge of desertion. Zeb said he should have lent him some clothes and told him that it was to help him in his escape. Then they’d have been able to up the charge.”

“But if the boy had turned around and told them that Zeb had given him the clothes, then they might think he was only trying to get more by deceit.”

“Indeed indeed, it might have backfired on him… though who are they going to believe, an honest farmer or a deserter?”

“Yea, indeed,” nodded Dan.

“I tell you what, boy. If I find him then I’ll tell him to wait right there. And then I’ll come to you, and you could go back there and pretend to find him too, and then you could say that you’re a whig rebel and then you could lend him clothes, and then afterward, I could bring back the redcoats and then we’d have ourselves a clear case of desertion, wouldn’t we? And with us both in on it we’d be more likely to be believed without question. And it’d be four pounds instead of four shillings. Maybe more!”

“Aye aye, maybe a good deal more,” said Dan.

“Old King George can afford the extra expense.”

“Oh, he surely can.”

“And better us collecting it than somebody else.”

“That’s the way I’ve always looked at it.”

“So I’ll go take a scout around,” said the farmer with a nod. “Where will you be?”

“Back home, like always. Hard at work! And I’ve got me some extra clothes to spare. Just rags, but they’ll do. I’ll go find them now.”

“You do that boy! This could be a profitable venture for us both, eh?”

“Yea yea, it might be that,” said Dan. “Oh, did you just come from town?”

“I did. Why?”

“Uh… did you see Tim Euston?”

“Nope!” called the farmer, as he headed for the hedge.

Dan watched him and then started towards town, wondering what other mischief he might be the cause of before he got across the river and away to Morristown. He was getting sick of all the lying and scheming. But at least there’s been no hue and cry, not yet, he thought. But when there is, everybody will be thinking about the rewards, won’t they? And there’ll be money in the capture of traitors, just as much as deserters. And how much will I be worth with all the high crimes I’ve been committing?

All that Dan had been doing – staying up all night and going hungry and inventing stories – it was all bearing down on him like a heavy weight. And there were his concerns about Tim. What’ll the poor boy think, he asked himself, when he comes back to town and finds that his friends have gone and left him behind – left him abandoned and betrayed? He might never forgive me. He might decide to go off and join a different regiment, and that would be it. We’d be friends no more. And… and for sure he wouldn’t be going and telling Sam Baker about my honesty and patriotism. And that means I’d be just another boy come to join the army because I needed a job. At the end of an army shovel is where I’d end up. I may as well go back to sea again. I’ve got to wait for him! But… but if I wait for him and he comes home, only to find that I’ve been arrested and taken in chains to the city – to starve among all the soldiers – then what? Then he’d be arrested too and he’d come join me there, and it’d be both of us who’d end up hanged. Or, at best, we’d find ourselves far across the sea, on some sugar island, cutting cane, swatting mosquitoes and waiting to die of a fever.

Chapter 26

The talk that’s been going around.

The sun was hot and Dan was almost falling asleep as he walked slowly into town. He had been wondering what he would say if he met with Dora Boodle before he got to the boat. “Should I maybe slip down along a cow path by the river? Then I could come up to it from under the cover of trees. But can I afford the extra time it would take?”

His thinking had almost brought Dan to a stop when a wagon pulled up beside him.

“Why, you look like a good-for-nothing beggar, a-slouching along like that,” said Tim with a smile.

“How… how’d you get back?”

“I just drove myself. We waited all night. I actually fell asleep, right here on the seat of the wagon – half sitting and half lying down. When I woke up the captain said I’d looked like I’d been shot dead, lying sideways like that. He said he left me to sleep ‘cause he figured I’d seem all the less like I was with somebody, because nobody who was playacting would choose so comical a pose.’ He said I’m just lucky I didn’t fall off and crack my head on a cobblestone! And, of course, nobody showed up. So eventually the captain decided to give up and we just came back. He told me to keep an eye out for the man who’d given me the false requisition, and then he just let me go.”

“He wasn’t angry?”

“Nope. Not at me.”

“And he didn’t ask no questions?”

“Not many. I guess I looked sweet and innocent.”

“Well, you do that,” nodded Dan. “Well then, this is good. It sounds like it all went easy. Maybe luck is still with us. Well… we’d best be getting ourselves going then. Sadie said she’d packed you some things: blankets and…”

“What for?”

“We’ll need them. As much as we can carry. We can cross over anytime too. The boat’s sitting unlocked, right where we left it.”

“What boat?”

“Clay Boodle’s!” whispered Dan as he glanced back over his shoulder.

“Are you wanting to cross over right now?”

“Well… yes!”

“But what about Robby and Olly?” asked Tim.

“They’re over there waiting with his cousin?”

“Whose cousin?”

“Robby’s, you blockhead!”

“Lieutenant Stemple?”

“Well, how many does he have that we’d…” but then Dan remembered Tim would know nothing of all that had happened. He glanced around again, climbed on the seat and started to explain it as fast as he could. Tim sat with a stunned look on his face.

“So we’ve got to get going,” said Dan, “before Dora Boodle finds me and makes me take her upstream to go care for her husband who ain’t there.”

“And before he finds himself a ride across and finds his boat sitting unlocked.”

“He might be back already. That’s no threat to you but I’m wondering whether I should even be showing my face in town.”

“I suppose you shouldn’t. But before I do anything else, I’ve got to get this wagon back. Then I’ll go home and get some of my stuff.”

“Well… then what am I supposed to do?” asked Dan, holding a hand against his head. He had been feeling lightheaded from lack of sleep.

“Just… just go around there,” said Tim, pointing to an overgrown hedge that surrounded a cow pasture. “You’ll be able to make it into John’s barn without anybody seeing you – nobody other than the next door neighbor. If anybody’s around, just ask them if they’ve seen me back yet. And sound like you’ve lost your patience.”

“Wouldn’t that just raise their suspicions?”

“No. If you were up to no good then you’d not…”

“Tim!” called Sadie as she came along the road, trying to look unconcerned.

“I’ve told him what’s all happened,” said Dan when she was close enough. “He’s just got to get rid of the wagon and get his stuff, and then we’ll be on our way. What I’ve got to do is to hide from Dora Boodle and the town watch.”

“Come with me then,” said Sadie. “There’s no sign of Clay Boodle yet and nobody I’ve listened to is talking about us. There’s nobody home but my mother. And she might not be welcome there for long either,” Sadie said to Tim with an angry expression. “It’s all the talk that’s been going around about you being mixed up with rebels. You and me both but you in particular! Especially since you tried to steal Clay Boodle’s boat! And everybody has doubts about your story about the dead man being a spy. There’s some who figure you’re involved with all the smuggling that’s going on.”

“So, it’s only been recently,” said Tim with a guilty face.

“It’s worse recently, but it’s been a long time coming! We come from Boston, don’t we? That’s never helped our reputation.”

“Your master’s been saying this?” asked Dan as he climbed down.

“Mom heard it from a neighbor who’d got it from her sister. And more than once she’s listened at the bedroom door. He’s not happy having people in his house whose loyalty’s in doubt. We’re just not the sort he’d like his name to be associated with. And now he wants rid of us both.”

“Well… where are you and Mom going to go?”

“Off of the neutral ground is where, and across to New Jersey and on to Morristown.”

“Morristown?”

“With the two of you.”

“Us?” asked Tim, his eyes wide.

“I’m coming to Morristown and I figure Mom needs to come too.”

“You can’t…”

“And it’s best that it’s today,” said Sadie. “That means we’re crossing over with you.”

“No you’re not!”

“Where else will we go to, Brother? Where will your mother go? We’ve no home now and it’s your fault for getting yourself mixed up with smugglers and spies! Isn’t it? It’s got us all in trouble! You’ve got to take us or you’re abandoning us! You’re leaving us to be thrown out in the street – left to whatever treatment they’ve got to offer to rebels! So Brother, where are we supposed to go?”

“I… I don’t know!”

“You should have thought of that before you got us all into this!”

“But…”

“You’ll be better off with us coming along, anyways, won’t you? Who would take his sister and mother along when he’s up to no good?”

“But…”

“How else are we supposed to get to somewhere safe?”

“Oh! I don’t…”

“How else are you going to take care of us?”

“I… well…”

“Well? We’re your responsibility, aren’t we?”

“I don’t… I don’t know!” sputtered Tim. With so little sleep, and going so long without eating and with all the worry and fear of the last few days, he had no reserve of mental energy.

“Hurry and take the wagon back!” ordered Sadie. “Then get yourself home and get your clothes and money. And bring your fiddle too! You’ll need it if you want to get noticed by the officers, won’t you? And all your sheet music! And be quick about it, and meet us back at our place. There’s nobody there but Mom so we can get packed and out of there fast. Now hurry!”

Tim shook the reins and drove off, too stunned to argue.

Chapter 27

Look what my husband bought.

Sadie took Dan to the cowshed, behind where she lived, showed him a bed of hay and told him to try to get some sleep.

“I’ll try my best!” he said with exaggerated relief, and turned to fall backwards into the hay, his arms flung out. Sadie went back to the kitchen where she found her mother standing at the table, chopping onions for a stew, tears streaming down her cheeks. They looked at each other. Neither spoke.

Abby had heard the rumors too, and when Sadie had disappeared overnight she could imagine what it involved. She could also predict what her master would have to say, and that had started her thinking about what they ought to take if they needed to leave town quickly.

“Tim’s back,” whispered Sadie after she looked around to see if anyone else was in the kitchen.

“From where?”

“From the city. I’ll explain later. He and Dan are ready to cross over and I’ve told him that we’re coming along.”

“We’re coming along where?”

“Across to New Jersey.”

“Oh,” said Abby after a pause, and while steadying herself on the cupboard.

“So we should pack and…”

“Where’s he now?”

“Taking the wagon back. I told him to hurry. And we’ve got to hurry too. We’re taking Clay Boodle’s boat and he’s still across the river where they left him.”

“Who?”

“Dan and one of the redcoats who’s coming with us.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll explain it later! We have to hurry!”

“Yes,” said Abby, after a longer pause. “We’ll have to pack food and… and I’ll write a note to Matilda, promising to pay for what we take. She’ll understand.”

“Of course,” said Sadie. “Then it… it’ll not be stealing then, will it?”

“No no, of course not,” said Abby and they went to work. While Sadie explained the events of the past six days they bundled over fifty pounds of ground meal, dried fruits and smoked meat. “Well well,” said Abby, after Sadie had finished her story.

“We ought to be ready and waiting by the boat when he comes.”

“Of course… I… I suspected something was in the works, but I had been thinking we’d likely be going north.”

“Did you pack my fiddle?”

“No.”

“Oh Mother!” groaned Sadie, rolling her eyes as if it ought to have been obvious. “Have you done the note for Matilda?”

“A note about what?” asked Matilda as she entered the kitchen. She had come in through the front door and had heard some of their conversation.

“Well…” said Abby, but she could say no more. Matilda had been so kind to them over the past three years and now they were abandoning her.

“We’re thinking that we’d best be going,” said Sadie, “while we have the chance to get far away.”

“Along with Tim?” asked Matilda.

“Yes, with Tim.”

“Off to Morristown to pay a call on George Washington?”

“How… how did…”

“Oh, everybody knows he tried to join the Continentals last fall and I’ve seen the looks in your eyes when my poor husband rails against the rascally rebels. And I did not think Tim to be the sort who would steal a boat for his personal gain.”

“He didn’t!” said Sadie.

“So then,” continued Matilda, “when you didn’t come back last night I… well, I didn’t think you the type to spend the night upon a bed of sin.”

“I didn’t!”

“Of course you didn’t,” said Matilda with a smile, “and don’t bother telling me what the real reason was, for then I’ll not have to go telling any lies to my poor husband.”

“We are awfully sorry to be leaving like this,” said Abby.

“Oh, worry thee not, my dove,” said Matilda. “You’ve lifted a burden off my shoulders.”

“How?”

“My poor husband has been hearing the rumors too and he’s told me to go find you a new home. But I’ve no idea of where to send you. I can’t give you a good referral, can I? Not unless it’s to a whig family and there aren’t many of them around these parts anymore, are there?”

“None that’d admit it,” said Abby.

“Indeed. So now, with your running off, all I need to do is to wish you good luck and find myself some new servants.”

“Rebecca Cooke wants more work!” said Sadie. “If she could earn more, then her brother could go and…” She stopped and looked down.

“Go and join the Continentals?” asked Matilda. “Must I be aiding the enemy at every turn?”

“I… I don’t…” stammered Sadie.

“Oh, worry thee not, girl. If the King of France continues giving arms to your Congress and follows through with his secret promise to declare war, then I suspect there will be patriots coming out of the woodwork. And they’re saying that all this past winter and spring your George Washington has been causing no end of grief for Sir Billy. And that he’s rebuilt his army, and that he’s ready to fight. And my husband has been telling me that our red-coated saviors have been disappointed in their efforts to recruit loyalists for the new regiments – and that’s after all the victories of last fall, isn’t it? If they can’t recruit them nowadays then when will they be able to? It seems there’s plenty of loyalists in this land but not many of them that are inclined to fight and die for the king they claim to be loyal to. And isn’t that just what I’ve expected all along? Those who want to lay their life on the line will be the ones who want to fight for the noble cause, and not for stable government – even if they do think that democracy will lead to endless anarchy and civil war. So… so it seems that we – our family – might eventually have to come over to the side of revolution or… or see all of our property seized and auctioned off, and find ourselves seeking refuge in the city with the rest of them. And then what? Going to Nova Scotia or over to England and starting over with next to nothing?”

“Would you really come over to our side?” asked Abby.

“Swear the oath?” sighed Matilda as she shook her head. “Well, I… it would be up to my husband anyways, wouldn’t it be? But… he is fond of our home here in Yonkers, you know that. Though… I suppose it won’t be the same town afterward – not if half the loyalists stay loyal and move away forever. I… I don’t know what he’ll do. It will likely depend on what the others do, won’t it? But… but enough talk,” she said, sounding like she was fighting off tears. “You’ve both got to be on the run, don’t you? Have you packed all that you’ll need?”

“Yes, we have,” said Abby as she looked down in shame.

“Then I declare that it is my gift to you, so you’ve nothing to ask forgiveness for. In fact…” said Matilda, sounding as if she had just thought of something. “Come, both of you,” she ordered. She picked up a butcher knife and led them out to the parlor, up the stairs, and to a hidden compartment behind a wooden panel at the back of the storage room. Sadie and Abby had known about it but had never seen inside. Most houses had places like this where contraband goods were kept – goods imported illegally to avoid the unjust customs duties. Using the knife Matilda pulled back a hidden metal latch and opened the door. Inside were jars and bottles of various goods but what immediately caught Sadie and Abby’s attention was the three muskets.

“Look what my husband bought from my brother,” said Matilda as she lifted one out. “Nat bought them from that comical friend of his… Alvin Wyre. In fact he had them to sell the day after Tim found that dead man in his store and I’ve been wondering whether the two events were related. They’re army muskets – Brown Besses, as they call them. And I’d imagine they’ve only recently been stolen from His Majesty’s Army in America. Whatever their origin, my husband felt that the proper thing to do would be to buy them and donate them to the loyalist regiment they’ve been trying to raise. But I’m wondering now whether they ought to go with you to buy favor with the rebel army. What do you think of that?”

Sadie and Abby just stood there.

“That way,” said Matilda, “if the neutral ground is retaken by your patriots, then... Well, they say there’s sure to be a ‘Confiscation Act’ passed to force the ‘enemies of the people’ to repair the damage they’ve done. So if that happens, I want to be able to ask the two of you and Tim to come speak on our behalf when we’re hauled before a ‘Committee of Safety’ or ‘Committee of Reparations’ or whatever kind of court of the people that the revolutionary leadership invents. You’ll be able to say we’ve secretly aided and abetted the patriot cause, and that’ll justify our claim to have been false loyalists and secret patriots, right from the start. What do you say to that? Take these muskets and you’ll be able to swear on the flag and tell the truth and only the truth. Would you do that for us?”

“Well… I… well…” stammered Abby.

“It could save us the loss of our lands and… and everything that we can’t carry away,” said Matilda, sounding very serious.

“If that be your wish, ma’am,” said Abby.

“Good then!” said Matilda. “It’s settled. I suspect that this just might be the wisest investment we ever make. He only paid five pounds for the three of them – a small fraction of what they’d go for these days, Nat says. I think he wanted them out of his house before it was searched.”

“He likely did,” said Sadie.

“Just five pounds,” sighed Matilda, “to save all that we own. Our wealth is in land and not in silver and gold, so we’d have a hard time picking it up and packing it in a crate. I don’t know how any loyalty could justify such a loss. Now, let’s wrap them in some good thick blankets. I suspect that there are never enough blankets in the rebel army.”

They wrapped the muskets together in one bundle. The top layer was canvas tied down with twine. By the time Tim arrived they were outside, Sadie had Dan awake and everything was being loaded onto a wheelbarrow.

“She knows,” whispered Abby with a look from Tim to Matilda. “And she’s given us muskets to bring along – three of them!”

“Muskets?” asked Tim, even more surprised by this than his mother had been.

“I’ve just been across the street,” said Matilda, “and old Paul Potter hasn’t seen Clay Boodle come past lately. And he’s been out on his bench awhile, he says. Now Tim Euston, I’ve got something to ask of you,” she said as she put her arm around his shoulder. “I want you to promise me you won’t go and start volunteering to lead any charges. There will always be others willing to claim the honor, and there are other ways to earn a promotion.”

“We’ll try to keep an eye on him,” said Sadie with a weak smile.

After some tears and kisses they started off. Abby and Sadie crossed the street first. After they were well ahead, Tim started out, pushing the load, with Dan coming alongside. No one gave them a second look.

Abby and Sadie could see the Boodle house but no sign of either Dora or Horace – at least not until they rounded the corner. The two of them were there, standing by the boat and looking impatient. Abby and Sadie turned around, their eyes wide. Tim and Dan stopped short of the corner.

“They’re down by the boat,” whispered Abby when up to them.

“What are we going to do?” asked Tim.

“We’ve got to get them away,” replied Abby. “The three of you, take the wheelbarrow and go around by the Williams house.” This house stood empty and its garden led onto a pathway. “You all go down to the creek but stay back and keep watch for me. I’ll get them away and…”

“Maybe I should handle this,” said Dan as he stepped forward.

“No you won’t! Nobody’s going to suspect me. Now get going. Quickly!”

Abby went along the side street in the direction of the dock, straight for Dora and moving quickly while waving her hand. “Dora!” she called. “There’s bad news.” Abby went to her took hold of her hands. “It’s Clay. He’s been hurt in a fall.”

“I know that! He’s broke his leg.”

“You know?”

“That convict sailor boy, Dan Eliot! He told me. He’s supposed to be taking me to him. Have you seen him around anywhere?”

“No, I’ve not.”

“He’s supposed to be rowing me upriver.”

“But what about Clay?”

“I’m going to him! Just as soon as...”

“But he’s here!” insisted Abby.

“Who’s here?”

“Clay! He’s just got home. They’ve bought him back on a wagon. And the poor man’s in a bad way. They really should have left him where he was or at least taken him by boat.”

“Well!” gasped Dora, almost shouting. “Why’d they go and bring him by wagon?”

“Well, he’s here now. And the poor fellow’s wanting to know where you’ve got to,” said Abby with her hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“Aye aye then. I’m going to him.”

“If I see Dan Eliot I’ll say you’ll not be needing him anymore,” called Abby after Dora walked away.

“The boat ought to be locked up,” said Horace.

“Oh, indeed it ought to be,” agreed Abby. “Here’s the chain,” she said, pointing. “But the padlock’s locked onto it. Where’s the key?”

“Takes it with him, I’d suppose.”

“Let’s get it from him,” said Abby. “These days a boat needs to be locked up and secure.”

She and Horace started along the street, following after Dora. As soon as they were up to the main street, the others came out from the path and headed for the boat.

“Oh, would you get the key?” Abby asked Horace. “I’ve still got to see to something.”

“I’ll do that,” he nodded and continued on to the Boodle house. By the time Abby made it back to the boat, the others had it loaded and on the creek. She ran the last few steps, splashing into the water. She climbed in and they were off and rowing. Some men on shore watched them, wondering whether Clay Boodle was renting out his boat, now that he was laid up with a broken leg.

“Those are redcoats,” said Sadie as she squinted across the water. In the distance were boats and beyond them was one of the two-masted cutters the navy used for patrol.

“An exercise of some sort, likely,” said Dan as he stopped rowing, “or maybe they’re off on a raid. Who knows?”

“We can’t cross now,” said Tim.

“We’ll just have to go upstream,” nodded Abby, “and make like we’ve some good reason to be going somewhere.”

“We’d best stay close to shore,” said Dan as he started rowing again, bringing the boat about.

“Why don’t we tell them that we’re going to the Harrison farm,” said Tim, “where they’ve got work for us. That’d be reason enough.”

“Where’s that?” asked Dan.

“It’s just this side of the Croton River.”

“Good enough then,” said Abby. “And we’ll say that and nothing more. I’ll say I talked to the master and you’ll just say that it was me that found work for us all – for a few days at the Harrison farm – and that’s all you know.”

“That way we won’t be contradicting each other,” agreed Dan.

“Now,” sighed Abby, “tell me about all your doings these past few days.” For the next hour she heard the details along with a lot of debate on what they ought to have done. They were between tides and the river had no current. After an hour of rowing they had not even covered two miles.

“That’s the Kenny farm there,” said Abby pointing. “They’re gone and I don’t think anybody’s moved in. Why don’t we tie up and wait for the tide to come in? It’ll look strange to be rowing under the hot sun, won’t it?”

They pulled the boat onto the bank by the remains of an old dock. The house was only partly visible above a rise in the land. No dog barked. Most of their belongings, including the guns, were taken well away and hidden in the thick undergrowth, just in case one of the patrols came along and stopped to ask questions. They sat under the shade of a tree and Abby handed out food. The breeze was light, the day was hot and Abby insisted that they lay down to rest while she said a prayer for their safe deliverance. She went on and on until all but she were sound asleep.

Chapter 28

Take them by surprise.

“We was just stopping for a little rest, is all. Sun’s getting hot, eh? And we’s all a-needing a bit of rest, is all.”

Tim heard his mother saying this as he woke from a dream of being back in the Yonkers jail.

“And we was figuring,” she continued, trying to sound dull-witted and harmless, “that we got more than enough time to make it to where we’s a-headed. And for sure you don’t want to be rowing under the hot sun, do you now?”

At first, Tim thought he was still dreaming but when he opened his eyes, he saw red-coated soldiers walking about and a very young lieutenant listening to his mother.

“Sir, if you would!” called one of the soldiers. The lieutenant went over to where the baggage had been hidden. They talked quietly for a short while and the lieutenant returned to Abby.

“Three muskets?” he asked.

“What?” asked Abby, sounding confused.

“What are you doing with three muskets?”

“Muskets? We don’t got no three muskets.”

“Yes you do. They’re just over there, hidden.”

“But…”

“Tell me about them,” he said dryly.

“Well… I… I didn’t know they was there! That’s not ours anyway, most of it – not that stuff. Bless me! I wouldn’t! Well! We was just asked to carry them along with us – all them there bundles and… and we just put them in there to protect them from the thieves that are about. We’s just on our way up to where I’d found us a couple of days work, and there to deliver them. All we knew was there’s work there for us and… and there’s not much work to be had these days, no. A woman’s got to take what she can get now, don’t she?”

“Sir!” called the soldier.

“Yes?”

“And two pocket pistols.”

“Well well,” said the lieutenant, “three muskets and two pocket pistols. You’re very well armed, aren’t you?”

“But… surely it ain’t ours!” Abby pleaded. “We’s just going up to the Harrison farm who’ve got work for us – that’s all we’s doing! That’s not our stuff, most of it! We’s just looking for work. Fieldwork is all we’re to be doing! Fieldwork for the two boys here, and whatever for me and my poor daughter, who’s been sick. We’s just a-hoping to make some money to help get by and… and it’s not easy finding work these days, is it? What with all you good redcoats coming and offering yourselves out for hire.”

“And whose are they, then?” asked the lieutenant.

“Whose are they? Why… it’s Clay Boodle’s boat and he’s the one who asked us to take the extra packages, though that don’t mean he’d know what was in them, for he’s just the ferryman and a common carrier. He’s always out a-delivering this and that and he don’t open it all up to look at what’s inside, does he now? ‘Taint his concern. Tim!” she called as she looked behind, “did he say anything to you?”

“Nope,” Tim replied after a pause, trying to sound even slower than his mother. “He just said we’re to be taking it up to the Harrison farm, for you’d told him where we was a-headed up to, eh? When you rented the boat? He then says he needs something delivered and he said there’d be stuff to be bringing back too.”

“That’s what he said,” nodded Abby. “Said he’d pay us a shilling for the delivery alone, and that’d cover the cost of the boat, wouldn’t it? Good money it is too, ain’t it – the use of the boat for just the delivery.”

“The Harrison farm?” asked the lieutenant as he turned to a sergeant. The man just shrugged. None of the others spoke. It was just a name to them. But if any had heard of the Harrisons they would know they were patriots, that most of the men had enlisted in the army and that their regiment had crossed over to New Jersey the previous October. The rest of the family had stayed for a while but no one had seen any Harrisons in Yonkers for months. Likely, they had quietly left in fear of vengeful tories.

“Now Clay Boodle, he… he ain’t no rebel,” said Sadie, sounding as if concerned for a friend. “And it ain’t true what they’re a-saying about him. He’s a good loyalist, he is, good and true. Loyal to the king, for sure, and he wouldn’t never do nothing that would…”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” interrupted Abby as she shook her head. “There’s been talk, and where there’s smoke there’s fire, as they say.”

“Who, precisely, was it,” asked the lieutenant as he turned back to Abby, “that hired you to work there?”

“He’s a old fellow, come to town, who’s name is Harrison. And he told me where he lived and he said he’d heard that me and my daughter were likely looking for work and that he wanted boys too. So, I’d asked Tim here and he’d gone and asked his friend and…”

“So you don’t know this old fellow at all.”

“Not to talk to him, no, but I’ve seen him before, come to town.”

“Well well,” said the lieutenant, “perhaps we ought to go to the Harrison farm and see what they have to say for themselves. You’ve been there by boat before?”

“I have,” said Tim, which was a lie. He had been there by road and he had been a few miles up the river, but he never had the farm pointed out to him from the river. “But there’s maybe… well. There’s…”

“Maybe what?”

“There’s maybe Harrisons there, but that might not be all. There were Harrisons who went a-soldiering for the rebels and I’ve heard that one was taken prisoner and’s now down in the city with all the other rebel prisoners. But I’ve heard talk about how some of the rest of them have been in thick with the rebels too – right from the start. They was a-helping them out – finding them stuff. But that’s if they’re the same Harrisons what I’ve heard about. But there ain’t no others that I know about, are there? But it could be anybody else up there at the farm – anybody else. Could be skinners, even!”

“Skinners?” said the lieutenant with a smile. “All the better then. Could you take us to this farm?”

“Why surely,” replied Tim with a shrug. “That’s where we’s a-heading.”

“Now, as there may be an engagement of the enemy, I will have to insist that you two women stay behind. I’m sure you could make it back to town well before dark.”

“But… that ain’t the way we’s a-headed!” said Abby, as if it were a very foolish suggestion.

“Perhaps not, but I cannot accept the risk of harm to women. This is dangerous territory and…”

“I know that it’s dangerous territory! Ain’t I been a-living in it and a-fearing for my life every day? They call it the ‘neutral ground’ but I’d call it the ‘Ground What’s Still Being Fought Over’! And how safe is it going to be for us when we’re out upon the road, alone and with no one to protect us from the sort of scoundrel who’s a-roaming the countryside these days? And how would it look for you if we was attacked after being cast off and left to fend for ourselves?”

“You do realize of course that I must weigh the risks and choose the lesser of…”

“How could we be less safe coming along with you, what with all your fine soldiers to protect us? Ain’t you been sent over here by good King George for just that purpose – to protect us innocent and law abiding subjects from those who would prey upon us? From wicked rebels who…”

“Yes yes yes, but…”

“And what if the Harrisons turn out to be as perplexed and surprised as we are, and what if they’re still a-needing us for work? Then we got to be there as promised, don’t we? For we gave them our word that we’s a-coming, didn’t we? I’d say it would be to your advantage to take us there in safety, for it won’t slow you down any and it’ll keep us out of harm’s way.”

“Yes but…”

“We could help you take them by surprise,” said Sadie. “What you gonna do? Send a redcoat up a-knocking on the door and asking if anybody’s at home who’s running guns for the rebels? You’d put him in harm’s way and you’d alert those inside! And what if you try to sneak your men around the side first? How you going to do that while dogs are a-barking away? But if I were to go up there a-crying and sobbing and saying I’ve been ravaged by highwaymen, then they’d all be a-looking at me and hearing my awful story and then you’d get them surrounded and at your mercy before any one of them could load a rifle and take a shot.”

“Yes, but then you’d put yourself at risk and…”

“More risk than going out upon the road, alone and defenseless? And besides, it’d be my own risk, what I’d asked for and taken myself! We ain’t a-volunteering to walk home on the road, are we?”

“Well I…”

“And don’t you think,” interrupted Abby, “that she can’t sob and wail like a banshee.” As she said this she shook her head as if in disgust at Sadie’s past behavior.

“And I even gots me an onion,” said Sadie, “so I can wipe my finger in onion juice and then wipe my eyes and there’ll be tears a-streaming down my cheeks. Once I’ve got them right where you want them, then I can run off sobbing and you can step forward and take command. And I’ll finally have my chance to do my duty and serve my king when my time has come, and you’ll have yourself a handful of rebels and gunrunners without a man of yours lost.”

“Well well,” said the lieutenant with a smile, “you make it sound easy.”

“Whether you make use of her or not,” said Abby, “we two need to go where we’re going and the only alternative to taking us along is to send us out on the road by ourselves and then the blame will be upon you if we run into trouble.”

“Oh! Oh very well,” sighed the lieutenant. “Get in the boat.”

“So if all works out well,” said Sadie as she grabbed hold of the lieutenant’s arm, “then you’ll be paying me six shillings for my fine work, won’t you be?”

“I thought this was in service to King George?”

“You don’t expect me to do all that for nothing?” she said, indignantly.

“Oh very well… one shilling then.”

“Three or I stay in the boat!”

“Oh all right, two and a half,” said the lieutenant.

“Agreed,” she said as she bowed low.

The baggage was reloaded into Clay Boodle’s boat but all four civilians were placed in the army boat. With redcoat rowers in each vessel and the tide now flowing with them, they would be able to cover the miles at a good pace. Almost immediately, another boatload of soldiers joined them and Tim found himself leading over twenty armed men. He wondered what kind of a story he could invent once the sun had set and he still could not show them the Harrison farm.

Chapter 29

It’s our only chance.

The sunset was blotted out by dark clouds when they rowed to the shore. The wind was cool off the water and flickers of lightning were combined with the rumble of distant thunder. As the prow of the first boat scraped through reeds a flock of crows rose from a dead tree to offer them a menacing welcome.

“You can see the top of the roof,” said Tim as he pointed. With no smoke coming from the chimney the farm looked abandoned, and that was good. It meant they would be less likely to meet someone at the shore saying the Harrisons were a mile back or that they had been long gone for months now. Tim was not at all sure whether this was the real Harrison farm. He had been there by road, but farms looked different from the river. He knew, however, that he had to do something. Time was running out and the lieutenant would not be happy passing the night in an empty house with nothing accomplished.

“No one out and about?” the lieutenant asked as he squinted, scanning the shore to see if a lookout had been posted.

“No sir. Don’t see nobody, sir,” replied a young soldier with good eyes who was standing on a seat.

As the third boat came to a stop another bolt of lighting flashed. It was much closer and a crack of thunder followed almost immediately.

“Good good,” said the lieutenant. “Let’s get to it then, before we get our powder wet.”

A sergeant quietly ordered the loading of muskets. The soldiers looked eager for a fight as they began jumping out.

“Well then, my dear,” the lieutenant said to Sadie as he took her hand and guided her off the boat and onto land. “ ’tis the time for you to take out your onion and go to work for King George.”

Sadie smiled as she bit off the peel to expose the flesh of the onion. She scratched it with her finger and wiped the juice into each eye. Soldiers chuckled quietly as she started blinking and contorting her face, obviously in more pain than she had counted on.

“Give it your best, my dear,” he said with a bow. “Our fate is in thy hands.” He led her forward as if onto a dance floor.

With no hesitation, Sadie ran down the path, her eyes streaming. The grass was up to her ankles. There could not have been any cattle or sheep grazing on it but there could still be someone in the house, maybe loyalist refugees sent there by local authorities. As she held the hem of her skirt with one hand she wiped her eyes with a fist, trying to keep them clear enough to see. The pain would make it easy to put on a convincing performance. Besides, at any moment, she could be attacked by a dog, or even a man. Who knew what danger might lurk in an abandoned house at the wildest end of the neutral ground? There could be skinners or deserters – or anybody. And what if some man was to grab her and pull her in through the door, holding a knife to her throat as he reached up her skirt? What help could she hope for from soldiers hiding in the woods? Thunder crashed, the wind rose and another flash of lightning lit up the farmyard as she came to the door.

“Please let me in!” she sobbed as she pounded on the door. “Help me please! Help me!”

No one came to the door. She kept pounding and then stopped, thinking she had heard something. It likely had come from the woods – one of the soldiers stepping on a twig. But she could not be sure. Like cold hands, fear gripped her and she turned to run back – running as if someone was chasing her. Along the path back to the river she found the lieutenant who was crouched down, holding a sword.

“Someone’s in there!” she sobbed. “I don’t know who! I heard voices! Men’s voices! But they didn’t open the door! I was too scared to stay longer!”

“Be in fear no longer, my girl,” he said with his hand on her shoulder to direct her towards the boat, “you’re safe with us now.” He turned to advance, raising his sword. “Come along, boys,” he said quietly, with as much coolness and courage as could ever be hoped for in a gallant young officer. Again lightning flashed and thunder roared out of black clouds.

Sadie ran back to the boat, wondering what would happen to them if he found the farmhouse empty and no sign that anyone had been there in months. What would he think? And what would he do with them? Leave them to go, or take them back to Yonkers. Take them back to face Dora Boodle who would accuse them of telling lies about the disappearance of her husband – a husband who had been taken away by Dan Eliot and a soldier. Surely all four of them would be arrested and kept until everything was sorted out and all questions answered. The interrogators would want to know where they got the firearms. Soon they would hear about the missing cartridge boxes and Lieutenant Stemple who had disappeared with them. And then they would find out about Tim’s escape from the Yonkers jail. All four of them would be brutally interrogated and would likely be convicted of conspiracy to aid the enemy. They would all be convicted and hanged, or at the very least be given the option of confessing their guilt, begging for mercy and receiving some lesser charge, and with it a lesser sentence – forced servitude on one of the disease infested sugar islands.

With these grim thoughts on her mind Sadie got herself to the boats, only to find that her three accomplices had been left there alone. Fear combined with enthusiasm had generated confusion over which soldier should stay behind. As a re

sult no one remained to guard the boats. They had all been so eager for action they had run off together, with no one looking back and wondering about the civilians.

But before she could speak Sadie heard a musket shot behind her. She gasped and looked back. Her heart was pounding like it might burst as she turned and whispered, “Take the boats! It’s our only chance!”

“All three of them, or they’ll come after us,” said Dan who was already pushing Clay Boodle’s boat back into the water. They had all come to the same conclusion and were all at work. Tim and Abby pushed one of the army boats and Sadie waded into the water to help Dan. More musket shots rang out and they all ducked down as if the bullets were being fired at them.

“Do we lash them together?” asked Tim.

More musket fire erupted. Maybe there actually were gunmen inside the house. Maybe the redcoats were firing from both sides, thinking the bullets flying over their heads were coming from inside.

“Yes, do that! Quick now,” said Abby who was up to her waist in water and river muck and was about to tie one boat to the next. “Let’s all get into Boodle’s boat and tow the others. What do you think?”

“No no, one in each!” said Tim as he climbed on and turned around to pull Sadie in with him.

“You row this one,” said Dan to Abby. She had been trying to climb into Boodle’s boat. He took hold of her leg to help her over the side. She flipped head over heels with a small shriek.

Dan went for the third, wading through water up to his chest, his arms flailing about to give himself momentum. The wind was up and the storm clouds rose over them. Dan scrambled in and fumbled the oars into place. All three boats were moving out into the river. But they had been spotted.

“Halt!” called a soldier as he ran along the path.

“Halt, I say!” shouted another who came along behind him, running straight into the water and almost making it to the last boat before falling face first into deep water. “Help!” he called as he came up coughing.

“Stop or I’ll shoot!” demanded another soldier, ignoring the man’s plea.

“Stop them!” ordered a sergeant. “Shoot them!”

The precious seconds it took to reload their muskets gave frantic rowers the time needed to get well away, making themselves a smaller target. The next bullet came whizzing over Abby’s head as she rowed with manic speed. Another whacked into the side of the boat rowed by Dan. All three were pulling on their oars as best they could but with little experience the boats wiggled back and forth almost as much as they moved away from shore.

Again shots were fired. One ball flew past. Another hit the water, skipped and hit the transom of Tim’s boat. Now, the flash of each musket fired was behind a cloud of smoke. Balls skipped across water as if in mockery of a wasted effort. The rowers could only imagine the frustration of tired soldiers and the humiliation of a young lieutenant who would have to explain to his superiors how he had lost his boats.

“Should we cast off the army boats?” called Abby after they stopped rowing to catch their breath. Thunder and lightning continued but still there was no rain. The worst of the storm looked to be passing to the north.

“We may as well,” said Dan, “but let’s take their gear. If we’re caught we’re scarcely worse off with an additional charge of theft.”

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” agreed Abby and she began rowing for the others. Once side-by-side they started feeling around in the near darkness for any gear. There was not much worth taking. The valuable goods were the weapons that had gone ashore. Once together in Clay Boodle’s boat, Dan rowed as the others rested. By now they could only squint into the darkness and wonder what might be out there.

“With all the shooting, surely somebody must be coming,” said Abby.

“If anyone’s close by,” said Tim. “Or maybe the musket fire was enough to scare everybody away.”

“I don’t see any boats near,” said Sadie who was standing, and steadying herself by holding her hand on Tim’s head. Her throat was so tight with fear her voice was almost a squeak.

“We should keep quiet,” said Abby. “Dip the oars without a splash. I suspect we’ll be all right from now on.”

“Likely so,” said Tim.

“On to Morristown, now,” sighed Dan as he pulled on the oars, “and there to stay until we’ve orders to march into battle.” The storm continued to move away and soon they could only see flickers of lightening behind clouds. The sky was clearing in the south and a few stars were out – enough to get a look at a constellation that would tell them which direction they were traveling.

Chapter 30

Traitors on the run.

It was the hoot of an owl that told the four travelers they were across the mile wide river and close to the New Jersey shore. It had taken hours for twenty soldiers to row up to the farm so it would take all night for one rower to make it back past Yonkers. But the tide was on its ebb so vigorous rowing would not be necessary to make steady progress.

“Here now, let me row for a while,” Abby said to Dan as she got up. “You’re needing to get some sleep. All of you are.”

“Sleep after all this?” asked Sadie.

“I can row, Mom,” said Tim.

“No you won’t! A whole night’s sleep you missed.”

“I slept!”

“On the seat of a wagon! What kind of a sleep was that? Come now, you’ll all be sound asleep sooner than you think. You’ve got to just rest your weary head on a pack and listen to me say a long prayer. It worked earlier on, didn’t it?”

“But I don’t think…”

“Nay nay, you’ll be sleeping before I get to the good part.” After some more resistance Abby got them all lying as comfortably as anyone could in a boat. Then she started to ask for blessings for one sick old woman after another, detailing her condition with words like patience, endurance and fortitude. It was all so tedious that she had Dan asleep in ten minutes, and once he was snoring rhythmically in time with the hypnotic creaking of the oarlocks, the others fell under her spell and were asleep within a half hour.

As she rowed slowly along, cool forest air was descending from the high bank with the smells of moss and rotting leaves. The sky had cleared and the darkness of the high cliffs stood in contrast to the brightness of the stars. This made it easy to keep just far enough out to avoid running aground, and close enough in to make sure she did not go in circles.

Abby had not yet given serious thought to the degree to which her life would change, now that she had left Yonkers and was moving to who knows where. She had only lived in the town for three years but she had got to know so many people so well. It was sad to have to leave them. And what would she find for herself in New Jersey? Surely someone would want a kitchen servant who was willing to work for little more than it took to keep her fed. The family Abby ended up with might be kind and generous but could just as easily be cruel and stingy. There were other options as well. She could travel along with the army. People said the American army was suffering for a lack of women to do the washing and sewing and all the tasks men would rather pay for than do themselves. And a toothless old woman like me, she told herself, might meet a toothless old sergeant who’s looking for a wife. Well… I suppose I’m not that old – just thirty-five – but toothless still and the mother of grown children. Well… almost grown – acting like they’re grown. She sighed and kept rowing, thinking the same thoughts over and over as the hours and miles passed by.

. . . . .

It seemed a long time before the first light of dawn appeared over the distant shore. Have I gone too far? Abby wondered, and she stopped rowing. How am I supposed to know? Shore looks like shore no matter which way you look. You’d have to know it very well, indeed. The New Jersey side was a dark wall of woodland and rocky cliffs and the other was a distant bluish-green haze where trees blurred into pasture. I could wait for some boatman to come along and ask him,” she told herself, “but can I risk it? And can I risk not asking?

“Tim?” she said quietly as she poked his shoulder with her finger. “Tim, wake up.”

“What?”

“Look over there, is that the ridge above Harlem town?”

“Yeah, that’s it, I think,” he said after wiping his eyes and squinting across the water.

“It is,” said Sadie who had been roused by her mother’s voice. She had got a good look at it the morning that she crossed back with Dan.

“So, we’ve gone five miles too far then,” sighed Abby. “I’d no way of knowing.”

“No, we’ve not,” said Sadie as she yawned and stretched. “It was down around here that we’d left them. We’d come down a road below the heights and then we’d taken them straight across the river. We’re very close.”

“And it’s a good thing you did come so far,” said Tim. “Because Clay Boodle might still be there right now, standing on the shore, staring across to Yonkers.”

“Or on the other side already,” said Abby, “raising a hue and cry.”

“Dan, wake up!” said Sadie as she pounded his shoulder with her fist. “We’re here.”

“Wha… what?” he muttered as he started to rouse.

“Wake up, boy,” said Tim. “We’ve got to get ashore before we’re captured, tried and hanged.”

“Where are we?”

“Mom’s rowed us all the way back. We’ve just got to figure out where you left them.”

“I hung five sticks from a branch,” said Dan as he yawned. “It’ll be easy.”

“Unless somebody thought it was a nice piece of rope.”

“Naw, it was just old twine. And there was a big tree there, too. It was right by the water. I walked straight into it.”

“It was in the dark,” said Sadie to her mother.

“I’d hate to think it hadn’t been.”

“With any luck you’ll walk into it again,” said Sadie to Dan as she stretched again, trying to relieve sore muscles. “I don’t think I slept at all.”

“When you think you’ve been awake all night,” said Abby, “then you’ve been waking up and going back to sleep again and again, and not knowing it.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. I could tell by your snoring. Now let’s all watch for the five sticks.”

Tim took over rowing. The daylight grew and they could see other boats on the water but none contained men in red coats.

“There it is,” said Dan, pointing to a bundle of willow sticks hanging from a branch. “Robby! Olly!” he called. “We’re back!”

“Not so loud,” said Sadie.

“Let’s unload,” said Tim as he rowed the boat onto the muddy shore. “The sooner’s the better. Until we’ve got it all hidden, we’ll be offering up hard evidence of our guilt.”

“Only a part of the hard evidence,” said Abby “And what about Clay Boodle’s boat?”

“Just leave it here,” said Dan, as he hopped out of the boat and pulled it further onto the bank.

“Well,” said Abby, “we ought to try to get it back to him somehow. It’s only right.”

“It’s got his name carved into the side, right over here,” said Dan, patting the prow of the boat. “We could just leave it here and hope that an honest man finds it and takes it back. It’ll probably be regulars on patrol who’ll find it.”

“So much for an honest man,” said Sadie as she handed a bundle to Dan.

“Oh, they’re not that bad,” scolded Abby. “We might have to go back to loving their red coats if our Continental Congress loses heart and negotiates a treaty.”

“Oh Mother!” huffed Sadie. “Don’t even think about it.”

“We can’t take his boat back!” insisted Tim. “Not unless one of us wants to hang, as reward for being a good neighbor. We are traitors on the run, aren’t we?”

“Well,” said Sadie, “I don’t know that we’re traitor enough to hang for it.”

“Nay nay,” chuckled Dan, “don’t let’s sell ourselves short. We’ll soon be the talk of all New York, we will. And we’d be a lovely bunch of scoundrels to use for the setting of an example, wouldn’t we be? Though it’d likely just be us boys who’d hang. But you, my girl, your punishment might start with your being bound to a Barbados planter – a kitchen maid again. But then they’d see you writing a letter and you’d be made governess to the master’s children. And then, before too many years had passed, the mistress would be dead of a fever and you’d marry the master who had always lusted for you. And then, before you know it, you’d be ruling over a thousand slaves. But only after you’ve killed the poor old fellow with white arsenic.”

Sadie snorted in response. They had the boat empty and were carrying everything but the oars up the hill and into a thick growth of underbrush.

“Halloo!” called Abby, making them startle.

“Mom, you’re drawing attention!” said Sadie.

“Let’s hide it all up there,” said Tim as he carried the last two bundles.

“Come here!” Abby called again and the others realized she was hailing a boatman who was passing along the shore. “I’ve a job for thee,” she said. “For tuppence you can tow this here boat down to the city and deliver it to John Creamer and save me the bother of doing it myself. Could you do that for me?”

“Six pence?” said the man as he rowed up. “And how soon would you be paying me?”

“Oh, right now, of course, if it’s only two. John will give you another two. And you look like a godly sort so I’m sure I can trust you to get it to him.”

“Two and two then. Who’d you say it’s going to?”

“John Creamer. He’s renting it from Clay Boodle.”

“Clay? He’s renting out his boat?”

“Since he broke his leg, poor fellow.”

“Broke his leg?”

“It’ll heal just fine, the surgeon says.”

“Good,” said the man, who had climbed onto the shore. “Where will I find John Creamer?”

“The fourth house up from the Liberty Inn.”

“Aye, but ‘tis the King George Inn now, isn’t it?” he said as he took the coin and started pushing the boat back into the water. He tied it to his own boat, wished Abby a good day, and rowed away downstream.

“Who’s John Creamer?” asked Tim.

“Dora Boodle’s cousin.”

“And why,” asked Sadie as Abby came back up the bank, “are you wasting money sending the boat to him?”

“He’ll get it back to Clay.”

“And lead the redcoats back to us?”

“Clay Boodle never did me any harm. I’ve enough on my conscience already.”

“For what?”

“Well…”

“What we’ve done,” scolded Sadie, “we’ve done for the cause of liberty and in the defense of our nation. It’s legal and proper – every bit of it!”

“Yes yes,” sighed Abby. “Don’t start reciting your Tom Paine to me. And it’s done now so there’s no use in arguing.”

“Just you remember,” said Sadie with her deadpan humor, “to ask my permission before you go spending your money again.”

“Yes ma’am,” sighed Abby. “Now, where’s our red-coated renegades got themselves to?”

“Close by, I’d think,” said Dan, who had just come out of hiding. “Did you recognize that fellow?”

“The boatman?”

“He’s Alvin Wyre, the trader.”

“That’s him?” said Abby. “Matilda says he’s the one who sold the muskets to her brother.”

“And he’s who the pistols came from. The ones I won from old Simon.”

“My word, a busy boy, he is. Now where’s your redcoat deserters?”

“This is where we left them.”

“Robby! Olly!” called Sadie. They listened but no one replied.

“Asleep maybe,” said Dan.

“Surely they’d not both sleep at the same time,” said Tim. “They must have moved to safer ground, or maybe they went looking for food. It’s been a day now. They’d be getting hungry.”

“No, we left food with them,” said Dan. “I’d brought some from home.”

“Captured maybe,” said Tim after a pause. No one said anything.

“Well then,” said Dan, “what say two of us follow the bank upriver and two go down and after a half hour or so we’ll turn back and meet here again? This big tree ought to keep us from getting lost.”

“All right,” said Tim.

“You and Sadie, me and Abby?”

“Fine with me,” said Abby. They set off, following a cow path that led along the hillside, and occasionally calling out and waiting for answers.

. . . . .

“No sign of them?” asked Tim when they got back. Dan and Abby had been back for a while already. Abby kept watch while Dan stretched out on a soft patch of grass, his head against a fallen log.

“Nothing.”

“Well… what’ll we do then?”

“We carry what we can and head straight for Morristown,” said Dan in a sad voice. “We can leave the rest of the stuff here, where we can find it again when we come back for it.”

“And just forget about them?” asked Sadie.

“Well… they might be there already,” said Tim. “They might have been found by a patrol.”

“A patriot patrol I hope,” said Dan.

“Yes,” said Tim. “I heard there’s tories who ride out of Paulus Hook. And if they were captured by them, then… then they’re likely back across the river and…”

“And getting themselves interrogated,” said Dan.

“If they are,” said Tim with a shrug, “they could say they’d been captured by raiders and that they’d escaped from them. Even if Stemple says otherwise, his testimony won’t count for much because he’s been knocked in the head.”

“Well,” said Sadie, “they could have invented something, but only if Robby hadn’t taken back the wagon and gone up to Yonkers and stolen a boat.”

“Yes,” said Tim. “Well… well, let’s get going then. Maybe at least… maybe at least we’ll make it there.”

“Should we be trying to go there by day?”

“I don’t see why not,” said Tim. “Even if there are patrols on the road, they’ll not have heard of us yet. And if we leave the muskets here, we’ll look like any bunch of poor folk out looking for work. We can go east ‘till we come to the first road, and then if we go north we’ll eventually find the Philadelphia Post Road and then it’s east again until we’re within a few miles of Morristown. We could walk it in a day if we push ourselves.”

“Well,” sighed Dan, “let’s get going then.”

Chapter 31

You will find that out soon enough.

“Good-day to ye,” said the man who rode up to them, sounding like he had business to deal with. He was grey-haired and looked like the middling sort of man – a merchant or the master of a large farm. He wore a brown coat, a brown hat cocked on three sides and a well-made pair of shoes. The ragged condition of the five younger men who rode with him made him look almost elegant by comparison. They seemed like frontiersmen but instead of carrying long rifles they had short carbines, and their fingers were on the triggers. One kept his eyes on the road ahead while another watched the road behind. The day was cloudy and the dust in the wind was getting into everyone’s eyes. Maybe that’s what’s put them in a bad mood, wondered Tim.

“Good-day to you, sir,” said Dan with a fearful smile.

“And where are you folks a-headed for?”

“Just up north.”

“Where to?” the man asked as he looked back and forth at each of them.

“Wherever we might find us some work.”

“Where are you coming from?”

“Across the river,” replied Dan as he pointed. “From Yonkers-town. Philipsburg as the squire wants to call it. But there’s not much work over there. Not enough to…”

“What’s your names?”

“My name’s John Preston,” said Dan. “What’s yours?”

“The rest of ye! What’s your names!”

“I’m his cousin, James Preston,” said Tim. “This is my mother Alice and my sister, Anne.” The names came easy to them because they had chosen them earlier, along with past employment and hometowns, and they had drilled each other to ensure no one hesitated or forgot.

“All right,” drawled the older man. “I tell you what then. We’re going to escort you to a place where you’re likely to find yourself some work.”

“That would be very kind of…”

“The four of ye are in my custody so don’t go trying to run off and…”

“Custody?”

“Yes, indeed. You’re safe in our care. Now, since there’s four of you…”

“Why are we in your custody?” asked Abby.

“Madam, you will find that out soon enough and…”

“Who are you with?”

“And you’ll find that out too, just as soon as you need to know. Now, you’re looking tired so I won’t make you walk. Choose a rider and climb on with him.”

One of the younger men rode forward. He held out his hand to Dan and said, “Take hold.” Dan reached and the man pulled. Another of them had been off his horse and was able to give Dan a boost. Up he went onto the horse’s rump behind the rider.

“That made it easy,” said Dan with a smirk.

“You see how it’s done,” said the older man. “Come now, let’s not doddle.”

Two men were on the ground to lead each to a horse. “Astride or sidesaddle,” one asked Sadie.

“Ah! Well…” she sputtered. Like all females she wore no undergarment other than a simple linen dress called a shift.

“Sidesaddle then,” he ordered. “Take the man’s hand.” He crouched, put his arm around her lower legs and his shoulder under her buttocks. He stood up, lifting her. The rider had an arm around her waist and together they had her in place in the time it took her to say “Oh dear!”

“Keep your arms around him and hug him tight,” said the older man with a smile. “That way you won’t fall off when she bucks.”

“All right,” said Sadie, sounding offended.

“You’re next,” said a man on the ground to Abby who was holding up her hands in protest.

“Make haste!” growled the older man.

The one on the ground took hold of her. The rider grabbed her arm and she was on even faster than her daughter. Not waiting for an order, Tim took hold of a rider’s hand and pulled himself up.

“Now listen carefully,” said the older man, “if we pass anyone as we travel along, you are not to utter a word. If we break into a gallop you’re to hold on tight. And if you try leaping off and making a run for it then that fellow there,” he said pointing to the biggest and nastiest looking, “will chase you down. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” said four quiet voices. The “fellow” said nothing and showed no expression. He had a very large scabbard tied to his saddle horn, and it held the sort of curved sword that sailors often owned, called a scimitar. Tim could imagine him using it, swinging it from one side to the other like a medieval knight with his broadsword – hacking down foot soldiers as they tried to run away.

They rode off at a trot and did not travel more than two miles before they left the road to follow a narrow trail. After at least three or four miles, they came back onto a road and continued until they came to a river. One rider had galloped ahead and called out the ferryman with a “Halloo!” They dismounted and crossed on his boat while the horses swam along at the end of tethers. On the other side, they remounted and rode on until they arrived at a farmyard. The four prisoners were ordered off the horses and onto a wagon. A boy led two workhorses out to be harnessed and hitched. The grey-haired man went into the house while the others waited.

“It looks like good land,” said Tim. None of their guards responded.

“What sort of work might we be finding?” asked Dan.

“Depends,” said one of them, without turning his head.

“We’d be willing to do most anything.”

“Good.”

They seemed to Tim to be more like enemy tories than allied whigs. By now, news of the disappearance of Stemple and the cartridge boxes could easily have made it across the river. As soon as Captain Cooper was back to the base and found them missing, he would have put out the alert. And surely someone would have told him about Robby’s false claim that he had wanted to take the cartridge boxes. Riders and boatmen could have been out, alerting others. The grey-haired man could have recognized them from a description. How many a lookalike brother and sister would have straw colored hair and freckles? But why, Tim wondered, didn’t he just come out and say so?

The grey-haired man came back from the house, still stern and stone-faced. Before they rode off, Dan and Tim got sacks placed over their heads with ties that were pulled almost too tight around their necks. Each bag had an opening in front of their mouth. An additional blindfold went overtop to keep the cloth tightly in place to ensure the wearer was completely blinded. They were ordered to lie belly down on the floor of the wagon. Someone tied their hands behind their backs. As If, thought Tim, we’d try to jump off while blinded.

The driver kept the horses at a trot. They knew they were heading deeper into New Jersey but that was all. Though the wagon had a bed of straw, after an hour of this sort of travel the ride went from frustrating to painful. More hours passed. They felt themselves ascending and descending hills and heard the sounds of wheels splashing through water as they forded two more rivers. Finally, they were greeted by the smells and sounds of a town. They could hear conversation and occasional laughter and somewhere a drill sergeant was calling out orders. But that told them nothing. There was often militia drilling on village greens. They could be all the way to the sea where British regulars were garrisoned. There was just no way of telling.

Chapter 32

It’s more likely that I’m the spy.

The blindfolded prisoners felt the wagon roll to a stop and heard their guards climbing off. Someone said, “This way, my dear,” and Abby was helped off. Next went Sadie.

“Up we go,” said a man’s voice to Tim. Hands came under his arms and around his chest and he was pulled onto his feet. “Now you’re going to take a couple of steps and then I’m going to place your foot on the edge and then you’re going to jump down.”

Tim felt himself pulled forward. He stepped too far and fell off the wagon, landing hard on his side. Nearby a group of young men burst out laughing.

“Not so fast,” chuckled the man who had led him.

“Are you still in one piece?” asked another, as he helped Tim back up.

“I’m well,” he replied as he felt a hand take his arm and pull. This time Tim took cautious steps and when he stumbled again, the man was able to pull him back up. “Here’s a door. One step up.” Inside, a plank floor squeaked. The sack over his head was porous enough to tell that they had entered a dark room. A familiar stink said it was a jail cell.

Tim’s blindfold and sack were untied and pulled off. In the dim light from the door he could see Dan come through, still with his sack over his head, and cringing in fear of running into something. Tim noticed there was another prisoner in the room, sitting on the floor. His back was against the wall and his feet rested on a firebox in the center of the cell. It was full of sand and ashes but the fire was out. Once Dan got his hood off the guards went out and the door slammed behind. They heard the scraping of wooden bolts being drawn to lock them in.

“Good evening one and all,” said the other prisoner after a few seconds of silence.

“And good evening to you,” said Dan as he sat across from the man. “I hope we haven’t missed supper.” A small window at the top of a high wall allowed in some light. Oiled paper served for a pane and the light was dim and bluish. “What town is this that we’ve come to?” asked Dan, trying to be cheerful.

“Ha! I was hoping you might tell me,” said the man with forced good humor.

“No, we don’t know that,” sighed Dan. “Nor do we know what offence got us in here. What did you do?”

“Oh, not a great sin, I don’t think. It seems I was arrested and jailed for the crime of walking down a road. On my way home, I was. I’m wondering whether it might be just a case of mistaken identity.”

“That could be,” shrugged Dan. “It’s happened before, hasn’t it? I heard about a boy from… a ways upriver. And they say he looks so much like me! Folks used to come back and ask me what I’d been doing up there. Once I almost got taken back ‘home’ by an old fellow who figured I’d run off! I was only twelve and he was going to take me with him! I’m just lucky somebody came along!”

“It can happen.”

“So, they just arrested you,” asked Tim, “and brought you in with no explanation?”

“That is what I’m saying. And I know not who ‘they’ are nor under whose authority ‘they’ act. And what about you two? To what do I owe the honor?”

“The same,” chuckled Dan. “The crime of walking down a road.”

“Well… and do you have any guesses as to where we are?”

“I’d hazard that we’re in the land they called the Jerseys, but I can only assume that much because that’s where we started from.”

“When I was brought here,” said the man, “I was blindfolded. And I’d traveled in that condition for many miles, I’m sure. Then I was just dumped here in this jail and I’ve been here for a day and a night, now. I’ve been listening at the window, though, hoping to at least find out where I am. But with the wind whistling through the cracks I’ve not heard much. I’ve been able to catch a bit of what passersby are saying and I suspect we are not in British controlled territory. But… I’m not sure. I know that we crossed more than one river.”

“There’s no smell of the sea,” said Dan. “But if the wind was from the west then there wouldn’t be.”

“We’ve traveled long enough for this to be Morristown,” suggested Tim.

“Maybe by the same route that I came on,” said the man. “I started out just west of Woodbridge.”

“But maybe,” said Dan, “you’ve traveled in circles and you’re back at Woodbridge.”

“Ha! Maybe!”

“What did you hear at the window?” asked Tim, who was feeling suspicious. He had heard of false prisoners being used to trick confessions out of real ones.

“What I heard,” said the man quietly, “was what sounded like the words of rebels: ‘Blasted regulars!’ ‘Cursed tories!’” Now, folks might say such things in Woodbridge but we wouldn’t be hearing it if we’re at Amboy, would we? And there’re others that I think were talking about the price of coffee – not tea.”

“It could be playacting though,” said Tim. “This might be a British camp and they might want us to believe they’re rebels so that we’ll betray rebel sympathies.”

“And if the town was British held,” Dan asked the man, “would that be good news for you, or bad?”

“Well, I’ve sworn allegiance to…well… I don’t know that I should say who I’m loyal to.”

“Indeed,” chuckled Dan, “and I’m forced to wonder the same! Are you really a prisoner, or are you here to draw out a confession?”

“That does happen,” said the man. “Isn’t every second man, woman and dog out a-telling tales these days? How many are there who have sworn an oath to the Continental Congress but are ready to swear an oath to King George, just as soon as the regulars march inland again? And if you don’t swear the right oath and speak the correct words, they’ll start suspecting you of complicity, and that can earn you a trip down to the city for further questioning.”

“Down to the city?” asked Tim. “You’re from the New York colony, then?”

“Well… I could be talking of the great city upon the Delaware,” said the man with a chuckle. “But maybe now you could tell me about something. I was going through Yonkers town a couple of days ago and I heard a lot of talk about a man that’d been found dead in a store. They said he was dead of a broken head and that he was probably a redcoat deserter. Good chance of that though, I suppose. Wouldn’t you think? And if a man deserts then he may as well bring something to trade. Something that’d get him easy money?”

“Could be,” replied Tim.

“But others were saying he was more likely a spy of some kind – maybe a tory trying to find out who’s been helping redcoat deserters cross the river. There’s a good chance of that too, isn’t there?”

“Indeed, there’s a chance of it,” nodded Dan.

“Then me and another fellow went out and took a look at him, where they’d been keeping him cool in a trough of water. He looked familiar but I don’t know from where. It’s hard to say when they’re dead. So do you have any idea who he might have been?”

Neither Dan nor Tim responded.

“Can’t quite place him,” the man continued, half to himself. “It’ll come to me sometime, maybe. That so often happens. You’re a-wondering about something and then you decide to just forget about it and then later on it pops into your head, just like you were still wondering about it, somewhere in the back of your mind. Strange how that happens, isn’t it?”

“It is,” said Tim.

“Yes, the mind can play tricks on you,” said the man with a nod.

After another half hour of talk the man had still not confessed to any greater knowledge of the mysterious corpse, or of his political loyalties. And neither had Tim or Dan.

Suddenly, the door swung open and men came in, ordering them on their feet. Another cloth sack went over Tim’s head. He was taken by the arm and led out the door. It slammed behind them. He then went outside then inside and then out again and then in again. Finally, he was back into a cell. The sack came off his head and the door was closed and locked.

Tim stood alone in complete darkness. Cautiously, he walked around the wall to see if he would bump into anything or anybody, but there was nothing. He remained standing, unsure as to whether he wanted sit or lay. The long wagon ride coming after all the events of the previous day and night had left Tim weary. He wondered about what might have happened to his mother and sister. His head throbbed with pain and he felt bruised and shaken. Finally, he decided to lie down on the floor, wishing he could sleep but not expecting to be able to. 

But after a short while his thoughts became strange and he realized that he must be dreaming. But it was as if he was dreaming while still awake. Red-coated soldiers were coming in the door and asking questions about deliveries of wood to the city, and about how soon he would finish cutting up the tree he had felled the day before. Next, he found himself on his feet, peeking through a hole in the wall and seeing that somebody had hitched a team of horses to the jail cell. And then the man was cursing as he whipped the poor beasts because they could not pull the jail out of the ditch where it was stuck in mud. But then the ditch was full of floodwater – rising ever higher and threatening to wash the whole town away.

.   .   .   .   .

“How are you feeling now?” asked Sadie, when she saw him open his eyes.

“Oh… well… I… ” stammered Lieutenant Saul Stemple.

“Did you come on a rough road?”

“Oh indeed! I… they’d come and got me and…”

“And carried you back?”

“I was taken in a wagon and… and it seemed to take many hours. I remember Robby, my cousin.”

“Yes, I know him.”

“He held my head in his hands and Olly held my leg, but… but still it seemed a dreadful long journey. Are we in the city?”

“Well, it’s over now,” said Sadie with a warm smile. “I spoke to the surgeon and he says your leg will be fine.”

“Oh, but it does hurt though!” he said with a brave smile.

“But that’s just to remind you that he didn’t cut it off.”

“Ha! Ah, yes. I ought to be thankful for that. And… and… how is your husband?”

“My husband?” asked Sadie but then she remembered about how she had been introduced by Dan. “Oh, he’s not my husband. He just likes to tease me.”

“Oh good…”

“Oh good?”

“I mean… you… you seem too young to be married.”

“Any age would be too young to be married to a Dan Eliot.”

“Is he a regular? I couldn’t see him.”

“Oh… no, he’s just a woodcutter and before that he was a sailor.”

“And he was along on the raid? Is he a scout?”

“Well… not exactly… The surgeon said I shouldn’t be keeping you from falling back to sleep.”

“But I was just wondering…”

“No questions,” ordered Sadie as she raised her finger. “Robby and Olly are wanting to tell you all about it themselves, and I think I heard they would be back here soon so… so I don’t want to spoil it for them. And the surgeon said you’re to get as much sleep as you can, so I’ve found a book to read to you. It was in the next room. One of the officers had left it, I think. I can read to you and try to send you asleep. So… so you just follow the doctor’s orders and fall asleep for me.”

“Yes, ma’am,“ said Stemple with a smile. “Though I am feeling better.”

“It’s an odd book to find just lying around. I was reading it while you slept. There’s things in it that… well, I must confess some of it seems to make good sense, but… but I really don’t understand it and… and I thought you might be able to explain it for me.”

“I doubt if I’m the best man to be explaining difficult books.”

“Maybe not, but I doubt if anyone else will take the time to explain things to a stupid girl. And since you’ve broken your leg, you can’t run away on me, can you? So that means I have you all to myself.”

“It seems you do,” he said with a smile. “What’s the book called?”

“It’s by a fellow named Thomas Paine and it’s called ‘Common Sense’.”

“ ‘Common Sense’! Oh my goodness! You shouldn’t be reading that!”

“Have you read it?” asked Sadie, innocently.

“Certainly not! It’s the most vile of sedition!”

“That’s what I’ve been hearing too, but they say most all the country has read it – or had it read to them. They say it’s turned vast numbers of men into rebel traitors.”

“All the more reason why it should be burned rather than read.”

“Then it’s a good thing that I’ve got you here to explain the wickedness of it to me, so I’ll learn to recognize wickedness when I hear it. For even if I don’t read the book, I’m sure to hear its sedition spoken, aren’t I? And it ought to benefit you as well. I’m sure you’ve been told that once you’ve knowledge of your enemy’s motives and methods you’ll have an easier time at defeating him. They say that, don’t they? And here in this book, we’ve a listing of all their motives. Now be quiet while I read.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded with a smile.

“ ‘Perhaps the sentiments contained in the following pages,” she read slowly and quietly, “ are not yet sufficiently fashionable to procure them general favor; a long habit of not thinking a thing wrong gives it a superficial appearance of being right, and raises at first a formidable outcry in defense of custom. But the tumult soon subsides. Time makes more converts than reason.’ ”

Was Common Sense as widely read and influential as Sadie claims? In 1775 only a small minority of colonists were willing to advocate independence. Even George Washington may not yet have made up his mind. But on January 31, 1776 in a letter to a friend, he wrote “the sound doctrine and unanswerable reasoning contained in the pamphlet Common Sense, will not leave numbers at a loss to decide upon the propriety of a separation”.

Chapter 33

The story of your remarkable adventure.

The door opened with a loud squeak, and a man stepped in. At first, Tim was unsure of whether it was part of another dream.

“Up on your feet, boy,” he ordered and took hold of Tim’s arm. The sack was back over his head and he was led into another room and pushed onto a low stool. A chair creaked when the guard sat down.

They remained in silence for what seemed to Tim like a very long time. Finally, the door opened and the sound of footsteps told him that two or three others had come in. In a gravelly voice, an old man began the questioning. The first few asked who he was, what he did and where he lived. Without thinking, Tim gave his real name instead of the false one they had agreed to back on the shore of the Hudson River. That meant he was now obliged to be truthful, at least about the trivial facts of his life. With all he had been up to lately, they were likely to have heard of him. There was a younger man in the room as well, and from time to time he would chuckle or snort in response to something Tim had said. It sounded false though, as if intended to intimidate him. It was working. Tim felt himself start to shake.

As he answered questions about the people of Yonkers, Tim tried his best to contain his frustration and fear. Whose opinions carried weight in the community? Who was on which side? Were young loyalties likely to be willing to fight? This all seemed pointless to Tim because everybody in Yonkers at least pretended to support the king and his generals. Who could know what any of them really thought? And they had always been changing their minds, depending on how well the war had been going. The November before, after Fort Washington had fallen with the loss of a fifth of the entire American Army, many had decided that the drive for independence had been a bit foolhardy and that it was time to negotiate a peace. But then in January, after a string of successes in New Jersey, hope had been revived for some, though all feared that it meant a long and bloody war.

Tim was worried, as well, about what effect his words might have. If the interrogator believed what he was telling, then good men might be harmed and bad men helped. And if this gravel voiced man was a Continental spymaster, he might be trying to assess the trustworthiness of informants. But, Tim asked himself, what else can I say?

Then came questions about Tim’s own political leanings and he was back to lying again, denying any firm allegiance to either side and admitting to no more than a shallow knowledge of the issues. When asked how they had come to New Jersey, Tim just said they had hailed a passing boatman and paid him a shilling to row them across. This was the story the four of them had agreed to and it would probably be good enough. Ordinary sorts were often risking an unauthorized crossing.

Finally came questions about the man found in the Pellis store, only seven days before. Tim told all he knew, including all rumors he had heard. The interrogator heaved a sigh, stood and took a step closer. At first Tim thought he was going to get a cuff to the ear for something he had said. Instead, the man untied the sack and pulled it off. Tim remained still and glanced from side to side. He was in a plain room with walls of whitewashed timbers. Neither of the two men wore a uniform. The old man, the one who had untied the blindfold, immediately went out, closing the door behind him. The younger was one of those who had brought them on the wagon – the quiet one who had carried a scimitar. He sat, said nothing, and looked at Tim as if wondering what to do with him. Tim took one brief look at him, brought his eyes back down on the plank floor, and waited.

“Tim Euston,” said a man’s voice from behind. Tim startled and turned around. The short middle-aged man who sat there was none other than Sam Baker.

“Sam,” said Tim with a smile. “Wha… how… how are you today, sir?”

“Quite well,” he said, getting up to offer his hand. “And I must beg forgiveness. I’d told you and Dan that I’d come for you within the month but I just kept putting it off. I’ve been busy and... ”

“Of course, We’d just assumed you’d been busy.”

“You weren’t getting impatient?”

“No, not at all! We were… just… ready to serve my country – ready to be training for soldiering… instead of cutting firewood.”

“Ah, poor boys. I should at least have sent word.”

“No no no! You’d pressing matters, I’m sure.”

“You’re too generous,” said Sam. “Now let’s get down to business. You’ve denied any activities or opinions in support of the Continental Congress and the new nation.”

“I… I wasn’t sure… you might have been the enemy.”

“Of course, and your sister and your mother and Dan have as well – you’ve all been equally uncooperative.”

“Well… good for them.”

“Ha! It’s what we should hope for, isn’t it? Now, why don’t we go join them over a good hot meal?”

Outside, Tim recognized Morristown. He had been there before, though only briefly. Men in the street looked like soldiers, though most wore everyday work clothes. A few sported the uniforms of one of the militias. Two on a wagon came past wearing the official Continental uniform, the brown coat with orange collar and lapels that some had received the year before. Sam and Tim went into a house where they found Sadie and Abby.

Dan was brought in next and gave them a smile of relief. Then he saw Sam. “Well! Sam Baker! Well! And they tell me this is the fabled Morristown.”

“That’s what they’ve been telling me too,” joked Sam. “Tim says you’ve been getting impatient.”

“No no! Well, impatient to be serving our country.”

“Good!”

“It’s a pleasure to be here.”

“It’s a pretty town, isn’t it?”

“As pretty a town as I’ve ever seen.”

While they continued this small talk, Tim was wondering if they might know anything about Olly and Robby. He was reluctant to ask, assuming he would be told as soon as he needed to know. The door open and a middle-aged man with a large nose came in.

“Ah, there you are,” said Sam. He then turned to the others and said, “He’s told me he’s not had supper.” 

“If there’s enough to go around,” said the man with a humble smile.

“Of course there’ll be enough,” said Abby and she moved around to the other side, to make room on the end of the bench, next to Tim.

“While we wait to be served,” said Sam. “I’d like to tell you of how much I’ve enjoyed the story that we’ve been hearing. A remarkable run of luck you’ve all had, haven’t you?”

“We had some close calls,” said Dan.

By now, Tim’s curiosity about Robby and Olly was growing severe. It seemed like everybody had been told except him. 

“And we must rely upon luck so often in time of war,” sighed Sam. “Yea, mustn’t we? I’ve been trusting my luck too often, lately. But to hear of your luck! And it turns out…”

“Are Robby and Olly here?” asked Tim.

“Oh… you’ve not been told?”

“No.”

“Well well, I find myself apologizing again.”

“Are they safe?”

“Oh, indeed indeed – safe and sound – hale and hearty. Sound asleep already, I’d think.”

“And the lieutenant?”

“Well, the ride over gave him a good shaking up but the surgeon says he just needs a lot of rest. He’s still thinking he’s over on the island and safe amongst his own.”

“He still believes he’s to be honored for his valor,” said Sadie, smiling and frowning at the same time.

“Yes yes,” chuckled Sam, “the poor fellow is in for a disappointment. I suppose we should let him rest a bit and then Robby can be the one to inform him of his status as prisoner of war. Oh, and Sadie here! You should have seen her in action! Hard at work she’s been, for the cause of liberty.”

They all looked at Sadie. She blushed and stared at her plate.

“She had asked,” continued Sam, “about the injured lieutenant, and was told that he was being well cared for. She wanted to go see him but was told she could not. She held firm to her insistence and demanded to speak to me. After hearing her plan I had the lieutenant carried over to a small house.”

“Her plan?” asked Abby.

“Yes, and a clever one it is. When I peeked in on them, just a while ago, she was sitting by the side of the bed, reading to him from the writings of Tom Paine.” Sam said this with a smile to the stranger who had joined them. “I’d got her a copy of Common Sense. Well, with the poor boy’s head still rattling from the ride down I doubt he could follow much of what was being read to him, but… you should have seen him! Him lying there a-listening and a-gazing into her blue eyes. What a lovely picture they made. Her full of concern for his wellbeing – both physical and political. And him, the wounded soldier, injured in the course of duty. It’s such a shame he serves the wrong side. But… I can’t help but wonder for how long he’ll do that, for I just don’t know how any boy could hold to the tory line with Sadie Euston so cleverly seducing him over to the cause of liberty.”

“He’s in love with her?” asked Abby.

“Well,” shrugged Sam, “it’s not unusual for a man to lose his heart to the prettiest of those who help nurse him back to health.”

“She’s only fifteen.”

“Ha! I said he’s in love. I didn’t say he’s making a sensible choice for the near term!”

“Why...”

“Now now, don’t worry. We can assume that your daughter’s no fool,” he said with a smile to Sadie, who was blushing and keeping her eyes lowered. “But in his present state, he’s susceptible to influence and she just might score us a convert.”

“He is a prisoner of war who’s eligible for exchange,” said Abby to Sadie, “and I suspect he’ll be gone before long.”

“Oh, not necessarily,” laughed Sam. “Negotiations for prisoner exchanges are slow and unpredictable. Your charming daughter just might have plenty of time to work on his conversion. And he should be ripe for it too. He’s a mere colonial boy from a family of lowly merchants, isn’t he? His fellow officers must be making him the butt of many a small joke. He’ll never fit in with British gentry and they’ll never let him fit in. Resentment must seethe deep within him and it might not take much to draw it to the surface.”

“But if he comes over to us,” asked Dan, “won’t he sacrifice the five hundred pound value of his commission?”

“He would, but if he’s converted, he just might decide to go back as a spy. Just think of it! If Sadie has him well converted by the wisdom of Tom Paine, then he might be willing to go back and send me secret letters. Just imagine that – a redcoat lieutenant for a spy. That would make happy men out of both me and our commander-in-chief, wouldn’t it?”

“It would indeed,” chuckled Dan.

“And, if he grew tired of the spy business, he could stop eating and after a while he could request to be relieved of his duties for reasons of his health. Word is, they’re still hopeful over in old England, so he’ll likely fetch himself a good price for his commission. Maybe even gain himself a profit.”

“Olly and Robby have already told you everything?” asked Tim.

“They have. They had each started out telling tales but once I’d introduced myself as Sam Baker and took them for a tour, then they decided they could trust me. But the story they told of your exploits of the past few days, well – it defies belief! But they were interviewed apart from each other, and their facts were in accord.”

“The cartridge boxes made it here safe and sound?” asked Dan.

“Indeed they did, and they have been most gratefully received. It amazes me that ordinary leather could be in such short supply. You’d think all the tanners had moved to Mexico! And three hundred cartridge boxes – excellent quality! They will be put to good use, indeed they will – and sooner rather than later. We all thank you most heartily.”

“It was only our duty as citizens,” said Tim, with a modest smile. “We ask nothing in return.”

“Nothing?” laughed Sam. “I’m afraid you’ve arrived too late to accept nothing.”

“Why…”

“They would not tell me where they’d hid them until I agreed to terms.”

“To terms?” asked Dan. “For what?”

“At first, Robby said he wanted all four of you to be trained as dragoons. He said you all wanted to be out and about – scouting and raiding. Doing the dangerous duties and gaining quick promotions.”

“No no,” protested Tim, “we would be honored to serve in whatever capacity that you…”

“Ah, but I fear it is too late for you to extend to us your charity,” said Sam with a smile. “And sadly, I was forced to tell them that, as deserters, they could never be dragoons. What men we put on horseback are there for scouting and the delivering of messages. ‘Tis far too sensitive a task for men whose commitment to the cause could be questioned. And, even as common foot soldiers, they could never hope for promotion beyond corporal in some garrison well back from the fighting. And as for you two, well. You’re just too young. No matter how well regarded you might be, you’d never see a promotion to corporal inside of a year – likely two. I’m sure your self-education and the story of your exploits will be much to your favor but there’s just a limit on how much you could bargain for.”

“But we aren’t bargaining…”

“Perhaps you’re not, but Robby and Olly have been, and they show a real talent for it, too. Once I’d explained it all to them Robby asked for a flat figure for the four of you. We haggled a bit and finally agreed that you would divvy up sixteen hundred Continental dollars.”

“Sixteen hundred!” groaned Tim “But we weren’t going to ask for anything!”

“You’re a true patriot, Tim Euston, but the deal is done. The prices for munitions have gone through the roof, and we certainly would not have got them at a better price from anyone else. You all took a tremendous risk and you’re still civilians. And too, you captured an officer. You more than deserve it. The worker is worth his hire, as they say, and you were hard at work – dangerous work. Now, remember that our Continental dollar has already lost half its buying power, and I’d expect it’ll lose more. I’d recommend you take your cash and buy something of a more enduring value as soon as you can.”

“But sixteen hundred… we… we cannot…”

“Tim, if you turn it down it’ll make me look like a fool for agreeing to pay it. You weren’t soldiers when you did the deed. You were dry land privateers. And if you don’t take it I’ll… I’ll no longer be able to respect your intelligence. And then how could I ever recommend you for promotion?”

“We’ll take it!” said Dan. “Think of it! To earn that much – four hundred dollars! I’d have to go to sea all summer, and fell trees all winter, for two or three years! Four or five if the war ends and the high wages end with it. And I’m paid well. I’m an able seaman. Tim, you couldn’t earn it in twice the time.”

“Well… ah… ” stammered Tim.

“Good. Now, as for your placement in the army. Normally, you’d go to your home county and ask who’s doing the recruiting, but your home is in Boston and that’s a long ways off. You could go to the nearest recruiter and say that you now regard yourself as a Jerseyman. I’m sure he’d take you but you’d be a pair of foreigners in the eyes of your fellow recruits. I think you’d be happier with born and bred New Englanders. And there’s a Massachusetts regiment not that far away and I’m sure the colonel would have you sworn in and put to work before he finished his cup. Then, after a year or so, you’d be ready to be included in a more elite sort of platoon formed for a special task, and after another you’d be ready for a promotion.”

“That’s assuming the war lasts,” grumbled Dan.

“You’d just have to show them what you’ve got to offer and… Well, I suppose you’ve already a reputation for fearlessness and ingenuity. Oh,” Sam said as if he had just remembered a grave and weighty consideration. “And on the topic of reputation… there’s the matter of the dead man found in the Pellis store and of Tim’s quick march up to Colonel Frederick Philipse.” He said this with a stern look at Tim and then turned to Dan. “And, Dan Eliot, there is the matter of your highly profitable transaction. And on the very same day, it was.”

“But they… but I… I just won them at cards…” stammered Dan.

“All information points to the same,” said Sam slowly. “Nat Pellis told one of our people that… the victim was a good-for-nothing deserter and the killer was into the running of contraband. Each thought the other was cheating him and probably both were correct. An argument broke out, push led to shove, one pulled a knife and the other grabbed the poker and before Nat could stop him the unluckier of the two was on the floor with a cracked scull.”

“Do you know who the killer was?”

“We’re all but certain it’s the trader called Alvin Wyre.”

“Oh.”

“They were wondering what to do with the body when Tim came to the door calling for his sister. They hid in the storefront and Alvin suggested he try to put the blame on Tim.”

“Can’t say they aren’t clever,” joked Dan.

“So Tim, I’ve advised the army not to regard you with suspicion, nor to consider your trip to Colonel Philipse as anything but a clever maneuver to protect yourself from a false charge. Same with you Dan, I’ve told them that you’ve both still got as good a reputation as you had eight days ago.”

“Oh… oh… I am grateful,” said Tim.

“Yes yes,” continued Sam, “you’ve both got a reputation to protect, and you’ll just have to keep building on it. And, if you both spend as much time on the memorizing of officer’s manuals as Tim has spent on the memorizing of Tom Paine, then you both might be ready for sergeant in… maybe three or four years, so long as the war lasts that long.”

“We can only hope,” joked Dan.

“As for Robby and Olly. They’re going to have to live and prosper as Americans for ten years, at least, and hope for better luck in the next war. In the meantime, there’s a fellow here in Morristown who says he’ll give them a letter to take to his cousins’ up in Albany. He says that they’re traders in lumber and that they keep losing their best men to the army. He says they’ll surely be looking for men who are strong enough to stack timbers but also able to handle figuring and paperwork.”

“Is that what they’re going to do?” asked Dan.

“They haven’t decided but I can’t see a better option for them. The country will need lumber, and with four hundred dollars in each of their pockets, they’ll be able to start trading on their own account. They’ll be married and building a house while you two are still marching up and down the countryside.”

“Well…” said Tim.

“Are you disappointed?” asked Sam as he rose to answer a knock on the door. Two women were there, carrying the supper in iron pots.

“No, not at all,” said Tim. “We just…”

“Good. And… maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the promotions will come sooner. Most of our newer recruits only came to serve after we’d started offering a more generous bounty. A smart pair like you two – determined to better yourselves. You’ll maybe get your promotions sooner than I predict.”

“We’ve been lucky so far,” said Dan with a shrug.

“Ha! Yes, and you’ll always need luck. And while we’re on the topic of luck,” Sam said with a nod to Abby and Sadie. “Without hardly even going out looking, I’ve been able to find a nice home for the both of you. There’s a good patriot household here that’s looking for a pair of woman servants. And it’s right here in Morristown, if you’re interested.”

“We are,” said Abby.

“But first I’ve a task for the six of you together. You’ll have to get yourselves rested up – a good night’s sleep, if that’s possible. You’ve no doubt a bit of what we call ‘battle nerves’. And what, you ask, is this task I’ve got for you? Tomorrow, I’ll arrange the borrowing some fancy clothes for each of you – something suitable for the occasion.”

“What occasion?” asked Abby.

“Tomorrow night, after we dine, I’d like you to entertain our officers with the story of your remarkable adventure.”

“The officers?” asked Dan.

“Indeed, we’re always in need of an entertaining story. All work and no play will make any of us a dull boy.” As Sam said this, the women with the food had finished filling the plates and setting them round the table, and were pouring mugs full of beer.

“We hope to have more to offer than entertaining stories,” joked Dan.

“Oh, don’t downplay the value of an entertaining story. They’re almost as valuable as inspiring lectures. Wouldn’t you agree, Tom,” said Sam as he turned to the middle-aged man who had joined them. “And we’ve here some bright young minds who share your enthusiasm for revolutionary literature.”

“So I’ve heard,” said the man. “Sadie Euston, I am fascinated with your experiment in the use of modest feminine charm in the swaying of the mind of a prisoner.”

“Yes… well,” said Sadie as she looked down and blushed again.

“But let’s do less talking and more eating,” said Sam, and he said a brief prayer for the food before them and for victory to come. “Now Tom, “he said as he gestured his hand to Tim, “the fellow who sits next to you is a great lover of revolutionary writing. I think you and he will have much to talk about.”

“I look forward to it,” said the man.

“I am told,” said Sam, “that Tim has Common Sense half memorized.”

“Do you?” asked the man. “Now tell me, are there any parts of it that you feel I should have left out? Anywhere where it goes on too long?”

“There’s a few places where it goes on too long,” said Tim as he raised his brows, with his mouth half full of potatoes.

“‘I should’?” asked Sadie as she stared wide-eyed at the stranger. “Did you say ‘I should’?”

It was at this moment that Tim put the name “Tom” together with Sadie’s question. Unfortunately, he had just taken a large sip of beer. He coughed into the mug and beer sprayed every direction. Embarrassed, he jumped up, forgetting that he sat on a bench. He fell back, landing hard on the floorboards. His mug of beer was still in his hand and the rest of it went into his face. Blinking, he looked up. Everyone was laughing. Even his mother was laughing at him, and the man who held out his hand to help him up was Thomas Paine.

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