Tim’s Excessive Good Fortune

Third in the Tim Euston Series

Roddy Thorleifson

(2017)

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

Characters, in order of appearance. 

Hugh Hampton (22) Lieutenant.

Tim Euston (16) Found at scene of murder.

John Hawke (26) Lieutenant. 

Jeremiah Olney, Colonel (28) Commander. 

Malcolm Poole (24) Captain. 

John Passey (23) Private, company clerk, Hawke’s batman. 

Sadie Euston (15) Tim’s sister. 

Dan Eliot (18) Tim’s friend sailor. 

Abby Euston (36) Tim’s mother, from Boston. 

Primavera (Prim) Porter (18) Poole’s fiance. 

(Old) Peter Porter (64) Primavera’s grandfather, owns store.

(Young) Peter Porter (42) Primavera’s father, works in store. 

Esther Porter (38) Primavera’s mother.

Dorothy (Dot) O’Toole (22) Primavera’s friend, Mike’s Wife. 

Mike O’Toole (32) Militia major, Dot’s husband.

Sergeant Rush (33) Sergeant in Hawke’s platoon. 

Woodford (50) Private, in Rush’s squad.

Chapter 1

June 2, 1777

Morristown, New Jersey

“Another hot day, Lieutenant,” said a woman’s voice.

“It is that,” replied Hugh Hampton as he stepped through the door of a small barn. The wind had died down but the heat of the day was dragging on into the evening. “Where are you?” he asked but then he saw her in the shadows, and stepped forward to look at the pretty young wife of a local merchant.

“It’s strange now, isn’t it?” she said with a sad smile as she crossed her arms and leaned against a post.

“What’s strange?”

“The quiet. The whole town was so full of life – so many men. You could hardly turn around without stumbling over some big brute of a soldier. And now, they’re all gone,” she sighed, waving her hand as if to point out how many were missing.

“Come now, there’s still enough of us left behind to keep the town lively,” said Hugh with a lazy smile as he limped toward her. He favored his good leg. It had been a bad sprain but he felt it would not be long before the surgeon declared him fit for active duty.

“I’ve not seen you in this,” she said as she took hold of the lapel of his coat to feel it. It was deep blue with buff facings, and made of a light fabric for summer weather.

“No, I’m sure you’ve not,” he said as he squared his shoulders, “for it’s just come from the tailor and has not yet been singed by burning powder nor splattered with enemy blood.”

“Not yet but not for long?” she asked, shaking her head and pretending to dislike the thought of it. But everyone admired handsome Hugh Hampton. In the many ambushes and attacks that had kept the Army busy through the winter and spring, he had distinguished himself. In January, when they heard about the victories at Trenton and Princeton, he had felt sorry for himself for missing them. Since then, he had taken advantage of every opportunity to face danger. “And you’re not thinking of soiling it soon, I hope,” she said as she kept hold of the lapel, pulling herself toward him to examine the stitching. “You’ve earned yourself a rest. And a coat like this ought to be kept nice for at while, at least.”

“Well, you’ll have to admire it while you can, for if I get my way, I’ll soon be up on the front lines. I’d be there now if that old hen of a doctor would...”

“Don’t you go defying doctor’s orders,” she scolded as she turned away and walked into the shadows in the barn. It had been an army stable and a popular meeting place for soldiers. Through the long winter it would have been crowded and smoky, filled with laughter and loud voices – soldiers trying to outdo each other with good stories and clever remarks. But now, they could only hear the occasional rustle of a mouse in the straw.

“Bah! That doctor,” Hugh joked as he followed her in, “he’s worse than my mother. There’s a war that needs to be fought and if the redcoats are finally going to crawl out of their barracks and face us in the field, then I want to be there to meet them.”

“You!” she laughed. “You a-limping out onto a battlefield? It’d be you who they’d be calling ‘my mother’.”

“I am healed and healthy,” he protested. “As strong and virile as an Arabian stallion, I am.”

“Who’s gone lame and… ”

“Don’t you be calling me lame now you… you little filly.”

“Little filly!” she said, pretending to take offence.

“I could outrun you!”

“Just you try to!” she laughed as she turned and set off three steps before grabbing hold of a post and spinning round to come face to face with him, again grabbing hold of his lapel. “You’d only catch me if I let you,” she said, looking into his eyes as she pulled him close.

“I’ve caught you already.” He took hold of her collar with one hand and lifted her chin with the other. He waited for a moment to see if she would pull away, and then he put his sweaty hand round the back of her neck.

The wire came over Hugh’s head and round his neck. He had heard nothing and only barely saw it move past his eyes. The woman shrieked and jumped back. A bizarre pain made him struggle and claw at his throat. Not knowing what was happening, he reared back, sending both himself and the attacker to the ground. He tried to scream but could only hiss. The struggle lasted seconds and the waving of his arms and kicking of his feet slowed to awkward jerks.

The murderer was on one knee but still in a crouch, holding his victim in place, looking as if he thought the corpse could spring back to life.

“You took yourself long enough,” muttered the woman. Her voice shook with fear or anger or some other emotion she had never before experienced.

“Didn’t want to spoil your pleasure,” said the man with a smirk.

“Pleasure! I… I’d not…”

“Now, we’d best be out of here quick,” he said as he twisted the wire round itself to keep it secure on Hampton’s neck. He took hold of the legs, and pulled the body through a low door into a lean-to shed built against the back of the barn.

“What are you doing with him?”

“Best he’s not found right away,” the man said as he stepped back to take a look at his work. “A day or two would be best,” he said, holding one hand to his chin and sounding like he was thinking. “Well well well, if you live by the sword, you’ll die by the sword.”

“Shouldn’t we be going?”

“He’s a rebel? Wasn’t he? A traitor. A criminal? And he’s killed other men with no greater justification, hasn’t he? Sure he has, and he’d likely have been hanged sooner or later, too. So I…”

Oh shut-up! snapped the woman. “What is this? Are you now a loyal subject of the King?”

“I’m simply considering the legalities of the situation, my dear. Were this a military operation and I was a…”

“Could you deal with your guilty conscience later!”

“Yes yes, my dove,” he said as he came back out. Straw and dirt on the mud floor had been dragged along with the body, leaving a clear trail. He used his foot to sweep it, to make it less obvious. “Now, why don’t you go take a look and see if there’s anyone about?”

“You took so long getting it done!” she grumbled, sounding as if holding back tremendous anger. “I…I wondered whether you’d lost your nerve!”

“Let’s not bicker about it now. We’ve no time to waste,” he said calmly as he pulled off the leather gloves that had protected his hands from the wire. It had been intended for the higher notes of a harpsichord and was both thin and strong. He went to the wall to take a peek outside, moving his head back and forth to scan across the garden. Its raised beds had short rows where green seedlings were already sprouting. In others, further back, onions were standing almost a foot high. With all the rain, everything was green. The house at the front of the lot was large with white clapboards and a massive chimney that emerged through the center of the roof. It had housed soldiers. The owner had been a loyalist who had sold out after the Congress in Philadelphia had declared the new nation’s independence.

“Come along, my dear, help take a look about,” said the man, gesturing to the other wall. “We can’t let the neighbors see us coming out, can we?”

“We’ll not be if we… we… we ought to…” she stammered as she went to the far wall. She leaned against the rough-cut planks to look between them. When both were satisfied that there was no one coming or going, they left. The woman went first, holding one hand to her forehead, as if massaging a tense brow, just in case someone might be watching her from a distance. Once she was out of the yard, the man stepped out the door and turned to go the other way, to the bottom of the garden and through an apple orchard to where he could follow a path.

.   .   .   .   .

The corpse was still warm when Tim Euston came into the barn, carrying a violin. He was seventeen but seemed older when his brow was furrowed by deep thought. His hat was turned up on three sides, over a head of straw-colored hair tied at the back with a black ribbon. The barn was a quiet place where he could practice a tune called ‘In Love Should There Meet a Fond Pair’, a favorite of the colonel’s wife. After sitting down on a stool, he noticed that something had been dragged across the floor to the door of a lean-to. He was tempted to take a look but stopped himself. It was just an excuse to avoid work. With no sheet of music, he would have to start with the melody and think up a few chords to make his own version.

“Practicing?” asked a man’s voice, making Tim jump. The sound of it was intended to be friendly and cheerful but at the same time it had a suspicious tone – almost angry.

“Oh! Yes sir, it’s the one the colonel’s wife asked for, and I didn’t know it and...”

“Ah yes, the colonel’s wife,” he said, turning to leave but then stopped. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing to the floor.

“I… I don’t know,” shrugged Tim. “I’d sort of wondered myself. But I figured… I don’t…I ought to…”

“Keep on with your practice,” he said, holding up a palm to order Tim quiet. He walked further into the barn, looking around. He was Lieutenant John Hawke, and Tim felt it was a good name for him because he always seemed to be “watching like a hawk”. Tim restarted the tune at the beginning and played while the officer ducked down to go into the lean-to. It was the sort of place where a pig might be kept at night. A homeowner often kept one to fatten on kitchen scraps and garden waste. Tim continued playing, though it was hard to concentrate with someone behind him, snooping around.

“How long have you been in here?” asked the officer as he came back out. Now his voice was definitely angry – maybe even scared.

“Maybe a quarter of an hour – not even that.”

“Was anyone here when you arrived?”

“No.”

“Did you see anyone close by?”

“He… here?” stammered Tim. “The barn? I… I don’t remember anybody. Not close by. Not here in the yard. There’s nobody here now, I don’t think. Not since…”

“You’re sure of that?” Hawke asked but it did not sound like a question. “And you’ve not been in there?”

“No,” replied Tim, as he looked at the door to the lean-to.

“Did you notice that something’s been dragged across the floor?”

“Ah… no… yes, but I’d work to do so I thought…”

“Come in here and take a look,” Hawke ordered. And it was an order – sharp and harsh – no hint of a request.

“Of course,” said Tim as he rushed through the door.

The head was twisted to the side. Tim hesitated and then crouched down to look at the face. It was swollen but he recognized Lieutenant Hugh Hampton. And then he saw the indentation round the neck made by a wire that still held tight.

Tim stepped back. His breath quickened. He had seen a dead man before but this was different. This was someone he knew – an Army officer. He was a man who had been willing to sit and talk with him – a man Tim had admired, right from the start. Forcing himself to breathe calmly, he took a closer look. The eyes were open and bugged out and the face still bore an expression of shock.

Tim could taste it – the bitter flavor that emerges from the back of your throat when surprised by something hideous. He had tasted it before, when a neighbor’s half blind old cat had been caught under the wheel of a wagon.

“You’re sure there wasn’t another person with you?” asked Hawke behind him. “Another person here?”

“No no no! It was empty! I was just… I was the only one here, unless someone was hiding.”

“So… you were the only one,” the officer said slowly, sounding like that fact had told him something important. He went past Tim and to take another look. He grunted, as if he were drawing conclusions. Standing back up, he walked around the corpse slowly, with one hand at his chin, pinching it as he concentrated. He nodded his head and turned back to look at Tim.

Tim took a step back, stunned. Hawke looked satisfied about something. Like he thinks he’s just identified the murderer, thought Tim, and he wondered whether Hawke would have arrested him on the spot, had it not been for his recent good fortune.

Chapter 2

An opportunity for mischief.

With a violin and bow still in his grip, Tim headed for the tavern. The streets were wet from heavy rains, and sticky brown mud made the going slow. Lightning flickered behind dark clouds above the hills to the west. Another storm was on its way. Ruts left by heavy army wagons would be refilled with water, and the next set of wheels would cut deeper.

The second floor of Arnold’s Tavern held the military headquarters. Lieutenant Hawke had ordered Tim to go tell the colonel, and he had said, “Yes sir” as automatically as any soldier. Tim had almost saluted, before stopping himself, knowing it was not his privilege because he had not yet been sworn in as a soldier. But he was surprised by how it made him feel. Hearing the order reminded him of how much he wanted to be part of the Continental Army – to be part of the team – to be a member of the select club. Well, not that select, he told himself, thinking of some of the privates he had met over the past few days. “Rude and crude,” he mumbled as he came to the door.

“Is the colonel in?” Tim asked the woman who was coming out.

“I don’t know,” she said as she passed by. “Go in and ask yourself, why don’t you?”

“Is the colonel in?” he asked a private, once through the door. The young man carried a thick leather-bound ledger and looked at Tim over the top of small round reading glasses.

“What’s your business here?”

“I’ve a message from Lieutenant Hawke. I must speak to the Colonel directly.”

“Must you?” asked the private, who suspected it had something to do with Tim’s capacity as a performer of sentimental songs and merry melodies.

“Yes.”

“And you have to disturb his supper then?”

“Yes, I do!”

“Well then, you’ll find him up there,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder.

At the top of the stairs and through an open door, Tim could see two officers at a table examining a map. Colonel Jeremiah Olney was in command of the detachment that had remained in Morristown after the rest of the Army had marched out five days earlier. The other officer was Captain Malcolm Poole who stood a head taller than the colonel.

 “Ah, the talented Tim Euston,” said the colonel with a smile. “Come to serenade our supper perhaps? If they ever bring it to us.”

“It’s Lieutenant Hampton, sir,” Tim whispered after he had come through the door. “He’s dead.”

“What?”

“He’s dead, sir. He’s s… strangled.”

“Speak up, boy,” said the colonel, whose attention had returned to the map.

“Lieutenant Hampton’s been strangled!” Tim said, when closer.

“Has he been?” the Colonel said after a pause, as he leaned back in his chair and looked directly into Tim’s eyes.

“How do you know he’s been?” asked Poole as he straightened.

“I… I found him there. No! It was Lieutenant Hawke who found him. But I was there, in the barn. There to practice.” Tim held out his violin and bow as evidence.

“Which barn?” asked Olney.

“It’s just down the street. It’s… it’s empty now, since they’ve been gone. So is the house.”

“Well well,” said the colonel as he stood up, “perhaps we should go take a look.”

“You say Hawke found him?” asked Poole.

“I was there to practice the tune that… and then Lieutenant Hawke came in and asked how it was coming, and… and then he looked around and found it. And then I… I left him there… I mean…”

“You left him there?”

“He’s there now watching over… and… and I came…”

“You posted a guard, did you?” Poole asked with a half-smile.

Tim stammered some more and then gave up. He led them back to the barn at the slow pace set by Olney. Tim imagined this was because Poole was limping on a wounded leg. Most of the men left behind were nursing a wound or recovering from an illness. As well, Olney wanted to look calm and avoid attracting attention. It doesn’t seem right though, thought Tim as he glanced back again to see if they were keeping up.

.   .   .   .   .

“I found him here, practicing on his fiddle,” explained Hawke as the officers hovered over the corpse. “Not more than a quarter of an hour ago. He appears to have been strangled with a fine wire – from a harpsichord or a pianoforte. No bruises that I can see, not in this light. No lump on his head. No bleeding except for where the wire cut into his skin. Whoever did it, did it well. And it can’t have been long ago, either. The body’s warm and the blood’s only starting to dry.”

“Did either of you notice anyone else arrive or leave?” asked Olney. He stood in a studious hunch, tapping his chin with his forefinger and holding his other hand cupped under an elbow.

“Just Tim,” replied Hawke, sounding like he did not want to rule him out as a suspect.

“Tim,” asked Olney as he took a closer look at the body, “be a good fellow and go next door for a candle.”

“Yes sir,” said Tim and he took off in a run, glad to be out of the place. He wondered about Lieutenant Hawke’s tone. It was obvious the man considered him to be the murderer. Or, at least, he strongly suspected him. But why would he want to think that? Tim asked himself as he knocked on the back door and let himself in. A woman was by the fireplace, ironing a shirt.

“I’ll need to borrow a candle. It’s for the colonel.”

“The colonel?” she said as she put the iron down to reheat and hooked the handle onto another. “And will the colonel be giving it back when he’s finished with it?”

“I’m sure he will. He’ll only need it for a little while, I’d think.”

“And he needs it in the middle of the day?”

“Yes,” said Tim as he reached for the lantern she had taken from the shelf. He opened its small glass door, took out a short candle and went to the fire to light it.

“You’re Tim Euston?” asked the woman.

“Yes, and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“What’s he needing it for?”

“Ah… I… I can’t tell you. Not yet… I don’t think,” he replied as he took down the bellows to blow on the embers and generate a flame.

“Can’t tell me?” she asked with a doubtful tone.

“Maybe later.” He wondered why everyone seemed so suspicious.

“The mistress will be expecting it back,” she said sternly as Tim got the candle burning. He put it back into the lantern, closed it and turned to go.

“Of course. I’ll have it back soon, I’m sure. If I can,” he said and let himself out. “It’ll be up to the colonel though.”

He ran the short distance back into the next-door garden, only stopping to open and close the gate. In the barn, the three men stood over the body. The colonel held out his hand for the lantern. As he crouched down to illuminate Hugh Hampton’s face, the others crowded in.

 “Could have been an enemy spy or a saboteur hiding in a shadow,” sighed Poole after he straightened, took off his hat and scratched his head. He had long blonde hair tied at the back with a ribbon. “Come to snoop around, maybe. And then to take advantage of an opportunity for mischief.”

“It’d be a brave one to come right into town,” said the colonel.

“Unless he was already here,” said Hawke with a glance at Tim.

“Well…” said Poole loudly as he turned to the colonel, “we should assume nothing and suspect everything, shouldn’t we?” He was a big man, looking all the more so when standing next to the ordinary-looking John Hawke. “Had he ordered anyone to be whipped lately?”

“But surely,” said Hawke, looking up, “you don’t believe that…”

“I don’t believe or disbelieve anything,” Poole replied with a smile. “We’ve got to consider all possibilities.”

“Yes, and certainly one possibility is that…”

“We ought to have Doc Wallace take a look at him,” interrupted the colonel. “And I’ll have the major ask around. Can’t do more or less than that, can we? And we’ll be telling others that we presume it to be the work of the enemy and that he died a hero’s death and that he’ll be buried with full honors.”

“Tim,” said Hawke, “let’s have a look at your hands. Come over to the light.”

Tim came forward and held them out, assuming Hawke wanted to look for marks made by a wire. It would have taken quite a yank to make it cut through Hampton’s skin. Even with gloves, it might have left a mark. But all they could see were the thick-skinned hands of a worker. For the past three years Tim had been earning his keep as an apprentice to a carpenter, and had spent most of the time sawing planks and cutting firewood. There was ample evidence of his employment but no telltale indentation that would mark him as the murderer.

“Where’d you hide the gloves, son?” joked the colonel. Tim smiled nervously.

“We’ve a storehouse full of valuable supplies,” said Poole, sounding slightly annoyed. “Highly valuable goods. There’s every reason to suspect enemy saboteurs creeping around in the night. He’s not likely to be the last to suffer a mishap. These are dangerous times and we’ll have to keep on the watch, won’t we?”

This story is set in Morristown, New Jersey, in June of 1777, three years into the eight-year War for Independence. George Washington had chosen this town for his winter headquarters. It had two streets, sixty buildings and 250 inhabitants. Surrounding it were hills and creeks that served as natural defenses. Most of the inhabitants of Morris County supported the revolutionary struggle. The Central Division of the American Army (called the Continental Army) had arrived in early January after victories at Trenton and Princeton. They had forced the British back into a small region around the mouth of the Raritan River, across from Staten Island and less than a day’s walk south of Morristown.

   On May 28, Washington moved fifteen miles southwest to the Middlebrook Heights in the Watchung Mountains, the furthest easterly range of wooded hills. Only seven miles away, the British presence in New Jersey had been growing, with thousands of red-coated regulars arriving by boat from New York. They had more men, more equipment and, just as important, they had the extensive training needed for eighteenth-century tactics. The revolutionary forces, who called themselves “patriots” or “whigs”, posed a serious threat but not in a great battle upon an open plain where soldiers could be kept in strict formation. In the hills and forests, however, the rebels had the advantage, being more accustomed to small engagements and rough terrain. In New Jersey, they could keep the British surrounded, disrupted and frustrated.

America’s capital was Philadelphia, to the south, and in Europe the capture of a nation’s capital was often followed by a surrender. Washington suspected this was a likely target for British Major General William Howe (Sir Billy). But if the redcoat army passed through central New Jersey in a long line along the narrow post road, rebel forces could attack again and again, killing men and capturing equipment. This threat would have to be eliminated.

Chapter 3

A humiliation.

The wind was up and rain was spitting out of black clouds by the time the officers made it back to Arnold’s Tavern. Olney and Poole were still hungry enough to want their supper but Hawke made his apologies and went back to his room in a house close by. Once inside, he walked slowly up the stairs and after some hesitation he pushed the door open, cringing as the hinges squeaked. He stood still for a moment, looking around the room he had shared with Hugh Hampton. It felt strange to see the man’s empty bed.

He sat on a chair by a small table. There was an unfinished letter he had to work on but he just sat there, listening to the wind rattle a loose windowpane. A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. “Yes?” he snapped. The door opened and the young private with small round glasses came through, still carrying the ledger.

“I’ve heard the news, sir,” he said quietly as he closed the door and sat on the end of the nearer of two narrow beds. Private John Passey was a pale and severely pockmarked company clerk who earned extra money by serving as Hawke’s batman. Most officers felt they needed a batman to do the tasks not fitting for a gentleman, like brushing coats, removing stains and polishing anything made of metal. But this time Passey had come because he felt the lieutenant might need a good listener, in case he was feeling the death of Hampton as a personal loss. He closed the door to ensure no one would overhear. Officers and enlisted men were not allowed to fraternize. Friendship always led to preferential treatment. Military decisions had to be based on military priorities. “’Tis a pity,” said Passey quietly, as he shook his head.

“Well,” said Hawke with a shrug, “you live by the sword, you die by the sword.”

“Would that he had died by the sword.”

“Yes.”

“I fear,” said Passey after a silence, “that unless we identify a guilty party… that many will live in fear of a murderer in our midst.”

“And some will live under a suspicion of guilt. You’re just back from your mother’s?”

“Just now, yes. She’s doing well enough for an old woman. Getting better. She asked about you. She always does.”

“If you’ve just arrived back then you’ve not heard the half of it.”

“No… well…” stammered Passey as he leaned forward. “I’ve overheard the others talking about Lieutenant Hampton.”

“That would not be close to half. What’s of greater concern is what began five days ago – just before you’d left – on the day that the general rode out – before the dust had yet settled. He had taken most of his forces south to be closer to the enemy. But… who could have suspected that on the very same day the enemy might have arrived in disguise.”

“In disguise?”

“Oh, I’m… I’m only guessing,” said Hawke as he looked away. “But it all deserves a closer look, at the very least. We can’t be too careful, can we?”

“Indeed no. Ever alert.”

“But on the day that they were all packing and leaving – everyone busy, loading this and strapping down that. On that very day, a patrol brought in a few refugees – simple folk who’d come across from New York, looking for work. Or so you’d guess they were, had they not been under guard and had not the boys come with sacks over their heads and hands bound.”

“Boys and girls?” asked Passey.

“Women and men. There was a mother and daughter. Household servants, they claim. The girl’s fifteen. Her brother, who calls himself Tim Euston, is two years older. And there was another boy, a bit older still. I’m told the one’s a woodcutter and the other’s a sailor. Or so they claim. They’d been found close by the Hudson River, just up from the city. And the day before, two British deserters had been found at the same spot and had told of how the others would follow. And all four of the boys claimed they were wanting to join the Army and fight for liberty – for the cause, they said. Nothing to raise suspicions there. We’re fairly flooded with volunteers and that includes a good many deserting redcoats. But what made these ones stand out was what the two deserters claimed they had hidden away, somewhere along the river. Three crates, it was, and they said they had been seized – not stolen – from a storehouse – in a British garrison. Three crates and each turned out to contain cartridge boxes – good ones – highly valuable munitions.”

“They’d stolen them?”

“Stolen. Seized,” shrugged Hawke. “They say it was a seizure because it had not been their intention at the time to profit from it. They say they did it simply to further the cause of liberty – to defend their nation’s independence. The two deserters say they worked in the storehouse where they’d been kept.”

“Ah, an inside job,” said Passey. “Yes yes, that would have made it a good deal easier.”

“But they don’t just let them walk off with them, do they?”

“No, I wouldn’t think so. Right off a redcoat garrison, you say? Quite an accomplishment.”

“Quite an accomplishment indeed!” said Hawke as he pounded his fist it on the table. “Almost unbelievable, is what it is! But they had the goods, and we needed them. So at some point, they must have had a change of mind about stealing for profit because they demanded payment. One of our people dickered over the price and agreed to the sum of four hundred dollars for each of the four boys.”

“Four hundred! For each? My goodness! To go to boys?”

“It’s what good cartridge boxes are worth these days. And it’s a small fortune in their eyes, I’m sure. I’d doubt that any one of them has ever earned a dollar for a full day’s work, no matter how long and how hard they labored.”

They’re talking about the Continental dollar, first issued in the summer of 1775 by the Continental Congress, an assembly of representatives from each of the thirteen colonies. In January of 1776 Congress declared that “whoever should refuse to receive in payment Continental bills, should be declared and treated as an enemy of his country...” But with no taxing authority, Congress could not back the value of its dollar. By the spring of 1777 the ‘Continental’ was trading for half its original value, and its worth would drop to almost nothing before the end of the war.

“And what will the boys spend it all on?” asked Passey with a smile.

“Never mind that!” fumed Hawke. “What I’d like to know is how they managed to steal goods of such value from a British military base – even with two of them at work in the storehouse! If it was that easy, the royal redcoats would have lost all their munitions long ago. There’s never a lack for thieves in any army, is there?”

“No no no, there’s not. ‘Tis a highly doubtful story.”

“You are right there, boy. And what’s more, they brought along an infantry officer that they claimed to have captured – a lieutenant in the 44th. He was carried over with a broken leg and a bump on his head. They say he had met with an accident, a fall from a fast moving wagon.”

“An accident?”

“So they say. But what I cannot help but wonder is this. Was there ever any ‘seizure’ and ‘capture’ at all? What I wonder is whether Tim Euston and his friend are tory recruits sent over to spy on us. Maybe these so-called deserters and this story of a ‘seizure’ is just to lull us into accepting them as honest patriots, when in fact they are dangerous spies.”

“But why so preposterous a story then?”

“Well, it makes perfect sense once you think about it. Would you expect a spy to actually try to draw attention to himself? No, you’d expect a spy to try to remain inconspicuous, wouldn’t you? And it’s the same with the high price they demanded. The goods we brought were worth at least that much. Had they been offered as a gift or at a low price then we might start to wonder why. But as is, they don’t look very much like spies at all, do they? They’re highly credible, in the eyes of some.”

“Who?”

“Ah yes. Who indeed? And that leads us to the next part of the story – to the entertaining part – the incredible part!”

“What?” asked Passey as he took off his glasses and leaned forward.

“Just the day before yesterday, there was a small event put on for the colonel’s wife. It was her birthday, and he hired two of the newcomers to entertain them. One of them was the boy who was there when I found Hampton’s body. Tim Euston is his name. It was him and his little sister. They’ve been performing before the ranks every evening, along with the others. And, in the bloom of their youth, they’re both as lovely to gaze upon as they are to listen to. Both play fiddles and, I must say they are well trained in the art – very well indeed. And sing like a pair of turtledoves, they do – love ballads, patriotic anthems – all sung in the sweetest of harmony. And last Saturday night they had the room captivated and… well, I’m sure you could imagine it. Every second woman fell in love with Tim Euston, no doubt. He’s supposedly a woodcutter and she a house servant but they sang and played like the well tutored brats of a wealthy man.”

“But how did they come by these abilities?”

“Their explanation,” said Hawke as he shook his head, “is that they’ve only recently fallen upon hard times and have only had to work for a living for the past three years. They say they’re the bastard children of a once prosperous Boston merchant, and they claim that since they’d come south, they’ve worked for families who liked to hear them play – so much so that they’d allowed them time to learn new tunes. They claim their employers had even paid someone to teach them. Another highly doubtful story, I’d say. But still it was believable for some – the women, of course.”

“Ah yes yes yes, always ready to lose their hearts to a fair faced fiddler.”

“And some of those women are the wives of officers. And that,” whispered Hawke, “includes the wife of the colonel.”

“Colonel Olney?”

“And if charming Tim Euston and his lovely young sister are now to be the entertainers of choice in Morristown and beyond, then what do you suppose that will lead to? Access, is what! They’ll both have access to those most willing to sit and ‘chat’. To women – to the wives of officers – to the women who get to listen to their husbands’ conversations. And as we well know, there’s many a battle that’s been won with the help of information carelessly leaked by an officer’s wife.”

“Oh indeed yes yes, there has been,” agreed Passey with a smile.

“It doesn’t take much, does it? Just talking about having to pack your husband’s bags is often enough. It tells when an army is ready to move, doesn’t it? And that will allow the enemy time to prepare.”

“Of course it does.”

“And that, I fear,” sighed Hawke with a look of deep frustration, “is not the worst of it.”

“What?”

“The charms of Tim Euston have worked their magic upon more than just women. He has captured the trust of no less a man than our own Captain Poole.”

“What?” asked Passey after a pause.

“Malcolm Poole – the battle-scarred hero – the fearsome raider. The man you and I serve under. He, of all people, has fallen under Tim Euston’s spell. And he has named the boy as his choice for ensign.”

“No!”

“Yea, indeed,” said Hawke as he shook his head. “The position will be filled by this… this stranger – this boy! And when so many gentlemen volunteers are here and waiting for just such a posting! Men with knowledge and ability – men from good families. Good New Jersey men! Men who have freely given their time. Men whose honesty is beyond reproach! And… and the fool goes and picks a boy of seventeen years with no military experience – from no military family! And he was born and raised in Boston!”

“Boston? Why… but… can he really…”

“Oh yes he can, yes he can. In the ‘additional’ regiments the captains are to have the right to choose their own lieutenants and ensigns. That way they’ll have no one to blame but themselves if the choice turns out to be a poor one. And, as well, it will spare the generals the burden of having to listen to fathers and mothers all a-lobbying for their own pride and joy. ‘It’s up to the captain,’ they’ll be able to say. The additional regiment here is still being formed up. I’m not really a lieutenant, yet, and Poole’s not a captain. All our appointments are tentative. And our colonel lays in what might be his deathbed. We’re just temporarily in Olney’s hands and...”

“But still,” interrupted Passey as he held his hand to his forehead, “how could Poole think that…”

“Ah yes, how could he? And here the tale grows yet more strange and mysterious. Tim Euston, along with his friend the sailor, have claimed that they simply got themselves an officer’s manual, and set to work on it and eventually half-memorized it.”

“Did they really?”

“And they say they’d found an old soldier, and by cutting firewood they paid him to help them learn the drills and duties. And they claim their employers were secret rebel sympathizers who allowed them time off their work to study and practice.”

“Oh, this is too much!”

“And it doesn’t end there!” said Hawke as he shook his head. “Earlier on that same day – and I saw this myself – young Tim Euston just happened to be listening in on a conversation that our Captain Poole was having over in the tavern. And the boy must have listened with great care, for that night – last Saturday night – after his stirring performance, the drunken Malcolm Poole invited Tim Euston to sit and have a drink. Our captain poured the boy a glass and asked him about himself. He’d been told of the boy’s military knowledge and he asked a few questions to test him. And the boy answered the questions accurately. But then, when the questions got difficult – when it came to matters of judgment… well! If he didn’t hear young Tim Euston a-parroting the same words he himself had said earlier in the day.”

“He remembered what Poole had said and gave it all back to him?”

“That he did.”

“And Poole thought,” asked Passey with a smile, “that the boy had come up with the same opinions entirely on his own?”

“Yes, indeed he did! It was obvious! It was unbelievable! And the boy was even able to defend them – at length. He is nothing if not impressive. I was impressed myself!”

“Ah, but not fooled. Well well, a clever boy he is, yes yes yes. But still, how could a man like Malcolm Poole be so easily fooled? Is it possible that the colonel had already made some inquiries into the boy’s background and…”

“He has, to an extent,” sighed Hawke. “There is this spy of ours who sneaks about the enemy’s territory over in New York. Or at least he used to. He’s gotten himself too well known to risk going back again. But while he was still at it, he got to know Tim well enough to trust him. But that should hardly be sufficient, should it?”

“No, of course not.”

“All this… this spying! It’s nothing but lies and deceit stacked on top of deceit and lies! How can any of these ‘spies’ be trusted when deception is their stock in trade?”

“Indeed, how can they?”

“And what are we left with then?” asked Hawke as he raised his hands, as if in a plea to God for understanding. “We have a drunken captain – with power to select his own ensign. A man who is amazed by the apparent wisdom of… of the new face in town. And then… then, and apparently on pure impulse, our captain raises his glass and announces his decision. Tim Euston – the new ensign! Ensign Euston! Well, then you should have seen clever Tim Euston’s reaction. He showed a very brief look of amazement, just in his eyes. But then he simply nodded his head, as if he thought of it as the sound decision of a sensible man. And there you have it! The captain has publicly made his decision – right there as women squeal with delight! And how can he go back on it now?”

“Yes yes yes, how can he? He’d look rather… indecisive, wouldn’t he? Foolish even!”

“Foolish, indeed!” said Hawke as he threw up a hand. “Our Captain Poole has all but staked his reputation on this… decision. And just you watch! He’ll cling to it! He’ll cling to his selection no matter what is said. For if he changes his mind now, after so public a display, he’ll look like an impulsive, indecisive fool. And what can I or anyone do about it now? If I try to talk some sense in him, I’ll only offend him! Wouldn’t I?”

“Yes yes, you’d push his back up against a wall.”

“And even if the colonel were to sit him down and explain it to him. Well, for him to back down now, it would… it would be…”

“A humiliation indeed,” said Passey, with a nod.

“Of course! It couldn’t help but be deeply humiliating.”

“So, you’ve said nothing to Poole?”

“I’ve only spoken about it to you,” said Hawke quietly. “And I hope you’ll not pass any of this along.”

“No no no, I’d like to think I’ve a tongue that I can keep control of. And maybe you shouldn’t talk about this to anyone else. People can repeat things without intending to.”

“Indeed, yes.”

“Unless, of course, Colonel Olney asks you directly what you think of it all, and then you would be obliged to offer your assessment.”

“Yes,” said Hawke slowly, sounding like he was thinking. “And I could steer a conversation in that direction, couldn’t I? I could ask how it was that Tim and his friends managed to ‘seize’ the goods. And I could say it without suggesting that I doubted their story. Surely he would come up with his own doubts were I to ask the right questions.”

“Yes yes yes, you could do that,” agreed Passey with a grin. “A question here and a comment there? That’s how you’ll get the task done – the task done and the boy done for.”

At this time there were no military colleges for the infantry – not even in England. In the British Army, the training of an officer usually started with a long term as a cadet. In the rebellious colonies, it was hoped that the study of military manuals and drilling by local militias could make up for the lack of a professional army.

In the Continental Army an infantry company had one captain, a first and second lieutenant, one ensign, four sergeants and four corporals. Each sergeant commanded a squad that, at full strength, had nineteen privates. The ensign was the lowest level of commissioned officer but he still outranked a sergeant. He was called ensign because he carried the flag into battle, making him a tempting target. A regiment commanded by a colonel could include as many as eight companies. Casualties, disease and a lack of recruits often kept regiments well below full strength so, once fighting started, they were reorganized into brigades, battalions and platoons.

Five months before, on December 27, 1776, the Continental Congress, meeting in Philadelphia, had authorized George Washington to form sixteen additional regiments. Unlike existing regiments the state governments would have no say in the selection of officers. Many felt the states had been commissioning infantry officers for political reasons and without adequate regard to their knowledge and leadership skills. Though Washington would make the final decision, the captains in these additional regiments were given responsibility for selecting their own lieutenants and ensigns.

Tim’s being only seventeen was not completely out of line. In 1775 American General Israel Shreve chose his fifteen-year-old son, John. American General Charles Lee received his ensign’s commission in the British Army only three months after his fourteenth birthday. Israel Trask, son of a lieutenant, was the Continental Army’s youngest soldier, when he volunteered to be a cook’s helper and a messenger at the age of ten.

Chapter 4

Excessive bad fortune.

Still needing to practice, Tim took his violin to another small barn. This one was behind the house where he had been invited to stay until he was in the Army and off on the summer’s campaign. As he walked through its wide door, the late afternoon sun was shining through the narrow vertical chinks between the rough planks that covered the outer walls. Its intense rays highlighted bits of dirty straw scattered across the floor. And hopefully I won’t find another body in here, he thought, as he went to the far corner. He needed to be alone for a while but he knew it would not be for long. It was almost time for his sister to milk the cows. They were not back from pasture yet, but likely he would soon hear the gentle clanging of cowbells as the town’s cowboys drove them in. A number of households kept cattle. The job of watching over them while they grazed used to go to a boy, but with war the task had gone to three soldiers who each carried a rifle.

Tim went to work, playing the melody over and over and trying out different combinations of notes.

“It’s coming along,” said a voice right behind him, making him jump.

“Sadie! Did you have to do that?” said Tim with the tone of somebody at his wit’s end. His little sister stood where one of the narrow beams of light shone across the side of her face, giving her a sinister look.

“I came to practice with you,” she said, holding up her violin. She was not as advanced as Tim, so when they performed, she would play a simpler melody in harmony with his.

“Well… you shouldn’t sneak up like that. It’s not…”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“You haven’t heard the news?” asked Tim.

“That Granny Stubbs’ big goose has gone missing. I have, and she’s fit to be tied. Went straight to the colonel, she did.”

“There’s maybe that too… but there’s been a killing. A murder. And I was there where it happened – when Lieutenant Hawke came and found the body. And then...”

“A murder?”

“It was Hugh Hampton.”

“And he was murdered?”

“He was strangled to death!”

“And you were there?”

“Not when he was murdered! After, when Hawke found the body. It was just two doors over from here, in the cowshed. He was murdered – strangled. It was Lieutenant Hugh Hampton.”

“Who’s he?”

“You would have seen him on Saturday night. He wasn’t saying much.”

“Now even less,” joked Sadie.

“I was there to practice,” said Tim, ignoring her comment. “I thought it’d be nice and quiet because nobody’s there any more, not since they’ve all marched out. And then Hawke came to see what I’d gone in there for and then he found him, in the lean-to, strangled to death and… and now Hawke is acting like he thinks that I’m likely the killer.”

“He isn’t right, I hope.”

“How… how can you … don’t talk that way! A man is dead! And Hawke acts like he thinks I’m probably the killer! He… he didn’t say so but he acted like he thought so.”

“Watch out, Sadie!” hissed a young man’s voice from the door. “It’s Tim Euston you stand before. The crazed killer! There before you, and ready to kill again, no doubt!”

“Dan! Will you… you don’t…” stammered Tim.

“Now don’t worry yourself, boy,” said Dan Eliot as he came over to give him a pat on the shoulder. “We’ll believe that it wasn’t you. At least we’ll claim that we do.” Dan was the sailor who had come with them five days before. He had shared in the proceeds of the goods seized from the British garrison.

“It isn’t something to joke about,” said Tim who was now red-faced and sweating.

“It’s only Lieutenant Hawke that figures you for a killer,” said Dan. “And Captain Poole defended you like you were his own son. At least that’s the word that’s going around.” Dan was still grinning as he said this, and with his pudgy cheeks his grin could be particularly annoying. The rest of him had more muscle than fat. His curly blonde hair always looked unkept, even when he had it combed out and tied at the back. But it all fitted together and his eyes were so lively that some women thought him to be quite good looking.

“How do you know all this?” asked Tim.

“The colonel’s cook heard it all, over at Arnold’s Tavern. She was here just now, with some shortbread to sell. And while she waited for the mistress she was telling it all to your mother. And I was there to hear.”

“Well! Bad news travels fast,” grumbled Tim. Both he and Dan had been invited to stay in the house where his sister and mother had been hired as household servants. Most households had at least one or two servants, unless there were daughters or unattached female relatives. This house was headed by a good-natured old merchant and shopkeeper who had been highly impressed by the story of the seizure of military equipment and the capture of an enemy officer. He had welcomed them all into his home but then had to leave town to do some buying and selling. He was not expected back for another day.

“No, I believe that it’s good news that travels fast,” said Dan. “Though I suppose it’ll be good news for the man who gets to be ensign after you’re no longer in the running.”

Tim sat down on a small cask. “Did she tell you what Colonel Olney is saying?”

“Nope. Just that Poole figured Hawke was jumping to conclusions. I guess the colonel is keeping an open mind. Or at least he’s not saying what he’s thinking. Not until he talks to his wife about it, maybe. That’s what the cook said. She says he never scratches his backside without talking it over with her. And she figures he won’t hang you until after you’ve finished learning “In Love Should There Meet a Fond Pair” and singing it for his wife until she’s tired of hearing it.”

“This could ruin everything for me!” said Tim as he threw his arms up in despair.

“Why should it?” asked Sadie.

“What if they don’t find the killer? All this could stay hanging over my head for… who knows how long! People will keep on talking. And they’ve already started! Captain Poole might… well… he might come and take me aside and tell me that he still wants me for ensign but that he’ll have to choose somebody else in the meantime until things settle. And then that’ll be it! Won’t it be? I’ll bear the mark. Even if somebody else hangs for it, I’ll still be thought of as the one that everybody had reason to wonder about.”

“Yea indeed,” sighed Dan, “you’re probably right. And there’ll be a lot of talk about it too, won’t there be? The whole town – the whole state! You’re figured for the killer of a lieutenant and nobody can understand why Poole chose you in the first place either. Can they? He had better men to choose from, right here in town – good gentlemen volunteers who’ve been waiting and hoping for just such a position to open up. One fellow told me that some are saying that his choosing of you is a disrespect upon the memory of the man who was ensign before you. The cook says he died of a fever a few days before we came. And a lot of people knew him too, and they’re still grieving. His father owns a lot of land and...”

“Owns a lot of land?” asked Tim. “And why should that matter?”

“Maybe it shouldn’t,” shrugged Dan, “but it does. And what about the friends and relatives of all the gentlemen volunteers who were passed over in favor of you? They’ll all be looking for things to say against you, won’t they be? It’s only human nature. And they say that this sort of thing – all this squabbling and second-guessing – that it goes on almost every time there’s a promotion. There’ll always be hard feelings.”

“And often,” said Sadie with a nod, “their mothers will take it even harder.”

“So,” said Dan as he put his hand on Tim’s shoulder, “I suppose that you’re going to have to show them that you truly deserved it and that you had it coming. Show them that you’re the material that good officers are made from. Though,” he said as he took his hand back and turned away, “I can’t even guess at how you’ll manage to do that. The whole situation seems completely hopeless, doesn’t it?”

“No no, they could still find the real killer,” said Sadie, wanting to reassure Tim who was leaning against a post and looking nothing like the sort of material that made for a good officer.

“Find the killer?” asked Dan shaking his head and pretending to be very sad. “I don’t imagine that’ll happen. It was probably an enemy saboteur who found his opportunity to make mischief, and is now far away. Or maybe it was a coward who had kept himself in hiding when the rest of our brave men marched out to meet the enemy, and now he’s run away as far as he can get. And it doesn’t have to be anybody with a clear motive either, does it? Battle can make lunatics out of ordinary men, they say. Some poor lunatic might have killed him and then run off to drown himself in a pond somewhere. They might never find the real killer. This might hang over you for all the rest of your days.”

“Oh! Don’t talk that way!” scolded Sadie as she put a reassuring hand around Tim’s arm.

“How long ago did it happen?” asked Dan.

“The killing?” said Tim. “Oh, about… two hours ago… maybe three. Lieutenant Hawke said the blood was not yet starting to dry. He’d been strangled with a thin wire and it’d cut right into his neck. The killer had wound the wire round itself to hold it in place, and the face was all swollen.”

“It was in the empty barn two houses over?” asked Dan. “The Black barn?”

“Black?”

“The cook says it belongs to a man named Jeffery Black. You know, it was about two hours ago that I saw a woman going around the side of that same barn. I’d been on the pathway below the orchard and she was in the garden going round the corner.”

“Who was it?” asked Tim as his eyes lit up with hope.

“I don’t know. I only saw the backside of her. White cap, apron, brown skirt. Young I think, by the way she walked.”

“It’s probably nothing,” said Tim who was back to feeling hopeless. “The body was well inside the barn too, in a lean-to shed. Even if she’d gone in, looking for somebody, she’d still not have seen anything. And, the strangling of a man. It isn’t the sort of thing a woman would do, anyways, is it?”

“And what,” asked Sadie, “is the sort of thing a woman would do?”

“Poison her husband,” joked Dan. “You might have to do it yourself, someday. They can get tedious, I’m told.”

“But you should go tell Captain Poole anyways,” said Tim. “He’s acting like he’s looking for reasons to defend me. Or at least he was.”

“You went straight to Poole?” asked Dan.

“No, I went to the colonel. That’s what Hawke told me to do. Poole was there with him. They were looking at a map, over at the tavern. Poole came along, and it’s a good thing he did too because Hawke would have had the colonel all to himself, filling him full of ideas.”

“Why does Hawke hate you so much?” asked Sadie.

“I don’t know! Maybe he was hoping for somebody else to be the new ensign. If there’s so many gentleman volunteers fuming mad, then it’ll be half the state that’s looking for excuses to accuse me.”

“Good thing it’s a small state,” joked Dan.

“And this sort of opportunity won’t come again,” muttered Tim as he looked away.

“No,” sighed Dan, “it’s not often you catch so strong a man in such a moment of weakness. They’re saying Poole would never have done it if he’d not been drunk on wine. They say that when you sang ‘Barbara Allan’, he wiped a tear from his eye.”

“There were a fair few who were wiping tears from their eyes,” said Sadie.

“But they were women,” said Dan.

“No! You should have seen them all,” she said as she gave Tim’s arm a squeeze. “We’re a nation at war, and we all know men who’ve fallen, and we’re all on the brink of tears. The men had the same looks on their faces as the women. I was practically bawling myself and I’ve heard him sing it a hundred times.”

“Poole still made a good choice,” insisted Tim, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself. “He heard what I had to say about training and he’d heard before about how you and me have been studying the manuals, and joining in with the militia on train day. And about how we’d been paying an old soldier to help us do the drills and get it all straight in our heads. He was very impressed by our initiative! He said so! He said it’s a rare boy who does so much all on his own. He said he’d never heard of such a thing in one so young. Not ever!”

“But you still don’t measure up to some of the others,” explained Dan.

“Well, I’ll show them!” muttered Tim as he pulled his arm out of his sister’s hands. “I’ll likely be promoted on the battlefield too, just like Poole has been. He’s made it to captain on the strength of his courage and leadership out in the field, just over the past few months, going out on raids. He’s a true hero.”

“Sure, but he’s seven years older than you,” said Dan. “And he’s been with the Continentals since right from the start and he was training in the militia before that. Since he was sixteen. They say he’s been a soldier since he first saluted his mama for a good birthing. You might get a promotion but it’ll likely not be for years. You’re too young and you don’t have any friends in high places, do you?”

“It is so unfair,” teased Sadie, pretended to be very sad. “You’ll always be the ensign who got promoted by mistake.”

“Yea, Tim my friend,” said Dan, “and the war will be over and done with before you’ll ever get a chance to prove yourself.”

“No!” said Tim as he started pacing the floor. “Some say the war could drag on for years. It could go on like it has been through this past winter, with a skirmish here and an ambush there. Partisan warfare, it’s called. And too, they say it might be settled out at sea without any great battles on land at all. The English merchants will grow weary of losing their ships to our privateers, and they’ll get tired of paying high taxes to support so big an Army as they’ve got over here. And if there are land battles – and there’s sure to be something – some sort of battle – especially around here, then one of the lieutenants above me could be shot and I’d have to be promoted to replace him. Officers are always getting shot.”

“Good thing you’re slim,” said Dan, “for the snipers might opt for an easier target.”

“Oh Dan!” scolded Sadie. “Don’t talk that way!”

“What?” he said in mock defense. “I’m looking at the bright side. And Tim will be a better prospect than many because he’ll keep on memorizing the manuals. And too, because he’ll be demonstrating maturity beyond his years, and because he’ll be maintaining a reputation for reliability and honesty. Well, except for the occasional cold blooded murder of an officer.”

“And that will outweigh all else, won’t it?” said Tim, sounding like he was getting angry. “What I’m going to have to do is to find out who the killer is. Myself, if nobody else does.”

“Will you?” asked Sadie, sounding doubtful.

“I will!”

“But you know what they say,” said Sadie as she shook her head. “The primary suspect is never in a good position to investigate the crime.”

“Who says that?”

“It was in a book. But me and Dan could help you investigate. It sounds like Dan’s already been hot on the murder’s trail, what with all his gossiping with the colonel’s cook.”

“Yea, ‘tis true,” nodded Dan, “but so far I’ve only found out how hopeless the situation is. Poor Tim’s got half the town against him for getting a rank that he never deserved. And if he’d just have volunteered for private, then he’d still be the hero who seized valuable military equipment right off a British garrison. But now, instead, he’s the upstart who stole the rank of ensign by making a fool out of a drunken captain. It might be that Tim’s excessive good fortune is going to turn out to be his bad fortune.”

Chapter 5

She wasn’t naked, was she?

“Not like that!” snapped Malcolm Poole “Keep it up! Come on! Sharp and quick!” It was the next morning and Tim and the captain were out in a pasture, beyond the barn. Poole squinted in the early morning sun while trying to teach Tim the correct way to handle a musket. “If you’re hoping your men will do the drills like they’re supposed to do them, then you’re going to have to be able to do them better than any of them! That makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, of course,” said Tim quickly and quietly as he nodded his head. He was wondering why Poole sounded so angry – whether it was just his way of making sure he was listened to, or whether he might have other things on his mind.

“You try to get by on shouting orders and not by leading by example, then… then you’ll end up the sort of officer who passes his retirement grumbling about the abysmal quality of the men he’d been forced to work with. And all will know it to be nothing more than an admission of your own failure. Won’t it be?”

“Indeed yes, I’m sure,” said Tim, though it was something he had never really thought about.

“You’ve got to lead by example. In every way you’ve got to – and especially on this side of the sea. You go ask any of the officers who’ve had experience in Europe. They’ll tell you that, back in the old country, an officer can give an order and expect it to be slavishly obeyed. But here, it’s different. Here you explain why you want it done and only then do you give the order. And that way, you’ll have yourself a better chance of seeing it obeyed. It’s a frustration for an officer who just wants something done quick but still it’s something we ought to be proud of. And why? Because we’re leading men who have risen up against those who would make slaves of us all.”

“Indeed we are.”

“Now it’s not all of our men that I’m talking about – and certainly not those fresh off the boat. But a lot of those that we lead are true rebels – in the best sense of the word they are – rebels against injustice – rebels against tyranny! Just like you and me! They’ve the spirit of defiance in them, so we can’t go expecting them to behave like slaves, can we?”

“No, of course not,” said Tim as he nodded his head. He was agreeing with everything Poole said, without giving it any thought. The man was practically shouting.

“And another thing,” said Poole, now quieter but no less angry, “another thing that you’ll either learn the easy way or the hard way. It’s that you’d better make sure that every item, like a cartridge or a flint, is handed back after training. Sure, most of our men are as honest as you or I. But mixed in with them are… well… there’s those who’ve joined because it’s the only work they could find. It was easy enough to get good men back in ’75 but now that we’re fighting for a complete separation, we’re likely looking at a long war. And that means we’re having to take what we can get. Doesn’t it?”

“Yes, I’m sure of that,” said Tim, though he was surprised to hear Poole say such a thing.

“Sometimes they’re the sort who lost his last job after his master noticed things starting to disappear. Our recruiters are supposed to be inquiring into his reputation but they can’t always find things out, can they? A lot are newcomers and the last man to employ him is far across the sea. Or his last employer is wanting to help the boy keep his sordid little secret because he’s wanting him to get another chance, once he’s learned his lesson. Or maybe he’s keeping the secret because he just wants the boy out of town.”

“I suppose so.”

“And sometimes the boy’s learned his lesson and sometimes he hasn’t. We’re forced to take the good with the bad.”

“I suppose we are.”

“So that means we’ve got to be on our guard, constantly. You’ve got to assume there’s at least one pilferer in every platoon, for otherwise you might end up creating one. There’s no black and white difference between an honest man and a dishonest man, is there? Just like they run from tall to short, they’ll run from honest to dishonest. And they’ll sometimes hang upon the brink of criminality and they’ll only steal when they think they’ve got themselves some sort of an excuse. If something’s not under lock and key then there’s some who will start telling himself that you’re obviously not too concerned about losing it. And that’ll be his justification.”

“I’ve seen it happen,” said Tim. “He’ll think it’s not so much of a crime in taking it when it doesn’t look very much wanted.” Tim meant this, but he was still surprised to have heard such things from a captain. He had not expected these sorts of crimes from the soldiers of so noble an institution as the Army of a nation founded on such principles as freedom and justice.

“Every criminal wants to find himself half a justification for his crime,” explained Poole. “You leave a musket in his care for longer than he truly needs it, and he’ll start to think that it ought to be his just reward for being willing to risk his life in battle. What some men will try to convince themselves – it’s nothing short of bizarre. And it’s not just for stealing either. If some servant girl gives him a smile or two and laughs at his jokes, then there are some who will start to tell himself that she’s probably willing to lie with him. And then when she refuses his advances he’ll tell himself he’s been deceived and wronged, and then he’ll tell himself she deserves the treatment she gets. And that sort of foolery is all the worse when a man is tired and hungry. And come fighting season that’ll be often enough, won’t it be?”

“I’m sure it will be,” said Tim, though he now wondered whether Poole was exaggerating – testing him to see how much he was willing to believe.

“As an officer, it’ll be your job to be on constant guard for that sort of deviant thinking, for the miscreants don’t come up to you and tell you their dark and dirty thoughts. No they do not, and until they’re caught and clapped in chains, they’ll often seem like any other soldier. An officer spends a good part of his time doing the work of constable and church elder, and you’d better like the task too, for otherwise you’ll grow to hate it.”

“Don’t you worry, sir,” said Tim with a forced smile. “I’ve not been imagining it’ll be easy. I’m ready for the dirty work, I am. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ll make you proud! For sure I will!”

“You’d better,” said Poole as he looked away, sounding like he was either slightly relieved or was giving up hope. “Now let’s get to work on the oblique step. It’s important. Every element is important! And more important than you might think! When we were in battle last fall, and when we saw a line of redcoats moving themselves into position and going through their moves so crisp, so automatic – and in the face of our rifle fire. It had its effect on us, I can tell you. A man ought to be cowering in fear when he hears the balls a-whistling past. But those red-coated devils stood up straight and tall and obeyed their every command – like they feared nothing. They showed us what the drilling is done for, they did. And soldiers need a lot of it! They’ve got to be fully accustomed to acting as a group – as a team – at the call of their officer. And that’ll be what’ll keep them all together as a unit when they’re most in need of each other – to give each other courage – to give each other strength. And it’s magical how it happens – men together following the will of the leader they’ve all placed their faith in. But they need the drill to learn how to act together and how to follow that leader, and they need an officer who’s as brave as any of them – a man who holds himself firm and resolute! Don’t they?”

“Indeed, yes they would,” said Tim with a nod. But again he wondered why the captain sounded so angry.

Poole then seemed to tire of talking and moved on to a lesson on the use of a bayonet. After a long hot hour of repetitive thrusting and slashing with a wooden replica, Tim was dripping with sweat and down to the last of his physical and mental stamina. He almost groaned with relief when the captain finally said it was time for a break. They went back to the barn to sit in the shade and have something to drink. A bench with a high back had been brought out for the summer, along with two chairs.

“Has the colonel heard any more about who might have killed Lieutenant Hampton?” asked Tim as he sat. He had just come back from the kitchen with a jug of raspberry vinegar. His mother had mixed it up for them earlier, before she and Sadie had left for the neighbors’. Four women and three girls were there, doing the laundry. There was a big iron cauldron over an open fire, behind the house. It would be a long hot day of dipping, scrubbing, wringing, drying and ironing. Working at it together would make it slightly less unpleasant.

“No,” sighed Poole as he looked away. “Not that he’s told me about. Surely, he just happened upon an enemy saboteur who was just as willing to be an enemy assassin. That’s the only explanation that makes any sense. I can’t think of anybody, here in Morristown, who’d have wanted him dead. He wasn’t the easiest man to work with but that’s no reason to kill him, is it?”

“Well, I’d no reason to kill him either but there are those who suspect me.”

“Ha! There’s one of them, at least. Though that shouldn’t matter. Even Hawke knows there’s no crime in fiddling at the scene of the crime.”

Tim shrugged. “But as they say, you don’t always need the culprit to get the conviction.”

“Don’t go worrying yourself, boy. There’s no hard evidence that points to you. I’d think even Hawke has likely given up on it. And he was only asking the questions that would have to be asked, wasn’t he?”

“Of course but, even if I’m never charged, there’ll still be those who’ll wonder. Won’t there be? I fear it’ll dog my future in the Army and it could ruin my chances of getting my commission and …”

“Tim,” said Poole, sounding offended, “I do not make a decision and then fret over it. If I can see an officer in you, then others will too. And if there’s some who can’t see it yet, then you’ll just have to show off your talents so clearly that there’ll be none who’ll deny it. And we’ve started already, haven’t we? Anybody who’s been watching us this morning would know that you’ve already been hard at work on drill, and long before you came here.”

“They… well…”

“But the real test will come,” said Poole as he stood up, “when we’re out in the field, facing the enemy. Won’t it?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“What’ll matter most,” he said sounding angry again, “is how well you can do your duty when you’re out on patrol and you hear a ball whistle by your ear. And when you see an enemy scout with his rifle, reloading for another try. It’ll be how well you do your duty when he’s on the hunt, with you as his prey. So we’ve just got to get you ready for it and get you out on patrol, don’t we? And on that count, you’ve got yourself some uncommon good fortune, because so long as our surgeon keeps me tied down here, waiting on my leg, then I won’t have much that’s better to do with my time than to put you through your paces.”

“How long is he going to keep you here?”

“I don’t know. I’m feeling well enough as it is, but he won’t listen to reason. But my loss is your gain, isn’t it? And besides, though we might not be able to go to the battle, the battle just might be good enough to come to us. There’s a well-stocked storehouse just down the street. And it’s surely a tempting target for our adversaries.”

“You’re expecting an attack?”

“If they’ve any sense in their heads they’ll be planning one. That’s why Olney and a good sized detachment’s been left here. We’re figuring any attack will more than likely come from an uprising of tories and not from the redcoat regulars. And the man who raises a band of marauders and manages to drive us off and carry away what’s in there… well, he and whoever helps him will be greatly enriched. And too, our tories, they’re seething with resentment. They’ll be wanting to give us patriots a taste of the same kind of treatment that we’ve been handing out these past few months.”

“They’ll come sudden and sneaky?” asked Tim with a smile.

“They’ll try to. So we’ve got to be ready, don’t we? And you can assist in that by moving yourself into the tavern.”

“Arnold’s? The headquarters?”

“Yes, the colonel’s personal guard, you might call us. The additional regiment really doesn’t exist yet, and I’m not yet a captain either. I’m a lieutenant still, officially – on loan to Olney. Everything’s still being sorted out. But we’ll only likely be there for a few more days. And ‘till then, I’ll find you a good sergeant who can teach you a few things. And, once you’re elbow to elbow with soldiers, then you’ll start learning things just by listening.”

“Will I be taking my place in parade tomorrow?” asked Tim as his eyes lit up.

“No no no, not ‘till you’re sworn in. Now, I’ve got some matters to attend to, so until I’m back you should keep yourself busy on that tune the colonel’s wife is wanting so badly. You can’t go far wrong by making a colonel’s wife happy, can you?”

“No, I suppose not,” agreed Tim as the captain left. But instead of going straight to work on his music he slumped down on a chair, his head in his hands. Two hours of the undivided attention of an angry captain was a long long time. He rubbed his tense scalp and sighed, wondering whether he ought to just sneak off and never come back. Since he had arrived in town, bound and blindfolded, his nerves had been feeling frayed. He had heard the expression before but had never imagined his nerves would actually feel physically frayed – like frayed rope – right through his arms and into his fingers. People had been telling him he looked tired, and he knew he must be as tired as he looked. That morning he had been awake before dawn, laying on his back and staring at the ceiling, wondering the same things over and over.

With a long sigh, Tim got up to go to the house and get his violin. He wondered whether he would be able to concentrate. He walked out the door and over to where the dogs were chained to the side of the house. One raised its head, recognized the new visitor and laid it back down again. Close by was the summer kitchen, just a few feet from the back door. A larger house might have a separate building with a large fireplace for cooking in hot weather. This was just small with only a light roof on four posts, and a fireplace built with loosely stacked bricks. The roof was flat and slanted to one side, only enough to protect the cook from the midday sun and from rain in case it started half way through the preparation of a meal. Tim looked out over the garden and at the far end he saw Dan, at work hoeing weeds, trying to make himself look useful while he decided which regiment to join. Tim went over to tell him what he had heard from the captain.

“Not yet handy with a bayonet?” said Dan with a smile as he continued at his work.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Maybe the two of us should work on it a while in the barn. I could use the practice myself, I’m sure. They say that if you don’t get a move down pat after a hundred tries, then you’ll surely master it after a thousand.”

“I might need a few thousand,” muttered Tim.

“We’ll impress him with our industry, if not our skill.”

“He demands a lot! And it’s… It’s like he’s really angry about something!”

“But you’ve got to feel sorry for the poor fellow,” said Dan with a smile as he leaned on the hoe handle. “He’s got his reputation to salvage, doesn’t he? Think of the thoughts that must have been going through his mind when he woke up yesterday morning, with a hangover. It’d likely only have been then that he’d realized that he’d laid his reputation on the line by the choosing a seventeen-year-old woodcutter for ensign. And here, on top of it all, you’ve gone and made yourself look like the likeliest suspect in the murder of his best lieutenant. If he ain’t on the brink of panic then… then maybe he ought to be.”

Tim moaned as he made a pleading gesture. “Can’t you remember anything more about the woman you saw going into the barn?”

“She wore ordinary everyday clothing, like most women. Two shades of pale brown, I think. She wasn’t too big nor too small. She looked on the young side by the way she walked but I can’t even be sure of that. I’d no reason to pay her close attention. She wasn’t naked, was she?”

“But you’re still asking around?”

“I’ll be flirting with every woman I meet,” said Dan with a wink, “but it’ll be your little sister who’ll be the more likely to find things out. Over there, with those other woman, scrubbing and ironing, it’ll be the topic of choice. It’s a murder, ain’t it? Just you wait,” said Dan with a sympathetic hand on Tim’s shoulder, “she’ll come back here with the culprit by the ear.”

“Well, I hope so.”

Colonel Jeremiah Olney, at age twenty-eight, is this novel’s only historical character. His presence, along with enough soldiers to justify a colonel, suggests a significant threat to the town and the storehouse. The threat could only have been posed by those who had remained loyal to the King. Olney had been a captain in the 11th Continental Regiment, renamed the 2nd Rhode Island. He fought at the Battles of Assunpink Creek and Princeton.

Chapter 6

An easy triumph.

“And for the rest of this long hot afternoon I’m to be out a-volunteering,” declared Dan as he sat down on a chair by the table. It was later the same morning and he had just come into the kitchen. Sadie was helping her mother prepare the noon meal, chopping green onions and slicing bread. “Yea, and there I will labor side by side with our bold fighting men, a-digging the trenches and a-raising up the ramparts. I’ll be a ditch digger, I will! And I’ll be proud of it too!”

“Well good for you, Dan Eliot,” said Sadie as she tousled his hair. “Building up our defenses, you’ll be. Doing the hard work that will give to the helpless and fearful something they can see with their eyes and touch with their hands.” They were borrowing words from speechmakers and pamphlet writers.

“Indeed I’ll be. And while young Tim here is sipping wine and debating the new fashions, I’ll be out on the front lines, doing the dirty work.”

“So far,” said Tim who sat next to him, “I’ve heard a lot of debate on training and tactics but nothing at all about the new fashions.”

“Ah, but it’ll come, it’ll come,” nodded Dan as he placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “And don’t try to avoid it either my boy, for what is the highest priority for a true gentleman if it is not a strict adherence to fashion?”

“Now now, I don’t know about that,” said Abby as she cut slices from a round of cheese. Tim and Sadie’s mother spent most of her time in the kitchen. “In all fairness, we would have to say that a gentleman’s highest priority must be leadership – leadership in government, in the military and in the courts of law. But surely fashion would have to come in second, for it is, after all, their fine clothing that allows us to identify the leaders of the land, isn’t it? What good is a leader if you can’t pick him out as one as soon as he comes into the room?”

“Yes yes, you present a very good point,” said Dan with a scholarly nod, “so us ordinary clods of earth will suffer no confusion when we’re feeling ourselves in need of leadership.”

“And,” said Abby to Tim, pointing with the knife, “we’re going to have to find you some appropriate clothing now that you’re to be an officer and a gentleman.”

“I’ve been to the tailor already,” said Tim as he stared at his hands. “He says he’ll go to work for me right away on a uniform. It’ll be a blue coat like the one Captain Poole has. And too, he’s said he’s found some other clothing that can be taken in to fit. He says it’s from someone who just died.”

“No doubt the recently departed Hugh Hampton, God rest his soul,” said Dan as he bowed his head and lifted his hand to his heart.

“I’d doubt that,” said Abby. “I think it’d be too soon to be selling his old clothes. It’s more likely the poor ensign who died of the smallpox.”

“Of course,” chuckled Dan. “First you get his commission and then his clothing. Did he leave a widow?”

“That is a very good question,” joked Abby. “And I suppose it would be my job to look into it, wouldn’t it be? You can’t leave a decision so important as marriage to the reckless whims of a boy, can you?”

“He wasn’t married,” said Tim who did not appreciate their good humor. All the talk of the past two days was wearing him down – all the opinions about his inadequacy for the rank of ensign, about poor Captain Poole’s embarrassment, and about Hawke’s suspicions. It was too much to bear. That morning, Tim had woken from a nightmare where he had stood before the whole regiment in the wide street in front of the Porter house. All the town had come out to hear Colonel Olney call him a disgrace and to see him tear the epaulette from his left shoulder. Then, while a minister preached a sermon on the sin of vanity, the ground had turned to muck and Tim Euston started sinking into it.

.   .   .   .   .

After they finished eating, Tim loaded most of his possessions into a sack and carried them over to Arnold’s Tavern. He left his violin because he would still have to come back to the barn to practice. The dining room of the tavern was now empty but people were coming and going. Tim wondered about the risk of something being stolen and asked himself whether he ought to buy a chest with a lock. After some more thought, he decided that a military headquarters ought to be safe from thieves. But when the cook showed him where he could put his things she asked him where his chest was.

“Do I need one?”

“Oh yes yes yes, boy. There’ll always be those,” she said as she rolled her eyes. “And it’s all the worse now, what with war and with all the talk of taking prizes on the high seas and of capturing booty after a battle. There are some who can’t seem to tell the difference between lawful capture and sinful stealing. Aren’t there? So you’d best take care. And you’re in luck today, my boy, for I’ve a good little chest in my possession with a good lock, too. And, though I wasn’t intending to part with it, I’d be willing to let it go it to a boy who’s so willing to devote his all to the cause of liberty. But for the right price, of course. And I’m sure it’ll serve you well for years to come. And save you many times your cost in the long run.”

They bargained and agreed to a price. Tim was able to pay her with coins that he carried in his pocket. This was a leather pouch that hung from his belt. More of his money was in paper bills that he kept in his money belt – the first thing he had bought – but most was now in the strongbox of the merchant he had been staying with.

Once his things were put away, Tim was left wondering what he could do to make himself appear useful – something other than going back to the barn to practice his music. Poole had said he would only have time for him later in the day. Tim had seen him going upstairs to the room that Colonel Olney used as his office. It was a place where they could talk without risk of being overheard out the windows. Tim wondered whether he ought to borrow a couple of wooden practice muskets and do some training with Dan, but then he remembered that Dan was digging trenches. Likely I can find someone else, he thought. Or maybe I should stay here and learn by listening, like the captain said I should. But then I might look idle, just sitting around listening. But I suppose while I’m listening I could pretend to be reading a manual. Or maybe I should ask around and see if anyone else wants to do some practicing.

“Looking to make yourself useful?” asked Private Passey as he came through the front door.

“I am.”

“Then you can show this to the colonel as soon as he comes out,” he said, handing Tim a folded sheet of paper.

“I could do that.”

“And don’t read it,” said Passey as he went back out. “It’s none of your concern.”

Tim wondered whether he should wait where he was or take it upstairs. The colonel might come out of his office and go directly to another room on the same floor. He was halfway up when he heard Colonel Olney saying something in a voice that sounded halfway between frustration and anger.

“They’d likely try to test our defenses first. But… really, I can’t see them committing a force large enough to overrun us.”

“No, not likely,” agreed Lieutenant Hawke.

“But their decision,” said Captain Poole, “will hang on their estimate of our strength. We’ve a good number of men here but, with so many of them recovering from something, there aren’t a lot who are up to any sort of a fight. My own self for example, in the estimation of our good doctor. And if Sir Billy thinks Morristown is nothing but a rest home for invalids then he might think that a small force of hot-blooded tories could make fast work of us.”

“He might, but really I doubt it,” said Olney. “Anyone living here could make an accurate enough guess as to what part of our force is fit. You don’t need to be a doctor to tell if a man’s still limping, and you can’t assume we’ve no spies amongst us.”

“No, you cannot,” said Hawke with a chuckle.

“So,” continued Olney, “we have to expect them to come a-calling at any moment, though the early dawn would be the logical time. A couple of battalions could do the job if they went about it in an orderly fashion – getting themselves moving fast enough. We’ve simply not enough men and muskets to cover every opening, do we? And we could hardly go out to meet them. That would leave the town in a bad way were a second force to arrive from another direction.”

“So we draw them in with light resistance?” suggested Hawke.

“Well, yes and no. With the town all stretched out along the road, we’ll simply have to do our best to hold them back. And if they make it through then we greet them with sniper fire from the windows of houses. It’ll give our militiamen a task they could handle. It might unnerve the women to have their men a-blasting away from their bedroom windows but it could do a good deal of damage, especially if they come on horseback.”

“And the storehouse?” asked Poole.

“If they’re too much for us,” said Olney quietly, “then we torch the storehouse and make a fighting retreat into the hills. It’s not a likely outcome but we must plan for all events.”

“And the townsfolk?” asked Poole.

“The locals, the wounded – they would just have to run along ahead of us, or hope for mercy. But what I’m not for is a fight to the finish that would cost the Army a good number of dedicated men. Retreat and fight another day, I say. It’ll be how we wear them down in the end.”

“But sir…”

“Now, I’m not saying that the loss of Morristown, even for a short while, would be a small matter. It would mean more than lost supplies, wouldn’t it? All the land knows that Morristown has been Washington’s headquarters and likely most will be thinking that it still is. And for sure the story of its loss would grow in the retelling. It would have its effect on morale, both here and across the sea. But… what I’m simply saying is that, above all else, we must preserve our battle-hardened men. Wounded or not, they’re our most precious asset. But enough with dismal speculation. Hawke, you’ve inspection?”

“Right on it, sir,” he replied while getting up. He went out the door and met Tim on the stairs.

“I’ve… I’ve this for the colonel,” Tim explained, holding out the paper.

“He’ll be out shortly,” said Hawke, with a judgmental tone, as he continued past. “You can wait downstairs.”

“Yes, of course,” said Tim as he quickly turned and followed him back to the dining room.

“And stay down here,” said Hawke over his shoulder as he continued toward the front door. Tim was left alone. He looked back at the stairway and then turned to go to the window. The shutters had been closed to keep out the heat. Tim could look through the louvers at the muddy street below. And now he thinks I’ve been spying on them, he told himself as he shook his head. And even if he doesn’t… well. From what the colonel says, it almost sounds like I’m to be starting my military career in a town where the enemy is going to score an easy victory.

“All settled in?” asked Poole as he and the colonel finally came down the stairs. He sounded like an angry man who was pretending to be cheerful.

“Yes sir. It wasn’t much to carry over. This is for you, sir,” he said holding out the paper to the colonel. “Private Passey asked me to give it to you.”

“And how goes ‘In Love Should There Meet a Fond Pair,’ asked Olney with a smile as he took the paper, quickly read it and then handed it to Poole.

“I’ve been hard at it, sir. I ought to have it down by evening.”

“Both you and your dear sister?”

“Yes, it would be best as a duet.”

“We’ll look forward to hearing you then,” said Olney as he went out.

“Well…” said Tim to Poole, who had turned to take the letter upstairs, “bayonet practice will have to wait then?”

“The colonel’s never wrong,” said Poole as he glanced back. But then he hesitated. “Do some fiddling. Be there at the barn around three. I ought to be free to drill you for at least a little while. Best we keep at it. And try to steer yourself clear of Lieutenant Hawke.”

From January 1777 until the greening of pastures in spring, the New Jersey militia and the Continental Army fought the Forage War. Forage is food and other supplies gathered from a surrounding countryside. The forage the British needed most was fodder – hay and oats to feed their horses. And they needed a lot of it. An army of this era often required one horse for every four men. If the rebels could deny them New Jersey’s agricultural output, their capacity to launch a spring campaign would be jeopardized. Bringing pork over from Ireland to feed their men was expensive enough. English taxpayers would deeply resent the cost of shipping oats and hay.

After his victories at Trenton and Princeton, George Washington had not intended on keeping his forces busy with small actions. But the local militias had gone ahead on their own, successfully attacking foraging parties. Before long, his Army joined in the raiding. An attack often involved nothing more than deadly fire from behind a stone wall or out of a dense thicket. Sometimes only one or two redcoats were hit, and usually they were part of the vulnerable rear guard. Other times, the scale was larger and the strategy more complex. Dozens would fall and horses, wagons and baggage would be captured. New Jersey was largely wooded and the rebels enjoyed a distinct advantage. They knew the land, and had the support of most farmers, hunters and woodcutters. The term ‘guerilla’ had not yet come into use and this kind of warfare was called “partisan”, or by the French phrase petite guerre, meaning “little war”.

A year before, the British had brought in a force of 32,000. On the European continent this would not be a big army but it was still the largest that had ever sent abroad by England. Since then, His Majesty’s Army in North America had suffered 4500 casualties (killed, seriously wounded, captured or deserted). With the additional burden of disease and poor food, the arrival of spring found only 14,000 redcoats fit for duty.

The Forage War limited the British occupation of New Jersey to a small region around the port towns of New Brunswick and Amboy. Worse, it had cost them over nine hundred casualties, equaling the loss of a major battle. Together with Trenton and Princeton, casualties inflicted in New Jersey topped 3000. But rebel forces had been severely depleted as well. Soldiers of the Continental Army had been recruited for short terms and, once free to go, most returned to their homes. In New Jersey their numbers had dropped to about 2500 by March. But with hopeful news and the completion of spring planting, recruits started to flow into both the Army and the Militia. By late May, Washington’s forces in New Jersey had grown to over 8000.

Chapter 7

With deadly intent.

“That’s enough, isn’t it?” moaned Sadie, stopping halfway through the song. After two solid hours of practice they were making more mistakes rather than fewer. “It’s so hot! And anyways, I’ve chores in the kitchen,” she said as she put her violin back into its case.

“I suppose,” Tim said finally as he watched her go out the door. He paced back and forth a few times and then tried to play the piece through again, hoping that by concentrating on the music he could keep his mind off his other problems. The piece was actually coming along well. It was much like many others they had learned over the past few years.

But it did not help. He could play and worry at the same time. He laid the instrument on a chair and went to the door. In the garden he saw Peter Porter going up to the back door. The family had several rooms in behind a large general store. Peter was the good-natured old merchant who had hired Abby and Sadie, and then invited Tim and Dan to stay at his house as well. They could all roll out their bedrolls on the kitchen floor. The man was followed by his son, who was also named Peter. The old one, whom everybody called “Old Peter”, had a red nose and a potbelly but he always held his shoulders square and looked healthier than “Young Peter” who was pale, stooped and thin. Young Peter was waving his hands and looking frustrated. The old fellow did not seem to be taking his complaints very seriously.

After they were inside, Tim went along the driveway to the front of the house, to where a picket fence protected the garden from the goats and pigs that would occasionally get loose. Tim held onto one picket as he looked up and down to see if Captain Poole was coming. He could see a wagonload of hay, children playing, women carrying baskets, and a big boy struggling through ruts with a large, two-wheeled cart. But there was no sign of the captain.

Tim walked slowly back to the barn. The air was humid and the sky was clouding over in the west. Another storm coming? he wondered as he passed by the raised beds of the garden. Radishes and peas were coming up nicely. He looked at the barn door, sighed and returned to the front of the house. Right away Tim could see him. Malcolm Poole was across the street by the hitching post, in front of the tinker’s shop. He leaned on the post while talking to a young woman. Tim listened carefully but could hear nothing above the tapping of the tinker’s hammer from inside the shop. The two of them seemed to be sharing a private joke – looking almost like a pair of children. Tim was smiling to himself when Poole noticed him. With a slightly embarrassed expression Poole looked away. The woman must have seen this because she turned around to see Tim. Tim lifted his hand to acknowledge them but then recalled what Dan had said about a woman being by Jeffrey Black’s barn, close to the time of the murder. Could it be her? he wondered. Could it have been the two of them working together – her and the captain – one to create a distraction and the other to do the deed?

Poole leaned over to say something in the woman’s ear and they both laughed. He then took hold of a pair of spears that leaned against the post and started across the street. “Hi ho, Tim! We’d best get at it while clouds still hide the sun. Have you ever handled a spear before?”

“When we were kids we were always carving them out of willows and… so I guess… no I haven’t.”

“Good to hear it! Bad training is worse than none at all, so I hope you’ve forgotten everything you taught yourself.” They went towards the barn. Abby, who was at work in the garden, called out a greeting as they passed.

“Now,” said Poole after they were through the barn and out to the pasture, “these are just like the real ones. They’re seven feet long and a steel tip doesn’t add much weight. We never have enough muskets so, if battle comes to us before more muskets do, then a good number of our boys will be making do with one of these. And don’t think a good spearman won’t make a difference in the outcome. A musket with a bayonet is only six feet long. If the enemy has fired their balls and are coming at us with bayonets, and we haven’t turned to run, and we’re waiting with seven-foot spears, then who’s going to be the braver? And spears are lighter too. A musket’s ten pounds. That doesn’t sound like much but try moving it with speed and agility. If only we’d had a few thousand more of these back in New York last fall, then things might have turned out differently.”

“I suppose,” said Tim, “but… why didn’t they have more of them? Couldn’t the blacksmiths have…”

“As soon as war broke out every blacksmith was swamped with work and every forge was burning day and night. And they’re still run off their feet. Still getting rich quick is what – working long days and at double the old rate. Back at the start of it, everybody was telling each other that there were enough muskets left over from the last war, and that our gunsmiths could make new ones by the dozen. But that did not turn out to be the case. At least not to the extent that we needed them. And I can’t fault anybody for being wrong. I’d been as sure of it as the next hot-blooded patriot. But at least I have youth and inexperience to claim in my defense. There just hadn’t been enough of an effort put into considering and calculating all that would be needed to fight a war. And events, as they say, took on a life of their own. Even if all our leaders had been willing to listen to the sober voice of reason… well. I don’t know that they could have held back the start of the fighting.”

“I suppose not.”

“So,” said Poole as he handed a spear to Tim, “let’s get to it. It’s the way they fought in the days of David and Solomon, isn’t it? And don’t think there aren’t a lot of tricks to be learned for fighting with one of these things – as many as with the handling of a sword. And for either spear or sword or bayonet you’ll be wanting a lot of drill. That and some natural talent if you’re lucky enough to have it. And, most of all, you’ll want the kind of talent that allows you to make use of your tricks when you face a bare tip amid the smoke and hubbub of a pitched battle. It’s a rare man who isn’t thrashing about like a boy once he’s fighting for his life. So! The first thing you need to know about the handling of a spear is how to stand ready to receive your opponent.”

After an hour of repetitious thrusts and parries, the sun was out again and the heat was rising. Dripping with sweat, they slouched back into the barn, thinking they would continue their work inside. This lasted until they saw Abby coming with two mugs of small beer. This was the weak beer that people drank every day – even the children. The wealthier often had wine mixed with water, and in the fall everyone had cider. Abby had taken it from a large jug that sat in a tub of water in the root cellar under the kitchen. With the day so hot it would taste cool.

“The hard work of soldiering,” she said with a sympathetic smile as she looked at their sweat-soaked shirts. “You should have gone out there naked and spared your clean clothes.”

“The ancient Greeks went into battle naked,” said Poole as he slouched down onto the high backed bench. The angry tone was still in his voice. “I’m told the Hessians they’ve brought over to tame us will have never known the sort of heat we get to enjoy here. If we could only have drawn them into battle on a day like today. Then we wouldn’t have needed to fire a shot, for they’d have been dropping from sunstroke.”

“Are the Hessians as cruel as they say?” asked Abby.

“No no, not really. Well, maybe sometimes. Come sit yourself down and rest a bit,” he said patting the bench.

“I’ve work…” started Abby as she took one step and then hesitated. With the surly tone in Poole’s voice she could not be sure whether he truly wanted her to.

“No no,” he insisted, “you can tell your master and mistress that Captain Malcolm Poole gave you a direct order. Now tell me, how are you liking your new employers?”

“The Porters. They are truly a fine family,” said Abby as she reluctantly sat on the edge of the bench. “I must admire them. We’re so fortunate to be here.”

“Your new mistress is easy to care for?”

“Oh yes, but… she feels certain we’re on the brink of being attacked by a hoard of rum-crazed madmen. Are we really?”

“She worries too much. Sir Billy knows there’s a regiment here and he’s been learning of our talents this past winter and spring. And how is Young Peter managing under the looming threat? Better than his poor wife?”

“The two of them both think that… well… they’re as anxious as… as Old Peter is calm, really. It’s quite a contrast.”

Poole shrugged. “They’re not alone in their fears. There’s many who’ve left town, you know.”

“Yes, and I suppose they’ve reason to be frightened. But it’s taxing to be around them. Neither will come right out and insist on leaving town. At least not when I’m there. But they dwell on it. It’s driving them to… to…”

“To misery,” said Poole.

“I was going to say ‘to distraction.’ But more often it’s both husband and wife aiming their barbs at each other, isn’t it? But… do you suppose things are really as bad as they think?”

“Even worse,” joked Poole. “Yes, the risk is real enough. But it’s always far more of a risk for the soldiers who will do the fighting than it is for the civilians who get in their way. Except perhaps for the girl who’s fool enough to flirt with enemy soldiers, and especially so if she looks to be the sort that others won’t raise a fuss over. The ‘refuse sorts’ as they say.”

Abby sighed, “There are those who will take that as half a measure of permission.”

“Yea, always looking for half an excuse,” agreed Poole. “Like all bad boys. But last year the invaders were better behaved than we all said they’d be.”

“It could have been worse,” sighed Abby. “But are we likely to be attacked?”

“The general wouldn’t have left so many behind if there wasn’t a real risk. But still, the enemy forces that might attack here are most likely to be our own home-grown tories. And I wouldn’t worry too much about them. They know the war will be over someday, and they know we’ll all have long memories.”

“They’re your friends and neighbors?”

“Some of them. Good old friends sometimes – cousins even. Morris County folk are mostly true to the cause but it could be that the larger part of the State of New Jersey dreams of a return to royal tyranny.”

“And what a shame that is,” said Abby, shaking her head. “Is slavery so honorable an institution that they’d wish it for their children?”

“I think they’d prefer to call it security, wouldn’t they? They think a ‘rebel’ victory will only lead to civil war, once the victorious rebels start to squabble amongst themselves. They seem to think that we rebel for rebellion’s sake and not for principles of justice and liberty. We try to convince them that we’re united under our Congress but...”

“Well,” huffed Abby. “Haven’t I been saying the same to poor Esther, trying to reassure her. But the poor thing’s got herself sick in bed from all of her worrying about Hessians, out for pillage and rape.”

“Tell her it’s more likely to be one of her fellow countryman who charges into her bedroom,” joked Poole.

“I could!” laughed Abby as she shielded her toothless smile with her hand. “I’ll go straight to her with the good news.”

“Just don’t tell her it was me who said so.”

“Truth be told,” said Abby as she leaned closer to his ear, “what I’m working against is the influence of her husband. Young Peter’s in a state of nerves to match any woman. Begging his father to let them pack their bags and seek refuge to the north of town, deeper into the hills. I’ve heard him at it more than once but the old fellow – he’s as calm and good-humored as his son is frustrated and fretful. And what that means, for me, is one of them finding fault with my efforts while the other is praising them.”

“Don’t you worry,” said Poole. “As long as Old Peter is alive and well the house of Porter will be firmly under his hand. Peter the younger will complain at length but he’ll never defy his father.”

“Good for him, then. True to the commandment. Now, if only we could persuade both him and his wife to be even half as content as the old fellow. They’re going to wear themselves out, worrying like they are, and wear me out while they’re at it. But, I almost wonder,” she said leaning closer, “I almost wonder whether they’ve got something more to be fretting about, something else bearing down on them.”

“Whether he’s maybe got something on his conscience?” asked Tim, who suddenly wondered whether Young Peter might be the murderer and Esther the woman seen by Dan. She was thin enough that she might look young from behind.

“Oh, I don’t know,” sighed Abby. “It’s just more worry than is called for.”

“How is their lovely young daughter managing with it all?” asked Poole, sounding like he was concerned but trying not to sound like he was.

“Oh Prim, she’s a dear thing. Calm and content as her grandfather. And she teases her poor parents too, though in a mild and loving way. And with her so lovely to look at, it ought to be her who quakes at the thought of lust crazed Hessians.”

“Ha!” laughed Poole as he put his hand around Abby’s shoulder and drew her close to speak quietly in her ear. “I pity the Hessian who comes after her. The knife she carries is strong and sharp, and I think she’s the more likely to use it than most – and with deadly intent.”

“Good for her then,” said Abby as she pulled her own knife out of her apron pocket. It had a short blade, sharpened on both sides. “And maybe by her good example, she can start to calm her parents. They’re too…  I don’t know! Too much of something!”

“What do you mean?” asked Tim.

“You’ve seen them. They sometimes look more guilt-ridden than fear-ridden. They almost frighten me.”

“Well,” said Poole with a reassuring tone, “I don’t think you’ve reason to be too concerned. And too, you can’t always read a man’s thoughts from the look on his face. When patrolling dangerous territory or when forming up for battle, you’ll see every sort of look on soldiers’ faces. I’ve seen honest soldiers who have fought well and have then come back from the battlefield a-looking like they’ve come back from the robbing of a preacher. Fear can do strange things to a man, I can tell you. I’ve been told that I look like I’m moping away over the girl that cast me aside, if you can imagine that!”

Did they really fight with spears? Colonial laws stated that all men, with some exceptions, were members of the militia, and that each was required to furnish himself with a firearm, flints, powder and shot. But many simply could not afford to. An unskilled man would often earn no more than the equivalent of ten or twenty English pounds per year, and almost all was paid as room and board. Even before the war a musket cost at least two pounds and it would often need repair. A rifle was twice that, and it would demand a large chunk out of a small income.

By 1776, revolutionary leaders realized they faced a serious shortage of firearms. A determined effort to buy, borrow or seize firearms only gained Washington enough to arm three-quarters of his men, and he knew many of these would soon be broken or lost in battle. Neither importation nor local manufacture promised to make up the shortfall. Any reasonable substitute was considered. Massachusetts even ordered blacksmiths to work on the Sabbath to meet the demand for spears – a controversial policy for so devout a people.

Washington ordered his officers to carry pikes or spears, feeling that if they carried and used a firearm, it would draw “their attention too much from their men.” Benjamin Franklin even advocated the use of bows and arrows, pointing out that; an arrow could be drawn and shot in one-fourth the time it took to reload a musket, the soldier’s view would not be clouded by smoke, the enemy would be distracted by the sight of oncoming arrows, and a man with an arrow hanging from his flesh would be less able to fight. It seemed to make sense but generals still insisted on firearms.

Chapter 8

Leave the easy riches.

“It really is quite a contrast, isn’t it?” said Tim after his mother had gone back to the house. “Prim and Old Peter so brave and bold while the other two can only fret and fume. And Prim especially.”

“She’s putting on an act,” said Poole as he slouched against the back of the bench. “She’s not fool enough to imagine she faces no risk – her and all the young women. Even the girls and boys, from what I’ve heard. War does strange things to the minds of men… some men.”

“It certainly must, because they…”

“But it’s a remarkably good act she puts on though, isn’t it?”

“Well… it ought to… it certainly…” said Tim, now sounding like he was talking to himself. The heat of the day was rising but still he was restless. He was worried that the hot rainy weather might mean fewer opportunities for training. But then he remembered his other problem. “Is there anything new about the… about Lieutenant Hampton?”

“No, nothing at all,” said Poole as he looked away. “She truly is a remarkable woman, isn’t she?”

“Prim?”

“Yes, Primavera Porter,” he replied as if stating a self-evident fact. The only child of Esther’s that had survived infancy was tall, blonde and beautiful, and when she walked through town she was often flanked by female admirers who only turned away from her to look at someone she called to. That and to watch out for ruts. Wagons made a mess every time it rained. “We are engaged to be married,” sighed Poole. “Did you know that?”

“Sadie told me. May I offer my congratulations. When’s it to be?”

“When she feels herself fully ready. The date has been put back.” He said this in so solemn a tone and with so frustrated an expression that Tim felt he ought to say something.

“ ‘Tis a woman’s prerogative to change her mind,” he said with a smile, hoping to sound positive, but right away he realized that what he had said could sound like a prediction of an eventual decision to chose a better man.

“Yea forsooth,” sighed Poole, without sounding offended. “Indecision thy name is woman.”

“I thought it was vanity,” joked Tim.

“What?”

“Vanity thy name is woman.”

“That too,” said Poole with a nod.

“Well… well I don’t know much about women.”

“And you never will, my boy.”

“No, I suppose not,” Tim replied quietly after stopping to think about it. They sat in silence and watched a chicken walking about outside the barn, carefully examining the ground but only occasionally pecking at something. “Her father told me that when Prim was a little girl, she looked remarkably like her grandfather, but now she only thinks like him.”

“Ha! Well, you can’t go far wrong by thinking like Old Peter. He’s a successful man. And in more ways than one.”

“I’ve heard.”

Poole sighed again as he got up. “I suppose we should get ourselves back to training and sweating.” He got the spears that were leaning against a timber and handed one to Tim.

“Have we been reduced to spears?” joked Old Peter as he came through the door, smelling of rum. He had returned back from his trip the night before and barely made it into town before nightfall. “What will we be reduced to next?” he asked with a sympathetic smile. “The throwing of stones?”

“We’re well equipped with stones,” joked Poole, “though rumor has it that our friends in France will soon be bringing us muskets by

the shipload. But, that rumor has been going around for some time now and...”

“Oh, for sure they’ll come through,” said Peter as he sat down. “It really is so much in their interest to help us out, isn’t it?”

“But it must have seemed obvious for some time now?” asked Poole as he sat again.

“It should have! But maybe Louie’s been hoping that we can get the job done without his having to spend money that might otherwise go toward another cathedral or another palace.”

“We have been doing fairly well without them. These past few months at least.”

“Surely we have! And we’ve men like Malcolm Poole to thank for it, don’t we?” said Peter as he gave Tim a nod. “Yes boy, you are fortunate indeed to have caught the eye of a man like this one here. It’s been the likes of him that have turned the war in our favor.”

“So I have heard,” said Tim, “and I’ve heard it more than once too.”

“Yea, ‘twas the capture of the Trenton garrison that marked the turn of the tide. And though there’s not been any easy pickings like that since, there’s been much the same courage and cunning shown by our fine Jerseymen. Sure there’s been, and there’s likely none of us who’s the better of our Malcolm Poole here. Is there?”

“So I’ve heard,” said Tim with a smile.

“An old woman was telling me,” continued Old Peter, “that she crossed the lines and went into Amboy, and a fellow there told her that the redcoats have been having to keep themselves dressed and ready for action, day and night – always in fear of attack. And they’ve had to keep themselves close together and never venturing out except in good numbers – armed to the teeth and forever looking this way and that. And they’ve had to keep their poor horses constantly saddled and all their baggage packed and ready – knapsacks and haversacks. It’s a bother and a burden and that, by itself, is wearing down their spirits and sapping their strength.”

“It must be,” agreed Tim.

“And soon you’ll be at it too! Won’t you be, boy? Going out on patrol? Hunting down their scouts and harassing them with one raid after another. And you’ll be learning the tricks of the soldier’s trade from the master himself.”

“I do count myself fortunate,” nodded Tim.

“Yes yes, and you must be hearing all about his exploits?”

“Since the day I arrived I’ve been hearing about them, and that’s not a word of a lie.”

“You see there, Malcolm, my boy,” Peter teased as he gave his shoulder a poke, “it’s not just me and your mother that’s out a-telling the tales of your daring deeds. I’d wager they’ve been hearing about Captain Malcolm Poole from the capes of Carolina to the mountains of Maine. Your exploits make for good stories, they do – fine tales to tell before a warm fire.”

“And they improve in the retelling, I’m sure,” said Poole with a humble smile.

“Oh, listen to the boy!” laughed Peter. “Improve in the retelling. I’m forced to sing his praises, for otherwise he’d have everybody convinced he’s been a-hiding in the rear with the women. There comes a time when modesty has to give way to honesty, doesn’t it, Tim?”

“It does, for sure.”

“And doubt it not, boy, it’ll be with the mettle of fearsome young men like Malcolm Poole that we will forge a great nation. ‘Twill be the all-pervading spirit of defiance that burns in the breasts of these young heroes – a yearning for freedom that will soon awaken in the hearts of all good men throughout this land and beyond! And doubt ye not that in the fullness of time…”

As Peter went on about the virtues of patriotism, determination and courage, Tim looked out and saw Sadie in the garden with a large basket. Birds in the orchard beyond were chirping and further off he could hear the faint squeaking of the wheels of a wagon as it passed slowly by.

Tim woke up with a start. He was sure he had not been asleep for more than a moment. Old Peter was still offering praises to the new nation and Poole still listened closely, not wanting to offend the man who would likely have the final say in his granddaughter’s choice for a husband. Or at least that was what Abby had said. It never took long for her to get to know people. She had a talent for asking questions without seeming to pry.

“Wouldn’t you say so, Tim?” asked Peter.

“I… well… indeed I would,” he replied without knowing what had been asked.

“And you’ll soon have your chance to prove yourself too, won’t you? And as an ensign too! Ah, to be young and with a freshly minted commission! What splendid good fortune for you! Why, I’d trade places with you in a minute, I would. And I hear you’ve been training yourself at a pace few could match.”

“I’ve heard the calling,” said Tim with a modest shrug.

“And four hundred dollars to equip yourself with!”

“I’ve been blessed by good…”

“Oh, and there’s a good woman,” said Peter, now looking the other way. Abby had come out carrying a tray with more beer.

“On so hot a day as this,” said Abby, pretending to be deeply concerned, “you just cannot be too careful. I’d surely hate to see good men dying from thirst.”

“Yea yea yea,” agreed Peter, ‘twould be a sad sad way to go, wouldn’t it be? Dead for the lack of beer. A tragedy like none other.”

“Well then, you’d best drink this quick before you start to fail,” she said as she handed him a mug and then filled it from a tin pitcher.

“So Tim,” said Peter after he had taken a drink, “and how are you going to equip yourself? Your four hundred dollars won’t go far, not these days. A gentleman of substance and stature might spend that much on his horse alone – and sometimes twice that, wouldn’t they Poole?”

“He would, but I don’t think the Army will want Tim to have a horse even if he can afford one, for they won’t be wanting to pay the price of feeding it. But he’ll certainly have to be able to ride one when the need arises.”

“Ah yes, having to feed your own horse,” pondered Peter. “It’s a sorry pass we’ve come to, isn’t it? Officers on foot, wearing holes in their shoes? And on that count, we’ll surely be wanting to see you wearing some proper clothing, won’t we – in a good military cut? And what about a good saber? And a pistol too, if they’ll let you carry one. I’m told they might only be for a mounted officer. But surely not! An officer in the field without a pistol? How will he shoot the cowards when they turn and run? And then there’s all the rest an officer needs, isn’t there? To strike a commanding presence? And it’ll all add up fast, won’t it?”

“But he doesn’t need it all, not right away,” said Abby as she put her hand on Tim’s shoulder. “He’ll just need to be resourceful, like he was when he and his young friends made off with all those…”

“Oh yes yes yes, that was a lovely bit of ingenuity that was. And how many times have you had to retell that story?” he asked Tim.

“Well,” said Abby, “I’ve told it myself ten times if not twenty.”

“Did you hear that, Tim?” laughed Peter. “You’ve a mother who’s promoting your career for you. Between Poole here and your mother there you’ve remarkable good fortune indeed. And now you’ll just have to carry all your lucky charms into battle, won’t you, boy?”

“I will.”

“If only you’d have been out on Long Island last fall – at the right place and at the right time, and with an empty sack. You’d have had it all already, you would? Ah, the spoils of war! They say the redcoated rascals gathered up a king’s ransom worth of muskets and rifles and cartridge boxes – a fortune it was worth! And there you’d been a few miles north, only – a day’s walking distance away from the battle itself! Had you a reason to take yourselves down there, and find yourself there and with an empty sack, then what?”

“If only,” said Tim with a smile.

“Yea, if only an angel had alighted upon your shoulder and told you where to go and what time to be there and how big a sack to bring along. Then you’d have got all that you’re needing so badly now, and you likely would have had more left over to sell. A peddler told me all about it. He’d been there and ready. He’d gone over onto Long Island to sell tobacco to the redcoats and he followed them as they advanced and was able to get his hands on all of a fallen officer’s gear – pistol and saber, coat and shoes – and no doubt a pocketful of coins too. A lieutenant, he was and surely the son of a wealthy man. He’d found him knee deep in water, weighed down by all he carried. He stripped him naked before anybody else could touch him. He said he earned more on that day than he had all year.”

“He’s lucky,” said Poole, “that he wasn’t taken for one of us and herded along with the prisoners. It’s a risky business for a man to be scavenging a battlefield.”

“Ah, yes yes yes, I suppose it is. A task best left to women, isn’t it,” joked Peter with a look at Abby.

“Not this one!” said Abby, shaking her head. “You won’t find me a running out onto a battlefield, stripping the dead while they’re not yet dead. No sir, that’s for a bolder woman than me.”

“Oh, come come now!” teased Peter. “Think of what you could gather up for poor Tim here, were you to venture down to Middlebrook and wait for the battle to break out. As surely it will!”

“No no,” she laughed, “I’ll leave the easy riches to the camp followers. Poor Tim will have to find his good fortune elsewhere.”

The Battle of Long Island was fought on August 27, 1776 and it was the first of several losses for the inexperienced American Army. But those who fought for independence had been given reason to think they could manage well. Over the previous year and a half, patriot forces had seized the fortress of Ticonderoga, they had forced the British out of Boston, and they had driven back a naval attack on Charleston. But more experienced military observers knew how hard it was to hold onto islands without control of the waters that surrounded them. The British had brought with them an armada that could go where it wanted. American naval forces were ordinary merchant ships with a few extra cannons and permission to attack enemy shipping. But Washington was under orders from Congress to defend New York City at all costs, and that would be impossible if he could not hold onto Long Island.

The invaders had occupied Staten Island in July, and on August 22 they had crossed over to Long Island. The year before at Bunker Hill, British commander Major General William Howe had seen what the rebels were capable of doing and he was no longer burdened by overconfidence. On Long Island his forces outnumbered the Americans two to one and still he was cautious. “Sir Billy” had luck on his side too, and managed to get some of his men around Continental lines during the night, to launch an attack on both sides. It was a decisive victory with three hundred Americans killed and over 1000 taken prisoner, compared to a few dozen British killed or missing. The Americans found themselves cornered on the Brooklyn Heights and the revolution might have ended there. But, after seven days of waiting for the final assault, a favorable wind followed by a heavy fog allowed Washington to sneak his Army back across to Manhattan Island.

Nineteen days later the British followed him over the East River to Kip’s Bay where they pushed Continental forces back to the Harlem Heights, allowing Howe to occupy New York City and block the entrance to the strategic Hudson River. When the British advanced north, 1800 Americans were able to drive back 5000 British at the Battle of Harlem Heights. Though it was a small engagement, it went a long way toward restoring patriot morale.

The mile wide Hudson River had to be defended. Two forts, one on each side, were armed to bombard any British ships that tried to come upstream. Fort Washington was on the highest hill at the north end of Manhattan Island and Fort Lee was across the river in New Jersey. Washington took a third of his Army north. He was defeated again on October 28 at White Plains, but losses were small and he was able to get his men across the Hudson and into New Jersey. On November 16 disaster struck when Fort Washington was attacked from all sides and 2800 soldiers were taken prisoner – one-fifth of Washington’s forces.

Washington retreated south and managed to cross the Delaware River into Pennsylvania. Sir Billy felt the rebels were all but defeated and decided he could retire his Army to winter quarters and see if he could negotiate a peace. But from the Pennsylvania shore Washington perceived an opportunity to achieve a victory and revive confidence. On Christmas Day he took 2400 men back across the icy Delaware and attacked a garrison at Trenton, manned by 1500 Hessians (given this name because many came from the Hesse region of Germany.) They were said to be the best soldiers in the world but they had been celebrating the Yuletide with heavy drinking, and their overconfident colonel had posted few guards. Washington surprised them and captured nine hundred prisoners with all their arms. Trenton had been one of several garrisons placed along the south-west border of New Jersey and the British felt obliged to abandon them all and retreat to the north-east. Almost the whole state was recaptured by Washington and the New Jersey Militia.

Chapter 9

Betray our guilt.

Tim stopped abruptly, halfway through the piece of music. He felt an urge to smash his violin against the wall. He and Sadie had gone back to practicing and the heat had kept on rising.

“Maybe you’re pushing yourself too hard,” said Sadie quietly.

“I am! I know that!” he said as he paced in a circle. “But I don’t know that I’ve much choice! If Poole has any sense he’ll be looking for any excuse at all to toss me aside and choose a better man.”

“Or a better boy,” said Sadie as she reached up to tousle his hair. “He does look rather troubled though, doesn’t he? And maybe he ought to. Why would he choose you? Why would he choose a boy with no property and little education? What stake would your sort have in maintaining the ancient liberties of Englishmen? Who but a man possessed of property will defend his right to property? By training you, is he not merely training another mercenary who will offer his talents to the highest bidder, without regard to which country or which despot he fights for?”

“You don’t believe that, do you?”

“Why not? How many times have we heard it preached from the pulpit and read from a pamphlet? It ought to be well drilled into both our heads.”

“But…” started Tim.

“And too, I’ve been told that your being from Boston, originally, might be more of a problem than your being too young and too inexperienced and too lacking in a stake in society.”

“But why should that…”

“Don’t be stupid! It might not matter so much for Poole though, because his father came from Massachusetts. And it likely doesn’t matter to the colonel either because he’s from Rhode Island, but for those with deep roots here in New Jersey, it’ll matter.”

“But,” said Tim, “I’m told it was mostly New Englanders who settled here – the region around Morristown. They’d come to work in the mines north of here.”

“But you’re talking about grandfathers and great-grandfathers.”

“And too, I’m to be in one of the additional regiments. The state doesn’t get to choose…”

“They don’t get final choice but the regiment still is being recruited out of this state. It shouldn’t matter but it does. But still, it might not be just your lack of qualifications and your being from far away that’s got Poole so tormented. More than anything else it could be the fickle heart of his beloved. Have you heard about the two of them?”

“Yes. He told me about it himself. Or he mentioned it. But the look on his face told more.”

“She only decided to put it off last Sunday morning, and that was right after his snap decision of Saturday night. So, everyone has to assume that you’re at the root of it. Or maybe not. I heard her mom and dad talking about it and Esther said that Prim had been having second thoughts already. But it could be that Poole’s public display of drunken stupidity was the last straw.”

“But Old Peter doesn’t seem disappointed with him. He was down here just now and he seemed to still think very highly of him.”

“There are those,” said a woman’s voice from behind, “who say that Old Peter loves him more than his granddaughter does.” Tim turned and recognized her right away. She was the young woman who had seemed to be sharing a private joke with Poole earlier that day in front of the tinker’s shop.

“Don’t say that!” said Sadie with a smile. “And anyways, you shouldn’t be listening in on private conversations.”

“I could hardly help it! I could hear the two of you as I walked past on the street!”

“You could not!”

“I don’t think Poole needs to be worrying. Prim’s been like this all her life. Old Peter likes to say that his poor daughter-in-law suffered a long labor because his granddaughter couldn’t decide whether she wanted to come out or stay in.”

“This is Dot,” said Sadie to Tim. “She’s wife to Mike O’Toole.”

“Oh, pleased to…”

“You’ve met him,” said Dot. “He’s a gentleman volunteer who’s helping the Deputy Commissary – helping him get things bought, bagged and delivered so the soldiers get their weekly ration when they’re hungry and not later. You were talking to him last Saturday night. He said he was impressed by your knowledge.”

“Was he still impressed,” asked Sadie, “after Poole made his surprise choice?”

“Even more impressed, I’m sure! But honestly, whether it was a good decision or bad, I doubt that it had any effect on Prim’s decision to grow even more undecided.”

“She told you that?” asked Sadie.

“Not out loud but she must have been just as charmed by Tim Euston as the rest of us. I think every woman in that room fell in love with young Master Liberty here. When he sang ‘Barbara Allan’?” As she said this, Dot stepped close to Tim, took hold of his sleeve and gave it a tug. “Oh, it gives me shivers just thinking about it.”

“I was singing too!” protested Sadie. “Didn’t anyone fall in love with me?”

“Me and Mom love you,” said Tim as he placed a pitying hand on her shoulder.

“Oh go away!”

“I’m sure all the men love you too,” said Dot as she came to put her hand on Sadie’s other shoulder.

“They do not!” muttered Sadie as she wiggled her shoulders to pull away. “I’m not half so pretty as either you or Prim.”

“You’re even prettier, you silly goose! ” teased Dot. “At least a few of them must have fallen in love with you, for a man can love six women simultaneously while a woman can only love six men in rapid succession.”

“And that,” said Sadie as she pounded Tim’s shoulder with her fist, “is what makes us your moral superiors.”

“Oh, that hurts awfully,” whined Tim as he clutched his shoulder. But then he turned back to Dot. “Was Poole a close friend to Hugh Hampton?”

“Well… he’d selected him as lieutenant for his company so he must have liked him well enough – or respected his capabilities, at least. Though, it would have seemed strange had he not chosen him. Hugh had distinguished himself over the past year as much as any man. And there are those who say he should have been made captain ahead of Poole.”

“There’s a lot of squabbling over these promotions, isn’t there?” asked Tim.

“Oh heavens yes!” laughed Dot as she turned away. “It’s all I’ve been hearing for the past two years! And the higher the rank, the more there are to get angry about it. You’ve got whole colonies practically at war with each other over the choice of a general. Whole ‘states’ I should say.”

“Could that sort of thing be behind the murder then?” asked Sadie.

“It could be but… but I wouldn’t think so, unless your brother really did do the dastardly deed. Now, had Malcolm Poole been strangled, then someone might have been asking Hugh Hampton to hold out his hands for inspection.”

“Because he’d been the most eligible for captain?”

“Overdue for captain, some say. And we have to remember that these distinguished military men are distinguished for their fighting and killing, aren’t they?”

“They are,” said Sadie.

“But there’s been a lot of talk about Malcolm Poole, for he’s moved so fast up the chain of command – first in the militia and now in this new regiment. And without being from any particularly distinguished family. And now he’s engaged to the prettiest girl in town. And my Mike… My poor husband is still only a volunteer, poor thing. And it’s so unfair for him. I’m tempted to kill somebody myself! And,” said Dot as she dropped her voice almost to a whisper while looking over her shoulder toward the door, “Prim Porter’s the wealthiest girl in town too, most likely – and possibly the wealthiest by a wide margin. And she’s got no brothers or sisters or uncles or aunts to split her grandfather’s inheritance. He’s got a lot of land now and when he’s gone it’ll all go to Young Peter. And you can see that neither he nor his wife are the picture of robust health, are they? The husband of Primavera Porter could be master of it all in ten years. Sooner if he kills them.”

“Old Peter is wealthy?” asked Sadie as she considered the Porter house. It was large, but half of it was storefront and storage space. It was a busy enough store but it could hardly have made anyone rich.

“He’s wealthy for Morris County,” replied Dot, “for land a-plenty he’s got now. And it’s good land too, so he must have been very clever with his trading over the years. He’s not inherited his money and no one can imagine where he might have borrowed it from.”

“And you said Poole’s not from a good family either?” asked Tim.

“A good family yes, but not a wealthy family – not any more. He was raised and educated as a gentleman but they’re saying his family’s been hard hit by the war. His father was always investing in ships and cargos. But he had a run of bad luck when the King’s privateers started to attack our shipping. They’ve not been entertaining in months now, and you know what that means.”

“Of course,” said Sadie in a solemn voice. Everyone knew that, whether in England or America, a gentleman was expected to spend heavily on the entertaining of his fellow gentry.

“So he needs Prim,” asked Tim, “if he wants to continue with the life to which he’s become accustomed?”

“He’s surely in need of a girl who comes with a fortune strapped to her back. Either that or he has to enjoy some uncommon good fortune when raiding British wagon trains and storehouses.”

“So Prim could choose from any of several excellent suitors?” asked Sadie.

“Indeed she could. She’s got the face and the purse to match – and she’s been enjoying it. She’s been engaged twice but still she’ll let any man flirt with her.”

“Was Lieutenant Hampton one of her flatterers?” asked Tim.

“He was that and more,” whispered Dot. “It’s not been many weeks since they were engaged to be married.”

“Engaged?” asked Sadie.

“Yes! And then she tossed him aside. And most think she could have had him back at any time.”

“Was he heartbroken?”

“He didn’t show it but I think he must have been. He’d been a lot less talkative since it happened. And he was the better catch too, and everybody knows it. And don’t think there hasn’t been those who’ve wondered where Malcolm Poole was when the dastardly deed was done.”

“Where was he?”

“Nobody seems to know. And it’s the job of the colonel to ask a question like that, isn’t it?”

“When Lieutenant Hawke sent me to get the colonel,” Tim said quietly, “Poole was there with him in his office above the tavern.”

“But for how long was he there?” whispered Dot. “That’s what nobody’s saying. Nobody noticed him when he got there – nobody who will say so. And anyways, Hawke told you the blood was already starting to dry, didn’t he?”

“He did.”

“And if the colonel has asked Poole where he was, then he’s not been talking about it. Nor has Poole been telling anyone. That’s strange by itself, isn’t it? And had he told Prim then I’m sure I’d have heard about it from her, for she’s my dearest friend. But she’s not said anything. But I’ve not asked though, for fear of her taking offence. She’s got a temper. But really, I shouldn’t have to ask, should I?”

“I’ve overheard Prim talking to her mother,” said Sadie, “but I’ve not heard one word spoken about any of this. Well, almost none. Esther mentioned it but Prim didn’t want to talk about it. Not about the murder, and not about her putting back the wedding date either. She’s just been talking about… nothing really! Just everyday talk! It’s like there’s no war and no wedding and no murder!”

“She acts as if she fears nothing from enemy attack,” said Tim. “It’s not natural, is it? And isn’t it particularly strange when a woman won’t want to talk about calling off her wedding?”

“Put back the date!” whispered Dot. “Not called it off. And yes, it is particularly strange and especially for her. I don’t know what’s going through her head and, if I don’t, then I doubt that anybody else does.”

“And neither does Captain Poole,” said Tim, “That’s what he’s said to me, and he sounded to be speaking from the heart. It’s getting him down! You should have seen the look on his face!”

“He might have more than a troubled heart,” said Dot quietly with another look toward the door. “He might have a guilty conscience. He did have the perfect motive to kill, didn’t he? For it was Hampton who might have had the power to take his beloved Prim from him, along with her beloved fortune. And Malcolm Poole’s got the means to kill too – the nerve to do the deed. He’s fought with distinction in all his skirmishes and ambushes – and that means he’s killed in hand-to-hand combat. Or at the very least he’s tried his best to. And his wound to his leg isn’t so bad that it would have stopped him from surprising Hampton from behind.”

“And,” said Sadie with her hands clenched in fists, “he could have told Hampton to meet him in the barn – to meet him there in private. It would not have seemed strange at all – not in time of war.”

“Indeed, he could have done that at any time,” agreed Dot with a nod of her head.

“But he’s surely not the murderer!” protested Tim. “Sure he’s a likely suspect but… but we have to look beyond the obvious, don’t we?”

“I agree with you there,” said Dot. “Malcolm just doesn’t seem like the kind who would kill, does he? Not like that – not in so cowardly a way. In an ambush, yes. And for sure on a field of battle but… but not like that. Not sneaking around like… a thief in the night.”

They remained silent for a moment, wondering about it all.

“It’s a lot to think about, isn’t it?” sighed Dot as she turned and walked out the door. “And,” she added, looking back, “I think I ought to be going home to my husband now, for he’ll be wanting his supper. Oh dear, here he is now, making the poor dogs growl. He always knows where to find me.”

Tim and Sadie watched her go and then tried to put this new information out of their heads and return to their practicing. Right away they were making mistakes. Sadie stopped in the middle of a piece and said she needed to get back to the kitchen to help her mother. Tim stayed to keep at it but soon grew frustrated. He took his violin into the house, put it away and started back toward Arnold’s Tavern. To take advantage of the shade, he went down through the gardens to follow the pathway that wound through the orchards. Almost every house had a garden and orchard. When he passed by Jeffrey Black’s barn, where the murder had taken place, he stopped and looked at it. The haunted barn, he thought as he turned to go on. But then he stopped, feeling tempted to go back in and look at the spot where the body had lay, thinking that maybe it could offer him some clue, or some sort of inspiration. He hesitated though, wondering whether the restless spirit of Hugh Hampton might haunt the shadows. Don’t be stupid, he thought, and took another step. His muscles tensed. He then realized that if he was seen by someone he would look like a murderer returning to the scene of his crime, like all murderers are supposed to do. He bit his lip, clenched his fists and with an effort turned back to continue on toward the tavern.

“And what in blazes was he doing here?” asked a man’s quiet voice inside the barn. He was peering through a chink between two vertical wallboards, and had been able to see Tim standing there without his knowing he was being watched.

“I might ask the same about us?” replied the woman. “What’ll people think if…”

“The whole town’s been in and out of here! We’re just another pair of curious onlookers. But why him here at the same time as us?”

“Perhaps the same demon of Hell guides our steps.”

“Ah well, but isn’t it a shame he didn’t come in, though?”

“What?”

“Here he was, looking like he was about to join us.”

“How’s that a shame?”

“Well, he’s a clever boy, isn’t he?” the man replied with a voice that was fearful and angry at the same time. “And he’s been asking clever questions, hasn’t he? A lot of them! And for sure he’s much to gain by the finding of the answers, doesn’t he? So long as Hawke keep up with it.”

“So what if he does? There are others who look suspicious.”

“But we don’t know who saw us arrive here and who saw us leave, do we? And we won’t know when either one of us might betray our guilt by a momentary indiscretion.”

“I am not going to go out and…”

“You hope not, my dear, and that’s all a woman can ever promise, isn’t it? And that is why we’ve reason to fear Tim Euston.”

Chapter 10

The most likely suspect.

It rained during the night but the sun rose above the morning’s clouds to shine bright over proud little Morristown. Tim stepped out of the tailor’s house and into this intense light, feeling as calm and as strong and as fully in possession of himself as he had ever felt, because today he was wearing his new uniform. His coat had a military cut and was blue with buff colored cuffs, lapels and collar, but more important it had the intensity of newly dyed cloth. With it he wore a new shirt, breeches, stockings and shoes, and to top it off was a hat that had been brushed, steamed, pressed and dyed to pull it back into almost new condition. Tim knew exactly how good it all looked because the tailor had a Venetian mirror a foot wide and two feet high and he had been able to see himself almost from head to toe. And now he had it all on and he was out in the street and he felt his chest swell with pride as he stood gazing across the town – looking as if it all belonged to him.

“Ooo, and look at this!” called a woman as she came toward him. “And aren’t you a sight, Tim Euston!”

“Just look at him!” agreed the young woman who followed her.

“A new suit for the new officer,” said an older woman from another direction.

“A very nice cut indeed,” said a fourth who was coming up behind.

“And look at the stitching,” said the first to reach him and take hold of his arm to bring the cuff up to her eyes. “I hope he charged you a lot, for otherwise you’ve robbed the poor man.”

“No no!” insisted her friend. “He should be giving his best prices to our soldiers. After all, they’ve…”

“This is the linen he’s just got in, I’m sure,” said the older woman. “Fine stock indeed. ‘Twas taken by a privateer and brought into Philadelphia the week before last. They say it was on its way to New York City, so just think of it, Tim Euston, you’ve got cloth that might have been dyed a most horrid shade of red.”

“ ‘Tis a fine thing you’ve done then,” said the other, “sparing good cloth from a bad end.”

“For sure it’ll bring you good fortune.”

“And he’ll need it where I’m taking him,” said Malcolm Poole as he arrived.

“Don’t you even talk that way!” joked one of the women as she pulled Tim close as if to protect him.

They went on like this until Poole took pity and led Tim in the direction of a stable. Today he would find out whether Tim’s riding skills were as pathetic as some suspected.

“So, how does it feel to be the best dressed man in the county?” asked Poole as a soldier saddled their horses.

“It does feel good, I must admit,” said Tim as he paced back and forth, his hands clutched behind his back. “Though I’m sure that what the women are saying is more inspired by my singing than by...”

“That and for your role in the capture of military stores from a British garrison. And too, for the diligent self-study that persuaded me to select you for ensign. And for sure we’re all the more admired for all our talents when they’ve been assisted by good fortune.”

“Excessive good fortune, some would say.”

“Ha! Well! Before we call it excessive we’ll see how fortunate you are in the face of the enemy.”

“Even when I’m taking excessive risks?” joked Tim.

“No no, don’t even talk like that. Excessive risk is naught but the action of a fool. Calculated risk is, however, another matter. Though that might just be what we call an excessive risk when it was a risk taken by a fortunate man. Now, today we’ll start out by eliminating the excessive risk faced by your new clothes.” Poole said this as they were climbing onto their horses. “We’ll walk them slowly over to the Porter’s – give the town another chance to admire our uniforms – and once you’re back into your rags, I’ll put both you and your horse through a demanding exercise. We wouldn’t want to see such heroic fabric fall victim to grass stains, would we?”

Once Tim was back into his worn and mended work clothes they went back to the pasture behind the Porter house. They worked on some of the subtle movements needed to communicate a rider’s wishes to an animal, and on the ways a rider could keep the poor beast calm by seeming to be well in control himself. By the time the heat forced them back into the barn, Tim’s work clothing had fresh green stains from landing on damp spring grass. The horse had thrown him twice. He felt sore and shaken but nothing was broken or badly twisted.

When he went in the house for their refreshments Tim found it empty, except for Esther who was wandering about the kitchen, putting things away. She stooped a bit and wore a strange expression. He was marveling at how she could be both attractive and repulsive at the same time when he remembered what Sadie had said – that she looked as if she suffered guilt and shame for some unknown sin. Like a criminal condemned, thought Tim.

“You look hot,” she said.

“He’s trying to teach me to ride a horse.”

“Oh dear, that’s never pleasant,” she said as she turned back to the cupboard. “I don’t think I’ll ever forgive my father for forcing me to learn to ride. I’ve ever since been tormented by nightmares of being on a mare at full gallop, not able to rein her in. Well, it looks like I can offer some sausage with your beer,” she said as she lifted a cloth that covered a bowl. “I’ll leave you to cut it up. I really ought to lie down. I dread another headache.”

“I hope you’ll feel better,” said Tim as he watched her creep out of the room. Again he was wondering about the woman Dan had seen going into the barn. Esther could definitely look young from behind, and she wore plain colors. And though her husband was unhealthy looking, he had to be strong, for he was capable of helping with the loading and unloading of heavy sacks and casks. And I suppose I could imagine him taking another man’s life, thought Tim, but why Hugh Hampton’s?

.   .   .   .   .

“Would I have done any better on a well-trained horse?” asked Tim when he got back to the barn.

“For sure you would have,” said Poole who was in the armchair with his feet stretched out. “But you might not have learned as much. This has been a morning of great contrasts, hasn’t it been? First you rise to the pinnacle of glory in a new suit of clothes. And then you descend into the pit of humiliation while on top of a horse – on and off a horse.”

“He did an excellent job of throwing me.”

“Yes, it is so much easier when you only have to dress the part of a soldier, isn’t it? You’ve got a lot to learn and you’ve not a lot of time to learn it in.”

“The colonel seems to want me to put my music before all else.”

“And so you should,” chuckled Poole. “As long as he’s happy then I can allow you time to grow into those new clothes of yours.”

“Until then I’ll use them as a disguise,” joked Tim.

“You will. Stealth and subterfuge – two of a soldier’s deadliest weapons. And a handsome uniform matters too – and more than you might think. Back on Long Island when we faced the redcoats, their uniforms scared us as much as their bayonets. And why you ask? Because it can be assumed that if their masters can afford the uniforms then they’re surely willing to spend at least as much on the training, and on the equipment that completes a soldier. You wouldn’t pay for one and not the other, would you? It’s common sense. And it’s the truth, too. Or at least with England’s redcoats, it is.”

“I suppose it ought to be,” nodded Tim.

“But it can work both ways though, can’t it? Here in the Jersey hills, we’ve fooled them with our plain and ragged homespun because they’re thinking that shabby attire must be a measure of a soldier’s incompetence.”

“So some good came of it?” joked Tim.

“Some. But I think they’ve learned their lesson by now. We need good clothing. It inspires confidence, and war is a game where bluff and bravado is often as effective as gunpowder. The uniforms count for a lot, I am certain of that. It was a few years ago that I first learned of the power of a uniform. It was when a couple of my aunties were telling us stories about the French and Indian War. One started teasing the other about how she used to make such a fuss over any man in uniform. The other one said it was all the young women who felt their hearts a-flutter when they saw their men in fine uniforms.

 “But it only makes sense when you think about it, though. Who besides a soldier is ready and willing to protect them from… from what might happen if the enemy breaks through?”

“But women do overdo it, sometimes,” said Poole. “Though I can hardly complain, being a primary recipient of all the fussing and flattery. These past two years have been good to me.”

“I’m sure,” said Tim with a grin.

“Grandma told my Aunt Marg that she only fell in love with the man she married after she’d seen him in his uniform. She denied it, but she admitted that she’d only come to love him after she’d come to know him, and that she’d only come to know him after the sight of him in a uniform had started her wondering.”

“Did she say that right in front of him?”

“She did,” chuckled Poole, “And he said that was why he’d often wear it to bed.”

“I’ve surely never felt more admired than I did this morning. Not even when I’ve been singing and playing my fiddle.”

“You were greatly admired last Saturday night. You were just too busy singing to notice it. When you sang ‘Barbara Allen’? I’d suspect it wasn’t just their eyes that were wet.”

“Yes… well… ah… well, but really it ought to be bravery in battle that makes a soldier the favorite of women.”

“Or bravery out on patrol. And it does eventually, once the enemy’s close.”

“And you’ve been both the bravest and the best dressed,” laughed Tim.

“So they say. Yes, life’s been good these past two years. It wouldn’t have been worth dying for but it’s certainly been worth a few near misses. And it’s certainly worth the occasional flesh wound,” he said as he patted his sore thigh. “It’s a shame I wasn’t hit further down my leg so I could pull down my sock and show it off.”

“It’s makes for a good story,” said Tim, “And now you’re the bravest hero with the prettiest girl.”

”So far,” he said after a pause, sounding frustrated.

“But I’m told she does truly love you,” said Tim, but right away he realized he had said too much.

“Ha! Have you been? Well, perhaps you’ve heard right. But who knows why, and for how long? Just as you’re in need of a battle to prove yourself worthy of your commission,” Poole said quietly, “I may need some more action under fire to hold onto the affections of my beloved.”

“No no, I…”

“You might doubt it but you don’t know, do you? And it is entirely possible that Primavera Porter does not know for sure either. Does any of us really know why we fall in love?”

“Well…I don’t know about that,” said Tim, shaking his head. “But… it’s almost like… it’s almost like we’re a pair of war profiteers praying for an enemy attack for the profit it’ll bring us.”

“No no no,” laughed Poole, “we pray for peace, surely. We just hope that if, heaven forbid, battles have to be fought, that we’ll manage to gain an advantage on the side.”

“Yes,” sighed Tim. “And I’d surely welcome the opportunity to quiet those who say I’m not worthy of being ensign and…”

“And I would surely welcome another chance to dazzle one and all with my courage and valor, for then I’d improve my standing as a most admirable man in the eyes of the woman who can’t decide on whether to go through with… with the blessed event. I’ll just have to manage to keep myself alive and whole.”

“Well… so long as… speaking of keeping yourself alive, have you heard anything about the killing of Hugh Hampton?” asked Tim, wanting to change the topic before he said the wrong thing again.

“Oh! That blasted… No, not one person has any idea who’s behind it. Except for John Hawke, of course. Nobody’s saying they saw a mysterious stranger that day. And it doesn’t seem like there was anybody in town whose activities cannot be accounted for.”

“Well… nobody… except...”

“And we’re all wasting precious time on it! And it frustrates me that you’re being pointed to as a suspect.”

“And you too,” said Tim, but right away he wished he had not.

“What?”

“Well… ah… well, there’s just some who wonder whether… whether it might be you who might have wanted to kill Hugh Hampton to… to… to eliminate a potential rival – him having been engaged to… well…” stammered Tim as he stared at the ground, sure he had made a very big mistake.

“I suppose they would,” said Poole, sounding like he had never given the possibility a thought.

“But of course it’s ridiculous to think that...”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. It’s a perfectly reasonable suspicion, isn’t it? Why didn’t I think of it myself? So you’ve heard all about the fickle heart of…” and he stopped and looked around to see who might be close by.

“I’m sure I don’t know more that anyone...”

“Ha! Everyone must know then! And I’ve no proof of an alibi either, do I?” said Poole, sounding like he was thinking. “At the time of the killing, I’d come back from here. Then I was back in my room. And then I went out again, and then I’d come back, and then I was looking for the colonel. And there was hardly anyone about, was there? For all anyone knows I might have told Hampton to meet me there and I could have done the deed and been back in no time. Unless someone had followed me, or kept a steady watch on Jeffrey Black’s barn. But they would have surely come forward by now, wouldn’t they? So there can’t be anybody.”

“But I’m sure no one seriously suspects you of such a thing.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. There’s no evidence that’ll point to another man… or woman. But think of it. This is better for you, isn’t it? You’re no longer the most likely suspect.”

Would an officer simply go to a tailor and ask for something in a nice military cut? Yes. Difficulty in obtaining materials and labor, and differences over where and what to buy, meant uniforms were not uniform. Blue was favored in New Jersey but not everywhere. A captured German officer described American soldiers in October of 1777: “… each man had on the clothes in which he goes to the field, to church or to the tavern. But they stood like soldiers, erect, with a military bearing that was subject to little criticism… The officers… wore very few uniforms and those they did wear were of their own invention. All colors of cloth… brown coats with sea green facing, white linings and silver sword knots; also gray coats with straw facings and yellow buttons were frequently seen… The brigadiers and generals have special uniforms and ribbons which they wear like bands of order over the vests…”

British soldiers were often ragged looking too. Infantry coats were sort of an orangey-blood-red. The madder root dye they used held better than most natural dyes but would still bleach in the sun.

Chapter 11

So devious a device.

Poole had to go back to Arnold’s Tavern, leaving Tim to return to the barn and to the practicing of the colonel’s wife’s favorite. Sadie was allowed to join him but they were not at it long before he was making mistakes.

“What’s the matter with you two?” asked Dan as he came in, filthy from a day of digging.

“You stink is what,” said Sadie.

“What is this now?” he asked, pretending to be offended. “I slave away through the heat of a long day, working to defend the weak and the innocent from brutal enemy attack and I am…”

“You still stink. Go over there where you’ll be downwind of us.”

“Yes ma’am,” said Dan and he obediently carried one of the chairs to where she had pointed. There was a wide door at each end of the barn and a light breeze was passing through. “I’ve heard an odd thing. It seems the colonel’s call for trenches and ramparts is setting him apart from the mainstream of military thought.”

“What do you mean?” asked Tim.

“They’re saying it’s a rare town that gets ringed with trenches, like we are.”

“Well… what are we supposed to do? Hide behind picket fences?”

“We could fire from windows,” shrugged Dan.

“And let the enemy get in closer and come under the cover of fences and fruit trees? And didn’t they have trenches dug at Boston and at White Plains? They dig them everywhere!”

“I’m only telling you what I was told.”

“I doubt that privates and volunteer ditch-diggers can match the colonel in military knowledge!”

“My my!” said Dan with his hands up as if to protect himself. “So what is it, my poor boy, that’s driven you nigh unto distraction?”

“Dot was right,” Tim said to Sadie, after a sigh. And then he turned and explained it to Dan.

“Well well,” said Dan with a shrug.

“So,” continued Tim, “Poole has no way of providing an alibi, and he’s going to be suspected – maybe even more than I’ve been. Surely more! I’ve no alibi to show but I don’t have a motive either. And he may even be the murderer. He didn’t deny it. He just laughed and agreed that there’s no evidence that would point to another man.”

“So,” said Dan with a twinkling in his eyes, “you may be required to protect a murderer for your own self interest – for the sake of your selfish personal gain. Well well well, and that would make you almost as guilty as him, wouldn’t it?”

“But I haven’t done anything to protect him!”

“It’ll come, it’ll come” said Dan, almost in a whisper. “He’ll make a careless remark here and a suspicious comment there, and then you’ll finally know for sure that he’s the cold-blooded killer that everybody else knew him for. But still you’ll say nothing. You’ll protect him with your silence, and that’ll make you his evil assistant. Won’t it? ‘Accessory after the fact’ as the lawyers call it. Accessory to vile murder! You may as well have the knife in your hand… sorry, the wire in your hand.”

“Oh Dan,” scolded Sadie, “do you have to be so…”

“So wise in the ways of the world? Perhaps I don’t. But mark this,” he said, standing up and pointing his finger and mimicking a lawyer in court, “the burden of suspicion is not the greatest of Tim’s Euston’s problems. Nay, what’s worse by far is his being so woefully unqualified for a rank that should never have gone to him in the first place. Yea, that’s his greatest problem and that will be his downfall too, mark my words! And ‘tis such a shame though, for wouldn’t things have been better for him, were he now just an ordinary private? With all his knowledge of the manuals and his demonstrated bravery and ingenuity, then he’d have been well placed for early promotion to corporal, and then to sergeant – and with the good wishes of one and all. He would have been, had he not… had he not fallen victim to excessive good fortune.”

No one spoke as Dan sat back down. Outside, dogs could be heard barking.

“He’s right,” said Tim to Sadie.

“Don’t tell him so!” whispered Sadie. “It’ll only go to his head and make him all the more full of himself, and he’ll…”

“You’re right, it will do that,” interrupted Dan as his hand went back up, “and it’ll destroy my reputation for humbleness and humility. But truly, we are in a much worse state here that we’d ever expected we’d be. Aren’t we? And I mean ‘we’ and not just you. And it isn’t just because of your association with a man who gets drunk on Saturday night and offends half the county by bypassing the more deserving candidates for ensign. I’ve been doing more than digging with the lowly privates. I’ve been listening to them too, and they’ve told me what they’ve been hearing. That our Lieutenant Hawke has been telling those closest to him that the four of us may well be spies in the pay of the enemy.”

“Oh, he doesn’t…” started Tim.

“He does! And it’s your mother too, that he suspects! All of us – spies sent here to charm the wives of officers. He’s saying it’s just too hard to believe that we could ever have stolen – seized – military supplies off a British garrison.

“Well…”

“Those are the rumors that are going around.”

“But… maybe the rumors are wrong.”

“I heard about how you nearly caused a riot of women with your lovely new uniform. And to get such fine clothing you must have taken a good chunk out of your four hundred dollars. And you’ll…”

“I have to have proper clothes!” insisted Tim, with his hands out in a pleading gesture. “And I got the cloth at an excellent price and… and we didn’t come here to… just to… to look after our own self-interest. We’re committed to the cause of liberty, aren’t we? We’re here to fight for freedom in whatever way that we…”

“But we can still fight for freedom in other ways,” said Dan, holding up his hand as he turned away. “Better ways! In ways that’ll likely have a greater effect in the long run. We’re not a three-day walk from Trenton, and then only a short boat ride to the great port of Philadelphia. And there we’re sure to find a privateer who’s in need of courageous young men to do battle upon the open seas.”

“But that’s not… that’s not really…”

“With each British ship,” said Dan as he wagged his finger, “taken by our privateers, there’s a dozen London investors left with a total loss of their investment. It’s a strike against those who have the real power, back in ‘merry old England’. And it’s a direct blow to the King too, for where does he get the larger part of his revenues? From tonnage and poundage – from the taxes he collects on all goods imported into England and all that’s shipped out. With each vessel that we lay our hands on, King George is a poorer man. So, I say we should let the others dig the trenches. Let’s let another ensign carry the flag and offer himself up for target practice for red coated snipers.”

“Tim,” said Sadie with a sigh, “I do so regret to say it but he presents a valid argument.”

“No, Sadie my dear, that’s where you are wrong because… ah… I mean…” stammered Dan, who was momentarily surprised to find himself receiving support from a person who almost always disagreed with him.

“Just because we know we’re committed to freedom,” said Sadie to Tim, “doesn’t mean anybody else is going to believe us. And your mentor is likely a cold-blooded murderer. And even if he isn’t, you’re still scorned as an upstart by half the town. I heard Esther and Young Peter talking about it. You’ll likely never get to keep your commission. You haven’t even got it yet! Poole’s choice has yet to be approved by General Washington. I know he’s promised to allow the captains in the additional regiments to choose their own lieutenants and ensigns, but if the colonel sits down with Poole and talks things over, then he’ll likely come to his senses and make another choice. Colonel Olney’s likely only waiting until we’re finished learning his wife’s favorite song. If you don’t back out by your own choice then both you and Poole will end up looking like fools. And if he’s suspected of being a murderer then you’ll be condemned by… you’ll be suspected of having blackmailed him. Your excessive good fortune will be thought of as… as corruption.”

“My goodness,” said Dan, half to himself, “I didn’t think of all that.”

“Tim,” continued Sadie in a lower voice, “if you back out of it now, saying you’re just not ready for it, then you’ll look like you’ve a level head and that you’ve got the best interests of your country at heart. But if you don’t, you’ll end up looking like… like an upstart, and a criminal, and maybe even a spy.”

“But I’ve done nothing wrong!” groaned Tim. “I’ve…”

“Good boy, good boy,” said Dan with a grin. “Deny it with a great show of righteous indignation.”

“And shame be upon thee, Tim Euston,” said Sadie, mimicking a minister. “Blackmail! Could we ever have thought you capable of so devious a device as that?”

“Sadie! You shouldn’t joke about it! What if somebody overheard you?” But as he said this Tim saw the shocked expression in her eyes as she looked past him – looking at the person who stood behind him. Tim spun around. But there was no one was there. Dan and Sadie burst out laughing.

Chapter 12

Follow me, boys.

In a dream, Tim found his violin in one hand and his bow in the other as he faced enemy cannons that blasted with tremendous thunder and flame, firing fat balls that he could see coming, and barely missing each as he jumped aside.

He woke up gasping for breath. It was just a thunderstorm. But he knew that he would not get back to sleep again – not for a long while – not until after the storm had passed and maybe not at all. He lay there listening to the rain and wondering whether he should go to the tailor and ask how much he would offer to buy back the new uniform. After considering his options until his head hurt, he got up, wondering how long he had slept. While he stretched, he realized that only two or three of the men in the crowded room were snoring. When he had finally fallen asleep the night before, there had been so many snoring that they had combined into a steady drone. So what’s happened, he wondered. Are most of them lying awake like I’ve been, staring into the darkness?

The air in the room was as stuffy as it was smelly. Tim was in one of the houses now, along with Lieutenant Hawke’s platoon. And how, he had asked himself when he first arrived, am I going to steer clear of him when I’m supposed to behave as if I’m under his command? Have I been put here just so he can find excuses to invent more rumors? Am I to be close at hand so he can watch me make mistakes? Is this how they’ll get rid of me? But after dwelling on these grim thoughts, Tim considered the possibility that he might have been put here for an opportunity to prove his worth to the person who doubted him most. Poole had told Tim about a sergeant named Rush. He had said he was a good man who could teach him a few things. That was a hopeful sign. But Rush had seemed less than impressed when they were introduced. Everybody must have heard the rumors, Tim concluded. And Sergeant Rush must resent being stuck with me. But maybe not. He must have heard good things about me too. Captain Poole didn’t select me for no reason at all.

Like the sixty-two others who were crammed into the house, Tim had slept fully clothed. Not in his new uniform, though. It was safe with his mother, stored in a cedar box to protect it from moths. Instead, he wore some used clothing he had bought from the tailor. It was a uniform that was the same color as his new one but was faded from sun and rain and repaired in a few places. It was still good enough and had been available at a good price. Tim realized afterwards that, if the tailor had shown it to him before he had ordered his new uniform, he would likely have considered it adequate for the rest of the summer. And his mother had been right, too. It had belonged to the dead ensign that he had replaced.

Lanterns hung from the ceiling at both the top and bottom of the stairs to the second floor and their candles cast just enough light to allow Tim to make his way to the front door without stepping on anyone. As well, he had the light from each bolt of lightning as it flickered between the louvers of the shuttered windows. Their blue-green flash was in eerie contrast to the yellow glow of candles. These were thin wicked and burned all night. The light was needed to guide the men who came in and out every two hours. The house was being used as a guardhouse as well as a barracks.

Outside the front door, Tim saw one of the guards. He was standing under a verandah roof, watching the storm. The rain had slowed. Though it was against the rules, he was leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed. Each flash of lightning starkly illuminated his profile, giving his ordinary face a harsh and fearsome look.

“It’s just as well that you’re on duty,” said Tim quietly as he came up beside him. “Nobody’s getting much sleep now.”

“No, not likely,” he said, sounding sleepy. Tim had talked to him earlier. He was with the squad Tim had been attached to. He was an older man named Woodford with a head of grey hair and deep crow’s feet that radiated from his grey eyes when he smiled. During the winter, he had been made corporal but had requested a demotion, saying that bossing the boys interfered with his digestion. “But there’s some of them who seem able to snore away through it all,” he said with a smile as he looked back over his shoulder.

“I envy them.”

“Sleeping anytime and under any conditions is a talent you hone by the pulling of guard duty. You either sleep for your two hours off, or when you’re back on again it’ll be two long hours of slapping your face to keep awake. But you’ll be spared that though, won’t you?”

“Instead I pull fiddle duty,” joked Tim, sounding slightly embarrassed.

“Ha! Now don’t you go talking like that, boy,” he said quietly, right into Tim’s ear. “That’s a task that’s surely as necessary as any for an army at war – a-singing them patriotic anthems. And I can tell you that with no doubts in my mind, I can. For even if you were to do nothing else, you’d still have your hand in the tormenting of the redcoats. Yea, doubt it not, my boy, for you’ll be the invisible spirit that whispers in the ear of a fearful soldier when he’s a-crouching down on the front line, cringing at the sound of rifle fire and dreading the sound of drums.”

“Will I be?” asked Tim, sounding like he was not sure if he should believe all he was being told.

“Oh yes yes yes,” nodded Woodford as he peeked over his shoulder to see if they were being watched. “You listen to me now, for haven’t I fought in three battles and a couple of dozen skirmishes, at least? Yea, and haven’t I learned it all at first-hand? When it comes time to fight or to run, it’ll be the song in your head that puts the iron in your spine. Truly it will be, my boy, truly it will. And a great consolation it can be, too. Indeed, for when we’re back out upon a field of battle – and that could be as soon as today – then it’ll be you and your sister’s voices that will echo in our ears when the enemy’s balls have started to fly. Yea, and ‘twill be that what’ll keep us true to our oath, it will. Sure as anything.”

“Well… I hope so.”

“Indeed ‘tis so, ‘tis so. And we might be hearing the balls flying sooner rather than later, mightn’t we?” Woodford said as he held out his hand as if to point out where the battle would take place. “Sure, you just wait and see now, for there’s been tories spotted out a-snooping and a-spying, both out of town and maybe within, too. There was this old woman who came into town today. Just wanting to try to sell some of her straw hats, she said, and make herself a few pennies. Well, it looked to some like she would maybe be making herself more than pennies once she got back to sell her newly-acquired intelligence. For she was a-walking up and down the town, a-looking this way and that, acting like she’d lost a kitten. And it was our hawk-eyed Captain Hawke who invited her to stay for a little while longer, as guest of the Army.”

“He locked her up?”

“And she went along without any argument,” he said with a grin. “And for a woman, that’s as good as a confession, ain’t it now?”

“The colonel’s supposing they’ll attack today?”

“Today, tomorrow. We’ll soon know, won’t we? For the first light of dawn is fast upon us,” Woodford said with another grand gesture of his hand. Tim looked out and could see that the black of the cloudy sky had turned to a dark grey. The thunderstorm had passed and the rain had slowed to a steady drizzle. They heard a voice up the street by Arnold’s Tavern. A minute later, a boy came out with a drum to beat the reveille. Next came the raspy voice of a sergeant as he roused the men, and the morning routine got going like any other day, except that these orders were executed with more speed. Lanterns were lit, bedrolls were rolled up and put away, and shutters were pushed open to prepare for daylight. Every task had its man and everyone was busy.

Everyone except Tim, who went to stand by Sergeant Rush. It was a strange position to be in, on the brink of being the man’s superior in rank but at the same time, advised to strictly obey all his orders and place full reliance upon his superior knowledge. Tim had been offered a choice between a musket and a spear and had chosen the spear. This was partly because he felt reluctant to deprive an experienced private of his weapon but it was also because a musket was normally carried by a private. An officer was usually armed with a sword or a spear.

Tim was close to a front window and from there he could keep an eye on the activity in the street. They had not yet started on breakfast when the sounds of hooves splashing through puddles were heard coming up to Arnold’s tavern. The rider ran to the door saying, “A message for the colonel!” Tim did not have to wait long before he heard the sound he expected. Out in the street, the drummer straightened his back and held his batons high. First his right arm fell and then his left as he began to sound a long roll – a continuous series of paired strokes executed rapidly. It was what they called “to arms”, and it was the gravest alarm given in any army, for it warned of imminent attack. The house was suddenly a hubbub of officers shouting commands to men who were already in motion, grabbing hats and haversacks.

At last! thought Tim with a smile, as he rushed to gather his things. But right away he scolded himself for hoping for such a thing. He knew he should be praying for peace and should deeply regret the need for brutal force. But still he felt a tingling in his spine and imagined himself knocking down a redcoat with the butt end of his spear and chasing off another with the sight of its needle sharp tip.

“Still willing?” joked the corporal as he jolted Tim out of his dream with a slap on his shoulder.

“Yes sir!” said Tim, and again he caught himself smiling. He pursed his lips and wondered if he must be crazy. How can anyone be fool enough to crave death and destruction?

Once assembled, their squad still only numbered eleven. This was eight short of full strength but it was likely as complete as any in Morristown. After a quick inspection, Rush led them out in single file, splashing through the mud. They went only a short way along the street before going down a pathway, past a house, between gardens and orchards and out to the trenches and ramparts that protected the town.

A sentinel at his post told Rush he had seen no sign of the enemy but he did it with a shiver in his voice. Is it fear? Tim wondered. Has he heard something? Tim felt a cold sensation creep up his legs and grab hold of his guts. He could feel his knees shaking. He tried to stop them. It took a lot of concentration but he succeeded. But they started again as soon as he lost his focus. Can the others see it? he wondered, thinking that a soldier behind him might now be coming up with something clever to say about it. Will I be the laughingstock of Morristown? Am I about to turn and run crying to my mama? Will I ever live this down?

With intense thought and a prayer for courage, Tim managed to overcome his panic and stop shivering. But the enemy was almost certainly out there, somewhere. The firing could start at any moment. Or it might only start after hours of waiting, or maybe not at all.

“To your stations,” ordered Rush and they filed out along the trench. Here it was only dug about a foot deep but there were puddles. Sod had been replaced to limit the mud, but it was still mucky. The rampart in front of it rose a foot providing a two-foot barrier to crouch behind. More than enough to confound an enemy attack, thought Tim. Enough to inflict the sort of damage the enemy suffered at Bunker Hill.

Tim followed the next man until he stopped, turned, and told him to go a few paces back and keep himself midway between him and the next man. Once ready, they stood and waited. There seemed no reason to crouch down, not before the enemy was shooting, so they watched and waited while water crept through the seams of their shoes. All was fairly quiet. Birds chirped. Time passed slowly. Tim’s toes got cold. In the distance he could hear the voices of officers from other units. Back in town, roosters crowed and dogs barked. Someone started playing a violin. Tim could recognize the style. It was the old fellow who had been playing with them the last couple of evenings when they performed for the troops. He could hear more dogs barking but the sound of them was muffled, as if they were all locked inside of barns and sheds. There must have been an order given to keep them inside when an attack came, thought Tim.

The fiddler was playing again, this time by himself, and his music made an odd combination with the other sounds. Again, there was shouting. It seems further off than the barking, doesn’t it? Surely it’s from the far side of town. Shouting at the enemy, maybe? Shouting at tories, or maybe regulars, or maybe even at Hessians?

The rain petered out and hills came into focus. One of their squad was sent back to get them the breakfast they had missed. After a long wait he returned with porridge that sat cold at the bottom of a wooden bucket. He ladled it into their cups and each would use a personal spoon or knife. Tim had a spoon made out of a cow’s horn. It was new and still had quite a smell to it when wet. He was considering investing in a fork, now that he was to be an officer and a gentleman, though he did not look forward to the bother of keeping it polished, along with everything else that would need polishing, brushing, washing or repairing. He would have to hire one of the privates, but that could only be for a few hours a week. He could not afford any more. Much of the servile work he would have to do himself. But that’s a concern that can wait, he told himself as he scooped up a spoonful. I’m not an officer yet and might never be. The porridge had pork and molasses mixed in. It tastes pretty good, Tim decided. I must be hungry.

The same man came back later with boiled water flavored with a mixture of coffee and roasted chicory root. Wet soldiers who had started to shiver were able to stop. All except for a sickly looking one. After talking with him, Sergeant Rush sent him back to the house to warm up. If a soldier was tired and feverish, a fit of shivering could bring on a high fever and a rapid death. The Army did not have so many experienced soldiers that it could risk losing them to fevers. And a sergeant who ignored the signs could find himself being held to account. He risked demotion, and that would mean half the pay and a return to ditch digging.

Grey clouds slowly grew brighter. The drummers and fifers performed a few tunes with the fiddler playing along. The humidity dulled the sound. In Tim’s squad, only six men out of the remaining ten carried a musket and he wondered whether any one of them would fire. At the best of times, only three out of four muskets fired when they were supposed to. After so long a wait, the powder in their cartridges would surely have taken on moisture. It could be that we’re all just armed with clubs and spears, thought Tim. He could remember seeing an illustration in a book showing a band of biblical warriors battling away with axes and spears. We might still do alright in spite of it. And the weather must be even more of a problem for our enemy, for they’ve surely walked a long way. Their attack will be more primitive than our defense. The thought of it made Tim feel better and he imagined himself out on the field, hacking down one redcoat, knocking another aside and spearing a third.

“Follow me, boys,” said Rush in a metallic voice, startling Tim out of his daydream. Again, he followed the next man along the trench, returning the way they came. Another file of soldiers came past them to take their places.

“Where are we going?” Tim whispered to Woodford who was the next one ahead of him.

“Likely out to see if there’s anybody over there,” he said, pointing. “It’s our turn, I guess.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Oh yes, yes yes. But that’s good fortune for you, though, ain’t it?” Woodford said as he glanced over his shoulder to give him a wink. “You’re maybe to be getting a chance to demonstrate your courage under fire.”

“That’s good,” said Tim, but again he felt his legs start to tremble.

Chapter 13

Are they that brave?

This is it, then, Tim told himself as he felt a shiver ripple up his spine. I’m armed, I’m in a file of soldiers and we’re on our way out to find the enemy and… and maybe we will find them – maybe a lot of them. And maybe I’ll see action. And maybe… after all my studying and practicing and imagining what it would be like. Is it possible? Am I truly going to have a chance to… to prove my worth?

As if in answer to his question, Tim heard the popping sound of a distant rifle shot. He was fairly sure it was a rifle because it sounded slightly different from a musket – more o2f a bang than a boom. A musket ball, wrapped in paper from the cartridge, had a looser fit – so loose that it was only the paper that kept it from rolling back out again if the barrel was tipped forward. That made a musket faster and easier to load but it also meant that much of the force of exploding gunpowder was lost around the sides of the ball. A rifle ball was smaller and had a much tighter fit. It was wrapped in oily leather instead of paper, and the rifling of its barrel would force it to spin the right way. Spiral grooves cut into the inside of the barrel made the ball turn on an axis in line with its direction of flight, and that meant it would go straight toward what it was aimed at. A musket ball could spin any way at all, depending on the imperfections in its shape. That would make it curve up, down or to either side.

Again, Tim heard a rifle shot and the whistle of a ball flying past. It barely missed someone behind him, who ducked and uttered a curse. Rush was leading them well to the side, so it would be a lucky shot that would hit any of them. Covering fire started from behind, aimed at where the smoke of the snipers’ fire could be seen amongst the trees. It was hundreds of yards away so they were not likely to hit anyone either, but the sound of balls ripping through branches would force the snipers to stay low and that could slow their reloading.

“Pick it up!” ordered Rush. He led the line into a jog. More gunfire could be heard from behind, but this time it was distant – likely on the far side of town.

Maybe there’s another force of attackers over there, Tim wondered as he watched the ground in front of him, worried he might trip. It could be a two-pronged attack. Or maybe three-pronged. But likely it’s nothing. His stomach was knotting, his neck was getting sore, and again he was shivering. It felt strange to shiver while running. What is this foolishness? he asked himself. Trembling like a leaf, I am! Curse me for a coward and a fool and a… But then he realized it must be the cold and damp that was casing it, and that everyone else was likely shivering too.

Again came two shots from behind. Tim took a quick glance back. He could see men in upstairs windows of houses, where they were not obscured by white plumes of smoke. With the damp and misty weather, the smoke was twice as thick. With no wind it hung in the air like ghosts, blocking the shooter’s view. Likely today, he realized, nobody will ever know if they hit anybody.

Out of the corner of his eye Tim saw a white flash of light at the edge of the woodland, followed by another puff of smoke. Almost immediately, he heard the blast together with the whistle of the ball as it flew over. He had heard the sound before. The old man who had helped him and Dan learn the drill had once fired a shot over their heads while they hid behind a wall so they could hear it go past. But it sort of sounds different, doesn’t it, he thought with a half smile, when I know somebody’s trying to kill me with it.

The trees had been cleared off close to Morristown but further away there was more forest than field. Amidst branches and leaves Tim could see where the smoke had drifted. The second sniper may have reloaded by now. He felt his hands grip his spear so tight that his fingers hurt. The trees were still three hundred yards away. So it’ll be a lucky one that finds its target. But still, anybody can get lucky.

Tim was getting winded and wondered whether he could keep going. He was strong and fit but it was a long way from town to the cover of trees. And who knows what we’re running into? We could be going straight to where they’re sitting. There might be a whole platoon of them there – maybe a battalion! And maybe they’ve all a musket each and they’re grinning and loading their weapons while they watch us coming and… and probably not able to believe their luck.

“Come on, boys!” Rush shouted as they made the final sprint. Once they were far enough in to be sure of good cover, Rush spoke between gasps for air. Three men were ordered to “go on out a ways,” to see whether anyone was close by. After they had called back their “all’s clear”, he turned to explain the obvious. “We’re just going to make a quick scout around. We know there’s at least two of them and… maybe there’s a thousand. We’ll find out soon enough. Tim?”

“Here,” he replied. His voice box was tight and it came sounding out like a girl’s. A few chuckled.

“Tim, here’s your chance to prove that your Captain Poole didn’t make a mistake by choosing you for ensign. Up ahead, there’s a clearing. I need a man who’s got courage enough to go and take a run across to see what he can see. Maybe draw fire and show us where they’re hiding. You think you’re up to the challenge?”

“I do, sir.”

“Well, get going then, before you’ve second thoughts,” said Rush in a voice that was almost calm. “Now, remember there’s at least two of them, so if one shoots and misses, then don’t just stand there shaking your finger at him and making yourself a target for his partner. You keep yourself moving. Make it hard for them.”

“I will,” said Tim as he started toward the clearing.

“Just keep yourself moving,” said the soldier who had called back an all’s clear. “Your odds are good.”

“They are,” agreed Tim as he passed by, taking quick steps while keeping himself crouched low. He came to a stop, just short of open ground. His heart was pounding and his throat was dry. And maybe it’s too dry? he wondered. Will I have any voice to call back with? Off to his side, he noticed a man, which made him jump. But a better look only revealed a dead tree leaning against another. I’m seeing things, he told himself. It was a big clearing. The grass was short. Must have had cattle or sheep on it. It’s coming back nicely. Good pasture. He took a few steps to his right but was still within the cover of small trees. Then he stopped. Am I supposed to cross right down the middle? Or am I supposed to stay by the edge of the woods? He looked back and remembered he was supposed to keep moving. But how far? he wondered, and when do I call back? He decided to split the difference and ran out into the open but kept close to the woods. There was no sign of anyone. Something moved in the grass. It was only a snake but Tim gasped and jumped to the side, stumbled and fell. He leapt back up, momentarily seeing snakes everywhere. He looked toward the woods. Enemy soldiers by the dozens! But then there was no one. He rushed back into the woods to take cover. Then ran back out into the meadow. He was already approaching the far side of the clearing. Now what? Do I keep going? Just running round and round this stupid clearing?

Then Tim saw them. Strangers! Two men within the edge of the woods, holding the reins of their horses like they were about to mount and ride away. One held a rifle. The tory scouts? Tim wondered as he came to a stop. They wore no uniforms but that meant nothing. It was generally only officers who had uniforms, and they often only wore them for parade and social events. “You tories?” Tim tried to call. Again, it came out like a girl’s voice. One of them laughed, raised his rifle and took aim, directly at Tim.

Instantly Tim was running for cover – not away from them but to the nearest cover. He heard no sound of a shot but still he ran as fast as he could. Once into the woods he saw a branch, then a flash of stars. He had run his forehead directly into it. He fell, crashing into the trunk of another tree. But he was not knocked out and managed to get himself up. Stumbling along, he hit another tree. Above all the noise he was making he managed to hear a man’s voice calling someone. Sergeant Rush? Tim asked himself as he came to a stop. Who’d he be calling? And where… where are they? Oh no, I’m lost! No! I can’t be lost! They’ll laugh at me! They’ll all laugh at me!

Tim turned around, looking every direction. He started on what he thought was the way back to the clearing. His stomach was so tight he could not rise from a crouch. He tried to shout but it was only a hiss. Oh dear Lord, he prayed, don’t let me dirty my breeches! That would be too much! That would be the worst! I could never go back! Everybody would laugh! Nobody would ever forget!

With these horrid thoughts in his head Tim kept going, coming upon what looked like a trail. Suddenly he heard the sound of a horse’s hooves. It forced him back under some brush. It was just in time because a horse and rider galloped past. Who’s that? he wondered as he stepped back out to see where the rider was going. But then right behind him came the thunder of more hooves. Tim spun around. Right in front of him was another horse and rider. “AAAH!” he squealed. The horse halted abruptly, frightened. Its rider had been looking back over his shoulder and was unprepared for the halt. Over the horse’s head he came, falling hard on the ground, almost hitting Tim who leapt back.

Tim got up to look at the rider were he lay. Then he saw it. The man had dropped a rifle. “A rifle!” Tim whispered as he lunged forward, grabbing hold of it. A tory rifle! he thought. That means it’s booty! It’s plunder! The spoils of war! And it’s mine to keep! And… he thought as he took another look at the knocked-out man. A shoulder belt held a scabbard that contained a sword. “My stars!” Tim gasped, whispering out loud. “A fine sword it is, too! And it’s mine! By right of plunder it is! It’s mine!”

Tim was rushing to unbuckle the scabbard and pull it off when the man started to come to. “I beg your pardon?” said Tim as he pushed the man’s hands aside to get the belt over his head.

“Tell Porter…” insisted the man, sounding like he had something very important to say.

“What?” asked Tim. He was still pulling the belt loose.

“Tell Porter that…”

“Tell who?”

“Tell Porter… tell him that…” but the words became mumbled.

“Porter? You mean Old Peter?” asked Tim as he looked to see what else he could take. Blood was running from the man’s scalp. In the fall a whole section of skin had torn loose. “Oh!” gasped Tim, revolted by the sight of it. “Here… here now,” he then said, suddenly feeling sorry for him. He grabbed the man’s arm and pulled him into a sitting position, almost dislocating his shoulder. The man cried out in pain. Ignoring his suffering, Tim hooked the man’s elbow over his neck, pulling him to a half-standing position. The man struggled and whimpered. Blood had run into his eyes and he was only half-conscious. Tim dragged him a couple of steps so he could retrieve the rifle. Then he saw the horse close by, looking frightened and confused. “Here boy. Come boy!” called Tim, as if to a dog. “Come boy!”

“Prince! Come!” said the man as he reached out his hand. With his free hand he had been rubbing his eyes to clear them of blood. His hand and face was covered with it.

“Come boy,” said Tim, who now felt that pacifying the horse should be his highest priority. “Come boy,” he said, and he took two more steps, holding onto the man’s arm with one hand and the rifle with the other. The tory stumbled alongside and grabbed hold of Tim’s shirt, smearing it with blood. More blood was dripping from his head and splattering across Tim’s breeches. Tim noticed blood on his own hand and wondered where it had come from. He blinked and wiped his brow and saw more on his hand and realized the injury to his forehead must be bleeding.

“Prince! Come now…” said the tory again to his horse.

“Come boy,” repeated Tim. The rifle had a belt and he slung it over his head. With his free hand he took hold of the horse’s rein and pull him close.

“TIM!” called Rush from behind.

“Tories!” replied Tim as he turned. “One got away! He rode that way!”

“What’s this?” asked Rush as he came up with his squad behind him.

“The other one got away,” said Tim. “Scouts only, I think. Nobody else that I saw.”

“And what a bloody mess you are!” said Rush as he looked at Tim’s face and clothing. Blood from his forehead steamed across his face. “And what’s all this?” Rush asked, shaking his head in amazement as he looked at the rifle, the horse and the prisoner.

Chapter 14

The taking of booty.

“Taking booty, are you my boy?” asked Rush as he smiled. “Well well well, and look at all this. A horse? A fine stallion, he is too. And a rifle? My goodness!

“And a nice horse pistol, here,” said another soldier, as he pulled it from a holster that hung from the saddle. It looked to be almost two feet long.

“My word!” said Rush. “Won’t your captain be pleased to hear of this. Won’t he be, indeed?” He then remembered his task and called to his forward and flanking guards. He had ordered men in each direction to ensure that the enemy was not close by. Once satisfied, he told two to help the prisoner onto his horse. A man was already mounted and the prisoner sat behind him, tied securely to the soldier’s back to keep him from falling off as they rode back.

“And don’t you worry now,” said Rush to Tim. “We’re just needing the borrow of him. He’ll be yours to save or sell once we’re back.”

“Of course,” said Tim who was now leaning on the rifle like a crutch. A soldier was quickly wrapping a strip of cloth round his head to slow the bleeding. Tim was still feeling overwhelmed and his hands and legs were shaking. Soldiers were smiling, making comments like “Good work” and “Dandy little haul.” Tim started wondering how much it all might be worth.

“Let’s be getting back,” said Sergeant Rush as the last of his men returned. “You need help, Tim?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he replied as he took a step, but he swayed and had to catch his balance. A few men chuckled.

“Woodford, you keep a hold on him,” said Rush. “And off with you,” he said to the man who was mounted in front of the prisoner. “Take him at a gallop. We don’t want your horse getting shot now, do we Tim?”

“Oh…ah…no.”

“Yes my boy, you’ve done your Captain a favor. For sure you’ve done that.”

“I have,” Tim agreed, though he wondered about the way Rush had said it. Woodford stayed with him as they followed along in file but only kept a loose grip on his upper arm. Tim’s gait steadied and once into the open he let go. They spread out and kept to a jog, their eyes on the ground to watch for rocks or badger holes. Tim’s head cleared and he began to marvel at all he had accomplished. I captured a prisoner, he bragged to himself. A tory prisoner, along with his horse and rifle. And Sergeant Rush is right. I’ve done my captain a favor. And what’ll Lieutenant Hawke have to say now?

. . . . .

Tim was delivered to the Porter house where the women started to clean him up and look after his wound. “How’d you get this,” his mother asked as she examined his forehead. “Did he fight you with a club?”

“I don’t know,” he lied. “Something hit me.”

“The butt of the rifle maybe,” suggested Dot, who was there with her husband.

“Or maybe you ran into a tree,” joked Sadie.

“Don’t matter what,” said Old Peter from where he sat. “You sustained a wound while capturing a prisoner. Wounded in the line of duty, you were. Though I suppose it’s not your duty to your regiment until you’re sworn in, is it? A duty to your country, nonetheless. And it was still sustained while on patrol with a squad of Continentals.”

“Where’s the hero of the day!” called Malcolm Poole with a bright smile as he came through the kitchen door.

“Surrounded by women admirers, he is,” said Old Peter. “Getting his wounds cared to. Looks like a horse kicked him.”

“I have just seen your horse,” said Poole as he came close to look at the bump on Tim’s forehead. “Not the worst specimen. What do you suppose he’s worth?” he asked turning to Old Peter.

“Oh, these days? He’s no racehorse but… oh… eighty dollars, likely? Maybe a hundred? And that’s a good enough rifle. A bit bent up in the fall, only. But it’s still worth fifty dollars, at least. Too bad it’s not a musket with a bayonet. That’s what the Army’s desperate for. And there’s the rest of it, too. That pistol’s worth twenty or thirty. And that’s a good pair of shoes he had on.”

“Two hundred in all, likely,” said Poole, as he put his hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Maybe more. You wouldn’t have earned that cutting wood the whole winter. And you couldn’t have pocketed half of it. You’ve paid for your new uniform and then some. You’ve equipped yourself as an officer. But it isn’t just money you’ve earned, Tim Euston. You’ve demonstrated courage in action. You’ve shown us that you can to take a risk. You’ve shown us all that you’ll be able go into battle and not lose your nerve. The colonel will be pleased to hear about this.”

“Yea, the boy’s shown us what he’s got, he has,” said Old Peter with a nod. “I think he’ll maybe be another Malcolm Poole before too long. What do you say to that, Tim?”

“Well… I…I don’t…”

“Now, don’t go thinking too hard and making this lump grow,” said his mother as she helped him into a clean shirt. Everyone laughed.

With all the excitement of the morning, no one had given much thought to breakfast. As fear of being attacked and overrun subsided, people started to get hungry. Ham and eggs were prepared, the table was set and small beer was poured. When together at the table, they were able to joke about “battle nerves.” Old Peter settled the debate by saying that anyone within earshot of what might have been a battle could claim to have battle nerves. “Even if they weren’t a soldier, and even if it wasn’t even a raid. And even if she’d been hiding under a bed.”

“I wasn’t under the bed!” Esther responded, indignantly. Others tried not to laugh.

After more talk Old Peter declared it was time to return to work, except for Esther who needed to lie down. Prim went to sit by her side and try help her to fall asleep and avoid a severe headache. Mike O’Toole was back, looking for Dot. Old Peter suggested he sit and sip a glass of wine for his stomach’s sake.

Tim started to wonder about how his prisoner had said to “tell Porter that.” He shook his head in frustration and turned to Sadie. “We ought to go do some work on the colonel’s wife’s favorite.”

“No you don’t,” said Abby. “You need your rest – both of you do.”

“But… well…” said Tim with an apologetic smile. “I don’t know that I can just sit still any longer. It’s worse than working.”

“Worse?” asked Old Peter. “Come boy, you’ll never be an officer and a gentleman until you can laze about all day and still call it work.”

“I suppose I’m still learning,” said Tim. “And I’ll be back soon for some lazing. I think I’ll be having to get used to the gentleman’s life a little bit at a time.”

“Ah! Listen to the boy,” said Peter with a glance over to Mike. “Go and practice then,” he called to Tim.

“I won’t for long,” said Tim but then he noticed the look Mike O’Toole was giving him. Again it was an expression of anger or hatred. It was worse than the looks Lieutenant Hawke had been giving him. What is it? wondered Tim. Is he jealous of me? Is he envious because he lacked the courage to go out with the patrol and to be willing to ‘draw fire’?

. . . . .

In the barn they played for about two minutes before Tim had to stop. It was too hard to concentrate with nerves that were strung tight. Sadie told him to sit and rest while she went to where milk had been poured into wide pans to cool. Sniper fire and drummer’s calls had not stopped the cows from needing to be milked. The morning’s chores had gone ahead like usual and Sadie could now skim the cream.

Seeing that there was nothing he could do to help, Tim sat on a stool and leaned back against a post. “I don’t know that I’m ‘hero of the day’, ” he said quietly as he stared at the mud floor.

“Oh, sure you are,” said Sadie without looking up.

“They… well… it was just luck.”

“Luck or not, it was still you who captured a tory scout.”

Tim looked around to make sure they were alone and said in a whisper, “Well… I… I think… I know… I’d just turned to run. When I saw the tories, one of them pointed a rifle at me! I was scared silly and… I just up and ran away like… It was without thinking! And… and I don’t know where I got this bump on my forehead from, but I wonder whether I just hit a branch. I don’t know! And then… and then I fell, and then I was running! I was just trying to get away! I wasn’t really fighting at all! Then I got in his way and the horse stopped and the man just fell off…”

“Hush up, right now!” ordered Sadie in a harsh whisper, her eyes wide with anger.

“But it’s true!” whispered Tim.

“That’s not what the Sergeant Rush told Poole!”

“He wasn’t there! He’d got the wrong impression! And maybe he’s just wanting to tell his captain what he wants to hear.”

“But you can’t say that with a certainty!” insisted Sadie as she got up. “You can’t say that you know for certain that that is all that happened!”

“I was there, wasn’t I?”

“The whole squad was there! And Sergeant Rush is saying otherwise! And he didn’t get his head whacked! You don’t know better than him! You’re wounded, aren’t you? You’ve been wounded to the head and it’s knocked the sense out of you and now you’re just imagining all this!”

“No, I’m…”

“Everybody’s saying you’re a hero, you fool!”

“Well…”

“Who are you to think that they’re all wrong, and that you’re the only one who’s right?”

“Well…”

“And even if they are wrong, you did as well as any raw recruit in his first action, with no training. None to speak of.”

“But there’s maybe one of them who saw it all,” moaned Tim as he shook his head. “I don’t know who was coming up behind me. They were all there, almost right away! The sergeant was sending men ahead to see… ”

“If any of them did see more, then he’ll know better than to say otherwise because he’ll know what the captain and everyone else is wanting to think!”

“But…”

“Don’t you go acting the fool and telling anybody what you’ve just told me! Not anyone! You’re better off being thought a hero and you’re better off showing that you’re willing to follow the lead of your captain. Aren’t you? And it’s not you that’s been claiming anything. Has it been? You’ve just been… you’ve been told everything. You’re wounded and you don’t remember everything that happened. Do you?”

“But…”

“So you are going to say nothing!” she hissed, pointing a finger at his nose, “and you’re going to let the rest of them do your talking for you!”

“But what if they’re wrong and the truth comes out?”

“Tim! You owe Captain Poole a lot! He laid his reputation on the line by choosing you for ensign! And that means that what you’re going to do is to let him believe you boldly went out and captured yourself an enemy scout! And you’re going to let him believe that as long as he sees fit. You’re just going to shrug your shoulders and say nothing. You’re wounded in the head, aren’t you?”

“Well…”

“Aren’t you? You don’t know up from down! You’re imagining all this! All this that you’re babbling about!”

“But what if somebody comes forward with the truth?”

“Tim,” she said slowly, “you will say nothing more!”

“Well…”

“Not to anybody!”

“Well…”

“Tim! You owe it to your captain!”

“Well… I… I suppose.”

“Good,” said Sadie as she turned back to her work. Once she finished skimming off the cream, the skim milk that remained would go next door to the neighbor’s pigs. But before doing this Sadie turned back to Tim and said, “Now tell me, Tim Euston, how’d you get the bump on your head?”

“I… I don’t know,” he replied in a defeated voice. “I remember seeing the scouts and then figuring I ought to take cover and… and then I remember gathering up the booty and… and then I remember getting hold of the horse too and… and… that’s about all. I’ve been having to ask what happened. I think the horse must have kicked me.”

“Good for you,” said Sadie as she gave him a gentle pat on his aching head.

Chapter 15

A secret business.

“Why don’t you do some work in the garden?” said Sadie from the barn door before going back to the kitchen.

“Alright,” said Tim without looking up.

“If you’re too restless to lie down then you can do some weeding.”

“I will.”

“And don’t push yourself with the music. It’s too much for somebody with a half broken head.”

“It is.”

“And with the rain it’s the best time for weeding.”

“It is.”

“So come on then!”

“I’m coming,” he said and he got up slowly. He followed her out to where she found a hoe, by the back of the house. It had a narrow blade to fit between desirable plants. As she walked away, he leaned on the hoe and looked at the garden. A robin landed, pulled an earthworm from the soil, and flew away with it hanging from his beak. Tim felt he could understand how the poor worm felt. He sighed, put the hoe back and returned to the barn. He picked up his violin and started on the piece, but right away was making mistakes. He sighed again, paced back and forth, sat down on the stool, and then got back up again. “And what have you got to worry about?” he said out loud. “Aren’t you now a battle-scarred veteran? Haven’t you demonstrated a capacity to do your duty in the face of the enemy – to take on the enemy man to man?”

“Ooo, you have that,” sounded the melodic voice of Dot O’Toole as she came up behind him. “And maybe man to woman if time allows.”

“Oh! Dot! Did you… I didn’t…” stammered Tim, who had not heard her coming.

“Calm yourself, boy,” she said with a smile as she pushed down on his shoulder with both hands, as if that was needed to keep him from jumping about. “Chattering faster than a squirrel, you are, poor thing. Come and sit. I need someone to talk to. Someone who’s not halfway… well, I suppose you are halfway to madness.”

“It’s just battle nerves. Or patrol nerves, at least. And threat of attack nerves. We’ve all got them. I don’t know if I’ve stopped sweating since sunup. That was… this morning… that was quite a…”

“An incident they’d call it. Nothing more. Here, let’s sit down and try to talk in calm and pleasant voices,” she said, going to the bench with the high back. “ ‘His mind’s a-rattled and his nerves are a-frayed, from daring to dance too close about his grave.’ ”

“Well, I wouldn’t…”

“But it’ll soon pass, I’m sure,” said Dot as she sat and patted the place beside her. “Try thinking mild and merry thoughts about strange and distant lands. Think of all your lovely booty. You’re all ready to ride out in glory on your own horse and with your new uniform.”

“I probably won’t be able to keep the horse. Or the pistol either. Ensigns aren’t supposed…”

“Oh, that’s so foolish! And besides, lots of officers carry a pistol. And not just to shoot their own men when they turn to run. My husband Mike carries the loveliest little pocket pistol. He carries it in that haversack he always has a-hanging from his shoulder. And no one knows whether his pistol’s there and that way he doesn’t frighten the timid sorts. But when he needs to put a scare into some rascal that he’s come upon on the road, it’s there and handy. And he needs it out on the road, truly he does, poor thing. These are dangerous times we live in.”

“They are that.”

“And you know how he keeps his nerves in check? By keeping himself busy, is how. And that’s what you should be doing, keeping your mind well occupied. That’s what will do you best. Isn’t it?”

“But then we shouldn’t be just sitting here,” said Tim, who was on the edge of the bench.

“No no no, you’ve just been up. And anyways, I’m wanting to ask you about something,” she said quietly. “Have you heard anything more about the killing of poor Hugh?”

“Well… ah… actually there was something that I… well, I was just wondering about it now.”

“Tell me and maybe I can help,” she said as she took hold of his wrist.

“It’s something that… it was something about what the tory had said. The one I’d captured. He… he’d fallen from his horse. I’d leapt in front of the horse, forcing it to stop.”

“Oh, you fool!”

“Yes, I suppose I… well, I was pulling off his belt, to disarm him, and he started to rouse. And then he’d said something that… that I’d thought… well, I thought it was a bit odd.”

“What?” asked Dot as she leaned closer and tightened her grip on his wrist.

“Well… he’d wanted to say something like… It was something urgent. He wanted to tell me something. I don’t think he could see me, for he’d cut his scalp and his eyes were full of blood and… well, he’d hit his head hard and maybe he thought he was talking to his companion. And what he said sounded like, ‘Tell Porter that’, He tried to say more but he couldn’t. He just mumbled something. He’d landed hard and was stunned and… but isn’t it strange that he’d say such a thing. And I’m wondering who ‘Porter’ might be. Not one of the Porters here in town, I wouldn’t think.”

“Well, I wonder…” said Dot quietly.

“It could be Old Peter, couldn’t it? He’s been trading with a lot of men, hasn’t he? But the merchants hereabouts aren’t still trading with tories, are they?”

“That’d be trading with the enemy if they were. You could be jailed for that – hanged even. But Porter’s not an uncommon name, is it? And maybe you heard him wrong too. And maybe his mind was addled and he was trying to say ‘tell the porter that’ – like he’d remembered something that had to be delivered somewhere. And what with him falling from a horse, well. They say the mind plays tricks on you when...”

“Yes, it must be that,” said Tim as he nodded decisively.

“We’ve so much be thankful for too, don’t we?” said Dot as she patted Tim’s knee. “We need to keep telling ourselves that. Counting our blessings, we ought to be. And here you’ve captured an enemy scout. And who would have thought that a tory could count as a blessing? You’ve proven yourself under fire, haven’t you Tim Euston? That’s what Malcolm is saying. And look at all that you’ve got for yourself. You’ll be well equipped now – a saber and a pistol and a rifle. And a fine horse and saddle – and all at no cost! A well-earned reward for the man who accepted the most dangerous task! Sent out to draw fire, you were, and you did it without getting yourself shot or stabbed or trampled. Your good fortune doesn’t ever seem to end, does it?”

“No, not lately, it doesn’t,” agreed Tim.

“You’ve had your times of bad fortune,” said Dot as she rose, “and now the tables have turned. You’re a hero and you’re soon to be an officer. And, remember this! Your progress won’t just be gained by military promotion and the capture of prisoners. Next it will be a woman who will figure large in your accent to prominence.”

“I’ll capture a woman?”

“With your new status you will attract the attention of women of quality. They will now be after you – marking you as their prey. Eager young virgins will be competing amongst each other to have you for a husband. Using all their charms and talents, they’ll be, to lure you onto a marriage bed.”

“I can’t afford a…”

“Tim! Every rich daughter comes with a rich father who will see to it that you can keep his daughter in the manner to which she’s come accustomed. He’ll train you in his trade, and he’ll loan you money to get established. He’ll make sure that you develop into a man of means. Yes Tim, you’ll soon be married into quality. Or at least you will, so long as you don’t foolishly marry less. You’ll just have to set your standards high and wait for the right girl to select you. And think of it Tim Euston. It all started with Malcolm Poole getting drunk and choosing you for ensign.”

“It… well… I likely can’t keep the horse. They don’t want every ensign to have one. Not even lieutenants, not when they don’t truly need one. Maybe not captains either. All those horses would be too expensive to feed. But they’ll still likely offer me a good price for him, for they still need them for messengers and scouts, and for hauling supplies.”

“What’ll they offer you for him?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Eighty dollars maybe,” said Tim with a shrug. “That’s what Old Peter says it’s worth. Prices are way up. That’s what he says I ought to demand.”

“Well… that might be a bit high. I don’t know that he’s that good. I could ask Mike.”

“But what with war, the prices are up so high.”

“Perhaps but…”

“And I’m wondering if the soldier really did say, ‘Tell Porter that’.”

“We’ll never know, will we?” sighed Dot as she started to turn away. But then she looked back. “I tell you what. I’ll talk to my Mike about it, and he can speak to the colonel. And I think you should keep quiet and let them worry about it. They’re very close, the two of them. The colonel regards him highly. They might know exactly what the fellow was referring to. After all, the man might be a spy for us. You never know with tories. They’re opportunists, above all else. If the patriot cause prevails, I suspect most tories will shrug their shoulders and start pretending they were patriots all along. And the colonel will know whether you ought to have reason for concern. So you’ve just got to keep quiet about it until me or my husband or one of the officers tells you otherwise.”

“I suppose,” said Tim with a shrug.

“And here comes your Dan Eliot,” said Dot as she looked out the door. “Hi Ho, Dan!” she called. “Where have you been hiding through all of this? In the root cellar with the ragman’s daughter?”

“I have been upon the ramparts,” said Dan, pretending to be offended. “Doing my duty, I’ve been… or at least helping out. But I hear that all the action was over here,” he said to Tim.

“Good news travels fast,” said Dot. “You’ve heard about fighting Tim Euston? The hero of the day?”

“I did. Ambushing tories single-handed and grabbing booty! And what’s this great fat lump on your head?”

“Nothing serious,” said Tim. “Though I’ve a headache. And the surgeon says that if I pick the scab I’ll have a scar right where I can show it off.”

“Ah ha!” said Dot with a smile. “To show it off to the girls and then steal a kiss when they take a closer look.”

“Ooo, likely a self-inflicted wound, then,” grinned Dan. “Trust Tim Euston to be thinking ahead.”

“So is that what it is, Tim Euston?” said Dot, pretending to be shocked. “I had never thought you capable of stooping to such a device!”

“Ah, these Eustons,” nodded Dan. “Always thinking.”

“Yes. Well, and now I truly must leave you,” said Dot to Dan with a smile. “Leave you to pay homage to the hero while I go see what fire and fury has done to poor Esther Porter.”

“You’ve heard about all I got?” asked Tim as they watched her walking toward the kitchen door.

“I have,” said Dan as he nodded, sounding like he was wondering about something else. “Before we were called back from the lines I was hearing about it. It’s unfair to the rest of us, though, isn’t it? It sets a higher bar, to have young fellows out capturing prisoners on their first patrol.”

“Well… you’re right there, I suppose,” said Tim with a shrug. “But still it… it seems to be falling into my hands like it’s heaven sent, doesn’t it?”

“Remarkable good fortune, indeed.”

“But… but it might not be,” said Tim, and he motioned for Dan to come over to the far corner. He quickly told him about the soldier who had said “Tell Porter that.”

“So,” concluded Dan, “you’re wondering whether you’ve thrown your lot in with a family of secret tories?”

“But, surely they aren’t that!”

“I don’t know. One of my fellow ditch-diggers made a comment like he’s not too sure about which side they’re on.”

“The Porters?”

“Old Peter specifically, and he rules the roost.”

“But they’re a prosperous family of merchants,” said Tim. “There’ll always be those who have their doubts about prosperous merchants. And I’m thinking that maybe I ought to go tell Captain Poole and see what he thinks.”

“I don’t know about that either,” said Dan, shaking his head. “Do you really think you can trust him?”

“I… well… He must know a lot about Porter family business.”

“He must, sure,” said Dan quietly, “but you don’t know what all he’s been up to, do you? After all, he’s the most likely murderer of Hugh Hampton. He’s the one with the most to gain. He’s got the motive and the nerve, and he hasn’t got proof of an alibi. And if he’s willing to do that, then what all else might he be willing to do?”

Tim thought about it. “I do sort of owe it to him to trust him, though, don’t I? He’s trusted me enough to choose me for his ensign. I’ve got to prove I’m worthy of it.”

“But there’s more than one way to do that. And what about… well… I can’t say that I’ve ever liked the looks of Old Peter. Right from the start, I haven’t. And if he and Poole are mixed up in some dirty business, then what? If they think you’re getting too curious, then you could be seen by them as a threat, couldn’t you? And if Poole’s been willing to murder his own lieutenant, then why wouldn’t he be willing to offer the same consideration to his ensign-to-be?”

“I hardly think that he’d…

“You hope that he wouldn’t,” said Dan as he shook his head, “and you’re wanting to believe that you’ve been having yourself some remarkable good fortune and not some remarkable bad fortune. Or excessive good fortune, I should say. You’re hoping that our dear Captain Poole won’t start thinking that another wire around another neck will protect him and his co-conspirators from a curious boy. And on top of all that, he might still be wanting to free himself of his obligation to honor his promise to make you his ensign. It’d be the killing of two birds with one stone.”

“But now that I’ve proven myself in action, he’s not going to be worried about me being unworthy. Will he? None of the gentleman volunteers has done what I did today.” But as soon as Tim said this he remembered that one of the soldiers in Sergeant Rush’s squad might at that moment be telling of the real reason why Tim Euston managed to capture an enemy scout.

“I suppose you’re right,” shrugged Dan. “Courage in the face of the enemy must count for a lot.”

“And Malcolm Poole’s been the hero of so many skirmishes and ambushes these past few months. Why would someone who’s so willing to lay down his life for the patriot cause be willing to turn around and get himself mixed up in secret dealings with the enemy? Unless he’s doing it under cover and it’s only the colonel and the general who know about it.”

“That might be, but his being a hero doesn’t mean that for sure he’s true to the cause of freedom. He could have started out for the cause of freedom and then moved on to the cause of his own self-enrichment. The Army’s not immune from traitorous conspiracies, is it? Look at Demont and… and Church. Weren’t they patriots in good standing?”

“Well…” said Tim, looking down, as if he shared in the shame these men should have felt for their odious deeds.

The traitors Dan refers to are Dr. Benjamin Church and Lieutenant William Demont. Church, the American Army’s Surgeon General, was arrested in August of 1776. Though he had been an outspoken whig and a member of the Massachusetts Provincial Congress, he had all the while been communicating in cipher with the British. A young woman caught with a letter had confessed, and Church was tried and convicted. In November of the same year Demont defected to the British, bringing with him the plans of Fort Washington. Fourteen days later the fort was captured.

Chapter 16

Everybody’s talking about it!

“Sadie!” called a neighbor from two doors over. It was one of the two sisters who had been with them doing laundry, the day before. They were sitting together on a bench, at work in the shade of the house.

“Come tell us about Tim’s booty!” said the other as Sadie walked up. They had a large bag of wool and were carding it.

“He is so remarkably fortunate,” said Sadie with a smile as she sat on the end of the bench after one had moved over. Trying to sound modest, she described the goods along with Old Peter’s estimate of their worth. She knew everybody was going to find out sooner or later, so she had little reason to try keep their value secret. Two hundred dollars would sound enormous for girls who would be lucky to earn half a dollar for a long day’s work.

“Well, I can tell you,” said the older sister, “it’s a good thing I’m not a man, for I couldn’t go out on patrol, not these days – not for any money! I was hiding under a bed, I was!”

“And madder than a wet hen, too,” chuckled the other. “Mad at our father for making us stay in this town and suffer such a risk to our lives.”

“Not to mention our innocence,” said the older sister. “And then afterwards, when he got out a jug of applejack to ease his nerves, we figured we needed some good medicine, too. So we got out a quart jar and drank the whole of it between us!”

“And now for our great sins we’ve been sent out here to work ourselves sober. Here we were the ones most deserving of being scared, and it’s us who are punished for drinking the medicine he was a-dosing himself with!”

“You aren’t the only ones in need of good medicine,” said Sadie smiling. “You should have seen my poor mother. When word came that we were under attack, she was so worried for her dear little Tim, she could neither sit nor stand! Then, once it was over, she was so proud of his great heroics! The noble warrior! But still, she’s not been able to settle down, not after hearing of the risk he faced – being sent out to ‘draw fire’. Old Peter poured us both a cup of rum and ordered us to drink it up.”

“Well, I should hope that he did, you poor things.”

“But he’s drank even more himself, I’m sure. He’s been drinking like a judge these past two days.”

“And when you needed it so much more than he.”

“I didn’t drink the whole cup full,” said Sadie. “It’s keeping busy that’s best thing for me.”

“Have they been working you hard? The Porter house has been without a good servant for a while now. Their last girl was sick all the time, poor thing. She’d come across from Old England and she’d hardly arrived when she’d started to fail. And there they were, owning her indenture and having to nurse her all the way to the grave. Over a year she was failing. All that bother and expense and hardly a day’s work out of her.”

“There is a lot of work to catch up on,” said Sadie. “But that’s all the better for me and Mom, isn’t it? They can’t go acting like we’re not needed and that we should be deeply grateful for their kindness.”

“And it is so hard to find good help these days,” sighed the older sister as she leaned closer, her breath stinking of alcohol. “What with the Army gone, and everyone afraid of tories on the prowl. And this morning’s raid isn’t likely the last of it, is it? Testing our defenses, they call it. And burning for revenge, those tories are – for sure they are!”

“But they did have it coming,” said the younger sister as she wagged a finger, “for it was the tories who were brutalizing us patriots before. And when good George Washington marched back from Trenton to drive them off and get back control of near the whole state – well! It was then that the tories got their just desserts, it was!”

“Sometimes a bit more than some of them had coming,” said the older. “Truly it’s been awful, sometimes. There’s folks on both sides of the fence who’ve been overdoing it. Some just don’t know when to stop! They call it war, but feuding is what it is, half the time – an eye for an eye. Vindictive men out to settle scores. And their women pushing them along and calling shame upon them if they don’t.”

“Doing what?” asked Sadie, trying not to sound too concerned.

“To tame the tories?” asked the younger. “Well, first it’d be words and scornful looks, and then the Magistrate would summons the man of the house before him and accuse him of disloyalty, and tender him the oaths of abjuration and allegiance. And then, if he refused to take them, he’d be bound over to the next Court of General Sessions, and if he again refused the oaths, he’d be fined or jailed. Usually not for long though, for there aren’t prisons enough to hold them all.”

“But,” said the older, “the… loyalists, as they call themselves, would oftentimes refuse to recognize the jurisdiction of the courts.”

“It was fines and jailings, mainly?” asked Sadie.

“Mostly. But… well, the committees were too busy to do it all.”

“The worst of it,” said the younger, “wasn’t coming from those who acted officially on a committee. The committeemen always went about things all nice and proper, and they’d do nothing worse than arrest a man and take him in for a fair trial and then, if he remained defiant, maybe send him off to the Pennsylvania wilderness to build roads. They’d be all proper and legalistic but they emboldened others to act on their own initiative and… well, the beatings were usually only boys out a-brawling. Patriot gangs against tory gangs.”

“Laying a beating upon a son for the sins of his father,” said the older with a smile. “And there were tar and feathering, too. When there was tar to be had. The tradesmen who needed it were hiding it.”

“But a tarring and feathering’s nothing you can’t recover from,” said the younger. “They say the worst of it is when you’re back home, standing naked on a stool while others scrape it off. Imagine a grown man – a man of dignity and stature – standing naked on a stool, getting his clothes snipped off and his backside scraped! And it’s quite a job getting it all off, too – and washing off the last of it with turpentine. And some would get awful headaches, too, for it soaks through the skin. They’d be sick for days, sometimes – sick in bed! But there weren’t many tarred and feathered. Almost always the worst they could get was being fined and imprisoned. That and seeing their son come home with a split lip.”

“And the lines of tears in the dirt on his face.”

“Well, except when a fellow found himself dead,” whispered the younger.

“Oh, that’s just talk!” said her sister.

“Maybe so. But where there’s smoke there’s fire.”

“But you can’t fault the Committeemen for… for an outright murder!”

“I didn’t say you should!” insisted the younger. “But it still happened! It was just the odd one, though,” she said to Sadie. “It’s for when a man was surely a-spying, or some such a thing.”

“And there was never that sort of nastiness near to here,” said the older as she put a reassuring hand on Sadie’s arm. “And it’s really their fault too, for it only got going after Sir Billy offered them all protection last December. And, well… we needed a stern countermeasure, didn’t we? You know about Sir Billy’s offer, don’t you?”

“Oh yes!” said Sadie as she rolled her eyes. “Remember where I’ve just come from! Across the river there were so many who went for it! Most of them that were left on the neutral ground were declaring their allegiance to the King, and bragging about it afterwards.”

“A good many on this side, too!”

“And,” sighed the younger, “they’d figured Sir Billy would be able to honor his promise. But then came January and Washington marching back. And then the tables were turned. ‘Twas then that he published his proclamation, calling upon all who had accepted Sir Billy’s offer to renounce it, and to swear an oath of allegiance to the new nation. Thirty short days to think it over, they had, and those who refused were ‘deemed adherents to the King of Great Britain and treated as common enemies of the American States’. Well well, then you should have been here! Or rather it’s good that you weren’t. What that did was to free our militia men, and anyone else, to use whatever means it would take to ‘persuade’ the worst of the tories to either make their declaration or to take themselves down the road to where they could do us no harm.”

“And what that meant,” said the older with a chuckle, “was tories a-loading all they could load onto little pushcarts and wheelbarrows and a-getting themselves to Brunswick or to Amboy and then on to the city – and then across the sea if they could afford it.”

“And it wasn’t just our militiamen,” said the younger, “that were prodding them along. It was all good men who felt it their civic duty…”

“And anyone,” interrupted the older, “who had a score to settle – on the side.”

“Oh yes yes yes. For we all of us are only human, and… and but… well. Some tories were just too stubborn for their own good, weren’t they?”

“Most had sense enough to admit their wrong and to swear their allegiance and...”

“Sure, but some,” said the younger with a judgmental tone, “will swear to this and then swear to that. The swearing of false witness is what it was, and they’ll all be damned for it!”

“Ah, but they’re a clever lot, those tories – always a-scheming. They’ll claim that they were quite sincere at the time, but that a ‘change in circumstances’ called for a change in their thinking. So they say they’d just changed their mind is all, and that they’d sworn with a clear conscience – both times!”

“And I suppose it must be tempting to do so,” said the younger with a shrug, “when all your lands are at stake – all that you’ve worked for and all that your father’s worked for before you.”

“But…” started Sadie.

“But we’re in a good freedom-loving town, here in Morristown. Near the whole town’s been true to the cause – the whole county! And right since the start of it, too.”

“I’m grateful that we’re here, then!” said Sadie with a smile.

“But beyond them hills,” said the older, while pointing with an outstretched arm, “there’s been things a-going on – rascality, it’s been! And some have prospered greatly from it – yea, for sure they have. And,” she whispered, “you can count yourself as fortunate for being taken in by Old Peter Porter, for he’s prospered more than most and now he can afford to be generous.”

“Old Peter has prospered?” asked Sadie.

“Oh, indeed he has!” nodded the younger. “I’m not saying that he’s not an honest man but, somehow, uncommon good fortune hath rained down upon him. Yea, and he’s managed to buy up great tracts of land, he has. And he got them for what were, no doubt, some very good prices.”

“Yea yea,” said the older, “the gods of war hath been kind to Old Peter. And he’s been doing a lot of supplying to the Army and the Militia. Well connected, he’s been, right from the start. And that’s allowed him to be at the right place at the right time – there to buy up the sorts of goods that the Army will need, and then to sell them to whichever needs them most.”

“The Army and the Militia would bid against each other?” asked Sadie.

“Well… in effect, they did. Though I’m sure it was never intentional. And he was selling to those who sold the individual soldiers, too – selling a lot! Though I don’t know where they get the money, for their pay is a pittance. Money from home, it must be. But what’ll be Old Peter’s greatest profit will come from the land that he’s bought from the tories. Tories who feared for life and limb! Tories who are a-wanting to run off to the protection of their friends in red coats.”

“So then,” asked Sadie, “his rise to prominence has been recent?”

“Well… he’s always been a prosperous merchant, for he’s a sharp trader, and he’s a sweet talker, and he’s got a nose for a bargain. But he was no great landowner, not until recently.”

“Now, he might have had bags of silver and gold hidden away,” said the younger. “Buried in the cellar, a-waiting the right time to buy.”

“Who knows what he’s been hiding away?” said the older. “But I’m not doubting that he’s a good and honest man – a good and godly patriot. And don’t tell anyone I’ve said otherwise.”

“No no, of course not,” insisted Sadie.

“But,” said the younger, “he’s a wealthy patriot now and for all to see, for you can’t hide land in your mattress, can you?”

“Good for Old Peter then!” said Sadie with a smile. “Surely his faith has rewarded him.” She meant this sincerely but the sisters burst out laughing.

“I don’t know,” said the older, “that the Almighty has figured much into the tally sheet. They say the land was bought in a way that was almost... well... not upon a level playing field, as they say. Most of it came from a family named Stebbing, and it was all bought from them this past January, only. It was after Trenton and Princeton – a time when some of us were wanting to even a score against the dastardly tories who had just finished evening a score against us dastardly whigs. It was after Sir Billy had come and taken command last November. A tempestuous time it was, indeed!”

“And,” said the younger, “Master Stebbing had sworn an oath to the King when ordered to by the tories, back when they were emboldened by the invaders.”

“Then he went and swore an equally solemn oath to our new nation, once Washington had retaken the land.”

“Did he truly,” said Sadie.

“Yea, lass, both times, indeed.”

“Who will ever trust his word?” asked Sadie.

“Well… some will always do what they’re ordered.”

“But the poor Stebbings,” said the younger, “were all a-fretting and a-fuming over what might happen to them, now that the dogs of war were let loose upon the land. They weren’t a bold bunch to begin with and they say it’s the old granny who rules the roost.”

“What happened was this,” said the older. “A traveling peddler came to the back door of the Stebbing house and, while he was selling this and buying that, he told them some horrid tales of innocent folk being insulted and brutalized – simple folk who’d never wanted to declare themselves as any but law abiding citizens. Stories of humble sorts who were set upon by bandits who called them patriots! Well, I might wonder how much truth there was to the stories but, I can tell you, it surely got the Stebbing women all in a flap.”

“But the Stebbings have always been a bit odd, though.” said the younger. “Letting a woman rule over a man? And what that leads to is what happened to them. After a day or two, after they had time to do all their fretting and fuming and after they got themselves into a real state of nerves. Then they got a visit from a fellow from hereabouts who told about folk who’d been selling out all their lands, for a quarter of what it could have fetched just two years ago, and still thinking themselves fortunate to get that much.”

“And then,” said the older, “he told of how he’d heard that Old Peter Porter had offered another family eighty pounds in hard coin for his lands and buildings. And of how the old man was holding out for more.”

“But was it the truth?” asked Sadie.

“That’s what no one seems to know. But I’m told that not a day had passed before Jake Stebbing had taken himself over to Old Peter and made him an offer of all his land.”

“Or more likely was sent over by Granny,” said the younger with a smile. “Nobody knows how much the land sold for but they say that it would have fetched four hundred pounds sterling back in ‘74.”

“But this ain’t ’74 no more, is it now?”

“No, it sure ain’t,” agreed the younger, “and it might be that Old Peter got all of it for only a quarter of that. Who knows? Maybe even less! Old Peter ain’t telling and the Stebbings are long gone with their baggage.”

“But not gone to the British! And ain’t that strange? Just gone out west to stay with relatives, they say. Away out to Burlington County, as if it’s any safer there than here.”

“They didn’t go to the British?” asked Sadie. “Why not?”

“At the last moment Granny decided they’d never make it there without being robbed all their silver by a gang of thieves calling themselves a scouting party. They are Stebbings, after all – cowards, one and all.”

“Yea, and fear can make fools of us all, as they say,” sighed the older.

“But since then, we’ve all been a-wondering,” continued the younger, “whether the peddler and the other fellow that had got them all softened up and ready to sell, had been sent there by none other than Old Peter himself? And where had he come up with all that coin. If that’s truly what he had. It’s just what folks were saying. Old Peter’s a sharp trader for sure but that’s a lot of silver and gold. A man like him might not clear eighty pounds in a year of trading. And his dealings with our Army would have been in paper, too – Continental dollars. So that’s not where it would have come from. But,” she whispered after a glance to the side, “if he’d been trading with the redcoats, then he’d have a source of coin, wouldn’t he?”

“Trading with the enemy?” whispered Sadie.

“We’re not saying that we believe Old Peter to be the sort who would do such a thing,” said the older. “But there’s been talk – a lot of talk. Somebody’s been doing it, we know that much. There’s a fellow out east who, last February only, came upon a great pile of oats and barley – a great pile of sacks, just a-lying there under canvas tarps – all together and hidden in a little patch of woodland. Then when he’d brought back a patrol, it was all gone – every scrap of it! Just flattened grass to show he told the truth. And there they were, left wondering whether it had been waiting for the redcoats to make a fast trip upcountry, to fetch it all back to their barracks before our boys could raise the alarm and organize an attack.”

“And,” said the younger, “the redcoats have been willing to pay some fancy prices for oats. Or at least they were, back before the spring grass came up and they could pasture their horses. But it was fancy prices indeed, they say, for they’ve horses by the thousand and through the winter they’d not had nearly enough to feed them properly. They’d been having to ship in oats from faraway.”

“He said there were bags enough sitting there to fill ten big wagons full of oats and barley and whatever else it was.”

“It was just by chance that the fellow had found it.”

“And you think,” asked Sadie, “that maybe Old Peter had put it there?”

“Well, we must surely assume that it could not be our dear friend, Old Peter,” the older replied with a false smile, “but who knows? They say oftentimes Old Peter would hire wagons and drivers from far away – strangers to those hereabouts. He said he’d often get a better price from them. And what with him buying and selling all the time, he had wagons coming and going every which way.”

“But don’t you go repeating any of this,” said the younger with a raised finger, “for it’s naught but gossip and speculation! And surely Old Peter’s as good and honest a patriot as ever there was, and for sure he’s as dedicated to the cause of liberty as any man could be.”

“He’s got himself a good rifle,” said the older, “and he says he’s ready and willing to take on any tory raiders that come. Ready for a fight to the finish, he says.”

“He was a-blasting away from his attic window this morning,” said Sadie with a smile. “Him and Mike O’Toole. And scaring the daylights out of his poor daughter-in-law, too. I don’t know that she’ll ever recover, the poor thing.”

Their talk then moved on to rumors of another attack, until Sadie said she was likely needed back in the kitchen. The sisters wished her a jovial good day and she went in the direction of the Porter house. When about to go inside, she hesitated, wondering why Dot had not mentioned anything about Old Peter’s recent rise to prominence.

Sadie went back out to the street and walked along until she saw a mother and daughter in their garden. She had met them when they had come to sell some baked goods to Esther. They were weeding rows of vegetables and Sadie offered to help. Right away, they were talking about the looming threat of another tory attack. Sadie steered the conversation over to the willingness of timid sorts to sell out cheaply and flee. “I’m wondering,” she asked, “about Old Peter’s rapid rise as a landowner. Might it have come by the extracting of low prices from folk who think Morris County to be too dangerous a place to stay? And that his wealth is not so much from the profits of his trading?”

“My my,” said the mother with a smile, “so new to town and already you’re hearing all the gossip.”

“Well, it is hard to figure,” said her daughter quietly. “There’s some who wonder whether Old Peter might have been involved in some secret trade that…”

“Hush now,” scolded her mother. “You’ll do yourself no good by getting yourself a reputation for spreading rumors.”

“Oh, Mother. Everybody’s talking about it!”

“That doesn’t make it right. Old Peter’s never done us any harm and we don’t know where he’s got his money and it’s none of our business, anyways. You wouldn’t like it if people talked about you that way, would you?”

“About where I’ve got my newfound riches? Well, Mother, I hope they’ll someday have reason to.”

Sadie helped for a while longer and then said she was likely needed back home. She returned to the Porter house, feeling worried and confused. As she scrubbed potatoes, she kept wondering whether she and her mother – and her brother, as well – might have associated themselves with a dishonest man. And maybe, she told herself, we ought to be finding ourselves a new living arrangement. But they’re being so kind to us here. And we’re just servants, anyways! And maybe Old Peter truly has been saving his coins in a bag.

At this time as many as a third of New Jersey’s population may have still been loyal to the King, and many of these were willing to fight for the old order. During the War for Independence, the largest of loyalist forces was the New Jersey Volunteers, organized in September of 1776 by Brigadier General Courland Skinner. He enlisted at least 2450 men, most of them from Monmouth and Sussex counties. Skinner formed his forces into as many as six battalions of 200 to 500 men, and their efforts to disarm their opponents often led to looting and the settling of private scores.

Applejack was a popular alcoholic beverage with an alcohol content as high as 40%. Ordinary cider, made by fermenting apple juice, could only reach 3 to 8%. Applejack was made by “jacking” the cider. In winter’s cold the water in the cider would form into ice crystals. When frozen just enough, the remaining fluid could be strained off. Repeating the process produced higher levels of alcohol. Once concentrated, it was cheaper to bottle, lighter to ship and could last longer without spoiling.

Chapter 17

Just because he envies you.

“Hot again,” sighed Tim when he saw Sadie coming into the barn, later that afternoon. He was giving his horse a brushing and going at it slowly to calm his nerves. He felt tired but it was not the drowsy sort of tiredness that could be cured with sleep. He was restless and needed to be busy at something, but nothing that required concentration. Where he had been living until ten days before, Tim would often brush down the horses kept by the blacksmith. His master had been a carpenter but since war had broken out, there had been little call for carpentry. Tim and his other apprentices spent most of their time cutting firewood to be shipped to the city. His master hired horses and wagons from the blacksmith and, to help pay down his bill, he would send an apprentice over to see if there was work to be done. The blacksmith liked the way Tim brushed a horse.

“Is Old Peter going to sell him for you?” asked Sadie when she was right behind him.

“If he can get me a good price. There’s no rush though. I can use him for practice.”

“That’s true.”

“How’s Esther feeling?”

Sadie ignored his question. “Old Peter’s likely been up to no good.”

“What?” asked Tim after he stopped brushing.

“I’ve been out talking to neighbors. It sounds like everybody’s thinking like Dot. They’re all wondering what he’s been doing to be able to afford to buy so much land. There’s some who are selling cheap but not so cheap that an ordinary merchant like him ought to have been able to buy as much as he has. Not by the doing of an honest trade.”

“But this is just the gossiping of women, isn’t it?”

“You’re supposing the men see things differently?”

“Well,” started Tim, still without looking at her. “The tory scout… when he’d fallen down and I helped him up, he said ‘

Tell Porter that,’ and then something more but it was just mumbled.”

“Are you sure he said Porter?”

“I’m sure. Though he could have been trying to say, ‘Tell the porter to deliver it.’ ”

“So,” sighed Sadie, “what are you suspecting?”

“It could be a different Porter. They’ve relatives.”

“It could be.”

“Or it could be Old Peter doing business with the enemy,” said Tim after a long pause.

“It could be”

“And that’d make him a traitor.”

“It certainly would.”

“So… what should we do?”

“Oh, I don’t know!” replied Sadie as she looked away.

“Me neither.”

“But I don’t know that it should make us up and run off. I think we should still be counting ourselves as fortunate to have somebody like Old Peter giving us work and taking care of us. How good are our alternatives? Not very! We shouldn’t any more refuse his home for his maybe being a traitor than you should refuse Malcolm Poole’s offer for his maybe being a murderer.”

Tim stopped to think – to try encompassing in his mind all the complex and frightening implications that rose out of so deep and difficult a dilemma. He shook his head to clear it and said, “Maybe we should stop believing every rumor we hear.”

“It’s hard when everybody else is believing them.”

“So… what happens when we do start believing them? Dan thinks we should aim our feet for Philadelphia, and that me and him should go a-privateering.”

“That’s just because he envies you.”

“Envies?” asked Tim, as his brushing came to a stop again.

“Because you’re getting all the luck and…”

“Luck?” Tim gasped, finally turning around. “Why luck? Haven’t I been studying the manuals on my own initiative? Didn’t I take a big risk when we seized all the stuff from the British storehouse? I figure I’m deserving of some sort of reward for all I’ve done!”

“So is Dan, and what’s he got for all his courage and all his study and all his practice?”

“He’s got his four hundred dollars,” muttered Tim. “But anyways, Dan isn’t so sure that I’m all that lucky. You’ve heard him. He thinks my good luck will turn out to be bad luck after all is out in the open.”

“And maybe it will.”

“And maybe not! Oh! I don’t know! Dot doesn’t think so! I was talking to her just now and I’d asked her about what the scout had said and she didn’t think it meant anything at all and…”

“You told all that to Dot?” asked Sadie with a dark look of disapproval.

“Well… why shouldn’t I tell…”

“I’ve heard more about Dot than you have. And about her husband, too – Mike O’Toole. I’ve been talking to Esther. Yesterday, she was wanting to talk to somebody to calm her nerves. She always feels better after she’s been talking, and Old Peter told me how to keep her talking. When she has one of her headaches, you just sit by her and when she says anything, you quietly say something like ‘ah-huh’ or ‘well’ or ‘my.’ As long as you keep it up she’ll go on a-talking away and that’ll calm her. So, I was doing that, only instead of coaxing her to be less fretful I was coaxing her to talk about Dot. And she said that Dot’s husband, Mike O’Toole, has been as vexed as anyone about Poole choosing you for ensign.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because he’s one of the volunteers who’d been hoping for the rank of ensign for himself. He’s thirty-two years old – ten years older than Dot – and he’s been assisting the commissary and the quartermaster, them both being traders, too. Esther says that the O’Tooles are a family with more pride than money. At least, nowadays they are. And poor Mike, who’s been left with little but his wits, has still somehow managed to buy up some good land, and at just about the same time as Old Peter.”

“What does that tell us?” asked Tim, frustrated by their having to always rely on secondhand gossip.

“Esther says that Mike O’Toole and Old Peter have been doing a lot of trading. Or talking trade, at least. Mike’s often over here to visit, and he and Old Peter will often go for a walk. To ‘stretch his legs,’ Old Peter will always say. She doesn’t like Mike at all. Neither does Prim. And they don’t know why Old Peter is forever keeping company with him.”

“And why should all this matter to me?” asked Tim, with a long sigh.

“I’m figuring that they’ve maybe been trading with tories, and the British, before Washington got the state back under control. And maybe afterwards, too. They might have kept up a secret trade. The profits would have been even higher. And if it’s been a treasonous trade with the enemy then… well. We know that Hugh Hampton was engaged to Prim, don’t we? Up until not long ago, he was. That means Hampton would have been around the Porter house a lot and he might have overheard more than he was supposed to and… maybe when Mike was talking trade with Old Peter, well... They say Hampton was as true to the cause as any man. If he was silenced by those who were enriching themselves with the King’s silver, then… then Mike and Dot O’Toole might now want to silence whoever it is who’s out trying to find the murderer.”

“Well well, Sadie Euston,” said Tim as he turned to look at her, shaking his head. “With an imagination like that you should be writing plays for the New York stage. You’d just have to come up with something that has your handsomest man falling in love with your most beautiful woman, and then figure yourself out some sort of misunderstanding that involves a dastardly traitor, and then after all is sorted out you’d give them a happy wedding day. With the wisdom of a wild imagination, you’ll soon be seeing your scandals set upon the stage and the money just a-rolling on in.”

“I’m just saying it’s something worth thinking about!” said Sadie as she tried to resist the urge to kick him in the shins.

“First it was Malcolm Poole, the vicious murderer,” whispered Tim, “and then it was Old Peter, the shifty-eyed merchant, and now it’s Dot O’Toole – the strangler of men twice her size. And who’s going to be the culprit next time? Esther Porter? Why not? Her and her stoop-backed husband? Of course, it must be them! And that would explain why she lies in bed in a fit of nerves, and why he goes about fretting and fuming and wishing his father would take them far away from Morristown. ‘Tis the heavy burden of a guilty mind, for sure it is! It must be! And you’d better watch out, Sadie Euston, for you’ve been drilling her with all your ‘ah-huhs’ and she’s surely started to get suspicious.”

“And maybe I should just leave you to solve your problems yourself,” muttered Sadie as she turned to go back to the house. Tim watched her walk away and then went back to brushing his horse. He snorted and jerked when Tim started into him too vigorously.

. . . . .

“Maybe you’re jealous,” laughed Dot O’Toole as she took hold of her husband’s ear and gave it a gentle twist. “Jealous because he’s so charming a boy and because your pretty young wife sighs and blushes when she hears him sing of love and betrayal.”

“It’s not me who’s calling him ‘an inquisitive boy’,” said Mike O’Toole who was crouching to adjust the harness on the team of horses he had hitched to a wagon. They were in a shed by their house. These days, Mike was as much a shipper as a trader and had been working long days since war had come to New Jersey, seven months before. “But I have heard something about charming Tim Euston. One of the boys that had been out scouting with him this morning is saying that Tim hadn’t looked like a man in possession of his wits. Out in the clearing, he’d looked ready to turn and run all the way home to his mother.”

“His sergeant,” Dot interrupted, “says he walked out into the clearing without a hesitation, and that when they followed after him, they’d found him with his prisoner and his booty. Poole’s been telling everybody. And he’s as pleased as...”

“But that’s not what the fellow I talked to is saying and he was out ahead of the rest of them and better able to see. He’s saying that he doesn’t know that Tim could have meant to capture anyone. He said that Tim had panic in his eyes and was shaking like a leaf. He’d somehow got the prisoner, yes, but it likely wasn’t the cool and calculated act of…”

“Well, good for Tim for rising above his fears. If only the rest of them had been taking prisoners then...”

“And,” said Mike slowly and clearly, “he says he thought he’d heard Tim let out a yelp, just after the sound of a horse at a gallop. And he’s now wondering whether maybe the tory had just been bucked from a startled horse, and that Tim was there first to grab hold of it and everything else.”

“Oh! You’re just jealous of Tim for being hero of the day.”

“He’s hardly a ‘hero of the day’ and he might not even be… Well he might have just had some remarkable good fortune. That’s all the fellow was saying.”

“And you believe him?” sneered Dot.

“He said ‘might’. He didn’t say ‘did’. And I’m only telling you what he said.”

“He’s just speculating then! You and him both!”

‘Well well, Dot O’Toole,” said Mike as he stood up and turned to her with a smile. “I think you must be in love with the boy, to be so quick to jump to his defense.”

“Ha! Everybody’s in love with him! And you married men had better hope he’s as virtuous as he is charming for he could likely make an adulteress out of any one of us.”

“My goodness me! I suppose you’re right! Well, I’m lucky I married one of the homelier ones, aren’t I?”

“Oh!” huffed Dot as she turned away. But then she turned back. “You know, Tim Euston may yet be doing you a favor. Malcolm Poole is still the one with the obvious motive to kill, and he still has no one to testify to an alibi. And Tim’s hot on the trail of the murderer so he can clear his own name. But he just might in the same effort, end up by darkening the good name of his mentor.”

“How would that do me a favor?” asked Mike, who was back at his work.

“Because both of them might lose their commissions and that would mean two fewer standing in the way of your getting a commission. And Tim wouldn’t need hard evidence, would he? All he’d need to bring down Malcolm Poole would be to find enough evidence to raise a strong suspicion. Circumstantial evidence as the lawyers call it.”

“Good for Tim, then,” said Mike, turning to her with a half-smile. “Two birds with one self-inflicted stone. I might get my commission after all. And… maybe we should be trying to help the boy out.”

“Help him out?”

“Yes, but I don’t know how,” he said, standing back up. “You could encourage him. Feed him rumors.”

“I’ve been doing that already,” bragged Dot.

“But don’t go talking to anybody else about this. If word gets to Poole and the colonel, well… they still love the boy as much as you and…”

“Yes yes yes,” she said as she thought it over, her eyes half-closed and the corner of her mouth curving into a smile. “Yes, Mike O’Toole, you are right. Yes, you are a clever fellow, aren’t you?” she purred as she put an arm round his waist.

“As clever as I am handsome?” he asked with a droopy-eyed smile.

“No one’s that clever.”

“No, likely not. But just don’t you go overplaying your hand,” he said, suddenly sounding angry again.

Chapter 18

More the fool.

“I have to tell you about what I’ve just heard!” whispered Dot when she found Sadie weeding the garden. Clouds shielded the sun and Sadie wanted to get some work done before it was back out again. Dot crouched down to help. “It’s the very oddest thing, too,” she said as she quickly selected weeds and ripped them out. “Just now I was taking supper to the prisoners.”

“Supper already?”

“They eat when I find the time. My husband’s a volunteer, so he’s volunteered me to feed them.”

“Where are they kept?” asked Sadie.

“Down the street,” she said pointing. “They’ll likely be taking them away soon, away out west somewhere. To where it’s a long walk back. Now, when I got in there…”

“How are they doing?”

“The three in the provost guard are well enough.”

“The what?’

“The jailhouse. It’s a fancy military term. The others are over in the hospital where the surgeon can keep an eye on them. That’s the house out on the edge of town,” she said, pointing. “They’re in with the lieutenant that you brought when you came.”

“How’s he coming along?” asked Sadie, trying to sound like she did not care. In New York, when they had seized the supplies, they had managed to capture an officer of the British regulars, after an accident where he had suffered a broken leg and a knock on his head.

“He’s still sulking and he’s still weak. He’ll read a bit and then rest a bit and then read some more. He keeps reading Tom Paine, if you can imagine – poisoning his mind with rebel sedition. Another one has a fat lump on his head, too. There’d been a raid just before you’d got here. The surgeon says they’ll be useless for work for a while yet. He says the one could still die, but more likely they’ll both pull through, eventually. Though it could take years to get their stamina back, he says. But for the meantime, they won’t have the strength to try escape, will they?”

“They’ll be prone to headaches, I suppose.”

“The ones with the lumps, yes. But, when I got to the jail with supper for the others,” said Dot with a bad-little-girl look in her eyes. “And that includes the one Tim captured, for he’d just had the wind knocked out of him. I heard them talking in hushed voices! Well, right away I started to wonder what they might be saying that would have to be spoken in whispers. So I crept up on them and before they heard a floorboard squeak, I was able to hear them. The one that Tim captured said something about ‘the situation’. And then they said more but all I could hear was ‘more the fool’.”

“More the fool?”

“It’s like saying ‘the bigger fool’. Now, that wasn’t that much by itself but… except for… it was the way he said it. It sounded like they were talking about somebody. It was like ‘more the fool’ was a man’s nickname, or,” she said in a whisper as she put her hand on Sadie’s shoulder and leaned closer, “his code name.”

“Code name?”

“Now I still wouldn’t have given it much thought had I not seen the look in their eyes when they found themselves being watched. A wary look it was, to say the least! A guilty look! Like they’d been caught plotting an escape.”

“Couldn’t it be the one just calling the other a fool?”

“But it didn’t sound like that! Not at all, it didn’t! It was like they were talking about a particular man. At first I couldn’t imagine who it might be. But then it came to me. Malcolm Poole! More the fool! They rhyme! And who’s the most likely suspect in the killing of Hugh Hampton?”

“Well,” said Sadie with a completely straight face, “you are obviously.”

“What? Why? Do…”

“No, I’m just joking!” laughed Sadie. She could not help laughing. The look of shock on Dot’s face was too much. “Yes yes, I know that he’s the one who has a motive but no alibi. But even if he is, why would tory prisoners want to be talking about him in hushed voices?”

“That’s what I don’t know! And that is, of course, if they were talking about him at all. Who knows? But what I do know is that they were talking about something that I was not supposed to hear. And it seemed like they were talking about a man. Or maybe a woman, I suppose.”

“You went right into the jailhouse? Isn’t that…”

“I was twelve feet above their heads.”

“There’s a trapdoor in the ceiling?”

“Yes, but it’s a grid, to allow them air. Like what covers the hold on a ship. So I could see right in. I couldn’t hear much, though. But still I can’t help but wonder. Might our mighty Malcolm Poole be a-plotting with tories? He could be, couldn’t he? Because, if he’s willing to kill, he’d likely be willing to commit any crime, wouldn’t he?”

“Well,” said Sadie with an annoyed look, “killing in battle isn’t murder.”

“Of course not… that’s not what I…”

“For otherwise David burns for the murder of Goliath. And Joshua burns for…”

“Yes, of course! But what I’m meaning,” said Dot as she took hold of Sadie’s arm, “is that if he did kill Hampton – a brother officer – then he’s the sort who would be willing and able to commit any act of treason, too. For the one crime’s no more vile than the other. It’s not, is it?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“But I’m wondering whether I shouldn’t tell anybody at all. Besides you, of course. I had to tell somebody, truly I did! But still, why should I go putting ideas in people’s heads? If the colonel gets suspicious of Malcolm Poole, then it could harm poor Tim’s chances of getting his commission, couldn’t it?”

“It could, indeed.”

“But,” said Dot with a half-smile,” I suppose I shouldn’t be worrying about Tim Euston, should I? Not when my own dear husband is one of the gentleman volunteers who’d been hoping for the same commission that went to Tim. But I can’t help it. I’m so fond of him since he stole my heart away, a-singing those sad songs. I suspect he’s got the support of every woman in town. And the ones that didn’t hear him on Saturday would have been hearing him serenade the soldiers every evening. And the men love him too, I’m sure. All except for poor John Hawke. But the rank and file, they wouldn’t be too happy to hear of Tim being treated unfairly, would they? And really it’s the colonel’s wife that matters more than the rest of us put together, isn’t it? And for sure she thinks him a lovely boy.”

“Her and her husband both.”

“But before the prisoners were talking about ‘more the fool’,” continued Dot as she came even closer and lowered her voice deeper, “they’d been talking about something else. They said that Tim had been stumbling through the woods, coming around in a circle, and that it’d happened so quickly that he wondered whether the boy had just come upon them by mistake when he’d been running away.”

“Did… well… are you sure it was this morning that they were talking about? Or was it maybe another boy on another day?”

“Well… I don’t know. I couldn’t hear all that was said. I was twelve feet above them and I dared not take another step for fear of making the floorboards creak. But… I don’t know! I was told that Tim had been out with a scouting party and that’d he’d captured a tory scout, so I’m… I’m just speculating but… I’ve no way of knowing that it was him they spoke of.”

“It could be anyone,” agreed Sadie.

“It could… but… but I’ve got to be on my way now. Now don’t repeat this! I just told you because I had to tell somebody! And I can’t talk to Prim. She’s been such a crab lately! I hardly dare to speak a word for fear she’ll bite my head off.”

“I do appreciate it,” Sadie called after Dot had turned to go.

. . . . .

“You were seen,” said Sadie to Tim as she came up behind him. He was back at brushing the horse again.

“Sadie! Do you have to keep sneaking up on me like that?”

“Dot says that your prisoner saw a boy stumbling through the woods making a lot of noise. And he said that he’d likely come upon them by mistake when running away.”

“The one I captured said this?”

“One of them. She says it was yours.”

“And now she’s sure that…”

“No, of course she’s not sure!” hissed Sadie as she checked over her shoulder to make sure no one could hear. “She doesn’t even know if it was about today that he was talking! The man didn’t say where or when or anything, but Dot figures that it was likely you.”

“Does anybody else know?”

“I don’t know! She’s saying she doesn’t want it repeated it to anyone else but... except to me. Why me, I don’t know. She should hardly be confiding in a servant of the family of her dearest friend, should she? But she said she ‘had’ to tell somebody. She says Prim’s been...”

“And so she told you?”

“I don’t know why she told me!” snapped Sadie. “And the man who saw it isn’t even sure about it either. He just said it looked like ‘the boy’ was stumbling about. But… if anybody else saw it, then… well… What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know!” groaned Tim as he held up his hands in exasperation. The brush slipped from his hand and hit the floor. Tim bent over to pick it up. The horse moved suddenly. Tim jumped out of the way, thinking it was about to kick him.

“I guess,” sighed Sadie, “you could go on pleading ignorance.”

“What choice do I have?”

“It’s what you do best.”

“And,” said Tim, ignoring her humor, “it wasn’t me that said that I went out and did great things. It’s Poole who’s saying it. I got a bump on my head and I don’t know how I got it. That’s all that I…”

“Yes yes, it’s all you can say,” muttered Sadie. “And you can hardly go out now and admit that you stood by and let Poole go a-crowing about your great exploits when you knew it all to be a lie.”

“It’s not a lie unless it was intended as a malicious untruth right from the start. Otherwise it’s an innocent mis-statement. So I’ll just keep on saying nothing.”

“Unless you get drunk and decide that you can confide in your fellow drunkard.”

“Or unless someone overhears us talking about it,” grumbled Tim as he looked toward the open door.

But then Sadie let out a gasp – staring past Tim – her eyes wide. “Oh! I… we didn’t!” she said to the person who stood there. Tim spun around, looking back and forth. No one was there. It was another prank. He sighed, shook his head, and went back to brushing.

“I suspect you can over brush a horse,” said Sadie as she tried not to smile.

“I just took him for a ride.”

“All went well, I hope?”

“He didn’t buck me off,” said Tim, after a sigh. “Maybe Dan is right.”

“About what?”

“Maybe I should forget about being an ensign and we should all go to Philadelphia. You and Mom could find work in a house while me and Dan go a-privateering.”

“But you’ve already bought and paid for your uniform.”

“I could sell it,” said Tim quietly. “I’d get half my money back.” They stood there in silence. Tim leaned one arm on the horse. Sadie had her arms crossed.

“I would hate,” said Sadie as she looked away, “to make a habit of following the advice of Dan Eliot. Oh, and Dot says the prisoner said ‘more the fool,’ as if it was somebody’s code name. And she figures that somebody must be ‘Malcolm Poole’ because it rhymes with ‘more the fool’.

“What?”

“Just what I said. They were muttering about ‘the situation’ and then they seemed to be talking about someone that they seemed to be calling ‘more the fool’.”

“And that rhymes with Malcolm Poole,” muttered Tim, sounding as if on the brink of despair. “Good for Malcolm, then.”

“So,” asked Sadie, “what are we going to do?”

Chapter 19

And where were you?

On his way to the Porter house, later in the afternoon, Tim saw a man loading a wheelbarrow that was hitched to a milking cow by a rope tied round its neck. When he turned around, Tim recognized the tailor who had made his uniform. It looked like he was being scolded by an angry daughter. As Tim came closer, he could hear enough to tell they were leaving town before the tories launched a major attack, and the girl wanted to take along more than her father would permit.

“Better safe than sorry,” said Tim with a smile as they turned to look at him.

“Oh, indeed yes, boy, indeed yes!” said the man as he gave Tim a grateful smile. With a valued customer present, the girl would be forced to leave her father alone. “And what they’re figuring to be more tory scouts was seen out a-snooping around, west of here – and not far off neither. That’s what all that shooting was about.”

“Oh… ah… of course,” said Tim. He was not going to admit he slept through it. He had been seized by a fit of drowsiness and had lain down under the nose of his horse. Old Peter had suggested he sleep there. “To get the beast accustomed, and then he’ll be less likely to want to buck you off.”

“So,” Tim asked the tailor, “did any of the shots find their mark?”

“Not that they could tell. They all managed to ride away. But they say you never can tell. One of them might have had a hole in his gut and he’d still have been able to ride. Couldn’t he have?”

“He could.”

“Sure he could,” nodded the tailor. “And maybe he’ll be dead by morning. Or maybe he’ll moan and groan for a month or two – stinking of mortification by the time he’s finally gone. And you know what their coming here a-spying on us likely means too, don’t you? Getting ready for another attack, likely. Tomorrow morning, likely. And for sure they’ll be a-wanting to get their boys back, won’t they be? Especially the one you took prisoner. And too, they’ll be a-wanting to loot and burn the storehouse and half the town along with it. And who knows how many will be killed and left lying in the street? Them tories bear a grudge, they do. What we’ve got is a dozen blood feuds a-going. A hundred, maybe, across the Jersies. And what’s going to happen to the women and all the other innocent folk who get caught in the crossfire?”

“Well…”

“And when the tories come back, then for sure they’ll be coming back in force, won’t they be? Bent on revenge, they’ll be, and not willing to take any chances. You fellows singed their tail feathers good, this morning. And they’ll now be a-smoking for revenge. And, too, they’ll be wanting to get their men back before you can send them off upon the wilds of Pennsylvania.”

“We’re getting reinforcements in,” said Tim quietly. He was not sure whether this was information he ought to repeat. And besides, he had only heard it from Dan, who had heard it from a private. It was likely nothing more than wishful thinking.

“Reinforcements?” muttered the tailor as he shook his head. “That’ll only mean more balls a-flying, won’t it? First they send out the scouts and next, they’ll be ‘probing our defenses,’ as they say. And once they know what they’re up against then, for sure they’ll come at us in adequate numbers, won’t they? They’ll have redcoat officers to advise them, and maybe more than just advisors – maybe a whole battalion of redcoats will come after our blessed storehouse! Hessians, maybe! And likely they’ll bring along some artillery, and we’ll be hearing six pound balls as they come crashing in through one wall and then out the other – sending splinters flying – sharp as knives! Hot shot, maybe, to have half the whole town in flames before they charge in to ransack the storehouse! No thank you sir! I’ve been brave long enough, and this here’s a tailor who’s going to leave the soldiering to the soldiers.”

“Well, I guess I can hardly blame you,” shrugged Tim, “what with a wife and children. You’ve got to look after them first.”

“You’re right there, me laddie!”

“Yes, well… well, everyone’s been saying good things about my new uniform.”

“Ah! It’s easy enough to make a handsome uniform for a slim young stripling like you,” said the tailor with a gap-toothed smile. “I hear every woman in town has you in her dreams.”

“Have they? In their dreams? Well… well… I hope I’m having a good time in them,” said Tim with a grin. But then, he remembered that the man’s daughter was behind him listening. He looked around but she had gone back into the house, to plead with her mother.

“Don’t worry,” chuckled the tailor, “she’s gone now. And I wouldn’t have said all that were she here a-listening, would I have? Scare the wits out of her?”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t. Are you going to push the wheelbarrow yourself?”

“I don’t know whether I’m taking it at all. Even with the cow here I’d still have to carry half the weight of it. I should have bought a wagon while I could. My arms will be turning to lead by the time we’ve covered two miles. And how long do you think the wife will last when she takes a turn? I don’t know that we’re up to the task. I’m a tailor, not an ox!”

“And where are you and your little cow a-headed?” called Old Peter as he came along the street with Mike O’Toole by his side.

“Me and her and the rest of us are a-headed north by north-east, up to my wife’s uncle’s. Seven miles a-foot so we’d better be getting going. That’ll be far enough, I’d imagine.”

“So long as you don’t get robbed and scalped along the way.”

“We aren’t traveling alone! There’s a bunch of us going and armed militia coming along for escort.”

“Ah! You’re likely just as safe staying here,” chuckled Old Peter. “What with the likes of Tim Euston here to defend us! And maybe grab another prisoner while he’s at it – with all his gear!”

“Yes yes,” shrugged the tailor. “But I’m thinking that fighting Tim Euston here will be able to do his fighting better with fewer of us civilians to worry about.”

“But you could help us with sniper fire – a-shooting at them from your bedroom window.” Old Peter’s eyes sparkled like a little boy’s and he smelled of rum.

“Shoot at them?” asked the tailor. “Shoot with what? I don’t own no rifle. And I never have. But I could maybe stick one of them in the backside with a pin!”

“Well,” said Old Peter, after the tailor was finished laughing at his own joke, “I suppose we’ve all to make our contribution as we’re able. And at your uncle’s, you could start into the stitching of another uniform for our well-dressed young officer here. What do you say, Tim? The same thing in wool, for winter? I’ve some fine wool I can sell you at a fine price.

“I’ll have to think about that,” said Tim.

“Yea,” sighed Old Peter, “we each of us can serve the cause in our own way, can’t we? Now, Tim, my boy. Why don’t we leave these good folk to their packing and take ourselves back for a nice cup of rum? Me and Mike here, we’ve been debating strategy, and we could make use of your military wisdom.”

After more small talk, they left the tailor and went to Old Peter’s barn where they could sit in the shade. “Now, what we’ve been thinking,” said Peter as he sat in the most comfortable chair, “is that these pesky tories would be best handled by a fast moving force of raiders. A pre-emptive strike, don’t you think? But we’ve also been considering the risks that can arise when you split your forces. Maybe we ought to wait for them to attack and deal with them from behind our ramparts. What do you say to that?”

“I agree that we should either do one or the other,” joked Tim.

“Why now, you’re not as indecisive as the rest of us are, are you?”

“I would like to see a fast moving raiding party sent out to harass them – to keep them off their balance – but not sent out so far that they couldn’t race back here for when the town’s in need of them. And I’d like to lead such a raid myself, if only I had experience enough to know how to do it, and maturity enough to inspire the trust of my men.”

“Ah, yes yes,” sighed Old Peter, “and if only I wasn’t way too mature. Ah, to be young and charging into battle! What a splendid thought! Though, I suppose I can remember times back during the French and Indian War when I was wishing I was home again and tormented by tedium.”

“Where did you serve?” asked Tim as he leaned forward to show he was eager to hear. But then he noticed the look on Mike O’Toole face. This time it was not just angry – it was that and something more. It was hatred. It took Tim by surprise and he immediately looked away. What is it? he wondered. Why should he despise me? Has he been listening to Lieutenant Hawke?

“I marched with the Jersey Blues,” said Old Peter with a proud nod of his head, “when we were sent up to Fort George back in ‘57. Saw me my share of the action too, I did. And I made sergeant, did you know, before the war came to an end. Bossing the boys, I was! And now that you’ve got yourself a charger, sword and pistol, you’ve all you need! And you’ve got it by your courage and cunning, too. The best way to get it!”

“That and good deal of good fortune.”

“Oh, come now, boy,” laughed Old Peter. “Fighting Tim Euston, they’re calling you already! Ready to take on their scouts singlehanded. A sight you were to see, I’m sure, when you made the capture!”

“Lucky Tim Euston, they ought to call me,” said Tim with a modest smile.

“Ha! You wouldn’t have had the luck had you not the courage to go out and risk all,” said Old Peter as he stood up. “If only your kind of luck was as infectious as the smallpox, for then we’d have had the redcoats driven into the sea already! Wouldn’t we have? But enough talk. There’s still work to do before the day is done, isn’t there, Mike?”

. . . . .

After they left, Tim took his horse out for another ride, but it was only a few minutes before he decided he ought to be practicing the colonel’s wife’s favorite. But he had not played long before Sadie came up behind him.

“ ‘More the fool’ rhymes with Mike O’Toole.”

“What? Oh! Ah… Well, what if it does?”

“I’d started wondering whether Dot had been making it all up to conceal her and her husband’s guilt, if they’re the ones. Or she might have made it up just to get us so scared of Poole that we’d run away.”

“Well… why would she want us running away?”

“Because once you’re off a-privateering with Dan, then Poole will have to choose somebody else for his ensign. And that man might be Mike O’Toole, because a darling granddaughter might plead on his behalf as a favor to her dearest friend. He’s one of the gentleman volunteers who think themselves better candidates for the posting than you. But Dot can’t have made it up because she wouldn’t have been stupid enough to say ‘more the fool’ when it would rhyme as well with Mike O’Toole as it does with Malcolm Poole. So that means she’s most likely telling the truth. But if she is, and she truly did hear the prisoner say ‘more the fool,’ as a code name, then the man might actually have been talking about Mike O’Toole. It’s just as likely as Malcolm Poole.”

“Maybe,” said Tim as he held his hand to his forehead. “Or maybe she’s still making it all up and she’s not as smart as you think.”

“That could be, too.”

“I’m sure I’ve said stupider things than that,” said Tim, half to himself.

“I know you’ve said stupider things than that.”

“Well! Maybe you’ve been…”

“Any one of the ever hopeful volunteers,” interrupted Sadie, “has an interest in having any ensign or any lieutenant out of the way. Wouldn’t they? To open up a place.”

“But! It’s hardly something that you’d go and kill a man for, is it? Not unless you’re crazy! Some might kill for money, but not for…”

“No, not many would kill for it. But we only need one, don’t we? And there is money at stake. Officers get way better paid. And you’ve said, yourself, that they’ll likely get a bigger land grant once the war’s over. And what about the officer’s pension that they’ll get? And an officer will have a better chance at marrying into a good family. And you’ve said, yourself, that an officer often goes on to be a justice of the peace, and that’ll get them even more opportunities because they’ll get to know all the right people – the people who decide where the next road will go or who will get to dam a stream and build a mill. It sounds like there’s a whole lot of money to be made in the long run. Doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Tim as he looked around, hoping nobody was listening. “But, like you’ve said yourself, an officer is way more likely to get killed in battle by a sniper.”

“Maybe there’s somebody in town who would rather be dead than fail to achieve his ambitious goals. Surely you could sympathize with that sort of naked ambition. And, though the strangling of a man is a cowardly act…. well, just because somebody’s committed a cowardly crime doesn’t mean he’s a coward all the time. There’s different kinds of cowardice, isn’t there? Just like there’s different kinds of courage. That’s what the preacher told us, isn’t it? And maybe somebody thinks life isn’t worth living if he doesn’t rise in the world and make his fortune.”

“Wait,” said Tim as a smile came to his lips. He had been sounding frustrated but now Sadie could tell he had realized something important. “You must feel that way yourself too then, mustn’t you, Sister? Aren’t you well schooled, for a girl? Don’t you read the difficult novels and write with a gracious hand and sing from a sheet of music? And weren’t you being brought up for better than milkmaid, before our father went bankrupt, and mom and us were sent away. And don’t you have a naked ambition to get yourself a good marriage, so you can socialize with the better sort of wives? And why have you always been helping me with my studies of the officer’s manuals, and the histories, and the drills? Why would you do all that if it wasn’t because you wanted to have a brother who has all that it takes to be a commissioned officer and a gentleman? Then you’d be able to press that brother of yours to introduce you into his new circle of well dressed friends. And you’d want to make sure that he’d likely someday have money enough to help provide his little sister with a proper dowry. You’d want that, wouldn’t you? And that’s what you’ve been thinking all along, isn’t it? Thinking and plotting, haven’t you been?”

“Well… so what does that…?”

“But when did it start, Sadie Euston? When did these efforts to help your brother to rise up in the world start? It’s been a while now that you’ve been coaxing me along and helping me out with my memorizing.”

“You’ve hardly needed any coaxing!”

“And you must have suspected that Poole would choose me for ensign. Isn’t that so?”

“How could anyone have seen that coming?”

“And you knew that by clearing the ranks of ensigns and lieutenants you could improve my odds of getting a commission. Didn’t you?”

“You’re supposing that I lured Hugh Hampton into a barn and killed him with my bare hands? That’s just stupid!”

“Didn’t Dan see a young woman going into the barn?”

“Don’t be a bockhead!”

“Oh, I have been a blockhead, I’ll admit to that,” said Tim as he nodded his head. “But I’m not any more, I’m not. Now the puzzle all fits together.”

“Oh! You’ve…”

“And where were you,” hissed Tim as he pointed his finger, “when the crime was committed?”

“It isn’t something to joke about!”

“No… no I suppose it’s not,” said Tim, his voice calm again. “But is my making up stories about you any worse than your making up stories about poor Mike O’Toole? His only motive, that we can think of, is to eliminate an officer to open up an opportunity for a gentleman volunteer. We’ve less reason to suspect him than Hawke has to suspect me.”

“I suppose so,” huffed Sadie as she turned to leave.

Girls and their gossip, thought Tim as he watched her go, but the angry tone in her voice reminded him of the look he had seen in the eyes of Mike O’Toole – a look of anger and hatred. Or maybe of jealousy. Small wonder the women here don’t like him coming around, he told himself as he lifted his violin to his chin to start the tune from the beginning.

Chapter 20

Kill for money.

“Not quite so hot,” said Old Peter, later that afternoon as he came into the kitchen where Sadie was at work. “Ah, there you are, Dot my dear, and have you heard of Tim’s remarkable good fortune?”

“I did. And I’ve come for a closer look. The whole town’s talking about it.”

“Ah yes. Battling Tim Euston, they’re calling him! ‘Twill be the whole county – near and far, I’m sure.”

“Try be a bit more quiet, would you two?” asked Prim as she worked at the table, crushing dried herbs with a mortar and pestle. “Mother’s having one of her spells again. Malcolm was just here and all his talk about tory scouts has set her off.”

“Ah, the poor dear,” sighed Old Peter as he sat down at the table. “It takes so little to set her off, doesn’t it?”

“So little!” muttered Young Peter from where he stood at the door to the storefront. He was hunched over and holding a basket of snake-root that a farmwife had traded for dried elderberries. “Shooting from windows? Tories gathering for attack? It hardly seems like a little!” He took a step forward and spun about with his fist pressed to his forehead. “The next day could see the deaths of us all! Or worse!”

“Oh, shush now, my son,” said Old Peter with a kindly smile. “You only make it the worse for the girl with all your worry. And… well, perhaps we should have sent her off to her aunt’s. They could be down into the cellar together, hiding there until peace is achieved.”

“It is hardly something to joke about!” said Young Peter in a loud whisper. “And she wouldn’t want to leave without you, anyway. She’d never stop worrying, thinking you might be taken prisoner and… who knows what else!”

“Taken prisoner? A doddering old fool like me? She flatters me to think they’d want me.”

“Is this not Morristown? Has this not been Washington’s headquarters for all through the winter? And wasn’t it after he’d taken control that all the beatings started, and all the tar and featherings, too, and all the ambushing and killing! The tories are burning for revenge and they’ve reason to be. Were they to overrun the town they might well round up all us civilians and then march us off to… to who knows where?”

“That is an interesting question, my son,” said Old Peter as he crossed his arms and tapped his chin with a finger. “What would they do with all us rebel firebrands were they to crush the rebellion? Ship us far away, like they did with the Frenchmen of Acadia back in fifty-five? Maybe they’d send us away to the sugar islands to help the slaves cut cane.”

“And would that be so bad?” asked Dot as she leaned her head to the side and smiled a dreamy smile. “Nice hot weather all through the winter? I’d never again freeze my toes and never again would a howling blizzard drive the wolves out of the hills and up to my door.”

“Would you two please stop trying to make a joke out of it?” begged Young Peter. “Hearing you making light of it all… it only makes it the worse for poor Esther.”

“Making light?” said Old Peter with a sympathetic smile. “Come now boy, I’m only being optimistic. Ever the hopeful sort, I am. And look how it’s kept me young through the years.”

“Oh! I… I just don’t know what…”

“Not so loud, Father!” said Prim. “Honestly, between you and grandpa, it’s a small wonder mother’s so…”

“Between him and me?” gasped Young Peter, his free hand in the air and his eyes rolled up heavenward. “And how have I…”

“By fretting and fuming too much, is how,” said Prim with a superior tone. “For it’s not so dire as you say.”

“Not so dire? And how could it be less dire? Haven’t our fellow patriots been tormenting them all through the winter? And now that they’ve got a chance for revenge, do you not think...”

“They don’t have a chance for revenge,” said Prim without looking up. “They merely think they’ve a chance. And what is the worst that would happen to us if they did drive the Army out of Morristown? Sure, there might be a house burned here and there, but they know they’ll need traders so they’ll not want to burn us out, for they’d regret the lack of us. And maybe some poor servant girl would be ravished, but only the one who foolishly flirts with soldiers. And maybe some hothead who can’t keep his mouth shut will get himself tarred and feathered, but anyone who has sense enough to keep himself quiet will be safe. Really, it’s just the Army’s storehouse that they’ll be after. Won’t it be? They’d be busy looting it and trying to carry it all off. And what they can’t carry off then they’ll burn. And in the end it’ll be the soldiers doing the fighting who’ll suffer the worst and that’s neither you, nor mother, nor any of us. So let’s just be hopeful that…”

“Hopeful? Hopeful?” moaned Young Peter, holding his hand to his brow. “Primavera Porter, we are in the midst of war and we face imminent attack and the two of you can only be hopeful!”

“One should never abandon hope,” said Old Peter, sounding like he was delivering a benediction. “Though war is surely a terrible thing, still there will be many a man who will find fortune in adversity and many who will rise and prosper.”

“That’s right,” said Prim as she carefully emptied the powdered contents of the mortar into a colander. “Just look at the business you and Grandpa have done these past few months, and look at his new lands that were bought up so cheap. Why, we should all be counting our blessings and…”

“Oh! The two of you!” groaned Young Peter as he pressed his palm to his brow in despair. “Why do I try? Attack may come by morning and…”

“Sure, it might,” said Old Peter with a shrug, “and young Tim might then get himself another sword and pistol and rifle and horse, along with another prisoner. And maybe Sadie here, while she’s nursing the fellow back to health, will capture his heart and make him a husband and an honest patriot.” He said this with a wink to Sadie who was at work scouring a pot with a handful of sand. She gave him a quick glance and tried to hide a smile.

“Ah! You’re all drunk on good fortune!” muttered Young Peter as he turned to go back in the storefront.

. . . . .

Out in the barn Tim was applying himself to his violin, and this time he kept himself turned toward the door to have some forewarning if someone came in.

“You should see Esther and Young Peter,” said Dot as she came in, still managing to surprise him. “They’re so sure we’re all going to die tomorrow morning. She’s got herself sick in bed, poor thing, laying there a-praying for forgiveness for all our sins. And her husband’s almost as bad as she is!”

“You’re not scared?”

“Of course I am,” she said calmly. “And surely I’ll regret it when we’ve all been robbed and raped. But I’m married already so I’ve no longer my ‘greatest asset’ to lose.”

“You… you don’t…”

“And all the while that Esther’s in the bedroom praying that death will come quickly and mercifully, her poor husband is standing at the door to the storefront, keeping an eye out for a customer while begging the others to run for the hills. And Prim and Old Peter will listen to his lament, and then they’ll go back to talking about how we’re all enjoying such good fortune. And that will leave Young Peter pulling out his hair in exasperation. And he hasn’t much left to spare, does he?”

“Then I suppose he must think of me as another bad influence?”

“Well… I suppose he must,” said Dot as she put her arm around a post and leaned her cheek against it. “And Esther must think so, too.”

“I was thinking,” said Tim as he turned away, his violin and bow gripped tight in his hands.

“You’re wondering whether Dan Eliot’s right and you should all run away to Philadelphia?”

“Uh… no. It was…well, if… well, we wouldn’t have to if… if only… If only we could expose the murderer!” he groaned, holding his palms up and looking deeply frustrated. “And what I’ve… what I’ve been thinking is that Hugh Hampton must have spent a lot of time around the Porter house, back when it was him who was engaged to Prim. Right from January through ‘til April he would have been here, almost every day. Wouldn’t he have?”

“Oh yes, and they seemed so fond of each other, too. It was so sad when she…”

“And he would have… well… you must know this,” whispered Tim. “Has Old Peter maybe enriched himself with secret dealings with… doubtful sorts… with a man who has led him astray… with someone who might be behind the killing of Hampton?”

“I… Well… I…” stammered Dot.

“With someone who might have lured him into that sort of trade?”

“Oh… oh surely not. I really don’t think that would have anything to do with…”

“Of course, you’re probably right,” said Tim as he paced back and forth, “but if he had been and… and with Hampton around the house all winter and spring then… then he might have overheard more than he was supposed to, mightn’t he have?”

“Well, I don’t…”

“He may even have got involved, too – Hampton may have. And whoever killed him might be another merchant who led the way for Old Peter – got him interested and made use of his business and his teamsters and his knowledge of prices. For though he and Hampton may be good and honest patriots, well... it’s happened before, hasn’t it? Where men have fought bravely and then the next day betrayed their cause for their own enrichment. So for all his heroism in battle... well… Hampton might have been advancing his own interests – making his fortune. Mightn’t he have? And at the same time thinking he’s made up for it with all his raiding and ambushing.”

“But I really can’t imagine Hugh doing such a...”

“And the same with Old Peter,” Tim whispered after glancing toward the door, “for his trade and his shipping of goods here and there for the Army – it could have masked other doings, couldn’t it have?”

“Oh, but I really don’t believe…”

“They say it’s not unusual – not for those who deal in a forbidden trade. It’s not unusual for them to sometimes run afoul of each other. And since they can’t take their disputes to a judge then they’re forced to settle disputes amongst themselves. And sometimes they’ll… well, there are many in this world who will kill for money, aren’t there? Near every time the judges come around we’ll hear of another who has...”

“It does happen,” said Dot as she stared at Tim, her back straightened and her arms folded.

“And with the redcoats in so great a need of fodder for all their horses, and with so much of the King’s silver for them to spend on it...”

“But truly, I cannot see Old Peter up to such doings. For I’m sure he’s as good and firm a patriot as any. And the man who killed Hampton was surely just a robber or a spy or a deserter. He must have been!”

“Yes… well… Yes, of course. I suppose he was.”

“And,” she whispered as she came closer, “we all know that if it’s someone from town then it’s more than likely your Captain Poole. And next to him, well… the most likely suspect would be you, wouldn’t it?” she said with a teasing smile. “But no, surely it was a tory or some sort of rogue on the run.”

“Yes, of course, it has to be,” said Tim, with an apologetic smile. “I suppose it’s… it’s probably just my nerves. I’m still rattled from this morning. And… I don’t know. I… I should follow your example and be more hopeful, shouldn’t I?”

Chapter 21

The last of your lifeblood.

The night had started with stars and a crescent moon, but, by morning, clouds came in from the west and light mist filled the bottom of the valley. If there was no rain, the gunpowder would be dry enough to allow muskets to fire, so long as they were not loaded until needed.

Tim was already awake when he heard it. For the second morning in a row came the long roll – the call to arms. A sergeant ordered everyone awake, and his call was not the spiteful barking of a man who would rather have stayed in bed. Soldiers were instantly awake. Everyone expected an attack. Today, they would fight for their liberty, and likely someone would die for it.

Tim had been awake, staring at the ceiling, rehearsing in his mind the strategies Colonel Olney might use to defend the town. When these thoughts were interrupted by the drumming he leapt up, rolled up his bedroll, brushed down his clothes, polished his shoes with a rag, and then stood up straight and tall, waiting. His bruises throbbed but that did not matter. He was part of a squad, he had proven his worth, and he was ready to fight again.

“We’re all here?” asked their corporal. There were enough candles lit to make out faces but he still did a quick roll call. Ten privates plus Tim responded with “here”. That was one less than last time. The man who had been sent back the previous morning had continued his complaints about aches and chills and had finally been sent over to the hospital. He was likely not exaggerating. The hospital, with its foul smells and contagion, was likely as dangerous as the battlefield. With the roll called and everyone accounted for, they stood and waited.

Outside, they heard music, with drummers playing along with fifers. It was a lively tune to a song that told of a soldier who was prone to every sort of bad luck. In the house, a man with a deep voice started to sing the words and soon everyone who was not too busy was singing along. There were at least two dozen verses but halfway through the musicians fell silent. Everyone waited for the drummers to sound another order. None came. Something had prompted one musician to stop, others had stopped, wondering if he had heard a call, and then the silence had spread from one man to the next like the break of a clutch of billiard balls. Someone chuckled, then subdued conversation began to fill the void, along with the sounds of men being handed weapons and ammunition.

Conversation regained its peak volume, with a lot of worn-out wit about which man would entertain his fellows with a show of cowardice. Others aired their views about the treachery of the enemy and the poor quality of their weapons. It was the ordinary muttering and joking of soldiers but this morning, it was different. It was charged with deep anxiety, like the sound of an unattended wagon that has started to roll down a steep hill. Everybody knew that the man who might end the day dead might be him, and this kept hearts beating fast and lungs breathing deep.

“Now boys, remember,” said an old sergeant who usually concerned himself with shipments and deliveries. “It’s women and children we’ll be fighting to protect today, and we can’t do that if we don’t all hang together. And you can’t hang together unless you all stay close to your sergeant, awaiting his order. And he’ll be awaiting the order of Lieutenant Hawke. And the Lieutenant, in turn, will await his orders, just as he should. Now, you know how much we like to complain about incompetent officers and bad leadership. But I can tell you, that more battles have been lost and more lives have been wasted by the foolishness of a soldier who fails to do his duty – a man who refuses to do as he’s been trained to do and as he’s been ordered to do. A simple lack of discipline is what it is. And why does he forget his training and ignore his orders? Impatience is what it is, usually. For sure, the one thing a soldier needs as much as courage is patience. Patience to await the order of his superior and patience to follow it as it is given. Now, once your sergeant’s back, and that’ll likely be soon, then you’ll most probably be heading out onto the ramparts. And once you get there…”

Two sergeants came in, their faces grim and determined. Next, Sergeant Rush arrived, carrying a musket, a cartridge box and a bayonet in its sheath. “Tim,” he said when he got to where his squad waited. “Captain Poole says that you’re to carry these.”

“Yes sir,” said Tim. Private Woodford took his spear from him and Tim stepped forward. He put the strap of the cartridge box over his left shoulder and that of his bayonet over his right. Together, they gave him the white “X” across his chest that made him look like a soldier. With the musket in his hand he stepped back, ready to wait.

“You’re sure you know which end of that thing is which?”

“Yes, I am,” said Tim as he forced a smile and tried his best to sound calm and collected.

“And aim low,” Rush continued, louder than was necessary. “That’s because in your excitement you’re likely to forget that you’re supposed to squeeze the trigger, not jerk it and send your ball high and to the right. That’s the thing the new recruits are always forgetting.”

“And, sometimes, some of us old veterans, too,” chuckled Woodford.

“I’ll remember it, sir,” said Tim.

Again they waited. Nothing happened. This seemed ridiculous to Tim. Why keep so many soldiers idle, he wondered, when the enemy might be on the outskirts of town, right now, ready to attack?

A white haired militia major came in the front door and called upon everyone to bow their heads while he led them in prayers. The room became very still. A few men went down on their knees. The prayer was solemn and eloquent, but Tim could not keep his mind on the words. A soldier close by let out the occasional sob and tried to conceal it by coughing. Tim knew he was likely thinking of fallen comrades.

After they all said “Amen,” they returned to their conversation. The house was hot and stunk of nervous sweat. Tim wished they could at least go outside and wait in the fresh air. Through an open window he could see a hint of dawn’s light in the eastern sky. Roosters were crowing. The sound of running feet told him that a messenger was on his way to Arnold’s Tavern, likely with urgent news for the colonel. Lieutenant Hawke came through the door and spoke to Sergeant Rush. Tim thought he heard one of them say his name but was not sure.

“Now remember!” Hawke called out. “You’re to aim low, squeeze the trigger, and don’t go wasting what few balls and powder we’ve left to spare. That’s the one thing you’re all likely to forget. You hear that, Tim?”

“Yes sir,” he replied, wondering why he should be singled out. Had he not proved his courage and competence only the day before? Might it be, Tim wondered, that they’ve heard the truth? Do they know that I’m just a coward with remarkable good luck?

“And,” continued Hawke, “if at any point you feel a need to turn and run, then don’t go taking it personally when I point this pistol at you and pull the trigger.” He patted his leather holster as he spoke.

“Don’t you worry now, lieutenant sir,” said an old woman who had come in with some laundry. “I won’t take it personal.”

Hawke chuckled along with others and then went to give each sergeant his orders. The first squad filed out. Tim hoped they would again be sent out on patrol in the woods. He felt a tickle of excitement when his squad’s time came and Rush said, “Follow me.” They marched out in single file, each man close behind the next. The fresh morning air smelled sweet. There was enough light in the cloudy sky to let them make out shapes as they followed the pathway between two gardens, and beyond to the trenches and ramparts.

“Now remember, boys,” said Rush when he stopped and called them together, “this is an ideal time for the enemy to attack, so be ready to fight. You hear that, Tim?”

“I do, sir,” he replied, sounding frustrated. Someone chuckled. Why is he laughing, Tim wondered. Why don’t they all laugh at me? Do the rest of them pity me too much?

They went along the trench to take positions, though in a different location from the day before. Here the ground was higher so the trench could be deeper and still allow rainwater to flow away. The officer in charge of digging had used surveyor’s tools to ensure the trenches drained properly. The diggers had even cut out the sod in squares and had laid them on the bottom of the trench to make it less mucky. But in spite of the excellence of the earthworks, the line was still weak. It was too thin – only one man every twelve feet. One regiment was not enough for a town that was so spread out. If the enemy arrived in force the fighting would almost certainly make it into town. An image came to Tim’s mind of his sister being held down by laughing soldiers while his mother was forced to watch. He shook his head to clear his mind.

They waited. In dim light and mist, it was safe enough to remain standing. Tim looked across the pasture and then back toward town. The second floors of houses could be seen above the fruit trees. Almost all houses had a garden and an orchard beyond, so the whole town was ringed with fruit trees. The Porter house was near, standing taller than most with its third story. He wondered whether the women would be able to see him.

“So then, my boy,” said Woodford, speaking quietly as he crept close, “I hear our Lieutenant Hawke is a-hating you the more with every passing day.”

“Is it just for being traitor and murderer, or is it now for something worse?” joked Tim as he looked over to see whether an officer was close. He wondered whether Woodford risked punishment for moving away from his station.

“Oh, that must be. Yea, it’s for sure the sin of being too popular with the girls – young and old alike.”

“But that’s enough, though, isn’t it?”

“Now, I haven’t heard that he’s been saying precisely why he hates you” said Woodford quietly as he looked back. “Not right out loud, not from what I’ve heard. But don’t let it worry you too much. After all, the more Hawke hates you, the more some of us will be liking you.”

“Well… that’s good, then,” said Tim with a smile. He wondered why Woodford was saying this but was reluctant to ask. “You suppose we’re going to see some action today, or are the tories just teasing us?”

“Oh, maybe we will and maybe we won’t. You can never tell. They could already now be a-creeping about, over in yonder woodland, a-watching and a-waiting until there’s light enough to take a shot at one of us. And it might be you that stops a ball in mid-spin, but probably not. We’ve all got the odds in our favor. A battle never ends in more than half of either side dead, so our odds are always better than fifty-fifty. And they probably won’t attack at all, not yet. They’ve been scouting about but they’ve not yet ‘probed our defenses’, as they say. And, maybe they just want to snipe at us and leave it at that. But maybe if we’re lucky, the Colonel will send us out again, to flush them out and take another prisoner or two.”

“I hope so,” said Tim. “I need the money.”

“Don’t we all! You know, you do pose a problem for your Captain Poole. And for the colonel, too. You’re being younger than would usually be wanted in an ensign. So maybe he’ll be wanting to allow you another opportunity to make another demonstration of cool thinking in the face of the enemy. Wouldn’t you think so? You could go out to draw fire again? Either prove your worth or provide us with another martyr to the glorious cause.”

“I’d prefer the former,” joked Tim. “But I don’t know that I want to capture another horse. It’ll be hard enough to keep one fed, what then two of them.”

“Ha! Aye, that’s the stuff, boy!” Woodford said as he started back to his place. “Always consider the costs along with the benefits.”

And I’ll keep on wondering when all my good luck will show itself to be excessive, thought Tim as he squinted into the distance, trying to make out any movement. The minutes passed slowly. He was trying to recite in his mind some passages he had memorized from a drill manual when he overheard the voice of Sergeant Rush. He was around a bend in the trench, over a rise in the land and out of sight. Tim wished he would order them to do something. Anything would be better than standing and waiting.

“This is the worst part of it,” said Woodford as he came back. He kept his eyes on the pasture as he talked, with an occasional glance at Tim. “Waiting and wondering. Wondering and waiting. Whoever gave the alarm this morning might have heard the enemy and he might not have. It’s not pleasant standing guard, alone in near to total darkness. And if he did hear something then it could have been just a couple of snipers trying to sound like a whole battalion – trying to raise an alarm and spoil our sleep. We could be waiting like this for hours, couldn’t we? Not knowing whether the next moment we’ll be hearing the drums, and seeing them forming up in a line of battle. And then they’d be marching towards us. Just walking in a steady pace, for they’d know we’d surely not fire until they’re close enough to ensure that a few are hit. Then, at the last moment, they’ll be a-charging at us and then we’d be overrun and there’d be enemy everywhere! And then, all of a sudden, you’d look down and see a bayonet stuck in your guts and the last of your lifeblood squirting out – red as roses!”

“I’ve been trying not to think about roses.”

“Yes, and I suppose I shouldn’t be either. The waiting’s hard though, isn’t it? You start out by praying they won’t attack and then pretty soon you’ve got a sore back and wet feet and an ache in your head. And you’re so hungry and so cold and so tired that you finally end up a-praying that they’ll just hurry up and shoot you and put you out of your misery.”

“Well,” said Tim, after a pause, “you’re more experienced in this than I am, so you tell me when to switch over from the one to the other.”

“Ha! I’ll do that, boy. And you just remember not to fire until you’re ordered to or you’ll lose that musket they’ve given you to play with.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Tim, trying to sound like he was not irritated by the humor, but as he spoke, he heard the popping sound of distant gunfire. It was nothing much and nowhere near, but he suddenly found himself feeling the same strange mixture of fear and confusion he had felt the day before, in the clearing. He closed his eyes and clenched his musket, trying hard to suppress his shaking before anyone noticed.

Chapter 22

This is unforgivable.

“Likely just a few old boys, out a-hunting squirrel,” joked Woodford after they heard two more shots, somewhere on the far side of town.

“Do you think that it might be an attack… in force?” asked Tim.

“Likely not. More likely a few of their snipers are trying their luck, shooting at ours. But… there could still be an attack coming soon. Any minute now, it could be. They’re maybe thinking the line’s thinner over there, for otherwise, they’d be sending their balls over our heads, wouldn’t they? Or maybe they think we’re weaker over here and the sneaky devils are going to feint an attack over there, to try to surprise us when they come at us in force. Right out of the woodland over yonder where you found your fortune, yesterday. They’re the attackers and it’s for them to decide, ain’t it? Yea, for them to choose where they’d prefer to be shot and stabbed, for we’ll oblige them whichever place they chose, won’t we?”

“I’m hoping it’ll be here then,” said Tim with a forced smile. “If I had another horse, I could sell it and have money enough to feed the first one.”

“Ha! You’re a crazy one! You’ll soon be either a hero or dead,” said Woodford, but before Tim could respond, they heard more shots from the same direction. “Well now, sounds like this time you’re going to miss out on getting some more experience. Sounds like they’ve chosen the land where they’ll take their stand.”

But instead of a barrage of musket fire and the shrieking of an attacking line, they just heard more pops followed by a long silence. It was not a complete silence. There was still the occasional shout and the barking of dogs. As they waited, the clouds gradually grew brighter, the mist cleared and birds started chirping. Further off roosters crowed and a cow bawled. A merry summer’s morn, thought Tim.

“Well now, I’m getting hungry…” but Woodford’s words were cut off by more shots. They listened carefully. It had stopped. Then it started again. Then it stopped.

A breath of wind chilled the sweat on the back of Tim’s neck and he started shivering again. Sergeant Rush came along the trench crouched down. He stopped to talk to a private. Then he came closer and said something to Woodford, who had returned to his station. Rush took a quick look at Tim and then turned to go back. Tim felt slighted. Again gunfire erupted across town. This time more of it.

“Now that’s an attack in force,” said Woodford, who was back again and sounding sure of himself.

“That’s maybe an attack,” corrected the private to Tim’s left who had come close enough to talk. “And I’d say it’s more likely that today will just be a ‘probing of our defenses’. And Tim, you best be careful you don’t fire before you hear the order, or you’ll be a-hearing about it later from your Captain Poole after Hawke makes a special trip just to tell him about it.”

“Yes yes,” chuckled Woodford as he got up to stretch, “he’ll be making a report on something else and then only mention it in passing. And it’ll be the talk of the town. Hawke will make a special effort to…” but again his words were interrupted by gunfire. “An attack a-coming. I’m more sure of it now than ever,” he said with a nod as he stood up to stretch his arms in the air. “An attack, then a response,” he said as he crouched back down. “Our reserves rushing in to reinforce the line. Then the enemy will withdraw, pulling their wounded along with them. But it’ll likely only be one or two wounded. And then it’ll all be over. The ‘Battle of Morristown’ will be at an end just like that, and here we’ll be left with no opportunity to distinguish ourselves and win a promotion.”

“You’re such a pessimist,” said the private.

“Oh, but I’m only trying to reassure poor Tim here,” laughed Woodford, “before he dirties his breeches.”

“Keep it down!” called Rush.

They got back to their stations and waited. After a long silence, Tim raised himself so he could stretch out a leg to relieve a cramp. From the woodland across the pasture, they heard a pop and at the same moment the ball whistled over. In an instant, Tim was back down in a crouch and covering his eyes. He then lost his balance and fell back onto wet mud. Woodford and the other private laughed. “Good thing I didn’t wear my new uniform,” Tim muttered.

“Well,” said Woodford, “it’s nice to know that they figure us worth the bother of shooting at us. I was starting to wonder they didn’t think us worth the shot and powder.”

“It is good of them,” agreed Tim as he leaned on his elbows, chest up, so he could stretch his leg without making himself a target. It was quiet again, except for the barking of dogs. Then two more shots sounded from across the pasture but these passed well to their right. Behind them, from the houses, rifles blasted a response. First one, then two more. Tim heard a whack. It seemed like something had hit the rampart, to his right, and only a few feet away.

“Well!” said Woodford as he looked back over his shoulder. “You tell some people to aim low and they aim too low. Tim, my boy, you’d best keep the eyes in the back of your head wide open, or the next one could go straight up your arse.”

“Where’d it come from?”

“One of our snipers, for sure, up in one of the houses, but I don’t know which. There’s three puffs of smoke coming out of three different houses.”

“Well I…” started Tim as he looked back, but his words came out as a hiss. His throat had gone stiff and dry, though not as bad as the day before. He had saved a piece of gristle from supper so he would have something to chew on. He unwrapped it from a piece of oiled paper and stuck it in his mouth. They waited. Again, time passed with infuriating slowness. Another shot came from the woodland. Right away the ball whistled overhead. Even if he had not heard the weapon fire, he still could have told which direction its ball was coming from because the noise of a fast spinning ball sounded different when it came at you – a higher pitch followed by a lower one after it passed by. He peeked over the rampart and saw the smoke from the rifle that had fired it, hovering among the trees. Then came another shot with another flash of light and plume of white smoke. The ball flew past about five paces to Tim’s left. He ducked low but again felt foolish for taking cover only after the danger had passed.

It was quiet for what seemed like a minute and then the enemy snipers fired again. Woodford had been amusing himself, standing and waving his arms and immediately crouching back down. Two more balls whistled over, just clearing the crest of the rampart. Return fire from behind passed higher overhead. But then came the sound of a ball from behind. This time, it hit the ground ahead and to Tim’s right, sending grass and dirt flying as it grazed the meadow. It had clearly come from town.

“What in damnation!” swore Woodford as he looked back. Again there was more than one plume of smoke. In an almost dead calm, new smoke mingled with what remained from previous shots. One plume was right by the Porter house. Old Peter would be there and maybe others, too.

“I wonder who it is?” asked Tim.

“Well,” grumbled Woodford, “whoever the blockhead is, he’s going to be the death of one of us! Damnation! Where’s that sergeant of ours?”

Again came the sound of shots from both directions and a ball ripped through the ground just beyond the rampart. “What in the…” said Tim as he looked back. It was as if someone was deliberately waiting for another shot to be fired close by and was then firing right away afterwards to conceal which house he was in. And it’s like he’s aiming at me, thought Tim, but he’s nervous and it’s making him jerk on the trigger instead of squeezing it, and that’s sending each shot up and to the right. An image came to his mind of Lieutenant Hawke with a rifle in his hands, reloading for another try and cursing his misses. But it can’t be him, thought Tim as he looked back again. He’s down here with us.

Tim looked back and forth and noticed that the trench was deeper to his left where the land continued to rise. There they would have cover from both sides. He got up and said, “We’ve got to move along to where we’ll be safe! Over this way.”

“Wait now! We can’t just up and take ourselves somewhere else!” whispered Woodford, sounding like he was warning against a dire consequence.

“But we can’t stay here!” insisted Tim.

“We can’t leave here either! You know what you get for abandoning your post under enemy fire? You’ll be grateful if they only give you six dozen.”

“But we’re being fired on by our own militia! Isn’t that a change of circumstances?”

“Well… you’re not sworn in yet so maybe you can get away with it. Why don’t you go see if you can find us an officer?”

“I ought to,” muttered Tim, but by now, he was too rattled to make a decision so he stayed where he was. Again, shots sounded in the woods and almost immediately return fire rang out from the houses. Again a ball came from behind and hit the rampart, and this time even closer.

“Blast it!” muttered the private to Tim’s left. “Are you being targeted?”

“This is too much!” said Tim as he started along the trench, only instead of going to the right where he would likely find Sergeant Rush, he went to the left, passing by the private. But that’s better, though, he told himself, because it’s more in the direction of the enemy fire, isn’t it? And that’ll mean it’s nothing at all like running away. And surely this qualifies as a change in circumstances.

“What are you boys looking for?” asked the soldier who was around the next bend in the line and beyond a rise. He sounded angry and scared at the same time.

“We’re getting it from both directions!” replied Tim, as if it was a stupid question.

“Both directions?”

“From one of those houses!” Tim insisted as he pointed. It was only then that he realized the man had said “you boys”. He turned to look back and there behind him was Woodford and the other private, crouched low.

“What are you doing here?” gasped Tim.

“Following after your excellent example,” said Woodford, sounding like he considered it a stupid question. “Change of circumstances it is, just like you said. And better than getting shot in the back!”

Tim could not respond. They’ve followed me, he told himself. I’ve led them. We’ve all abandoned our stations and… and it’s me who’s led them away and… I’ll be blamed! He turned to the side, still keeping low and leaning on one hand while his other pressed his musket to his chest. There was a hissing in his ears and his heart pounded. All his fear and anger now combined into one overwhelming feeling of regret. Tim Euston had opened a gap in the line. He had as much as given an order. And it was in clear defiance of the direct orders of Lieutenant John Hawke – the orders of a man who hated him. The man who’s eager for any excuse to condemn me, Tim told himself as he lifted the musket to press it against his forehead. I’m just a volunteer and I’ve led soldiers in an unauthorized retreat. This is unforgivable! My military career is at an end and before it’d even started! My whole future is in ruins! And what can I do? And… and what will it matter what I do?

Chapter 23

Enemies on both sides.

But, wondered Tim as he looked up, blinking his eyes, if I get them back to where they’re supposed to be, right away quick, then maybe nobody will notice we’d ever moved. He was about to speak when he heard more shots again from the far side of town.

“If the attack comes,” said Woodford as he pointed his finger, “then it’ll come from over there.”

“Either over there, or over there, because…” started the private but he stopped when they heard more shots combined with shouting.

“Why don’t we get ourselves back before we’re caught?” said Tim as he started past them. “They’ll probably be sending us over there to reinforce…” But before he could get any further they heard Rush’s voice in the distance, sounding like he was giving some sort of order.

“What’s he doing away over there?” asked Woodford.

“He’d ask the same about us if he knew we were over here,” said Tim as he turned to go. “So we’d best be getting ourselves back before…”

“What I’m thinking,” said the private as he pointed to the woods, “is that we’re likely going to get the main attack right here in front of us and what we’re hearing over there is just meant to confuse us. To get us to send men over there when we’ll need them right here.”

“What are you boys doing down here?” asked Rush as he came around the bend.

“We… we…” stammered Tim.

“Seeking cover!” said Woodford in an indignant voice. “From those who are firing upon us from behind.”

“From behind?”

“Somebody in one of the houses was firing a bit low,” said Tim.

“A bit low!” huffed Woodford, “Firing way low, is what! And straight at us, he was, the blasted fool! And almost hitting poor Tim here a couple of times! But we couldn’t make out which house, what with so many firing at the same time and with all the smoke.”

“It had us a-wondering who was on which side,” said the private.

“We’ll look into it,” said Rush. “But for now we’re being relieved. Follow me.” They duck-walked along the trench, passing by soldiers from another squad who were waiting to take their places. Once back into town Rush told them to stay where they were and went off by himself. The ten of them waited, leaning on their muskets. The clouds overhead had darkened and a light rain began to fall.

“They’ll likely be wanting to send us out,” said Woodford with a smile, “so Tim here can capture another prisoner.”

“Sent out to get shot at,” said another private, “so young Timmy-come-lately can prove his worth.” He was trying to make it sound like good-natured teasing but his voice had resentment in it.

“And maybe so one of us can prove our own worth, too,” said Woodford. “You want to make sergeant someday, don’t you, boy?”

“I’d settle for making it back home,” said another. He was about to say more but they noticed the sergeant returning with Lieutenant Hawke.

“You abandoned your stations to avoid shots from behind?” asked Hawke as he glared at Tim.

“Well… it seemed…” stammered Tim.

“Four shots we heard slamming into the rampart or tearing up the sod,” said Woodford. “Four exactly! And almost hitting poor Tim here! And me too! ‘Twas like some Nervous Nellie was aiming at Tim but kept yanking the trigger.”

“Aiming at Tim?” asked Hawke, sounding like he was sorry the shooter had failed to hit his mark.

“And we don’t know which house they came from because there was always fresh smoke coming from more than one. Like he’d hold off until another shot was fired.”

“We’ll have to look into it,” said Hawke. “But for now,” he said as he turned to Sergeant Rush, “I want you to take yourselves out over there to find out who’s doing the shooting. And make full use of Tim.”

“Yes sir,” replied Rush with a salute.

“Another opportunity to prove yourself, Tim,” said Hawke over his shoulder as he started back. “Make the most of it.”

“I will, sir,” said Tim. He looked at the others, expecting to see expressions of eagerness and determination. Instead, they looked like they were being unfairly imposed upon.

“Same little patch of firewood as yesterday,” said Rush to Tim. “Would you care to take the lead?”

“Ah… well… ah… it would be an honor,” replied Tim with a hesitant smile.

“Go straight toward where the shots are coming from. At a hundred paces short of it you veer over to the left. Once into it, we’ll sweep one way and then the other. And if we don’t run straight into them we’ll look around for fresh tracks – see if there’s been more than a couple out there. We’ll form a single file, each about six paces from the next, in the same order we’re in. You’ll be at the furthest end of it. We’ll turn to the right and we’ll either chase them away or they’ll chase us. And if you see a stranger with a weapon then you shoot him before he shoots you. After you’ve both pulled your triggers you take a run at him and try poke him with your bayonet. You understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Let’s load ‘em up then, boys, if they aren’t already,” said Rush, and those with a musket began the process. “And get your rags out.” They each carried a dry cloth to wrap around the firing mechanism to help keep the powder dry.

Tim started to load his musket. This was something he had practiced so many times he had it down to under a third of a minute – almost a quarter – faster than many fully-trained soldiers. And now he was going through all the steps without confusion or hesitation – with perfect concentration. He pulled a cartridge from his cartridge box, opened the pan of the flintlock mechanism and bit off the end of the cartridge that held the ball. He kept it in his mouth while he poured a small amount of powder on the pan. He closed it to keep the powder in place while he turned it muzzle-up to pour in the rest of the powder. He spit in the ball, still wrapped in its paper, then pulled the ramrod from its place under the barrel and rammed it all down with two strokes. Behind him, he heard the scraping of steel against steel. Only two had beaten him.

“You tapped it down solid, Tim?” asked Rush.

“I did,” said Tim as he wound his rag around the lock.

“Lead us off, then.”

“Of course. Well… ah… follow me, then,” said Tim as he turned to go. After five steps he looked back to see if they really were following.

“We’re here,” said Rush right behind him.

“Yes, good,” said Tim, feeling foolish. In single file, they walked along the street. The rain was coming down harder. Leading men into battle, almost, thought Tim as he gripped his musket and kept his eyes on the ground before him to make sure not to stumble in a rut. Leading armed men, ready to fight, he bragged to himself as he felt a tickle run from his gut up to his heart. Leadership thrust upon me! At the head of a file of hardened troops and headed into action!

“Turn down here,” said Rush.

“I know, sir,” Tim replied, but then wondered whether he should have said, I know, sergeant. After all, he wasn’t officially under his command. He was a volunteer, but he was on the brink of being the man’s superior. Along the pathway he went and, with a spring in his step, he walked past the garden and the orchard and out onto the pasture. He started to jog, hunkered down. They passed soldiers crouched low who looked back at them with an ‘it’s about time’ attitude. Tim tried his best to appear unconcerned, as if he was accustomed to leading a patrol. And we’re after an enemy that’s been firing on us, he said to himself. An enemy that’s been shooting to kill! And I’m at the head of the counter-attack! He stepped over the rampart and started out across the no-man’s-land. Almost immediately he heard the sound of a ball flying past, just a few feet to his right, combined with the distant blast of the rifle that fired it. In the rain it sounded muffled. Several shots rang out from behind to give them a covering fire.

Leading them into action, I am, thought Tim as a smile grew on his lips. What an opportunity! What a… but… but am I really leading anyone? What am I doing? Aren’t I now just a human shield, meant to protect the sergeant and the rest of them – meant to protect the valuable ones? And isn’t this likely Hawke’s way of getting rid of me? And won’t he be doing a favor for his captain too – getting rid of a bad decision – brushing aside an embarrassment? Is this where my ‘military career’ will begin and end? With these dismal thoughts Tim plodded along, the rain coming down harder.

“Pick her up a bit,” demanded Rush after they had covered a hundred yards. Tim speeded up but it was difficult. The grass was slippery, the musket was an awkward thing to carry, and the cartridge box and bayonet bounced around.

How far, wondered Tim, will I make it before I’ve stopped a ball and served my purpose?

Again enemy shots were fired and again the balls just missed. Covering fire responded from behind. Tim squinted to look at the woodland. The details were blurred by the rain in his eyes. It was not very far but the seconds passed with infuriating slowness.

Another hundred yards were covered and the trees looked closer. When’s the next shot coming? What’s taking them so long? As if in response, another shot flashed in the woods. Then another. One struck the muzzle of his rifle, almost knocking it out of his hands. At least they can hit something? thought Tim. But right away he realized that, though he had not heard someone call “man down”, another of the balls might still have hit a man behind him. And if it didn’t hit a bone he’ll likely still be running, while wondering how bad he’s been hurt.

Another hundred yards was achieved and Tim was feeling pain and weakness invade his legs, stomach and arms. His heart pounded and he gasped for air. Can I make it? Can I keep this up! I’m too weak!

“Veer off!” yelled Rush and Tim led them away from the smoke that marked the position of the snipers. They would still be reloading, and it would be a lucky shot that hit a moving target.

Finally, they were into the safety of wet green foliage. “That’s far enough,” wheezed Rush. “Tim, go along another thirty paces. Jones to the left, Harris the right.” He was sending men out to see whether they had landed in the middle of a battalion of enemy soldiers.

“Yes sir,” said Tim in a hiss. His voice box was tight as a knot. Before obeying the order, he looked back. His body was momentarily frozen by what he saw. A man was leaning on another’s shoulder. Bright red blood soaked the side of his shirt. He’d been hit in the chest. And here I am untouched, thought Tim, scolding himself as he turned to go on. He pushed away branches and climbed over deadfall, counting his steps to thirty, wondering whether he was about to meet the enemy – wondering whether he’d see the black bore of a musket barrel or the naked edge of a bayonet. But then he remembered the wounded man behind him. Self-serving coward! he accused himself. Feeling so sorry for yourself while another man took the ball that was meant for you!

“What do you see, Tim?” asked Rush, just loud enough.

“Ah… nobody here,” he replied but it came out as another whisper. “Nobody here, sir!” he croaked. “All clear, I mean… ah… nobody that…” but now his words were interrupted by the voices of the flanking guards. Both reported with a simple “All’s clear.” Next Tim heard the voices of those who were helping the wounded man. They would have his shirt off so they could wrap the wound with a roll of linen. Or maybe, thought Tim, it’s punctured a lung and... But it couldn’t have. We’d be hearing him coughing up blood, spraying it everywhere – drowning in it! Likely it’s nothing. But a wound’s never nothing, is it? And maybe… but then his thoughts were cut short by a sound behind him. He spun about. No one was there. It might have been a squirrel or a skunk. To his side, shadows and branches took the form of men, but only for a half-second until he could blink. He felt lightheaded. He shook his head and slapped his face, desperate to recapture his wits.

“Spread out!” ordered Rush. “Tim, you keep going in until the man behind you tells you you’ve gone far enough.”

“I will,” he replied, rising slowly and staggering.

“Move it, Tim,” growled a private behind him. “Straight ahead!”

“Yes, of course,” he replied as he wound his way through a dense patch of Alder, expecting to see the enemy at any moment. He looked back. The private was looking back and forth, the muscles in his cheeks standing out as he clenched his teeth. Tim took a few more steps – still no sight of anyone.

“Keep moving,” said the private.

“I will,” said Tim. He noticed the rag on his musket and realized he ought to have it off just in case. He unwound it and stuffed it under his belt as he ducked under one branch and stepped over another, holding the firing mechanism under his arm to keep droplets on wet branches from ruining the powder.

Then Tim saw him. The stranger was a middle-aged man dressed for hunting. He stood half behind a tree, holding a rifle – aiming it. His eyes were squinted and he was pulling the trigger. A click. Nothing more. It had misfired. His priming powder was likely wet. Tim raised his weapon to his shoulder, taking aim at the man as he turned to run off. He squeezed the trigger. The powder detonated. But Tim had forgotten to lean forward to receive the recoil. It knocked him backwards onto the ground. Another sniper then fired second shot, ripping through twigs – barely missing. The man’s location was only revealed by smoke.

“We’ve a pair of them here,” said the private behind Tim, calling to Rush. “They’ve run off.”

“Let ‘em go,” said Rush. “Anybody hit?”

“That first one flinched a bit,” said the private. “I think our little Timmy here might have winged him. What do you think, Tim? Tim, you hit?”

“Huh?” said Tim from where he lay. The recoil had knocked him flat.

“You been hit?”

“Ah… no,” said Tim as he looked back and forth.

“Then get yourself up and keep yourself moving!” whispered the private. “We’re alright,” he said, louder, back to Rush.

“I’m up,” groaned Tim as he got himself going again. He felt dizzy and did not know which way to go. The rotten-egg stench of gunpowder hung heavy in the woods. He looked back to the private, who was pointing his finger to indicate the direction. Tim started again through the trees. Here the underbrush was clear enough to allow him to see twenty paces ahead. He wondered whether he should reload or at least get his bayonet in place. Deciding on the bayonet, he pulled it from its sheath, reached out to the end of the barrel, slipped it over and gave it a twist to fix it in place. Continuing on, he covered a few more paces. He looked back to make sure he was no more than six paces away, and went a few steps more. There could be a whole battalion of them, he told himself. Those men might be scouts. They rest of them could be lying low and waiting to deal with us before they get busy with the town.

He continued on, crouched low – a few steps, a look back to the private, a few steps more. Finally, they got to the edge of a wide field. Wheat had been planted between the stumps. It was just coming up - long blades of deep green. They kept themselves hidden under cover by the side of the field.

“Another ninety paces further down that way,” called Rush, “and then we sweep back. Watch for tracks.”

“Go on, Tim,” said the private, again pointing.

“I’m going,” said Tim quietly after he looked back to be sure which way the line was oriented. He counted his steps, wondering whether they were too big or too small. At ninety he stopped, turned and looked back.

“That way now,” said the private.

“I know,” replied Tim, again only in a whisper and not knowing if the man could hear him. I don’t want to be a soldier anymore, he told himself as he took a few more steps. He looked back. He forced himself a few more steps. And then Tim saw him again – the sniper whose weapon had misfired. No sign of blood. He could not have been hit. Again the man took aim. Tim ducked just as the gun fired. “You! You!” hissed Tim, suddenly furious. He started after the man but was blinded by smoke. He stumbled and fell.

“Tim! Stay with us!” said the private behind him.

“Alright,” Tim replied. His arm had scraped a branch and the pain was severe. He looked around, wondering where the sniper’s partner had gone.

“Was it the same one?”

“Uh… yeah.”

“Good, now let’s go,” whispered the private. “The same fellow! The first shooter,” he called to Rush. They continued their sweep and were able to hear a branch crack in the woods as if someone had stepped on it. It was maybe fifty paces beyond.

“It’s the same two,” called the private to Rush. “They’re hunting Tim!”

“Well, let’s go find them then!” barked Rush, his voice ringing through the woods. “Circle around, Harris! You lead on the right. Tim, round by the left. Don’t let ‘em get away!”

“Yes sir,” said Tim faintly, but before he could start he heard the sounds of running feet. The snipers were making their escape.

“They’re running off,” said Tim but his voice was gone.

“They’ve run off,” repeated the private.

“Let ‘em go,” said Rush. “Now, let’s finish our sweep and get back.”

Tim continued on. After finding no fresh signs to indicate the recent presence of men in any number, Rush called them together.

“Two snipers. Nothing more, looks like,” said Rush with a nod. “Follow me, boys. Back home. Tim, you take up the rear.”

“An honor, sir,” said Tim, as he considered the fact that he would again serve as a shield if other snipers were ready. The private who had been guiding him gave Tim a smile. Tim realized that his voice was back, and that by saying “An honor, sir,” he had made a joke out of Rush’s order. And, Tim told himself, I’ve not just cracked a good one. I’ve succeeded in doing all I’ve been asked to. I’d been given one of the most dangerous tasks a soldier could ever receive! And I did my duty! I accomplished the task. I’d led them out and I’d faced enemy fire! Twice! I’d been shot at and almost hit, and still I’d kept going. I’d fired my weapon with lethal intent! And I might even have hit one of them! I’ve done my duty and my voice is back, and I’ve been able to make a joke out of it all. And… and my breeches are still clean, he bragged to himself as he followed the others out of the woods and back into the pasture. They broke into a run. No one fired on them but still they maintained an exhausting pace until back over the rampart.

“You done good, Tim,” said Rush as he dropped down in the trench to catch his breath. He crouched low, leaning on his musket. His face was red and wet with sweat. “Now, maybe you ought to come along with me and hear what I say when I give my report to Lieutenant Hawke.”

“If you think it best,” said Tim as he pulled the bayonet off the musket and slipped it back into its sheath under his left arm.

“Now Tim,” said Woodford with a grin, “don’t you be too modest when they’re asking their questions.” He was directing the comment to the others with an “I told you so” tone in his voice.

“I’ll only be able to say that my run of remarkable good fortune hasn’t run itself out yet,” said Tim as he turned to follow Rush. But then he remembered the mysterious shots that had come from a house in town. And, he wondered, how long will my good fortune last with enemies on both sides?

Would Tim have heard the sound of a rifle shot just after hearing the ball fly by? Yes, but just barely. A rifle with a caliber of 60 (6/10 of an inch) could produce a muzzle velocity of about 1200 feet per second. A 74 caliber musket ball could do only 800. The speed of sound at sea level is about 1100 feet per second (760 miles an hour) depending on temperature and air pressure. Modern weapons vary from 870 feet per second for a large bore pistol, to over 4000 with a small bore rifle. The “too-wang” sound you sometimes hear in movies is the sound of a modern rifle bullet, passing by in advance of the bang of the detonation that propelled it.

Chapter 24

What sort of nastiness.

“I suppose some just take to soldiering like a duck takes to water,” said Malcolm Poole with a shrug and a smile. Rush had given his report to Lieutenant Hawke, and Poole and Colonel Olney had been there to hear of Tim’s respectable performance.

“Yes, it appears so,” nodded Olney, “a fine example of duty under fire, sounds like.”

“Indeed, we must call it that, sir,” said Lieutenant Hawke, who looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth.

“Captures one Thursday, maybe wings one Friday. As good a fighter as he is a fiddler,” said the colonel, who was amused by Hawke’s obvious discomfort. “And you showed us a rare bit of intuition, you did,” he said with a nod to Poole, “when you chose him for ensign. He seems to have it in him, doesn’t he? A young man who can think clearly when under fire and who can lead his fellows into action.”

“Well now, sir,” said Poole, “I don’t know that you ought to give me credit for intuition, for no doubt ‘twas the boy himself who was, with cautious and calculated words, leading me along to the decision.” They both chuckled at this. Hawke’s eyes showed anger for a fraction of a second before he managed to force out a laugh.

“Now don’t let this all go to your head,” said the colonel to Tim, who was looking more embarrassed than flattered. “You’ll still have to keep at your training and your book work. You’re well behind your fellows in so many ways, though it does appear that you’re ahead of a few where it counts the most – courage under fire.”

“Oh yes, I do realize that,” nodded Tim. “Oh no! I mean I don’t… I mean I realize that I’m well behind in training and book work, and for sure I’ll keep to my study and my practice whenever I’ve the opportunity.”

“But don’t let it stop you,” said the colonel as he wagged a finger, “from the diligent study of my wife’s favorite ballad. ‘Meet a Fond Pair’, is it?”

“Oh no sir, surely I’ll not let it stop me.”

“Again we see his mental gifts at work,” joked Poole. “First see to the wishes of the colonel’s wife, and all else will follow in good order.”

“Yes yes,” laughed the colonel. “That’s a rule I’ve followed for eighteen wonderful years and it’s always proved to be the path of least resistance.”

. . . . .

“Then our darling little fiddler,” said Hawke with a sneer later that morning, “got praise heaped upon him like… like he truly was the hero of the day!” He and Private Passey were out in a pasture at the edge of town where they ran no risk of being overheard.

“And the colonel swallowed it all?” asked Passey.

“I do not know what’s been going through that man’s head. I could certainly understand Poole trying to save face for a drunken error but… but why the colonel, too?”

“If Tim Euston is a spy…”

“If?” fumed Hawke, “And how else could he have been missed by so many shots? The snipers must have known who he was!”

“Perhaps, he is lucky. Soldiers are lucky sometimes, and not other times. Poole and the colonel wanted to give Tim a chance to demonstrate some of his worth, and thanks to his uncommon good fortune he got to demonstrate a lot of it.”

“All too blessed uncommon is what it is! And anyways, how can they be so easily taken in?

“Well,” sighed Passey, “if charming Tim Euston truly is a spy then we can assume he was selected by his redcoated masters for that very reason – because they could see in him the power to deceive and seduce.”

“It must be.”

“Hasn’t the colonel himself all but said that his wife has a hand in his decisions? And I must say, sir, it is very much to your credit that you have not been taken in, as well.”

“Honestly,” fumed Hawke, “it should require no great talent to consider the facts as they present themselves.”

“Oh, and there you are far too modest, sir. It shouldn’t take a great talent, but quite obviously it does. And soon enough your superiors will recognize your gifts and surely you’ll be justly rewarded.”

“No no, enough of this flattery,” said Hawke with a wave of his hand. “We face a dire threat to our sacred cause, and to our very lives, and we cannot stand idly by and allow it to go on.”

“Of course not.”

“So what then? They’ll trust their judgment and we’ll just stand at the side and watch the inevitable consequences?”

“It seems it’s all we can do,” shrugged Passey. “But it is strange though, isn’t it? If Tim Euston acts for the enemy then how did he act with such authenticity? They say he lost his voice completely and was croaking away like a toad.”

“Obviously, he has some device. Maybe he swallowed some potion that could take his voice away. And why wouldn’t he eat poisons and dodge rifle balls? Olney will have to be fully convinced of his loyalty to the cause if he’s to get the most out of his malevolent efforts.”

“But the sniper he shot at flinched like he’d been hit. He could have killed one of his own comrades-in-arms.”

“What would a spy care if lives may be lost in the process? Had he any moral fiber, he wouldn’t be acting as a spy, would he?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“And,” said Hawke as he shook his head in disgust, “he’ll no doubt be richly rewarded if the revolution is crushed, won’t he be? Our children and grandchildren may yet be calling him ‘Sir Timothy’. Think of it! Lord Euston! Squire of the county, he’ll be! Master of a vast tract of land confiscated from patriot farmers! Just like they did after the Scots rebelled in ’45. And after they rebelled in Ireland, too. He’ll be owner of a stately country house with a thousand slaves! Lord Lieutenant of the King’s militia, he’ll likely be! It may come to that! He’ll stop at nothing, I’m sure. For those of his ilk the end justifies the means – and being chief slave master in a land of slaves is an end that justifies any means.”

“But we must consider every possibility, mustn’t we?” said Passey as he thought. “Is it not possible that Poole and Olney are right and we are wrong? We must at least ask ourselves the question.”

“Yes, surely!” said Hawke as he threw up his hands. “It is conceivable that Tim Euston is no spy at all – naught but an honest and diligent young patriot. But are we not a nation at war? We simply cannot accept the risk that comes with giving every man and boy the benefit of the doubt. Can we? Lives are at stake! And that includes your life and mine!”

“Yes yes yes yes, truly they are. And you are right sir, act we must, but… my goodness! How do we act when our captain and our colonel both stand in our way?”

“Indeed how do we? They could accuse us of defying them, couldn’t they? What would they think were they to realize that we act upon the assumption that they are incompetent and unfit for their rank? And that is what we do assume, isn’t it? They could hardly help but be offended. Deeply offended! And we would suffer the consequences. We’d be denied promotions and refused good postings. That at the very least! The very least! In some way or another, they’d make us pay for our insolence, as they’d call it.”

“So our hands are tied then?” asked Passey as he raised his brows.

“No no no, not entirely. We can still watch. We can still wait. And when Tim Euston makes a mistake, we can act. It’s all we can do and likely it’ll be all we’ll need to do.”

“And if he makes no mistakes?”

“Brother, we can only hope that lives do not pay the price of it.”

. . . . .

“Ah, and here he is,” purred Dot O’Toole, “our hero of the day!” She had found Tim in the barn behind the Porter house, again at work on his violin.

“Well… not really, I don’t…”

“So, how does it feel to take aim at a man and pull the trigger? I can’t imagine! I couldn’t have done it! I would have burst into tears and dropped the musket and ran home to my mamma.”

“Well I don’t know that I actually…”

“Come come now, the man with you says he saw him flinch. A man doesn’t flinch for nothing.”

“Well I…”

“And Captain Malcolm Poole is today a happy man, for now he’s being called the farsighted fellow who first placed his faith in brave Tim Euston.”

“Well I… really you’re too kind,” said Tim as he felt himself blushing. “But if I’m to be praised then it should be for nothing more than being at the right place at the right time.”

“No no no, you are too modest! And surely you cannot call your captain mistaken. Not when he’s so wise in the ways of warfare, and not when he talks of you like you’re a golden boy of a golden age. Surely you don’t doubt his wisdom?”

“Dot,” said Tim as he tried to suppress a smile, “are you really doing me a favor with all this flattery? It could go straight to my head and then I’d sink into a pit of pride and vanity. And besides, it’s only good fortune that I can claim. Excessive good fortune, maybe.”

“Excessive? How can good fortune ever be excessive? Tim Euston, even your modesty is to your credit. And look at your cheeks now – red as ripe apples, they are.” As she said this she reached out to stroke his cheek with the back of her fingers. “But you are right about not letting it go to your head. There’s been many an officer who’s been ruined by flattery. It makes a man lazy.”

“Lazy and demanding and impatient of others – and thinking he’s already accomplished all that he needs to. That’s what my mother says I could become. She says I could end up like a woman who’s too beautiful.”

“Tim!” she sighed, “are you telling me that I’m beautiful?”

“I’m…I’m… I’m just telling you what my mother says.”

“And a wise woman she is. But you cannot risk being too modest either, for then you’ll start to doubt your own abilities, and that’ll mean you’ll never make the best use of them. You’re a natural leader of men, Tim Euston, truly you are. And as proof of it, Hawke and Passey are out there in the pasture right now, practicing drill with a musket. And if that is not done in imitation of you and Malcolm Poole, then… well… then I don’t know what is.”

“They’re out there right now?” asked Tim as he went to peek out the back door that had been left open.

“Hard at it, they are.”

“Well… that’s… I wonder…”

“Battle nerves maybe?” shrugged Dot. “Too restless to…”

“Or maybe they’re keeping an eye on me. I’ve been asked why he hates me so much. That’s what one of his own privates asked me. So maybe they’ve decided to watch and to wait for anything that would…”

“Yes, and under the hot sun too, poor things. I was thinking I should invite them in for a mug of beer as a reward for their diligence. And, once I have them inside, I could spy for you, couldn’t I? Ply them with beer and flattery and find out what sort of nastiness they’re up to.” 

Chapter 25

Do what needs to be done.

“If I know Dot O’Toole,” said Hawke as he looked toward the barn, his eyes half-closed, “then she’s right now a-flirting away with our hero of the day. Wouldn’t you think so? Preening his ego? Probing his defenses?”

“They say that it is what she does best,” said Passey with a grin as he continued to go through the steps of loading the musket, and absentmindedly doing so with a real cartridge that had been accidently left in his cartridge box. As he poured the black powder down the barrel he realized what he was doing. He stopped, momentarily, but then continued, hoping Hawke would not notice. Practice with scarce supplies required a captain’s permission.

“And think of this,” said Hawke, sounding as if he was coming up with a very good idea. “Were we to quietly walk in through that door and just happen to find them flirting and fawning? Well, it could be an embarrassment for them, couldn’t it?”

“It could indeed.”

“They’d know that we could march back out and start telling one and all about what we’ve just seen – the looks upon their faces and the locations of their hands. And they’d know we could exaggerate what we’ve seen, only somewhat, but enough. And they’d know that everyone would believe us. Sure they’d believe us, because it’s Dot O’Toole we’d be talking about. The two of them could try to deny everything but… would her husband believe it?”

“Not likely. Not likely at all,” said Passey as he wiped the sweat that ran down his brow. “And a jealous and reckless man he is. Indeed it would surely mark the end of Tim Euston’s remarkable run of good fortune.”

“Now of course we’d have to be cautious in what we say, wouldn’t we?” said Hawke as he turned his head to the side. “Were we to go too far, and… Well, he’s trying to play the part of a gentleman, isn’t he? He might think it to his advantage to challenge me to a duel. But maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Of course I’d refuse his challenge and suffer whatever dishonor that went with it. But he’d still be the loser, wouldn’t he be? There are many who would like dueling to be dealt with harshly. Is it even legal?”

“Well…”

“It hardly matters. It might be tolerated in the high-born, but for a mere carpenter’s apprentice to make such a challenge… well. It would rule him out for ensign, wouldn’t it?”

“Indeed you are right there, sir. And he’s not been trying to pass himself off as any sort of gentleman of birth, has he? And that would mean no ancient privilege that would accord unto him any right to resort to a duel to defend his honor. Yes yes yes, this may be our best opportunity to solve the Tim Euston problem once and for all. Now we’ll have to…”

“Oh blast! What’s he doing there?” muttered Hawke. Old Peter Porter had just staggered out the back door of the house.

“We’d best get ourselves in there right now,” said Passey, “while we still have our chance and…”

“But let’s keep it slow so the old fellow won’t notice us,” said Hawke as he started toward the barn. Passey followed close behind and they kept their eyes down.

. . . . .

What’s this? wondered Old Peter as he stood leaning his hand against the doorjamb. He had come out to see what had happened to his drinking partner, Mike O’Toole. Instead, he noticed Hawke and Passey carrying a musket and creeping across the meadow so slowly that they looked like they were trying to deliberately avoid attracting attention. Curious, Old Peter started toward the front entrance of the barn, which would be the fastest way through to the pasture beyond. But once inside, he saw Tim and Dot gazing into each other’s eyes like a pair of young lovers. And not far away from them, he saw her drunken husband, crouched down in a stall, obviously hiding from them and looking like a cat ready to pounce. In his hand, he held something but Old Peter could not see what. He took two steps forward, squinting his eyes.

With his attention still on Tim and Dot, Mike shifted his weight and raised his hands just enough to let Old Peter see that he held a hatchet.

“What is this!” gasped Old Peter, keeping his voice down but still sounding very shocked. “What… art thou daft, man?”

Tim and Dot sprang apart immediately. “I… I didn’t… we didn’t…” stammered Tim, thinking the words were aimed at him.

“But Mister Porter!” begged Dot, “surely you don’t think that…”

“What is that in your hand!” demanded Old Peter as he stepped forward, ignoring them and pointing at Mike. He was the only one who could see him hiding in the stall.

“What are you saying, old fellow?” replied Mike with a smile as he jumped to his feet. He had dropped the hatchet and it landed quietly on some damp straw. “This… I… I was just going to play a little joke and I…”

“A joke? A joke you call it?” said Old Peter in a voice that shook. “It… it… My Lord! So it was you! Wasn’t it? It was you!”

“What? Come… come now! What… what are you talking about? Surely you…”

“And this… this was to be… your second… joke as you call it! Wasn’t it? May God protect me,” said Old Peter as he pointed a finger. “I know now who has the blood on his hands!”

“Blood?” Mike asked, now in a tone of drunken arrogance. “What? Are we not a nation at war? Are we not united in a military struggle? Everyone has blood on his hands!”

“So you admit it then? You admit to…”

“I’ll admit to nothing! I’ll admit to having courage enough to do what’s needed to be done! That and nothing more! We must protect ourselves, mustn’t we? You as much as me? How else can…”

“Be quiet, you fool!” hissed Dot. She was now fully composed and in control of herself as she stepped toward him with her hands in fists.

“Be quiet? Be quiet about what?” he said with an angry look at Old Peter. “You know what’s what! And here I’d a chance to end the threat that...”

“Threat? What threat?” asked Old Peter as he gave a nervous look at Tim who was still looking stunned. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about! What foolishness is…”

“No idea?” asked Mike. “Has the sound of rifle fire rattled your old skull?”

“Quiet!” demanded Dot. “The both of you! Are you both crazed with drink? Has the rifle fire rattled both your skulls?”

“I… I am sounder of mind than any of ye!” growled Mike as he reached into his haversack for his pistol. He raised it, took aim at Tim and pulled back the hammer to cock the mechanism. “Yea yea and courage enough to do what needs to be done to stop this spy! This traitor!”

“Put it down, Mike!” shouted Hawke as he emerged from where he was in a stall. Passey was behind him and kept himself low with the loaded musket in his hands. Fearing the worst, he pulled back the hammer and took aim.

“What!” gasped Mike as he crouched. “What are you doing here? Who has…”

“Put it down!” Hawke repeated as he took two steps forward.

“Sir,” pleaded Mike, “we’ve got to stop him. He’s a spy, for sure. We’ve got to prevent…”

“Put it down, man! You’re drunk!”

“Do as he says!” roared Dot.

“But sir, it’s not what it seems!”

“This is not the time,” insisted Hawke, “to make any judgments. Just…”

“Judgments?” snarled Mike as he took a step back. “What do you mean by judgments? No no no, you’ll… you’ll not accuse me!”

“Accuse you?” asked Hawke. “And what do you mean by that? Accuse you of what? To what crime do you refer?”

“Don’t you play the fool with me!” replied Mike, sounding deranged and swaying as he stepped forward. “Think you’ve heard enough, do you?” he said as he waved the gun like a pointed finger. “Yea, and it might be that you’ve heard more than you ought to have!”

Passey saw what looked like murderous intent in the eyes of Mike O’Toole. Impulsively, he pulled the trigger. In the dim light of the barn, the musket belched flame. The blast was deafening. Mike O’Toole was abruptly knocked back. He was hit in the chest and staggered against the wall, slid down, and landed in a sitting position. Outside, the dogs were barking furiously and struggling against their chains.

Hawke stepped toward him. “Give it to me, Mike!” he ordered, holding out his hand to take the pistol. Again, Mike waved the pistol, his eyes squinting as if he was taking aim.

“No!” shouted Tim and he leapt forward, grabbing the pistol and wrenching it from Mike’s hand.

“My goodness! Is he alright?” asked Passey as he rushed over, still holding the musket and hardly able to see through the smoke. 

Chapter 26

Keep the dirty profits.

“How goes it in there?” asked a timid-sounding Abby as she came into the barn. Two other passers-by had been peeking around the side of the door, attracted by the shouting and shooting. Further back, the dogs were growling.

“Fetch the surgeon!” snapped Dot, sounding furious. The dogs went silent. She was crouched close by Mike who was breathing rapidly.

“What’s happened?” asked one of the neighbors as he crept in squinting. The barn was still thick with smoke.

“What’s happened?” replied Old Peter, looking as if he had come out of a trance. “Why… why it’s… an attempt at murder is what’s happened! Yea, that and no less! That and… and a confession to the murder of… of poor Hugh… of Hugh Hampton. Yea, and ‘tis Mike O’Toole here who bears the guilt,” he declared as his voice rose, “for he is the man who strangled and killed Hugh Hampton. Indeed, he is with a certainty, for we all heard him confess, just now. Didn’t we?”

“We did not,” whimpered Dot, as if to herself. She was slowly shaking her head as she stared at her hand. She held it against Mike’s wound but blood ran between her fingers.

“And Tim… Tim here,” continued Old Peter, “for sure he risked his own life trying to protect Lieutenant Hawke. Risked life and limb, he did, when he leapt upon O’Toole. Are you well, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, I am,” he replied weakly as he sat on the milking stool that Passey had got for him. “It’s Mike who’s wounded.”

“The surgeon will be here soon,” said Abby. Several others were now at the door with looks of confusion and fear. 

 “And it might have been a double tragedy,” said Old Peter as he held his hand to his own heart, “had Tim not acted fast. Leapt upon him, he did. Indeed, Lieutenant Hawke likely has Tim Euston to thank for his life.”

“And he confessed to the murder of Hugh?” asked Abby, deliberately loud enough to be heard by those outside.

“Surely his words more than hinted to it,” said Old Peter as he stepped toward the door to direct his words at the neighbors. “But it was his expression that told far more – far far more, it did.  And when I saw him with the weapon in his hand just now, a-creeping upon Tim here, then I knew what was what. Tim’s been asking about, he has, and no doubt had it almost all sorted out. And surely Mike knew that, and had to stop him. I challenged Mike to confess to the murder of Hampton, and as response he said that he had only done what ‘had’ to be done, to protect ‘us’. But he did not say who ‘us’ were, nor did he state anything clearly. But his tone and expression left no doubt, and we knew what he was confessing to.”

“No, we did not!” insisted Dot in a pathetic whimper. “He was drunk! And with all the fighting, he was… crazed with worry! No, he’d confessed nothing! You confessed nothing, didn’t you dear? No you…”

“He had a weapon in his hand,” insisted Passey.

“Indeed he did, indeed he did,” said Old Peter, “a pistol – and a hatchet earlier. He threw it aside but you’ll find it there. And I saw murderous intent in his eyes – sure I did – the devil in his eyes. As I’ve never before seen the like. Didn’t he, Tim?”

“Something that he had to hide,” agreed Tim. 

“Indeed, some enormous sin it was,” said Old Peter, sounding like he was delivering a speech to a large crowd. “Ready he was to kill, to protect himself. He said ‘You’ll not pin anything on me!’ Didn’t he Tim?

“Ah… yes, that is what he said,” replied Tim, who was looking at the neighbors. “And he’d said it just as he’d been challenged to confess by Mister Porter here. And he seemed to know what he was talking about and… and to admit to it… sort of.” 

“Indeed, he did that,” nodded Old Peter. “There’s no doubt in my mind now.”

Mike was breathing rapidly while coughing up blood. Prim was by him now, trying to avoid the spray while pressing a cloth against the wound. 

“You didn’t do it, Mike. Did you? Husband, say you didn’t kill him!” whimpered Dot with tragic expression, as if she was trying with the strength of her emotion to will him to deny everything. He seemed to try to speak but then began to fight for air, alternating between gasping and coughing. With a wild expression, he held out his arm and looked upwards.

“Lord preserve him!” said Abby. “He’s making his last plea to God for forgiveness!”

“Aye aye, ‘tis that for sure,” said Old Peter, now sounding like a minister addressing his congregation. “For no doubt the guilt lies heavy upon his heart. Yea, and you should have been here to hear him – for sure the words of a man condemned by his sin.” Peter was now kneeling on one knee. He lifted up his clasped hands and led the group in prayer for the soul of Mike O’Toole, his voice growing louder as Dot began to sob.

.   .   .   .   .

“And he’s confessed to the murder,” said Malcolm Poole, half to himself. It was later that day and he was pacing up and down the Porter kitchen. Prim was upstairs, comforting Esther in her bedroom.

“Actually, he denied it,” said Abby as she worked with a needle and thread, repairing one of Tim’s shirts. “But those who were there to hear him say that his denial was as much an admission. Except for poor Dot, of course. And even Lieutenant Hawke seemed to agree, though, that’s just what Old Peter’s saying.”

“Well yes, but… this is good though,” said Poole as he held out his hand. “I mean it’s a sorrow for poor Dot and for his family but… we’ll all sleep better now, won’t we?”

“Yes, we will. We all of us were in fear of being crept up on from behind, though some denied it. Dot and… well. But it’s truly such a shame isn’t it, for… for poor Dot’s sake. Though I suppose it’s never good to have a murderous fiend for a husband. But to have this off our minds – the thought of a killer among us.”

“Yes, it must be quite a relief for you.”

“And too, it relieves poor Tim of such a burden, doesn’t it?” said Sadie as she took the shirt from her mother and neatly folded it. “For it’ll satisfy Lieutenant Hawke. And too, we can assume it was Mike that was shooting at Tim because he’d been upstairs with Old Peter, and…”

“Hawke will be off to his mother’s for few days,” said Poole as he pulled out a chair and sat by the table. “He needs a rest, I’m sure. But it wasn’t just him, was it? There were others who had questioned my judgment – those who knew nothing of the depth of Tim’s knowledge – nothing of his initiative and his diligent self-study and of his aptitude for the military arts. I could see it in him because I’d been willing to take the time to talk to him. But the others, they’d taken one look at him and… well…”

“Really though, we have to thank the tory snipers, don’t we?” joked Sadie. “For without them coming out, poor Tim could never have got his chance to show us what he’s got to offer.”

“Ah yes yes, good sports these tories!” laughed Poole. “So often there when we need them. And the colonel will be mentioning Tim in his report to the general, won’t he? For sure, he will. And, though I’ve the privilege of choosing my own lieutenants and ensigns, the decision is subject to the general’s approval. We have to provide him with sufficient justification for choosing someone so young and inexperienced… less experienced. The decision was mine but…”

“So all will work out well then?”

“For now, most likely – almost certainly! But there is some doubt that all of the additional regiments will be formed up, what with… well. Recruitment has started to slack off. What with summer haying to come, there’ll be plenty of work. Everybody who was going to come out has come out, likely. But… assuming it does go ahead, then the posting is Tim’s to lose, as they say. Yes… well. My word,” sighed Poole, “I think the battle is still having its way with my nerves.”

“Of course it is! And Tim’s too, poor boy. Where is he?” asked Sadie as she stood to look out the door. “I hope he’s not back out there with his fiddle – fiddling to the ghosts. When the neighbor was asking him about it this morning, Tim spilt his coffee. I ought to go try find him. You just stay here and drink your beer like a good boy. You’ve been pushing yourself too hard. All of you have.”

.   .   .   .   .

Out in the yard, she found Dan sitting on the bench reading a book. They could hear Tim at work on his violin. “Worse than ever,” he joked as he followed her into the barn. 

“What are you doing Tim!” she scolded.

“What?” he asked in a weak voice.

“How can you be in here?” She stepped carefully, looking back and forth as if in fear of something.

“They’ve cleaned up the blood.”

“Who did?” asked Dan.

“The neighbors,” replied Tim. “There’s not a spot left. They wiped it up with straw and scraped away the mud and even scrubbed things with turpentine. And then they burned it all out back.”

“How kind of them,” said Sadie. “There’s no smell at all, is there?”

“Of blood, no,” said Tim as he leaned against a post. “But still I think I’ll have to find another place to practice.”

“You’ll run out of barns at this rate,” joked Dan. 

“And maybe you don’t need to practice quite so much,” said Sadie. “Surely you’ll not be denied your commission now. You should have heard poor Malcolm in there, sounding like he can’t believe it’s all happened. I really have to wonder what people have been saying to him these past few days.”

“And the looks they must have been giving him,” said Tim.

“But the colonel never seemed to question his choice, did he?” asked Sadie.

“Oh… I don’t know,” said Tim as he sat on the bench. “Not in public, he wouldn’t have, for he’s the one who chose Poole for captain, wasn’t he? But he’d probably been planning on taking Poole aside, before I’d got a chance to prove myself. He must have been wondering what the others have been thinking.”

“And for sure,” said Sadie, “Old Peter’s going to make sure everybody in town knows about how you jumped on Mike O’Toole to try to save Hawke’s life. You should have heard him just now, singing praises to you like you’re another Malcolm Poole.”

 “If only he had another granddaughter,” joked Dan.

“Yes, but… it’s strange,” said Tim, “Why do you suppose Old Peter’s been so willing to help me? And why so quick to defend me, now?”

“He wanted to help us all,” said Sadie, indignantly. “Right from the start, he did.”

“But today,” said Tim as he shook his head, “he and Mike had been happily drinking themselves into a stupor, hadn’t they been? Best of friends, they were! But then, as soon as Mike was shot and down on the ground dying, Old Peter was ready to accuse him of murder and… and to say everything as if he were certain of it.”

“Mike had a hatchet in his hands,” insisted Sadie. “And the poor old man might have been suspecting his wickedness, and telling himself it can’t be so. And then all of a sudden he finds out that his ‘dear friend’ surely is a murderer. It would be a shock to anyone, wouldn’t it be?”

“It would,” agreed Dan. “Imagine how you’d have felt if you’d found out that the killers were your mother and your sister?”

“Well…”

“He must have had suspicions,” said Sadie. “Everybody knows about everything here. And for sure he’d have been denying them and hoping they weren’t true.”

“I have to wonder,” said Tim quietly, “whether he owes Passey a fond thank you.”

“Who does?” asked Sadie.

“Old Peter. Remember what Dot’s been telling us, about how no one knows where he got the money to buy all his new lands.”

“Yes, and the neighbors said the same,” said Sadie after a pause. 

Chapter 27

The happiest day.

“No sightings to report,” said Malcolm Poole, as he stood smiling at the kitchen door. “Neither hide nor hair of either man or dog who looks the slightest bit like a tory. I’ve just come from the tavern and the sergeant of the guard was there, giving his report.”

“Well, that’s good… while it lasts,” muttered Esther as she worked with a needle and thread in the bright sunshine coming through the east window. Another day had passed and she had felt strong enough to come down.

“And isn’t this just as we’d been expecting, too,” Poole continued. “We let their scouts watch us every day, marching out armed and ready, out to the ramparts and back in again. And of course we had the intrepid Tim Euston, to singe their tail feathers. But what’s more,” he said in a lower voice, “we’ve news from our informants. They’ve seen enough to realize that they’ll need a good number of men to plunder our storehouse. And they also know that they won’t be getting them. Billy Howe is ready for a more substantial summer campaign, and that’ll not be a garrison here and a storehouse there, will it? No it won’t, and they surely realize that with all our trenches, Morristown will be a tough nut to crack – not worth the expense. So, we’ve earned at least a day or two when we can lay about and watch the clouds pass over.”

“ ‘Tis a blessing, too, to find out who killed poor Hugh,” said Esther. “I don’t know which was worrying me more.”

“And to think of it, Mother,” teased Prim as she sat by her, stitching a frill onto a fancy new dress, “here you had the murderer right in our home, drinking himself drunk – and while he carried a pistol in his haversack!”

“Well, I doubt that he posed a threat to any of us,” she responded as she kept her eyes on her work.

“You doubt it,” said Prim with a smile as she leaned toward her, “but we’ll never know what sort of demon had possession of him. And there you were, mother, thinking you’d been keeping yourself as far from death and destruction as ere you could, and here you’d been climbing into the mouth of the alligator. No Mother, I really doubt I’ll ever be able to let you live this down.”

“Well, when I think…” huffed Esther. “Well! We have all been very blessed by good fortune, haven’t we?”

 “Ah yes,” sighed Prim. “At last you can spend a day with no thoughts of a blood-crazed tory charging through the door and chasing you naked around the bed and out the door and down the street and over the hill. Honestly Mother, it tires me to think of how exhausting that might have been.”

“Hush, now!” whispered Esther when she noticed Dot coming to the door, in a yellow summer blouse and skirt. With boycotts and war, the rituals that went with death and mourning had been simplified and widows had been asked not to wear black.

“Oh, come now, all of you,” ordered Dot as she looked from one deeply compassionate face to another. “I don’t want you moping for my sake. I’ll not be driven into seclusion by the… by the demands imposed by my fragile condition.”

“Oh, but… we really don’t…”

“I saw what happened with that dreary old grandmother of mine and her endless martyrdom. It makes me shiver to think of it! And I know that my dear Michael would not have wanted such an end for me, either.”

“Surely, he wouldn’t have,” agreed Old Peter as he got up to offer her a chair.

“Though I must admit,” she sighed as she sat, “that my mind has been a bit addled by it all. They’re telling me I was up during the night again, looking for him and thinking him alive and in need of me. And that again I was seeming very confused not to find him. All I can remember is them looking at me. I must have been quite a sight because they all seemed so… so troubled – almost frightened of me! I had to laugh at them, though that would have hardly helped, would it?” As she said this Dot started to giggle and then began to explain the same thing over again. Everyone remained silent, nodding and smiling briefly as she turned to each. “And,” she continued, “for the life of me I still cannot remember anything that happened. Neither then nor when me and Mike… when we… They’re… they’re saying they’ve had to explain it all to me – more than once, they say. And I have to feel so sorry for them because it pains them so to talk about it… but… Well… I do know that Mike had been acting strangely. It’s been for the past few weeks that he’s been forever muttering about who he thought was saying things about him, and who was plotting his ruin. It’s awful, isn’t it – a man possessed of such demons? But… I’ve not come here to dwell on it, have I?” she then said, blinking her eyes. “I am here to pitch in and help with the blessed event. And I won’t take no for an answer!” 

No one showed any surprise to hear Dot say these things because she had said much the same when she had been there earlier, just after dawn. She smelled of rum and soothing compound and for a woman in mourning she was far too restless and talkative. Both Tim and Sadie kept wondering whether she had more than a tragic loss to contemplate, and whether she might be the young woman Dan had seen going into the barn.

But Dot O’Toole had not been the only person in Morristown who had been acting strangely. So awful an event, coming after the tory snipers and the threat of a raid, had left everyone unsettled. But as reports of no sightings of enemy scouts had spread across the town, a sense of relief was developing. Mothers let children run out and play, masters found fewer faults in their servants’ work, and even babies seemed to have less to cry about.

The day before, some had even laughed out loud when word came up the street of Primavera Porter waking from an afternoon nap with the firm conviction that her wedding had to go ahead as planned. Some friends had mixed feelings about it, but none were more pleased than the grieving widow, Dot O’Toole. She had burst into a smile and urged Prim on, telling her that she had known it would happen because she had seen the signs that foretold of a wedding. She had seen a chicken coming through a door with a straw in its beak, and had heard cows lowing in the night. The sun had risen into a clear blue sky, and a mockingbird had flown directly over the Porter house – all signs that matrimonial vows would soon be spoken. And it was the right time, as well. The moon was on the increase, and it was a week into the month of June – the month named for Juno, the Roman patroness of the young and the goddess of marriage.

It was late in the night by the time the women were finished Prim’s wedding dress. It had been started on and then set aside when Prim had postponed the wedding. It was in keeping with a picture in a pamphlet just in from Holland and sure to be the latest style, and Old Peter had gotten hold of some orange silk. While the women were at work, Malcolm and his friends had started into the traditional prenuptial drinking bout. He was only saved from what might have been a severe hangover when Colonel Olney ordered him to inspect the guard, keeping him busy until others had gone to bed.

Prim favored the new style of wedding where the vows were spoken in the home of the bride. With such good weather Old Peter pressed for a move out into the street. It would have to be modest enough to be in keeping with the restraint imposed by war, but still he could include as many current and potential customers as he could get hold of. As soon as Prim gave him the word, he started down the street inviting everyone. Boys were hired to run out to homes close enough to risk the trip in, and he even asked Colonel Olney to release any soldiers from duty who were not truly needed.

By the afternoon it was getting hot again but they were protected from the sun’s rays by large fluffy clouds. Tables went up in the street and food and drinks were laid out. Old Peter had insisted on paying women to empty out their larders. An outdoor oven had been shoveled full of embers, and when hot it had been filled with fancy breads covered with nuts and filled with dried fruits. When ready, they were laid out beside pies made with dried apples, peaches, raisins and cherries. Long knives sliced up smoked hams, sausages and fish. There were fresh green onions and a dozen kinds of jams and jellies set out in small bowls, along with pickled meats, eggs and vegetables. And to ensure they could wash it all down, Old Peter’s cellar held sixty-seven casks of beer.

Several musicians helped provide the music but the favorites were Tim in his new uniform and Sadie in a green and blue outfit lent to her by Prim. They drew tears with sentimental ballads about faraway homelands and brokenhearted lovers, and they instilled patriotic pride with anthems to the new nation. To the frustration of rationalists, they led the faithful in the singing of the old hymns, and then to the indignation of the sternly devout, they called for dancing. An excellent dance master was in town and with infectious enthusiasm he called out the figures to all the old favorites: English lines, rounds and squares, French minuets and quadrilles, and Scottish jigs and reels. When Tim played Jack’s Health, a soldier began to jig, his hands on his hips and his feet flying about. Several more joined in and the contest was on. The drummer boy began to beat the rhythm, and he and Tim gradually played faster until it was down to two sweaty men with crazed expressions of determination. The whole crowd clapped along and shouted out encouragement. Finally the loser went stiff with exhaustion and fell to his knees. Soldiers poured drinks on him and then raised the winner on their shoulders to honor his victory. 

Then, almost everyone was back to dancing. Tim played Sellenger’s Round and the circle bent itself into a long oblong because the wide street was still not wide enough. As so many moved in rhythm with the music, the little children ran about laughing and shrieking, and even the dogs seemed lulled into a state of careless ease.

“I do believe this to be the happiest day of a long and happy life,” declared Old Peter. He had been up and down the street all day, amazing people with his recall, not only of their names but of the names of children, parents, and even cousins in the next county. It was clearly as much a day for Old Peter Porter to extend his goodwill, as it was a day to celebrate his granddaughter’s marriage.

Chapter 28

It rises out of fear and dread.

“I suppose,” sighed Sadie as they gazed into a starry sky, “that Old Peter’s being able to afford to pay for all this gluttony will do nothing to quiet the rumors.” She had persuaded Tim to come out with her to the pasture beyond the barn to get away from a kitchen full of women.

“Do you think it’ll do him any harm?” asked Tim. “How could anybody hate a man after eating so much of his food?”

“Yes Brother, you did eat a lot.”

“Well, I needed to keep up my strength. But now I’d… I’m so tired I want to lie down right here and fall asleep. Though… I tried lying down in the barn, but I was right away wanting to get back up again.”

“Was it a ghost? Or do you still have your battle nerves?” teased Sadie as she reached to pat him on the head.

“And my fiddling to a big crowd nerves. My legs feel like there’s ants crawling up them, and my neck’s sore and my head swims every time I turn around.”

“And your stomach aches from eating so much.”

“Well… didn’t you…”

“Esther says that if forgiveness can be bought then it was bought and paid for today.”

“So she’s had her suspicions, too?” asked Tim.

“She could hardly help but have them. Everybody must have heard the same rumors. And likely it’s been worrying about the rumors that’s been half the cause of her… folly. The neighbor says she’s been worse since February. But that’s not when the fighting started here, is it? It started last November. But February is when everybody would have heard about the farmer out east who’d found all the sacks of grain hidden in that patch of woodland.”

“But now all fingers can point to Mike, now that he’s admitted himself to be the killer.”

“And now that he can’t sue for slander.”

“But,” said Tim as he stared at the ground. “I’m as suspicious of Old Peter as ever. Remember how Dan had been told that he’s had so many shipments being sent back and forth. And they said he’d switch drivers, and hire drivers from far away, so nobody could have kept track of where they all were going.”

“Maybe so, but if he hasn’t been arrested and charged yet, then he’s not likely to…”

“But even if he isn’t charged, Hawke and Passey could still tell others that he’d said things to Mike in the barn that was all but an admission of his complicity.”

“But,” said Sadie after a pause, “would Hawke want to injure his own prospects by harming his own captain, by casting suspicions upon the man’s father-in-law-to-be? I certainly doubt it.”

“No, I suppose he wouldn’t,” said Tim quietly.

“And Mike had been buying land, too.”

“But… ”

“And likely Mike truly was the worst of the two,” said Sadie, while trying not to sound smug about having been the first to suspect Mike. “Didn’t he have a look in his eyes that… well. It made me uneasy. I would think him far more willing to commit acts of treachery. Old Peter just doesn’t seem like the sort.”

“So, you think Mike drew him in and held him with threats?”

“Well,” replied Sadie, “I’m hoping that’s what happened.”

“They say that, once you’re into a dirty business, it’s not always easy to get yourself out. I was told about a man who’d got himself in with thieves, taking their stolen goods and selling them. He decided that he’d earned enough and wanted out of it. But the thieves didn’t want him out so they threatened him. Not right out loud they didn’t but they hinted that it would be better for all concerned were he to keep up the good work.”

“You think that Mike had drawn Old Peter in and then was keeping him at it with threats?”

“I don’t know,” said Tim as he shook his head. “This is all just speculation, isn’t it?”

“But if it is true, then maybe Old Peter’s had his fill of it, and he’s made his repentance, and he now just wants to be an honest patriot.”

“And with all his patriotic speeches, it’s like he’s making up for lost time.”

“But,” said Sadie after she glanced back to make sure they were not being listened to, “he’ll then get to keep all his dirty profits, won’t he?”

“He’s hardly going to give them back. And I doubt there’ll be any charges laid or any sort of an inquiry either. They won’t be wanting it all out and being talked about. Think of how the tory papers in New York would tell about it – murder and scandal, right in Morristown. Every tory in the land knows this was Washington’s headquarters.”

“And they likely think it still is.”

“But it’s strange though, isn’t it?” said Tim in a frustrated voice. “Before Trenton and Princeton, if they were selling oats to the regulars, then they wouldn’t have been trading with the enemy. It would have only been trading with the established authority. It would have been an honest trade, sort of.”

“Maybe that’s why Old Peter and Prim have been so brave. They both know that they’ve friends on both sides.”

“You think Prim knows all?”

“I suspect that she’s as clever as her grandfather.

“She’s no dullard,” agreed Tim, “that’s for sure.”

“She’s saying that if they’d let her, she’d follow her husband wherever the war takes him, and live in a tent. I’m thinking that maybe she might want me as her handmaid. With us both along he wouldn’t need a batman. The Army will let women come along, so long as they make themselves useful, taking in laundry or mending clothes. And too, we’d be there to strip the corpses after a battle. We could do better than you.”

“Honestly!” said Tim as he shook his head. “Both of you have more bravery then brains.” 

“I am brave!” said Sadie with her fists on her hips, pretending to be highly frustrated. “And I think I’d make a fine solder, too, if only they’d take me! Here I am, ready to take up a musket and fight and die for my country, and nobody will give me the chance. It’s…”

“Don’t you go doubting your powers, girl,” said Old Peter as he came up behind them. “Today, with all your patriotic songs, for sure you’ve got the Army a half dozen new volunteers. Yea, there’s more than one way to put a ball into the heart of a redcoat.”

“Oh, you do flatter me, Mister Porter,” joked Sadie.

“Indeed I do, my dear, and it’s well deserved.”

“How’s an old fellow like you managing to stay awake after so long a day?”

“Old I may be but I’m not yet ready for bed. And I suspect I’ll be up until dawn too, for it’s only now dawning upon me how much all this has cost.”

“You’ll earn it all back from them within a year,” said Tim with a smile. “That’s what my mother says. And I’ve heard folks say that it’s been a while since they’ve seen so many in such high-spirits. And they know it’s all thanks to you, don’t they?”

“Bah! Sure I’ve helped feed and water them but it’s knowing the enemy’s been frightened off that’s got them in high-spirits. And that is thanks to heroes like you, my boy,” he said as he put his hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“And that’s the truth,” agreed Sadie. “They were frightened off by brave Tim Euston, more than any man.”

“You’re right there, my girl. So allow me to offer a toast,” he said, lifting the bottle he carried. “To Ensign Timothy Euston of… of an additional regiment. And too, let’s drink to what’s made it all the more uplifting, and that would be all the good music and song that you two have given to us in such abundance. And too, let’s drink to victories to come.” He passed the bottle to Sadie and each took a sip. Prim had given him a bottle of wine that was two-thirds water and in his condition he had not noticed the difference. “Truly,” he continued, “I do not know how many times I’ve heard good things said about your singing and playing. Tim, I think you could have had your pick of brides from among the young maidens who listened today – you up there in your lovely new uniform, with your battle wounds bound up. And them all a-gazing up at you, a-sighing their hearts out.”

“Well,” said Tim as he looked down, “I suspect I’ll need more than a pretty voice before their fathers will let me come a-courting.”

“Yes yes, that is true. But think of it, boy. You’ve already got your sword and pistol, and if you use it to go after more booty then you’ll soon have enough to buy land. And that’ll do it. Yea, that will do it, indeed. For sure, it’s the ownership of land that’ll capture the heart of a father – any father. And as long as brave young men keep tormenting the tories then they’ll be those who keep on packing and moving away and selling their land cheap. So just think of it, Tim. You can fight for glory or you can fight for profit, and sometimes you’ll win yourself both in the same effort. Just like you’ve already done.”

“I’ve been told,” said Sadie to Old Peter, “that war has been kind to you, what with you’re getting some fine land at some fine prices.” 

“I… I have been fortunate, that is true. I was there and ready when faint-hearted tories decided that it was time to find themselves a new home where they wouldn’t be burdened by too many liberties. It is sad, though, isn’t it? Any one of them could so easily have sworn an oath to the state and made themselves welcome here amongst the proud and the free. But, since they felt they had to go… well, I felt it may as well be me who profited on their panic. It was either me or someone else.”

“Well,” said Tim, “if I ever get my hands on some more booty then I’ll bring it back here and beg your help, for I’ll not know the difference between good land and poor, or between good prices and bad.”

“I would be more than happy to help out whenever you want, Tim, my boy. ‘Twould be my patriotic duty, wouldn’t it be, to help out a brave young soldier.”

“Oh you are so kind,” said Sadie, sounding deeply sincere. “And you have always been, I’m told. Dot was telling me of how you’ve been so helpful to Mike when he’s been buying land.”

“But surely,” said Tim quickly, “Mike must have known good land and good prices.”

“Oh, indeed yes,” nodded Old Peter as he raised his eyebrows. “Yes, Mike O’Toole never needed any help with the finding of a bargain. No, not at all.” He was smiling when he said this but at the same time he sounded uneasy. “In fact… well… in fact it was just as often him that was helping me.”

“Was he really?” asked Sadie. “Helping you?”

“Yes… yes. Now there was a man on his way to wealth.”

 “He frightened me though,” said Sadie. “He always seemed so deep in thought, and always simmering on the brink of anger.”

“Yes, he was that,” said Old Peter, sounding as if he was stopping to think. Yes, and I confess… well… he had me unnerved at times, with his… enthusiasm.”

“Dot says he was a hard man to say no to. Infectious enthusiasm they call it, don’t they?”

“Well,” said Old Peter, “that’d be one thing to call it.” 

“You know,” said Sadie, “the preacher preached about infectious enthusiasm once – and about how influence can grow into outright coercion. He said that people will talk of blackmail as if it’s always a clearly stated demand. ‘You give me money or I’ll tell all.’ But he said that it’s very often much more subtle. ‘If this doesn’t happen then that might happen.’ And he said that it can even be all in the mind of the victim. Some sort of payoff can be offered in the hope that it’ll hold back the demand that was sure to come. ‘I’ll give you this and it’ll make us the best of friends.’”

“Yes yes yes,” said Old Peter with a chuckle, “that is quite true, or… or so I’ve been told.”

“And what I’ve been told,” said Sadie quietly, “is that Mike was likely trading with tories and secretly selling fodder to the British, and that all those sacks of oats found out east were likely his.”

“Oh, aye aye,” shrugged Old Peter. “I’ve heard the rumors, too. But I don’t think we should believe all that’s said. What with war, and all that comes with it, there’s been many a rumor going around that’s turned out to be false.”

“But it can’t be helped, can it?” asked Sadie. “For it rises out of fear and dread.”

“Oh, indeed it does. But what I do know for sure is that Mike O’Toole dearly wanted a commission in the Continental Army, and the chance to defend the cause of freedom. I’m sure of that much, and that just makes it all the more of a shame that he lost his mind to the devil and started killing, for deep down, he was surely a patriot good and true – surely he was.”

“Yes, surely he was,” said Tim. “And likely…”

“You know, Tim,” interrupted Old Peter, “on another topic. Maybe you shouldn’t have to wait for more booty before you start to take advantage of opportunities. I’ve a tidy parcel of land that I’d be willing to sell you, and at an excellent price. It’s woodland now but it’ll be worth plenty once it’s cleared. The price of horses and weapons of war are well up and the price of land around here is well down. And I’ll offer it to you for no more than what I got it for last February, and that’s a third of what it would have fetched two years ago.”

“Oh… well…”

“Three hundred dollars – some cash and some of your high priced booty – that’s all I’ll ask you for it. And it’ll be here awaiting you when you return victorious – to sell or to settle on.

“Oh, that would be so kind!” gasped Sadie as she grabbed hold of his arm.

“Now surely you’re wondering why I’m making you so sweet an offer,” said Old Peter with a smile. “Well, I can tell you why. It’s for linen.”

“Linen?”

“There’s a fellow I know who dealing for a privateer who’s been trying to sell a shipload of goods, and that includes some fine-combed linen. They’d got their hands on a British merchant ship, and the cargo that came with it, but they don’t want to trade it for New Jersey farmland. What they need is something that can be sold right away, so it can be divided up between his sailors. And you, my boy, have got things that are highly sellable. Once I’ve traded away my land to you, then I can buy me a few bolts of that fine linen, and then I’d make myself a fast profit here in Morristown. It’s the best, and the women of Morris County will find uses for it.”

“They certainly will!” said Sadie. “Oh Tim, surely you won’t deny the desires of so many women!”

“Well I…”

“And you don’t want to hold onto cash, either,” said Old Peter with a nod, “You know how the value of our paper has been falling. The Continental’s lost half its value over the past two years and it might lose half again in the next six months.”

“You have to take it!” demanded Sadie as she tugged on Tim’s sleeve. “You’re not the only one that needs new clothes!”

“It’s not easy,” said Old Peter, “to conduct trade when you haven’t got what the customer wants. I’m land rich and cash poor and you’re in a position to help me, just as I’m in a position to help you.”

“I would but… I…”

“You’d collect a good rent, every year, once it’s cleared. And you might even find yourself coming out to vote before much time has passed – a year in residence and fifty of our Proclamation Pounds is all they called for when they wrote up the constitution for the State of New Jersey. That’s about two or three hundred Continental. Why, you’d be a man of property – a man of substance.”

“Oh, you are so very kind, Mister Porter,” gushed Sadie. “Poor Tim, he’s been so worried about having to carry so much cash. We’ve all been. It could all be lost to one highway robbery, couldn’t it? Couldn’t it, Tim?”

“Oh… oh yes, it could be,” he replied, still stunned by the offer. “Yes… well, but… but they say I might be needing it all, just to get by, if they’re not able to pay my salary on time. So I… I would...”

“And isn’t there many a man,” said Sadie, “who says an officer should be a landowner – or at least the son of one – a man with a stake in society, as they say?”

“Indeed, they do say that,” said Old Peter with a nod. “With a few acres to call your own you’ll be better qualified for your commission.”

 “It’d be one thing less they could say against him,” agreed Sadie. “This is such a kindness for you to offer such an opportunity. Truly, we don’t deserve all the kindness you’ve been giving us. I just don’t know where we’d have ended up without your kindness.”

“Oh, I’m not so kind,” said Old Peter with a humble smile, “for weren’t we in need of good women to cook our food and tend our garden? And didn’t our town have need of brave young men willing to defend it? It’s me who should be thanking the two of you, and your mother too, for all you’ve brought to me and mine – and to my hometown. Indeed, it’s been my good fortune to have you come along when I was in need, hasn’t it been?”

“Oh, Mister Porter,” started Sadie as she looked down, modestly.

“Well then,” said Old Peter as he lifted the bottle again, “let’s drink to a mutually profitable exchange. And to new friendships. Indeed, let us count all the blessings that have been cast down upon us, and let us drink to all the good things that tomorrow will surely bring.” This toast finished the bottle and together they walked back to the house. 

Once there, Sadie tugged on Tim’s arm and they stayed outside while Old Peter staggered in.

“He as much as admitted to it, didn’t he?” said Sadie as she led Tim deeper into the shadows.

“Well, sort of.”

“And he’s trying to bribe you to keep his secrets.”

“Only after you extracted it from him,” said Tim as he shook his head. “But why bribe us when half the town has the same suspicions.”

“But likely he doesn’t know about all that people have been saying. Would anybody tell him to his face? And maybe Mike thought that Hugh Hampton was the only one with suspicions, too. And in the same way Old Peter surely thinks that of you – of both of us. And instead of killing you, he’ll buy your friendship by selling land cheap.”

“And too, he might think me as a man on his way up. With land of my own maybe my first promotion will come as easy as my commission did.”

“Tim,” whispered Sadie. “Remember this morning, when Dot started to say ‘neither then nor when we did away with…’ and then she went quiet and looked down. Do you remember the look on her face?”

“I do remember! Guilt all over it! It was like in the barn, when Mike started saying too much and she shouted at him to be quiet.”

“And shame becomes her too, doesn’t it Brother?” said Sadie in a teasing voice. “And I don’t know that she was ever prettier than when she looked so… compromised. Don’t you think so?”

“Well…” said Tim as he looked away, “I hadn’t thought of…”

“She’s surely the ‘young woman’ that Dan saw going into the barn. And I’ll bet she lured Hugh Hampton into that barn where Mike was there waiting. And doesn’t that make her as guilty as him?”

“Well… not really. It must have been him in charge. And even if she helped him, is it a crime for a woman to protect her husband from a hangman’s noose, even if it is for treason?”

“So you, along with everybody, will happily blame all on one man, and spare his accomplices from judgment. It’s always that way, isn’t it? It’s that way for men whose prosperity is a benefit to the whole community, and its especially so for the a young women whose shamed face can stir the hearts of both judges and jurors.”

“Well! Ah…” stammered Tim, “But don’t we all admire prosperous men and… and isn’t this how things often turn out? ‘Tempering justice with mercy,’ as the judges would call it.”

The anticipated attack on Morristown by local tories never came. In January, the British forces in New Jersey had numbered 8000 and by June 29 all that were left were prisoners, deserters and a small garrison on Paulus Hook, a quasi-island on the Hudson. General Howe took his invasion force to Pennsylvania by sea, and by mid-September Americans were fighting major battles. Washington’s forces were driven back but he managed to keep the Main Army intact. He was then able to pass the winter close by, at Valley Forge, and keep the British surrounded in Philadelphia. In upstate New York, the Northern Department of the Continental Army won a major victory at Saratoga, but fighting would still continue for almost six more years.

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