Infernal Revolutions (57 page)

‘Good. Captain Flood and his men will come and collect you in due course. As far as they are concerned you are travelling back to retrieve some important documents left behind in the rush to leave Trenton. Neither they nor anyone else must know your real purpose. If I hear that word has got out to the troops prematurely then you will be hung, and so will your wife – who, incidentally, we will keep here as a hostage until you return from Trenton.' He rose to leave, and shook me warmly by the hand. ‘So good luck, Mr Oysterman. Please remember that this meeting has been strictly secret. We will meet again on your return.'

‘I shall look forward to it, Sir,' I said, rushing forward to open the door for him, as though the quarters were my own. ‘I will do all that you ask of me.' I was walking out with him, accustomed now to my association with the Great, when a guard barred my way, and prodded me back inside on the tip of a bayonet, before locking the door. ‘Twas a timely reminder that I was enjoying privilege on sufferance only, and it somewhat took away the enjoyment of the rest of my breakfast. Still, I soon reasoned that thankfulness rather than churlishness was in order on a day that I had been rescued yet again from the hangman's noose, and I succeeded in raising my spirits accordingly. Nevertheless, I could not regain my earlier relish for militia-taunting, and instead spent the next couple of hours reflecting on the task that lay ahead, and the house that would be my reward if I succeeded. I was still lying on the bed cogitating when the key rattled loudly in the lock, and Sophie entered. Her whole demeanour blazed with life and the joy of living.

‘Harry, is it true what I have heard?' she whispered hotly.

‘I don't know, is it?'

‘That you held a levee this morning with a Very Distinguished Visitor?'

‘Oh
that
?' I waved her aside, with mock insoucience. ‘'Twas nothing much. Just a chat between gentlemen on the progress of the war.'

‘I hear too that you are not to be hanged?'

‘No, but Burnley Axelrod could be.'

‘Oh, that is wonderful news,' said Sophie. ‘Things are brightening for us at last.'

‘But I have not got away scot-free. I have to perform an errand for General Washington in return for his leniency.'

‘What sort of errand?'

‘I cannot tell you, my dear, ‘tis top secret. On pain of the aforementioned hanging.'

‘I am your wife, sweetie, you can tell me.'

‘Please respect my wishes, Sophie. Do not…..'

‘Spying of some sort though, I assume,' interrupted Sophie hotly, eyes like saucers. ‘Surely you can tell me that?'

I turned my head away from her, and stared tight-lipped at the bookcase.

‘Be like that then, I do not care. But I knew you would not get anywhere near the gallows, dearest. In fact, I would not be surprised if all your past sins are forgiven. You are not dealing with narrow-minded autocrats here, you know, who treat underlings like animals; you are dealing with visionaries. If you perform this secret task well you might even be groomed for a top role in the army. And what's more, you will probably be rewarded with a free house in the country – I have heard that Washington does that frequently. I don't suppose he has offered you one already, has he, for the bringing in of Burnley Axelrod?'

Still distrusting Sophie after her authentic-looking disownership of me the previous evening, I said not.

‘Oh well, he may do yet. And if he does, and I'm not with you, snap his hand off. Even if we do not like the place, or it is not in Philadelphia, we can always sell it at an enormous profit, or rent it out at an extortionate rate.'

I agreed I would, and asked her what she had been getting up to.

‘The girls and I have been getting to know the troops. We are the toast of the Continental Army, and the officers cannot do enough for us. Oh Harry, they are wonderful men! We could do far worse than to throw our lot in with them, and forget all about settling down until the war is over. They have been telling us how much we have inspired them to fight on, and relating to us their experiences to date. So we've heard all about the Boston Massacre from Colonel Knox; the Boston Siege from Major-General Greene; the invasion of Canada from Major-General Sullivan; and the building of Forts Lee and Washington from Lord Stirling. It has been an education, Harry, I don't mind telling you. I was hoping to meet Tom Paine, but he has gone to Philadelphia to get some new pamphlets printed.'

‘Called what?
The Inspirational History of the Liberty Belles, and their Effect Upon The Stalks of our Glorious Generals
?'

Sophie turned icy, and glared at me.

‘What do you mean by that?'

‘You are entertainment for them, that is all. They do not care about your exploits; all they care about is getting into your petticoats, and rogering you senseless.'

‘Well, I wish they would hurry up and declare their hands, because all I care about is
letting them
roger me senseless. In fact, I would rather let anybody roger me senseless than a jealous little prig like you.'

‘Then I was right. You were glad to disown me last night, and get me out of the way, so you could have the luscious officers all to yourself.'

‘What?' said Sophie, mind whirring over. ‘Oh, I see. So that is what this little outburst is all about.' She looked back at the door and continued in a whisper. ‘Of course our disownership of you last night looked authentic; it had to be. We could not let Washington think the Belles were tainted with duplicity. It was a performance only; we did not enjoy doing it. In fact, several of the girls were in tears about it later, particularly Melanie, who I think has a bit of a soft spot for you.'

‘Really?' I said, easily soothed by a disclosure of this sort.

‘Yes, really. You have been letting your heart rule your head again, Harry. ‘Twill be fatal for you, one of these days.'

‘Yes, I am sorry, my dear. I see I have been stupid. The strain of the last few weeks is taking its toll on my emotional state.'

‘Well, we are nearly over our crisis now, sweetness. We just need to hold on for a little while longer. Have a rest in preparation for the task ahead, and do the job as well as you can, whatever it is. When it is over we will be as free as birds.'

‘And what will you be doing in the meantime?' I asked, yawning in readiness for another sleep.

‘Continuing my education, of course,' she replied breezily. ‘What else?'

I still had my doubts as to the content of the education she was receiving, and I had them even more when I woke a few hours later and heard the sound of raucous merrymaking coming from distant rooms. At this rate I would be sharing the Loyalist house with the best-educated woman in the world, but whether it was education as Timothy Bush knew it was another matter. With the legend
Nancy 52 Sophie 38
popping up once more to taunt me, I began to entertain mouthwatering fantasies of the solitary life, with only books, dogs and wine for companionship; but then I remembered I had lived a similar life in Brighthelmstone, and there had been precious little joy in it. Beaten all ends up, I resigned myself to raising a brood of miniature Revolutionary generals, none of them mine, and turned my attention back to the things that really mattered: daydreams of a new life with Melanie Urquhart, and the taunting of the Hackensack Militia.

Expecting the call from Washington at any moment, I was at first constantly on edge whenever the door opened, but as the hours passed into days, and the days passed into weeks – still without anything of importance happening – I lost all sense of purpose in my being in the encampment. The victuals kept coming, as if by administrative oversight, but I saw no more of Washington, and not much more of Sophie, who only visited me once a day to tell me of her social triumphs, and to remark on how fat I was getting. Indeed, with Christmas slowly approaching, her comments did make me wonder if I was being fattened up especially for the dinner of that extraordinary season, to be spitted and roasted as a nice treat for the soldiers. Too languid and stupefied by rum to care really, I had just resigned myself to permanent imprisonment when the call came to Get Ready.

Under warm blankets in a furnished cell, I could convince myself that I had landed safely on my feet, give or take a little bit of wife trouble and chronic boredom, but outside once more in the freezing cold of early morning, escorted back to the Delaware by Captain Flood and his troops, the true vulnerability of my position was brought home to me. This time they all knew I was a British spy, and their attitude towards me was appropriately hostile. They tried successfully to intimidate me with threats of death, so that every five minutes I had to keep reminding them of General Washington's protection, and the perilous work I was about to undertake in Trenton on behalf of the American cause.

‘You are only collecting some old papers,' snarled a low-browed Irishman whose withered frame seemed hardly able to contain the anger within him. ‘What is to stop you deserting back to the British and telling them all about our position?'

‘Washington is holding my wife as a hostage.'

‘So? What difference does that make to a doubledealing snake like you?'

I sighed, and reflected on my naivety in supposing that a collection of passes would enable me to enjoy the protection of all sides in the conflict; a blockhead could have told me that universal enmity would be the only result. The British and the Hessians would soon join the Americans in wishing me dead, and then where was I to go?

‘Let us shoot him, Captain, and dump him in the Delaware. He has done his work for the Revolution.'

‘Remember the words of Tom Paine, boys. Violence is a difficult horse to ride, and must be strictly controlled. Would it serve a purpose to kill him, apart from satisfying our desire for revenge?' There were several deep inhalations of air, as though lengthy justifications were on their way, so the captain got in quickly with the answer he wanted: ‘No, it would not!'

‘But no-one will know!' the Irish lout cried, exasperated.

‘God will know,' said Captain Flood, earning from me a grudging glance of respect, ‘and then He will do all He can to hinder our cause. Besides, if we kill him, we will be no better than the rogues we are fighting against.'

These were fine words that temporarily comforted me, but, as always, I should have known better; for whilst the captain forbade murder, he tacitly condoned lesser acts of revenge. Thus, when we reached the Delaware, he turned his back on me to light what must have been the toughest plug of tobacco in history, and allowed his men time to give me a very comprehensive pummelling as a parting present. Wishing me a slow, agonizing death at the hands of the Hessians, the rogues then turned and left me to the skeletal ferrymen, who stood by and watched while I loaded my horse, cart and metheglin onto their floating deathtrap. Nursing a headache, a buzzing ear, a gashed cheek, a bloody nose and bruises on some very tender parts of my body, I sat in the furthest corner of the ferry and spent the crossing dabbing my wounds with ice scooped from the river. Though mightily sick of the whole enterprise, at least now I was out of range of the scurvy dogs' muskets, and would soon be on my own again, if only temporarily.

Disembarking with relief, I sarcastically thanked the skeletons for their efforts and trundled off immediately towards the Bear Tavern Road, which, according to the map Washington had given me, was the only route into Trenton from the north west. The way was far from clear, and often hindered by fallen logs and snowdrifts, but by keeping the Delaware River in view on my right-hand side I eventually managed to stumble across it; and once on ‘twas simply a case of following it to a hamlet called Birmingham, from whence it continued straight on as the less imaginatively named River Road. This was the road that would take me directly into Trenton, so, as a grisly light began to appear in the eastern sky, I started to brace myself for contact with the dreaded picket line. Sure enough, it was not long before I saw figures emerge from a distant building on the right. This building, I presumed from a quick peep at my map, was a place called The Hermitage; the figures, alerted by my rattling barrels of metheglin, would undoubtedly be Hessians. Unable to turn back now, I trundled on with mounting trepidation, my heart beating like a mighty piston. As I got ever nearer, the figures turned into four blue-coated mountains of German
fleisch
, all with their muskets aimed at me, so that I felt I was riding forward into a firing squad.

‘Halt!' called out one of them as I approached, ‘Vass ist your name, and vass ist your business?'

The brass caps and upturned moustaches closed in for the kill, so I set my tongue at a loll, slackened my face muscles, and went into action.

‘My n-n-name is T-T-Thomas C-C-Clark, and I am a T-T-Torwey F-F-Farmer come to s-s-sell m-m-my s-s-surplus stock of m-m-m-m-m-m-m-METHEGLIN.'

The soldiers looked at each other, then roared with laughter.

‘Keine Gefahr,' one of them said to another, lowering his musket. ‘Kopf Kaputt.'

‘Show me your papers, Dolt.'

I showed them my forged Oath of Allegiance to the Crown, but it could have been the Declaration of Independence for all they could make of it. They soon handed it back.

‘So vass ist m-m-m-m-m-METHEGLIN?' one of them mocked, moving round to examine the barrels.

‘It is like cider,' said another in German. ‘Not as good as beer, but take a barrel anyway, and let him through.'

‘Check that it is metheglin first. Bayonet a barrel. If it is not metheglin, bayonet him.'

Pretending not to understand what they were saying, I feigned a little start of surprise as the biggest of the rogues, with prodigious power and aggression, held aloft his musket, and ran his bayonet through the side of a barrel. Wincing, I could not help but wonder how many Rebels this lot had killed between them; so it was to my infinite relief when a jet of liquid, confirmed as metheglin, spouted out and splashed onto the snow.

‘Here,' I said, ‘T-t-take the b-b-bawwel with my c-c-compliments. A g-g-gift for the p-p-pwotection you have given our p-p-people.'

They did not understand, so – fighting a tremendous urge to show off and translate the offer for them – I had to make do with
Take It!
gestures, which eventually had the desired result. With genial cries of
Guten Morgen, Dummkopf
, they waved me on, and rolled the barrel into the Hermitage with great joy, little realizing what horrors lay ahead.

Reassured that Washington had not deceived me as to the contents of the barrels, I shook the reins and moved on towards Trenton, eventually coming into sight of a group of buildings that indicated my arrival in the outskirts of the town. Soon afterwards I heard shouts in front of me, which grew louder as I approached, but it was not until I rounded a corner into King Street that I learned of their provenance. A group of blue-coated, brass-capped, moustached Hessians were drilling with the dawn, turning and wheeling with a precision that put any British regiment to shame. Unable to pass them, I had no alternative but to draw my horse to a halt and wait for the manoeuvres to finish. I was admiring the display, albeit fearfully, when the unthinkable happened: one soldier lost his balance slightly as he executed a turn. Immediately a horsewhip from the drill sergeant cracked onto his face, drawing a fount of blood that fairly pissed onto the packed snow of the street. As the soldier staggered around bleeding and yelping, another adroit whip sent him scurrying back into line. ‘Twas brutal stuff, even by British standards, and I was glad I had not been born German – glad, that is, until I caught the eye of the whipcracking sergeant himself.

‘You!!' he screamed, in splintery English, ‘Get out ov my sqvare!'

I pulled my best idiot face, and gurgled happily.

‘Out, I zay, out!'

I bubbled at the mouth.

‘I have b-b-bwought d-d-dwink for your M-m-m-men!'

I could not have said this loud enough, because I was ignored completely.

‘Vight, you Schweinhund!'

The rogue charged towards me, crunching through the snow, absolutely incandescent with rage. Panicking, I jumped down from the cart and took refuge behind the barrels.

‘Take dat! Und dat! Und dat!'

The whip cracked over my head in three rapid shots, then the fourth hit, by the sounds of it, my horse's arse. There was an agonized whinny, a rearing, and a blur of kicking forelegs. The cart overturned, the barrels rolled off in all directions, and then my cover was dragged away by the galloping horse. Left with no protection other than a barrel I had managed to grab, I dived down behind it and peeped over the top in trepidation. The sight I saw nearly did for me: the sergeant had stopped five yards away, and was staring hard at me as he circled the whip over his head. It looked as though he was deciding which part of my brain to slice open, but just as the killer blow was about to be unleashed I managed to shout out my purpose again.

‘I have b-b-bwought d-d-dwink for you and your m-m-men. These – these are for you!'

This time the volume was loud enough, and the sergeant's face creased into a frown.

‘Warum?'

‘In gratitude for the protection you have given us.'

Either the language or the concept of gratitude seemed to puzzle the sergeant. With a look of bitter disappointment he lashed one of the barrels – having to bring the whip down somewhere – then returned to the tedium of questioning.

‘You live in Tventon, Ja?'

‘N-n-no, acwoss the wiver in B-b-bucks C-c-county P-p-p-p-p…..'

He thrashed his whip again to gee along my stammer.

‘P-P-PENNSYLVANIA!!' I exploded, panting.

‘Pennsylvania, ja? Gut, zenn you might be useful to us. Korporal!'

A tall grenadier came running as fast as the conditions would allow.

‘Take zis country clown to ze barracks and keep him zehr. Inform Colonel Rall venn he vakes zat he might vant to see a vell-visher. Then collect the barrels together and store zem outside ze barracks.

The corporal, to no great surprise, did as he was told, taking me roughly by the scruff of the neck and virtually carrying me to a handsome stone building at the foot of King Street. At the door he passed me over to another guard who, after receiving instructions in fast German, promptly threw me into a room whose floor was covered with straw and about twenty pallet beds. In the far corner of the room was a small fir tree in a pot, on whose branches hung little parcels, neatly tied. Promptly making a mental note that these were the Christmas billets of the men drilling outside, I further concluded, after looking out of the windows, that there was no evidence anywhere of defensive earthworks. My spying duties accomplished, I soon had nothing else to do but lie down on a pallet, wonder how to furnish my confiscated Loyalist house, and wait for Colonel Rall to wake up. I was still wondering and waiting at ten o'clock, when a band struck up a few streets away, a sign perhaps that general life was stirring. Half an hour later, sure enough, there was a clatter and the sound of Germanic bluster at the door. This, if I was not mistaken, betokened the arrival of Colonel Johann Gottlieb Rall. I reset my face into a mask of absolute idiocy.

‘Vell, vere iz he? I have a card game vaiting.'

‘In here, Colonel.'

Then into the doorway, accompanied by two aides, pounded the bull-like Colonel Rall, an elderly man of about sixty. Large and coarse-featured, drunk and swaying, he regarded me, once he could focus, with utter contempt.

‘Iz ziss it?'

‘Ja, Colonel.'

The Colonel tutted, stepped forward, breathed his foul breath all over me, and then began turning my head from side to side with his stick.

‘Zese are the zort of people ve dvown at birth back home in Hesse-Cassell.'

I gave a happy gurgle.

‘Still, zese fools sometimes see zings ze rest of us miss. So speak, dolt, and tell us vat you know ov ze Rebels across the river.'

‘They are d-d-deserting in d-d-dwoves. What men are left have b-b-barely any c-c-clothes. They c-c-cannot survive m-m-much longer.'

‘So zey are not, in your opinion, planning to attack us here in Tventon?'

‘N-n-no. You are as s-s-safe as houses here.'

I laughed and gargled.

‘Do zey have artillery?'

‘N-n-no.'

‘Boats?'

‘Only to use as f-f-firewood.'

‘See, gentlemen,' he said in German, turning to his aides in triumph, ‘did I not tell you zat zat was the position? Now, ve vill get this fool to repeat his story to ze troops, and then ve vill return to our Christmas festivities. Your deal, I believe, Otto…' Then he reverted back to a sort of Anglicized German and addressed me with great insolence. ‘Komm, Bumpkin. Komm und tell meine Soldaten vass Sie mir gesagt haben.'

I was dragged out into the courtyard by my lapels, given a gratuitous kick up the arse, and manoeuvred roughly into position next to another fearsome-looking sergeant. Then Colonel Rall got the rogue to stop drilling and called the men to attention.

‘Schweine!' he cried, reverting to easily-translatable German, ‘I have here a loyalist farmer come over from some county or other across the river. He has brought us several barrels of liquor, to thank us for our services to the loyal subjects of this area.'