Chapter 18
I suppose Cardigan’s “Walk—march – trot!” at Balaclava is the most memorable battlefield command I’ve ever heard, but J.B.’s order for breakfast at Harper’s Ferry runs it close. For a moment I didn’t believe it, and neither did Joe, for he stood gaping at the coins in J.B.’s hand – and then his glance flickered in my direction, and I knew at once what he was thinking, that if he went off to the Wager House, who was going to keep an eye on slippery B. M. Comber? For a second he hesitated, and then the clever beggar saw his way out.
“Why, cap’n, Ah cain’t do that!” says he. “They won’t pay no heed to a coloured man, no suh. They’ll mind what Mass’ Josh says, though – an’ Ah kin go ’long an’ help carry, mebbe!”
And some fools say they’re not fit to vote. The hope that had leapt in my breast died in a smouldering inward rage as J.B. nodded and handed me the money … only to revive again at the thought that the crowded confusion of the Wager House might give me the opportunity I’d been praying for. All I’d need was a split second to get out of reach (and range) of Joe … and then either try to flee the town or declare myself to some responsible citizen as a government agent … bigod, that would be risky, they’d never believe me … J.B. broke in on my thoughts.
“Leave your rifles and revolvers. They will offer you no violence, knowing that we hold their friends hostage.”
I didn’t hesitate, but drew the two Colts from my hip-holsters and passed them to Stevens, along with my Sharps. Joe’s eyes rolled, and his ugly mouth tightened, but then he too passed over his pistols, J.B. said “Remember the tea, Joshua”, and we set off side by side across the open ground towards the Wager House, one of us casting wary sidelong glances, the other with the reassuring pressure of the Tranter tucked into the back of his waistband under his coat.
It was an interesting walk, in its way, under the astonished eyes of the citizens wondering what the deuce it meant, two of the desperadoes who were holding their town to ransom suddenly strolling over to their hotel. For a moment the crowd on the porch stood goggling, and then there was a flurry of skirts and squealing as the women shrank away, and some of the men drew back, although most stood pat, hostile but scared. I played up, tipping my hat and calling a cheery good-morning as we mounted the steps, and one of the men even thrust the door open for us to pass through, crying “John! Someone get John Foulkes, quick! They’re a-comin’ in!”
For a moment it was like upsetting a bees’ nest as we strode in, for the lobby was full of anxious citizens, as was the dining area off to one side, and the advent of a stalwart ruffian with whiskers and a massive black of forbidding mien had them almost clambering over each other. I calmed them with an upraised hand and my best speech-day style, assuring them they had no cause for alarm, that Captain Brown presented his compliments and would be withdrawing from their delightful township presently, and that in the meantime they should remain at ease while I spoke to a waiter. There was a moment’s stunned silence, and then cries of “He’s a foreigner!” and the like, and a red-faced worthy in a tile hat shouted: “What d’you mean by it? What d’ye want of us – and who are you?” and a woman fainted, and another woman screamed, and all was confusion until I raised my voice again, and presently a small bald trembler in a white apron and an extremity of terror emerged, and I gave him my order for forty-five breakfasts. Strangely enough, it seemed to have a calming effect on the assembly, if not on the hash-slinger: his teeth chattered and he closed his eyes, babbling that he didn’t know if Cookie could handle that many, at such short notice, and he’d have to see, and oh my God, he’d do his best, and finally (this is unvarnished truth), in a shrill whinny: “Say, m-m-mister, how d’ye want the eggs?”
“At your discretion, my boy,” says I, and he stared witless before scurrying away muttering “Discretion?” (and for all I know they’re serving oeufs à la discretion in Harper’s Ferry to this day), while I took a quick slant about me – fifty folk if there was one, pale faces and round eyes, women shrinking, men resolute but doubtful, every head in the dining section turned to stare, whispers and scared murmurs … no other door off the lobby, but one beyond the dining tables, obviously to the kitchen … straight ahead of me a big bar counter, with gilt mirrors behind, a staircase leading to a balcony above the lobby, a young negress looking down over the rail – and here I paused in astonishment at the bizarre contrast of bottle-bright red hair tumbling about shining ebony cheeks, a plump black hand clutching a silk peignoir round a form which would have done credit to a Turkish wrestler, and bold protruding eyes regarding me with (unless I was mistaken, which I seldom am) awakening interest. I stared, and received an unexpected dazzling beam of white teeth in return …
“How many more of us ye aimin’ to kill, ye damned brigand?” It was my red-faced worthy again, waving a fist in my face. “There’s a corpse a-layin’ in back yonder, an’ a nigger like to die –”
“An’ that’s Brown th’abolitionist out yonder!” cries another. “Him an’ his gang o’ Kansas murderers – an’ you, ye skunk, an’ this black villain got the gall to bust in here, askin’ to be fed –”
“Shame, shame on you!” squawks a female, and then they were surging about us, spitting and cursing, a fist swung at my head, I ducked and my assailant blundered into Joe, tumbling him over, my hand was on the Tranter – and Joe, sprawling, was conjuring a Colt from his armpit! A fellow dived on him, grabbing his wrist, the squawking woman was belabouring me with her gamp, Joe was hurling his attacker aside … but by that time I was going through the dining section like Springheeled Jack, sending a table flying as I plunged through the kitchen door. One backward glimpse I had of Joe, rearing gigantic and bellowing as the mob fell back before his pistol, and then I was face to face with a wizened black granny flourishing a skillet, a kitchen in uproar, and my little waiter on his knees crying: “’Twon’t be but a moment, mister, honest!” There was a door ajar to my right: I leaped through, slamming it behind me and found myself in a passage with a door to the open air and a flight of stairs running up, and I was just about to choose the former when there was a tremendous crash and screaming from the kitchen, with Joe bawling: “Where’d he go? You see a white man, woman?”
He wasn’t five seconds behind me: if I broke into the open he’d nail me for certain. I bounded up the stairs, through a door at the top, and crouched, wheezing with terror, in a deserted passage, while the sound of a raging blackamoor bursting from the hotel in vain pursuit sounded below. Then I tiptoed forward past closed doors on either side, wondering where the hell I could hide, came to the end of my passage – and dropped prone as I realised it opened slap on to the balcony above the lobby! There was uproar down yonder, and someone was clattering up the main staircase towards me … I had no time to retreat, there was a closed door to my right, I grabbed in panic at the knob, rolled hastily within, thrust it shut, and came to my feet, Tranter in hand and an ear to the panels, my heart pounding as I heard the steps go past …
Someone gasped in the room behind me, and I whipped round with a yelp of fear to find myself confronting my dusky amazon of the balcony, hennaed hair a-tumble, hands raised in amazement. I gave a frantic croak of “No – don’t call out!”, and she blinked, eyes popping at the Tranter, but she didn’t faint or have hysterics, and when I shoved it back beneath my coat she rolled her eyes and let out an elaborate sigh of relief, followed by a shrill giggle.
“Well, heah’s a go! My, cain’t you move aroun’, though!” She raised a whimsical eyebrow. “You jes’ passin’ through, or you kin’ly plannin’ to stay … Ah hope?”
I’d no time to marvel at the presence of a gaudy and eccentric negress en déshabillé in a Southern hotel, or the nonchalance with which she greeted an armed intruder. “Madam!” cries I. “Don’t be alarmed, I beg! I mean no harm, I swear, but … I’m in a slight pickle, you see – hold on, do!” I sped to the front window and peeped through the curtains – there, not fifty yards off, were the armoury gates, with J.B. and Ste
vens in plain view and the fellows at the railings. To the left was the arsenal with the town houses beyond; there were a few citizens by the houses, and one bold spirit was shouting and shaking his fist in J.B.’s direction.
“Whut in creation’s happenin’ out theah?” demands the Queen of Sheba. “An election? Sounds like Sacramento on Fourth July! Who you runnin’ from, handsome – the Vigilantes?”
I hopped to the room’s other window, which overlooked the railroad tracks and the Potomac (it was a corner room, as you’ll see from my map), and started back as Joe suddenly appeared beneath, by the side of the hotel, Colt in hand, staring about him. There was a knot of people by the tracks, scattering away from him as he turned and shouted, and I realised he must be addressing Watson at the bridge entrance, behind the hotel. Then he set off for the armoury gates, waving and shouting to J.B., no doubt asking him how he’d like his eggs. I crouched, watching, until a husky voice spoke reproachfully behind me.
“Well, you sho’ know how to flatter a fine coloured lady! Or is the view out theah mo’ pleasin’ than the one in heah?”
I turned, still breathless, to find her regarding me with a quizzy amusement that took me even more aback than her extravagant appearance. This was the South, mind, where darkies knew their place, but here was one, young, sassy, and black as your boot, who carried herself like a Dahomey duchess and looked the white boss in the eye with cheerful insolence. She must have read my thought, for she tossed that astonishing fiery head.
“Ah’s free, case you wonderin’!” says she tartly. “An’ Ah’m waitin’.”
When in doubt, grovel. “I beg your pardon … ma’am. Believe me, I can explain. Those men yonder are abolitionist raiders –”
“So Ah been told,” says she coolly. “You likewise?”
“No, no, not at all! I’m … oh, lor’ … the fact is, I’m a government man. I was with them to … well, to observe them, you see – find out what they were up to –”
“You don’ say! Well, think o’ that!” Her eyes widened in mock wonder. “Gov’ment man, huh? Like a po-lice detective?”
“It’s true, I swear! I had to get away from them – but the people downstairs, they don’t know what I am, you see … and they might not believe me … if they found me, I mean …”
“Uh-huh … So, you got to lie low for a spell … right heah? Is that it?” Her smile broadened, and I could have cried out in relief.
“Yes, yes, exactly!” I gave her my most appealing leer. “If I might stay for just a little while, I’d be most grateful, I assure you, ma’am …”
“Call me Hannah …” chuckles she, “… an’ jes’ try to leave!” She swayed majestically forward to lean on the four-poster in what I can only call a worldly attitude, teasing an amber tress between her fingers and pushing out her lower lip, and as I recovered my wind and appraised her at close quarters, inhaling a gust of sweet heavy scent and noting the ravenous glint in her eye … why, d’you know, all of a sudden it was like coming back to life again after months in another drab and dismal world, and my immediate terrors, and those of the past few hours, were dwindling away … By heaven, though, she was overwhelming, sixteen magnificent stone if she was an ounce, but light on her feet as a dancer, pug-faced pretty in an overblown way, and with a jolly sensuality in the thick purple lips and flaring nostrils spread across the fat shiny cheeks. Not my vision of Venus, exactly … but it seemed as though centuries had passed since Mandeville, my randy imaginings of Elspeth were still fresh in mind, and as I contemplated those enormous endowments fore and aft, and the massive shapely thigh thrust out of her peignoir, I came all over a-tremble, pointing like a gundog. Her languid smile became a hungry complacent smirk.
“Say, that’s bettuh!” purrs she. “Ah wuz beginnin’ to think you wuz anothuh Popplewell.”
“Another what?”
“Popplewell – ma lawful wedded, two days back, in Pittsbu’gh. Fu’st time fo’ him, third for me … but ma fu’st white husband, you unnerstan’,” she added proudly, drooping a plump hand to display a stone the size of a fives pill on her ring finger. “Rich li’l runt, too – how else you think he cud bring his nigguh wife to a V’ginia ho-tel? S’posed to be takin’ me honeymoonin’ in Washin’ton – oh, don’ fret, honey, he’s long gone … vamoosed on that train aftuh the shootin’, pale’s a ghost, the dirty dawg! Lef’ me flat – an’ this was goin’ to be ma weddin’ night, too!” She glanced regretfully at the bed, and heaved a sigh which shivered her top-gallants, causing me to grunt sharply in sympathy. “An’ me tricked up in ma prettiest things, an’ all,” she continued plaintively. “You’d ha’ thought he’d ha’ stayed, wouldn’t you?”
And before my enraptured eyes she shrugged off the peignoir, put her hands on her hips, and stood there bursting out of a flimsy corset which would have been tight on Mandeville. She leaned forward, bulging magnificently, and pouted at me with lips like cushions.
“Well?” says she, soulful-like. “Wouldn’t you?”
No doubt about it, I’ve been lucky with women – but then, as the fellow said, the more you practise … and no one has striven harder towards perfection than I. But Mrs Hannah Popplewell was a double stroke of good fortune, first because her presence in Harper’s Ferry, which afforded me a refuge, was a chance in a thousand, and secondly because she was one of those insatiable ornaments of her sex who would rather gallop than go to church, and just what I needed after a hard night’s rebellion against the Commonwealth of Virginia. If her conduct was forward, well, her connubial expectations had been dashed by the recreant Popplewell, and the arrival of Flashy with whiskers rampant must have seemed like the answer to a randy young matron’s prayer.
And if you wonder that I succumbed to the brazen bitch’s advances, with peril threatening on every side … don’t. Fear has never damped my ardour yet (as Sharif Sahib’s harem, into which I blundered accidental during the battle of Patusan, could tell you), and the contents of that corset, flopping out voluptuously under my very nose, banished all thoughts but one. I buried my face between ’em, nearly crying, and wrenched at the laces with one hand while discarding my britches with the other, which ain’t easy when you’re suffocating, but love will find a way. Taken unawares, the coy little flirt squeaked in pretended alarm.
“Easy, boy!” giggles she. “The door – gotta shoot the bolt –”
“Leave that to me, ha-ha!” I seized handfuls of rump, kneading away as she struggled playfully, making feeble noises of protest.
“But, honey – you ain’t even tol’ me yo’ name yet …”
“Allow me to introduce myself!” I chortled, and with one tremendous heave I hoisted her up, all black and glossy, into the firing position. Her eyes bugged out of her chubby face, and with a silent scream she enveloped my mouth with those enormous lips, heaving against me; I reeled back, muscles creaking, as she surged up and down – my stars, it was like wrestling an elephant – my legs hit the bed, and I collapsed supine beneath that ponderous mass of ebony flesh, wondering whether I’d be crushed or smothered, but resolved to die game. For a moment it was touch and go, for the selfish slut had no thought but her own lustful gratification, but then she remembered to take the weight on her knees and elbows, as a lady should, and settled into a fine raking action that sent the bed jerking across the floor and brought the canopy down on us. I could tell she’d done it before, so I settled to the enjoyable task of holding those gigantic black boobies at a safe distance, letting her have her head, and as we plunged ecstatically past the post I thought, good riddance, Popplewell, she’d have been wasted on you.
It had all been so deuced sudden, flight one moment, fornication the next, that I was glad of the chance to lie and take stock afterwards, listening to the bride’s contented lip-smackings and reflecting that J.B. and Joe had more to do than fret over me, and the last place the citizens would think of looking for an absconding raider was the upper floor of their hotel. It wouldn’t be safe to play the government agent ca
rd yet awhile, though; better by far to lie snug and safe, rogering this prime piece of dusky blubber, until J.B. skipped town, as he soon must, or perish, then wait for night and slip away unobserved … or better still, shave off my beard and whiskers, wait until tomorrow if need be, muffle up well, and board a convenient train – perhaps with Mrs Popplewell on my arm to lend colour, so to speak. With the hotel at sixes and sevens they’d never look twice, and she was the sporty kind who’d think it a great lark, provided I continued to give satisfaction in the meantime.
Which I was soon called on to do; it seemed that I had no sooner slipped into a ruined stupor before she was billowing all over me again, slipping her tongue into my ear, and whispering, as she teased away with practised fingers, that I was her sho’ nuff honeymoon baby, of all things, an’ whenevah she saw a cucumber aftuh this, she’d think o’ me, and similar endearments. She’d no notion of leisurely love-making, either; thirty seconds of gentle dalliance and she started behaving like the Empress Theodora run amok, with poor old Flashy fighting for his life, belaboured by balloons of black jelly. Capital fun, mind you, but gruelling, and so the morning wore away, and myself with it.
Meanwhile there was little disturbance from without. Now and then there would be a few shots, but whenever I looked out the state of play seemed unchanged – J.B. and Co. ensconced around the armoury gates, but taking no harm from the occasional sniping, and now and then some of the townies would even approach the railings to confer with them, without result that I could see. It was a damned rum business, when you think of it, a quiet little town being held up by a gang of fanatics to no apparent purpose, the two sides taking pot shots and confabbing by turns, and folk going about their business a stone’s throw away. I couldn’t fathom J.B. at all; if he didn’t move he was done for, but he seemed content to sit and wait, while the precious minutes ticked by.
I gave up at last and bedded down – and had the horrors when I woke to find that Mrs Popplewell was absent and the door ajar, but at that moment I heard her on the landing saying she’d take the tray in herself, ’cos Mistuh Popplewell wuz still abed, plain tuckered out he wuz – this with a lewd giggle for the waiter’s benefit – and here she came, fat cheeks wreathed in smiles, bearing vittles and news.
The Flashman Papers: The Complete 12-Book Collection Page 324
