by Edward Cline
“A disturbing predicament, indeed,” said Hunt. “Undoubtedly, there has been a fouled exchange of signals between Admiral Graves and the Admiralty. It is not good for so fine a unit as your own to lie in idleness, sir, and I am certain that neither of them intends that.” Hunt had watched the marines disembark from the Carlisle — one company of regulars and one company of grenadiers. He observed that they did not seem particularly robust. He supposed the Caribbean heat must have sapped much of their vigor. But it never hurt to compliment a commanding officer on the condition of his men, even if they seemed listless and careworn. The battalion in the meantime had been billeted in an empty warehouse in Hampton.
Ragsdale shrugged. “Their intentions are irrelevant. I am blamelessly idle.” After a pause, he mused, not happily, “I suppose I should report to Governor Dunmore and offer my services for the time being. He is sure to have heard of our presence.”
Jared Hunt blinked once and shook his head. “Not necessarily, Major,” he suggested.
Ragsdale frowned in surprise. “I should think his ear would be alert for the presence of a convent of nuns, if he thought they could help him reestablish order here, sir. Governor Tonyn sent him only sixty men from the regiment down there.” The major scoffed. “They could hardly help him secure Portsmouth, never mind the rest of Virginia.”
Hunt leaned forward and in a low voice said, “I protest the highest regard for His Excellency, however, I do not believe you would want to place your battalion in his hands. Besides, I am certain he is not even aware of your presence.”
“Why would I not wish to serve the Governor, sir?”
“Because he will probably ask you and your men to help coddle all the runaway Negroes who are drawn to his benevolent rule. He is toying with the idea of emancipating them, you see, at least those belonging to rebels, and forming a regiment of Negroes to serve under His Majesty’s colors.” Hunt saw confusion in Ragsdale’s eyes, and leaned back to speak in a more casual, deprecating tone. “Someone must train them in the arts of war. I honestly cannot imagine your battalion encamped next to them, for months on end, listening to their blather and exposed to their contagions and ailments, as well. But, what better way to employ an idle force than to train another? I am acquainted with the Governor’s goals, and that will certainly be the bend of his thinking. You must own that you could not relish the prospect of becoming a nursemaid to scamps and slothful fools, when there is fighting to be done.”
Ragsdale sighed. “No, I would not relish the prospect.”
When Ragsdale said nothing else, Hunt shook his head and smiled. “However, I have a better idea. You and your battalion are at liberty, so to speak, and my proposition may be amenable. You see, His Excellency has given me leave to act as a kind of vice-admiral in these parts. I have at my disposal the Basilisk, a sloop of eight guns, and the Sparrowhawk, a merchantman of twenty guns. Nominally, they are in the service of the Customs, but they can perform the same role of authority as the Otter, the Kingfisher, and the William now under the Governor’s command. It is understood between His Excellency and me that he will secure the James, and I the York.” He smiled. “The Sparrowhawk is more than commodious enough to accommodate your battalion, Major. I am planning an expedition up the York soon to aid some patriots in the establishment of Crown authority. The presence of your battalion could not help but ensure the success of that project.”
The major raised an eyebrow. “Patriots?”
“Subjects loyal to His Majesty, of course.”
“Of course.” Ragsdale sipped his ale in thought. After a moment, he said, “Well, it is an idea. I don’t like keeping my men idle. And, there is a rebellion to be put down, and my duty in that regard. My officers and I have speculated about our ultimate destination. We were thinking we might be ordered to Boston. We read reports that the marines with the fleet there were terribly mauled taking that rebel redoubt.” After another moment, he added, “Well, as you say, until I receive further orders, my battalion is at liberty, and I cannot be faulted for taking some initiative when circumstances avail themselves and for employing my fellows to the best advantage. I accept your proposition, Mr. Hunt. When may we embark on this punitive expedition?”
“Soon,” answered Hunt. He had received a message the day before from Edgar Cullis expressing both his outrage over the freeing of Jack Frake from the Caxton jail and the fear of the committee of safety that if they attempted to re-arrest the man, the committee’s own militia — and the only legitimate one in that county — might be obliged to face the independent company “with undesirable results.” It was imperative that the committee establish its authority in the county, but its members did not think that could be accomplished without some support from the Crown.
“Otherwise,” Cullis had written, “we should simply throw up our hands and allow the only remaining loyal county on the York to fall under the influence of renegades and lawless bandits. Mr. Frake’s wretched company of impenitent malefactors refuse to acknowledge our committee’s authority, accuse us of the grossest intentions, and threaten retaliation if we exercise our legal prerogative. For the time being, however, the committee have decided on a less conspicuous action as a more modest step in establishing authority, viz., the closing of the tavern in which the renegades have met and plotted their crimes and treason. But we will not act until we have an assurance from your office that we will be sanctioned and supported.”
Hunt had sent a courier to Cullis’s home with the reply that the Sparrowhawk and Basilisk would sail in a few days to support the proposed action, and advised the committee of safety not to act until the vessels had tied up at the Caxton piers. “Acting together in unison will doubtless impress upon the citizens of your fair town the permanence and power of Crown authority, and of the many advantages of submitting to it. We should then be able to better deal with those miscreants among the populace who thumb their noses at His Majesty, His Excellency the Governor, and Parliament. I remain your most sympathetic and dutiful servant, J. Hunt.”
* * *
Two mornings later, when John Proudlocks visited Morland Hall, the first thing Jack Frake said to his friend was, “Should you ever open a law practice, John, you won’t collect many fees for patching up things between disputants.”
“On the contrary, Jack,” said Proudlocks, “I could charge disputants for having kept them out of court. I should point out to them that arbitration would be a much less costly pursuit of satisfaction and equity.”
They did not need to mention the role that Proudlocks had played in resolving the conflict between Jack Frake and Hugh Kenrick. Jack Frake merely grinned at his friend’s reticence and persistent imagination.
Jack Frake, as captain of the Queen Anne Volunteer Company, had the day before sent a servant to Proudlocks’s Sachem Hall and to Jock Fraser’s place with orders to assemble the Company this morning at the camp and drilling field that had been established at the far end of Morland’s fields. He wished to advise the men that they needn’t feel obliged to stay in the Company, that they could return to their homes and trades, or join one of the neighboring county militias, or journey back north to enlist in General Washington’s new Continental Army. He would tell them that those who wished to remain in the Company, he would lead, whenever circumstances demanded action.
He and Proudlocks stood together now in the cellar of the great house. Jack Frake held a lantern. Before them was a freshly mortared brick wall that had been removed years ago to add a chamber to hold powder and arms. The plank door to the chamber had been taken off, and the original bricks carefully restored. Aymer Crompton, Morland’s brickmaker, had also managed to color the new mortar so that it was the same gray hue as the brick mortar on either side of the restored wall. Evidence of the chamber was nearly obliterated. The great house could be destroyed, and its debris collapse into the cellar, but the chamber would remain intact and untouched.
“When was this done?” asked Proudlocks.
“Mr
. Crompton finished it this morning,” Jack Frake answered.
Sealed inside the chamber now were not powder and arms — they had been removed to the ruins of the Otway plantation months ago for safekeeping against Crown discovery and confiscation — but objects and records that Jack Frake wanted to preserve and reclaim when he was free to live in peace again: legal documents, deeds, correspondence, some books — his copy of Hyperborea among them — pencil and ink portraits of Etáin, Skelly, and Redmagne drawn by Hugh Kenrick, Etáin’s harp and dulcimer, and all of her music paperwork, and some other objects. And his copy of Hugh’s “words.”
The chamber also held a few iron boxes containing gold, silver, and copper coins, specie that he had culled over nearly two decades of plantation business. He wanted to save all those things from seizure or destruction. The specie would help him start over again, once the war ended. And if he lived to see its end.
Jack Frake told Proudlocks what was inside the chamber, then said, “If anything happens to me, you know of the existence of this trove. Help yourself to it, allowing for Etáin’s share, of course.”
Proudlocks nodded. They did not dwell, either, on such an uncertain and perilous future as the end of a war in which they would fight. Proudlocks asked, “What of Mr. Settle, and Mr. Robbins, and the other men here? If something happens to Morland, what will they do?”
“I’ve discussed the possibility with them. If Morland survives, they may come back here, if they’ve not left, and if there is still a Morland Hall to return to. Otherwise, they have all said they will join Mr. Washington’s army, as well.” Jack Frake glanced at his friend. “What of Sachem Hall?”
Proudlocks sighed. “I have buried some money on the grounds. But there are so many books. It would be futile to bury them. They would rot.” He shrugged. “Sachem Hall will need to take its chances, as well. Mr. Corsin will oversee the place while I’m gone.” Enolls Corsin was Proudlocks’s business agent and steward. He had worked in that capacity when Thomas Reisdale owned the plantation, known then as simply “Freehold.”
The two men threaded their way back through the cellar and climbed the stairs to the first floor. “I wonder how Mr. Kenrick will fare,” remarked Proudlocks as they emerged into the breezeway.
“He said he may join Mr. Washington’s army, as well,” answered Jack Frake. “But first he must deal with the devil his uncle sent over here.”
“Mr. Hunt,” said Proudlocks. “Yes, of course. A veritable devil.”
“Mr. Hurry returned from errands in town earlier. At Safford’s he heard that the Governor has been made a gift of two companies of other devils. Sixty or so men from the Prince of Wales’s own regiment, from Florida. And a battalion of marines from the Indies has landed in Hampton.”
“Who told him that?”
“Mr. Safford. The postboy riding from Yorktown brought the news when he stopped at the tavern to pick up and leave mail.” Jack Frake stopped in his study to don his gorget and buckle on his sword. “Well,” he said to Proudlocks, “let’s not keep Jock and the men waiting.”
* * *
“Hulton?”
At Meum Hall that same morning, Hugh Kenrick was in his study, about to decide on what to pass an hour reading before he resumed his plantation chores: Thomas Gray’s The Progress of Poesy, or Gray’s The Bard, or the first volume of Smollet’s translation of Alain-René Lesage’s Gil Blas de Santillane. Those books and others had arrived from Philadelphia just before he journeyed to England the year before, as a partially filled order from his favorite bookshop in that city. Otis Talbot had recommended Lesage’s novel for its satiric humor, he remembered. He decided that he needed some humor as an antidote to his recent glumness, and was reaching for the first volume when Mandy, Mrs. Vere’s black housekeeping assistant, came in and announced a visitor.
“Who is it, Mandy?”
“He would not say, sir. He looks troubled and hungry and beggarish-like, but says he knows you.”
Hugh smiled in wonder. He was intrigued. “Well, please show him in.”
The servant returned with a man Hugh did not recognize for almost a full moment: Thomas Hulton, his valet and companion from his London and Windridge Court years. Twenty years ago the man had been dismissed by Hugh’s uncle on a trumped-up charge of theft. Out of desperation, because he knew no other trade but that of valet, Hulton had enlisted in the army, and vanished into the maw of military administration. Hulton had written him one letter from an Isle of Wight marshalling camp, and then all contact with him had ceased.
“Hulton??” he repeated. He frowned and took a step closer to the man. Mandy gave the visitor a dubious look of suspicion, then curtsied and left the room.
Hulton, of course, had aged. White hair, unbarbered for some time, fell in a tangled, uncombed mass from his head to cover his ears, and white bristles on a lean face unshaven for days gave him the look of feral destitution. He wore a black frock coat two sizes too big for him, tattered hose, dirty buff breeches, and thin shoes a week away from disintegration. His cotton shirt needed either repeated laundering or discarding. A sword and a canteen hung from cross belts across his chest. He wore a knapsack around which was wound a rolled gray blanket. He stood at the door, battered tricorn in hand, slightly stooped, with the suggestion of a smile on quivering lips and a pleased but tired look in his eyes.
He nodded, and said, “Sergeant Thomas Hulton, milord, late of the Irregulars and Boston.” Then his eyes dropped to stare at the floor. “And a deserter.”
He looked up at Hugh, blinked once, then closed his eyes and fainted. Hugh caught him before he hit the floor.
An hour later, Hugh was bent over his former valet. Hulton lay in a bed in the guest room. Beecroft and Spears had helped Hugh carry him upstairs and undress him. His head rested on a pillow, and he was covered with a sheet. Hugh had pulled up a chair and sponged the man’s face with a cloth dampened in a washbowl. Hulton finally opened his eyes and saw his former master staring down at him worriedly. “Forgive me the bother, milord,” he said.
Hugh shook his head. “Hulton, when did you last eat?”
Hulton gave the question some thought. “I had an ear of corn in some field near a town called Port Tobacco across the river out there a few days ago. Before an overseer chased me out. I think.”
“You shall sup today, but in easy stages, for otherwise you will get sick. You will begin with a broth. My cook recommends it. She is preparing you a meal now.” Hugh paused. “Hulton, are you strong enough to talk? How did you come here? And why? And how?”
Hulton smiled. “You are looking very prosperous, milord. Prosperous but not purse-proud. You look exactly how I always imagined you’d look, when you passed your majority.”
Hugh grinned. “I hope that’s a compliment, Hulton. And you look…as though you’ve seen the world. A world far beyond Windridge Court.”
“I have, milord. I became a man, and I commanded men. As private, corporal, and sergeant.” Hulton sighed. “I commanded men. And saw them die, and helped to bury them. And wrote their kin.” He smiled again. “And saw some victories. I was at Quebec, you know, when Wolfe bollixed the French.”
Hugh shook his head again. “I wouldn’t know, Hulton. Why did you not write, after that last letter?”
Hulton shrugged his shoulders. “I thought that if I was to become a man, I had to learn how to become one on my own mettle, without advice or guidance.” He frowned. “It’s the only true way, you know. Although I must confess that I had you as a kind of model. You were a man when you were a boy, and I’ll lay the man low who says you weren’t!”
Hugh patted the hand that lay inert at Hulton’s side in acknowledgement.
Hulton sighed. “Oh, milord! I have so much to tell you, and some sad news, too, and I don’t know where to begin!”
“You’ll begin when you’ve rested, and had some supper.”
Hulton shook his head. “No, milord! I came all this way to see you, and to give you some things. Let me tel
l you now, because I am beginning not to want to. You see, it’s your friend, Captain Tallmadge. I was in his Irregulars. ‘Orphans,’ he called us. But he died at Charlestown, and there was no one to see to his kit but me. He was a gentleman and a gentle soul, never mind his career, milord. He showed me many a kindness, and others in the company, too, though some of them didn’t deserve it. I was not at Charlestown, you see, a few of our company were ordered to guard duty at the billet where Howe and Burgoyne and Clinton were put. But when we were relieved at dusk we were ferried over to Charlestown to help collect the dead and wounded. It was terrible, more terrible than anything I’d ever seen before. It was dark, and we kept tripping over the bodies, and sometimes they made a noise…. ”
Hugh patted Hulton’s hand again. “I know about Roger, Hulton.”
“He was unhappy, being there. He’d done some important work for the army, but wouldn’t tell me what. And I’d only been in Boston six months, direct from Ireland, but the 81st lost many men at sea coming over, and then so many to sickness and desertion once we arrived, that the regiment was broken on orders from the Adjunct, and what was left of us was formed with other cast-offs into the Irregulars. Just me and another sergeant to partisan them. Then Captain Tallmadge came, and was ordered to straighten us out. Which he did. He taught artillery, you know, at Woolwich. And we got to talking, and it came out that we both knew you. I think I saw him once before, when he was no taller than your knee, there in Danvers, but not since, because I spent the rest of my service at Windridge Court.”
Hugh ventured, “You must have been with your company at the Lexington and Concord affair.”
“Yes, milord, I was. And a sad day it was, too. You see, it troubled me to be fighting the people here, which I’d not done before. And it troubled Captain Tallmadge, too. After the last war, Colonel Beckwith’s 71st was broken, and I was transferred to another regiment in Ireland, and then I saw service at Gibraltar, and was finally taken in by the 81st. It’s been quite an adventure, milord.”
