War

by Edward Cline

  “Why have you deserted, Hulton?”

  “Because after the Lexington and Concord affair, I couldn’t bring myself to fight the people here. Their grievances are good, you know. Captain Tallmadge had a way of putting it, and it made sense to me, that the lords and ministers there in London wanted to turn the colonies into a great Fleet prison, and appoint the most scurrilous caitiffs to run it, just so the lords and ministers could be assured their chocolate pots every morning and His Majesty his allowance from Parliament. His very words.” Hulton turned from staring into the distance to face Hugh. “And the day the Irregulars were to be rowed over to Charlestown, he came to me and gave me leave to see to his things, if anything happened to him. Officers usually ask other officers to do that, you know, before an action, but he asked me to. He described to me where you were to be found. And here I am.” The sergeant’s eyes roamed the room. “Where is my pack, milord?”

  “In the corner there,” Hugh answered, nodding to the knapsack.

  “His things are in it. And something of yours, milord.”

  “Of mine?” asked Hugh, surprised. “What?”

  “The book you loaned me, milord, the night we went to that tavern in London, where you met your special friends. Mr. Shakespeare’s Histories. I’ve read it many times, and always meant to return it.”

  It was too much for Hugh. With a deep sigh he rose abruptly to pace back and forth for a moment, his hands behind his back, eyes closed. The memory seemed to transport him back to that time, and to what he was then, to how he felt and how he proposed to spend the rest of his life. Then he stopped pacing, for he realized that he hadn’t changed, not in any fundamental sense. He wondered if it were possible to retain one’s youth, after a lifetime. But he stopped wondering, because he knew it was.

  “Have I offended you, milord?” Hulton asked.

  Hugh turned to him with a smile. “No, Hulton. You have not. You merely reminded me of one of the bright spots in my life. When you are up and about again, I shall relate to you my own adventures. There have been many, since we last spoke.”

  There was a knock on the door. Hugh turned to open it. It was Fiona Chance, the cook, holding a tray with a carafe of port, some glasses and a bowl of steaming broth.

  * * *

  Hulton narrated to Hugh over dinner that afternoon — a light one for him, as a precaution, he would have a full supper in the evening — how he deserted, leaving his billet at night, making his way past British and American pickets outside of Dorchester Heights, and walking south for a month. As he went, he discarded as much of his uniform as he could, trading his red tunic especially for a homespun frock coat. What little money he had was spent on food in taverns and ordinaries; when the money was gone, he raided crops, or stopped at parsonages and relied on the good will of a minister for food. Except for going days without food, it was an uneventful journey.

  Hugh ordered most of the clothes Hulton was wearing when he arrived at Meum Hall burned; they were filthy, crawling with lice, and decrepit. He asked Rupert Beecroft to loan the man a new suit of clothes, hose, and a new pair of shoes; the two men were about the same size. He gave Beecroft money and asked him to go into town to the tailor’s and purchase Hulton his own garb and shoes. He took Hulton down to the river and made him bathe before donning the clothes. Radulphus Spears trimmed Hulton’s hair and shaved him.

  By suppertime, Hulton looked refreshed and presentable. “Are relations between your father and the Earl still bad, milord?” he asked.

  “They are worse.”

  “Captain Tallmadge married your sister.”

  “Yes. I attended their wedding.” Hugh paused. “I have written Alice about Roger.”

  “I would have, but was not sure of her address.”

  From the knapsack before supper, Hulton produced the volume of Shakespeare’s Histories, which Hugh told him to keep. Hulton also gave Hugh what things of Roger Tallmadge’s the sergeant had been able to stuff into the knapsack: a bundle of letters to Roger from Alice, her parents, and his own parents; a copy of the report to General Gage; writing materials and paper; shaving implements; miscellaneous items; and the tin gorget Hugh had given Roger, inscribed “A Paladin for Liberty.”

  Hulton saw Hugh holding it in his hand. “Captain Tallmadge showed me that once, milord, and said it was a gift from you. It was what got him into a bad way with the army, wasn’t it?”

  “No,” sighed Hugh. “It was a gesture of friendship that did that. An act of brotherhood. This was my token of gratitude.” He put the gorget down. “I will keep it, but send all the rest of his things on to Alice.” He glanced at Hulton again. “When you were sent over to collect the dead and wounded, Hulton, you didn’t perchance come upon him, did you?”

  Hulton shook his head. “No, milord. All our fellows were buried in bunches in great holes there near Charlestown. One of our fellows who was with him and the Fusiliers saw him shot, near a rail fence. But I was sent to look after the south slope of that redoubt, where the marines fell by the dozen, and I never had the chance to look for him or go see where he died.” The former sergeant paused. “We worked all night and into the morning, before the sun came up again.”

  “I see.” Hugh decided not to enquire further about Roger.

  Over supper later, he said, “Hulton, you will not be able to return to England.”

  “I know, milord.” The former sergeant looked resigned. “There was nothing to return to, except your good family.” Then he smiled. “I remember that you and your father wished to establish me in a tobacconist’s shop.”

  “It is still possible — I’m certain my father would advance the funds — but you would need to move to a large town or city here. And now that there will be a war, we should wait until it is finished. The tobacco trade is sure to be interrupted. All trade, in fact.”

  “Is there news of Mr. Runcorn?” asked Hulton. “We were friends.”

  “Mr. Runcorn married Bridgette, and Mr. Runcorn is now employed as the warden of Danvers. I have not met the family’s new major domo.” Hugh laughed. “And Mr. Curle continues to bow and scrape at Windridge Court. He is a perfect servant for my uncle.”

  “He’s a snake, that one,” remarked Hulton. Then he rushed to correct himself. “Mr. Curle, I meant, milord!”

  Hugh laughed again, and paraphrased something he had said to Hulton long ago, when they went to the Fruit Wench, and Hulton, having read Richard the Third, asked if it was permitted to call a late king a bastard. “Hulton, it is right to call my uncle anything — or nothing at all!” He took a sip of his wine, then said, “And you must call me ‘Mr. Kenrick.’ I have dispensed with the balderdash of ‘milord’ and other such terms. I have forbidden the appellation. This is not England.”

  Hulton blinked once. “Yes…sir.”

  “And we must decide what to do with you.”

  “I could act as your valet…sir.”

  Hugh shook his head. “I have a valet. Mr. Spears. No, you must learn another trade. Mr. Zouch, my brickmaker, could use some assistance at the kiln. You will be paid. That is, if you wish to remain here.” When Hulton said nothing, he continued. “You are a free man, in a manner of speaking. It is for you to decide.”

  After a long moment, Hulton replied, “Yes, sir. I accept. I am…unsettled, you see, and don’t know what else to do now. It has been a trying time.”

  “Of course. But first, you shall rest, and regain the strength of mind and body.” Hugh studied his former valet for a moment. “It is good to see you again, Hulton. Never doubt that you are welcome here. My parents will be happy to learn of your resurrection, as well!”

  “Thank you…sir.” Hulton glanced around the supper room, and for the first time noticed the Westcott portrait of Hugh’s parents on the wall across from him. “How did you come by this place…Mr. Kenrick? Captain Tallmadge once described it to me, but I could not quite believe it.”

  Hugh smiled. “Now it is time to relate my own adventures, Hulton.”
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  Chapter 14: The Augury

  That same day, Under-Sheriff George Roane rode about the county with a black servant from Sheriff Tippet’s household, to post a broadsheet delivered that morning from Williamsburg, where it had been printed on the press of one of the Gazettes. Composed by Reverend Acland, it read:

  “Recent contentions and troubles coursing among the denizens of our fair colony have made it imperative that loyal and respected citizens of Queen Anne County move to fulfill their spiritual and civic obligations to their fellow citizens to establish a COMMITTEE OF SAFETY in defense of Christian civility, justice and temporal security. The COMMITTEE have assumed the burden of ensuring the serenity of this County in these unsettling times until the power and office of His Excellency John Murray, Earl of Dunmore, our lawful Governor and Protector, have been reinstated in their proper legal and appointive venue in the capital. The COMMITTEE OF SAFETY, composed of the undersigned persons, will henceforth direct and oversee the function of our court in both civil and capital matters, and also to enforce standing regulations, statutes and taxes, and overall be responsible for the orderly conduct of our lives. All ye who reside in or enter Queen Anne County are bound to submit to the COMMITTEE’s authority. God save the king. Decreed on this 30th day of August 1775, by order of:

  Reece Vishonn, Enderly

  Edgar Cullis, Cullis Hall

  Carver Gramatan

  Moses Corbin, Mayor of Caxton

  Cabal Tippet, Sheriff of the County

  The Reverend Albert Acland, pastor of Stepney Parish”

  Roane put the broadsheets up on the doors of the courthouse, various shops, the church, the tobacco inspector’s office on the riverfront, on the posts of the Hove Stream Bridge, and in other places where they would be noticed. Edgar Cullis and Vishonn at first questioned the wisdom of ending the decree with “God save the king,” but they had read that delegates to the Virginia Convention and the Congress in Philadelphia continued to assert their loyalty to the sovereign even in their most outrageous addresses to Parliament, so it was decided to leave it in.

  Roane also rode to the properties of the leading planters and farmers and delivered copies of the broadsheet to their proprietors. Jock Fraser happened to meet Roane as he rode up, and promptly tore up the broadsheet and flung its pieces into the under-sheriff’s face. Jack Frake, riding out of Morland Hall to call on John Proudlocks, met Roane on the connecting road, was handed a copy, and said to Roane, “You may tell your committee that I do not recognize their authority.” He calmly tore the paper into neat pieces and handed them back with a smile to the wary officer.

  “There will be trouble, sir, if you don’t,” warned Roane.

  “There will be trouble, regardless.”

  Roane also nailed broadsheets to the doors of Caxton’s three taverns: the Gramatan Inn, Fern’s, and Safford’s Arms. Steven Safford heard the hammering above the hubbub of his patrons, and went out to see Roane and the servant riding away. He tore off the broadsheet, read it, and took it back inside. He flung the broadsheet into the cooking fireplace.

  Hugh Kenrick learned about the broadsheet from Spears, his valet, who found it folded and inserted inside the jam of the front door of the great house. He took it to the supper room where his employer was having dinner with Hulton. “I did not see who left it, sir,” he said. Hugh glanced at it, then asked Spears to put it on his study desk. He was too distracted with Hulton to pay it closer attention. It was only in the evening, after Hulton had retired in the guest room, that he read the broadsheet and pondered the implications of its contents. He left the study, walked to the stable with the broadsheet, and rode to Morland Hall.

  He reached it just as the last light of dusk was ebbing to darkness. He found Jack Frake sitting on the porch, seegar in hand, a crystal decanter of Madeira on a side table with glasses. His friend waved him to a chair on the other side of the table and offered him a glass of the wine.

  Hugh nodded to the decanter as Jack Frake poured the liquid into both glasses. “French?”

  “Italian, I think,” answered Jack Frake. “The set was a wedding gift from Etáin’s parents. We used it only on special occasions. On our anniversary, mostly.”

  Hugh considered this answer for a moment. “Is this…a special occasion?” He asked, accepting a glass from Jack Frake, and for some reason, dreading the answer.

  “Yes.” Jack Frake nodded to the broadsheet in Hugh’s other hand.

  Hugh could not mistake the look of sadness in his friend’s glance. He gestured with the sheet once, then lay it on the table. “Did you not receive one?”

  “In person, earlier today. I told Mr. Roane I did not recognize the committee’s authority, and gave it back to him in half as many pieces as there are words in that decree.”

  Hugh let a moment pass before he said, “They will not brook defiance or disobedience, Jack.”

  “So I was told by Mr. Roane.” Jack Frake paused. “And I will not brook tyranny.”

  Hugh could not help but feel a sense of resignation in his friend’s demeanor, that Jack Frake was enjoying his property perhaps for the last time. The dread welled up in him again. He smiled tentatively, and as they sipped their Madeira, told Jack Frake about Hulton, including his service under Roger Tallmadge in Boston, and why he had returned.

  Jack Frake smiled. “There’s a man who seems to have a grip on himself. I’m happy for you that he found you again.” He paused. “We shall see much desertion in the years ahead, from both sides.”

  Hugh nodded agreement. “You shall meet him, tomorrow, I hope.”

  They were silent for a while. The darkness enveloped the fields beyond. Only a few lights from the tenants’ cottages in the distance suggested the substance of those fields, together with the sounds of crickets, owls and tree frogs. Jack Frake and Hugh Kenrick sat quietly, staring into the darkness, alone with their own thoughts.

  Jack Frake said, “I refused to be sold into slavery. That was the beginning of my life.”

  “I would not bow or apologize to the Duke of Cumberland,” Hugh answered. “That was the beginning of mine.” Then he shook his head. “No, we are both wrong about that, Jack. Our lives began when we chose to think, long before either of us acted.”

  Jack Frake looked at his friend and smiled. “Correction noted, and accepted.” Then his expression altered. He looked grim and merciless. He said, “The Sparrowhawk must be destroyed, Hugh, when she reappears. And she will come for us. Then we will be free. Both of us.”

  Hugh Kenrick held his friend’s glance, and nodded silent agreement.

  * * *

  Early the next morning, the Sparrowhawk appeared on the York River, followed by the sloop Basilisk. Both vessels flew the Customs Jack over their sterns, and Customs pendants from their main topgallants, and took in sail to stop at Caxton. The sight startled the early risers of the town, among them Sheriff Tippet, who witnessed the arrival from the office window of his house, which sat on the bluff that overlooked the riverfront. He sent a servant to inform Mayor Corbin of the vessels’ arrival, and to instruct George Roane, who lived in a cottage a short distance from Tippet’s house, to ride to Enderly with the news and the suggestion to Mr. Vishonn that the loyal militia should be assembled and ready to march to the town, and to Cullis Hall, to alert the committee of safety’s most important member.

  The Sparrowhawk dropped her anchors in the river some distance away from the piers. The Basilisk tied up to Caxton’s main pier, and six men descended the gangboard, among them Jared Hunt. One of the men, wearing the uniform of an officer of marines, walked beside Hunt. The party passed the tobacco inspector’s house and climbed the road to Queen Anne Street. Tippet searched for his long-glass and trained it on the Sparrowhawk. On its deck he saw several other men in red mingled with the crew, who were busy preparing longboats to lower over the sides. So, he thought, the hearsay was true: Mr. Hunt had got himself some marines, and Governor Dunmore himself a portion of an army regiment. Tippet put do
wn the long-glass and left the room to instruct his wife to have some refreshments prepared for visitors. “Oh, Cabal, is there going to be trouble?” she asked worriedly.

  “I don’t know, Muriel,” answered the sheriff. “I hope for all our sakes there isn’t.”

  “Does Mr. Safford know what’s to happen?”

  Sheriff Tippet shook his head. He returned to his office, found a pistol, and loaded it with powder and ball for the first time in years. He had used it only twice since then, to shoot a raccoon that had mauled one of his dogs, and then later on the dog itself, which had gone mad and fought with the others in his kennel. He had had to dispose of all of them.

  Some minutes later there was a knock on his front door.

  Two hours passed in the Tippet residence, filled with many draughts of tea, a plate of sweetmeats, and convivial conversation. Jared Hunt was in a jaunty mood, enquiring about the business at hand only to determine if the “true” county militia was to be expected soon.

  Sheriff Tippet assured him that it was. “The committee, too, sir,” he added. “Mr. Vishonn and Mr. Cullis agreed that it was imperative that all parties be present today.”

  “Imperative it is, my good man,” replied Hunt. Then he began to regale his hosts and companions with several anecdotes of his adventurous life in London and Hampton, omitting, of course, to mention his relationship with the Earl of Danvers and his true mission on these shores.

  Major Ragsdale said little. The other Customs men deferred to Mr. Hunt in setting and dominating the subject of conversation. They were joined shortly by Reverend Acland, who had been working in his garden and noticed the vessels. He had quickly discarded his apron, donned his frock coat, and rushed to the Tippet house. He knew what was to happen today, and did not want to miss anything. Mayor Corbin, roused from sleep, followed him shortly thereafter.