I saw the flash and smoke, heard the crashing report, and did nothing. As before, I simply could not take in the idea that anyone would want to hurt me. A very foolish assumption, considering what I'd been through, and very selfish, to stand there like a lout and not to consider the welfare of the other men with me. Veterans of battle, they sensibly dropped while I continued to stand and gape. Lieutenant Nash, with a foul curse, knocked a solid arm against the back of my knees and told me to do likewise.
Pitching forward, I threw out my hands and caught myself in time. Nash's blow seemed to jog my head back onto my shoulders, as it were, causing me to start thinking again. I whispered for him to stay put and lifted up just enough for a look around.
The man that had shot at us was quickly bearing himself away.
I shouted something about getting him and sprinted off. Nash yelled after, urging me to use caution, but I was deaf to any objections. The fellow had a good start, but there was no chance that he could match my speed. At best, he could go at a fast walk; unimpeded by the darkness, I was able to run. Dodging by trees and bushes, leaping over roots, I caught up with him like a hound after a crippled hare.
He heard me, glanced back once, and increased his pace. Too little, too late. I bowled into him and brought us both down with a satisfying thud that was more injurious to him than myself. The breath grunted out of him, leaving him too stunned to move. I got up, grabbed away his spent musket, and called for Nash and the others to come ahead. It took them some time to pick their path, but they followed my voice and eventually arrived.
"Who is he?" Nash demanded.
"A damned better man than you, you English bastard," the man snarled back.
Nash, an officer in what was surely the greatest army in the world, had no patience for insults from inferiors. He gave the
man a hard kick in the side to encourage him into a more respectful attitude. The fellow had only just recovered his wind and this additional assault once more deprived him of air.
"Do you know him?" he asked of me.
"I've not seen him before," I said truthfully. Having been a regular churchgoer, I knew the faces, if not the names, of just about everyone in the area. "Where are you from?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" he wheezed back.
Nash started to kick him again, but I persuaded him to hold off this time. Though a good beating might improve his manners it would also render him unable to speak.
"I think he's from Connecticut," I said, making an educated guess from his clothes and accent.
"I've heard the name," said Nash. "Where does it lie from here?"
"Across the Sound. Put a few stout fellows at the oars of a whale boat and you can row your way across quick as thought."
"Tory traitor," said the man in a poisonous tone.
"That, sir, is a contradiction of terms," I informed him. "Now unless you want these soldiers to hang you on the spot for a murdering spy, you'd better give us your name and business."
"I'm no spy, but a soldier myself, and deserve honorable treatment," he protested.
"Then act with honor, sir. Who are you?"
"Lieutenant Ezra Andrews and I have the privilege of serving under General Washington, God bless his soul."
"Can you prove that?"
"By God, what proof do I need beyond my own word?"
"Your commission as an officer?" suggested Nash. At a sip from him, two Hessians stepped in to drag Andrews to his feet and turn out his pockets. One of them found a substantial fold of paper, which he passed to Nash. He opened and tried unsuccessfully to read it in the starlight. Andrews cackled.
"Let me," I offered. So as not to startle them, I also made a show of squinting against the dark, then slowly read out enough words to confirm that Andrews spoke the truth about himself and his rank. Nash then informed the man that he was his prisoner.
Andrews spat on the ground. Luckily his aim, like his previous shot at us, was just as poor, and missed my shoe by several inches.
Nash took the commission and refolded the paper. "Where are the rest of your men?"
"You can find 'em yourself. I'll not help you."
Yes, you will, I thought. "Andrews... look at me. I want you lo listen to me...."
"I'll listen to no one," he snapped back.
"Listen to me, I say."
"The devil I will."
1 stopped cold and blinked. What was the matter with the man? I was staring right at him and nothing I said was making any impression at all. As if he were...
Damnation.
I gave up in sudden chagrin. I could see him, but unless he could see me, my efforts were futile. It was just too dark for such work.
"Give him over and let's push on," I said to Nash. "His fellows can't be that far ahead of us."
"Mr. Barrett, you have done enough for one night by capturing this man."
"And there's more to be done, sir. Whoever killed Hausmann is still free." I made a point to emphasize Hausmann's name and gesture ahead of us. This was not lost on the Hessians, who looked expectantly at their commander.
Nash could not reasonably back down, not just yet. With ill grace, he ordered someone to bind Andrews's hands behind him and put him in the charge of the tallest and strongest-looking man in our small company. Andrews protested and the soldier told him to be quiet. Andrews did not understand German, but he did get the correct idea, subsiding when his captor graphically drew a finger across his own throat and made an appropriate hissing sound.
As we continued forward, I found signs on the ground that others had gone by earlier: trampled plants, broken branches. They'd been in much haste.
"I don't think they're very far ahead," I confided to Nash. Despite his reluctance at this job, he invited me to enlarge upon that opinion. "They must have heard us coming up, the wind's at our backs, you know. I believe Andrews stayed behind to fire a shot to discourage our progress."
"It worked," he admitted. "He bought them a quarter hour, at least, they could be anywhere by now."
That estimation of the time was a gross exaggeration. The man's reluctance was enough for me to accuse him of cowardice, but I held my tongue. "Not if they're waiting for Andrews."
His forward pace wavered. "What do you mean?"
"I believe there's an excellent chance that he was meant to lire his gun, then run after them. They may only be just ahead."
Now Nash completely stopped. "Meaning that those rascals are most certainly lying in ambush for us."
"Possibly, but I rather think they're more likely expecting Andrews, not us."
"I cannot take that chance with my men," he stated. "In the daylight, with sufficient reinforcements we can-"
"Lieutenant, I am not asking you to march them into any ambush, but to allow me to scout ahead."
It must have gone through his mind how bad he would look to his senior officers if a civilian was seen to be doing his job. On the other hand, he had no taste for the work to be done. "Very well, but no more than one hundred yards."
I intended to travel as far as was necessary, but decided that that information would only raise more objections. "Good. Now if you will instruct your man to give me Andrews's musket... and now I'll just trade hats with him."
Andrews had been listening to this exchange and instantly saw the danger it meant to his companions. He started to raise his voice to shout a warning, but I cut that off quickly enough by clapping a hand over his mouth. He began to vigorously struggle and his guard and two others found it necessary to wrestle the man to the ground. We made quite a clumsy mob before sorting ourselves out. Only after someone put a fist into Andrews's belly did I dare to remove my smothering hand. He groaned and puffed and by the time he was ready to use his voice again, was efficiently gagged.
I placed his hat on my head, crouched down to minimize my height (Andrews was half a foot shorter), and continued along the path the rebels seemed to have taken. The long barrel and weight of the musket slowed me down. I had to mind where i
t was pointing lest it catch on something above or to the side.
My much-improved night vision was a godsend; I covered my hundred-yard limit in very little time.
Other than the signs left on the earth of their late passage, I saw nothing of the rebels. It was safe for Nash and his men
to follow to this point, but I didn't want to waste time going back for them. Nor did I want to spend too much time away, or Nash would become more nervous than ever. I could assume he would wait for a little while, then be able to honorably call a retreat. The problem was not knowing just how long he would wait.
I was trotting now, covering the distance much faster than an ordinary man, and marveling at my lack of physical fatigue. My steps were full of spring as though I were fresh and had bottomless reserves to draw upon. I'd felt this before when the chase was up for a hunt or riding Roily. For a time the sheer joy of movement overcame the goal behind it, until the movement itself was the goal.
The feeling lasted until I saw a blur with a man's shape stirring under some trees just ahead.
"Andrews?"
The voice was pitched to a carrying whisper. Unrecognizable. I slowed, but kept coming.
"Mr. Andrews?"
I gave out with a grunt of affirmation and hoped it would be well received.
"Are you all right?"
Another grunt. I came closer. The shape clarified itself, separating out from the dense shadows where it had been crouching.
Roddy Finch.
I strode forward without thought. A kind of humming had seized my brain, or perhaps I was the one humming and was all unaware of it. I know that for several seconds I could hear nothing else.
Roddy asked another question. At least, I saw his mouth forming words and the expression on his face suggested that he was making an inquiry of me. I was unable to answer.
Andrews? I read the name from his lips.
My continued approach, continued silence alarmed him. He wavered between running and risking another question.
And while he hesitated I bore down upon him like a storm.
1 threw away Andrews's musket. Roddy saw something of the motion and heard its landing, but could make no sense of it. He raised his own gun, but had left it too late. I grabbed it from his hands as one might take a stick from a very young child. He turned to run, but to my eyes he seemed to be moving unbearably
slow. I caught him by the neck of his coat and plucked him from the ground.
My hearing returned. The screech he gave out went right through me. I did not stop, though. I jerked him right off his feet like a doll and twisted around and let go my grip. He went flying down the path to land in a stunned heap some yards away.
Behind me, someone yelled his name.
I was just turning to look, but instinct had the better part of me now and I dropped instead.
Once more I was deafened, but from without, not within, as a gun roared very close over head. The sweet reek of its smoke engulfed me, stung my eyes. 1 was just able to see a young man emerging from the trees. Halfway to my feet, I sprang at him. He was fast. He swung the gun barrel at my head as hard as he could.
I got my arm up just in time or he'd have crushed my skull. It still felt like he'd broken something. The jolt of the heavy iron was enough to knock me right over. I roared from the pain and tried to get up. He struck again and I had no choice but to use the same arm as a shield. He caught me just below the elbow and the agony was so sudden and so awful that I knew the bone had definitely shattered under the blow.
As I fell away, he dashed past to Roddy and frantically urged him to get up. Roddy was too slow for him and needed help finding his feet.
"Come on, come on!" his rescuer cried desperately.
Like two drunks attempting to support one another, they staggered a little, then got aimed in the right direction.
No... he would not get away from me.
My right arm dangling loose and shooting white-hot darts straight into my brain, I lurched over just in time to catch him as they passed.
Roddy.
I used my weight and extra height and brought him down. His companion was bowled out of the way by my rush, but recovered and turned on me. Like Roddy before him, he seemed to be moving slowly-that or I was moving just that much faster. This time when he swung at my head with the musket barrel I was ready and caught it with my left hand. A snarl and a vicious wrench and it was mine.
He was surprised, but wasted no time staring. He doubled over and butted me in the stomach with his head. It pushed me backward a few paces and hurt, but was nothing compared to my arm. He followed up with two quick fists, but the results of his blows were disappointing to him. I felt them, but they hardly seemed to bother me. Next he tried to take back his gun and we played a very uneven tug-of-war for its possession.
His breathing was ragged, his poxy face gone red and dripping sweat. I could smell the stink from his bad teeth as his next charge brought us both down and rolling. Now he was biting and kicking like a fury, but I kept hold of the gun and, by God, I wasn't going to give it up. Had he been thinking, he might have used my bad arm against me by striking at it, but he'd lost his temper and his reason. I got the gun between us and tried to use it to ward off his fists. This bruised him and slowed him down, then Roddy's unsteady voice rang out.
'They're comin'! Run for your life!"
I heard a confusion of sounds, then the man beating at me was abruptly gone.
"Run for it!" yelled Roddy. He was on his feet now and the other man pelted past him. He shambled forward to follow.
No...
1 discarded the gun as a useless weight and threw myself at him. We came down with a groan. When he attempted to crawl away, I put a knee into his side, stopping him.
"Mr. Barrett! Mr. Barrett!" called Nash. He and his men were blundering up, drawn by the shot, but uncertain of the right direction.
I started to speak. There was no air in my lungs. I replaced it, but as I did so the thought occurred to me that bringing Nash over would seal things forever for Roddy. This boy that I had known all my life would go straight to the gallows. My own death aside, they would certainly hang him for stealing back his father's horses. Though there was probably no direct evidence against him, men had died before for less.
I'd known him all my life.
And he'd known me.
"Mr. Barrett?"
We'd played at Rapelji's school, worked there, helped one another. We'd not been especial friends, but he had known me. And for all that, he'd still been able to coolly raise his gun and
send me falling into this waking nightmare. He'd put my family through untold grief, put me through hell itself.
But they would hang him.
Oliver had once persuaded me to Tyburn to see some murderers pay for their crimes. It hadn't been pretty. The family of one man had hurriedly come forward to seize his legs and pull down as hard as they could to speed the progress of the strangling rope and end his sufferings. The sight had been sickening, but I'd been assured that the man more than deserved his punishment. Now I looked down at Roddy Finch and in my mind placed him at those gallows, his feet twitching and his neck stretching and his tongue thrusting out and his face turning black.
If I called now, it would be out of my hands and the law would run its course. Still, it would be the same as if I'd drawn the rope over Roddy's head myself.
"Mr. Barrett!"
I stood up. The humming had returned to my brain.
"Mr. Barrett!"
"We're over here, Lieutenant Nash. I have another prisoner for you."
The way we were seated on the ground, surrounded by Hessians, anyone would think that we were all prisoners. Andrews and Roddy both had their hands tied and I was in virtually the same immobile condition because of my injured arm. I felt weak and shaken. It hurt abominably. One of the soldiers had improvised a sling for me and another tried to tempt me with a flask of something that smelled terrible. I thanked him and politely refused.
To them, I was the hero of the hour, but their admiration was rather lost on me because of the pain.
Nash made a show of going after the other rebel, but without my help, he had no chance of catching up. And I had no need or desire to help. We had Roddy Finch and that was the end of it for me.
The discarded muskets were recovered and one proved to be identical to those that the Hessians carried.
P N Elrod - Barrett 1 - Red Death Page 29
