Accidental Warrior: The Unlikely Tale of Bloody Hal

by Colin Alexander

  The sound of hooves outside the inn broke the morning quiet in the front room. Someone had ridden up, and not at an easy canter either. The hoofbeats were replaced by the stomping of human feet. Then the door swung open, chilling the room thoroughly, and the rider strode in. Hal gave the man a careful look as he knocked off some snow that clung to his heavy riding boots. He wore a long, heavily padded greatcoat that reached to his knees. When he opened it, a leather coat was visible beneath it, with a white shirt beneath that. He wore a high-crowned hat with a wide and droopy brim that partially shadowed his face. He pulled the hat off quickly, revealing a square face, fair of complexion, light brown hair, and a short beard. Over his cheeks, and above the upper reach of his beard, the wind had burned the skin red. A sword hung at his side and a pistol was thrust through his belt under the greatcoat.

  “I am here to speak with Jack Slade,” he announced in an English accented differently from the one Hal had become accustomed to in Gap.

  “I am his son,” John spoke up. “My father has gone down to the mill this morning and is not expected back before late this afternoon. May I help you, sir?” Without hesitation, John moved to take his place at the desk Old Jack used for business, back ramrod straight and face stiff. Maybe, Hal thought, it was a good thing that John had been in a formal mood that morning. An armed stranger, on a frigid day no less, warranted some care.

  “That you may,” the man replied. “My name is Captain Carol Hayry, in the service of Gustavus Jonsson out of Fort Christina. I believe our company has dealt here before.” The words were delivered with the precision of a military report.

  “That is correct, Captain.” Hal saw John relax visibly. “Gustavus Jonsson’s wagons always stop here on the way to Nieuw Amsterdam. We would expect the winter train through here this week or next.” He smiled a little as he said it. John had made a point of telling Hal how hard he worked to memorize the schedules of the inn’s best customers.

  “Well, as you see now, it will be this week,” Hayry said. “I have ridden ahead to tell you that this shipment is a little different. Gustavus is personally bringing his daughter Johanna to Nieuw Amsterdam to present her at the New Year’s Ball there. We also have a large train with seven wagons and thirty men-at-arms. I need to know whether you can accommodate us, so that I may carry word back to Gustavus. He should arrive by nightfall.”

  At those words, John Slade swallowed hard. “A large train, indeed, Captain. Twice the number of wagons and three times the number of men-at-arms that I remember from previous winters.”

  Hayry only shrugged. “Gustavus’ daughter is with our train. That is why I am along as well.”

  Hal tried to catch John’s eye, but without success. He knew the provisions that the English Inn had laid in for winter travel as well as the Slades did, since he had hauled most of it into the various storage areas. None of that excess in horses and men had been accounted for.

  John’s voice was steady. “Slade’s English Inn did not become renowned among travelers by shirking challenges,” he said. “Yes, Captain, of course we can accommodate you.”

  “Good.” Hayry’s tone thawed a bit more than his features. “I also need to inform you that because of this beastly cold, and having Gustavus’ daughter with us, we plan to halt here for three nights. Does that change your answer at all?”

  Hal wanted to say that there would be precious little by way of alternative if the answer did change, but he kept that thought in his head. Hayry did not look to be a man with any sense of humor.

  “No, Captain, of course not,” was John’s predictable answer. “Three nights, though, for so large a company, will be quite an expense.”

  “Gustavus is aware of that, you may be sure. We will pay as money, you may count on that.” Hayry re-planted the hat on his head with just the briefest nod to John.

  “We shall see you at nightfall,” John said.

  Then Captain Hayry was gone, the opening of the door sending another brief blast of cold into the room. Outside, they could hear the horse gallop back down the road to the west .

  7

  The Coming of the Swedes

  A SIGH ESCAPED from John as soon as the door was closed behind Captain Hayry. His back, held so straight during the conversation, slumped visibly. “Gustavus is one of our best customers, I could not say no. But, My Sweet Lord, seven wagons and thirty men-at-arms so he can present his daughter at the New Year’s Ball! Why could he not send her by coach up the coast road?”

  “We can ask him that when he comes,” Hal said.

  “Do not be impertinent, Hal Christianson,” John said, suddenly master to servant. “Gustavus is one of the wealthiest and most powerful merchants in New Sweden. We, and you certainly, do not question him.”

  Hal paid no attention to the reprimand. Pyke’s comments about Swedes came back to him—that they were settling beyond the Delaware where Hal was claiming to have come from. While he was turning that over in his head, John’s cross mood vanished as swiftly as it had come.

  “Never mind all that, Hal,” John said. “We have only until nightfall to get ready and I am not sure how we can do it.”

  “Should we send someone for your father?” Hal suggested.

  “No.” John rubbed both sides of his head. It was obvious that he would have preferred to say yes. “No, it will take too long to send for him and then wait for him to come back. We will have to handle it ourselves. The provisions at the inn will stretch; they will have to. Even if we did not plan for this many, we are heavily supplied before Christmas and if I cut into those supplies, we will be able to replenish over time. I can mark what we will need and have mother begin the preparations. Gustavus and his daughter, for certain, and probably that frozen captain, will stay on the second floor. I will have rooms set. Their men can be squeezed onto the fourth floor; some will be camped with the wagons anyway. Here or camped, they will all eat. We can manage them. It is the horses, though.” He groaned. “Seven wagons and thirty men-at-arms. Figure sixty horses at least. Seventy to be safe. That’s half a ton of hay a day, even doing no work. When that storm damaged the back shed, we lost a lot of hay.”

  Hal remembered that. A driving wind and cold, heavy rain had taken part of the roof off one of the sheds. He and John had gone up on the roof the next day to repair it. Hal had no idea how to repair a roof and had been petrified by the thought of falling. John, though, had thought the whole project a lark, scampering around the roof shouting instructions that might, or might not, have made sense. As scared as Hal had been, he would not let the boy see it, so he did the work and, somehow, it seemed to hold together. But the fodder had been lost. “We will have to go into the supplies for the winter,” he said, “just as with the food.”

  “It’s worse,” John said. “After the harvest, that’s all the hay there is. It’s not like eggs—hens lay more—or an extra hog can be slaughtered, or hunters bring in game. People eat all sorts of things and there are ways to get them. But horses are particular. Grains we have, but the hay is short and if we use so much now, everyone around will know we’re hard up later.”

  Hal heard the unspoken sentence in his head. If people knew the Slades were hard up, late in the winter, the price of any hay they could get would be very dear. Then Hal remembered the overheard conversation from the previous day. “John, I think I can take care of the hay. People were talking in town about a farmer complaining about stolen horses, mostly saying he’s a drunk and let them loose. Well, lost or stolen, they don’t eat hay in his barn. I’ll need to take a wagon and some money.”

  John Slade gave him a hard look, doubtless the same one generations of Slades had given when money was mentioned. It took him only a few seconds to realize that Hal was unlikely to dash away into the frozen and snowbound world just because he had some cash in his pocket. He pulled open a small drawer in the desk and pulled out a purse. “Here.” He tossed it over to Hal. “My father always keeps this here just for this sort of problem. It will have to be e
nough; that’s all I have. Take my heavy cloak also. It’s deuced cold out there.”

  ‘Deuced cold’ was a tremendous understatement, Hal thought, as he sat on the buckboard of the open wagon. Up ahead, the two brown horses pulled the wagon down the road south of Gap that was distinguished as a road mostly by two parallel ruts in the snow. Clouds streamed back from the horses’ nostrils, but otherwise the animals seemed to tolerate the outing well. The same could not be said for Hal, who felt that every part of him not covered by two layers of wool was frozen and numb.

  As much as possible, Hal let the horses find their own way down the road. He had learned enough to put them on the right road—at least, he hoped the farmer was Simmons and that John had given him the right road—but he remained ignorant of the finer aspects of driving a wagon. His memory told him that he had covered terrain on days like this in the comfort of a heated, self-propelled car with a navigation system that told him the way to go. Again, with his memories came the doubts. What was real? When he thought about the contradictions, he worried that he would never find the answers he wanted, even if he somehow made it to Nieuw Amsterdam.

  There was nothing new in those thoughts so Hal put them aside to concentrate on his business. John had told him that Joseph Simmons farmed about fifty acres south and west of Gap, a relatively isolated area still.

  The Simmons farmhouse sat in the middle of a cleared area on flat ground. It was a small, unpainted building with smoke rising from two chimneys. There were no trees near the house, which told Hal that Simmons was at least careful and industrious about his dwelling. The shade from a tree was enough to promote rot in the shingles of the roof and, even worse, a tree too near a house could blow over on it in a storm. Most of Simmons’ land was cleared, although Hal could see one field of girdled trees west of the house. He stopped the wagon to open the gate, then drove up to the front of the house. Joseph Simmons met him at the door, clutching a musket in one hand. Behind him, Hal could see a sheathed sword leaning against the wall.

  “What do you want, boy?” Simmons was a thin man, with sparse gray hair and bad teeth. He stood bareheaded in the cold.

  “If you please, Mr. Simmons, I’m Hal Christianson from the English Inn, Jack Slade’s place.”

  “I know Slade,” Simmons said. “You’re that Swedish hire-at-will of his. What do you want here?”

  Hal licked his chapped lips and launched his pitch. “I’ve heard the talk in town about your horses. Stands to reason, you’ve got fodder you can’t use and I’m sure you could use some cash for it. I spoke to Mr. Slade and he told me that if you weren’t asking too much we could help you out. We see enough traffic at the inn that I’m sure we can use it.”

  “You thinking if I was drunk enough to lose horses, I’ll be drunk enough to give the fodder away free? That what you think? I know the talk in town.”

  “N—no.” Hal licked his lips again. “I don’t care about that part of the talk. All I’m interested in is hay, and however the horses are gone doesn’t matter. The hay isn’t getting eaten. We’ll pay fair for it.” Hal stopped and waited. Maybe the only issue was Simmons’ pride. He doubted that Simmons knew the inn was short of hay and, in any case, the farmer could not know about Gustavus Jonsson.

  Simmons took plenty of time before answering. “How do you propose to pay for it?” he said at last.

  “Hard cash,” Hal answered, which in Nieuw Netherlands meant guilders. “Mr. Slade said I can show it to you if you need to see it first.”

  “Nay, that’s not necessary, boy. I’ll see it if we make a deal. Tell me, though, Jack Slade’s always been a man to drive a hard bargain. Why does he want my hay?”

  “It’s like I said,” Hal told him, “we can use it and a bit extra is a good thing in a hard winter. It seemed likely you would sell at a reasonable price.”

  “Doesn’t mean I’m looking to give it away.”

  “I never suggested that. Sir, if this is going to take a while, could I please come in? It’s awful cold out here.”

  The moment Simmons smiled and ushered him in, Hal knew they would make a deal.

  • • •

  Later that afternoon Hal headed back to the inn, the wagon piled high with bales of hay. He was sore from loading it, Simmons’ sons having been of little use, but not as sore as he expected. He had marveled most of the way back, in fact, that he could now sink a baling hook into a fifty-pound bale of hay and heave it onto the wagon in a smooth motion. Simmons would have sold him even more, but Hal had been limited by the capacity of the one wagon he had. Simmons had been content in the end with a mere sixty percent of what Hal guessed the fodder would have brought on the market at the end of the summer, and God alone knew how much less than the price it would bring if word went around that Jack Slade was desperate. Still, Hal figured that the deal had been good for Simmons, too, and he felt good about that. Without the animals, the hay was worthless. The money would help the Simmons family through the winter, even if it would not replace the missing horses.

  With the wagon fully loaded, it took Hal far longer to return than his trip out had taken. He had forgotten, or overlooked, the fact that a horse’s speed was contingent on the weight of the load it was pulling. Consequently, given the short December day, it was nearly dark by the time he arrived at the inn. Mr. Slade had arrived sometime before that, approved most of his son’s undertaking, and thrown himself into the work. Both he and his son were standing in the front room when Hal came in.

  John’s face shone with relief at the sight of Hal coming through the door. “My God, Hal,” he exclaimed, “thank God you’re back. I was trying to explain to Father. I was thinking . . .”

  “You were thinking I had taken the money and run,” Hal finished.

  “No, not at all,” John protested, blushing. “I was concerned that something had happened.”

  Hal found that a bit lame but decided to let it pass for sincere. He was more interested in what Old Jack thought. In fact, what Jack Slade was interested in was how much hay Hal had bought, how much it had cost, and let us skip any non-essential talk for now, please. When Hal gave him the answers, his face broke into a broad grin.

  “Well!” he thumped Hal on the back in the first display of physical affection Hal had ever seen from the man. “Sounds like you squeezed him down really good. I like that, boy, I like that a lot.”

  Hal reflected that Slade might like it a bit less when he eventually learned of Simmons’ straits. He would then, like as not, want to know why the price had not been half again lower. However, it would probably take some time before that news reached Slade, so Hal could put off any potential day of reckoning. He had not wanted to squeeze Simmons any more than he had.

  Any further conversation was put off by the growing clatter of hooves and wheels in the street that announced the arrival of Gustavus’ wagons. From the window, those wagons could be seen going past the inn, up the north road to a field where they could be watched over by Gustavus’ men while the horses were brought back to the stables to be cared for. The main body of mounted men, all thirty wearing surcoats of light blue with yellow facings, dismounted and congregated at the front door. The first man through the door was Gustavus. Even without ever having seen the man before, Hal did not need to ask who he was. It was not that he looked like a Swede—Hal looked far more Swedish than Gustavus did—but that the way he strode into the inn made it obvious that he was in charge. Gustavus was six feet tall with light brown hair, graying at the temples and in his thin beard. His twinkling blue eyes were the only part of him that could be said to look Nordic. Under his heavy outer woolen cloak, he wore a coat of light blue velvet and a shirt of snow-white linen with a little ruff at the throat. Those clothes alone would have marked him for a man of wealth and power had not his bearing proclaimed him a leader.

  “Ah, my good Mr. Slade. It has been a long time since I have seen you.” Gustavus’ English held the same odd accent as Hayry’s.

  “A while indeed,” Sla
de said. “I believe that it has been two years since we have seen you here.”

  “So it probably is,” Gustavus agreed. “It is an odd thing that the bigger a business becomes, the less one actually sees any part of it. When Hayry told me you could handle everything, I was very pleased. I was hoping you could. Communications are still miserable between here and our outposts beyond the Delaware. Are these your sons?” He indicated John and Hal, who were standing next to one another. “Pardon my memory, but I thought you had only one.”

  “There is nothing wrong with your memory,” said Jack Slade. “This is John, my son, who now takes much more of the responsibility than when you were here last. The other is Mr. Hal Christianson, a hire-at-will, a hard worker with a good mind for a deal. Much of our readiness is due to them.”

  Hal thought he would fall over. Spreading praise around was not one of Jack Slade’s habits.

  Gustavus inclined his head slightly to each of them, then turned around as others entered the front room. “Ah, Johanna! Gentlemen, may I present my daughter? Johanna, Mr. Jack Slade, I have mentioned him to you, his son, John, and Mr. Hal Christianson.”

  She left her heavy wrap with a servant who stood next to her and stepped forward to make a little bow to each of them. When she came over to Hal, he felt his heart flutter. Johanna Jonsson was tall for a girl, almost as tall as her father. Her straight hair, truly blond, fell half way down her back and framed the widest blue eyes Hal had ever seen. The cold had given her upper cheeks a rosy glow, while below, where her muffler had covered them, they were a delicate pastel. She wore a white dress that fell to her ankles, with ruffles running down the front. It was fitted to show off her figure. Hal could have closed his hands around that slender waist.