Accidental Warrior: The Unlikely Tale of Bloody Hal

by Colin Alexander

  “I am most pleased to meet you,” Hal said, hoping that there was some way of making her pleased to see him.

  Her reply was soft, but neutral, although Hal was certain there had been a hint of a smile around her eyes when she looked at him. Then she left with Mrs. Slade to be shown her room and Hal thought the light in the room had dimmed. There was a small gust beside him as John let out the breath he had been holding.

  Hal was still looking to where Johanna had disappeared up the stairs when Jack Slade grabbed his upper arm. That grip brought him back to the reality of the front room very fast.

  “Listen to me,” Slade whispered. It was almost a hiss. “I want you helping in the dining room tonight. Gustavus has brought a God damned army with him so the room’s going to be full of soldiers. I want you there when the women are serving. You see that they keep their hands off Mrs. Slade and Mary. I know Gustavus keeps discipline but still, soldiers and alcohol are a recipe for trouble.”

  How Hal was supposed to see to it that the soldiers kept their hands off the women he had no idea. But it didn’t matter. He would be in the dining room that evening with Johanna. That would be worth any of the trouble that Slade foresaw.

  8

  Trouble at Dinner

  TROUBLE THERE WAS, although it did not come in the way that Slade expected and Hal feared. At first, it seemed that any such fears were overblown. The dining room was, of course, immaculate before the evening meal was served. To get it that way, the last of the afternoon regulars who came for Slade’s beer had been chased out, the dining area closed for a “special dinner.” Mrs. Slade was a fanatic about having the floors swept and the tables scrubbed under normal circumstances. With Gustavus and his daughter coming to dinner at the inn, the wooden surface of the big trestle table was scrubbed to the point it seemed polished. The innumerable dark rings of beer mugs past might be indelible, but by the time Nell Slade was done supervising the cleaning, they could almost have been part of the wood grain. Fires snapped and crackled in the hearths at each end of the room, flames leaping high from the logs Hal had split and hauled in. With the flames and the oil lamps, the room was both warm and bright in contrast to the night outside. Hal leaned on his mop and surveyed the scene with satisfaction. It was quiet, comfortable, almost perfect.

  The quiet ended abruptly with the tromp of Captain Hayry’s boots at the entrance to the dining room. He strode through the room, paying no attention to Hal, checking the table, the benches, the floor and, it appeared, the number of logs available to reinforce the fires.

  “It will do,” he said, more to himself than to Hal. Then he marched out the way he had come in.

  That seemed to be the signal for the rest of the Swedes. Fully twenty of Hayry’s men filed into the room. All of them were dressed in the light-blue uniform jacket with yellow facings. A sword hung from each belt. They stood quietly until Hayry and Gustavus entered with Johanna between them. Hal hurried to put the mop away, all the while trying to keep Johanna in view. She had changed into a long gown of blue velvet adorned by yellow ribbons that matched her hair. A similarly colored lace decorated the cuffs of her sleeves and neck of her dress. Gustavus seated her at the head of the table nearest the fire. Although the table was wide enough to fit three there, no one sat next to her. Gustavus and Hayry took their seats at the adjacent corners, right by the table end where Johanna sat. The rest of the troopers sorted themselves along the main table, by rank it seemed. Some took the smaller tables around the sides of the room. And that was where the peaceful part of the evening ended.

  A bang from the outer door resounded through the first floor of the inn and more feet could be heard in the hallway leading to the dining room. Through the doorway came a large man with a florid face, his dark hair and full beard flecked with gray. He wore an orange surcoat, more brown than orange from stains and dirt in many places, with three white stripes, equally dirty, along each sleeve. Three other men, dressed in brown to tan uniforms that could be called butternut, crowded in behind him.

  “Slade!” he shouted, “Dinner is being set and us not invited. The lack of graciousness astonishes.”

  The shout brought Old Jack bustling into the room from the entrance at the opposite corner. “No offense was intended. We have a large party for the evening meal tonight. There were no invitations to anyone.”

  “Then if not by invitation,” the man said, “we would be welcome, of course.”

  “Of course,” said Slade. He turned to Gustavus and said, “This is Captain Peter Tewes, stationed here by the Provisional Government, whose men guard this town.”

  “And tax its roadways,” Gustavus finished. “We know Captain Tewes.”

  Then Tewes and his men wanted to be seated at the main table with Gustavus. After some glares back and forth, Gustavus gave a brief hand signal. Four of the Swedish party withdrew to the side tables so that Tewes and his men could be seated.

  While this was going on, Slade summoned Hal to him with a frantic wave. “Get beer in front of all these men. Beer and food. Beer first. Quickly, quickly.”

  Hal and Mary rushed to put full mugs in front of each man in the room. Along with the mugs came bowls of Mrs. Slade’s famous stew, the stew she had started the moment Hayry had left John and Hal what now seemed like an eon ago. The stew was tasty enough to be famous in the town—good-sized chunks of meat flavored with spices from the Indies that Slade bargained for each summer—but it was famous at the inn, too, because the stew could be thinned as needed, if the number of customers exceeded expectation, without compromising that flavor. The thick brown sauce also allowed the source of the meat to vary, which it would as the winter dragged on. Loaves of bread came with it: thick, light brown and warm, the better to sop up remnants of the stew. Between the food and the drink, mouths were too busy with chewing and swallowing to engage in arguing, at least for a while.

  Tewes drained his beer while the mugs were still coming out, before the stew had made it to his place, then reached out to pinch Mary when she came to replace it. She squeaked, he drained the replacement and Hal decided that he would bring Tewes his third. Tewes looked disappointed at that. It was only in the middle of that third beer that Tewes reached for the stew. Hal saw that Johanna did not have a beer, so he brought one over to her. She did not seem interested in it, but doing so let him be next to her for a little while. The quiet—or more precisely, the absence of argument, as there was much loud chewing and belching—did not last longer than the stew.

  “So, Gustavus,” Tewes said, wiping the foam of his fourth beer from his moustache, “you mentioned taxes. These roads have tolls to pay for the upkeep. I will expect yours on the morrow.”

  “It will be paid as it always is,” Gustavus said. “The Provis have not had reason to complain of us.”

  “But we should have reason to complain,” said Hayry. “The tolls are even more than under the old governor and they should be less. That was the promise.”

  “Speak to Provisional Governor Harmsworth,” said Tewes, “not to me.”

  “We should,” said a grizzled man with sandy hair seated next to Hayry. “I’ve been up this road with our trains for many a year. That extra, and some of the toll besides, is disappearing into Captain Tewes’ pocket, you can be sure. He served the old governor the same way and is still here even with the Provis, though he should have been replaced.”

  Hal stole a glance at Gustavus. He was calmly drinking his beer. If he was bothered that one of his men had accused the Provi captain, it did not show.

  Tewes’ expression did not change with the accusation. “Replaced?” he said. “We swore loyalty to Harmsworth and the Provis, same as many others.”

  “No surprise you turned your coats, you English who served the Dutch,” Gustavus’ man continued. “The Provis still fly the Prinzenvlag, but it’s an English government these days. Think that means you’re trusted, just because your Provi masters are mostly English, too?”

  “General Verplanck swore to
the Provis, too,” Tewes protested. “He’s as Dutch as they come, commands the Army of the North at Fort Orange—the loyalest of the loyal, they used to say. Yet he swore. And what’s Dutch, anyway? Half of ’em Portuguese, another half from the Indies, black as Satan, all ranjy-blanjy arses just the same. Not like the English.”

  “Ah, yes, the pure English,” Hayry said. “All glory to God, fuckin’ Puritans, and we know they fuck because there’re so damned many of them. Breed like vermin.”

  Tewes sloshed beer into his mouth. Some of it spattered on the table; some dribbled down his beard. “Say what you like, at least the English will pay what they say. Fuckin’ ranjy-blanjys are so damned tight they’ll sift out the chamber pots on the off chance someone swallowed a coin.”

  Hayry laughed, but it was a laugh without humor. “You think the Dutch are tight? You English Holier-than-thous don’t pinch pennies, you make ’em scream. If the Holies don’t sift out the chamber pots it’s only because they won’t shit at all, ’cause they won’t give up anything they’ve got.”

  The grizzled man beside Hayry stiffened and looked at Hayry, but said nothing.

  Tewes did not keep silent, however. “The Provis ain’t the Puritans in Boston,” he said. “But, I bet that’s how Slade makes his money here. Boy!” He pointed at Hal. “That what you do every morning? Strain out the shit looking for swallowed coin?”

  Suddenly, Hal felt the stare of everyone in the room. What should he do? How could they be making jokes about chamber pots over bowls of Mrs. Slade’s thick brown stew? But they weren’t joking. Those eyes around the table said murder. It occurred to Hal that, other than Johanna, he was the only one in the room who was unarmed. Slade had vanished.

  “N—no,” he started to stammer. Then he realized Johanna was staring at him, her blue eyes wide. Do something, he told himself. “At least, not if it’s an Englishman in an orange coat, I don’t,” he said. “They don’t shit at night. They only shit before a fight and then it’s not in a pot anyway.”

  Oh my God, he thought, almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Why did I say that? He remembered friendly arguments over beer in a dorm. This was different. Impressing Johanna wasn’t going to do him any good if Tewes or any of the other Provis drew a sword.

  To his relief, Gustavus chuckled. Even Hayry’s face had a hint of a smile. Tewes, though, was struggling to rise, hand on his sword hilt.

  “You are going to draw on an unarmed man?” There was no humor in Hayry’s voice. “That’s a coward’s move. Maybe an English one; en Svensk would never do that.”

  “Swedes.” Tewes spat on the floor that had been so carefully mopped. “You’re all more Finn than Swede, and more savage than both put together.”

  At that Hayry did rise, his hand on his sword hilt.

  “Peace, Captain.” Gustavus raised his hand. “You know, if it wasn’t for the Finns and their farming methods, I don’t think we’d have lasted after the Sickness, even though isolation spared our towns from that. And as for savages, well, we all did what we had to do to survive in those days. There’s savage blood in you, Tewes, and more than a little I’d guess.” Gustavus’ tone hardened at the end.

  Tewes chose to ignore Gustavus’ last comment. Instead he pointed at Hayry. “You have your man sit down and take his hand away from that blade.”

  Hayry replied, “Maybe you should stand up and draw yours.”

  At that, the room went silent. Tewes stared at Hayry, but he did not move. Neither did any of his men.

  “Anderson,” Gustavus said into that silence, “please escort Johanna to her room.”

  The sandy-haired man nodded and left the bench, taking care to stay away from Hayry’s sword arm. Johanna had gone very pale. Her breaths were so shallow that it almost seemed she was not breathing at all. When Anderson proffered his arm, she took it and rose from the table. Why didn’t I offer to escort her, Hal asked himself. They wouldn’t have let you was his silent answer, but even though it was correct, he chided himself for not making the offer. As soon as Johanna had left the room, Gustavus turned back to Tewes.

  “So, Captain Tewes,” he said. “It is rather tight quarters in here, but seeing as it is dark outside I think that we could move this large table to the side and that would create enough space. Then you may settle matters with Captain Hayry. And then, we will see an Englishman shit himself soon enough.”

  Tewes licked his lips. “I represent the Provisional Government in Gap.”

  “So you do. And, as it happens, I have a letter to deliver to Governor Harmsworth and a conversation to have with him along with the letter. That might be made more difficult if I have to explain that my captain killed the representative of his government in a duel. I trust you would not want me to have that difficulty.”

  “I suppose it would be equally difficult if it was your captain that was killed.”

  “That is an unlikely outcome,” Hayry said. His face looked eager.

  “Please, Captain,” Gustavus said, “it is better that we have peace tonight.”

  “And your toll will be paid tomorrow,” Tewes said loudly. “The full amount.”

  “Of course,” said Gustavus. “As you said, you represent the Provisional Government in Gap. However, do not represent it again at my table.”

  Tewes was on his feet now, not entirely steady. By eye he gathered up his men and they stomped into the hallway leading to the outer door.

  “You should have let me kill him,” Hayry said when the Provis were gone.

  “No,” was Gustavus’ reply. “It would complicate matters in Nieuw Amsterdam. I came close to forgetting that myself. Anyway, whoever they send out here as a replacement might be worse, and our train will come through here again next year.” He looked around and found Hal still standing near the place Johanna had occupied. “So, Mr. Hal Christianson, does Mr. Slade’s kitchen have any pie?” Hal nodded. “Good. Please bring us some, and some more of the beer.”

  • • •

  Later in the evening, the dining hall was quiet again. The long trestle table was bare again, too. It had been scrubbed down to clear it of the small puddles of beer and congealed grease and scraps of food that invariably accumulated, the more so when the diners had been drinking heavily. The floor underneath had been swept as well, although it did not really need it. Daphne and Spark, the shepherds, and Jezebel the cat had cleared the area thoroughly. The leftover food, not that there was all that much, had been returned to Mrs. Slade, some destined for the animals, some to be re-worked into a future meal. The dishes and silverware had also made the journey to the kitchen, where Mary had washed and dried them to Mrs. Slade’s satisfaction. The fires in the two hearths still gave out warmth, but had died down to the point where they did not throw much light. Only two of the oil lamps were still lit. They were not much brighter than the fire, so the outside dark seemed to gather in the hall as well. The only sound, save for an occasional crackle from the fire, was the clink of dishes as they were put in the kitchen cabinets.

  The only occupant of the dining hall then was Hal. He sat near the end of the table, a large mug of Jack Slade’s beer in front of him. The beer was a bonus from Slade for the day’s work, most particularly the fodder for the horses, but also for coolly staying in the room when the argument between the Swedes and the Provis had erupted. Hal was a little bemused by that. He did not think that he had done anything notable. Of course, none of the others from the inn, not even Old Jack, had remained in the room. Still, he had stayed only because of Johanna. If Slade misinterpreted that, well, the reward was welcome.

  Hal found the beer heavier, a little more bitter, than the beer he had learned to drink, and it was served warmer. He savored it nonetheless, drinking in well-spaced sips to prolong its lifetime. Between sips, he luxuriated in the sensation of relaxing hard-worked muscles. The beer and the quiet made it easy for his mind to slip into daydreams of Johanna, of them being together. She had said almost nothing throughout the evening and had be
en focused entirely on the table in front of her until Anderson had escorted her out, but Hal’s imagination had no trouble constructing a fantasy where they became inseparable companions. He had just reached the point of Gustavus agreeing to their marriage when the sound of the outer door opening and closing, and of booted feet in the hallway, hauled him back to Jack Slade’s dining hall.

  Two figures entered the dining hall, their faces vague in the dim light. They were dressed similarly in leathers, the leggings tucked into high leather boots, and buckskin jackets. One of the jackets was fringed—a woman’s, Hal assumed. A sword hung from each belt.

  The man strode forward into the light and came to a stop in front of Hal. He was close to Hal’s height and even broader through the shoulders. His features, illuminated by the fire, were middle-aged, his leathery, clean-shaven face seamed with rivers and tributaries of lines. His hair, cropped short, was curly but had withdrawn two inches from the lines of his forehead and was all gray by the temples. He looked menacing, with that craggy old face and black eyes shadowed by heavy eyebrows, but when he spoke, his voice was soft.

  “I know that we have missed your serving, lad,” he said. “It has been a hard day, though, and I would be grateful if you would ask your innkeeper if we might have something to eat.”

  Hal had no knowledge of whether Slade made such arrangements. Mrs. Slade saw to one serving at each mealtime and if you missed it, you were out of luck except for beer and cheese. Those who worked at the inn could always try wheedling Mary or one of the other servants when Mrs. Slade was absent, but Hal doubted that outsiders were welcome in the kitchen.