by P. N. Elrod
My first instinct was to turn and drag her away from the awful sight, which I did. She made no protest. Her feet tangled one against the other; I lifted her up by the elbows until we were well distanced and set her down with a jolt. She swayed against me, gasping for air.
“My God, it was just how you looked,” she said, trembling.
Her words cut right through me, gouged into my vitals, and tore out again leaving behind chaos and a kind of blank agony.
Too much had happened. The rest and retreat I so desperately needed now forced themselves upon me. For a few minutes I simply could not think. It’s a truly terrible thing to go through, when nothing—absolutely nothing—fills the mind. You don’t really forget anything, not names or facts or memories, you just can’t get to them. I was a sudden simpleton, unable to move or speak, unaware of time or events. I was in a closed box, sealed fast shut, nothing would go in or out. Like a coffin.
Elizabeth’s voice finally made a crack in its surface. She shook my shoulders, insistently calling my name.
“I’m all right,” I replied to whatever question she’d asked.
“Are you?”
I breathed in a great draft of fresh night air and managed to recover a little of what passed for my wits. A glance at her worried face helped most to sort things. It was damned selfish to give in to such weakness when she needed me. I decided my legs would hold me after all. “Not really, but it will have to do. What of yourself?”
She was unwell, but not the kind to faint, and told me as much.
“Stay here,” I said. An unnecessary request. She wasn’t about to budge. I was compelled to return for another view of the calamity. Awful as it was, I could not allow myself to be bullied by my fears. It would be bad, but better than giving myself over to foul imaginings.
It was bad enough, but worsened when I recognized him.
The dead man was Hausmann, the young fellow who had wanted land, a family, a new life. His life taken, his dreams dead, the children to come never born, he was so horrible and yet so pathetic. The two balanced each other to promote equal amounts of revulsion and pity. Was this what had happened to me? Was that the sight that had made my father cry out so?
Yes and yes.
Then unexpectedly, came the rage. It washed over me like a scarlet tide, fiery hot, frighteningly strong.
Who had done this?
Nash had dismounted and regarded his man with a sad, hard face. During his life he had probably seen much of death, but he did not appear to be overly callous. He looked at me and flinched. I ignored it.
“Nash, I want to get the bastard who did this.”
“We will, Mr. Barrett,” he said, sounding nettled, perhaps, that I was presuming too much upon his goodwill.
To the devil with it. “Nash, listen to me. . . .”
He flinched again, his eyelids fluttering as though against a strong wind. “Tonight we are going to hunt down whoever did this and take him. Do you understand?”
He struggled for breath. Not all of the men could follow my words, but they read my intent well enough. Those closest fell back.
“Do you understand?”
He was unable to speak and only just managed to nod. He’d gone very white and, when I released him, staggered a little. One of his men muttered and made a surreptitious gesture with his hand. I’d seen something similar while visiting one of the Dutch towns on the west end of the island. It had been explained to me as being a sign to ward off the evil eye. I ignored that, too. Let them think what they liked as long as they obeyed Nash’s orders—and Nash obeyed mine.
I gave instructions, then grabbed up my horse’s forgotten reins and stalked back to Elizabeth. “Nash has picked out two trustworthy men. They’re to escort you safely to Father—”
“What?”
“I’m going to stay and help him settle things.”
“You’re what?” She had heard me, but wasn’t ready to accept it.
“I have to do this.”
“You have to see Father!”
“Later.”
“Jonathan—”
“No. Listen to me. The bastard that killed me may have killed that poor soul as well. I can’t let another hour pass without doing something about it.”
She looked over at the men standing by the corpse. “But Father—”
“Will understand.”
“Are you so sure?”
I was and I wasn’t and could form no answer for her, only frame another question. “Do you understand?”
Again she looked past me, then right at me. Her hand touched my chest where the musket ball had shattered every aspect of our lives, then fell away. “I’m afraid I do.”
Relief, elation, love. “Thank you, sister.”
“Thank me later, when I’m in a better mind to take it.”
I lifted her up onto the saddle and gave her the reins. “If I’m not back before dawn don’t worry, it only means that I had to find shelter for the day. Should that happen, meet me at the old barn tomorrow after sunset. I’d come to the house, but. . . .”
She leaned down and her fingers dug into my shoulder. Her voice shook. “As long as you do come back, Jonathan. Because I couldn’t possibly bear to lose you twice.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Nash and I made a thorough inspection of the area and drew a few conclusions. Hausmann had been shot at fairly close range and died where he’d fallen. His long rifle, bayonet, powder horn, and other gear were gone, along with whatever coin he might have possessed. Nash took the stripping of the body in stride and even seemed to approve.
“It’ll make it that much easier to identify the rascals and hang ’em,” he said.
There’d been at least two, perhaps more. The footprints were too muddled for us to make much sense of them. Our own tracks added to the confusion, but I was able to find where the rebels had crossed the road to head over the fields.
“They may be trying to get back to Suffolk County,” I grumbled. “They’ll find no lack of help there. The whole place stinks of sedition.”
“Oh, yes, the ‘Sons of Liberty.”‘ He added, “More like the sons of bitches. But if they’re going to Suffolk, I should think it would be faster to stay on the road.”
“Not if they know the land. The road curves farther along and would take them too much out of their way.”
“We can’t hope to follow them at night, not through all that with only a lantern.” He motioned at the fields.
“Then have your man put out the light so our eyes can get used to the dark.”
“Mr. Barrett, this is most impractical!”
“Or leave it by that poor boy’s body. At least then no one will fall over him.”
He had no objections to that suggestion. Someone had placed Hausmann in order, straightening his limbs and covering his face with a handkerchief. With the lantern sitting incongruously in the dust close by his head, he looked more macabre than when we’d first found him. My anger welled up again, for him, for me, for the grief that had happened in my wake and that which was to come.
Nash sent one man back to Glenbriar on my horse to fetch more troops. He might have been content to wait for their arrival, but I was conscious that the night was swiftly passing.
“If we tarry here the rebels will either bury themselves in Suffolk or have found a boat to take them across the Sound. We must set out now and let the others catch us up as they can.”
“Their orders are to look for the men who were here to start with,” Nash clarified.
“My guess is that if that lot are still alive, they’ll be in pursuit of the rebels as well.”
“My God, in this murk we could end up shooting each other.”
“Lieutenant, I know this country well and can see excellently in the dark and thus will be able to prevent such an occurrence, let
us cease wasting time and proceed.”
My voice had taken on an edge that he recognized and was not ready to contest. He gave some brief orders and indicated that I should lead the way. We left the road in single file, each man within sight of the one before him, the last one in line leading Nash’s horse. Though it was obvious they were taking pains to be quiet, the whole parade seemed ludicrously noisy to me. I winced with every careless footstep and snapped twig and fervently hoped the darkness would provide us the same cover it gave those we hunted.
Free of such limitations, I remained alert to the movement and place of each leaf and branch. It served. Some dozen yards along our rustic path I spied additional tracks heading away from the road. I did not point them out to Nash, as it was unlikely he’d be able to see, but they confirmed my guess that our destination would be somewhere in Suffolk County. Our quarry would be lost for good, then.
Unless we hurried.
I urged Nash to greater speed and damn the noise.
With Elizabeth gone, a portion of my mind gave in to the temptation to think of the events of the last two nights as being a ghastly nightmare from which I might eventually awaken. I knew in my heart that this was nonsense, but as if to confound the facts and confirm the fancy came a near-repetition of what had set everything off.
Ahead, a figure suddenly raised himself from cover and fired at us.
I saw the flash and smoke, heard the crashing report—and froze.
As before, I simply could not take in the idea that anything untoward was taking place. A foolish assumption, considering what I’d been through, and selfish, to tarry there like a lout and not 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 and lifted up just enough for a look around.
The man that had shot at us was quickly bearing himself away.
I muttered 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 trot; 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. Being 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 almost kicked him again, but I persuaded him to hold off. Though a good beating might serve to satisfy the need for revenge 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,” snarled 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 sign 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 read aloud 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 to listen to me. . . .”
“I’ll listen to no one,” he snapped back.
“Listen to me, I say”
“The devil I will!”
I stopped cold and blinked. What was the matter with the man? I stared right at him and nothing I said made any impression at all. As though 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 comrades 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’ hands 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 got the correct idea, subsiding when his captor drew a slow finger across his own throat while making an appropriate hissing sound. After that Andrews was slightly less truculent.
As we continued forward, I found signs that others had gone by earlier: trampled plants, broken branches. They’d been in great haste.
“I don’t think they’re far ahead,” I confided to Nash. He invited me to enlarge upon that opinion. “They must have heard us coming; 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?”
“There’s an excellent chance that he was meant to fire, then run after them. They may only be just ahead.”
Now Nash
completely stopped. “Meaning that those rascals are certainly lying in ambush for us.”
“Possibly, but I rather think they’re 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 into an 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 a soldier’s duty—and performing it better. “Very well, but no more than one hundred yards.”
I intended to travel as far as was necessary. “Good. If you will instruct your man to give me Andrews’ musket. . . and now I’ll just trade hats with him.”
Andrews listened to this exchange and instantly saw the danger it meant to his companions. He began to shout a warning, but I cut that off 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’ belly did I dare to remove my smothering hand. He groaned and gasped 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 weight and long barrel of the musket were awkward. I had to mind where it pointed lest it catch on something above or to the side.
My much-improved sight was a godsend, though; I quickly reached my hundred-yard limit.
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 long 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. My problem was not knowing jst how long he would wait.
I trotted, 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 Rolly. For a time the sheer joy of movement overcame the goal behind my chase.
