Prelude to Glory Vol, 3

by Ron Carter

  “Yes. Of course.”

  His voice became quiet, penetrating. “Listen to me carefully. This hospital has a longboat tied to a wharf to transport men to the ships. You will have to go there to get it, and there is no place in New York more dangerous than the waterfront—Canvas Town—in the dark of night. Men hide there who will cut your throat for the coat on your back. Do you have any concept of what I’m trying to tell you?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “In the name of Heaven I hope so. I’ll arrange for four armed soldiers to escort you from here in my carriage. Two will row the boat out to the ship while the other two guard the coach. They will be under strict orders to take you to the ship and return you here, and nothing more. Their muskets will be primed and they will shoot to kill the moment anything threatens. Go directly there and return directly here. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go put on your winter clothing.”

  She changed into a dark, heavy woolen skirt and jacket in her tiny room, then shrugged into her heaviest, ankle-length winter coat. She swept her bonnet from its nail on the back of the door and started to turn the lamp down when she stopped and turned, looking at the small bed. The purse given her by her father, filled with the gold coins and the remaining family jewels, was hidden under the mattress. For a few seconds she pondered before she knelt on the bed and lifted the far edge of the thin canvas sack of straw to grasp the heavy leather drawstrings, and she held the purse in her hands, staring while she made her decision.

  If I have to bribe the captain of the ship, I will.

  She thrust the heavy purse into her coat pocket and flew down the stairs to the library where the doctor was waiting beside his desk. He handed her a paper, folded and sealed.

  “Deliver that to the captain on the ship. He will do all else that is necessary.”

  She nodded as she thrust it into the pocket of her coat with the leather purse.

  “Outside is my carriage and four soldiers. Sergeant Hastings is in charge. They’ll be with you at all times.”

  Again she nodded.

  He dropped his glance to the floor for a moment, then looked her in the eye. “I have misgivings in doing this.” She saw fear in his eyes, and a need she had never seen before as he struggled with his words. “My wife died giving birth to our daughter, and the baby died seventeen days later. She was a dark-eyed beauty, much like you. Be careful.”

  She stood rooted, stunned for a moment, then without thought she stepped to him and reached to kiss him on the cheek as she would have her father. He jerked rigid with shock, then slowly raised his arms to grasp her shoulders and gently push her back.

  He followed her to the front door and watched as the two armed soldiers escorted her to the carriage hitched to a high-headed gray gelding, heavy with long winter hair, vapors rising from its nostrils into the still, frigid night air. Two of the uniformed regulars helped her into the passenger compartment of the coach then entered to sit opposite her while the remaining two mounted the driver’s seat. The driver clucked to the horse and the carriage swung into motion and was gone in the gathering dusk.

  The only sounds were the creaking of the carriage, the clatter of the wheels, and the horse in the empty street as the driver worked his way east towards the shipyards below Catharine Street on the East River. In full darkness he reined in at the office of the harbormaster, with the night lights of more than twenty ships dotting the blackness south of the wharves. Inside, the rotund little man on night duty studied his great scale drawing of the harbor, then tapped a stubby finger on a small circle that lay in deep water four hundred yards south of the Battery on the southern tip of New York.

  “There she is. The Dolphin. A plague ship if ever one sailed the high seas.” He raised his face defiantly. “And she’s coming no closer to this island than she is right now.” He shrugged into his great overcoat. “Follow me and I’ll point out her lights.”

  Five minutes later the driver reined the horse around and the iron horseshoes struck sparks from the cobblestones as he worked his way southwest in the blackness, past the high-walled Battery, then angled west to stop at the first of the wharves. Canvas Town began two hundred yards further north.

  Under a moonless black vaulted heaven lighted only by starlight, the two soldiers climbed from the driver’s seat while the two inside the carriage stepped down to help Mary to the cobblestones. The tides were high and rising, and the boats tied to the wharf were undulating on the incoming sea swells. The only sounds in the darkness were the rapid breathing of the horse and the lapping of the black, frigid seawater against the pilings as Sergeant Hastings shivered and gave his orders.

  “Shouldn’t be much more than ‘alf hour. Watch the buggy and horse sharp and keep a keen eye. Never can tell about those bloody criminals in Canvas Town. ‘Alf a dozen men in there would cut all our throats fer the price the doctor’s ‘orse and carriage would bring.”

  The soldier facing him hunched his shoulders against the biting cold. He pointed north towards the blackness that hid Canvas Town. “It’s not to my likin’ to be standin’ in the dark ‘ere on this bloody wharf fer very long knowin’ wots over there ready to take everythin’ we’ve got and leave us floatin’ in the bay. Don’t stop fer tea out there on that ship.”

  “Don’t strike a light and they’ll never know you’re here.”

  “They know. We sounded like a regiment of artillery comin’ in, with the ‘orse an’ carriage on those bloody cobblestones.”

  The sergeant turned to Mary. “Ma’am, if you’re ready, we’ll move down the wharf to the doctor’s boat.”

  Together the three walked twenty yards before Hastings stopped and pointed. “Ma’am, that’s the doctor’s boat. If you’re ready, we’ll help you.”

  One soldier steadied the boat while Hastings held Mary’s arm. She took her place on the plank in the bow, and they both followed to sit at the midsection of the boat and drop the oars thumping into the locks. Moments later the men were straining at the oars, moving against the incoming tide. The longboat moved steadily southward, past two great men-of-war to the west, holding a course for the lights of the Dolphin, which rose and fell rhythmically on the incoming sea swells.

  Sergeant Hastings hailed the night watch on the decks of the ship, looming high above them, and two seamen dropped a ladder rattling against the side of the ship. Five minutes later the two soldiers and Mary stood on the decks, facing the two armed seamen and a young ensign who held a lantern, wide-eyed when he recognized Mary to be a woman.

  “Identify yourselves,” he demanded.

  “Sergeant Hastings, his Majesty’s Fifth Northumberland Fusileers. Under orders of Colonel Otis Purcell, medical doctor, to deliver this young lady here. I believe she has written orders for your captain, sir.”

  “Written orders to do what? This is a hospital ship and no lady has business here.”

  “The orders are for your captain, sir.”

  The young man turned on his heel and returned minutes later with a scowling captain.

  “I’m Captain Worley. What’s this about orders from Doctor Purcell?”

  Mary handed him the sealed document and he stared at it for a moment before he broke the seal and turned it to the lantern to read it.

  “Josephus Tanner? You’re looking for a man named Josephus Tanner?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The captain turned to the ensign. “Tell First Mate Bolling to bring the ledger of both the incoming wounded and those who are no longer with us.”

  While they waited the captain turned to Mary. “I regret I cannot invite you to more appropriate accommodations than this freezing deck, ma’am, but this is a hospital ship and it would be folly to invite you below decks.”

  “Your concern does you credit. I understand. I’m fine.”

  Three minutes later a disgruntled First Mate Bolling appeared with two heavy ledgers. “You wanted these, sir?”

  “Yes. Ensign, bring the light. Mr.
Bolling, can you find the name of Josephus Tanner in either ledger?”

  Bolling’s eyes widened. “Now, sir?”

  “While we wait.”

  “Yes, sir.” With the books cradled in one arm, Bolling began a methodical search in the incoming ledger, moving his finger slowly down the pages, silently mouthing the names. Three minutes later his finger stopped. “‘Ere, sir. Josephus Tanner came on board December fourteenth. It was a Saturday, sir. Saturday afternoon.”

  “Very good. Is he still aboard?”

  Bolling shifted the books and again searched. Two minutes ticked by while they stood on the gently rising and falling deck and Bolling steadily moved his finger down all entries after December fourteenth, then checked it again. He closed the register and raised his head. “No, sir. No record I can see of him leaving. ‘E must still be down there.”

  The captain faced Mary. “You have your answer, ma’am. That is all Doctor Purcell requested of me. My men will assist you back into your boat.”

  The captain took one step before Mary reached to grasp his arm, her face pale in the yellow lantern light. “Sir, may I see him? For less than one minute. He has a name that I must know. It is urgent.”

  The captain’s brow furrowed. “I cannot allow you below decks under any circumstance, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

  “Then can you bring him up here?” She stood firm with her feet spread slightly.

  “Ma’am, this uh … visit … is highly unusual to say the least. You have no idea what you’re asking. That man is dying or he wouldn’t be here. To identify him from among the three hundred sixty-eight men down there would take time and to bring him up here on this freezing deck would be extremely difficult.”

  “Captain, please. Please. You’ve no idea what it would mean to get that single name from him. I’m begging. Please let me talk with him for one minute. No more than one minute, I promise.”

  The captain’s face turned to a dark scowl. “The sick are settled for the night. It’s unthinkable to go prowling among them looking for one man.”

  “Captain, I can pay. I have gold coin. Any amount.”

  The captain’s chin rose. “Are you suggesting bribery?”

  Mary’s face clouded and for a moment she stared at the deck. “I’m sorry I insulted you, sir. I didn’t mean it that way. I only meant I would pay for what I want. Is there no way?”

  Sergeant Hastings interrupted. “Sir, is it possible your—”

  He stopped at the sound of a single musket shot that came rolling across the black waters, queerly loud from the shore a quarter mile distant. Every person on the deck turned their face north, peering into the blackness, waiting, watching for the yellow streak of flame and the cracking bang of another shot, but there was nothing. Hastings looked at the soldier by his side and they both looked once more at the shore, fear rising in their breasts. Hastings continued. “Sir, is it possible a surgeon or a nurse would have a list of where the men are down there?”

  The captain turned to Bolling and growled, “Go ask Doctor Dunphy.”

  Five minutes later Bolling returned. “Josephus Tanner is on the third deck, amidships, sir.”

  The captain clasped his hands behind his back and growled, “Bring him here.”

  Twenty minutes later Bolling appeared back on deck leading four men who bore a stretcher covered high with blankets with only the bearded, emaciated face of a dying man exposed. Sores oozed a thick yellow discharge. The young ensign lowered the lantern while Mary quickly knelt.

  “Josephus Tanner, can you hear me?”

  The eyes fluttered open and in the dim lantern light she saw the life slipping away. She leaned close. “Do you remember me? Last fall we talked at Fort Washington about a little girl. A little blue-eyed girl from New Hampshire whose parents were killed a long time ago. She was given to a minister. A reverend. Do you remember?”

  The eyes closed and Mary placed her hand on the blankets covering his chest and shook gently. “Do you remember?”

  The eyes slowly opened once more and his mouth tried to move. The man licked his dry, cankered lips and his head nodded almost imperceptibly.

  Mary realized he was seeing things that only the dying could see. “Do you remember the reverend’s name?”

  His mouth began to work and she brought her ear close. Above her the circle of faces became silent, holding their breath as they waited.

  She closed her eyes and concentrated, her ear only inches from the foul smell of the beard, and slowly the word came.

  “Fielding.”

  “Fielding? You said ‘Fielding’?”

  The head nodded faintly.

  “What other name? Fielding what? From where?”

  The body began to tremble and she watched him gather his ebbing strength and once again his mouth moved.

  “Cyrus. New Hampshire.”

  “Cyrus Fielding of New Hampshire?”

  The head nodded one more time before the eyes closed.

  She touched his chest. “Thank you. Oh, thank you.”

  The four men lifted the stretcher, and the others watched as they carried it back to the stairway, down into the bowels of the ship, their hard leather heels clicking hollow.

  Captain Worley fixed Mary with a stare. “Was there anything else?”

  “No, sir. I scarcely know how to thank you.”

  He nodded curtly. “My men will assist you to your boat.”

  Sergeant Hastings descended the wooden rungs of the rope ladder and steadied it while Mary climbed down into the boat. Moments later they swung the bow of the longboat north with the two soldiers stroking strong.

  Hastings spoke to the man next to him. “I got a bad feelin’ about that musket shot.”

  The other man said nothing as they bent their backs and strained against the oars.

  They nosed the longboat into the wharf, tied it in its berth, and both soldiers cocked their muskets, clicking loud in the darkness before they walked rapidly towards the head of the wharf, Mary between them. They peered wide-eyed, searching to locate the carriage and the horse in the darkness but there were no dark shapes, no sound. They quickly came to the place where they had left it and there was nothing—no sign, no trace.

  Hastings felt the hair on his arms and neck rise as his thoughts leaped. He barked frantically, “To the right, back to the harbormaster’s office. Run!”

  Their pounding footsteps sounded too loud on the cobblestones as they ran east along the waterfront, then followed the curve northward. They had not covered fifty yards when Mary became aware of movement in the shadows to her left, among the black buildings and her breath caught in her throat. Hastings slowed and the soldier to Mary’s right slowed with him, and she saw many black shapes moving, hunched over, dodging among the discarded shipping crates and barrels left in the street.

  Hastings stopped and raised his musket and shouted, “’Ere, get out and show yerselves! I’m Sergeant Randolph Hastings of His Majesty’s Fifth Northumberland Fusileers and I got with me an armed squad and we’re going to fire if you don’t—”

  A musket blasted a three-foot flame from five yards to his left and another musket roared ten yards directly in front of him. He grunted and threw his arms high and went down backwards, his own musket clattering in the street. The soldier to Mary’s right fired his musket at the muzzle flame and in that instant three more muskets blasted from straight ahead and the soldier buckled over forward and went to his knees before he toppled over.

  Instantly Mary turned on her heel and sprinted back the way they had come, her only thought: run, run, run! She passed the wharf where the doctor’s boat was tied, legs driving, not caring where she was going, aware only that behind her were men who would kill her if they caught her. She reached the near limits of Canvas Town and pounded on without thought until she was gasping and battling for breath. Only then did she slow and crouch behind a jumbled heap of charred roof timbers left jammed against the side of a burned-out warehouse. She struggled for seconds
to control her breathing, then held it while she listened. From the pinpoints of ship lights out on the black harbor came the clanging of brass bells as the eight o’clock watch was changed. She heard the sounds of invisible men running on the cobblestones, their guttural voices growing stronger as they came closer.

  “Couldn’t tell for certain, but it looked like a woman. Can’t be far.” Sounds of abandoned barrels and crates being overturned and thrown into the street became louder.

  In wild desperation she forced her mind to think.

  Can’t go farther into the streets of Canvas Town—can’t hide in the buildings—too many robbers—too many traps. Only way is the harbor—the water.

  Quickly she pivoted to her left, hunched low, and ran across the street onto the frozen snow where the dirt joined the heavy timbers of the wharf. She slowed to work her way soundlessly across the wooden beams to the far edge, where the longboats were moored, each in its berth. She jerked the rope knot that tied a longboat to the big iron ring on the wharf and set it adrift. Then she sucked in her breath, set her chin, and carefully lowered herself into the water, gasping as her skirt billowed upward in the water and the terrible numbing bite hit her legs. It reached just past her waist before her feet touched bottom. She threw her weight against the bow of the longboat and pushed it away from the wharf with all her strength and watched it move out, slow, and stop.

  Then she turned in the water, arms held high, and moved back between the great pilings supporting the wharf. She felt floating trash and debris bump and then she ducked her head and shoulders as the water became more shallow, and then she was on her knees in a foot of water and could go no further under the wharf. She remained there in the muck and slime and the floating trash, battling to control her breathing, making no sound.

  She heard a rustle and a movement to her right, and then another, and realized she was among rats, coming to investigate what had washed up under the wharf. Her gorge rose sour in her throat and she swallowed and shuddered, trying to control her wild revulsion, trying not to scream or retch.