Infernal Revolutions (62 page)

‘That's right, citizen, ‘tis the 85th Foot in there. The biggest bunch of rogues and cowards ever to pollute the air of this wondrous continent.'

As if personally insulted by this remark, a ball from the 85th then whizzed past my right ear and took off the scoundrel's hat, much to his vexation. Belatedly aware I was in great danger myself, I felt a sudden desire to stop this madness, and this begot an idea that I would never have thought of in a less heightened state. Realizing that I was in a unique position to settle this dispute and redeem my sullied reputation in the process, I sought out the ear of the nearest officer to hand – a young ruddy-faced captain of the artillery – and shouted to him my proposal. Not particularly interested, it took him some time to pass the proposal on to another officer, who – not particularly interested either judging by the similar sluggishness of his reaction – in turn passed it on to Major General Sullivan, who agreed it was worth a try straight away. So, thirty minutes and several unnecessary deaths after my initial offer, the American firing stopped and I was marching out between the two adversaries in the dispute. With great waves of my arms and an astonishing absence of fear, I implored cessation of the British firing. As I advanced, I heard a volley of female shrieks behind me, and the cry ‘Oh my God it's Harry!' from Sophie. Knowing that many of the British soldiers were short-sighted, I was not surprised that the odd ball still came at me from the Hall, but these became less frequent the further I advanced. Then, pleasingly, just as I stopped halfway between the cannon and the Hall, I heard Sophie's cry repeated in front of me, from several different voices.

‘Yes!' I shouted at the building, as the smoke drifted away from its eyes, ‘'tis I, Harry Oysterman, your former companion!'

My voice rang out most dramatically in the frozen air, the effect magnified by the sudden silence of the guns.

‘I have come to ask you to surrender,' I continued, scanning the windows for faces I knew. ‘Not on behalf of the Rebels, but on behalf of sanity! Continued resistance is frankly futile, and you will lose nothing by coming out and laying down your arms. I have Major General Sullivan's word on that!'

‘What do you mean,
lose nothing
?' called out a voice that sounded like a deeper version of Pubescent Pete's. ‘If we surrender we will be viciously beaten and imprisoned. Explicate, Oysterman.'

That the voice did belong to PP was confirmed by his face appearing at a second floor window, just to the side of the main entrance. Elated to see the youngster alive, I continued by addressing him directly.

‘The Major General has assured me that you will not be ill-treated. You will be imprisoned as a temporary measure purely to get you off the immediate field of battle, but you will be released back to New York as soon as it is practically possible. It is your muskets and supplies they want, not your lives.'

There was the expected interlude while this offer was discussed. Pete disappeared from the window to have his place taken by Hartley, who proceeded to entertain us with a continuous barrage of monotonous barking. Just when the noise was becoming intolerable, and American muskets were starting to be aimed at him, Hartley was dragged aside and up popped Pete once more.

‘Very well, Oysterman, we will come out. But if this is a trap, woe betide your own skin, which is already in danger enough as it is.'

Wondering how he knew about my part in the capture of Burnley Axelrod, I walked up to the central steps of the Hall and prepared to greet the boys on their way out. The more adventurous members of the Continental Army came running after me, most to ensure that the transfer of arms and men was safely effected, some to praise me. The first to offer praise was my wife.

‘Oh Harry! You are a hero, Sir! How could I ever have doubted you?'

I was kissed with fierce pride, and glowingly admired.

‘'Twas nothing, Madam, I assure you.'

‘Nothing, Sir? I have never seen a braver or more noble act in my life!'

‘Not even amongst your Continental Army friends?'

‘Not even there. That was true Sussex County grit.'

She would probably never get the hang of English county nomenclature, but then she would probably never need to. I was trying to fashion a deathless line about all oystermen needing grit to pop out pearls when the ruddy face of the artillery captain impinged upon our mutual adoration.

‘Sir, what you did there was quite wonderful. My commanding officers are delighted at the initiative shown, and the speed at which I conveyed your offer to them. The quick end of the siege means we have saved our own ammunition whilst gaining more of the enemy's. We have also gained time, a commodity which is particularly valuable as we need to be away from here before Cornwallis arrives. We consider the regiment's eventual release a good price to pay for all these advantages, particularly as they are not up to much, physically speaking.'

Sophie's face lit up at this official accolade. But there was more to come.

‘Suggesting such a plan as yours is one thing, but actually going out there and doing it is another. Sir, if we do not have the good fortune to meet again in this war, my name is Alexander Hamilton, and it has been my pleasure to make your acquaintance. If you ever need any help in the future, contact me.'

With that, the rogue shook my hand and vanished into the crowd of cheering soldiers, bellowing orders with the assurance of one born to command.

‘Oh Harry,' said Sophie, struck down with awe, ‘that was the highest praise it is possible to receive this side of childhood. I know for a fact that Hamilton is being touted as an understudy to Washington himself. One day, ‘tis said, he may even become a president of this country. What a contact to make!'

Having taken Hamilton's measure – speed at which he conveyed the offer indeed – I shrugged aside such meaningless enthusiasm and braced myself for the more important meeting with my old comrades, who by the sounds of it were about to emerge from behind the door of the hall.

‘Pete!' I exclaimed, as he stepped out into the light looking very drawn and dishevelled, ‘'Tis good to see you alive, Sir!'

My offered hand was refused most haughtily, though snarling Hartley had a good go at biting it off. Despite this reception, I was extremely glad that the two young curs had not been dismembered by flying shot.

‘Captain Wriggle, to you, Deserter!'

‘Oh, so that is the problem.' My sudden departure from the ranks at Fort Lee was prehistoric history to me now, and I could rustle up no enthusiasm for its resurrection. ‘Come come, Captain, forget all that. It has all been resolved.'

‘In your mind, perhaps. But I have to live with the fact that it was one of my own men, a
deserter
at that, who brought down Burnley Axelrod, our greatest terror weapon in this war.'

‘'Twas not your fault. No captain of any regiment could have stopped me doing that.'

‘Oh, so we are a braggart too now, are we? Quite the complete little American.'

‘Deserting I mean, not bringing down Burnley Axelrod, which was due to luck as much as anything else. Anyway, terror weapons, as you call aristocratic bully boys, should not be used against people who are your own flesh and blood. We are not fighting Frenchmen, Sir.'

This little speech sent the new surly Pete incandescent with rage.

‘How dare you speak to me like that? Do you not know…'

‘Yes, yes, I know who you are,' I interrupted quickly, not wanting to parley with him in this mood, ‘and I hope that one day we will be able to talk civilly again, without these artificial barriers between us. Now, I think you will need to deposit your weapons over there, and then wait for the Rebels to lead you away.'

Though fuming at the imagined disgrace, Pete did as he was told, as did the rest of the shell-shocked company, who greeted me with a sort of cool affection as they came down the steps one by one. Thomas Pomeroy, Anne Pomeroy, Peter Pomeroy, Jacob Wilkinson, Roger Masson, Laurence East, Claude Jepson, Ned Lester, Thomas Slocombe, Corporal Tibbs, Little Bob, Billy Corden, and others I knew less well, all passed before me and shook my hand like mourners at a funeral. The second exception to this general air of sombre relief was, of course, Sergeant Mycock, who made as if to throttle me, until the point of a guard's bayonet in his guts made him desist. Once the last soldier was out, I rejoined them all on the front garden, where a cordon of guards was protecting them from the anger of several Rebels.

‘Well lads,' I said, when Major General Sullivan himself had arrived to calm feathers, and ensure that the sporting rules of warfare were being adhered to, ‘I hope you will come to see that this is the best course of action, however bitter and humiliated some of you may be feeling now.'

‘I think we will, Harry,' said Thomas Pomeroy, whose paunch had been one of the worst casualties of the war. ‘But what irritates many of us is seeing you hobnobbing with the Rebels. It just does not seem right.'

I looked around shiftily and whispered my answer:

‘I am not on their side, I assure you, Thomas. I am here solely as a consequence of my ongoing quarrel with Burnley Axelrod.'

‘Ah,' said keen-eared Little Bob, rolling with his boot one of the musket balls that littered the ground, ‘how did that finish?'

Pete had obviously not seen fit to disseminate his knowledge amongst the lower orders.

‘I shot him, with the aid of some friends.'

‘What!' exclaimed Ned Lester, turning his blackened face to me in genuine awe, ‘
You
shot
him
?'

‘Do not look so shocked, Ned. A man in extremities can do astounding things. Particularly when up against a scoundrel, and right is on his side. ‘Twas Burnley that scalped Isaac Tetley, you know.'

‘You shot him dead?' persisted Ned, not bothered about Isaac.

‘No, but his wings are clipped: he will be cashiered out of the army when he is returned to General Howe.' I looked up and called over to the sullen Pete, who was keeping his distance as befitted his superiority. ‘Room for a promotion there, Sir, if you are so interested!'

Despite shooting me a filthy look from his new adult repertoire, something about my words must have caught his fancy, for he deigned to reply.

‘I cannot do anything until I get back to New York.'

‘Which is something that will happen soon, as I say. I will see to it personally, because for some reason or other, I seem to have acquired some valuable contacts in the Continental Army.'

‘You will need them,' said Anne Pomeroy, back to her dourest best, ‘because if you have deserted from the army and brought down Burnley Axelrod, you cannot return to England with us when the war is over.'

Now ‘twas my turn to be despondent.

‘Perhaps not, Anne. But I hope to find compensations here.'

I turned to bring Sophie into the picture, but she had gone, leaving me clutching at air.

‘Oh well,' said Anne, putting her arms round the shoulders of young Peter Pomeroy, who clearly needed comforting after his terrible ordeal, ‘something will always turn up for a man as lucky as you.'

I had never considered myself lucky before – and nor, to my knowledge, had anyone else – so I was still mulling over the accuracy of this unexpected assessment when the guards began to lead the company away. For services to the Rebel cause I was ordered to stay with them as a sort of official observer, while Sophie and her girls, still hot for battle, chose to stay with the main army and continue the mopping up of Princeton. Though increasingly annoyed at her unquenchable desire for danger, and therefore her lack of concern for me, I begged her once more to be careful, and set off on my march, which turned out to be considerably longer than I expected. We were led first to Somerset Court House, about seven miles north, and then on to the prison encampment at Pluckemin, a further ten miles north-west, where food and rest were at last available. Comfort and warmth, however, weren't. The encampment was little more than a stockade with a huge dilapidated barn in the middle, and although this provided poor shelter for the 85
^th
Foot, at least it was better than the open ground the rest of us had to make to do with. Everyone cursed at the basic conditions, and soon both sides turned their resentment on me, as imagined creator of their woes. Verbally abused by the Rebels, increasingly cold-shouldered by my erstwhile companions, I supposed I was getting my just desserts as a turncoat, but I found it hard to stomach their ingratitude considering I had just saved all of their lives. Nevertheless, stomach it I had to, so, finding an isolated spot by the perimeter fence, I wrapped a thin blanket around me as protection from the icy wind, and whiled away the time on my own, just trying to survive until news should come in about the progress of the battle. Spat upon and thrown an odd bone now and again by patrolling Rebel guards, I was consumed with envy of my old comrades in their sheltered barn. Staring at this building though the miniature icicles hanging off my eyelashes, I now knew how the Hackensack Militia felt when I taunted them in similar circumstances. Truly, all actions rebounded in the end.

A day passed in this miserable state, in which I was nothing more than an official observer of my own death, when wild shouting could be heard from the south. We all rose slowly and stiffly, like snowmen coming to life, and looked out. Figures were emerging from the white vastness, and these eventually became recognizable as a knot of troops, with Sophie, minus her Belles, at their head.

‘Great victory at Princeton!' she shouted like a newspaper seller, when still a good hundred yards away from the perimeter fence. ‘We're on our way to Morristown for the winter! Cornwallis has given up the chase!'

Cheering broke out amongst the Rebel guards, and muskets were waved high in the air. They all hugged each other, perhaps as much for warmth as celebration, then let their comrades in through the gates. More hugging, and then I watched in frozen silence as Sophie started to search around for me. When she saw me she dashed over, her eyes ablaze with ecstasy. Had my tear ducts not been frozen I would have cried with relief.