Jack Absolute (42 page)

His ears still vibrated with the explosion, with the creak of timber and rope, the shouted commands of a firing squad. He
had been so ready for his death that this sight – warriors’ powerful shoulders ploughing paddles into the water, driving them
away from the screams and the fury now fading on the river bank – could have come from another world, that new world Louisa
had conjured for him, the one he’d wanted so to believe in.

‘Até.’ He said his name, as if saying it would make the vision real.

His friend turned, dripping paddle suspended above the water.

‘Até,’ he said again, ‘she’s … she’s …’

‘I know. I heard. We waited there below, with our barrels of powder.’ Then Até, who never showed emotion, reached down and
gripped Jack by the shoulder. ‘I grieve for your loss. I will condole with you through the winter that lies ahead. But I could
do nothing for her. She was not my blood brother. You are. I had to choose, Daganoweda. I chose you.’

He turned back, his paddle joining the others speeding the beech-bark craft through the drifting sheets of ice. In another
week, less, the river would be choked with it, impassable. They had swung around downstream, were now passing the town on
their left. The square had emptied of all but Redcoats, the officers among them shouting, directing. It had begun to snow
hard again, slanting in from the west. No one looked through the flurries to the water.

As Jack put his face into the snow, into the wind that drove it, the vessels shot across the mouth of a little bulrush bay
… and there they were, two silhouettes on stilts. Startled, the herons rose, circled each other once, separated, vanished
into white. All that remained of them was their harsh cries and soon even those were gone.

‘No man but a blockhead wrote except for money’

SAMUEL JOHNSON

The Malvern Festival Theatre, 10 February, 1987. Opening night of a revival of the eighteenth-century comedy, Sheridan’s
The Rivals.
The actor Chris Humphreys walks on to the stage and, in reply to a question, speaks these words:

‘And what did he say, on hearing I was in Bath?’

My life as Jack Absolute had begun.

I have been an actor for twenty-five years. In that time I have played over a hundred roles – from a zealot in the deserts
of Tunisia at +45C to Hamlet in Calgary at — 30C, in venues that range from a theatre above a pub in London to the sound stages
of 20
^th
Century Fox in Hollywood. Many I enjoyed, many I hope are never seen or spoken of again. Relatively few can I say I truly
‘nailed’, that I’d done the best job possible despite the obstacles presented by directors, fellow performers, the weather,
the audience, a hangover, and a thousand and one other things that can come between an actor and his craft.

Jack Absolute was one of the few I did nail. I loved playing him. I have a photo of me in the role, in mid-soliloquy, pinned
above my desk for writing inspiration. Posed and poised, I wear a Redcoat, gorget and sash, with a walking-stick raised at
a provocative angle and a plume in my tricorn hat! I saw him as dashing, wicked, humorous, courageous,
foolhardy, and, at times, plain bloody foolish. I made him a role-player, a man of masks. And I always had the feeling that
the playwright, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, if he happened to be looking down, would have approved.

The theatrical tour lasted six months. Like anyone you become close to and then lose touch with, I missed Jack when he was
gone. In those days, the thought of writing novels was pure fantasy; yet even then I speculated (in the way one composes an
Oscar acceptance speech) that if ever I did, he would be a wonderful character to base a novel on, with half my work already
done because I knew him so well. It was a way, I dreamed, of being him again.

Then my first novel came out. My publishers asked, ‘What next?’ and Jack stirred inside me. They agreed on the idea but, like
me, they knew that for the character to live beyond the one in Sheridan’s play he would have to be rather more than the dashing
army Captain and oft-unscrupulous lover. He would have to
do
something. Thus he became a spy – among other things.

I again worked to the principle that had guided me through my first two novels – write what you love. And as in those two
books, research gave me much of the story. Since
The Rivals
was first performed at Drury Lane in 1775 and was in the repertoire thereafter, I read up on those times. Tremendous they
were too, with the American War of Independence just beginning, a very suitable arena for my gallant Captain’s skills and
obsessions. And since, in my version, Jack became the model for the one in Sheridan’s play – much to Jack’s fury! – my love
of theatre could be incorporated into the tale. Other passions then made their entrances – actresses in all their infuriating
allure; Hamlet, the only stage role I’ve played to match Jack (and an obsession ever since); the use of all kinds of bladed
weaponry; the Iroquois (I did so much research about them for my second novel,
Blood Ties
, that I was bloody
well going to use them again!); an intriguing military campaign. These and many more, built around my memory of being Jack
Absolute. This led to a sort of strange déjà vu, especially when writing the scenes from the productions of
The Rivals.
I made Jack say the lines the way I, as Jack, had said them. He reacts like me, worries, as I did, about getting laughs.
And since the first play I wrote was partly autobiographical again, like ‘my’ Jack, I have seen my life ‘acted’ upon the stage.
I have played opposite lovers current and past. Layers upon layers – making for some very odd writing days!

Once more I have fictionalized real people and realized fictional ones. Of the former, John Burgoyne was irresistible, an
older version of my hero. Playwright, renowned ladies’ man, a very capable military commander, he was also the best-dressed
man on two continents – not for nothing did the Americans nickname him ‘Gentleman Johnny’. I have also attempted portraits
of other real-life figures such as the actress Elizabeth Farren, Colonel St Leger, Sheridan, Edward Pellew, John André, Banastre
Tarleton, the Mohawk Leader Joseph Brant, and Benedict Arnold. I realize that any portrait is partial, can only show an aspect.
With Brant and Arnold especially, people have distinct opinions of them and their actions. I can only do what a historical
novelist must – stick as closely as possible to the known facts (disputed though some of these might be) and then make a judgement
call as to character. I hope not too many are offended by my choices.

Of the pure inventions I should mention Angus Mac-Tavish, the Unintelligible Scot. He appeared after I’d read
Kidnapped
, by one of the masters, Robert Louis Stevenson, and spent much of the time resorting to the glossary of Scots-English.

As regards the history of the Saratoga campaign, and the specifics of the battles, I have drawn from a variety of sources,
and most of the incidents I describe – Oriskany
(both the battle and the subsequent massacre), the idiot Hans-Yost, the death of Simon Fraser, the storming of the redoubts
at Saratoga, the loss of the crucial mask, to name but a few – did happen. I also had the enormous pleasure of attending,
in October 2002, the 225
^th
anniversary reenactment of the battle of Saratoga at Fort Edward, New York, where Don Beale, ‘Commander-in-Chief’ of the
British army, was most hospitable and informative, along with many other fanatical re-enactors – Redcoats, Continentals, and
Mohawk. Then I walked the actual field at Bemis Heights – superbly preserved – for two days. Alone in the dusk light, standing
where so many brave men from both sides had fought and died, absorbing that atmosphere, was a privilege that gave me priceless
detail – both the heron and the butterfly made their appearances then. The experience was like a few other, rare times in
my life – such as when I was on that stage and Chris/Jack got that first laugh. My thought – at Malvern, at Saratoga – was
the same: ‘They pay me to do this!’

I have read a number of texts to write this novel, too many to list entirely. But certain ones were indispensable. Christopher
Hibbert’s
Redcoats and Rebels
gave a good overview of the war and its causes. Michael Glover’s
General Burgoyne in Canada and America
was both useful and partisan on behalf of an often-derided commander. Roy Porter’s
English Society in the 18
^th
Century
was excellent on both facts and mindset as was Liza Picard’s
Dr Johnson’s London.
Works from the ever-wonderful Osprey Publishing gave me much background on the war, its soldiers and their uniforms, their
Saratoga 1777
by Brendan Morrissey being especially detailed and evocative. For the Mohawks,
The League of the Iroquois
by Lewis Henry Morgan was as inspiring as it had been when I wrote
Blood Ties;
and
Joseph Brant – Man of Two Worlds
by Isabel Thompson Kelsay was an excellent, sympathetic portrait of
the man and his people. For the secret society, the Illuminati, I found by chance a powerful exposé,
Proofs of a Conspiracy
, written about them in 1798 by Professor John Robison, Professor of Natural Philosophy at Edinburgh University. He made them
out to be as sinister and ruthless as I needed Jack’s enemy to be. For spies and spying I purchased, at Saratoga, John Bakeless’s
Turncoats, Traitors & Heroes.
Informative – though I will discharge him of Jack’s unusual method of discovering the invisible ink, which is entirely down
to my grubby mind! Jean Benedetti’s life,
David Garrick
, was great on theatre, its mores and questionable morals (how little we actors have changed). Of contemporary accounts, Burgoyne’s
own account of the campaign – published to justify his conduct – was very useful. William Hickey’s
Memoirs of a Georgian Rake
makes any sin Jack commits look quite tame indeed. And Lieutenant Thomas Anburey’s
With Burgoyne from Quebec
was rich in detail – and provided the antidote to snake bite. Finally, there’s no escaping the influence of the playwrights
on my work and, especially, dialogue – Burgoyne’s
Maid of the Oaks
, Goldsmith’s
She Stoops to Conquer
(in which, in 1993, I played Marlow), and, of course, Sheridan’s
The Rivals.

To these, and many other authors, I owe much gratitude. I also have some others to thank. There are the usual suspects, their
importance no way diminished by still being suspected. My wife, Aletha, the first to read and comment, as always. My agent
Anthea Morton-Saner. At Orion, Publishing Director, Jane Wood and especially my point man there, editor and enthusiast Jon
Wood. My hands-on editor, Rachel Leyshon, whose wonderful notes challenge and inspire. My Canadian publisher, Kim McArthur.

And perhaps, finally, the man to whom this book is dedicated. For if Philip Grout had not cast me as Jack Absolute in 1987
I would not be writing this now. He has been a friend
and mentor ever since. He even directed my first play here in London in 1998. It is a pleasure to collaborate with him and
I always learn a lot.

C.C. Humphreys

London, May 2003

AN ORION EBOOK

First published in Great Britain in 2004 by Orion Books.

First published in ebook in 2011 by Orion Books.

Copyright © 2004 C. C. Humphreys

The moral right of C. C. Humphreys to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN: 978 1 4091 3856 3

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