Chapter 40: Harley & Corn

At the first tavern I came to on the road south, a half dozen armed men were sitting around one of the tables. When I ducked and entered, carrying my long rifle but leaving my belt with its heavy bayonet in my saddlebag, they quieted and two or three stared at me while I got an ale and perched on a window seat. Except for the landlord and a tired-looking wench, the tavern was empty, but then it was barely noon.

A slender man in a dark green uniform jacket, wearing crossed leather belts with a cartridge box on one side and what I guessed was a map case on the other, stood up after some whispered conversations and walked across the narrow room. When he got closer I could see his coat had tan lapels and facings and his britches were the same color more or less.

"G'day," he said, ringing with a bit of London or Bristol. I looked up from my beer and noted that he wore an expensive-looking wig but carried neither sword nor pistol as far as I could tell. He seemed very young, probably twenty or so and had the look of an aristocrat about him, something haughty in his speech and manner, the tilt of his head. I knew the look.

"Mornin'," I replied, lifting my tin in a gesture of toasting.

"Drinking the King's health are you?" he asked. His accent denoted breeding or at least schooling.

"No, jus' my own."

"An' who might you be?" he asked, putting an outstretched hand on the wall beside me.

"Interesting question," I said, rubbing my chin. "I might be William Simcoe, but I ain't."

"No, you certainly are not, ' the man said, looking back at his drinking companions. "Hah, Colonel Simcoe, indeed."

"But I was kind of looking for him. Hoping he might need a scout or rifleman who knew the country." I looked at the man's dark eyes and saw doubt, wariness.

"Don't think so," he said, quietly, glancing down at my boots and then at my firelock.

"You know him?" I asked, and the man nodded.

"Work for him," he said. 'We got plenty a'men for this job, loyal militia. Don' want to have to divide the spoils with no more, I'm sure. Hardly enough to go around in this poor country."

"That so?" I said. "Where's he at, this Simcoe?"

"You're kind'a nosy, ain't you?"

"Jus' looking for a shilling or two," I said, finishing my beer. "Man's gotta live."

"You take the King's shilling, you must do his work."

"I understand that," I said.

"You any good with that rifle?"

"Tolerable," I said. "Don't go hungry often."

"Come on outside. We'll see." He waved at the other men he had been drinking with, and we all trooped out into the spring sunshine, a beautiful day up until then. The man I had been speaking with, the others called him "leftenant," set two fist-sized rocks on two snake-fence rails on the far side of the road. "Can you hit those?" he asked. I never got the young officer's name, even after I killed him,

"Think so," I said, "from where?"

"You pace it off, and Sergeant Corn here will match your shot, won't you Corny?"

Corn was a heavy-set man, probably about my age, his cocked hat sat squarely on his head. He carried a rifle that looked a bit like mine while the others had slung issue Tower muskets over their shoulders. The "leftenant" still seemed unarmed, but he was the only one truly in uniform.

I took twenty-five paces back from the road with Corn alongside me. I banged my rifle butt on the ground, primed the pan, turned, raised the rifle and blew the stone on the right to small pieces.

Corn did not look impressed. He shouldered his long gun, waited while a breeze quartered about, and then shot the other rock off the distant fence.

"Put up two more," I yelled, and one of the men found a couple more similar-sized stones and set them up while I paced back another twenty-five steps. I figured we were now about 150 feet from the road and wondered whether or not I should do my best. "You wanna shoot first?" I asked Corn as he finished reloading first and slid his ramrod home. He nodded, leveled his weapon and clipped the corner of his stone, sending it spinning off the rail while the ball ricocheted away.

"Pretty good," I said to him as I lifted and began pulling the long barrel down to put the rock on the top of the sight. I lowered my aim an inch and fired, holding still as I could. My shot buried itself just below the rock which tumbled off. Corn and I walked back to the road silently as the fence continued to quiver.

"Think he beat you," said the lieutenant. "But not by much."

"Tad low," I said, touching the embedded ball.

'But right on line," said Corn. "I was off to the left some."

I spat in the dust. "Gotta get goin'," I said.

"Think you better come along with us," the officer said.

"You hiring me on?" I asked.

"No, you're goin' to be more like a guest till we find out who you are and what you're up to," he said, "Take him!' he loudly told his men, his voice breaking, and two grabbed me by the arms and put an arm about my throat while Corn pulled my rifle from my hands.

The odds were poor, six to one, but I decided it would be better to put up at least a token fight. I was almost sure I could talk myself out of this little problem given the opportunity, might even learn something useful.

I pulled my arm free from the man on my right and hit the fellow holding my left arm in the mouth. I had not skinned those knuckles in some time. Somebody jumped on my back, and I ducked and tossed him over and kicked him in the ribs. When I stood up two unhappy looking men with spike bayonets in their hands were facing me, a foot away. I stopped struggling and raised my hands, hoping they would not stick me. I was happy to see that the man I hit was spitting blood and feeling at his teeth.

Corn and the lieutenant just watched while the fellow I had kicked got to his feet and hit me in the belly. I doubled over and he kneed me upright and hit me low again. I decided that was enough for the day and fell to the ground, head between my knees and elbows at my ears, making gagging sounds.

They tied my hands behind me, helped me mount my horse and then tied my feet to the stirrups. After they cleaned out my saddlebags and pockets, down the dusty road we went with very little conversation. Near a high bluff on the tumbling river, we rode into a camp where several other men were wearing green jackets but most were dressed more or less as I was, homespun mufti. I counted twenty-or-so tents and guessed that perhaps fifty men were assembled there. I decided I had found Simcoe's Rangers or at least a part of them. That had been one of my assignments.

The lieutenant yanked me along to the biggest tent, pushed me through the flap and told me to sit. I sat, my hands still tied behind me. About an hour later, while my body was demanding both food and a good piss, the lieutenant and another, similarly-dressed man entered the tent. I managed to stand and face them, enjoying the advantage of height.

"I'm Leftenant Hyde, senior officer on duty just now," said the man facing me while the officer who had brought me down to the river sat at a table and took out some paper and ink from what I had guessed was a map case. "Who are you?"

"You with the Queen's Rangers?" I asked, trying to sound excited.

"That's none of your bloody business. What is your name and where are you from?"

I told him my name and said Maryland and Frederick Town.

"What are you doing down here on the James?"

"I was in the Frederick militia, but I run off," I said. "After we got orders to go down to the Carolinas."

"You did, eh? An' where did you get this rifle?" He held up my weapon and rubbed his hand along the walnut stock.

"Fine piece, ain't it," I said. "Traded my army musket an' a fair-haired girl for it."

"A girl?" he asked, raising both eyebrows and glancing at the other man who seemed to be taking notes.

"She was a runaway, somebody's bond servant. Can't call her name. Found her up in the hills, good lay, but I needed a rifle more'n a piece a'ass right then. Feller had two a'these guns, think he likely stole 'em or killed for 'em. I got another musket later," I quickly added since they were sure to ask about the Brown Bess tied behind my saddle.

"An' you want to serve your King, do you?"

"That's right. I tole him that." I jerked my head at the young officer writing away beside us.

"Where have you been lately?"

"Up at Richmond, but that there German ain't got no brass, not much of an army neither so I snuck off with the signing money."

"You mean Steuben? You offered him your services?"

"That's the one. His boys weren't even as interested as your feller has been. Din' even ask if I could shoot straight or nothin'."

"Well, you look like a spy to me, and I'm told you attacked one of our men, but we'll wait for the captain. He'll be here in the morning. We'll likely shoot you then. That's what we did with the last one that came in looking like you, armed, asking questions and out of work."

"I need to take a leak," I said, trying to put the firing squad out of mind. "Could use some food, too. And the feller I hit, he jumped me first."

"We certainly are not going to waste rations on you. Leftentant, take him out to the heads and then have him manacled at the logs. I really don't know why you bothered to bring him in. You could have shot him out there and just brought along the horse and rifle you know."

The young officer picked up a horse pistol and pushed me out of the tent and down toward the latrine, picking up two militia men as he went. He let me relieve myself after untying my hands. I was tempted to throw him in the evil-smelling ditch, but there were too many others around, including the pair guarding me. He jabbed me with his pistol and pointed toward four long logs set in a square on the edge of the last row of tents. Big wooden pegs driven into the ground keep the logs from moving and each had two sets of chain manacles wrapped and spiked around it. A small, white haired man was already there, sleeping with his head on the log, one hand bent to the far side.

The lieutenant locked my wrists into a set of cuffs, and I figured out my companion's awkward position. The only way to rest both hands on the ground was to lie atop the log; sitting on either side, otherwise you could only get one hand down as far as your ear. Since I had nothing else to do, I examined the chain link by link, could not find a weak one and saw that it had been attached to the log by several cut nails bent over into a U-shape. I guessed that I might have been able to yank them out except that the five-foot long chain went under the log and there was no way to pull against them.

"You figured it out yet?" my fellow prisoner asked from the other side of the square.

"I don' think so?" I said.

"Anybody watchin?" he asked. I looked around behind him and shook my head. He spit on his right wrist and snaked his hand out of the cuff, holding it between his knees. Then he it put himself back into the manacle. "I'm getting out tonight," he said with a broad smile.

"My hands are too big," I told him after trying his trick briefly.

"There's another way," he said with what I guessed was a grin. His beard covered most of his mouth. "If you could get the end of the log between your arms but might could get both hands on the same side and pull them nails loose if you stood on the log."

"Or I could yank 'em out with my teeth," I said, after judging that I could not do what he suggested since I was chained too close to the middle of the log.

"Suppose so," he replied, "but I doubt it. There's still another way."

"How long you had to think about all this?" I asked.

"Two days. They caught me stealing food."

"You must'a been hungry?"

"Still am. They give me a week as a sentence, the scum. Listen, you're big enough this might work for you. If you can lift your end of the log a might you should be able to swing one end of the chain around it. You got long enough arms."

I considered that idea and tested the length of the chain. Then I looked back at my companion. "That might work," I said.