Chapter 3

Beckwith was putting together a bunch to go down to the bridge and waved to me, "Caleb, he said, "Gus Yore hain't quite thawed yet. Why don't you go with these men and take charge of that bridge."

I hated to do it, but I pulled on my coat and wool hat and picked up my rifle. We went out and found our beasts, folded their blankets back over their rumps and clattered down to the creek without seeing a soul along the streets except for our own people. Seemed like the town was empty or dead. Murdock and his men were some happy to see us and didn't waste any time mounting up and heading back into town. The six of us picketed our mounts, found what shelter we could along the creek bank and hunkered down for the night. Enjoying the feel of warmth in my belly and the pictures of the Swede in my mind, I think I even fell asleep for a while.

By the time the false dawn colored the sky a bit, we could see that hoarfrost covered the dead grass and leafless trees. We were all chatting, well, bragging, about what we'd got away with bundling and hoping that Billy Beckwith hadn't forgotten we were out there. Then I heard riders coming toward us from the rising sun. I pulled down my hat, wished I had some gloves and climbed up on the bridge. I told the other men to stay out of sight and get ready to fight if we had to. I could hear rifles going to half-cock and pans being filled. "Check your flints, " I told them just to have something to say and to keep my jaw from chattering.

In a minute or so from out of the treeline here came five or six riders, led by a man who looked to be in uniform. He wore a crossbelt like an officer and a sword, but his coat was dark and not bright red. I couldn't tell its color until the sun got up a bit more and then I saw it was dark green. He had about two inches of lace at his wrists and some sort of badge on his cocked hat. Beside him rode a large man in ordinary dress and behind them were four Maryland militiamen.

I walked out a few yards, stuck up my hand and said, "Halt," and the leader put up his arm. The riders stopped about fifteen feet from the old bridge.

"What is it, my good man?" the fellow in the uniform coat asked. He didn't sound real English but something like it, a Scot maybe, and a dandy I was sure. I'd seen the type before with a long, thin nose to look down at ordinary folks.

"Trouble in town," I said truthfully. "Constable asked me to keep folks out for a while."

"Did he, indeed. That's odd because I received a message to meet him on the road and haven't seen a hair nor button of him between here and Bladensburg." The young man stood in his stirrups and peered over my head and into the sleeping town that was turning orange in the morning sunlight.

"Don't know anything about that," I said, truthful again. "Just had my orders. I'm one of Mr. Wainright's deputies." The lies were coming easier.

"Are you, really?" he said, looking about. I hoped the boys were all down out of sight with both ears and rifles cocked.

"Yessir," I told him confidently. "Y'all can make a fire here if you want and wait till morning. We've, well I've got some tinder you can use. He's sure to be 'round early checkin' up on us, the constable is, maybe six o'clock or so."

"No, it's frightfully cold out here. I think we'll go on into town and see what's amiss. Don't you agree, Captain Foster?" he said, turning to the well-dressed man beside him who wore high boots and a fancy wig.

"See here," the bulky, older man said in a loud voice, "I'm a captain in the Georgetown militia, and I certainly don't recognize you. What's your name?"

I told him my name and said again that I was working for the constable. He and the young officer mumbled at each other, and then the man in the green coat turned and waved to the riders behind him.

"Make way," he said. "We are going on into town."

"No sir," I said, raising my rifle so I had both hands on it. I thumbed it to half-cock. It made a fine, solid noise. It was awful quiet out there, not even any crows or roosters at their duties.

"Damn blockheaded colonial," he yelled and swung at me with his riding crop. I raised my weapon and it took the blow, and then I held on to my rifle with my left hand and grabbed his whip with my right and pulled. I guess he had a strap looped around his wrist 'cause he came flying right out the saddle and landed on his face in the road with his nearside foot still in the stirrup.

"Up and aim!" I yelled and heard the men rise behind me and full-cock their pieces. "Don't move," I yelled at the riders in front of me. Their horses were pawing around. I put my foot on their leader's neck and said, loud and mean, "I'll break his stupid back if you don't get off those horses and lay down them weapons. Mr. Foster, you git down, too." I could hear the fellow on the road gasping for breath and felt him squirming under my boot. Nothing happened except the militiamen looked at each other so I pushed down with my heel a bit and the man under it gurgled out, "Don't, gah! Stop, damn you!" and waved his arms around. "Do what he says," he cried out.

Then they dismounted and a couple of my boys came up and disarmed them and stacked their muskets down along the creek bank. Foster was sputtering and cursing, but he stopped when I looked at him hard. I wasn't sure what to do next so I prodded the man on the ground with my toe and told him to get up and give me his sword. He scrambled to his feet with blood dripping from his nose and a scrape on his forehead, pulled a big handkerchief from his sleeve, dabbed at his face and glared at me. He spat and felt at his teeth. I pulled his curved hanger out and held it in front of him. "Personal possession?" I asked.

"No, only standard issue," he said, sniffing.

I threw the sword into Rock Creek and heard it clink across the ice and stones before it found a place to splash.

"You'll pay for this," he told me, holding his head back and pushing the stained white cloth against his thin nose.

"Probably," I agreed, feeling right proud of myself. "Now come along and lead your horses." I told the two men who had taken the guns to follow and then yelled, like to an army instead of a three-man squad, "Stay down, men, and guard the bridge. I'll return presently." I thought I sounded like a real officer and puffed out my chest.

Keeping the bleeding fellow in the fancy jacket beside me, I led my little parade into Georgetown. On the way along the brightening but still vacant streets, just to make conversation, I asked him, "Where you from?"

"Kah-beck," he answered and when he saw I didn't understand, said, "Canada."

"What're you doing way down here?" I asked.

"Learning my trade," he said, sniffing again, dabbing at his face and then looking at the handkerchief. "And dripping claret."

"Hell of a way to learn. How'd this here Foster come to be with you?"

"He evidently appeared before the grand jury yesterday and spent the night in Bladensburg. Asked if he could ride in with us. Bit of a cob, I fear."

In the courtyard of the big tavern, I could see that most of the horses had been put under cover so I had my prisoners turn over their mounts to the stable boys and led the men inside. I don't think Billy Beckwith was real happy to see me. He looked a might peevish, like a man who couldn't get it up when he needed to.

"Who are these woeful people, Caleb?" he asked of the six men in motley dress and the one in some sort of uniform and knee-high boots.

"Bunch from across the creek. Our friend Wainright must a'got a message out. They was looking for him when they came to the bridge. Feller in the green coat's their officer, and the big, unhappy one there is the whoreson Ned punched. I didn't know what to do with them, so I brought 'em to you." I tried to smile but found my face was still too cold to do it right. I think my right hand was froze to my weapon.