Chapter 69: Emissary

Our biggest catch of the winter was a civilian, a British functionary and peace envoy of some sort who made the mistake of crossing Jersey in his carriage without much of an escort. George and I saw the coach and four from a mile or more off and just had to go investigate. After all, it might have been the paymaster. Two dragoons trotted in front and another sat by the driver with a short musket between his knees, but that was all the protection we could see so we decided to have a go at them. I had my good rifle plus a musket and horse pistol, but George just had his Pennsylvania rifle and a very large knife. We decided that I'd stop the carriage while George brought down the outriders, and I took care of the driver and guard. It worked like a charm except that George gut shot one of his men, and I had to finish him off.

As the carriage rounded a curve, I stepped from behind a tree and held up my arm while my other hand held my bayonet-tipped musket behind my leg. The driver pulled on his reins, and I took a step closer and shot the guard in the face. As he tumbled off his seat, I heard the rifles crack one after the other behind me. I jumped up to the wheel and bayoneted the gaping driver under the left arm before he could whip the team back into motion. He was dead before his body hit the road. I stepped down to open the carriage door and noticed that one of the horsemen was trying to crawl away. I kicked him into the ditch and bayoneted him twice by the time George showed up and handed me my rifle. We tugged the other bodies to the side of the road where the weeds easily covered them.

"Damn poor shooting," I said to him.

"He jumped, the stupid pisser," George said. "What'd we got here?"

I twisted the door open and yelled "Get out. Be quick!" in my best drill field voice. Out tumbled two young women in heavy cloaks followed by a black-suited man with a florid face. He was obviously very drunk, hardly able to stand. The older of the women took his arm.

"This is my husband," she said, her eyes pleading. "He's ill."

"He's potted," I said, smiling at her. You could smell him a yard off. She was stylishly dressed with a long wool cape and fluffy scarf. Her head was bare and her hair was dark red, auburn I suppose it's called, like a chestnut horse's mane.

The other woman was a good bit younger and frightened blue, actually shaking. Her lower lip quivered, and I was afraid she was going to cry. "Get back in the carriage," I said to her. "And be quiet. We won't hurt you."

She looked at the men in the deep ditch, and George yanked her toward the steps, pushed her inside and closed the door.

"You want to drive?" I asked. He nodded as we tied our horses on behind. "Let's get going before someone comes along. Head for the old Roberts' barn."

"Good idea," he said, hoisting himself up to the seat. "Save some for me."

The woman and I got the tipsy man back to his seat and then sat opposite each other, knees touching as the rig started rolling again.

"Who are you?" I asked her.

"My husband here is the Right Honorable Robert Pierce Farnesworth. We've recently arrived from London to take part in discussions, hoping to stop this stupid war. We were on our way to New Brunswick. There's to be some sort of meeting. They will be looking for us."

"You don't sound English, at least not very," I said.

"I'm a New Yorker. One of my cousins is General Montgomery's widow."

"Dutch?"

"Years ago."

"And this?" I nodded at the sniveling girl who was staying curled in the corner, as far away from me as possible. The man had nodded off and was softly snoring.

"My step-daughter. Her mother died three years ago. Samantha, stop acting and sit up straight. She's very dramatic."

"I'm not," the girl said, pushing back her dark forelock and smoothing down her velvet greatcoat to show her well developed chest and slim waist. She was softly beautiful, and she pouted as if she were six instead of sixteen.

"Is he a drunk?"

"Yes, constantly, regularly. I did not know he was a sot when I married him. He was charming. His family is quite wealthy."

Samantha sniffed. "Thas' all you care about, you old bitch," she said.

The woman reached in front of me and smacked the girl in the face. The blow cracked like a whip and left a broad red mark on her cheek. The girl stopped sniffing and sat up even straighter, her eyes watering.

In the Roberts' barn we unhitched and stabled the horses, unloaded our captives and fixed them some food, turnip soup as I recall with perhaps some rabbit in it. I sent George off for help and advice with a note telling Captain Foster who we had. My friend looked at me and then at the lovely, younger girl who had opened her long coat to show her fine body. "I'll flip you for her," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. Then he mounted and rode off, laughing. The younger girl watched him with an odd look in her eyes, a look that was not fear.

I sat and talked to the honorable Mr. Farnesworth when he was reasonably sober and fit to answer questions. He cursed me and demanded to be set free claiming to be a diplomat. He threatened and then offered bribes. He even said his soup was vile and that I smelled awful. He would not respond to any questions, polite or otherwise, except with a curse.

I beckoned Samantha over and had her sit beside me on the log bench. She sat with her knees together, back very straight. She refused to look at me.

"How old is your daughter?" I asked him.

"Barely sixteen."

"She's very pretty." I touched her leg and she pulled away.

"We think so." He smiled at her.

"Suppose I gave her to one of the German dragoon companies that patrol this area, what do you think would become of her?"

"You wouldn't," the man said, his voice cracking.

"Don't you think the jaegers would enjoy her?"

"My lord," he said.

"How long do you think she would last?"

"Please," he moaned. The girl looked at me in wonder.

"Father," she said, "the Hessians are our allies. We hired them. They wouldn't hurt me."

I ignored her. "Can you imagine what she would look like in a few days, even in a few hours?"

"No, don't even suggest, Samantha, you don't understand."

"And you know how it would end, don't you?"

He nodded, pale and drooling. He wiped his mouth. "Please," he moaned, choking.

"Every orifice, torn and bleeding," I whispered in his ear, hoping the girl might not understand. "Perhaps twenty of them tearing at her. And then the bayonets. Do you think they would bash her teeth out before they used her mouth?"