Fitzroy went downstairs to the restaurant portion of the inn and took a seat a small table. His friend, Captain Peter Danforth, entered a minute later. The two men drank a tankard of passable ale and ordered a fish dinner, fresh from the Hudson River. Seared in butter, it was, as always, excellent. On complimenting his host, the innkeeper had again reminded him that he had a cousin, a young woman, who ran a similar facility in Albany. Fitzroy would make it a point to pay a visit, although he did think it ironic that everyone in New York seemed to know the army’s plans. He was especially intrigued that a young woman could handle such a business out in the wilderness.
“One thing I will hand to the colonists,” Danforth said, wiping his chin, “they do have excellent and hearty food. And why not, with all these rivers and forests to hunt and fish from?”
“And no one to tell them where and when they might hunt,” Fitzroy added.
“At least not yet,” Danforth said. “Once the last of this stupid war is over, then we shall turn this vast land into a proper English province with proper English squires and nobility in charge. Then we shall see order in the Americas, which will then turn into lands of peace and prosperity. Lord, I hope some of it rubs off onto us.”
“Peter, it will be interesting. Personally, I see more migrations to the west if we are overly harsh. Just look at the resentment the quartering of a few thousand soldiers for a short period of time has caused in this miserable excuse for a town.”
“They’ll get over it,” Danforth said. “It’s not like they have a choice if they want to serve their king.”
“One can hope,” Fitzroy said.
“I hate this place,” Danforth said while picking a stray fish bone out of his teeth. “They have taken everything that is bad in an English city and brought it here to New York, while leaving out all of the good. What we have is all the squalor of London and none of the elegance and refinement. Do you realize there are no proper theaters in this miserable excuse for a town?”
Fitzroy smiled, “How terrible for you.”
“Well, take me with you when you go and joust with the rebels. At least I can participate in a theater of the absurd.”
Fitzroy almost laughed. Captain Peter Danforth was short, plump, and ruddy-faced. Behind his back, his men called him “Apple,” and he looked like he would want to be nowhere near the hardships of the frontier. For that matter, Fitzroy had his own doubts about staying alive in the wilderness. “I thought you liked working for Cornwallis?”
“I do. He’s a great man. But nothing’s going to happen in New York that would help advance my career. Although I do have some money with which to purchase further advancement, it is not all that huge an amount. Thus, I must augment my funds with glory. Do tell me there’s an opening on Burgoyne’s staff?”
Fitzroy sympathized with his friend, although only to a point. By any definition, Danforth was far better off monetarily than Fitzroy. The problem was that Danforth didn’t always realize it. Or was it that Fitzroy was so bad off in comparison? All the money Fitzroy had earned-well, looted-during his tour of duty in India had gone to buying the commission and rank he now held. Nor would there be any more money from his family. They were fond of him and he of them, but there was simply no money to share. He was on his own to make his fortune. It was too bad there were no jewel-covered temples in the Americas crying out to be plundered.
Still, how transparent of Danforth, Fitzroy thought. Danforth loved the theater as did Johnny Burgoyne. All Fitzroy had to do was mention that a man of Danforth’s ability and interests was available and Burgoyne would jump at having him on his staff. Burgoyne had been mildly disappointed by Fitzroy’s lack of interest in things theatrical and this would make the old man happy. Of course, nothing was quite as simple as all that.
“I will put in a good word for you, Captain Danforth, but will you be spying on him for General Cornwallis?”
Danforth smiled easily and without guile, “Of course.”
The two men laughed. It was near closing time and one of the tavern girls smiled at them. She was plain-looking and skinny, but she was a woman. Danforth grabbed her and pulled her to his lap. She squealed in mock dismay as he slid his hand underneath her skirts and between her legs.
“I think we should celebrate my new position?” Danforth said to her.
The girl smiled and ran her tongue across her lips. “Any particular position you’d like, dearie?”
* * *
Owen Wells walked at the rear of the squad of soldiers accompanying the sailors into town. Even though they were in supposedly friendly territory, he held his musket tightly. It was night and who knew what lurked in New York’s narrow streets. Loyal to the cause or not, it was quite obvious that some New Yorkers would rob and rape a nun if they had a chance.
Adding to his nervousness was the fact that this would be his one and only chance to desert. Tomorrow the HMS Victory would up anchor and sail back to England with the admiral and the other ships of the convoy. There he’d heard the Victory would take up patrol duty off the coast of France. Of course, the officers hadn’t bothered to notify him of their plans; instead, they talked openly about them as if he was a piece of the furniture or part of the hull.
Owen scanned the area for a chance, any chance. He had purposely fallen behind by a few steps, nothing serious that would concern the idiotic and pimply-faced young midshipman in charge of the men sent to get special supplies for the officers. These included wines, tobacco and other expensive foodstuffs that mere sailors and marines would never smoke or taste. The bulkier normal supplies had already been loaded and getting these luxuries from local merchants was the last of their tasks.
A narrow alley appeared to his left. Owen took a deep breath, turned, and darted down it.
“Owen, what the devil are you doing?”
Christ, he thought. It was Alan, another marine. Owen had lost track of where he was. At least the sod hadn’t hollered. The rest of the unit had disappeared around a corner. “Sorry,” Owen said and hit him in the stomach with the butt of his musket. Alan crumpled. Owen quickly stripped off Alan’s jacket and tied him up with it, stuffing Alan’s own filthy kerchief in his mouth. He hated doing it, since Alan was a decent sort, but he was also a loyal Englishman who would have called for help.
He pulled some trash over his former companion and headed down the alley. If it was a dead end he would have a lot of explaining to do. It wasn’t. He continued on, even crossing several narrow and garbage-strewn streets without anyone noticing. Better, he heard no hue and cry behind him. They hadn’t even noticed he’d gone.
Owen’s luck smiled on him again. Despite the hour, laundry hung on a line and it included articles of men’s clothing. He grabbed a couple of shirts and pants and headed away. He found a niche and changed quickly. The clothing was big but it would suffice. Except for being very large around the shoulders and arms he was small to begin with and the damned Americans were so much larger than ordinary Englishmen. Now in civilian clothes, he hid his musket and uniform underneath a pile of rubbish and looked for a way off Manhattan. He hated leaving the weapon, but no one in New York walked around armed with a Tower musket. He kept the socket bayonet. He decided he would feel naked without some sort of weapon.
Again luck favored him. He reached the Hudson River and spied a small boat tied up to a small dock. He jumped into the boat, cast off, and headed downstream in the dark waters. He used an oar to steer the boat in the direction of the black blur that was the land to his right front. If he made landfall on what he thought was Staten Island, he would be free. If he missed, he ran the risk of being swept through the narrows and out to the ocean where he would doubtless die.
* * *
Fitzroy and Danforth eyed each other as they followed their respective leaders, Burgoyne and Cornwallis, into the small room off Cornwallis’ quarters at Fort George. Cornwallis closed the door, which quickly made the room stuffy and uncomfortable. There was a table and chairs, and a large map of the colonies was pinned to the wall. They took their seats.