Characters Mentioned
Brewer, Jonathan – Waltham tavern owner
Browne, Captain John – 10th Regiment. One of three spies sent to Worcester and Concord
Coolidge, John – Watertown tavern owner
De Berniere, Ensign Henry – 10th Regiment, spy, scout for Colonel Smith
Gage, General Thomas – military governor and commanding general of British forces stationed in Boston
Howe, Corporal John – servant of Captain Brown. Spy
Smith, Lieutenant Colonel Francis – commander of the 10th Regiment, in charge of the expedition sent to Concord to seize rebel stores
Map
Chapter 4, "In Grave Danger," Section 1
Three days after Browne, De Berniere, and Howe had returned to Boston, the corporal was ordered to report to Command Headquarters. He was both conflicted and perplexed. Being sent out on another spying mission meant more freedom and adventure. To be told about the mission at the Province House would mean he would have to suffer unnecessary senior officer scrutiny. Why had this particular assignment not worked its way down the chain of command? Why should he, a lowly corporal, be told about it by anybody other than Captain Browne?
The past three days the Captain had been the house guest of a Tory merchant and his spinster daughter. He would be returning to his lodging the next day. His absence would not have been the reason for Howe being summoned. Everybody knew where Browne had been staying. The General’s messenger would have known, also.
Why then had he been ordered to report?
As a reward? For his past service? Absolute hogwash!
But, … if he were wrong, … De Berniere’s hand had to have been in the working!
At 9 a.m. Howe ascended the Province House’s worn steps. Entering the adjutant’s office, he was surprised to see De Berniere and Browne not present. Ignored by the captain seated behind the room’s desk, Howe assumed they were with the General. Very soon they would come through the doorway and the three of them would leave, his privileged attendance concluded!
A minute passed. The ridiculous thought that De Berniere and Browne had not reported caused him to grin. He imagined Browne’s explanation: “But, sir, the gentleman’s daughter demanded I inspect her daffodils,” followed by De Berniere’s stammer, “Sir, permit me to explain. By the sheerest coincidence …,” all of it bubbled tomfoolery.
The corn on the side of his right little toe was pressing against the inside of his shoe. He stared at the empty chair next to the adjutant’s desk. The captain, turning papers on a green blotter, had not yet looked at him. He dared not sit.
He watched the purposeless movements of a large fly. It had landed on the captain’s blotter, on the back of the unoccupied chair, on the sill of the room’s single window. It had buzzed past his head twice. When it alighted suddenly on the top of his left ear, he flicked it away.
Distracted, the officer -- his cheeks pitted with tiny holes -- turned his head. “You are Howe, I assume. Right. When the General is done with Colonel Smith, he will see you.”
You?! “He will see you”?! Howe blanched.
He hadn’t heard correctly!
There was some mistake!
He remembered what De Berniere had told him during their walk to Concord: “General Gage has inquired about you.”
Blather. Poppycock, he had thought.
God’s angels!
The General had wanted the three of them present! He was honored, privileged! But Colonel Smith was with the General! Therefore, … Goddamn Browne’s bleeding balls! Browne hadn’t reported, and, probably because of him, neither had De Berniere!
To punish them the General might give their assignment to somebody else!
General Gage’s office door opened. The stout, middle-aged commander of the 10th Regiment filled the threshold. Colonel Smith’s small, round eyes examined Howe a full ten seconds.
“Captain, send this man in,” Smith ordered.
Glancing at Howe a second time, the adjutant waved four stiff fingers toward the door.
“Don't stand there, you flat! Report!”
His shoulders and upper back tingling, Howe edged past the glowering Colonel.
Twenty feet within, behind an immense mahogany desk sat His Majesty's Commanding General of North America. Howe, five steps into the room, snapped to attention. “Corporal Howe reporting as you d’ordered, sir!”
Thomas Gage’s neutral eyes inspected him.
Moving behind and to the right of the General, Colonel Smith stifled a yawn.
“So you are Howe.”
“Yes sir.” He cleared his throat.
The general nodded, gripped his waist with his right hand. His gray eyes bored.
“You have the good look of an Englishman, good common stock, a country lad, Ensign De Berniere has told me.”
Howe felt his face flush. “Yes sir, I be o' the country. Sir.”
“Stand easy, corporal. I cannot measure a man if he is a tether post.”
Howe exhaled. He expanded his chest.
“At ease, Corporal Howe. At ease, for God's sake.”
Howe separated his feet, placed his hands stiffly behind his back.
“As you please.” Gage half-circled his desk, eased himself down on its front edge. “I am told that you have exhibited good common sense. Even your Captain admits that.”
“Captain Browne? Sir?”
“Does that surprise you? In truth, you have Ensign De Berniere mostly to credit.”
So Browne and De Berniere had talked to the General before Browne had gone off to inspect the spinster’s flower beds. That meant the General …
Howe’s conceit soared.
“Because they have given you good marks, because you possess, in their judgment, wit, resourcefulness, and, not least in importance, a feigning aptitude, I am sending you out again.” He rose from the desk top.
“Sir.” Colonel Smith beckoned. Turning his back to Howe, Gage listened to Smith’s whispered observation.
Being sent out he had expected. Standing in front of the Commanding General had been the flaming opposite! It was a reward beyond true dessert! Which, because he needed to be alert, he couldn’t immediately savor! Where would they be sent this time?! Portsmouth? Salem?
The General engaged him.
“Corporal Howe, you are to accompany and be under the direction this time of Lieutenant Colonel Smith,” -- Christ in heaven! -- “who, I suspect you know, stands before you. You will be his guide as well as his servant.” -- Jesus! -- “You will, should he request it, advise him regarding the habits and behavior of the inhabitants. As the Colonel has reminded me, regarding matters necessitating military judgment he will brook no counsel.”
Howe risked a quick look. The Colonel was cleaning his left thumbnail with his right forefinger nail.
The man was fat! Old. What if they had to run? Smith was an anvil! What in God's name was the General thinking?!
Colonel Smith whisked something small off his yellow sash.
How could he tell this officer what to do?! He couldn't, until he had proved himself all over again; and then he could only advise; and what might happen to them before that? General Gage didn't see his mistake, and he couldn't tell him!
“You will disguise yourselves as itinerant laborers seeking employment. Together you will determine those measures the Worcester provincials” -- God in purgatory! -- “have taken to defend themselves. This will include the size of the garrison that would defend the town.”
“Sir, we shall do so expeditiously,” Colonel Smith declared.
The General nodded.
Howe realized why Browne and De Berniere had not been selected.
“I am familiar with the roads. I need detailed information about the location and quantity of the stores. After you have obtained that information, you may, at your discretion, return by way of Concord. Ensign De Berniere's report and maps have provided me essential information. Nevertheless, changes since then may have occurred, which you, Corporal Howe, having been there, would be able to ascertain.”
“Sir, we shall exceed all expectation!”
“Meeting it, Colonel, will suffice.” The Commanding General raised a cautionary hand. “Corporal Howe, be advised! Because you have been to Concord, you suffer the risk, which your captain and Ensign De Berniere would have entertained, had I sent them to Worcester, of being recognized!”
Ferried across the Charles River to Cambridge, the two men began their midmorning journey to Watertown, Waltham, and Weston -- Howe, not having the allowance or authority to speak, in a flaming temper.
The plan that he and Colonel Smith were expected to follow was horse dung! Neither De Berniere, Browne, nor he had been consulted! Decisions, other than the big one -- the choice of Colonel Smith -- had to have been made by staff officers, whey-faced gimcracks!
A laborer with a big belly looking for work! Identical clothing: leather breeches, a gray coat, blue-and-white knit stockings, a silk neckerchief, a three-cornered hat! The same checkered handkerchief for carrying personal belongings! Two Merry Andrew walking sticks! Smith was fifty, Howe guessed, soft, fat. He was twenty-two, healthy, athletic -- out of work or no, why would either choose to be with the other? Nothing answered! The lowest lobcock, taking one glance, would be suspicious!
Even the weather was against them. A heavy haze, blocking the sun, had dropped the temperature into the forties. Gusts of wind off the Charles River were biting at them. As for what there was to see -- the trees not yet being in leaf -- the land had a barren look.
Nothing was right.
He felt powerless, stymied.
They were leaving footprints on the road’s gritty surface. Soon they would have to scrape off the soles of their shoes! Walking on caked mud had always irritated him.
His early training, he thought. His mother's scolding. His consequent scrubbings of their cottage floor. He wondered if she thought of him now, this particular moment. When he thought of his mother he saw her through a prism of guilt. He remembered her face the morning he had walked down the cottage lane with a bigger bundle than what he carried now, eager to begin a better life, cock-sure he knew what was best.
From that experience alone he had learned about the dishonesty of people, how for their own benefit they twisted the truth. That recruiting sergeant. His tales about sovereigns for enlistment, noble duty, manly company, young lasses, quick promotion. Bloody buggers they were. You learn from your mistakes, his father had said once. But why did those mistakes have to keep weighing on you? Why couldn’t a man simply cast them off?!
His attitude about spying had changed! Walking this country road with De Berniere and Browne, he had been excited. Each successive morning had promised challenge, adventure. He had had so much time to remember, plan, dream. Everything now was different. This morning he had thought first of the hard-faced doxies at the barrack gate. Not what the lying sergeant had promised, was it, Howe? What was real; what was said. Soldiering disgusted him.
Their pace was too damn slow! Colonel Smith was huffing and puffing. Already, he wanted food!
“Where shall we have breakfast, Howe?” A demand more than a question. They had stopped to rest against a rail fence. Perspiration was spotting Smith’s brow. “Good ale and beef pie, eh? Just reward for the invigorated appetite!”
Howe had intended to stop in Weston at the Golden Ball Tavern, not at the Brewer Inn in Waltham, where Captain Browne had been identified. He hadn’t anticipated their dawdling pace.
“We’ve a ways t’go, sir. Two hours I d'think.”
“Two hours?! Ecod, man! We need sustenance! Do better than that, corporal!”
“Bread and cheese, sir?” Howe raised his bundled handkerchief.
“I want good thick ale!” Folding his arms over his paunch, Smith stared at the road. “I was told you were resourceful. Be so!”
There was, Howe recalled, a tavern close by. In Watertown. Browne, De Berniere, and he had passed it on their walks out from or back to Boston. Would His Lordship expect an ale-stop every five miles?! Howe scraped his right sole against the lower rail.
“There’s a tavern in the next town, sir.”
“Where?”
“Watertown.”
“Where is Watertown?” Smith scowled.
“Maybe, a half mile. Sir.”
“Excellent!” Smith pushed his bulk away from the top rail. Moistening his lips, he stepped onto the road. “We shall persevere that half mile!”
Thirty minutes later, seated in the Coolidge Tavern’s taproom, Howe was stunned to see the black serving woman who had recognized Captain Browne. She had been working in the Waltham tavern! Why was she working here?!
She approached.
Keeping his head down, he mumbled his order.
Ram rod straight, Smith declared, “Where may two good but jobless men find employment here in the country?”
She marked them. Spacing her words, she answered. “Smith, you will find employment enough for you and all Gage's men in a few months. Seeing you’ve put on weight, I’m thinking you’ll be wanting lots of ale and mutton pie!”
They were served. His eyes boring through two patrons and the far wall, Smith chewed. Having swallowed his last forkful, grating the legs of his chair on the plank floor, he rose. Howe placed his tankard down beside his plate.
At the counter the amused innkeeper said, “Did you enjoy your food?”
Smith slapped down several coins. “Very well, but you have here a saucy wench! She has mistaken us for British officers! Hah!”
Smiling politely, John Coolidge gathered up the coins. “Well, until recently, sir, she lived in Boston. She has probably confused you with somebody.”
“Indeed!” Smith rapped the counter. “We are itinerant laborers, seeking employment!”
“Ah. Then perhaps you should visit Waltham. My friend, Jonathan Brewer, owns a tavern there. Ask him, or his patrons. Or go to the Golden Ball Tavern, in Weston. Stay a night. You might have better luck.”
Smith raised his chin. “I thank you, sir.”
Howe followed Smith out the tavern door.
“This way,” Howe said needlessly.
Out of sight of the tavern, they commenced to jog.
“Stop!” Smith shouted, seconds later. He was wheezing. His right hand was supporting his stomach.
They clambered over a stone wall and sat.
Neither spoke. Colonel Smith's rapid breathing eased.
What to do? Howe thought. Go back. Their mission had failed, although not the way he had expected. Twice! In separate taverns! Identified! By the same wench! How was that possible?!
“We cannot continue,” Colonel Smith announced. He repositioned his rear on the gravely soil.
Howe nodded.
“I am in grave danger.”
The man's jowls hang like bunches of grapes, Howe thought.
“Here.” Smith untied his bundle, reached into it, grasped envelopes with his right hand. Perspiration dripped from his brow.
“Take these letters of introduction and instruction. Find the Loyalists to whom these letters are addressed. And take this journal, this pencil.” He reached into his coat pocket. “I can give you this. Ten Guineas.” Opening, then cupping his left hand, he revealed the coins.
“You want me t'keep on goin'? I’d be findin’ trouble that much as you!”
“No, Howe, you will not!” Again the scowl. “You … blend in with the provincials.” Flexing his right leg, Smith gouged a groove in the loose dirt. “That damned wench will have my description sent throughout this bloody countryside! I shall have to walk through thicket and bramble if I am to reach Boston!”
“Sir, you d’expect a lot o' one man, a corporal.” He pictured himself jailed in Worcester, with nobody in Boston knowing!
“Look here, Howe.” Smith’s eyes were moist, his voice charged. “You must finish this assignment! I beg you!”
Each stared at the other.
I would be on my own! Howe thought.
“You shall have a commission! When you return, successfully, I will see to it!”
They continued to stare. Let him wait a minute, Howe thought. It’s his reputation he’s worried about. As for becoming an officer, that wouldn’t happen; but he did have a mind to try it, didn’t he?
Smith stood, eased himself over the wall.
Howe recalled the militiaman that had overtaken the three of them walking the Marlborough road. He remembered how the rebel had studied them before riding off. He had known immediately what to do. De Berniere, recognizing that, had used him to persuade Browne to return to Weston. Had he gone to the Waltham tavern without Browne and De Berniere, the wench would probably have taken him for a colonial. Here, also. But she had known him from before, and she knew Smith, not because he couldn’t play-act.
Colonel Smith was staring at a column of smoke, rising from one of the Coolidge Tavern’s several chimneys. His face was red. “If I ever come up this road with my regiment,” he declared, “I will kill that wench!”
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