Redcoat

by Bernard Cornwell

  Vane frowned at Sam’s tone. “There are some things which are hard to understand in war, Sam. Cruel things.”

  It was evident that the Captain was using a soft tone as a reparation for the day before, but Sam was in no mood to accept the olive branch. “But Maggie was a nice girl, sir.”

  “Nice?” Vane turned fast. “Nice? You’re nice, Sam, I can be extraordinarily nice when I want to be, perhaps even George Washington can be nice. Billy’s nice! What’s that got to do with war?”

  “Don’t know, sir.”

  “War isn’t nice!” Vane was irritable again. “War is bloody, Sam. It’s the last refuge of the politician. It’s what we do when nothing else works. I used to think it was beautiful! Banners and chivalry and horsemen in glory, but it isn’t! It’s blood and pain and burnt bodies. It isn’t nice, Sam! It is not nice! But it is necessary, and this one’s necessary if all those levelling bastards aren’t going to inflict a republic on the colonies. And if we try to be nice they’re going to succeed. Do you want to lose this war?”

  Sam, hearing the extraordinary intensity in his master’s voice, wondered again just why Sergeant Scammell had taken money from the Captain. “No, sir. I don’t want to lose.”

  Vane’s mood, so unpredictable and quick to change these days, suddenly softened again. “I’m sorry, Sam. I shouldn’t have shouted at you yesterday.” Vane had turned away so that he did not need to show his face while he made the embarrassing apology. He fingered the cleaned jacket again. “You have to be macaronied today?”

  “Yes, sir.” Sam’s voice was warmer now.

  “I suppose I’d better hoist on the flummery myself.” Vane paused. “And Sam?”

  “Sir?”

  “I’m glad Sacha … Maggie went with Lee.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Now bugger off, you rogue.” It was obvious that Vane was relieved that the tension between them was over. “And don’t spill any wine at dinner.”

  Sam grinned. “No, sir.”

  It was a lavish dinner, needing six long tables joined in a horseshoe shape to seat all the senior officers and their aides who were invited. Admiral Lord Howe had come to the city from his battle fleet anchored in Delaware Bay, bringing a score of naval officers with him. Sam, with the other pressed orderlies, poured wine and served cuts of beef and goose and lamb.

  There was a reason for the dinner, but Sir William was loath to reveal it until the wine had softened his men’s mood. Instead, he listened to the conversations about him and marvelled at the bellicosity of his command. Toasts were drunk to the skirmish at the Crooked Billet, and Sir William felt how these men fretted to be unchained. The prospect of the French entering the war did not deter them one jot. Most doubted the likelihood, while others positively welcomed the thought. “Let them come,” a colonel growled. “It’s what we English are good at, killing Frogs!”

  A naval captain cheered the colonel’s words and proposed that, should the French declare war, a great party should be held to celebrate the opportunity of slaughtering Britain’s traditional enemies. “A party like there never was before in America!” The colonel raised his glass. “To the French, gentlemen, may they come to the killing!” There was enthusiastic applause. Admiral Lord Howe, who shared his younger brother’s hopes of peace, did not join in.

  Lord Robert Massedene shrugged at Sir William. “Would you host such a party, sir?”

  “To celebrate the imminent downfall of the French? It’s a happy thought, but I won’t be here to do such a thing, Robert. My resignation is accepted and Sir Henry Clinton will replace me as soon as a boat can bring him from New York. Might I trouble you for the gravy?” The request for the gravy was spoken in the same careless voice with which Sir William had confirmed the rumour that he was indeed leaving.

  The gravy remained unpassed.

  There was a silence about Sir William, a silence which spread as the whisper went around the tables.

  “Of course,” Sir William pretended not to have noticed the shocked silence, “I shall stay on in America as a Peace Commissioner, but I think it would be monstrous unfair on Sir Henry were I to stay in Philadelphia. It will have to be New York, I fear. Never a town I liked particularly, but,” he broke off, reflecting that after all the years, and all the fighting, and despite their victories, the British were still pinned to three tiny enclaves on the edge of a continent, “there’s not really a great deal of choice, is there? Might I beg the gravy, Robert?”

  “Gravy, sir.” Lord Robert Massedene passed it.

  A chorus of protests inundated Sir William. It was to make this announcement of his imminent departure that he had arranged the dinner party, and he was touched by the dismay it caused. Men who had been urging him to greater zeal now protested his departure. Sir William held up a hand to stop the noise, was disobeyed, and wiped tears from his eyes. “Until now people complained that all I did was lie a-snoring. Isn’t that so, Kit?”

  Vane reddened. He had not thought that the scurrilous verse, which he himself had spread so eagerly, could possibly have reached Sir William’s ears.

  Sir William saw the blush and laughed. “I thought it most amusing. We both did!”

  For once Christopher Vane was flummoxed. “We shall miss you, sir. Both of you.”

  “Soon gone, soon forgotten,” Sir William said, hoping it would not be true.

  “But we shall not let you go, sir.” Vane rapped the dinner table with a serving spoon, demanding silence from all the officers. “We shall not let Sir William go,” he started again, “without a farewell party that will be remembered for ever in these colonies!”

  The proposal was loudly cheered. Sir William shook his head modestly. “You would celebrate my leaving?”

  “Your triumphs, sir,” Vane said firmly.

  Sir William laughed. “It will be a very small party, Kit. What will you serve? Humble pie?”

  “No!” Vane’s protest was loud enough to make Sam, busy at a side table, turn to face the guests. Vane, who had a favour to ask of Sir William, now launched himself on a well-rehearsed piece of flattery. “Since you came to America, sir, you have faced the enemy six times in open battle. Each meeting, sir, resulted in your victory. You have captured New York and Philadelphia. From Bunker Hill to Germantown you are unbeaten. I therefore propose a celebration to rival the triumphs of ancient Rome!”

  “Seconded!” a naval captain shouted, and all the guests, this time including the Admiral, beat with cutlery on the table to support the brave words and to pleasurably embarrass Sir William.

  “’Pon my word, Kit, you make it sound creditable!” Sir William’s face was wistful.

  Vane raised a hand to check the noise in the dining-room. “I speak, sir, for the motion.”

  “Stand up, Kit!” someone shouted, and the command was echoed until Vane pushed his chair back and quieted the room with a gesture.

  “At Bunker Hill, sir, you took the field and kept it. At Brooklyn Heights, you tumbled the enemy into the flight of a disordered rabble. At White Plains, you hurled them from their fortifications. Three thousand enemy surrendered to you at Fort Washington. At Brandywine, you turned them, panicked them, and defeated them. At Germantown, you repelled their sudden attacks and punished their temerity with defeat. You have taken their so-called capital. You have never been defeated.” Again Vane checked applause. He stared about the room. “Does anyone oppose the motion?”

  “No!” There was a roar of approbation. The kindly Sir William’s caution was forgotten in the flood of affection that surrounded him.

  “I think, sir,” Vane bowed to Sir William, “that the motion is carried. We shall celebrate your great victories in a fitting style.”

  Sir William gave Vane a rueful, though grateful, smile. “Perhaps we can celebrate peace instead, Kit?”

  “Victory is peace.” Vane stated his creed, and again a cheer echoed about the great room.

  At the dinner’s end, while most of the guests lolled comfortabl
y with port and brandy, Sir William took his customary walk in the garden. He liked to stroll alone, but this evening Vane begged for the privilege of accompanying his master.

  “Gladly!” Sir William smiled, still evidently warmed by Vane’s egregious flattery. “It was kind of them to applaud, my dear Kit, but hardly apposite?”

  Vane smiled. “No, sir?”

  “Three thousand enemies taken at Fort Washington don’t balance six thousand men lost at Saratoga.” Sir William walked in silence for a few paces, while his dog, for whose benefit this evening walk was taken, rooted about in the shrubbery. “Our only chance of success is if the rebels accept our peace terms.”

  “If you say so, sir.” Vane, disagreeing, did not want to express his disagreement.

  “And the French itch to join the dance.” Sir William spoke sadly.

  “The rebels, sir, might contemplate your peace terms if they suffered another defeat?”

  Sir William laughed sourly. “I believe we had this same conversation six months ago? One more victory, and peace would follow, isn’t that what we said? Well, we had our victory, but it didn’t do us much good, so perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I should let you hotheads take the reins for a while. Isn’t that what you want, Kit? I know you want something, or was that very skilful flattery a simple expression of your goodwill?”

  Christopher Vane forced a smile. “I thought I was being very subtle, sir.”

  “No.” Sir William paced the lawn in silence for a few seconds, then looked sideways at his aide. “When I appointed you, Kit, last summer after you’d been so very brave, what did you hope would happen?”

  “Happen, sir?”

  “Your ambitions, what were they?”

  Vane was embarrassed. “To please you, sir.”

  “Your work does. Very much. You’re very efficient.” Sir William smiled. “I’m sometimes tempted to think it’s because of your training in a counting house, or is that unfair?”

  Vane hated his family’s background of trade to be mentioned, but he could not deny it. “Not unfair, sir, no.”

  “But in some ways I’m disappointed.” Sir William offered Vane a kindly look, as if to suggest that this criticism was not to be taken too much to heart. “You see the war, Kit, as a personal crusade, and it isn’t. We’re just the instruments of policy, nothing more.” The Commander-in-Chief stopped his pacing and turned to face Vane. “So you flatter me, hoping to soften me, and I fear it might be in aid of one of your personal vendettas. Who is it this time?”

  Vane was horrified at the reprimand. For a second he was tempted to abandon his mission, but he had the scent of treachery in his nostrils and he was convinced that, by scotching whatever stank, he could tip the fragile balance of defeat and victory. “I don’t know if it’s a vendetta or not, sir. What I do know is that our attack on the river forts last autumn was betrayed. I also know who carried the warning to the forts.”

  It seemed he must have surprised Sir William, for the Commander-in-Chief appeared struck dumb. His only reaction was to flinch slightly, then rub his back that had been giving him trouble in the last few days.

  “I’m talking about betrayal, sir.” Vane’s voice was insistent.

  “I suppose you are, yes.”

  “The man who delivered the warning, sir, must have confederates within the city. I want your permission to find the man and question him.”

  “A man, you say?” Sir William’s interest seemed polite, rather than urgent.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Sir William arched his back and stared up at the topmost branches of an apple tree on which the blossoms were just showing as tightly budded curls. “How many thousands of souls live in Philadelphia? Thirty thousand? And another ten within a handful of miles? And perhaps a third of them are disposed towards the rebel cause. I can’t see that finding one out of so many will help our efforts.”

  “Sir!” Vane spoke a shade too firmly, but he forced Sir William to look him in the eye. “Only a handful of men knew of your plans, sir. Only a handful! That isn’t thousands!”

  Sir William, forced to the point, started his slow pacing again. “And how did you discover this man’s existence?”

  “A rebel prisoner confessed, sir.”

  “Ah!” Sir William at last showed a flash of interest. “Whatever prompted such disloyalty in the man?”

  “He wanted his freedom, sir.”

  “And you gave it to him?” Sir William sounded astonished at such evidence of venality.

  “I said I would urge his case on you, sir, that is all.”

  “I certainly won’t barter a man’s freedom for dishonouring his allegiance! I will not! Besides, such a man will say anything to gain an advantage. Anything!”

  “I believe this man, sir.” Vane did, too, for Lieutenant James Lynch was buried in the plague pit to the west of the city. The prison authorities, with enough sins of their own to hide, had shown no scepticism at Vane’s story. Lynch had attacked a British officer, and Lynch had died. The matter was closed.

  Sir William seemed to accept Vane’s forceful avowal of the prisoner’s truthfulness. “So what did this disloyal prisoner confess to you?”

  “He named the man who brought the warning to Fort Mercer, sir. A ferryman called Davie Logan. He lives up river, has one eye and a broken nose.”

  The final details came lamely off Vane’s tongue, but they amused Sir William. “And what do you wish to do about this one-eyed and hobbling ferryman?”

  “I’ve talked to the Rangers, sir, and they say we should be able to find Logan. They’re enthusiastic, sir. I know that Logan himself isn’t important, but we should know who gave him the information. If I can find that out, sir, we’ve found the person who betrayed all our plans this winter.”

  Sir William privately noted how the man who had evidently betrayed the attack on the forts was now held responsible for every setback of the winter, but he did not remark on such an expansion of Vane’s argument. Instead, Sir William dug the point of his boot into the grass. “You talked to the Rangers?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That was precipitate of you.”

  The words were said mildly, but Vane detected a further reproof in them. He had tried hard, with his earlier flattery, to restore his old and easy relationship with the Commander-in-Chief, and now he offered a plausible excuse for encouraging the Rangers to vengeance. “I only wanted their local knowledge, sir.” Then, hearing the timidity in his own voice, Vane offered Sir William a rueful smile and took refuge in a frank admission of the truth. “That isn’t true, sir. What I want to do, and what I need your permission to do, is ride north with the Rangers and find this man Logan. We can do it inside a day, sir, and the Rangers are confident of success.”

  Sir William, his hands clasped behind his back, walked a few paces in silence. “I fear you won’t like this, Kit, but I must forbid you to pursue this matter.”

  “Forbid me?” Vane astonishment was clear.

  Sir William offered an apologetic shrug. “You mustn’t get excited about such things. The enemy have spies, yes. But so do we. How else could we have caught those poor fellows at the Crooked Billet?”

  “But this treachery is close to you, sir. Too close for safety!”

  Sir William’s reply was checked by the opening of one of the doors leading on to the upper terrace. Lord Howe, resplendent in his admiral’s braid, frowned at his younger brother. “Damnedest thing, Willie.”

  “Richard?”

  “Boat cloak and hat. Both gone! Your fellow Evans swears he hung them in the hall. I came to see if you’d borrowed them?”

  “Not me, I fear.” Sir William spread his hands in a gesture of ignorance.

  “Bloody thieves!” The Admiral growled his way back into the house.

  Sir William, recovering the thread of the interrupted conversation, looked sadly at Vane. “Perhaps you do deserve an explanation, Kit.”

  “I’d be grateful, sir.”

  Sir Will
iam frowned to himself. “Otto Zeigler told me much the same news three or four months ago. He didn’t know about this Logan fellow, but he knew enough to cause me some grief.” Sir William shrugged. “I did nothing. I had particular reasons for doing nothing.”

  Vane, sensing that he was being taken into the General’s deepest confidence, kept silent.

  Sir William stared at the pale grass which had been bruised during the frost months. “As you say, only a handful of people knew of the attack; all of them officers I trust implicitly. But I did tell one other person.”

  “Ah.” Vane felt the acute embarrassment of a young man who was being shown the weakness of an elder man.

  “Indeed. Not that Lizzie’s a traitor, that’s nonsense! But she can be indiscreet, and she’s become monstrous fond of Martha Crowl!” Sir William smiled ruefully. “I know you don’t like the Widow, but I like her. Indeed I do.”

  “Love your enemies? Do good to those who hate you?”

  “What I especially like about Mrs Crowl,” Sir William said gleefully, “is that almost alone of my enemies she does not quote the Scriptures to me. But I have no doubt she would betray my plans to her friends.”

  “And you would leave her unpunished?” Vane said it a shade too forcefully.

  “It was my fault, Kit. I betrayed my own confidence, and I cannot attach fault to an avowed rebel if she takes advantage of such foolishness.” Sir William shrugged. “I daresay that if you found your one-eyed waterman and could persuade him to talk with you, he would lead you to Mrs Crowl, but I cannot see what purpose we will have served. She cannot betray us again, not unless I am indiscreet again. No, Kit, I must ask you to do nothing.” He saw the disappointment on his aide’s face. “Besides, I daren’t upset an applecart while the peace negotiations are being proposed. And Mrs Crowl has been useful to me in those negotiations, indeed she has!”

  “Useful?” Vane could not disguise his astonishment.

  “It’s most useful to have an enemy touchstone,” Sir William said happily, “and now that Charlie’s gone back to the rebels I really can’t expect to find a better one than Mrs Crowl.” Sir William chuckled. “And Charlie took his whore with him, I hear?”