As a gentleman he thought about money only as much as he needed to. He sent what he could home to his family and thought nothing more of it. What he longed for was to serve the Crown and he’d come to the Province to do just that. He knew he was a capable officer. If only he got the opportunity, he knew another senior officer would appreciate his service, perhaps even General Braddock himself. He’d heard talk of an expedition Braddock planned on leading deep into the frontier to challenge the French and push them out of English territory once and for all.
The door to the study opened, snapping Pyke out of his reverie. He expected to see the colonel’s liveried footman, a long-time sergeant who’d served under the colonel for years.
But instead, Lieutenant Smith appeared in the hallway, pipe in his mouth. He was out of uniform, having returned to Jenkins Town very recently from leave – his fourth extended absence in as many months.
“Ah, Pyke. Good to see you. You can be the first to congratulate me.”
Pyke forced a smile. “Likewise, Smith. What good news for you, then?”
No doubt the man had been busy apple-polishing as was his wont and in the process had earned some small kindness from the colonel, which he was now going to embellish. Smith advanced his career not by being an exceptional officer but rather by knowing how to curry favor.
“My promotion.” Smith’s mouth twisted into a smile. “Captain Smith. It has quite a ring to it.”
“Captain …”
Smith kept talking but Pyke didn’t hear a word of what was said. Pyke had been given his commission prior to Smith and had spent the better part of his service on dangerous missions, while Smith usually landed routine patrols and found ways to dally in Philadelphia. Pyke had seen real action on the frontier, risking life and limb to protect the fragile peace of the Colony, not to mention his commanding officer’s reputation.
Across the sea, Pyke would have been made captain a year ago and would have been on track for the rank of major by now. Whereas a man like Smith would have …
Smith had finished speaking and was waiting for a response.
Pyke realized he was frowning. He stopped but couldn’t bring himself to smile. “Yes, well-deserved. Congratulations.”
Before he said anything rash, Pyke moved past Smith and headed for the colonel’s study.
“Sir.”
Pyke stopped dead before he reached the study and looked over his shoulder at Smith.
Smith’s mouth smiled but his eyes did not. “I am your ranking officer now, Mr. Pyke. Not to rub your nose in it, I’d never do a thing like that, but you should call me sir so the men don’t get any ideas. I’m sure you understand.”
Pyke held the man’s stare for a long time. Ever since they had met, Smith had dogged him and sought to undermine him at every pass. Smith would use his new rank to press every advantage he had to keep Pyke under heel.
“Congratulations. Sir.”
“Thank you, Mr. Pyke. Now you better get in there. The colonel is a very busy man.”
Pyke felt his nails dig into his palms and realized he was making fists.
***
The colonel had always been portly but now he was rotund. Rarely did he leave his home and only then to dine or to meet Penn’s officials, which was an excuse to gluttony. His command was peculiar and suited him well. Most of the work involved patrols, defending Jenkins Town, mediating disputes, and offering support to neighboring British settlements. He had his lieutenants—and now one captain—to do this for him so his desk was his home and his hobby, cartography, was slowly consuming his life.
“Mr. Pyke, good to see you.” The colonel said it in such a way that it was clear he was not. “At ease.”
Pyke fell into parade rest and spread his feet. At ease meant he could look the colonel in the eye, which he did now.
“Good to see you, Colonel. By way of quick report, last night’s patrol proved fruitless. Our men discovered signs of a temporary camp but no Indians. The farmers are telling the truth about the raids. My recommendation, sir, is to station a squad near the farmland where they will be in a better position to capture any marauders.”
The colonel took a long pull on his pipe. “Just as likely these Prussian farmers created the illusion of an enemy camp so they can tie up more of the Crown’s resources.”
Pyke didn’t see what the local farmers had to gain by the supposed deceit. No money was changing hands and the soldiers wouldn’t assist with the farming. He was about to say as much when the colonel spoke again.
“We have a much more pressing matter to discuss, Mr. Pyke.” He moved some sketch maps on his unruly desk aside and found the report he was looking for. Pipe ash fell all over his desk as he did this. “There is a mission that I think you are best-suited for given your qualifications and history with the local tribes.”
“I stand ready to serve, Colonel.”
“Spare me the platitudes, Pyke. You and I haven’t always seen eye-to-eye and our history is bleeding through your tone. If you’re not going to be sincere, then keep your bloody bone box shut. Understood?”
Pyke was taken aback. He hadn’t intended to put any tone in his voice. But apparently one had come across anyway. He had to measure his words better. The enlisted men respected him, but when it came to people with any authority he had few allies in the Colony. His commanding officer wasn’t one of them.
“Sir, my apologies but I did not intend to—”
Bennett held up his pudgy hand. “Save it. Now then. Reports are coming out of Millers Town of Indian raids. This latest report states the Susquehannock are the cause.”
Millers Town. The Susquehannock. Pyke had history with both. He’d befriended a Susquehannock warrior by the name of Wolf Tongue and together they had tracked down a renegade Englishman on the frontier. Their violent, dangerous journey had taken them through Millers Town, giving them an opportunity to meet the townspeople.
Based on what Pyke knew, the report did not make sense. “The Susquehannock are our allies. They have a good relationship with us, trade frequently with our settlements including Millers Town, and have no love for the French. They would not raid, not unless they were provoked. I know many of them personally.”
The colonel harrumphed. “You weigh your history with the savages more than the word of an Englishman?”
“Sir. You might recall from my report on the late business with the Susquehannock that we encountered scalpers from Millers Town. Ample provocation if the Susquehannock were so inclined.”
“I recall your prolix, verbose report very well, Mr. Pyke. I also recall from that same report that you put the scalpers to the death. All of them loyal citizens, by the way.”
One of the scalpers, a man by the name of Nederwue, had been Dutch, actually, but that wasn’t worth pointing out. Pyke and the colonel had waged this battle before and Pyke knew he would never win. He could only hope not to lose the argument.
“They were murderers and they were jeopardizing the mission, sir.”
“You cannot murder a savage, Pyke. You can only kill them. And besides, as rational beings, the villagers would have heeded you had you better explained the critical nature of your mission.”
The colonel would hold this history over him always. Scalpers had followed Pyke and Wolf Tongue from Millers Town and surrounded them at the worst moment: when they were within striking distance of their quarry. The scalpers promised to leave Pyke unmolested but in exchange they wanted Wolf Tongue’s head. Wolf Tongue might have been a savage but that didn’t excuse Pyke’s obligation, or the fact that scalping was an evil practice. So Pyke and Wolf Tongue had turned the tables on the scalpers, sending them all to early graves.
Later, Pyke had grown to respect and even admire the Indian. Wolf Tongue was a great warrior, an honest man, and a good friend. His brand of honor differed from Pyke’s, but at least he had a code.
The same couldn’t be said about many an Englishman.
Pyke said, “I was under orders of
confidentiality from you so I explained what I could to the scalpers. They did not heed me. I needed Wolf Tongue and without him and the Susquehannock, Azariah Bennett would still be stirring up trouble.”
At the mention of his dead, rebellious grand-nephew, the colonel stiffened. “Don’t think yourself so powerful, Mr. Pyke. If you had failed—and you nearly did—I would have found someone else to handle Azariah.”
Pyke bristled. The mission had been a wild success in light of how the colonel had mismanaged the overall strategy by sending only two men after a charismatic rogue rumored to command dozens. And now Bennett was making it out to be a near-failure!
The colonel said, “Have you gone native? Maybe I should send Captain Smith instead, as he’ll be more predisposed to trust our own people.”
Pyke knew he was overstepping, but he opened his mouth anyway. “Captain Smith does not know which end of his musket is the working one.”
The colonel’s eyes bulged and his fist rattled the desk. “Captain Smith is now your superior officer. Any more insubordination like that and I’ll turn you into a Junior Grade!”
A demotion? When he should have been awarded the rank of Captain? Pyke was beside himself but forced a calming breath down his throat.
“Sir, I am best suited for this mission. I know the parties and I have a rudimentary understanding of the Susquehannock tongue.”
The colonel slowly leaned back in his seat, sated by Pyke’s response. He brought his pipe to his puckered lips and puffed.
“That’s more like it, Mr. Pyke. Likely we would find a chest of French sols buried in the Susquehannock village, no doubt the damn French have put them up to this latest series of raids. Now I’d like you to get out there posthaste and find out what’s going on. Report back to me immediately.”
“Where will I find the man that filed this report?”
“He will meet you at first light at the armory. His name is Fletcher.”
Pyke knew the man from his short time at Millers Town. “Sir, if I may make a request?”
The colonel sighed. “Go on.”
“These townfolk likely suspect Wolf Tongue and I killed their kin.”
“A sin you will now have to atone for, Mr. Pyke.”
“I will go to my grave with a clear conscience,” Pyke said, hard-pressed to keep the edge out of his voice. “My point is, they will not receive us with open arms. At best they’ll be neutral. At worst they’ll undermine me at every turn. With the men by my side, the townfolk will be forced to accept my authority.”
“With the bloody French threatening war? With all these other raids by the bloody savages?” Bennett shook his head somberly. “I’m not going to send what few soldiers we have to Millers Town to settle this petty dispute.”
Pyke could see where this was going, so he changed tacks. “But, sir, if there is any truth to the rumors, the town may need interim defenses until we can settle the matter properly with the raiders. I would request five men for this mission. In fact, I have some thoughts on who they should be.”
Damn the colonel! Pyke did not want to be in the same position as last time, when he and Wolf Tongue were two men challenging a small army.
“Captain Smith has an important mission that requires what men we have in the regiment. These damn Quakers refuse to raise a militia, so you will be satisfied with Sergeant Davies alone. Conclude any local business you have this evening and leave at first light. I expect your report in three days. That is all.”
“Sir?”
“What is it, Pyke?” The colonel had purposely left out the mister.
Pyke squared his shoulders and forced the colonel to meet his eye. “I’ve been in your service for quite some time now and have, I believe, served honorably.”
“As all officers should.”
“Yes …” Pyke already could tell he wouldn’t get anywhere with the colonel. Still he had to raise the issue to satisfy his own self-worth. “For that reason I wanted to discuss my career with you. I was given my commission more than—”
“You saw Smith and now you want a promotion too? Really, Pyke, I thought you a bigger man than all that. You’re acting like a jealous second-born whose older brother was just given his first horse.”
Deep breath. “Sir, I already had these thoughts in mind before Captain Smith shared his good news with me.”
“Oh, so your sin isn’t jealousy. It’s pride and greed?”
“Sir, back in England commanding officers regularly discuss these matters with their junior officers to—”
The colonel was out of his seat. “You presume to tell me how to soldier?”
“No, sir, I was only saying—”
“Get out of here!”
***
Great Britain warred with France in all but name in the New World and it seemed to Pyke that everyone but the men under Colonel Bennett had seen action. He’d heard stories of Robert Rogers’s heroics and of Washington’s failures. Long had Pyke looked forward to proving himself on the field of battle and if he could do it against the ever-poisonous French, all the better.
Of course, he had proven himself one year ago in Penn’s Woods against a madman leading a ragtag army. But Colonel Bennett had quickly pushed that mission back into the closet, barely commending Pyke for a job well done under extreme circumstances. Robbed of any recognition, he’d looked forward to marching against the French but so far that opportunity had proven elusive. Instead of getting his chance at a proper mission, once again the colonel was shuffling him off to a thankless job on the frontier away from the real action.
Pyke stood in his small room in the boarding house after packing his supplies for the next morning. He surveyed the room once, then tucked his pistol into his belt, but left his saber where it lay against the dresser. On his way out the door, he eyed the tomahawk, a souvenir from his time with the Susquehannock. He tucked that under his belt. Though his conversation with the colonel had been unpleasant, it had stirred fond memories of his mission with Wolf Tongue. By now the man was surely married and his wife probably with child.
The evening was cold. Lanterns lit York Road, which had turned sloppy with ruts as snow melted and refroze beneath horses’ hooves and wagon wheels. Pyke took the street, waving to people he knew as he went.
Officers normally irrigated at Molly’s Tavern but last week some low-level Philadelphian official had gotten drunk as an emperor and negligently started a fire that had consumed Molly’s and threatened to take the Magistrate’s office next door. The taverners had formed a line from the closest well to the tavern and passed buckets back and forth throughout the night to stop the inferno.
The upshot of this was that Pyke and the other two officers, Smith included, were forced to imbibe at The Brown Cow where the enlisted men drank. Pyke didn’t mind being around the men but he liked to give them their space when they weren’t on duty so they could bark at the moon without an officer’s eyes on them. By dining there Pyke was forced to watch over them and they were forced to be on their best behavior, an arrangement neither party wanted.
Pyke entered The Brown Cow. Tobacco smoke hung stubbornly in the air and with the fire going, the tavern was easily twenty degrees warmer than the outside. At the corner table a lively game of John Bull ensued where gamblers tossed coins with noisy clinks onto their grid and won, or lost, small fortunes. The enlisted men waved or nodded at him and Pyke returned the gestures. He took a table by himself and away from them so they had their space. Sergeant Davies took up one whole side of their table himself. He was a big fellow with a booming laugh that rattled mugs. He was probably three drinks ahead of everybody, though he could handle it better than anyone Pyke had ever met.
Pyke hadn’t eaten since breakfast so he was gut-foundered. The server brought him a mug of small ale. Everyone said the Jenkins Town water was unpolluted but few were brave enough to drink it. Five minutes later the server was back with spoon bread and a bowl of whatever they had caught and found this late in the winter—it
seemed to be squirrel and some brown-stained root vegetable. Pyke declined that strange gray loaf concoction their Prussian butcher seemed to have no shortage of, scrapple.
Men came and went and the conversation remained lively. Pyke enjoyed two small ales, knowing they would aid him in digestion and also maintain his strength. He kept his own company, a company he enjoyed. He ordered one last drink. The ale had taken the edge off the day and that was enough. Pyke was careful not to bung his eye, as he’d seen many men ruined by drink.
He called the server one last time and requested he fill his wine skin with cider. He returned a few minutes later and he thanked him and put it away. He enjoyed cider but the drink was not for him.
As he took his last sip of ale, the conversation around the tavern suddenly died down. Men turned in their seats to look at the entrance.
Damaris Bennett had entered the tavern and was looking at him.
***
He had loved her. He had approached the colonel to ask permission for her hand in marriage, and the colonel had approved. But all that had transpired before he truly knew her. At that time she’d just been a red-haired beauty with dazzling eyes and a sensual air.
She had been spoiled and romantic and overstepping, but he’d written that off to her youth and the influence of the Colony on her. But then … then she had sided with Azariah, her cousin-removed against her own father. She had even fired a pistol at Pyke, though whether she was actually trying to shoot him, he could not say. She had missed him from inside ten feet.
Her actions had forced Pyke’s eyes open. He’d been wrong in his appraisal. He’d brought her home to the colonel and cut ties with her, though he’d continued to serve her father honorably.
The sight of her still stirred something inside him. Pyke didn’t know what to label his feelings. He had been in battle and knew the strange experience of later reliving each gory detail in his mind, the memories forcing him to relive his emotions. He wondered if the same thing were at play when he saw her.
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