Washington and Caesar

by Christian Cameron

  “Slavery is an issue that will haunt us for some time, I think.”

  Hamilton shook his head vehemently.”Can we allow that, sir? When even an advocate like the marquis tells us that it is a blot on our liberty?”

  Henry Lee shook his head just as vehemently. “When you speak of the end of slavery, Colonel Hamilton, you speak of depriving us of our property as surely as if you’d come and burned my house.”

  Stewart was seated at almost the middle of the table, and now he looked back and forth among the young men, and realized that it split them all. It was odd, as he had seen so many slaves in the north that he thought the matter was pandemic.

  But George Lake, whose accent was as deeply Virginian as Henry Lee’s, spoke with quiet confidence.

  “Can any man, who has fought so hard for his own liberty, sit idle while another man loses his?”

  Every head turned to him, the most junior officer present and welcome mostly as the prisoner’s escort and Lafayette’s friend.

  “What do you say, sir?” asked Henry Lee. In Virginia, he owned property worth thousands of pounds, and George Lake was a tradesman’s son and an apprentice, if that.

  “I say, with respect, that the men who have fought this war, the handful of us who served from Morristown and will still be here at the end, we know what all these words like liberty really mean. And we know when other men who didn’t do the fighting…” He stopped, as if stricken, and muttered an apology, but Hamilton looked like to applaud.

  “The ones who write the speeches and didn’t ever serve? Is that what you mean, Captain Lake?” Hamilton asked, rising a little. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

  Lee looked at Hamilton with scorn.

  “Free the slaves? Who will indemnify the owners? What will they do with themselves? Will they be citizens?”

  “King George might have said the very thing of us, sir!”

  “I think that the southern states would go to war rather than lose the full value of the property they have fought to save.”

  “Perhaps, then, we can see the precious manpower they cannot spare to fight this war!” Hamilton was on his feet. “At home, guarding against some fabled revolt of their slaves while we face the cannon and the redcoats.”

  He flamed red in the face. “My apologies, gentlemen. You all know I do not mean Virginia.” He turned to Captain Stewart. “And please pardon my fling against redcoats.”

  “My coat is most certainly red,” Stewart said with a smile.

  Washington looked down the table sternly, and shook his head.

  “I think this is why we keep politics out of the mess, Captain Stewart.”

  “I apologize for what I started, sir.”

  Hamilton turned to him and whispered as a strained conversation covered him from up the table. “You didn’t start it, sir. They did. When they bought their human cattle.”

  “Can we drink to the happy couple?” Sally asked, and Caesar glared at her.

  “I haven’t asked yet,” he said sheepishly. He was enjoying the mood and the conversation, and he didn’t want to come to the point of the evening yet. In a social way, he was afraid of Marcus White, and a little afraid of Polly.

  “You’re slow, then,” Sally quipped.

  Caesar looked across the table at Polly, whose eyes were down, and then at Marcus White. He reached into his pocket and pulled forth a plain silver band, hammered by the armourer from a shilling. His hands were trembling.

  “Sir, I have not hidden from you my admiration for your daughter, and I would like to take this occasion to ask for the honah, that is, honor of her hand,” he said. There was a quaver in his voice, but he got it out just as he had practiced it.

  Marcus White waved easily at Polly. “You know that you have my consent if you have hers.”

  Polly smiled. “You have mine.”

  Caesar went and knelt by her, and placed his ring on her finger.

  “Then I hope you will be my wife.”

  “I will, Caesar.” She kissed him on the forehead and then looked into his eyes, hers huge and dark. “But my father has to tell you something first, don’t you, Father?”

  “Tell me?”

  Marcus White looked at her, clearly a little frightened in his turn. Caesar knew what it must be immediately, and went to shush her.

  “This isn’t the place.” He looked at Sally, his distrust clear on his face. The scars made him look dangerous at such moments. “Perhaps when we’re alone.”

  “This is just the place,” insisted Polly, looking up at him with steady eyes.

  Marcus White looked at his daughter for a long moment.

  “If I must.”

  He looked around and then stood up to lock the room’s only door. Then he busied himself throwing wood on the fire.

  “Caesar, you know that I have something to do with gathering intelligence for the army?”

  “I do, sir. And you need say no more about it…”

  “Caesar, let my father speak.” Polly put her hand on his arm and left it there. Marcus White leaned forward over the table.

  “My daughter, Polly, often acts as a courier for me.” Caesar started, and he raised his hand. “No, please let me go on. I feel that you can know this because you know all the principals, and because it is time we draw this to a close. I do not so much collect intelligence as attempt to prevent the enemy collecting from us, do you understand?”

  Caesar narrowed his eyes a little, but nodded. He glanced at Sally, who was looking at her hands.

  “Throughout our army, the enemy has his spies. Some of them move around very publicly, because they wear the same uniform as you do but feel that the colonies have been unfairly treated. I can do little about them, and neither can anyone else.”

  Caesar nodded. Many officers had sympathies with the other camp.

  “The enemy also attempts to recruit spies through bribery, coercion, indeed, any method that will result in a flow of intelligence. I fear that this is not grounds for moral outrage, as I am very sure we do the same.”

  Caesar continued to watch his eyes.

  “Some time ago, someone who had been coerced approached me. She wanted to repent her sin. Indeed, she had little notion that I was anything but a minister of the Lord, but all her words fell on fertile ground. I took her under my wing. My daughter became her friend and confidante, because this woman was terrified all the time. I used my daughter to carry messages between us, and to follow certain people. This work was dangerous, but not as dangerous as my agent, the convert. Do you understand?”

  Caesar looked at Sally. He looked at her too long, and wondered what she had passed before she became a convert, but then he smiled.

  “I understand,” he said, and Polly pressed his hand. And Sally looked up, and into his eyes.

  “And I understand, what you and Marcus said. One day, you jus’ can’t be a slave no more.” She looked down. “I can be a whore. Folks like you think it low, but it ain’t like being a slave.” She looked up again. “Marcus is the best thing I ever knew, except maybe Jeremy. I couldn’t have jumped essept for Jeremy. But now I’m scared all the time.”

  Marcus said, “We’ve been feeding her false information for some time, and they are beginning to get on to it.”

  “So they beat you,” said Caesar, bitterly. “And I thought you had been with a man.”

  “Maybe I had,” said Sally. “That don’t make so much of a mind to me as it does you.”

  Caesar looked at Polly, and at Marcus.

  “I feared, once, that you were both spies. I even wondered which side you spied for.”

  Polly kicked her father lightly.

  “I told you he was quick.”

  Marcus nodded. “Why?”

  “You passed the lines too easily, and Polly seemed to know the headquarters, at least according to Jeremy. And you always seemed to know powerful men. I thought perhaps you were spying.”

  “Slavery does not beget confidence in one’s fellows,
does it, Caesar?”

  “No, sir. No, it does not.”

  Polly squeezed his hand again.

  “Now you know,” she said.

  “All’s well that ends well,” Caesar said, one of Jeremy’s favorites. And Sally gave a little sob.

  “It ain’t the end for me until Bludner’s dead,” she said. And somehow her saying it robbed much of the joy of the day.

  V

  Care and Labour

  I will plainly set before you, things as they really are; and shew you in what manner the Gods think proper to dispose of them. Know therefore, young Man!—these wise Governors of the universe have decreed, that nothing great, nothing excellent, shall be obtained without Care and Labour: They give no real Good, no true Happiness on other terms…If to be honoured and respected of the Republic be your Aim,—shew your Fellow-Citizens how effectually you can serve them: but if it is your ambition that all Greece shall esteem you,—let all Greece share the benefits arising from your labors…And if your design is to advance yourself by Arms;—if you wish the power of defending your friends, and subduing your enemies; learn the art of war under those who are well acquainted with it; and when learnt, employ it to the best advantage.

  VIRTUE’S ADDRESS TO HERCULES,

  FROM XENOPHON’S MEMOIRS OF SOCRATES,

  AS TRANSLATED BY SARAH FIELDING, 1762

  1

  New Jersey, April, 1779

  Polly felt as if she had been walking for her whole life. Her legs burned at every step and only the fact that she was late for her rendezvous and had charge of Sam kept her at it. If she had been alone, she might have looked for a friendly farm and rested.

  She had crossed the lines into the rebel-held area outside New York two weeks before. Her first contact had been away, and her second had changed the meeting place twice, scaring her and requiring her to stay close to the rebel camp for too long. The information he provided made the trip worthwhile, but she had walked a hundred miles in a week and she wanted to be home with her father and Caesar. And she wanted to live to be wed.

  At first she was cautious, sending Sam ahead to run and play and tell her what the roads were like, but they were both tired and she grew sloppy when she thought they were clear of the last rebel patrol. Besides, there were other people on the road, farm folk, and that made her relax.

  She came on the post suddenly at a turn in the road. It was new and unexpected, and Polly wanted to turn and find another way, but her rendezvous was just the other side of the lines here. Her news was too important to delay and she was late. In any case, they had already been seen. Best to brazen it out.

  She noted that the men in the post weren’t regulars. They were Connecticut militia. That could be good or bad. The militia was notoriously slack, but their men were ill disciplined. She had been groped by militia men enough times to know the difference and prefer the professionals at the Continental Army posts.

  She took Sam’s hand. Sam was just fourteen, stunted from a life of poor food and small enough to pass as her son or her brother. Polly used him to collect messages and run errands, and on trips like this he had become important for cover. She was afraid she was getting too well known.

  There was a wagon and several men on foot ahead of her, and one woman with a basket on her head who immediately tried to sell them eggs. Polly bought one and gave it to Sam, keeping the egg seller in conversation. She hoped to pass the post with the white girl, chatting.

  The militia began searching the wagon. Some of them were drunk, and the white girl gave her a worried look.

  “I mislike these. They are no true soldiers,” she said.

  Polly nodded. She took an apple from her apron, hard and wrinkled from a winter in the cellar. As she reached under her petticoat to find her clasp knife she used the movement to check that the ivory-handled dagger was still there. It had been Jeremy’s, and Caesar had lent it to her for luck. She touched it. Then she took her clasp knife, cut the apple and offered a piece to the girl. Sam finished the egg and looked at her with big eyes until she gave him a piece, too. The militia were still rifling the wagon, throwing things around, laughing. The farmer on the box grew angrier.

  “You’s nothin’ but cow boys!” he cried.

  All the smiles vanished. The militia began to look ugly, and one of them took an earthenware jug and smashed it on the ground. Cow boys was what the farmers called the Loyalist cavalry who stole their cattle. The name was beginning to spread to all the marauders who worked between the armies.

  Polly looked at the white girl, considering. It might be time to cut and run. The militia were dangerous, drunk and angry, and she didn’t fancy getting a black eye or worse.

  “They ain’t gon’ to let us cross easy, ma’am,” she said hesitantly, playing her part as a poor black from one of the farms.

  The girl looked more scared. “My brothers wanted to come, but I said it would be easier for me.” She shook her head. “These eggs ain’t worth what they has in mind.” Two more soldiers came up from behind them. They looked different. One sat under the tree with his weapon to hand, watching the two girls. The other smiled at Polly. Polly felt a touch of ice against her spine.

  Sam was looking at her. He was scared, and Polly was responsible for him. Sam made her trips easier but the responsibility weighed on her. In many ways, it was easier to travel on her own and she understood Caesar’s feelings for his company all the better. There wasn’t enough cover by the road to try and run. Even in petticoats, she could outrun most men, especially the lard-assed militia, but in open ground they could shoot her in a moment. And the two were watching her. They looked a little different, harder men altogether, like rangers or riflemen.

  The wagon cleared the post, the farmer poorer by some silver coin that had probably robbed him of the whole value of his trip to the Continental camp.

  “You pretty things have passes?” The sergeant had lank hair and his bad breath washed over Polly. The two rangers rose carefully and walked toward the sergeant, although both men were suddenly watching the distant woods on the British side of the lines.

  “You got a picket out?” asked one, teeth gripping an unlit pipe.

  “Jus’ my brother up the hill.”

  “He awake?”

  “What business is it o’ yourn? This be my post!”

  “Not if them Tory horse ride you down. See ’em?” The ranger pointed with his pipe. His motion was very small, careful. “Don’t act alarmed or they’ll come at us. Maybe they’re just lookin’.” The ranger looked at the militia with contempt. “What are you boys doin’ this far from our lines? Besides stealin’ from farmers?’

  The other ranger was smiling at the white girl. Finally he came over. Polly tried to listen to both while keeping her eyes down. Demure. Uninvolved. Her heart leapt at the notion that there were Loyalist cavalrymen just a few hundred yards away. They were probably hussars of the Queen’s Rangers, all friends of Caesar. They must be her rendezvous.

  “I’d fancy one of them eggs, miss,” said the second ranger. The white girl smiled nervously and gave him an egg, for which he paid a hard penny. That was a high degree of honor for a sentry post, from Polly’s experience.

  “Don’t you worry, miss. These milishee won’t harm you.”

  The first ranger was still trying to stare down the sergeant. “Well?”

  “Captain Bludner ordered us here. We’re lookin’ for Tory spies.”

  Polly froze. Just the name Bludner was enough to panic her, but she looked at Sam and thought, If I lose my head, they’ll take Sammy, too.

  The ranger looked at the militia sergeant, hard. “Bludner don’t run posts. An’ he ain’t much better ‘an a cow boy. Nor a cap’n, I reckon.” He looked at the whole group of men. “What the hell are Connecticut milishee doin’ in New Jersey?”

  “None o’ your business.” The lank-haired sergeant spat.

  “Bludner has his place up north o’ the river. Who sent you here?”

  “I’m loo
kin’ for spies.”

  Polly thought Bludner has a post, north of the river. That was news. She worked to master her fear. The sergeant was focused on the rangers. She thought she might play a part. After a moment, she snapped, “Then go fin’ some, an’ let po’ hones’ folk go work!”

  The sergeant turned and glared at her, but the rangers smiled. The second ranger, the tall one with a fancy hunting shirt and a beautiful knife, was telling the egg girl how to find his camp. Polly was scared but she had gotten the line out with real anger and she was waiting for the verdict.

  The first ranger looked up the road.

  “Come on, Elijah. These folk is gon’ to get ridden down in a minute, an’ I don’ wan’ to be here.”

  Elijah held up his hand and bent down to whisper something to the egg girl. He was good, thought Polly. The poor girl didn’t know what had hit her, she was so taken. She’d probably never been off her farm before.

  The rest of the militia were looking all around them, on the edge of panic, but the sergeant wasn’t giving in.

  “We can hold this post against some Tory horse, I guess. You walk off if you have a mind. I have orders.”

  Elijah actually kissed the egg girl’s hand. Something about it broke Polly’s fear, the thought that here on the edge of violence a man was courting, or something like it, and she laughed. She decided to play the saucy maid to the hilt, since she’d started.

  “You gon’ to defend us, Captain? Or jus’ flirt with the lady?”

  Elijah laughed. “Always time for flirtin’,” he said. His friend had walked a distance off, along the ridge to their right, and now he was suddenly lying flat and readying his rifle.

  “They’s a-comin’!” he called.

  Elijah picked up the butt of his rifle and turned away in one motion, headed for the ridge and his partner. “You’d best clear the road,” he called as he ran.

  Polly didn’t wait for more orders. She grabbed Sam’s hand and ran the other way into the field beside the road. The ground was still hard and the footing was good, and she ran easily. The further she ran, the more scared she was, waiting for a ball in the back.