Accidental Warrior: The Unlikely Tale of Bloody Hal

by Colin Alexander

  “Hal! Get the carriage right away! I have to get back to the fort!”

  Why could they not have sent one of the house servants to the back to alert the coachman that he was needed? Since they had not, it meant that Hal had to walk around the house and down the lane to reach the outbuildings at the back. When he returned with the carriage, Johanna still looked flustered. She bit her lip and looked like she would cry as she got into the coach with Hal.

  “Hal, I don’t know what to do. Can I talk to you? You’re always such a good listener.”

  A nod of his head was all the encouragement she needed.

  “I saw quite enough fighting at Nieuwmarkt, thank you, to last the rest of my life. I don’t need to see it here. That’s what we pay you and the others for, isn’t it? To take care of the fighting, I mean. I don’t want to see it.”

  “Johanna, what do you mean about fighting here?”

  “It’s what Martin said.” She stopped and took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, Hal, but you’re such a good listener, oh, I just said that before, didn’t I, but, anyway, you’ll know what I should do. Martin said something is going to happen here. He heard it from his father. I don’t think he said exactly what, or maybe he did and I didn’t hear, but I know his father said that he thought there might be fighting here. He was worried about me. That’s why he said something. He thought it might be best if I took a ship back to Fort Christina, or something like that. Hal, I was so scared in the forest. That can’t happen here, can it?” By the time she had finished, her voice had turned into a wail. Tears stained both cheeks.

  “Did Martin tell you what this something is?” Hal asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Did he say when this would happen?”

  “I don’t think so. Maybe he did. I don’t remember. I should tell Father, shouldn’t I? Do you think I should leave? I might never see Martin again. But Father may think I’m a foolish girl. What should I do, Hal?”

  “You should tell your father,” Hal said. “Then, do what he says.” He would like to hear Gustavus’ counsel himself.

  When they reached the fort, Hal stayed by Johanna. They found Gustavus reading by the fire in his apartment.

  “Far! Jag behöver tala med dig. Nu!” She seemed unaware that Hal was right behind her.

  Gustavus looked up in surprise at the tone of her voice. He answered in the same language. Hal caught the name “Martin” but nothing else. The conversation ended with Gustavus shaking his head. He walked over to embrace his daughter, who was starting to sob, and whispered to her.

  Gustavus let go of her in order to reach into his jacket. His hand came out holding an envelope of heavy paper. He stared at the red seal that held it closed, then his eyes fastened on Hal.

  “I gather Johanna has told you what she just told me,” he said. “Go and find one of the Provi guards. It doesn’t matter which one, just one of the uniformed guards. Say nothing about this. Bring him back here at once.”

  At Gustavus’ words, Johanna jumped and squeaked at Hal, “What are you doing here? I didn’t tell you to come in here with me.” Her cheeks turned quite red. All of it, anger included, because Hal had seen her panic and need to be comforted.

  Gustavus paid no attention to his daughter’s distress. “It is just as well that he is here,” he said. “There is work to do and it needs to be done promptly.”

  Hal simply nodded and went out the door. He wished it had been him, not Gustavus, who had hugged her and wiped away her tears. If only Martin Wycliff would panic and take a sailing ship to somewhere far away! Or maybe he should take a sailing ship. Maybe to Fort Christina with Johanna. But, what about Magicals? Well, maybe he could find out what he needed to know in Fort Christina. For all of Tom Pyke’s assurance, he had found nothing he could use in Nieuw Amsterdam.

  The fort was full of Provi soldiers so it did not take long for Hal to find one and ask him to come to Gustavus’ apartment. When they returned, Gustavus was standing in the middle of the room. Johanna was nowhere to be seen.

  “What is your name?” Gustavus asked the Provi.

  “Sergeant Messerman of the Governor’s Guard,” the man said. “Your soldier said you needed some assistance.”

  “That I do.” Gustavus tapped the letter against his palm. “This letter must be delivered immediately to Provisional Governor Harmsworth. You see that it is sealed by the arms of Nya Sverige. Give this to the governor and tell him that I need to see him at his earliest convenience. The matter is urgent. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir! At once!” Messerman took the letter and practically ran out the door. The name of Percy Harmsworth was not bandied around lightly. Gustavus, his face grim, signaled Hal to stay.

  The sergeant was back in less than half an hour. His bearing when he entered was deferential. “Provisional Governor Harmsworth will be pleased to see you now—right now, sir,” he said. “Will you come with me please, sir?”

  “Of course,” said Gustavus. “Come along, Hal. I think I would rather have you with me than off talking in the mess.”

  Percy Harmsworth’s office dwarfed Gustavus’ apartment. It was set into one of the seaside walls of the fort so that its windows looked out on the mouth of the Hudson. Inside, the office was richly furnished with upholstered chairs and sofa, biblical scenes in fine needlework worked into the cushioning.

  Set in front of the windows, a massive desk of dark wood dominated the room. The man standing behind the desk also dominated that office. His power ran from Nieuw Amsterdam to the French border in the north and to the Delaware River in the west. Hal had only glimpsed Percy Harmsworth from a distance at the ball. As they approached the desk, he found himself riveted by Harmsworth’s eyes. They were not merely blue; they were luminous. Meeting their gaze was a challenge in itself. Once past the eyes, Provisional Governor Harmsworth was a man of average height. He had a heart-shaped face with light brown hair, thinning on top, and a pointed goatee. Past Gustavus’ shoulder, Hal saw the letter open on top of Harmsworth’s desk.

  Harmsworth wasted no time on preliminaries. “This letter credentials you as an emissary of the governor-general of Nya Sverige. I had a feeling you were not just an ordinary merchant, although I did not expect a direct representative of the governor-general.”

  “Ah, Excellency,” Gustavus began, “I am just an ordinary merchant. It is only that our governor-general has asked that, this time, I take an extraordinary role.”

  “Spare me any false modesty,” Harmsworth said. “An ordinary merchant would not have been bringing that shipment of rifles. And because he would not have been bringing the rifles, he would not have been waylaid near Nieuwmarkt. This letter gives you the authority to act in the name of Nya Sverige and requests that I grant you the same status as an ambassador. What business would require that?”

  “I thank your Excellency for being direct. I will be direct also. It has come to my attention that your government sees a risk of fighting here in the near future. I assume, from what I have heard, that the concern involves Nieuw Amsterdam itself and not merely more news of brigands in Nassau. You will understand, I am sure, that Nya Sverige is keenly interested in the stability of your government. If you have planned some operation, we are unaware of it. The position of Nya Sverige may be important to you.”

  Harmsworth was smiling, but the smile went no further than the muscles around his mouth. “If the Provisional Government of Nieuw Netherlands is planning an operation, why do you think I would discuss it with you?”

  Gustavus gestured at the letter. “As I said, the position of the government of Nya Sverige is likely to be important to you. I will be in communication with my government. If there is any question of stability here, Nya Sverige will need to consider who we are sending rifles to, how those rifles are going to be used, and how our interests will be affected. A reconsideration will happen also, of course, if I am prevented from communicating with my government. It is in y
our interest to allow me to give assurances.”

  Abruptly, Harmsworth sat down in his chair. He picked up the letter with both hands as if he was studying it. Without looking at Gustavus, he said, “So, if you are not satisfied with what you hear, or don’t hear, Nya Sverige will not be supplying more rifles. That I need, God dammit!”

  Hal edged away from the desk, but not so far that he could not hear what they were saying. Neither Gustavus nor Harmsworth seemed to notice his movement.

  Gustavus smiled thinly. “I did not say that we would make no further shipments. I merely indicated that the governor-general will likely take into account the, ah, political situation into which the rifles are going.”

  “Yes. And when I filter the garbage out of that phrasing, it amounts to what I said before. My better judgment tells me that this information is best closely held, but I am not sure I have a choice. I will, however, ask a price. We have argued over replacing the rifles for weeks. I have a corvette ready to sail tomorrow. Will you send a request to your government to replace the shipment that was lost?”

  “Provided that the situation is satisfactory, I can have the rifles replaced, but I have my own conditions for the message.” Gustavus folded his arms across his chest. “The price will be the same as before. But, it must also be agreed that the attack at Nieuwmarkt was due to the failure of your troops to maintain safety along your roads. I must be compensated for the loss of the rifle shipment entrusted to me by Nya Sverige, and for my other goods.”

  Harmsworth looked as though he had bit into a lemon. “So, in the end, your loss becomes my loss and the merchant protects his profit. The risks of the road should be your risks, but we have been over this before and, clearly, I cannot continue that argument.” He stood up and walked around the desk to face Gustavus. “Your sources are correct, in part,” he said. “We have uncovered a plot, instigated by the last and least son in Montreal, no doubt, to stage a rebellion against this government. They plan to strike on the seventh of March. The rebels plan to seize control of the city and, probably, expect that our Long Island forces in Breuckelen and Boswijck and the troops west of the Hudson will acquiesce and accept their control.”

  Hal inhaled sharply, but the two of them were focused on each other. He could have been another piece of furniture.

  “You sound like you are anticipating another civil war,” Gustavus said. “That is not good news. Nya Sverige will not want to see our rifles pointing back at us if things go amiss.”

  “The rebels hope for a quick takeover, but that will not happen, nor will there be another civil war. They are doomed to be sorely disappointed,” Harmsworth said. “We will strike before they do and, while I do expect some fighting, it is they who will be taken by surprise and defeated.”

  “I do not understand something, Your Excellency,” Gustavus said. “If you are aware of the plot now, why haven’t you crushed them already? Why take a chance by waiting?”

  “Spoken like a merchant who sees a bargain, and not like a soldier.” Harmsworth smiled while Gustavus colored. “I could act now, but what would I gain? I would bag the organizers in Nieuw Amsterdam, that is true, but they are not the real leaders. Those will infiltrate the city, along with most of their strength, closer to the time they plan to strike. If I strike now, I will only postpone the day of reckoning with them. I do not eliminate the threat. By waiting until they commit their strength, I will have them all. The survivors, I will turn over to Henry Wycliff. He is an odd man, really—looks like a mouse, you know, but he has, shall we say, a knack for handling rebels and prisoners. It will teach people a lesson they will remember for decades.”

  “I see,” Gustavus said. “And when do you plan to move?”

  “That date I prefer to withhold,” Harmsworth said. “I will promise you, since I’m sure it is important to you, that you will have enough warning to move with your daughter to one of our warships. That should guarantee her safety.”

  “That is generous, Your Excellency.”

  “Now are you satisfied that we are in control of the situation, and will you send to Nya Sverige for that replacement shipment?”

  “I can do that. Now, can we come to agreement on my compensation?”

  “We can. But if I am to give you that, do you think you can enlarge the size of the shipment?”

  The bargaining went on for another hour. No further words were spoken about the impending rebellion. Hal, standing silent and forgotten, had no interest in the details of the arms deal. His mind was consumed with thoughts of the rebellion. Bel was in the streets of Nieuw Amsterdam. Bel had sworn to bring down the Provis, and here was the proof that she actually planned to do it. Here, too, was Provisional Governor Harmsworth calmly talking about turning over any prisoners he took to the tender mercies of Henry Wycliff. The image of Bel’s back was etched in Hal’s mind.

  23

  Revolutionary

  HAL HAD TO warn Bel. Harmsworth knew a revolt was coming, and that revolt must be the scheme Bel was involved in. The need to tell her formed a knot in his stomach the instant Gustavus dismissed him with dire warnings about what would happen if he mentioned what he had heard. The need overrode all his concerns about being around fighting again. Yes, he thought of Nieuwmarkt and of Quincy’s rapier. If he froze again he would be humiliated for sure, maybe even killed. But more than that, he thought about Bel being captured by Harmsworth’s soldiers, about Bel being handed back to Wycliff. He had to warn Bel.

  First, however, he had to find her. He was willing to bet that there was one person who could make that happen: the Pincher.

  As soon as he left Gustavus, Hal was out on the docks. He did not see the Pincher among the crowd, but when another small boy asked if there was an errand to run for money, Hal promised a copper if the Pincher appeared within the hour. In fact, the Pincher arrived substantially sooner, his dirty face showing its usual mixture of wariness and greed.

  “Want somethin’ today, do ye, soldier? Maybe a pretty young girl, this time, instead of that old hag, Anna?” He said the last loudly enough that two men standing nearby chuckled.

  Hal decided he had no time to be embarrassed. “Indeed, I have a young girl in mind, Pincher.”

  The boy licked his lips and held out his hand. “Tell me the age, the hair color, anything ye want. I’ll tell ye how much and I’ll find it. Ye know I will.”

  “Actually, it’s a very specific girl I want.” Hal tried to put a leer on his face.

  “Tell me and I’ll go. But ye still owe me for finding her even if she won’t go with ye.”

  “Come closer. I don’t want everybody hearing this.” In fact, no one was paying attention. A soldier on the docks arranging for a girl was not worth the effort to eavesdrop.

  The Pincher stepped over and tilted his head back to look into Hal’s face. “I don’t care who ye ask me to find, long as ye pay me for the finding. Do ye have the name, or just what she looks like?”

  “You’ll know who I mean,” Hal said. “I need to see Bel!”

  The Pincher started and tried to dart away, but as fast as the boy’s life on the streets had made him, Hal’s hand was faster. He clamped down on the Pincher’s arm.

  “Damn ye!” The Pincher tried to yank his arm free. “Let me go! I don’t know any such girl, but if ye pay me, I’ll look for her.”

  “I don’t think so.” Hal pulled the boy close and whispered into a dirty ear. “You know who I mean. The woodsranger girl with the scars on her face. I’ve seen you with her, so I know you know her. If I let you go, you’ll just vanish.”

  The Pincher had as much chance of budging Hal’s grip as he would have had pushing down Fort Stuyvesant’s walls. When he realized that, his free hand dove beneath his ragged shirts and came out with a knife. Again, Hal was faster. He grabbed the Pincher’s other wrist and squeezed. The boy gasped and the blade clattered on the pavement. A swipe from Hal’s boot and it skittered across the stones and into the water. The Pincher did not yell for help. A gri
my street urchin in the grip of a soldier was unlikely to find any sympathy in the crowd. Indeed, those nearby had pointedly looked away the moment the Pincher had drawn his dagger. Hal could have strangled the boy right there on the docks and nobody would admit to having seen a thing.

  “I’m a friend of hers,” Hal said. “I have to talk to her and it’s urgent, but I’m a friend. I’ll pay you well.”

  “A friend, ye say. How well would a friend pay?” The Pincher’s face showed only fear mixed with greed. Fear of whom? Hal wondered.

  “Name your price.”

  “Ten silver.” Greed had won out.

  Without hesitating, Hal pulled his small purse from his belt. One-handed, he pushed five coins into the Pincher’s hand. “The rest when I see her.” Hal jingled the pouch.

  “It will be a while.” The Pincher eyed the coins, then tucked them into his clothes. “Best I arrange it with her, if indeed ye are a friend.”

  “Let you go now? With five silver in your hand and you ready to bolt before you had anything?” Hal had to laugh. “I don’t think so. You’ll take me to her now, or take me to where she’ll be and we’ll wait. If you won’t, I’ll break your arms and legs and then we’ll see how you do on the streets.” Hal had thought about this particular moment during his walk to the docks. The Pincher might be dirty, he might be treacherous, he might be willing to sell his sister, if he had one, but Hal still found the idea of doing violence to a child repugnant. Unfortunately, there was no choice. If the Pincher did not fear him, he might well lead Hal around all day figuring that, sooner or later, he would break free.

  “I can take ye to her. Just let go my arm.”

  “No. We’ll walk like this.” Hal held up the Pincher’s arm in his grip. “And the moment I think it’s taking too long, I’ll snap these bones first.” He squeezed the Pincher’s wrist and heard a yelp in return.