America Über Alles

by Jack Fernley

  ‘Look at them. Look at them. Such bad people, such bad people. Nathanael Greene and Alexander Hamilton. These men argued that we should leave Philadelphia undefended, while they knew that Lord Howe would come sailing up the Elk and put this city to the torch and with it all of you good people. They knew. We have it here’ – he brandished a wad of papers – ‘their confessions. We’ll publish this today so that all of you can read it and see these men for what they are. For traitors, bad people. Bad. Very bad.

  ‘So, what shall we do with them?’

  And again the crowd exploded, a volcano of spite, hatred, madness, incomprehensible screams, a torrent of noise, that rebounded off the buildings and echoed around the open plaza, painful to the ear, murderous in its intent. The flames of the torches shivered as the hatred rose up like warm air currents from the writhing, angry mass.

  ‘What was that?’ asked von Steuben of the crowd. ‘You said what? You said, “Hang ’em up”?’

  He had heard no such call, but suddenly that was the call of the swarming mass, their inarticulate screeches, barks and cries suddenly taking shape around a unified call: ‘Hang ’em up!’

  Greene and Hamilton, their bodies shaking, the terror of the hatred of the mob burning into them, suddenly started protesting their innocence, but their words were lost in the uproar. Greene attempted to struggle. A guard whacked him around the head.

  ‘The people have spoken! The will of the people agrees with the will of Congress. Put them to the rope, boys!’ said von Steuben, as the guards dragged the two men towards the scaffolding.

  Greene and Hamilton were lifted on to the scaffold, ropes placed around their necks. The crowd grew quieter. The two men stood shaking on the edge of the scaffold. Von Steuben looked around the mob. The whites of their eyes, like thousands of fireflies, blinked in the balmy night, lips salivating, a drooling desire for vengeance running around the square. Von Steuben paused and then screamed:

  ‘Let the people’s will be heard. Let them hang!’

  The guards pushed the two men off the scaffolding. Limbs automatically flayed as they flew forward at first and then downwards. The crunch of the snapping of their necks echoed around the arena, followed by the most extraordinary primeval roar of approval, men, women and children dancing in celebration at the death of the two men.

  Von Steuben let the noise play out for some time. Throwing a satisfied glance at the twitching bodies, he said to the guards, ‘Cut them down and throw the bodies away,’ before walking back to the front of the platform.

  ‘You did good,’ he said to the crowd, ‘You did real good. Bad people. Bad people. But there is one more person we discovered to be part of this group, one more person who was looking to destroy you all. And this one will surprise you. It will upset you. It breaks my heart to tell you this. It really does. For if there was one man I thought beyond such wickedness, but . . . I was wrong, I was very wrong. For the leader of this cabal of crooks was none other than General George Washington!’

  There were gasps from the crowd, screams of ‘No!’, shrieking and even audible tears.

  ‘No, no I didn’t want to believe it either, but it is true. It is true. George Washington!’ He looked over to the guards, ‘Bring him on.’

  And then on to the stage, his hands trussed together in rope, his clothes ripped, head bald, teeth removed so his jaw was sunken, came the once tall and proud, but now bent double, George Washington.

  Again the crowd found its voice, first with hisses and boos and then a shout of ‘Traitor!’ that was picked up by all so that with voice they one insulted their former favourite.

  ‘Now what to do with this one?’ asked von Steuben. ‘What to do with the leading rat?’

  And immediately came back the single cry: ‘Hang ’im up!’

  FORTY-NINE

  Cromwell arrived back at the smithy, breathless and frightened. He had watched the rally from its edge. He had felt uncomfortable throughout, the lack of any black faces noticeable. As the night wore on and the frenzy of the crowd grew, so too did Cromwell’s unease.

  After the hangings, the mood grew darker still. A group of youths, drunk and leering, had spotted him and shouted, ‘Nigger! There’s a nigger here! You ain’t wanted here, boy!’

  Despite Cromwell’s evident size and strength, they pushed through the crowd towards him. While most of the crowd slunk away to avoid trouble, a few others joined the group until there were about twenty young men, jeering, jostling, spitting at him. Cornwell understood that any act of defiance on his part, no matter how small, would be regarded as provocation. He kept quiet and looked around for someone who might support him, but every other face turned away. He had never felt so lonely or terrified. He had fought for this country, or rather another version of this country, and even on the battlefield, he had never thought himself so close to death as he was at that moment.

  He backed away, the group followed him for a few yards, but when he turned and walked more quickly out of the square, they stopped and loudly celebrated how they had run him out.

  Soon after, von Steuben and the Congress left the stage and eventually the torches were put out and the crowd dissipated. But as it moved out and into the streets, so the frenzy came with it. Bars and taverns reopened and the city became a sprawling, mewling carnival of debauchery, drunkenness and devilishness. Couples openly fucked on the streets, men fought with each other, gangs of youths ran wild, looking for ‘Jews’ or ‘Indians’ or simply ‘foreigners’.

  ‘It is madness out there,’ Cromwell told them, but they sensed it, could hear the cacophony of shrieking madness that was rumbling through the streets and over the low rooftops of the city. He laid out what he had witnessed, ending with, ‘They went to throw their bodies into the Delaware.’

  ‘And what of Washington?’ asked Jefferson, his tone as sombre as the words.

  ‘Ah, they didn’t hang him. The crowd shouted for it, but the baron said he had to be tried properly by Congress. They have set the trial for the day after tomorrow. They have taken him off to the city prison.’

  ‘And they will malign another great man, traduce his memory and achievements, then throw him into the Delaware, as if he were no more than fish guts and slops from the shipping boats. These are dark times.’ Jefferson put his head in his hands.

  ‘We have to save him. If we can save Washington, there is a chance we can build an opposition, resist these Germans.’

  ‘How can we do that, Edward?’ Jefferson’s voice betrayed his despair. ‘There are but three of us.’

  ‘Knox is still with Schuyler in the north. They will not believe these fabrications. If we can join them, there is a chance.’

  Jefferson took it in, nodded his head

  ‘Ah, sir, these people have it in for the Negroes,’ Cromwell said. ‘They will treat us worse than any slave master in history. Every free black man in the north will rise agin ’em. You will have common cause with them – and inspire any free-thinking Negro on a plantation to rise and revolt.’

  ‘Not easy for myself, sir,’ Jefferson admitted. ‘I inherited slaves myself. I still own them at Monticello.’

  ‘Then you must set them free. If you show leadership, they will forgive you your past sins and embrace you as a changed man,’ said Hand.

  ‘I have for some time considered the moral impunity of slavery. Unfortunately, I have let narrow pecuniary interests outweigh my instincts. That and my fear for their welfare should they be freed. But . . . I accept that my hypocrisy on this subject is a stain on my character.’

  ‘There are others who will join us, sir.’ Hand was keen to stop Jefferson’s philosophical musings and grasp the practicalities of the moment. ‘These Germans will do for the native peoples. Chiefs like Akiatonharónkwen, of the Iroquois, who has fought alongside General Washington and knows the qualities of the man. He will see this calumny for what it is. Once they understand these Germans will seek to destroy them, he and his people, and with them the Mohawks and others, t
hey will ally with us. I feel sure of that.’

  ‘Some of those Indians support the British, Hand.’

  ‘Aye, they do, or rather they did, but the British are not long for this continent. One thing is certain: von Steuben will see them off quickly. Then they will turn to slaughtering the Indians. We must make Akiatonharónkwen and the other chiefs understand that they will not have a future if they do not ally with others looking to halt the Germans.’

  ‘We ally with savages?’

  ‘I would rather ally with a noble man such as Akiatonharónkwen than allow this country to be governed by barbarians who have no time for truth or freedom. It was savages as you call them who rescued me and brought me back to health when the Hessians had left me for dead. They are not the savages. The savages are these Germans who slaughtered those people and the Colonists who follow their philosophy, who want to destroy anyone not in their own image. We must find a way of bringing Akiatonharónkwen and General Washington together.’

  ‘Washington. Ah, dear Old George. Did you not hear your friend Cromwell here? He is to be tried and then hung, tomorrow probably.’

  ‘Sir, why accept his fate?’ Hand asked. ‘Surely we should be looking to rescue the man?’

  Jefferson laughed. ‘And how would we do that, Edward? Walk into prison and ask them to release him to us?’

  ‘No,’ said Hand. ‘But there is one thing that we can use to win his freedom.’

  FIFTY

  The port was still. Even the bars and brothels were quiet at this hour, something close to three in the morning. At the front of the stockade were three guards, American Stormtroopers, who failed to see Cromwell, Hand and Jefferson moving quietly among the empty fish tables to their left. Within an hour the fish market would be alive again, with the oily catches of the day, the tables sprayed with marine blood and guts, the shouts of buyers and sellers. For now there was an empty quiet.

  They found the hole in the stockade from their previous visit and slipped in. Now the giant furnaces were quiet, no workers hammering at the naked plates of iron, none of the hissing of steam as hot metal was plunged into vats of cooling water, no giant flames jumping up from the ground to the sky, none of the urgent moving of men and machinery. All was quiet.

  In the giant shed, the machine sat. Jefferson gasped at its size and magnificence.

  ‘That is their weapon?’ he asked.

  ‘It is,’ said Hand. ‘It is a cannon that moves. Look closely.’ He led Jefferson to inspect the platform on which the gun rested. Whispering, he said, ‘See the cannon is on this track. When it fires, it recoils back along this gauge, and then springs forward ready for further loading. And the circular platform, it can easily be moved around its circle. Much less cumbersome than a cannon on two wheels. And then sheets of metal around it, to give protection to the gunnery crew.’

  ‘Ingenious. Simple ingenuity. The genius of invention always lies in simplicity.’

  ‘Ah, but the real genius is with the rest of the carriage. It moves, you see, by steam power.’

  ‘It moves?’

  ‘Yes, we witnessed it in the yard yesterday. See at the front there is a grate for a coal fire. Behind the tank of water. Through some connection of the two, the machine moves. The pilot steers it by the wheel at the front. Look at those wheels it has, six wide metal wheels on each side, better to traverse all kinds of surfaces.’

  Jefferson clapped his hands and laughed out loud. ‘Of course, it is what is called a fire engine.’

  ‘A fire engine.’

  ‘Yes, I studied one at William and Mary.’

  Both Cromwell and Hand stared blankly at him. Jefferson was caressing the machine.

  ‘My college at Williamsburg under Thomas Small. He taught us the philosophy of the notion and then the practical implementation. We went to visit the first one in America, in a copper mine near Passiac. They use it to pump water out of the mine. It wasn’t like this beauty, I must say, and by the time we saw it, it was much repaired and filthy, but by God, it worked. But it didn’t move, of course.’ Turning to the two men, he asked, ‘And does she move fast?’

  ‘Fast enough. You would not enter it for a horse race, but it moves faster than a man.’

  ‘It bears close resemblance to the one at Passiac. Ben Franklin has spoken to me of creating a moving engine such as this. Although not on land. I believe he is planning a steam-powered ship with his friend James Watt. You’ve heard of Watt?’

  Cromwell and Hand shook their heads.

  ‘A genius. A real genius, but sadly an English genius. For such a revolutionary machine, the mechanics are actually very simple. The coal once lit releases energy, the heat from the fire boils the water – here,’ he pointed to the water tank, ‘which is turned into steam, the steam is captured there and turns those pistons below. That’s how it works. As long as you keep the fire burning and enough steam, the machine will indeed move. A child could operate it.’

  Cromwell and Hand looked doubtful.

  ‘You don’t believe me? We’ll have this lady moving, let me assure you of that. And the piloting, well, no different to taking a boat out down the Delaware. Can you fire the cannon, Edward?’

  ‘I think so. A child could,’ he smiled at Jefferson.

  ‘Very good!’ he replied. ‘If the cannon is prepared, ready to be fired, with one good shot we could cause enough damage and surprise to give us an opportunity. God willing, we might be able to then rescue the general and flee the city before the Hessians are aware of what has unfolded.’

  ‘We will need horses ready for our escape. We will also have to be clever, if we travel up the north road to Trenton, we will easily be discovered.’

  ‘That is why we should go across country, to the north,’ said Cromwell. ‘They wouldn’t expect us to take such a trek. I can have four horses fed, watered and ready within the hour. If you both can have this metal horse moving and ready, I will be at the prison to meet you. If the Lord is on our side, we may prosper yet. Shall we sort those guards at the gate out? They appear to be sleepy fellows.’

  The guards, sorted, trussed and gagged, were placed at the back of the shed. Cromwell went on his way while Hand and Jefferson made the carriage and cannon ready. First, they took half a dozen brass shells and a sizeable amount of gunpowder. Then they added further coal to that already on board the carriage. Happy with their work, they started the fire in the carriage’s little furnace and waited for the heat to produce the necessary steam.

  Within fifteen minutes, the carriage was moving. The night was still dark, the pulsating orange eye of its furnace and the slow rumbling as the carriage made its way through the docks startled the shadowy, early morning figures heading to begin their shift at the port.

  ‘If matters were not so serious, Ed, I would say I was enjoying myself, guiding this carriage through these streets,’ Jefferson said. ‘See the wisdom in having these streets cobbled. This my friend is the future!’

  As the machine made its way down the cobbles of Walnut Street, so it began to attract attention. The clanking and grumbling of the ogre along the street woke many from their sleep, no matter how deep. Baggy eyes pressed themselves to dirt-encrusted windows, many falling back in terror at the belching, banging beast, unable to believe what they saw. Some ran to their doors, several screaming at the apparition, shouting that the devil itself was among them. Some brave boys gave chase, hollering at the contraption, coughing as the plume of smoke laid over them. No one in Philadelphia had ever seen anything like it before. No one on the earth had ever seen anything like it before.

  They arrived behind the jail. Cromwell came dashing over to them, shouting over the pistons, ‘This machine is damnably nosy, it’s waking everyone up, we have to be quick. The horses are awaiting over there.’ He pointed to four horses tethered to a tree on the South-East Square directly opposite.

  Jefferson stopped the engine. ‘Let’s get this gun lined up,’ he said, jumping down and immediately turning the wheel around so t
hat the cannon faced the back of the prison. As he did so, Hand tipped what he gauged to be enough gunpowder into the pan of the cannon, slipped the shell into its mouth and rushed to the back. ‘Thomas, you aim the gun, Oliver and I will take up our places to the side of the jail. Once you have fired, we’ll enter. You may want to think about some further explosions, but not, I beg of you, into the prison.’

  ‘Of course. Good luck, gentlemen.’

  ‘May the Lord shine upon us!’ replied Cromwell, dashing off alongside Hand.

  Jefferson lined up the cannon with as much accuracy as he could. The prison was a large target, he felt confident he could not miss. Dashing back to the front of the furnace, he produced a taper, lit it from the coals and then went back to the cannon and set the taper to the wick. Immediately, the greased wick began to hiss and Jefferson lurched to one side.

  The sparkling fuse disappeared down into the hole. There was a momentary pause – for a split second Jefferson almost went to check – but then there was an ear-piercing explosion, so loud and powerful it threw him to the ground as the gun reared back, and then a further almighty explosion in the distance. Scrambling to his feet, the gun returning to its firing position, Jefferson looked out towards the jail. The sun was rising but the feeble morning rays were out-muscled by the red and orange flames that licked the edges of the hole his cannon had made in the side of the prison.

  Hand and Cromwell had crouched down ready for the explosion. It was greater than they had imagined. Brick, wood, slate, dust all thrown back out by the impact of the explosion. Checking that each other was uninjured first, they ran towards the hole.

  The shell had taken out most of the front wall and the first floor of the prison, opening up rows of cells. Inside, there was carnage. A group of sleeping troopers on the first floor were the heaviest toll, their scarred bodies hung from knife-sharp floorboards, scattered limbs dotted the floor, the painful moans of those who had survived the only noise.