Casca 36: The Minuteman

by Tony Roberts

  He didn’t want to dwell on that, so his mind turned to more serious matters. He had almost completed his survey of the land around White Plains and Haarlem and was in the process of writing his report. One more day ought to do it. He’d get Pete Courtney again and compare notes and suggestions. Courtney knew his stuff and should get a job as an engineer after the war, if he survived. He’d suggest that to him the next day.

  * * *

  That evening Casca attended dinner at Washington’s headquarters and found it, as he’d expected, to be a trial of endurance. He disliked the social niceties and etiquette expected of people who went to these functions, and looking at Washington he suspected the general did too. Both he and the general were military men, not socialites. Katherine on the other hand was relaxed and comfortable and clearly enjoyed the company. Casca was more concerned about what set of cutlery to use with what course. He didn’t want to make himself look foolish in front of the upper crust of New York society. Give him a gun or blade and he knew instinctively what to do with it, but with a knife and fork and napkin he was lost.

  Katherine sensed his awkwardness and gently nudged him early on and almost absentmindedly put a hand on one of the outer knives and then winked at him. Casca grinned in thanks and used his for the bread. Katherine smiled and then spoke to her other neighbor, a bewigged lawyer, on some legal subject that left Casca cold.

  Opposite Katherine, Washington seemed to be stuck with an overweight late middle aged woman who had nothing good to say about anything other than herself and poured scorn on the activities of men about whom she felt were responsible for the disagreeable situation everyone found themselves in at the moment.

  Casca sat opposite a preacher, a black-garbed parson. Casca had no intention of speaking to a man who represented the religious figure who’d cursed him to eternity all those centuries past, so he deliberately ignored the thin, balding man.

  There were six others at the table, served by wigged servants. All very British middle class. What America would do should it win independence was anyone’s guess, but Casca suspected at the end of the day those who ended up running the new country would carry on with these functions, despite their very noble proclamations about equality.

  In desperation, Washington leaned across the table and addressed Casca. Anything rather than listening to Mrs. Warrington’s pompous statements on the fallible schemes of the men who ran Britain and the Empire. “Tell me, Captain,” he said hurriedly, “would you continue to defend New York given the current positions and numbers on either side?”

  “Well, General,” Casca thought for a moment, aware that Katherine had stopped talking to the lawyer and Mrs. Warrington was eyeing him with ill-concealed contempt. “You won’t be able to stop a full scale attack if the British land upriver. You’d be bottled up here and lose everything. You’d have more chance out in the open as long as you don’t engage the British in a formal stand up battle.”

  “Precisely my thoughts,” Washington nodded. “You are to finish your survey of the defenses along the White Plains tomorrow?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll submit my report shortly after that.”

  “You really plan to fight the British here?” Mrs. Warrington said in disbelief. “A waste of time, just like most of men’s activities.”

  “Ma’am,” Casca fixed her with an unfriendly stare, “I was speaking with the General here, not you. I doubt you have any tactical or strategic knowledge, and I’d be obliged if you left these matters to those best suited to them.”

  Eyes goggled and swiveled to look at Casca. Even Katherine eyed him in horror. Washington’s expression was unreadable. Mrs. Warrington puffed herself up and her face turned thunderous. “How dare you!” she said in a low voice.

  “Yes, I do,” Casca said, indifferently. “All I’ve heard this evening is your boring ceaseless moaning about how everyone can’t do things as well as you. If you can’t be pleasant about people then shut up. I don’t want to hear you going on about it anymore. You were married?”

  “Yes I was,” she said tightly. “What business is it of yours?”

  “Divorced or widowed?”

  “That is none of your business,” she said icily. She turned to Washington. “George. This is one of your men? Then I’d be grateful if you could teach him manners, or if that’s not possible – which I wouldn’t be surprised if true – then discipline him. It reflects badly on you by allowing such boorish people to attend dinner.”

  Casca went to stand up but Katherine placed a hand on his arm. “Mrs. Warrington,” she smiled at the overweight woman in a way Casca had seen women do for eons, a smile that clearly carried menace and malice. “Captain Lonnergan is here at my express request. He is a soldier. He prefers to fight in an honest and open manner. As such he’s somewhat too forthright and plain speaking at times, particularly in circles such as ours. But he is right; you have overstepped the good taste limits this evening. I would prefer it if you could be nice to people, even if it’s only for tonight.”

  Casca gave Katherine an admiring look, trying not to stare down her cleavage, but sneaking a quick look anyway, then caught Washington’s look and almost choked laughing. The general didn’t know whether to laugh or defend the woman next to him who was spluttering with outrage.

  “I am very influential,” she finally gasped out, “and have friends in Philadelphia. I know all about you, Katherine Maplin. A disgraceful social climber married to a man while living openly in sin with another. There’s a word for women like you.”

  “And there’s one for women like you, Mrs. Warrington,” Katherine hissed, her face stiff and twisted with malevolence. “A woman who marries rich men and then divorces them to get their wealth. How many is it now? Three? Four?”

  “Ladies, ladies,” Washington stood up, his hands outstretched. “Please, not over dinner. I think we can all take a few moments out to calm down. Please?”

  Casca slipped a hand off the table and squeezed Katherine’s thigh. She pressed against his hand. “Of course, George,” she said to Washington. “Shall we forget the last few minutes?” she asked of the trembling woman opposite.

  Mrs. Warrington said nothing. Her face was a mask of fury. She stood up abruptly. “I have lost my appetite.”

  “Must be a first,” Casca muttered, and received a kick from Katherine.

  The men all stood and waited for Mrs. Warrington to leave. But she had a parting shot to deliver first. “I shall make sure that Captain Lonnergan is not on any guest list for any future function I’m invited to, or else I shall not be attending. And as for you,” she addressed Katherine, “I shall not forget what you said this evening. You will regret those words.”

  With that she waddled out of the room, attended by one of the servants who was to make sure she had her belongings and was escorted to the correct coach. The others puffed out their cheeks. Washington shook his head sadly. “Captain, a little more restraint next time, please.”

  “She asked for it, General. How do you know her?”

  “A friend of the family,” he said shortly. “Unfortunately.”

  Casca grinned, then turned to Katherine. “Will she make things uncomfortable for you?”

  “Hardly. She’s a New York bore. I’m in Philadelphia. We hardly ever mix. She’s a bitch and it’s about time someone took her down a peg or two.”

  The rest relaxed and began to resume their small talk and dining. Casca felt better now the woman had gone, and even relaxed enough to begin sharing some small talk with a few others. After the meal had finished and they moved to the respective men’s and women’s drawing rooms, Washington once again cornered Casca. “About New York. I’ve decided to abandon it.”

  “Sir?”

  “Don’t tell these people, but you’re right. It’s indefensible. The army will pull back to the White Plains in the next few days, which is why I want that report of yours sooner rather than later. Can do?”

  “Can do, sir. I’ve got a good assistant I’ve b
orrowed from one of the units out there. He’s an engineer of some sort.”

  “Very good. As soon as you get back to your quarters, get some sleep, then get out and finish your survey. Time is pressing and I don’t know when the British are going to make their move.”

  Casca nodded and Washington moved off to speak to the others. Casca drifted away on his own, not wanting to mix with them, and found himself out in the corridor. The pictures of important people from the past loomed above him and he studied them for a while. All what you’ve worked for in the past is about to change. For the better or for worse? Ah shit. I’m just a soldier, not a philosopher. I make changes happen, not think about how to make them. He became aware of someone walking towards him. Katherine.

  “When are you going back?” He asked.

  “Tomorrow morning,” she replied. “I heard George tell you New York is to be abandoned to the British, so it’s best I leave as soon as possible before they arrive. I’ll wait in Philadelphia for news of my daughter’s rescue. Hopefully George will put good men on the job. I’ll say my goodbyes to you now and thank you for all that you’ve done. But I will ask you for one big favor, please.”

  “What’s that? Casca asked.

  “That you stay away from my daughter from now on.” Katherine smiled, to rob her words of any offence. “You’re a very attractive man, Mr. Lonnergan, and if I did not have James I would be tempted by your good looks and physique. But something tells me that you’re trouble to women, not in an intentional way, but trouble nonetheless. I fear if you continued with seeing my daughter it would end in tears. Of course now she’s married we have to be very careful about how we deal with this matter. You saw how Mrs. Warrington commented about my marital status and my private life. I would like to spare my daughter from such tattle.

  “My fear is that she will now be trapped in a marriage that she cannot get out of. This Sir Richard does not seem to be the sort of man who will take kindly to a divorce request, particularly as he bullied her into marriage in the first place.”

  Casca nodded. He understood what Katherine was saying about him. Many times in the past Casca had tried to prevent himself from falling in love with women, knowing that only pain would result from it, affecting him or her or both. The worst part was leaving, knowing that he had to move on before his secret became known to those whom amongst he lived. But all too often his heart overruled his head and he found himself falling for yet another woman.

  His affair with Rose had been an accident but once it had started he found he could not stop it and so it had continued, until Ebenezer had found out and that was when all the trouble had begun. But now Katherine was giving him the chance to finish it without him looking or feeling bad, and he decided to take it. “Yes Katherine, you’re right. It would be wrong for me to carry on seeing your daughter, despite the fact I love her. I’m a soldier in a war and who knows what will happen to me? It would be unfair for me to pursue her any further. But what I would like to do is to help you and Rose. I intend finding this bastard Sir Richard Eley and when I do I’ll kill him. That’ll sort out any divorce problem.”

  Katherine looked shocked. “My God, I didn’t mean you to go that far!”

  Casca showed his teeth in a feral snarl. “Katherine, it’s not merely to help you and Rose that I intend killing him. There’s a great deal of personal issues between the two of us. I’m going to kill him no matter what, and that will also help you.”

  Katherine said nothing for a moment, merely regarding Casca. Then she stepped forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. She stepped back, smiling slightly. Casca smiled back at her. “Katherine, if you weren’t shacked up with that lawyer fellah, I’d certainly like to try you out. You’re one hell of an attractive lady, and I can see where Rose gets it from.” Casca sighed, and looked down the corridor towards the door. “I guess I must be going. I’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow for General Washington and his best I’m up early. Be seeing you Katherine, maybe if I’m down Philadelphia way again, I’ll come see you and perhaps Rose if all goes well.”

  Katherine looked pleased. “Maybe you will. But you will only see Rose if I’m there. Keep in touch, write to me whenever you can. You know my address, and I’ll write to you wherever you are.”

  Casca bowed extravagantly, then walked down the marble corridor towards the front door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  White Plains stood about 15 miles north of the city of New York. Each day Casca rode out from New York on horseback to a point along the Bronx River close to where Pete Courtney was stationed. After leaving his horse with Pete’s Delaware unit, the two would then survey the area around White Plains. A number of roads criss-crossed the plains, and the two men used these to get about quickly. There were a number of hills that they noted could be used to provide good defenses for the army.

  The two agreed that the area to the east of the river was better suited to building defenses. In particular two hills that lay in between the river and a body of water called Silver Lake looked suitable. They dominated the roads leading to Connecticut and the north, and it was here that Casca recommended that the Americans should build their strongest defenses. Just across the Bronx River from one of these hills stood yet another one, and he made notes that more defenses should be dug here.

  About a mile further north there were a few more hills scattered in a rough semi-circle. Pete suggested that the second line of defenses could be built here and Casca agreed. By the time Casca returned to New York City troops were already marching out, under Washington’s plan to evacuate the city. Casca found Washington’s headquarters to be in a state of chaos with clerks carrying papers out into the courtyard and men hurrying to and fro everywhere. Casca cornered one clerk and demanded to know where Washington was.

  He was directed to the main road leading north out of the city close to a large fortification known as Fort Washington, just a mile short of the Kingsbridge. Casca was tired, hot, and badly wanted a rest. He wearily saluted the general and passed him his report. “Here’s my report sir, it’s all in there.”

  “Excellent work Captain, you can take a well-earned rest. Go get your equipment and report to your new quarters at Haarlem Heights, where I’m setting my new headquarters up.” The general took the report and dismissed Casca, already thinking of something else and looking over to where some soldiers were camping down. Grumbling to himself, Casca grabbed the reins on his horse and mounted up, thankful he didn’t have to walk all the way back into New York.

  He had gotten about halfway there when there came a tremendous sound of what was unmistakably cannon fire from the direction of the East River, and he could see in the distance warships on the water discharging shot onto the shore close to a point north of the city. Casca rode towards the sound of the guns, slowing as the first militiamen came streaming past, wild-eyed and shouting incoherently. Many had thrown their guns away, but none seemed injured. He leaned over and grabbed one by the collar and pulled him up off his feet. “What the hell’s going on?” he shouted at the panic-stricken man.

  “The British are coming!” he shouted back, mouth working in fear. “They’ve blown up the defenses and come through – thousands of them! We gotta run!”

  Casca cursed and dropped the man who scuttled off northwards in the wake of his comrades. The flow of men coming from the landing area was irresistible, and Casca’s horse edged backwards, ears pricked and head erect. The Eternal Mercenary had seen this before; panic fed panic and before anyone knew it an entire army was running. Nothing in battle was as infectious as fear. To be fair, these were militiamen, untrained countrymen, and asking them to brave a furious concentrated cannonade was asking a lot. But even regulars were running, Casca could see. Here and there amongst the rag-tag clothing of the irregulars were the smartly attired continentals, running as hard as their compatriots.

  Casca guided his mount out of the way of the rout and moved up onto a raised hummock, looking south. He could see distant figure
s marching forward, bayonets fixed, establishing a bridgehead. They were a mile or so north of the city limits, having landed at a place he recalled as being Kip’s Bay. The navy had blasted all opposition aside and now the soldiers were coming ashore unopposed and spreading out. He squinted hard, leaning forward. Hessians. Germans. Tough bastards, hard men, not to be toyed with.

  He turned his horse round. Ah well, there goes another set of equipment. New York was falling to the British sooner than anticipated. He galloped off, thundering past the panting men, some of whom had turned in terror at the sound of his hoofs thinking it was a squadron of dragoons coming to run them down. “Out of my damned way!” Casca roared, slapped a few who were too slow to obey aside with the flat of his blade.

  He came skidding to a halt as he caught sight of General Washington, vainly trying to stop the fleeing men, shouting at them, urging them to turn and stand. “General,” Casca called to him. “Hessians a-comin’, a few hundred yards away. We’ve got to get to Fort Washington now.”

  The others with him, aides and adjutants, urged Washington to retreat, but the general just sat there, dismayed at the sight of his men running. “General!” Casca yelled, turning in his saddle to see the Hessians closer. “Let’s get out of here now!”

  Reluctantly Washington nodded and they all turned as one and trotted off in the wake of the soldiers, heading north-west towards the fortifications, away from the more directly northwards flight of the routing units. They left the enemy behind and rode across country to the wooden walls and towers of the fort, alerting the soldiers there as they arrived. Casca dismounted in the courtyard and passed the reins to a private. He stretched painfully and clutched the aching muscles of his ass. Any time on horseback gave him painful reminders of the many times he’d so suffered in the past. Horses were all very well unless he had to ride one.