Robert Conroy - Liberty - 1784

Fitzroy sighed. It was the small price the Loyalists had to pay if they wanted the damned western rebel force stamped out and British control over the colonies strengthened and completed. The newly arrived army would pack up and leave soon, marching in stages to Albany and then to Fort Pitt. General Burgoyne had seen the irony of his army marching to Albany from New York. Albany had been his goal when he was defeated at Saratoga in his attempt to march south in 1777. He still cursed Generals Howe and Clinton for having abandoned him instead of marching to join him as he’d understood the plans to be.

Less ironic was the choice of Burgoyne’s lieutenants. General Banastre Tarleton commanded the British garrison at Pitt, which made him a logical choice even though he had the reputation among the rebels of a barbarian and a butcher. It was thought that knowing that Tarleton was advancing on them would terrify the rebels into surrendering or fleeing. Fitzroy had his doubts, even considering it wishful thinking. Tarleton had a habit of murdering his prisoners, which made surrendering to him an adventure. Thus, others thought that Tarleton’s presence would inspire desperate opposition. Burgoyne and Cornwallis were less than thrilled, but had no choice. The orders came from London.

Even more controversial was the choice of one of the other generals, Benedict Arnold. London thought the former rebel general and now turncoat in the service of England would inspire large numbers of Loyalists to his cause. So far, the effect had been exactly the opposite. Even the staunchest Loyalists had been repelled by the idea of the turncoat Benedict Arnold commanding an English army.

Fitzroy went downstairs to the restaurant portion of the inn and took a seat a small table. His friend, Captain Peter Danforth, entered a minute later. The two men drank a tankard of passable ale and ordered a fish dinner, fresh from the Hudson River. Seared in butter, it was, as always, excellent. On complimenting his host, the innkeeper had again reminded him that he had a cousin, a young woman, who ran a similar facility in Albany. Fitzroy would make it a point to pay a visit, although he did think it ironic that everyone in New York seemed to know the army’s plans. He was especially intrigued that a young woman could handle such a business out in the wilderness.

“One thing I will hand to the colonists,” Danforth said, wiping his chin, “they do have excellent and hearty food. And why not, with all these rivers and forests to hunt and fish from?”

“And no one to tell them where and when they might hunt,” Fitzroy added.

“At least not yet,” Danforth said. “Once the last of this stupid war is over, then we shall turn this vast land into a proper English province with proper English squires and nobility in charge. Then we shall see order in the Americas, which will then turn into lands of peace and prosperity. Lord, I hope some of it rubs off onto us.”

“Peter, it will be interesting. Personally, I see more migrations to the west if we are overly harsh. Just look at the resentment the quartering of a few thousand soldiers for a short period of time has caused in this miserable excuse for a town.”

“They’ll get over it,” Danforth said. “It’s not like they have a choice if they want to serve their king.”

“One can hope,” Fitzroy said.

“I hate this place,” Danforth said while picking a stray fish bone out of his teeth. “They have taken everything that is bad in an English city and brought it here to New York, while leaving out all of the good. What we have is all the squalor of London and none of the elegance and refinement. Do you realize there are no proper theaters in this miserable excuse for a town?”

Fitzroy smiled, “How terrible for you.”

“Well, take me with you when you go and joust with the rebels. At least I can participate in a theater of the absurd.”

Fitzroy almost laughed. Captain Peter Danforth was short, plump, and ruddy-faced. Behind his back, his men called him “Apple,” and he looked like he would want to be nowhere near the hardships of the frontier. For that matter, Fitzroy had his own doubts about staying alive in the wilderness. “I thought you liked working for Cornwallis?”

“I do. He’s a great man. But nothing’s going to happen in New York that would help advance my career. Although I do have some money with which to purchase further advancement, it is not all that huge an amount. Thus, I must augment my funds with glory. Do tell me there’s an opening on Burgoyne’s staff?”

Fitzroy sympathized with his friend, although only to a point. By any definition, Danforth was far better off monetarily than Fitzroy. The problem was that Danforth didn’t always realize it. Or was it that Fitzroy was so bad off in comparison? All the money Fitzroy had earned-well, looted-during his tour of duty in India had gone to buying the commission and rank he now held. Nor would there be any more money from his family. They were fond of him and he of them, but there was simply no money to share. He was on his own to make his fortune. It was too bad there were no jewel-covered temples in the Americas crying out to be plundered.

Still, how transparent of Danforth, Fitzroy thought. Danforth loved the theater as did Johnny Burgoyne. All Fitzroy had to do was mention that a man of Danforth’s ability and interests was available and Burgoyne would jump at having him on his staff. Burgoyne had been mildly disappointed by Fitzroy’s lack of interest in things theatrical and this would make the old man happy. Of course, nothing was quite as simple as all that.

“I will put in a good word for you, Captain Danforth, but will you be spying on him for General Cornwallis?”

Danforth smiled easily and without guile, “Of course.”

The two men laughed. It was near closing time and one of the tavern girls smiled at them. She was plain-looking and skinny, but she was a woman. Danforth grabbed her and pulled her to his lap. She squealed in mock dismay as he slid his hand underneath her skirts and between her legs.

“I think we should celebrate my new position?” Danforth said to her.

The girl smiled and ran her tongue across her lips. “Any particular position you’d like, dearie?”

* * *

Owen Wells walked at the rear of the squad of soldiers accompanying the sailors into town. Even though they were in supposedly friendly territory, he held his musket tightly. It was night and who knew what lurked in New York’s narrow streets. Loyal to the cause or not, it was quite obvious that some New Yorkers would rob and rape a nun if they had a chance.

Adding to his nervousness was the fact that this would be his one and only chance to desert. Tomorrow the HMS Victory would up anchor and sail back to England with the admiral and the other ships of the convoy. There he’d heard the Victory would take up patrol duty off the coast of France. Of course, the officers hadn’t bothered to notify him of their plans; instead, they talked openly about them as if he was a piece of the furniture or part of the hull.

Owen scanned the area for a chance, any chance. He had purposely fallen behind by a few steps, nothing serious that would concern the idiotic and pimply-faced young midshipman in charge of the men sent to get special supplies for the officers. These included wines, tobacco and other expensive foodstuffs that mere sailors and marines would never smoke or taste. The bulkier normal supplies had already been loaded and getting these luxuries from local merchants was the last of their tasks.

A narrow alley appeared to his left. Owen took a deep breath, turned, and darted down it.

“Owen, what the devil are you doing?”

Christ, he thought. It was Alan, another marine. Owen had lost track of where he was. At least the sod hadn’t hollered. The rest of the unit had disappeared around a corner. “Sorry,” Owen said and hit him in the stomach with the butt of his musket. Alan crumpled. Owen quickly stripped off Alan’s jacket and tied him up with it, stuffing Alan’s own filthy kerchief in his mouth. He hated doing it, since Alan was a decent sort, but he was also a loyal Englishman who would have called for help.