Jim DeFelice - The Golden Flask

"If you do not understand that, then I shall charge you three extra shillings, to cover the cost of my lesson," retorted the ferryman.

The negotiations proceeded at length until Alison dug into her own purse and tossed the man his extra two shillings. Van Clynne did not like this, but he nonetheless saw no reason not to get into the vessel while he complained.

While the Dutchman had spent considerable time on the water of late, his characteristic fear of the waves had not abated. Thus his eyes were closed firmly, and covered with his hands besides, when the vessel touched the rocks a hundred yards or so north of the point where Jake and the others had come in.

"They're shooting!" said Alison as the boat scraped onto the shore. "Look! Redcoats are coming over the hill. We must warn Jake!"

She was out and running before van Clynne could even open his eyes. The Dutchman's admonition that she halt might just as well have been uttered at the sky. Cursing, he turned to the ferryman and told him he must wait for his return.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I told you to," said van Clynne, reaching beneath his shirt for a purse. "And because I will give you a fresh ten-pound note if you are here when I get back."

"For that amount of money, I would wait for Satan himself."

"Satan would not pay you nearly as well," grunted van Clynne as he got out of the boat. He rushed up the shore to the two guards who were posted near the Sons of Liberty's boats.

"Come with me quickly," he ordered.

"The hell we will," said one of the men. "Throw up your hands you British dog, or I'll kill you where you stand."

"I'm van Clynne, you idiot. Don't you hear the gunfire? Why did you let the girl go on without a weapon?"

"Jesus, Jack, it's the fat Dutchman who is always complaining. Someone's snatched his beard away."

Under ordinary circumstances, van Clynne would have demanded to know by whose definition he was being declared fat. But there was no time to waste; he pushed down the man's gun and bade him follow up to the house.

"Our orders were to stay and guard the boats."

"Were your orders to let the rest of the party die in the meantime? Come on then, and follow me. Honestly, there was a time when enlisted men showed initiative. I hope your muskets are loaded with double shot, at least."

Spent gunpowder and smoke filled the room with a hazy gray air. Jake and Lady Patricia stood alone above a sea of blood and dead bodies. Her dressing gown was still unclasped; were it not for the rifle, she might appear an angel or one of the Fates, come to account for the dead.

Jake held his arms out calmly. "Lady Patricia, I had hoped you would not come to harm."

"Those are empty words," said the woman. "You have killed my entire family."

"I did not kill your son. Your brother-in-law and husband chose their own paths."

"It is the same. You rebels have no care for honor or the rule of law. I did not understand my brother until now."

"But we do. That is why we are fighting, as anyone who stays in this country more than a few weeks will learn. I do not mean to offer false hope, but if your son was not accounted for, it may be because he escaped alive. Perhaps he has deserted."

"I hardly think the son of a peer would run away from battle."

"He wouldn't be the first. He was a young man, and Justice is a strong mistress."

Tears were beginning to well in her eyes, but Lady Patricia was resolute. She lifted up the gun and with her thumb, reached to pull back the trigger.

"Jake!"

He dove to the side. Lady Bauer was pushed to the floor by a body leaping across the threshold onto her back.

Jake rolled to his feet and plucked the still-loaded rifle from the floor. He had to grab Alison as she aimed a blow at the noblewoman's head.

"She was going to kill you," cried the girl.

"It's all right, Alison." He gave her the rifle, then reached down and gently touched the poor woman's heaving body.

"Kill me, kill me," she sobbed. "I want to die."

Outside, the gunfire was getting closer — and thicker.

"I was not lying about your son," said Jake, still crouched over her. "And I promise to ask General Washington about him."

She made no acknowledgment that she had heard him. Jake stood over the prostrate, grief-ridden body. He knew many patriot women who had been made widows from this war; he felt no less for her than them.

Alison, standing at his side, saw the gentle way he knelt back and patted the Tory woman's shoulder. She remembered what Mrs. Hulter had told her of love — and in that instant despaired. The girl threw down the gun on the couch and walked out of the house in a cloud.

She was nearly run over by van Clynne in the hallway.

"There you are, as usual, dallying with the distaff while there is considerable work to be done," announced the Dutchman in a huff as he entered the room. "We are under attack. Our forces are retreating to the perimeter of the house."

"I'm leaving," said Jake, rising. He stopped short as he turned. "Where is your beard?"

"I doffed it as a disguise," said the Dutchman.

"You look like a new man," said Jake, scooping up his Segallas and grabbing the rifle. "Come. We have what we came for, thanks to your friend Egans."

The battle outside was proceeding with great fury, as Daltoons attempted to beat the slowest retreat possible. His men were doughty volunteers, fully imbibed with the spirit of Freedom, brave souls all. But no manner of rhetorical flourish can overcome the fact that they were over-matched.

The British, sensing their superiority, advanced with an aggressive haste that gave Daltoons an idea. Loading his musket and pistol with double shot, he directed his men to continue their withdrawal past the house. He then hid himself in a thick bush as the British continued their advance.

The thick woods and rough terrain made it impossible to proceed as a line, despite the English officers’ efforts. Bayonets drawn, but still occasionally stopping to fire, the redcoats continued down the hill.

The young lieutenant let the British vanguard, perhaps six men in all, pass him before he opened fire. He chose his first victim well, smashing the skull of a British lieutenant with both bullets from his double-packed musket. The shot from his pistol was borne of desperation, but no less accurate. He caught the company sergeant in the chest as the man aimed a shot in revenge. With great war whoops and hosannas, Daltoons gave the general impression that a full squad of men were launching a surprise counterattack.

The redcoats who had advanced down the hillside now had to retreat and deal with this new problem in their flank, or risk being cut off. The main company, meanwhile, immediately sought cover, having seen two of their leaders cut down by the troop of sharpshooters in the wood.

The feint relieved the pressure on his men and would give Jake and the others in the house a chance to escape. But Daltoons had suddenly made himself the acute object of redcoat desire. He dove over the large rock wall that marked the former edge of Bauer's property just as a fresh volley of musket balls punctuated the woods around him.

The lieutenant still had two small pistols in his belt, both loaded, assuming the charges had not been dislodged by his rough travel. Without bothering to check, he took one in his hand and began making his way along the wall toward the river as quickly as possible, half-crouching, half-running.

The woods and brambles, to say nothing of the smoke from their weapons, obscured the redcoats' vision and allowed Daltoons to gain a good lead before they realized where he was. Gradually, the Englishmen figured out that the attack at their side was merely a distraction. Endeavoring to overcome its effects, they redoubled their assault, though handicapped by the loss of their lieutenant and sergeant.