Jake described Johnson carefully, right down to the cravat haphazardly tucked into his shirt. They had fallen in together while traveling down from Wiccopee, and through certain signs Jake had been given to understand that the man was British or at least loyal to the king. Jake told him in confidence that he was 'heading south'; the man claimed to be going in the same direction, but had to dally in the neighborhood a while longer. It would be most convenient, he hinted, if an arrangement could be made regarding their horses.
'He said at first that his horse was tired from its exertions. When I examined the animal I saw that he was in fine shape. I got the better end of the deal by far, though I sensed the man was in some difficulty.'
'Sounds like a convenient story to me,' said the Tory whom Jake had teased so effectively before.
Jake turned to confront the man — and found a cocked pistol pointed at the small space between his eyes.
He shrugged calmly. His survival depended entirely on seeming forthright. 'You can believe me or not. Where would I come by such a magnificent animal? I am a poor farmer — or was, until the rebels chased me from my land.'
The party looked at Busch to decide the matter. And Busch looked at Jake.
The two men exchanged a glance that measured the depth of their souls. Jake, having saved his life, already had won the Tory captain's trust once, and thus had a deep advantage. Still, this was a long and penetrating look, and a less practiced agent might well have crumbled beneath its burden.
How long they stared at each other, Jake could not tell.
Nor could he say what the other men might be doing in the barn around him. All he knew was that this Tory was a strong man with an iron will and a sense of himself that rivaled many a firm patriot's.
'Smith's loyalty is unquestionable,' said Busch, putting his hand to the ranger's pistol. 'He saved my life when we were ambushed by Skinners. He didn't know then that I was a ranger; in fact, he couldn't be sure of me at all. He is a bit rash, perhaps, but his heart is sound and his body strong.'
As the captain told the story of the encounter, confirming and indeed enhancing Jake's tale, his men's attitude toward the newcomer clearly warmed. The hints of his stays in England, which showed that he was from a family of some means, were amplified with a few words from Jake, who noted — honestly, as it happened — that his uncle was in business there. Otherwise, the disguised patriot adopted the stance of a humble and reticent hero, the better to add luster to his shine.
From the moment they met in Prisco's, Busch had taken a strong liking to the good-looking and intelligent stranger. But this should not be held as a serious character flaw; so had many American generals, including the commander-in-chief himself.
'I expect big things from you, Smith,' said Busch as he waved his audience to breakfast. 'Don't let me down.”
'I won't, sir.' Jake's voice was so solemn that the king would have counted him among his closest supporters.
As Jake had hoped, Busch theorized that Johnson realized he was being followed, and had therefore traded horses to avoid suspicion. The inevitable conclusion at his missing the meeting was that the Americans had subsequently captured the British officer, which could also explain the increase in patrols and the subsequent capture of Caleb. While the temptation to attack the prison was strong — the church was located only two or three miles away — Busch reasoned that the Americans might expect such an action. Neither Johnson nor Caleb knew enough of their plans to give them away, and Busch interpreted the fact that the rebels had not shown up at Stoneman's as a sign that they had not cooperated in the least.
Like all good commanders, the Tory leader took these setbacks as an opportunity to push his men harder. They would carry on, he announced; their cause was just and victory within their grasp.
Jake, meanwhile, played the role of good Loyalist. He exchanged his brown farmer's coat for a dark green ranger jacket, bowing his head as he took the cloth with nearly as much reverence as the king used for his coronation. Then he feasted with the others on the mountain of nutmeg-flavored corncakes Stoneman provided for the rangers. Rose made a brief appearance with the farmer's wife, carrying the cakes; she took no notice of Jake and pretended not to hear the whispers of the Tories who surmised she was the girl he'd been seen outside with. That small incident added nearly as much luster to his reputation as his rescue of Busch, the men kidding him that perhaps Smith was not such a bad last name at all.
Immediately after breakfast Busch had the sergeant issue weapons to the newcomers. Jake received a musketoon or carbine — the two words describe the same weapon — and a regulation musket, along with a fine sword and a good supply of cartridge ammunition.
The carbine measured almost exactly forty-five inches from stock to barrel tip, far shorter than the musket, making it easier to handle on horseback. A peculiarity of this French-made weapon was its partially rifled barrel; these grooves, meant to improve accuracy, stopped about eight inches from the end of the gun. In theory, this combined the advantages of the musket — ready loading? with the advantages of the rifle — better accuracy. The reality fell somewhat short, but there was more chance of hitting a target at fifty yards than with a pistol.
The musket Jake was given was an older model Brown Bess with a shorter barrel than was now standard issue in the British army, the idea being either that it was easier to carry on horseback or provincials were second- class troops anyway and so could get by with obsolete weapons.
Readers who have heard of the fearsomeness of cavalry attacks but never experienced them may be surprised to learn that even the carbine was not meant to be fired from horseback. Pistols and swords were the weapons of choice from the saddle, and a fully equipped dragoon — or Tory ranger, for that matter — would carry two pistols in a saddle holster or else his belt. But these were in short supply, and none were issued. Jake had to make do with the single officer's pistol he had arrived with; the gun was a bit lighter than the excellent models Busch owned, but it was finer than most of the other hand pistols displayed in the barn.
The swords were long, well-sharpened, and balanced weapons that could slice the head off an opponent if the horse's momentum were used properly. They were not so ornate as was common among British officers, but they had come directly from a London armory.
In truth, Jake wished the blades were rusted and the guns fouled. Considerable destructive power was arrayed beneath these wide rafters; if it were used to only half of its potential, the American toll would be great.
The rangers mustered and mounted, with Captain Busch now dressed in his own dark green coat at their head. One of their number bears a light green flag as insignia, so drunken is their arrogance despite their location behind enemy lines.
But nowhere is their insolent gall more obvious than in their hats. While most Loyalist units wear some similar shade of green coat, the men had been issued a distinct uniform cap meant to instill unit pride, as well as offer some protection. The helmets had started as leather coverings, with a small beak at the front; a smart, thick piece of bear fur was crisscrossed on the top, tied down with a thick rope of horse hair and pinned by a small brass button on either side. At the back, the hair and fur were knotted in a red bow, an emblem, or so Busch declared, of their patron, the Earl Graycolmb.
Claus van Clynne, a connoisseur of headgear who had derided Jake's customary tricorner on several occasions, would have laughed at these beanies, but to a man the troop thought them rather smart. They pressed forward in single file formation toward the road, looking for all the world as if they were heading toward a King's Day parade. At the intersection with the road, Captain Busch swung his horse aside and signaled his two dozen mounted followers to fan out and listen to his speech.
We do not wish to alarm the weak-willed into fleeing the countryside, and thus will not repeat his fiery charge here. Suffice to say it was well formed, praising their benefactor, the Earl Graycolmb, who had made this troop possible, and denouncing the ungrateful American rebels, who had made it necessary. The speech touched on rival Tory brigades, including the famous Rogers Rangers (the original leader's occasional remarks in favor of the Revolution went unreported). It ended with a stirring invocation of the king's name, which resulted in a strong cheer that sent a deep chill down Jake's spine.
Chapter Nine
