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CHAPTER ELEVEN


Sutton lowered the musket from his shoulder and couldn’t help smiling. Corporal England’s weapon hadn’t fired reliably in more than three months. Whatever the gunsmith had done to repair it was admirable work. He set the stock on the ground and held out a hand. “Reload.”

Daniels, the gunsmith with the puffing, red cheeks and ragged facial hair, stepped forward with a paper-wrapped cartridge and placed it into Sutton’s hand. For a moment, Sutton stared at the man with what he knew was a thin smile that could mean many things, none of them pleasant.

“A good load?”

Daniels nodded. “Should hit a target at seventy yards. Maybe more in the hands of a good shot.”

Sutton allowed his smile to widen. A challenge?

He looked across the field toward the skeleton of a half-collapsed farmhouse just visible through the naked trees. “How far to that house?”

“Half mile, give or take.”

“Too bad,” Sutton said. He found a tall, ragged oak whose trunk split into a thick V twenty feet above the ground. It looked to be within range. “How far to that big tree?” he nodded as he withdrew the plunging rod and prepared to load the musket.

Daniels looked into the distance. “About that far. Seventy yards.”

“Right,” Sutton said. He poured the powder into the barrel and gently rolled the ball in his fingers before dropping it into the smooth tube. With the tamping rod, he tapped the ball into the powder to pack it tightly. Ramming it home would produce a greater ignition and propel the ball farther with greater accuracy. Satisfied, he checked the flint and found it satisfactory. He raised the rifle to his shoulder and paused.

“Could you hit that tree, Mister Daniels?” The smile again creased his face.

Daniels shrugged. “Been some time since I shot a ball.”

“You don’t test your work?”

“I don’t have to. My repairs will work every time.”

Sutton nodded. The man knew the right things to say. Perhaps his loyalties were well placed. “You’ve repaired the worst rifle in my platoon, Mister Daniels. I’d like to see if it’s more accurate than when it came from His Majesty’s armorer in Boston. I’d like you to fire as well.”

“I believe you’ll do far better than I will, Captain Sutton.”

Sutton nodded. “Perhaps, but I need to see the gunsmith fire a weapon. Then I’ll know if you truly understand what His Majesty wants from your services.”

Daniels turned to the stack of muskets and selected one. Like Sutton, he went through the ritual of loading the musket with practiced ease. “I’ve fired thousands of shots, Captain Sutton. In the service of His Majesty against the French while you were toddling around England in diapers.”

A veteran? Sutton smiled. “Then I’d have to assume you’ll fire it as well as I will.”

Daniels smiled with one side of his mouth. “I’ll hit the tree, but I’m not sure what point it makes for you.”

Sutton laughed and clapped the gunsmith on the shoulder. “The point is that you can shoot, Mister Daniels. And by verifying that”—his smile faded and he stared into the older man’s face—“you’ll be able to fire upon any rebels that seek out your services.”

Daniels snorted, but did not look away. A sign of strength. “Any man could be a rebel and there are a hundred farmers and hunters nearby who’ve had me look at their guns. Nary a regular soldier, sir. But if my friends and customers are rebels, I know not. Nor do I care. I don’t need another war. One is enough.”

The man’s words were true, Sutton decided in an instant. A man’s eyes were an indicator not of who they were, but the culmination of the things they’d seen. Daniels had the look of a man tired of war. A man who’d likely seen too much and made his living taking care of the weapons of others. For the moment, he even appeared to be a man loyal to the Crown.

“Very well. Shall we?” Sutton said. “A yard below the notch, then?”

“Yes,” Daniels said and raised the musket to his shoulder. Sutton watched him sight the barrel, inhale sharply and let it out slowly. So intent was he on the gunsmith’s process that he almost flinched when the shot rang out. A fist-sized chunk of bark flew from the trunk of the distant tree.

“Well done,” Sutton said. Raising the musket to his shoulder quickly, he performed the same ritual from His Majesty’s manual of arms and fired. A similar piece of bark fell toward the ground. “Splendid. Very nice work, Mister Daniels.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Sutton lowered the musket and set the stock to the ground again. He leaned on it casually. “His Majesty thanks you for your loyalty and your services, now and during the war.”

Daniels nodded, but his eyes were down and away. “What else can I do for you, sir?”

Emily must be inside, he thought. “Are you as talented in the repair of pistols?”

“I am.” Daniels looked down at the weapon at Sutton’s side. “Giving you trouble?”

Sutton laughed. “Reliability isn’t its strongest asset, no.”

Daniels gestured to the house. “Come inside then. I’ll look at it and have my daughter serve tea.” His neck ticked to one side. “A bit cold today.”

Sutton nodded, his thoughts now on the pretty young woman he’d snuck glances at during summer-market days in Trenton. Daniels was already moving to the house. Sutton slung his musket on his left shoulder and walked after him. Geese descended across the field toward the far wood line.

Daniels pushed through the modest door and stepped into the darkened interior. “Come in, Captain.”

“Thank you.”

They passed through the tight foyer to the kitchen and Daniels held out a hand. “May I?”

Sutton nodded. “Certainly.”

No sooner had he turned over the pistol than Daniels’ lovely daughter entered the room. Her hair was up but not covered by a traditional kerchief or bonnet. In the light from the solitary window and the fireplace, it glowed. Sutton let his eyes linger over the swell of her bust and the curve of her waist.

“Emily? Would you make a cup of tea for the captain?” Daniels asked. “I’ll be in the workshop for a moment.”

“Yes, Father.” Emily nodded and stepped toward the hearth. A kettle rested to one side. Sutton noticed a stack of rifles in the opposite corner and stepped in that direction. Inspecting them, he found two Hessian ones and a curious rabble of muskets in terrible condition.

“Your father is repairing these rifles?”

Emily did not look up from the kettle. “Yes, sir. Those are ones he hasn’t completed yet. He’s been hard at work on yours, Captain.”

She looked up at him and smiled, except her eyes were those of a frightened rabbit. Perfect.

“You’re much prettier than I remember from your trips to the local market,” Sutton said. He moved to stand in front of her and raised a hand to her face. Fingertips against her skin, he flushed with sudden, rampant desire. The girl’s fear filled his nostrils and threatened to make him shake. He reached down and grabbed her arm. “You’ll be my guest for the Christmas Ball.”

“I-I think not,” she said and flinched away. He tightened his grip.

“Those rifles, not the Hessian ones. They belong to Washington’s rebels, don’t they?” he hissed at her.

“I don’t—”

He jerked her close. “Quiet!” His voice was a harsh whisper. The girl whimpered in his grasp. “Tell me.”

“No! They’re not anything of the sort.”

Sutton grinned. “You’re certain.”

She nodded. “Please let me go. You’re hurting me.”

He relaxed his grip, but did not let go of her arm. “Traitors are to be shot, Miss Daniels. Unless you’re my guest, that is.”

“Please—”

A scuffling sound came from the attached workshop. Sutton dropped the girl’s arm and placed the practiced, charming smile on his face. The gunsmith appeared in the doorway with his pistol.

“Good news?” Sutton asked.

Daniels shrugged. “Nothing seems to be wrong with it.” He placed the pistol and a pistol cartridge into Sutton’s hands.

“Good,” Sutton said. “I was just telling your beautiful daughter that this curious collection of rifles makes me believe you’re supplying services to Washington and his rebels. Treason equals death.”

Daniels did not move. “I told you outside, Captain. Farmers and hunters. Men without money who need their weapons to put food on the table. They’re the—”

“Are they Hunterdon men?” Sutton asked. Across the northern New Jersey countryside, citizens friendly to the rebel cause had rallied under a man named Dickinson and called themselves the Hunterdon men, causing havoc along British and Hessian supply routes.

“I don’t know.”

Sutton turned toward the man, squaring his shoulders. He ripped open the cartridge and began to load the pistol with slow, deliberate movements. “If they were, and information could be exchanged, you would be in the favor of His Majesty, Mister Daniels. I’d hate to believe my initial impression of you was favorable if you were withholding information on the rebel army’s whereabouts.”

“They’re farmers. If they’re Hunterdon men I can’t say,” Daniels said. “They’re to come by the day after Christmas.”

Sutton pushed the ball into the pistol’s barrel. “I see.”

He rammed the ball home with the smaller rod from his belt and raised the pistol, inspecting it in the dim light. Satisfied at the pistol’s appearance, and the fear streaming across the daughter’s face, he held the weapon aloft for a moment, studying the barrel before he holstered the weapon. “Very well, Mister Daniels. A patrol of dragoons will collect our weapons, and theirs, this afternoon or tomorrow at the latest. If you wish to enjoy His Majesty’s protection, you’ll turn away other customers. Is that clear? If you fail to—”

“I’ll go.” Emily stepped forward. “I’ll go to your ball, sir, just don’t threaten us anymore.”

For a split second, Sutton heard blood rushing through his ears. The threat died on his lips. “Of course. Christmas Eve then. Be ready at sundown. I’ll send a wagon with escort for you.”

He stomped to the kitchen door and turned back to the gunsmith. “Remember our arrangement, Mister Daniels. Turn over everything or face an official inquiry.”

Daniels nodded. The man’s face was impassive and as much as it infuriated Sutton’s drive to demean and dehumanize civilians, it was impressive to see. “You’ll have those weapons, and the Hessian ones I’ll finish today.”

At the end of the lane, where the thin road into the Danielses’ property met the Trenton-Princeton Road, Sutton paused. Midafternoon sunlight streamed through breaks in the low cloud cover. There was no warmth on his face as he sat and looked back up the road. As he nudged his mount toward the garrison, Sutton determined that Daniels was worth watching. If the farmers were Hunterdon men or not didn’t really matter. Christmas Day, he’d capture them and gain more intelligence he could choose to give to Rall or take directly to Lord General Howe. Perhaps there would be an advantage.

But what if Daniels lied?

The thought stopped him for a moment, but he realized that Rall was a buffoon but his troops had some usefulness. The gunsmith bore watching and the hapless mercenaries were good at surveillance because it took little effort.

* * *

From the relative warmth of Daniels’ barn, Mason peeked through the door as the British soldier rode away. Murphy lay next to him. “Who do you think that was?”

“Officer. See that one epaulet on his shoulder? He’s a captain, and a dragoon, too.”

Mason squinted his eyes. “That’s what the helmet is for, right?”

“Think light cavalry.” Murphy stared out through the crack. “There was a platoon or so of them left in Trenton by the British. I could never find out much about them. There wasn’t much in the history books. Maybe twenty of them at the time of the battle. They run for Princeton over the Assunpink Creek bridge, I think.”

“The what creek?”

Murphy smiled. “Assunpink Creek. No shit.”

Mason shrugged. “You think Daniels is helping the British?”

Murphy shrugged. “I don’t think so, but it’s hard to say, Mason. There were a lot of duplicitous people who walked a very thin line of treason against their newfound Republic or the Crown that still claimed them. I suspect that Mister Daniels is the only gunsmith in the area and is good at what he does. He probably has rifles for both sides in his workshop.”

Mason shook his head. “You think he can get us to Washington?”

“If he can’t, I can navigate us there. I mean, I think I have a pretty good idea of where we are. We just need to get to McKonkey’s Ferry. Colonel Glover and his Durham boats will be there tomorrow night. He can get us across and escort us to Washington.”

“Without an introduction? We’re likely to get shot, Murphy.”

Murphy chuckled. “You got any other ideas?”

“Not really.” Mason watched the dragoon officer ride away slowly. As the officer moved out of sight from the door, Mason crept to other cracks in the siding to watch the man depart. Just as Mason prepared to move the squad toward the Daniels home, the red-coated officer stopped at the road junction and waited.

“Come on,” Mason breathed. If the man would get farther down the Trenton Road, they could move. After what felt like an eternity, the officer rode into the distance at a slow trot. Mason waited three minutes before turning to the squad. They were spread through the small barn, peering out of cracks and keeping security by appearance, but he knew their minds were elsewhere.

“Psst,” he whispered at them all. As they turned their heads, he waved them in to the middle of the barn silently. Stratton came last, a visible shiner under his left eye. He shuffled into the loose circle opposite of Mason, his face impassive.

Mason cleared his throat. What the hell can I possibly say to them?

Higgs rescued his pause. “What’s the plan, Mason?”

“Yeah,” he said. “We’re stuck here. At least that’s how it looks. We have two options. We can run and find someplace out west to hide or we can go to General Washington.”

Higgs shook her head. “No, Mason. We have only one option. We have to go to Washington. If the British get that rifle, the entire Industrial Revolution gets accelerated. If we go, we can help win the war faster and set America on a faster course to match the British. What we know is more powerful than if we’re on the battlefield.”

“Field conditions for us suck,” Murphy said. “For the Continental Army, they’re deadly and getting worse every day. Dysentery, mainly.”

Koch rumbled to life. “We can help that, too. Simple things like hygiene, right? Washing hands?”

Higgs nodded. “There’s a lot we can do, guys. It’s a simple choice.”

“We should put it to a vote,” Dunaway said. All eyes turned to her. The freshman had been silent for the better part of twenty-four hours.

Stratton smiled at her. “Sorry, Dunaway. This isn’t a choice. It’s a decision. Mason’s in charge and we follow his lead, you get it?” He looked up at Mason and nodded.

Mason cleared his throat to cover his surprise at Stratton’s words. “We get to Washington. First, we find out what the fuck just happened here and if we can really trust Mister Daniels.”

* * *

Mason knocked twice on the door and flinched backward as the door flung open and Emily stepped into his face.

“You! Where were you? That redcoat bastard was here in our home!” She stammered, red-faced and breathless. “He—He threatened us! Why didn’t you kill him?”

Mason pointed at the parlor. “Can we come inside before we’re seen?”

Emily stepped back, flustered. “Yes, of course.”

Mason stepped aside and waved Higgs and her team inside. The two young women said hello as the squad filed past with Stratton checking their rear security. Relative darkness in the inside of the cabin made it hard for Mason to see. He stepped inside and closed the door behind them. He turned to Emily. “Are you both okay? We heard gunfire.”

“Captain Sutton,” she said with clear distaste. “The leader of the dragoons in Trenton. Father is repairing their weapons. The good captain came by to test them and our loyalties.”

Mason squinted at her. “What does that mean?”

“He threatened us. Father is to stop working on any weapon other than the British and Hessian ones. If he doesn’t, he has to provide information on the rebel soldiers who come by to have their weapons repaired.” Emily moved toward the kitchen away from the rest of the squad in the parlor. Mason followed.

Mental pieces began to come together. “Your father is providing information to Washington, isn’t he? And he’s obviously willing to provide information to the British, too.”

Emily moved to the fireplace, her back to Mason. “You don’t understand. We’re trapped here. Any error will cost us our lives.”

“Yeah, I do understand.” Mason stepped around the table. The pile of white summer linens caught his eye again. “We can’t get back, Miss Daniels. We have to find our way to—”

“Emily.” She turned and half-smiled at him. “Is Mason your first name?”

Mason blinked. “Last name. Surname. My first name is Jameel.”

She nodded. “Now, we can speak as friends.”

Mason froze for a moment and then smiled as she did. “I hope so. We need some real friends here.”

She nodded her head. “We are your friends, Jameel. You asked if my father was providing information to Washington and the British. The answer is yes, but it depends on what you call information to which side.”

“Deception?” Mason asked. “He’s lying to both sides?”

There was a scuff and Daniels stepped into the room with a musket held at his waist, barrel pointing away from them. What Mason knew as the “low ready” position. He shook his head. “Half-truths to get by, Mason.”

“This isn’t a game,” Mason said. “You’re in danger.”

Daniels laughed. “You’re damned right we are, Mason.”

Higgs and Stratton appeared in the doorway and he waved them inside. Daniels didn’t move. Emily stood by the fire with her hands at her waist, frozen. Her father cradled the musket in his arms and appeared to be relaxed, but with his shoulders square and hands at the ready, Mason couldn’t be sure. For a split second, Mason thought of the decisive moment in every cowboy movie, where the combatants looked at each other and ultimately decided how to go for their guns faster than the other.

“You’re trying to decide if you can trust me, aren’t you?” Daniels asked.

Mason nodded. “Yeah, something like that.”

“I fought for the British in the Indian Wars, Mason. When the Continental Congress started this mess for freedom and independence, I was against every part of it. My commanding officer in the Indian Wars was for it. I’d follow that man to the very gates of Hell itself.” He paused. “I knew he was right, Mason.”

“You served with Washington, then?” Higgs asked.

Daniels nodded. “And I still serve with him, but I tread lightly on the British side, Mason. Since they’ve come to our land, we have to. You understand that?”

“You have British and Hessian rifles in your workshop, don’t you?” Mason asked.

“Twenty-two of them,” Daniels said. “Fourteen for farmers friendly to the cause, as well. There are forty-two muskets in the barn. Those are for General Washington’s cousin. His men should be by tomorrow to get them. You probably were sitting on them without even noticing them.”

Mason looked at Higgs. Her blue eyes were wide, but she exuded confidence. Stratton gaped. “You can get us to Washington?” he asked. “Within the next twenty-four hours?”

Daniels nodded. “Faster than that. There should be a way.”

“McKonkey’s Ferry?” Mason asked, remembering his conversation with Murphy. “Colonel Glover, right? He’ll be in position tomorrow night.”

“How do you know that, Mason?” Daniels said. “You know it all, don’t you? I think it’s time you share your information, and I’ll do the same. Is that fair enough for you?”

Mason could not help but smile. “Higgs? Will you ask Murphy to come in here?” He looked at the pile of white linens and the idea clicked into reality like the tumblers of a lock. Murphy said that storms were coming and the last thing they needed to do was to stand out like sore thumbs.

Emily squinted. “What is it, Mason?”

“You need to know the truth,” he said. “But, can we borrow those sheets?”


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