The Glorious Cause - Jeff Shaara [50]
He moved to an open square, saw more soldiers, strange blue uniforms, polished brass helmets. It was a squad of Hessians marching in formation, muskets on shoulders, and on both sides of the street, civilians were staring silently, tight grim faces. The Hessians moved past, and the onlookers began to move again, slowly resuming their own business, and he thought, Even the Tories are frightened. It is one thing to receive General Howe with graciousness, to give lavish parties in his honor. It is quite another to try to live with these strange and foreign soldiers marching in your streets, who have shown no concern for your politics or your loyalties. If you are not in uniform, you could very well be their enemy, and they do not hesitate to act on that. He heard a burst of shouting from a house behind him, a woman’s short scream. He turned, saw glass shattering, a book flying out the window, landing in the street in a heap of scattered paper. He stared at it, instinctive anger at the assault on the one thing he loved, wondered what the book was, thought of picking it up. There were more shouts, male now, and the woman screamed again. In the wide square, another group of soldiers appeared, British this time, but they made no move toward the house. Hale caught their glances that way, saw smiles, reacting to the screams of the woman only as some shared experience. He felt an icy chill, moved quickly away from the house, felt the violation of the woman in some place deep in his mind, the awful shame that there was nothing he could do. He rounded a corner, saw more soldiers, fought hard to keep his anger quiet. But these were different, powdered wigs, much gold on their uniform. The anger eased, and he focused on the opportunity, saw four men, dressed with the sharp scarlet coats of officers, senior officers. He fought the urge to duck away into the alley, was too far in the open, could only move past them, make no obvious motion. He kept his face down, nodded silently as they passed him, slowed his walk, listened to their conversation.
“The old place is quite handsome, I’m told. We shall move there tomorrow.”
Hale turned, leaned against a wood wall, seemed to scrape the mud from his shoes, tried to hear more. They were walking slowly away from him, and he began to follow, kept his distance.
“Well, the general shall certainly approve. With the batteries now in place, there will be no call for movement. The firewood is accumulating nicely. And, to a warm hearth are drawn those who provide their own warmth. Certainly, we can make use of the local . . . ah . . . flowers.”
The man laughed, joined by the others. Hale stayed back, could not risk them noticing him. He backed into an alley, ignored the crushing smells, thought, Winter quarters. Of course, this is no secret, it was always said that the British wanted to be in New York for the winter, plenty of housing, even for the soldiers. And, plenty of entertainment. Flowers indeed. He could not escape the sound of the woman’s screams, closed his eyes for a moment. Damn them!
The daylight was fading, and he backed farther into the alley, thought, You’ve been on the street for too long, seen too many people. Someone will notice you. Best stay hidden for a while.
He felt his way around a corner, the smells of garbage and filth unavoidable. He felt the wetness in his shoes, stood in a place that never saw sunlight, thought, You should remember this alley. A good sanctuary. He looked up, saw a window, caught the flicker of a candle, and a head suddenly