Just as he settled into the darkness, Jake heard someone else moving through the nearby woods. He stood deer-still and watched a small figure emerge from behind the trees, study the gathering, and then retreat. The patriot spy followed along as quickly as he dared, as quietly as possible. The shadow — so short and thin he must be a boy of eight or nine — climbed over a rail fence into a cleared yard and began running; Jake had to let him get a very long lead before he decided it would be safe to pursue.
It was easy enough to see where he went. Well before Jake arrived at the back of the house, he realized the destination must be the Smith family homestead, and that the boy must be allied with the Tories.
“ They’re on their way, Father,” said the lad to the two taller figures in the road in front of the house. “They’re in front of the church.”
“ Good, Jamie. Go inside with Mother and make sure the cannon is ready. Mr. Peters and I will be here for awhile longer.’
Peters — whose accent gave him away immediately as a British officer fresh from south Wales — was working on a vast ditch in the road in front of the house, filling it with water from a nearby well. “We’re ready,” he told Smith. “We’ve just got to cover the trench with the rushes and dirt. No one will see it in the dark.”
“ I don’t want to hurt anyone,” said Smith.
“ They’re coming to kill you, man,” declared the British recruiter indignantly. “This is merely a small trick you’re playing on them. No need to feel guilty.”
“ The swivel cannon, though.”
“ We’ll fire it only if they attack the home. You’ve got to protect your family.”
“ What if it goes off by accident?”
“ Buck up, Smith. These people are rebels.”
Jake let the reluctant Tory continue his debate with the devil as he snuck to the back of the house, determined that there would be no such accident. In truth, most Loyalists did not feel the qualms Smith expressed, and Jake saw some hope for him — though not if the evening proceeded as planned.
A small lean-to was located at the back of the house, serving as the family as a summer kitchen. The voices inside the building indicated that mother and son — and at least two other children — were working on the swivel gun in the front room. Jake could easily sneak in while their attentions were turned toward the cannon and the street.
He had brought two of his pistols with him, and he took one now from his belt. Already loaded, he wanted to use it to scare the family into submission — but only scare them, for he was loath to hurt women and children, no matter how misguided their loyalties. He therefore took the unusual expedient of removing the flint from the firing mechanism — the pistol was cocked, and except to a careful eye, would seem ready to fire. Jake could even pull the trigger, though nothing would happen. The other gun remained ready at his waist.
Hearing noises in the distance up the road, Jake wedged his foot inside the door and eased it open, sneaking into the kitchen — and directly in front of the business end of a large, ancient, but very definitely loaded and simmering matchlock.
Chapter Six
“ Drop your weapon, sir, or you will find yourself singing in Gabriel’s choir,” said the gun’s master, the same lad who had earlier acted as advance scout.
Jake couldn’t help but admire the young man’s spirit. He also couldn’t help but hold his arms out at a fair length, then slowly bend his knees for the ground.
“ I’ll just set my pistol down here,” he said, placing it on the long, woven carpet before him.
“ Now take a step away. Smartly if you please,” said the lad.
“ As you wish,” said Jake, who stepped with his right foot off the rug — and with his left foot pulled the cloth suddenly forward, judging that the boy was too light and the floor too polished to offer much resistance. He judged correctly — and caught the lad and his gun as they flew upward.
“ Let go of me or I’ll tell Mother!”
“ I’ll tell her myself,” said Jake, holding the squirming lad beneath his arm like a log as he fetched and extinguished the matchlock. “I admire your bravery, but you’re expressing it on the wrong side of the fight.”
“ My father will have you hung.”
“ Your father will do well not to be hung himself,” said Jake, carrying the boy forward into the front room where his mother was waiting.
“ Put my son down, sir, or I’ll shoot you through with this swivel cannon.”
The woman had turned the gun, mounted on a thick steel tripod in the middle of the front hall, to face him. She was holding a fuse stick in her hand. Jake could see from the flush in her throat that her heart was beating close to its limit.
“ Come now,” said Jake, taking another step inside. “I have no desire to hurt you, and I know that you don’t want to hurt your son.”
“ I warn you, sir, don’t test me.”
The swivel was a very light but also exceedingly deadly gun. A bit more than four feet long, it weighed near two hundred pounds, but was situated on a mount that made it relatively easy to maneuver, even for a woman. It could not be turned quickly, however, and Jake had only to take two quick side steps to get out of its line of fire. With his third, he tossed the boy toward his mother. Instinctually, she put up her arms to catch the lad, and in so doing, dropped the wooden switch she meant to use to fire the gun. Jake clamped down on it with his foot, dropped the matchlock and pulled out his pistol.
“ Please, madam, step away. This gun is loaded and I will feel very sad if I have to shoot you.”
“ Go ahead, rebel,” said the woman. “I am ready.”
It was terrible to see such bravery wasted in a Tory, and Jake shook his head. “I would not make your poor children orphans,” he said. “Into the kitchen with you now.”
Two little girls emerged from behind a chair and brought the standstill to an end. The woman gathered them to her quickly, and cursing Jake to hell, escorted her brood to the back.
Unfortunately, this was not the end of this family’s bravery. For in his rush to press his advantage, Jake had left his deflinted pistol on the threshold. As the woman made a break with her children for the backyard and freedom, her son Jamie decided he had not yet surrendered — slipping from his mother’s arm, he went back into the house and grabbed the gun, continuing inside to confront the intruder.
“ Well, you’re just the type we need fighting on our side,” Jake said, as he looked up to see the boy before him. The lad’s mother was just coming inside, and now Jake saw the brave look from before had been turned to one of deep worry. “I should like you to meet General Washington,” he told the boy as he continued to work on the cannon, wadding a piece of the carpet in the mouth so it would misfire. “He has a gun just like that one.”
“ He’s a rebel and a scoundrel,” said the boy.
“ No, no, the general is a brave man,” said Jake, picking up the lit stick. “You would like him very much, and he would like you. He likes brave lads.”
The boy steadied the gun in both hands. In truth, he might have had a good chance of hitting Jake had it been able to fire.
“ Put down the gun, Jamie,” said his mother behind him. “He said he wouldn’t hurt us.”
“ You can’t trust a rebel, Mum.”
As Jake took a step forward, he realized Mrs. Smith’s face might not only express concern for her son, but for him as well. Perhaps they might find their way to the right side and do it good service.
They certainly had the raw materials of spunk and bravery — the boy leveled the pistol and pulled the trigger at point-blank range.
“ The flint is in my pocket,” said Jake as he took it from the bewildered boy. “But this other gun is well-loaded. Take the boy and the other children into the woods, madam. The cannon will make a dreadful mess when it explodes.”