“I’ll grant you, Mr. Allison , that it certainly wouldn’t have won the war in the Americas for them, but as far as usefulness is concerned, do not make assumptions of that nature. We don’t know exactly what the French have learned since this conflict began. We don’t know how deep their efforts at intrigue and subterfuge have managed to permeate or what they’ve gained as a result; but I can tell you I have it from General Sir William Johnson himself that the Indian tribes who have thrown in their lot with the French have been involved in a great many similar underhanded ploys. Our own native allies amongst the Six Nations of the Iroquois Confederation have confirmed as much.”

Allison could only stand by and look concerned as Maxwell went on.

“Lieutenant, had this message gotten to our enemies they would have known your name, my name – which aggravates me to no end – and the fact we are involved in an activity centered on Trenton and Philadelphia which we want to keep secret. Only the Almighty Himself knows exactly what they could do with that information, but I can assure you it isn’t inconsiderable. If nothing else, I challenge you to tell me that your name becoming of increased importance to the enemy doesn’t prove a source of concern! Be it by virtue of mention in official correspondence or otherwise, I find anything that might make a French coureur de bois, an Indian warrior, or even enemy regulars more likely to take me captive or put me in their sights highly undesirable! Wouldn’t you?”

Allison couldn’t help but agree that everything the Major said was transferable in its entirety to him or anyone like him in the Navy, even though the associated dangers were from broadsides or boarding parties.

“But what does my part in this involve?” Allison asked. “I was knowingly given important instructions and put within reach of a suspected enemy agent. I was used as no more than a decoy! And yet there’s still more for me to do? I must say, sir, that the lack of information available to me has been most distressing and disconcerting!”

“First of all, Mr. Allison , your involvement in all of this is the result of a convergence - two separate but kindred operations whose interests, by sheer happenstance, managed to become aligned.” Maxwell explained. “One, plainly, was this affair with our French agent in there, who we managed to apprehend.”

As if to remind Allison of what was still happening inside, a loud, prolonged groan was clearly audible from within. Apparently the coachman still stubbornly refused to give up any information to his captors.

Allison did his best to shut it out. “The capture might never have happened if I managed to destroy that document sooner,” he said in answer. “Sir, I was chastised for allowing the letter to be transcribed, but no guilt on that man’s part could have been proven if it didn’t happen.”

“Not true, Lieutenant. The man regularly drove between New York and Philadelphia and there would have been other opportunities,” the Major replied. “But Trenton was almost always a regular stop on his way. The routes he was obliged to follow before reaching here often varied, so chances to meet with contacts were very limited. Had we been less than sure of where and to whom this man habitually passed on his information we would have proceeded via other means or tried again at another time. Outcomes notwithstanding, you did allow the enemy to gain the information you carried and even though it was due to no false or disloyal behavior of your own, to me that is still a mark against you.”

Here Major Maxwell stopped and drew a breath. Despite the dark, Allison could tell the Major was giving him another look of appraisal. “Regardless of whether that part succeeded or failed,” he resumed, “you were not sent to me merely as bait for the enemy. I was also told to make an evaluation in your case, ostensibly since your future appointment shares some things in common with what I have been doing here in recent weeks.”

Somehow that didn’t sit well with Allison at all. “Just what am I to do?”

“Lieutenant, the incident with that Frenchman hanging in the storehouse should illustrate in the clearest way possible why the information you are getting has been piecemeal and incomplete. As a consequence of that reason, which is to say that I don’t know, I can tell you very little other than what I mentioned at the tavern. You are and will remain a British naval officer.”

Maxwell paused and sniffed the air as if to lend weight to his next words. He looked downward for a second or two and began speaking again in a measured but emphatic manner. “The first two years of this conflict have gone poorly for the Empire, Mr. Allison . You know that as well as any officer in the service would. Defeats like that at Fort William Henry or the loss of Minorca, which actually resulted in the court-martial and execution of your Admiral Byng last year, have had serious and sobering effects on our leadership. There are those occupying high places in His Britannic Majesty’s government who believe that strategic and tactical changes are necessary. As a result, you may be called upon to perpetrate actions in the service of the Crown that are... unorthodox and irregular.”

Damn it! There was that cursed inflection of his again! This certainly can’t be good!

Maxwell continued, “And, contrary to some of what my better judgment tells me, I will not impede your appointment in any way. It seems plans have already been set in motion and too much else has gone forward to brook any real delay. From what I’ve been told, your past actions are proof that you have the ability. I have no choice but to believe that. This much I can say, however - you may have the wits to accomplish what is expected of you, but whatever your propensity for taking proper action, it needs to assert itself at the right times!”

As Allison stood there in the shadows trying to absorb everything he had been told, a bloodcurdling scream rang out inside the storehouse that made him shudder. It was only then that he remembered the red hot piece of steel held by the soldier and he didn’t care to speculate on just how it might have been used to cause such a wail from the prisoner. He had had enough for one night.

“The hour grows very late, Major,” Allison said. “If you have nothing further for me, I would ask to be dismissed.”

“Very well, Lieutenant, but do be sure to read the letter I gave you earlier,” Maxwell replied, giving his assent for Allison to depart. “We’ll make sure alternate means of transportation are prepared for you by morning.”

Allison nodded and moved back out into the street. He had already turned to move away when Major Maxwell called out one last time. He turned around to see him standing at the door of the storehouse, an otherwise shadowy figure with a dull but noticeable reflection from the firelight inside coming off the gilt gorget around his neck.

“I say, Lieutenant, if you happen to take my earlier advice about changing your drink of choice and you do indulge in some whiskey – do be sure it is in fact Scotch and not a French variety. I think we’d both concur based on recent events that it wouldn’t agree with you.”

Ignoring the Major’s final jab at his pride, Allison wordlessly touched his hat in salute, turned on his heel and walked off into the night to find his inn.

The day was gloriously sunny and warm. A gentle breeze blew through the verdure of the full trees and high green grasses, the sound of which was like the most beautiful song he had ever heard in his young life. At the height of summer in that green valley, wide swaths of multicolored wildflowers were in full bloom with honeybees buzzing about in their midst. Meanwhile songbirds of every brilliant color imaginable flew about those majestic trees singing along in high-pitched harmony with the music of the breeze.

The corn and other crops his father planted were growing steadily and he looked forward to the bountiful harvest they would provide in the autumn when the foliage turned as many colors as could be found in the songbirds’ plumage. The whole valley, including the long humpbacked mountains that cradled it, would be awash in beauty. But he wished he wouldn’t have to give up the warmth and comfort of that blessed summer, for there was beauty aplenty here and now. He would help his father work from time to time, small though he was, and spend the remainder of his time playing in the woods and meadows. With his father, mother, and sister here in this beautiful land, he knew he would always be happy.

He fell to his knees in the tall grass, threw his head back and closed his eyes feeling the sun’s warmth on his face. He thought about running down to the nearby stream to wade into the cool water or maybe even do some fishing and catch one of the many trout that swam the waters. It would be a big one! But for some reason he couldn’t explain, he was unable to move.

Something was wrong.

The birds had stopped singing and the winds became eerily still. He looked around but couldn’t see any reason for what was happening. A sound emanated from the surrounding woods, a sound that grew in intensity until whoops, screeches and other ululations made by what had to be human voices could be made out. The sky was darkening too, not like it did before a storm, but more like a sunset – a deep red one.

Suddenly the noise from the woods grew to a roar and he could see the figures of running men moving through the trees. Now hundreds of Algonquian warriors were pouring out of the woods, screaming and brandishing bloodstained weapons. Some of these men had painted themselves with different colors – mostly red and black – but he didn’t like those colors. They weren’t like what he saw when he looked at the songbirds or the trees in Autumn – they scared him.

Black smoke began to billow into the air, belching forth from somewhere out beneath the trees. The Indians weren’t alone now. Now there were soldiers in white uniforms running toward him as well. The soldiers had muskets, but they also carried big flags and standards that had a lot of colors too. Many of the flags had fleurs-de-lis and the soldiers were yelling something strange but familiar: Vive le roi! Vive le roi!

Frightened out of his wits, he called out to his mother and father but they were gone. He didn’t know where his sister was either. So he started to run as fast as his small legs would carry him. But where would he go? Oh yes - the house! The house he had lived in his entire life. The house which had been built as a small log cabin by his great-grandfather and had been enlarged over the years to become a very respectable residence – he would be safe there! He ran and ran until he came up to the front porch. Major Maxwell stood there leaning on the railing. He wanted to ask the big soldier for help but Maxwell didn’t seem interested. Instead the redcoat officer thrust a glass of golden brown liquid at him and said “You really should have some Scotch, Lieutenant!” He ignored the offer and ran inside.