kitchen."
Mr. Cochran examined me from head to toe.
"Do you wish to live on the premises?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Do you plan to stay? The last serving wench was here but a week."
"Longer," I said, but I didn't say how much longer because I didn't know.
Mr. Cochran picked up a cue and rubbed chalk on the end of it. "You can start now. Bring my friend a punch, strong on the rum. You'll find the wherewithal in the bar, which is out the door and down the hall."
I made his friend a rum punch. In fact, I made him four. Thereupon he got red in the face. He put his cue away and sat down to do a good bit of talking about how the British had driven the rebels out of New York City.
"Now they're getting ready to drive them clean out of Connecticut," he said.
He was drinking from a tall glass. In the bottom was an image of a fish. When his glass was empty, he would shout, "Fish out of water." Then I was supposed to run and fetch him another drink. I fetched him six altogether.
"I saw General Washington riding around this morning over in White Plains," he said. "The general's getting ready to defend the town. He's got a lot of troops over there, but they're green as grass and poorly armed. The British will run them and the general out across the North River, those of them they don't kill."
White Plains was less than three miles from the tavern. That night I couldn't go to sleep, thinking about the coming battle, hearing the sounds of cannon fire and musketry and men dying. The next day I left. Mr. Cochran wanted me to stay, but I left anyway, even though he refused to give me all of what he owed.
It was now late in October. Winter was not far off. I didn't have enough money to keep me for long.
There was a wig shop in the village that had a sign in the window asking for ladies' hair, blond hair preferred. I went in and had my hair cut off. It was of a fine texture, the proprietor said, and very long, so he gave me eleven shillings besides a white mob cap trimmed with pink lace to cover my shorn head.
The day was clear and cold when I left the wig-maker's shop. The road northward was crammed with horsemen and carts and driven stock. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry.
19
T HAT NIGHT I stayed in a run-down tavern. I shared a room with three ladies who slept together in the one bed. It cost six shillings, but mine, a pallet on the floor, cost only sixpence.
In the morning I started out at sunrise and was fortunate enough to find a ride on a cart going northward. The driver's name was Sam Goshen. He was a spare man who talked through his nose, which was very large and purplish. He wore a fringed hunting shirt belted with a rattlesnake skin.
He was driving two oxen and a wagon heaped up with odds and ends of furniture and a bundle of furs. Tied behind were two cows and a piebald horse. He overtook me not far from the tavern. He pushed aside the shaggy, blue-eyed dog that sat beside him, and motioned for me to jump in.
He said with a grin, "Where you bound?"
If I had been truthful I would have answered, "I don't know where I'm going." Instead, I told him that I was on my way to Ridgeford.
"Friends up there?" he asked. "Relatives?"
"Some," I answered, untruthfully.
"It's a lot safer farther up than hereabouts. There'll be a battle at White Plains, sure enough. A big one. Washington's got three thousand troops all forted up behind barricades, ready to fight. And the British have more. Twice as many, I hear. Lot of them Hessians."
He took a swig of something from a jug. I guess it was Madeira because his false teeth had a darkish color, which men get from drinking that kind of wine, or that's what Mr. Pennywell told me once.
"You seem fearful," Mr. Goshen said. "You keep lookin' backward all the time. The battle won't start right off. Maybe in a day or two. By then you won't be around anywhere."
I did keep looking over my shoulder. It was silly, but I couldn't help myself.
"How far away is Ridgeford?" I asked him.
"A far piece.
Mr. Cochran examined me from head to toe.
"Do you wish to live on the premises?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Do you plan to stay? The last serving wench was here but a week."
"Longer," I said, but I didn't say how much longer because I didn't know.
Mr. Cochran picked up a cue and rubbed chalk on the end of it. "You can start now. Bring my friend a punch, strong on the rum. You'll find the wherewithal in the bar, which is out the door and down the hall."
I made his friend a rum punch. In fact, I made him four. Thereupon he got red in the face. He put his cue away and sat down to do a good bit of talking about how the British had driven the rebels out of New York City.
"Now they're getting ready to drive them clean out of Connecticut," he said.
He was drinking from a tall glass. In the bottom was an image of a fish. When his glass was empty, he would shout, "Fish out of water." Then I was supposed to run and fetch him another drink. I fetched him six altogether.
"I saw General Washington riding around this morning over in White Plains," he said. "The general's getting ready to defend the town. He's got a lot of troops over there, but they're green as grass and poorly armed. The British will run them and the general out across the North River, those of them they don't kill."
White Plains was less than three miles from the tavern. That night I couldn't go to sleep, thinking about the coming battle, hearing the sounds of cannon fire and musketry and men dying. The next day I left. Mr. Cochran wanted me to stay, but I left anyway, even though he refused to give me all of what he owed.
It was now late in October. Winter was not far off. I didn't have enough money to keep me for long.
There was a wig shop in the village that had a sign in the window asking for ladies' hair, blond hair preferred. I went in and had my hair cut off. It was of a fine texture, the proprietor said, and very long, so he gave me eleven shillings besides a white mob cap trimmed with pink lace to cover my shorn head.
The day was clear and cold when I left the wig-maker's shop. The road northward was crammed with horsemen and carts and driven stock. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry.
19
T HAT NIGHT I stayed in a run-down tavern. I shared a room with three ladies who slept together in the one bed. It cost six shillings, but mine, a pallet on the floor, cost only sixpence.
In the morning I started out at sunrise and was fortunate enough to find a ride on a cart going northward. The driver's name was Sam Goshen. He was a spare man who talked through his nose, which was very large and purplish. He wore a fringed hunting shirt belted with a rattlesnake skin.
He was driving two oxen and a wagon heaped up with odds and ends of furniture and a bundle of furs. Tied behind were two cows and a piebald horse. He overtook me not far from the tavern. He pushed aside the shaggy, blue-eyed dog that sat beside him, and motioned for me to jump in.
He said with a grin, "Where you bound?"
If I had been truthful I would have answered, "I don't know where I'm going." Instead, I told him that I was on my way to Ridgeford.
"Friends up there?" he asked. "Relatives?"
"Some," I answered, untruthfully.
"It's a lot safer farther up than hereabouts. There'll be a battle at White Plains, sure enough. A big one. Washington's got three thousand troops all forted up behind barricades, ready to fight. And the British have more. Twice as many, I hear. Lot of them Hessians."
He took a swig of something from a jug. I guess it was Madeira because his false teeth had a darkish color, which men get from drinking that kind of wine, or that's what Mr. Pennywell told me once.
"You seem fearful," Mr. Goshen said. "You keep lookin' backward all the time. The battle won't start right off. Maybe in a day or two. By then you won't be around anywhere."
I did keep looking over my shoulder. It was silly, but I couldn't help myself.
"How far away is Ridgeford?" I asked him.
"A far piece.
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