Sophia's War (28 page)

“Has she ever done so before?”

He shook his head. But clearly he was not going to act because a
girl
urged him to. No, he must have his
own
reason to act. As for me, more than anything I wanted to know if John André was still on that ship. After so much had happened, I had the right to learn how things stood.

I said, “Please, sir. I must go with them.”

Distrust filled his face. “Why?”

“I want to see if I was right.”

“You are a singular young lady. How old are you?”

I lifted my chin. “Fifteen.”

“Do you have parents?”

“Yes.”

“Do they know what you have done?”

“No, sir. Do you have children?”

“A daughter your age.”

“Would you not trust her?” I said, trying to keep my gaze level.

He sighed. “It's a lengthy way to Tellers Point.”

“No further than I've already come.”

“You'll be under guard.”

I said, “You don't believe me, do you?”

He shifted uneasily on his feet, then said, “These are fragile times, miss. You must know how unusual your tale is. It's hard to know what to make of you.”

“Do you think me mad?” I said.

He gave no answer.

I said, “Please, I need to go.”

He waited a few moments, made a dumb show of reluctance, but then said, “Very well.” Madness has its rewards: I think he wished to be rid of me.

I stepped out onto the parade ground. Some seven
soldiers were standing about two cannons mounted on large wheels. As I would learn, one was what they called a six-pounder, which meant it could fire a six-pound weight. The other was a howitzer.

There was also a wagon, in which cannonballs, bags of powder, and shovels were placed. Three horses were to pull all this weight.

Colonel Livingston conferred with Mr. Baydon, who kept glancing at me doubtfully as they talked.

Mr. Baydon broke away and shouted out an order. The small troop of soldiers, horses, cannons, and wagon began to move out along the same path by which I had come. Without waiting for an invitation, I walked behind them, like some camp follower.

Not only were the soldiers quite young, they did not appear to know what to make of my presence. Occasionally there were stolen glances, but none would talk to me.

At one point, I went up to Mr. Baydon. “If the ship is still there,” I said, “what will you do?”

“Watch her.”

“Nothing more?”

He shrugged. “We shall see.”

“Then why have you brought cannons?”

“I have my orders, miss.”

It was perfectly obvious that I was being ordered to ask no more questions.

On board the
Vulture
, André and Robinson remained in their cabin. They must have talked about the war,
about the future beyond the war. Repeatedly they speculated why Arnold had not appeared. They played cards. They tried to sleep. At one point, Captain Sutherland urged they sail back downriver. André, wishing to wait, informed the captain that he did not feel well and would prefer to remain motionless. The captain agreed.

At Joshua Smith's house, Mr. Smith had brought two of his tenants, the Cahoon brothers, to General Arnold. The general tried to persuade them to row Smith to the
Vulture
that night. The brothers raised objections. Why were they going to a British ship? Why at night? It would be hard work. The only boat they had was large and heavy. It all made them uneasy.

At first Arnold tried to reason with them. Then he offered to pay them a high fee. When they refused, he ordered them to do so as a general. When they still declined, he threatened arrest if they did not do as he required.

The brothers finally agreed. They would pick up Smith at the river's edge at about ten that night, take him to the waiting ship, and bring this Mr. Anderson to shore for a meeting. Afterward, they would get him to the ship.

“One other thing,” said Arnold as the brothers started to go.

They paused.

“You will muffle your oars.”

As they went off, one of the brothers muttered to the other, “I don't like this business.”

It took much time for us to reach Tellers Point. The cannons were heavy, and the pathway, which had been easy to walk, was rough for our transport. Though the horses labored, there were places where the soldiers had to get behind the cannons and push. They even let me help. It was the same for the wagon that carried the cannonballs and shot. In the event, we did not reach Tellers Point until late afternoon. Dusk was with us.

Tellers Point proved to be exactly that, a fat finger of land—a forested peninsula—that extended almost halfway across Hudson's River. Not far from the actual point rose a small hill.

Mr. Baydon, in command, left the cannons behind the hill—that they might be hidden from view—and went to the top. Two other soldiers went with him. I did the same. At the summit, we lay down, so as not to be observed. By then nothing I did seemed to shock them anymore.

Not far from where we were was the actual tip of Tellers Point. Beyond, on the river, the
Vulture
was anchored.

“That spot,” said Mr. Baydon, pointing to the very end of Tellers Point, “is what folks call Gallows Point.”

His words made me cringe.
“
Where's West Point?
”
I asked.

“Ten miles up.”

“Might the ship go there?”

“There's a chain across the river to block any passage. Besides, before you would reach it, they would
have to get past Fort Lafayette.” He nodded toward the
Vulture.
“I suspect she'll stay right here.”

“What do you intend to do?” I wanted to know.

“We'll watch her. See if, like you claim, they put someone ashore.”

“It might already have happened.”

Ignoring me, Mr. Baydon had a telescope, which he put it to his eye.

“Can you see anything?” I asked.

He handed me the device and I peered though it. In the twilight gloom, I saw one, then two, men pacing upon her deck. It was queer to think that one of them might be André. I did wish it. Even so, I reminded myself he might have already gone to his meeting.

As the sky grew dark, a half-moon rose, now and again veiled by clouds. Stars were bright. All was as still as stone. The two men on the
Vulture
paced the deck.

I watched and waited.

At about eleven o'clock, at the foot of Long Clove Mountain, at the southern end of Haverstraw Bay, Joshua Smith came down to the river's edge. In his pocket was a note that allowed Mr. Anderson to pass through American lines. It was written and signed by Arnold.

Sam and Joe Cahoon were waiting in their boat, the blades of their oars wrapped in sheepskins. When Smith appeared, the brothers murmured only a sullen greeting. Mr. Smith stepped into the boat and fixed a small white flag to the bow.

“What's that for?” demanded one of the brothers.

“So we're not shot at.”

The men swore. “That likely?” one of them asked.

“No.”

The brothers pushed off and began to row. “Where to?” said one of the rowers.

“As you've been told. Tellers Point. There's a ship waiting.”

Using the tiller, Mr. Smith steered. Their passage was made easier with the tide running south.

The
Vulture
lay some miles below.

60

I WAS ASLEEP
at the bottom of Tellers Point hill when I was awoken by an excited cry. “Mr. Baydon! There's movement.”

Mr. Baydon rose instantly and began to run up the hill, following the soldier who had called him. I scrambled along.

Upon reaching the top of the hill, we looked out. Above, clouds were scudding so that the moon came and went as if playing a hiding game. When brightest, it cast glistening light upon the river. At first I saw nothing. Then I saw it: a small boat moving silently toward the
Vulture.
She moved like a water bug, in short forward jerks.

Mr. Baydon put his telescope to his eye. After a while he said, “Three people in the boat. White flag in the bow.”

I said, “What does the white flag mean?”

“By the rules of war, they are entitled to safe passage.”

“Safe passage?” I said.

“We try to follow the rules, miss.”

The boat in which Joshua Smith and the Cahoon brothers sat bumped against the hull of the
Vulture
.

Captain Sutherland, who had been alerted to its approach, leaned over the gunnels. “Who's there?” he called down.

“Mr. Smith. For Mr. Anderson.”

“Come aboard,” called Sutherland.

Mr. Smith plucked up the flag of truce and climbed to the deck. “I have a pass for Mr. Anderson.”

The captain took the paper, read it, and then went down to where André and Robinson were waiting. “He's here, sir. He brought a pass, but only for Mr. Anderson.”

“Fine,” said André. “I'll go alone.”

“Are you sure that's wise?” said Robinson.

“It's as planned. And I wouldn't want it otherwise,” said André. “Don't worry. I'll be back soon.”

“Your uniform, sir,” said the captain. “It's rather visible. May I suggest I get you an overcoat to cover it.”

“It's best,” agreed Robinson.

Impatient to go, André said, “As you wish.”

When a coat was fetched, André put it on. It reached down to his boots, had a high collar, and was blue. Nothing of his uniform could be seen save his boots. The captain offered him a plain three-cornered hat, too. André gave his wig to Robinson and set the hat low upon his head.

Robinson saluted and said, “Godspeed.”

André went on deck and approached Mr. Smith.

“Mr. Anderson?” said Smith.

“I'm he,” said André.

“Very good, sir.”

Joshua Smith led the way, climbing down the rope ladder into the waiting boat. André followed and settled into the bow seat. He kept his hat pulled down.

The Cahoon brothers eyed André. One of them nudged the other. “Let's get home,” he said.

They pushed away from the
Vulture
, turned the boat upstream, and began to row. The tide, however, was now against them, making it much harder to row. As for the flag of truce, it had been left behind.

Mr. Baydon held the telescope to his eye and watched as the small boat moved out from behind the
Vulture.
“They're leaving,” he announced.

I said, “How many in the boat?”

He took his time. “Four.”

“You see,” I said, elated. “Someone going ashore. I was right!”

Mr. Baydon grunted, lowered his telescope, and handed it to me. I put the telescope to my eye and saw the small boat with the silhouettes of four men. Two were rowing. One sat in the stern, one the bow. I
wanted
the one in the bow to be André.
Wanted
him to know I was close, watching.
What would he think? Would he be frightened of me?
I must confess, I felt a kind of elation.