Sophia's War (29 page)

Then I noticed something. Turning to Mr. Baydon, I said, “There's no more flag of truce. Can we stop them now?”

“The cannons could never find them.”

“But you must do something!”

He thought for a moment. “Maybe we can drive the
Vulture
away. Least that boat won't be able to come back—if it tries.”

He ran down the hill. “Up! Up!” I heard him cry. “Unlimber the guns.”

With the boat going against the tide, the trip back to Long Clove Mountain cove took quite a while. In the humid air, the sweating Cahoon brothers grew ever more irritated. It was almost 2 a.m. when the boat finally touched land. Mr. Smith, at the stern, leaned forward toward André. “He'll be waiting,” he said.

André stepped out of the boat and onto the shore. Boulders lay everywhere, but there was moonlight enough to see a crooked path running through them and up into the forest. André glanced back at Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith waved him forward.

André walked on, but halted where the pathway began to lead up. He peered into the gloom. Beneath the shadowy trees, he saw a man standing. He was of middling height, broad shouldered, his big head, even in the shadow, suggesting power.

“Is that you, Mr. Anderson?” called the man.

André said, “Mr. Moore?”

“I am he.”

Major André moved up the path to where General Arnold was waiting. They clasped hands.

When André moved up among the trees, Joshua Smith climbed out of the boat. He went up the path a few
yards, wanting to make sure Mr. Anderson was gone. No sooner did he get on land than the Cahoon brothers shoved the boat back into the river.

Hearing a splash, Smith spun about. “Where are you going?” he shouted.

“Home!” cried one of the brothers. “We've had enough of this.” They began to row.

“You mustn't!” called Smith, but the boat was already moving down-river. Incapable of taking any action, Smith merely watched. With a start, he swung back toward the forest. Mr. Anderson and General Arnold were out of sight. Not sure what to do, Mr. Smith decided it would be unwise to intrude.

The meeting between Major André and General Arnold lasted two hours. The talk was for the most part about West Point, with Arnold instructing André how best to attack the fort, the vulnerable points, the places Arnold had weakened. The general also spoke about his plan to trick George Washington into being captured.

He held out a detailed plan of West Point, marked with all the defenseless points.

André hesitated.

Arnold pressed him. “When you get back to the city, you'll want to be absolutely sure of what I told you. There's much to remember.”

André gazed at the papers in Arnold's hand.

“I assure you,” urged Arnold, “the plans will make your attack much easier. A quick success will do much for your honor.”

André took the papers.

Then the two men began to negotiate how much money Arnold would receive for handing over the fort. He wanted a lot.

At 4 a.m., the meeting was over, with the two men having reached agreement on everything. Arnold walked André down to the water's edge. Only Mr. Smith was waiting.

“Where's the boat?” Arnold demanded.

“Gone.”

Upset, André turned to Arnold.

Arnold, struggling not to show concern, said, “You'll have to wait until the morning to get back to the ship.”

“Wait where?” André demanded.

After a moment's consideration, Arnold pointed to Mr. Smith. “His house.”

A frustrated André turned and gazed down the river. The water looked to be flowing away from him.

Arnold said, “There really is no choice.”

The two men rode horses to Joshua Smith's house. As they went along the road, André saw an American soldier standing on guard. He immediately understood what it meant: they had gone out of the neutral zone and into the American lines. He pulled his collar up and his hat down.

Shortly before 5 a.m., they reached the Smith household, where the two men sat down to breakfast.

I thought Mr. Baydon would never get his cannons in place. First, the men had to roll the heavy pieces up to
the top of Teller Point hill. There was no path and little light. Rocks, boulders, and soft spaces hindered them. The six-pounder went first. Then the howitzer. Lastly, they brought along the shot and powder wagon.

Then they had to come
down
the hill to the point, an even harder task, lest the heavy cannons escape their grasp and tip over. The horses were of hardly any use.

I kept my eyes on the
Vulture
. She did not move, but remained as still as the warm air. No one went to her or from her. Her deck was deserted. The gray river waters moved sluggishly.

Once the cannons were at the bottom of the hill, Mr. Baydon ordered the soldiers to build earthworks in front of them, protection in case the
Vulture
fired back. After he divided his men into two batteries, the guns were loaded.

By the time all was in place it was early morning. The first light was pale, the air humid. Shreds of mist trailed over the river. All was still.

“Are we ready?” Mr. Baydon called.

“Yes, sir.”

“Commence firing.”

A glowing spark was brought to the cannon touchhole. A flash of fire erupted from the muzzle, followed by an explosion. I watched the six-pound cannonball fly through the windless air like a dead bird. It struck the river twenty yards this side of the
Vulture
, sending up a tall spume of water.

Next moment, the howitzer got off its shot. The arc of
its ball lofted higher than the cannon. It too missed the ship, but not by so far.

“Adjust aim!” Baydon commanded.

On the
Vulture
, men were scurrying about her deck.

It took four more shots before our cannonballs struck the
Vulture
. I saw splinters fly first, then heard a dull thud.

The
Vulture
began to fire back. Their shots fell short.

As daylight grew, our cannonballs began to repeatedly hit the ship. Six shots struck her between wind and water. Sails and rigging were torn. Our firing continued.

From behind the
Vulture
, four small boats emerged. They had ropes attached to the ship. Next moment the ship's anchor broke the water's surface. Without wind, the
Vulture
could not move. To take her out of our cannons' range, they were towing her downriver. I did not think that much damage had been done to her. But it was enough to make her move away.

At Mr. Smith's house, André, hearing cannonading from the river, jumped up from the breakfast table. Standing before the front window, he fixed his eyes on the far shore. He could see Tellers Point and the
Vulture
quite well. Even as he watched, there were puffs of smoke, followed by the discharge of cannons. Then he saw the
Vulture
move, hauled downriver by four small boats. He watched, dumbfounded, as the ship disappeared from view.

61

AS THE
VULTURE
moved downriver, out of cannon range, Mr. Baydon and the soldiers gave a cheer.

But I felt balked.
Was
the fourth man I saw in the small boat André? I wanted to think so. If it was, did that mean he
had
met with General Arnold? Was he still on land? If so, what would he do next? As I recalled, the plan was for him to get to the
Vulture
, that he might sail in haste to New York City. There the transport ships, laden with soldiers, were waiting to be transported up Hudson's and then attack. With the
Vulture
gone, surely André—
if
still on land—would try to get to the city.

I turned to Mr. Baydon. “If that spy tries get to New York City and can't go by ship, how would he go?”

He shrugged. “Walk. Horse.”

“Are there roads?”

“Of course. But on the western side of the river, there are plenty of American troops to catch someone. Wouldn't be smart to go that way. Then again, he might cross the river and try to get there by way of Connecticut. Wouldn't be easy, either. Lots of our troops are there, too.

“I suppose his best way, the shortest, would be by working his way down—the reverse of what you did—along Hudson's River to the closest British lines.”

“Where are they?”

“Above White Plains but below Tarrytown. Somewhere in between. It's always a bit uncertain. The way to get there is like a funnel. Not many choices.”

Hearing “Tarrytown,” I immediately recalled John Paulding, William's comrade, who lived there. “How far off is that Tarrytown?”

“About the same distance to Fort Lafayette. But south. You said you sailed up Hudson's. You must have gone right by it.”

I said, “Do you know a soldier by the name of John Paulding?”

Mr. Baydon shook his head and lost interest in talking to me. Instead, he busied himself working with his men to get the cannons back to the fort.

Alone, I tried to think what I should do. Yes, André, heading for the city, might be traveling on the western side of the river. Or by way of Connecticut. Or not moving anywhere. But if he
was
moving south, the way Mr. Baydon suggested, I must, at the very minimum, make an effort to stop him. Useless, perhaps, but at least I would have tried. I could not rest easy unless I did.

I decided then that I would go to that Tarrytown, the place where Mr. Paulding told me I might find him. Did he not say I could come to him if I had need? If ever the need, it was now, my last chance to stop André from reaching New York City.

When the soldiers were ready to go to Fort Lafayette, I started walking along with them, at least for the length of Tellers Point. When we came to a split in the path, they turned northward.

“Mr. Baydon,” I said. “I'm not going with you.”

“Where, then?”

“Back home.”

“Not intending to walk, are you?”

“I must.”

“Not sure you should, miss. Don't know whom you might meet. They call it the neutral ground, but it isn't. Not really. Cowboys or skinners always lurking. I've seen it. The whole area is in a bad way. You can't trust anyone down there.”

“I came, didn't I?”

He seemed as mystified by me as ever. “Suppose,” he allowed.

I said, “Goodbye. Thank you,” then started, not even looking back. I was sure I could feel his eyes on my back.

It did not take me long to reach the Croton River. Once there I searched for the spot where Mr. Baydon and Mr. Groogins had made the crossing. When I found it, I came upon their canoe easily. I dragged it to the river and, albeit clumsily, for I had never paddled such before, got across.

I felt badly that I had removed the canoe from their use, but the situation was too critical for me to give it much thought. Once across the Croton River I turned westward and retraced my steps. Just before I reached
Hudson's River, I discovered a wide, well-worn road that ran south. Certain it would prove far easier passage than along the river's edge, I took it, hoping it would lead me to Tarrytown. And Mr. Paulding. As I went, I forced myself to acknowledge that there was no certainty he would be there. Or, for that matter, André.

62