Sophia's War (31 page)

He repeated his questions.

Deeply grateful to have found a friend, and so worn with all that had happened, I told Mr. Paulding
everything
. Well, perhaps not all. I spoke of William's death three years ago and how I vowed I would avenge it. I did
not
tell him that I believed Major André could have saved my brother's life. But I revealed my spy work with Mr. Townsend, though I was careful not to reveal his name. Finally I explained in detail all I had learned at the British headquarters regarding Major André and General Arnold's plot. I told him of André's plan to meet Arnold. The role the
Vulture
played. I related how I got to Fort Lafayette, how the officer there, Colonel Livingston, sent a squad of soldiers with cannons to drive the boat away, which it did.

At my continual revelations, Mr. Paulding was nothing less than astonished. “Are you sure of this? General Arnold? You've no doubts about this treason?”

“None.”

“But—”

“I assure you, Mr. Paulding”—I was pleading now—“I know General Arnold's high reputation. He was my hero too. But I know what he intends to now do—or may have already done. From what I saw,” I said, “I'm fairly certain that Major André got off the ship and went to meet Arnold somewhere. We drove the
Vulture
away, so if the major intends to go back to the city—and I think he must—there is a good chance he will pass through this area.”

“And if he doesn't come this way?”

“Then I can do nothing. And West Point will be lost.”

Mr. Paulding was silent for a moment before he said, “We need to inform someone in command. I report to a Colonel Jameson. A Virginia man.”

I said, “No one has been willing to believe me.”

When he said nothing—suggesting that he too did not think what I said was true—I went on. “Mr. Paulding, I know the affection you have for my family, and my brother. I presume you care for me, too. But you don't believe me either, do you?”

He had the kindness not to admit it. Rather, he rubbed his face and hair with a hand, as if to work all the information I'd given him into his brain. I made myself sit there, eyes full of feeling. As he gazed upon my face, I had the sensation he was seeking some shade, some glimmer of his friend William, as if that would reassure him. And indeed, he finally said, “What do you want me to do, Miss Calderwood?”

“Mr. Paulding,” I fairly wept, “if Major André comes this way, we must stop him. If he reaches the city, it will be a calamity. General Clinton—with a host of troops—is waiting for him there to seize West Point. The war will be lost.”

64

MAJOR ANDRÉ, GUIDED
by Mr. Smith, moved away from Kings Ferry. Almost immediately, they made a turn and came upon a clearing. Looking up a small hill, André saw what he assumed was Fort Lafayette. A soldier was standing on guard over the gate.

As Mr. Smith approached, he lifted a hand. “Mr. Joshua Smith!” he called out. “Compliments to Colonel Livingston.” He turned in his saddle, then shouted at the guard. “General Arnold's good friend. Mr. Anderson.”

In moments, the gate swung open.

When the two horses trotted into the fort, the gate closed behind them. From the small building in the center of the parade ground, Colonel Livingston stepped out.

“Mr. Smith!” he called “A good evening to you, sir.”

“And to you, sir,” said Smith. “General Arnold's friend Mr. Anderson.”

“Sir,” said Livingston, greeting André with a nod. To Smith he said, “I was about to sit down for dinner. May I interest you gentlemen?”

“I'm afraid we must get on to Peekskill,” said Smith.
“Just paying my compliments before moving on.”

“Will you be seeing General Arnold soon?” Livingston asked Smith.

“In a day or two, I should think.”

“Would you deliver a letter to him? We had some small action this morning. He should know about it.”

“Most willing to oblige,” said Smith. “Was the action serious?”

“We drove away a British ship,” called Livingston as he walked to his cabin. “Nothing too important.” Within moments, he came back with a letter, which he handed up to Smith. “Much obliged, sir.”

“My pleasure. Good evening.”

André nodded.

With Smith still in the lead, the two men left the fort and proceeded north. As they trotted along, Mr. Smith said, “The road isn't simple. After four miles north, we'll turn east, and only then south. Once you get to Pines Bridge, you'll be fine.”

As the twilight thickened, they began to canter, but just before they reached Peekskill, Smith turned east along a winding, hilly way. It was after going another two miles that they observed a group of men blocking the road. By the light of the lanterns these men carried, it was easy to see that they were armed.

At the same moment, in Tarrytown, Mr. Paulding said, “Very well, Miss Calderwood, if your man comes this way, I will try and stop him. But we may not be able to.
As you have suggested, there are any number of ways such a man could pass south. Where did you last see him?”

“I'm guessing he was on the western side of Hudson's. North of Tellers Point.”

“What makes you think he'd come back to this shore?”

“One of the American soldiers from Fort Lafayette told me the closest British lines were at a place called White Plains. To reach it he would most likely come this way.”

Mr. Paulding seemed doubtful. “How much,” he said, “of this plot did you tell Colonel Livingston?”

Not only did I feel close to tears, I found it hard to breathe. “Mr. Paulding,” I confessed, “I was sure he wouldn't believe me, so I told him just a small amount. His commander is Arnold. What if Livingston told him what I said? In the end, the colonel insisted upon finding his own reasons to drive away the ship.”

I had no doubt Mr. Paulding was finding my story too fantastical, for he became very silent. At length he said, “But you are quite certain the man will come this way?”

“No!” I cried. “I am
not
certain. I was merely told the Jersey side has many of our soldiers. The same for Connecticut. That it would be hard for Major André to get through those places. That this was his most likely route.”

“True,” said Mr. Paulding. “And if he does come this
way—and you agree, we don't know if he will—most likely he'll aim for Dobbs Ferry. It's neutral ground. Not too far beyond is White Plains, as you say, the nearest British lines. Get there and he's free.

“Now,
if
he does go from where you think he was, he'll need to cross over at Kings Ferry, then travel south by Pines Bridge. Mind, after that bridge, there are
two
roads coming south. One goes through North Castle, where there is an American army post. That's where my Colonel Jameson is in command with a squad of dragoons. If your André learns about that—and let's hope he does—more than likely he will avoid it. As for the other road, it does lead here. So—if you are right—
if
,” he repeated, “there is a chance he will come this way.”

How I hated the word “if.”

“Mr. Paulding,” I pleaded, “I know you only—at best—half believe me. While
I
know what I say is happening, I beg you, not for my sake, but for William's, for all those murdered prisoners, will you try to stop the major?”

“I'll be honest with you, Miss Calderwood. Your story about General Arnold
is
beyond belief.” He scratched an ear. “I don't like to believe you. I don't wish to. But seeing it's you, and in William's honor, I'm willing to try what you ask. That said, I don't see the point of sharing what you claim. You're right. Not many will find your story convincing. They'll ask for proof. You can't give any, can you?”

I shook my head.

“Never mind, I have friends who'll follow me. We'll
post ourselves on the road and see what happens. But it can't be till the morning.”

“Mr. Paulding—”

“It's the best I can do.”

Seeing the armed men, Mr. Smith reined in his horse.

“May I suggest,” Mr. Smith said to André in a low voice, “you have your pass from General Arnold ready.”

“Friends!” shouted Mr. Smith, and they moved forward.

One of the armed men stepped forward. “Gentlemen,” he announced. “Captain Ebenezer Boyd at your service. Third Westchester Militia. What business brings you here?”

“On behalf of General Arnold,” said Smith, gesturing to André. “Mr. Anderson. A friend of the general. I'm guiding him south.”

Without waiting for a request or speaking, André leaned down and handed the militiaman Arnold's pass. While one of the soldiers held up a lantern, Captain Boyd read it. Once, twice, he gazed up at André, as if to connect him with what was written.

“Very good, sir,” said Boyd, making something of a salute, and then handing the letter back to André. “You may pass. But be advised, gentlemen, there are plenty of the lower party about. I suggest you put up for the night, somewhere near. There's Tucker's place just along. Tell him I suggested he take you in.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Smith.

André touched his horse's flanks with his heels. He and Smith passed on.

“He was right,” said Smith after they had gone a while. “It's too dark to go on with safety. We'll need to find a place to sleep.”

They passed a house with candlelight in a window.

“We'd better stop here,” said Smith.

John Paulding stood up. “We'll need to find you a place to sleep,” he said to me. “And, if I may suggest it, perhaps some better clothing.”

I felt a need to say, “May I ask about your coat?”

“My Hessian coat?” He laughed. “That time I saw you in New York, and after I saw my intended, I was picked up by the night watch and thrown into the sugarhouse. Remember how you told me William said it took strength to escape? I decided to make a try while I still had some. Once out, I relieved a soldier of his coat. German coats are very fine.” He grinned. “The spoils of war.”

I followed him out of the tavern. Once outside, he paused, as if deciding where to go. “This way,” he announced.

There were houses with lamps to allow us to make our way along a street that looped toward the river. As we walked along, I could see something of Tarrytown, with its fair number of houses.

Mr. Paulding approached one of them. I stayed close. When he knocked on the door, an elderly woman, holding a candlestick, looked out.

“Mrs. Abbatt,” said Paulding in greeting. “John Paulding.”

“Ah! Mr. Paulding,” said the woman. “Good evening.” But upon seeing me, her face squeezed as if she just tasted raw lemon.

“A favor, Mrs. Abbatt,” said Mr. Paulding. “This is Miss Sophia Calderwood. Her family are close friends of mine. She needed to flee the city, and came to me for help. A bed to sleep tonight is humbly requested. Would you be kind and accommodate her?”

Mrs. Abbatt considered me with more sympathetic eyes. “She does look weary.”

“Walked all the way,” said Paulding.

“Goodness,” said the woman, her face softening further. “Come in, child.”

“Mrs. Abbatt, my many thanks. Miss Calderwood, I'll come for you early.”

I turned to thank Mr. Paulding, but he was already gone.

Mrs. Abbatt proved kind, first giving me a bucket and cloth to wash myself. Then she insisted I change out of my by now ragged and filthy clothing. What she gave me was hardly fashionable, but no dress could ever be more warmly received. Moreover, she was civil enough to ask no questions.

When she guided me to a private bed, I fairly fell into it. Even so, I lay there wide awake with the realization that the next day would bring success or horrible failure.

Mr. Smith approached the house. In such light as there was, André could see it was a run-down structure.
Smith knocked upon the door. It took some time and a few more knocks before the door opened. An old man holding up a glowing lantern peeked out.