Infinite Loss (Infinite Series, Book 3)

by L. E. Waters

  Smith whistles from below. I throw my grey greatcoat over my uniform and button it up to my neck even in the oppressive heat. I put my arms up, showing him my only disguise, and Clinton nods solemnly. “I would feel better if Obadiah was going with you.”

  He shakes my hand, and I smile to him as I crawl overboard. Once I get down, I see the two most miserable looking men holding the boat for us to board.

  “This the spy?” One scraggily, short fellow with pointed ears asks.

  I shoot Smith a glare. Smith replies, “I had to disclose to them the true purpose of our important mission.”

  I can’t believe Smith would be such a fool.

  He continues with a crooked smile and a wink, “They know you are an informer from the British Army coming to share secrets with our commander.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. Obviously, Smith’s chosen simpletons for the task.

  The other rural man, who smells of earthy beets and has a pronounced dimple, whispers, “I don’t care who he is, let’s just shove off!”

  Smith says, “You better be quiet so that we don’t alert the guards on ship.” The men drop their heads and shove off in laughable silence.

  Smith gives me a snide look of enjoyment. I sit side to side in the stern with him as he steers. At first, everyone is quiet until one of the men swats the other for rowing out of rhythm.

  Smith says to me, “Two brothers. Tennant farmers I forced to row last minute.”

  The man with the dimple overhears him. “I’s on my way to feed my cows when he nabbed me.”

  The shorter man with pointy ears motions disdainfully toward Smith. “Now I got a day’s worth of farm work to make up, and I’m usually in bed by nightfall.” He sneers up at the darkening sky and spits thickly over the side.

  Smith just chuckles, enjoying their angst. “And you call yourself a patriot. Maybe General Washington would like to hear of your protests and laziness at this pivotal moment in your nation’s time of need?”

  The one brother who just spoke quiets in guilt as the other brother tries to come to his defense, “It’s only that guard boats are mighty dangerous is all, sir.”

  As they struggle with every pull, I ask, “These were your picks for the task?”

  Smith laughs. “When I told him of this momentous event I sent him to fetch his brother to assist, he returned without him, saying his brother’s wife wouldn’t permit him to go.”

  Smith starts laughing again making the brother pipe up. “You think that’s funny? Ha-ha! You never met the Mrs. I take it. She’s a large woman, twice your size. I like to see what you’d do when she’s standing over you with the skillet in her hand.”

  Smith just laughs harder. “So, then I sent him back with a couple sacks of flour and finally she permitted him to leave. Yet he shows up with a note from her asking us to rather go in the morning.”

  “He threatened to arrest us as traitors!” The short one yells to me, as though I’ll help him.

  I laugh along with Smith at the fools and keep looking for sign of Arnold’s boat approaching. As soon as Smith stops laughing, and a quiet falls across the water, broken only by the splashing of oars, Smith holds up a jug from under his legs. “A little something for us all later.”

  The oarsmen take notice as he settles it back under him.

  The distant sound of cannon fire turns our heads. “Far off upstream,” Smith explains, with a wave of his hand.

  As we move in with the tide, I order, “Muffle your oars with sheepskins, brothers. We’re getting near the fort at Stony Point.”

  We pull into the silty bank, as a pod of grey dolphins feed on a school of frenzied fish in front of us. I feel a strange eeriness to see the dolphins so soon after my dreaming.

  I find a wide flat rock to sit on and watch for Arnold’s flagged boat. After the dolphins move away toward the ocean and all light disappears from the horizon, we hear someone cursing profusely upstream. Smith jumps up and runs toward the commotion and, after a few minutes, comes back holding onto the arm of a limping man.

  “Curse you, Anderson.”

  I stand and speak into total darkness, our whispers echo over the lapping water. “You are the one who is so late.”

  “How was I supposed to get here if you never called off your god damn gunboats?” He’s so flustered he loses his footing in the thick, dried leaves and seems embarrassed when Smith catches him before he falls into the water. As soon as he’s on his feet again he continues, “Not one, but two! Paroling the waters and chasing me upstream, firing cannons. I dared not raise my flag since the hills were surely covered in patriots watching their General being attacked.” He’s now right in front of me, and Smith goes to keep the brothers out of earshot. “Thankfully, my strong oarsmen pulled us to the safety of an American blockhouse, where I was forced to write to Washington of my whereabouts, to advert suspicious minds. I had hoped you had called off your gunboat for my second attempt, but no, I again had to flee. My oarsmen dropped me off at the ferry and have been sent away for the night.”

  I point to the brothers, who now take their jackets off to use as pillows, and bring a finger to my lips to speak quieter. We climb a bit up the steep embankment and sit on two rocks in a small pine clearing. I half-whisper, “I apologize for your troubles. I assure you those were not our gunboats. But let us get to what we came for since we have little time before dawn.”

  Arnold draws back his head. “I will not speak against my position until I am granted the ten thousand pounds we have discussed, win or lose.”

  He seems to never give up. “I am only empowered to give you six thousand pounds.”

  Arnold instantly rages. “I have everything riding on the line here, everything. If it were not for Peggy and the children I would not ask for a cent!”

  “Calm yourself.” I put my hands out to control his volume. “I have Clinton within my favor, and I can assure you I will get the extra four thousand pounds when I return to the ship. You have my word.” He settles back down. “Should we light a lantern? I would be able to write better notes.”

  Arnold shakes his head immediately. “Far too dangerous.”

  I speak of what we came for. “The first question is whether we should attack the fort when Washington is there, or when he has left?”

  “If you strike when Washington is here he will override my command, and I will be of no use to the cause. No, it is better to raid an outpost that he will go to support, and you can cut him off and overtake him. I will notify you if I see the opportunity.”

  “A sound plan. You have to make sure the opportunity does arise and give us enough due notice.”

  He stretches out his bad leg, as though it’s already getting stiff. “I will gather all of my troops at Fishkill prior to the attack so that Clinton can attack the three thousand that we agreed upon.” I nod, and he continues, “You must understand that I can’t seem obvious in my actions and attract suspicion, so I cannot order my troops to do anything silly. The post would have to be lost by the British being one step ahead of my planned defense, so that to everyone else it is a realistic attempt.”

  He proceeds over the next few hours to explain to me the terrain, construction of each strong point, location and nature of each detachment, the men, the ships, and the exact movements the British should take, described like a slow dance. I take out my journal and blindly draw everything I can of his details. Fully aware I’m breaking one of Clinton’s rules, but I can’t commit to memory such elaborate and exact details that the very success of the mission hinge upon.

  Smith climbs up and tells of the breaking dawn, which surprises both of us since the firs are so thick they shelter us from the faint light. Smith stands there, staring at Arnold and says, out of place, “How does your lady, sir?”

  Arnold looks at him. “You will see her later and see for yourself, Smith. We are both staying with you tonight.” With a smug grin, he adds, “But I will say she does rather well.”

  I shake Arnold’s p
added hand to break the odd moment, and say, “I look forward to dancing with Peggy again at a lavish affair on the continent and laughing about this fateful night.”

  Smith says, with eyes sparkling, “I should expect you to share Peggy with me after as well.”

  I flinch a bit at Smith’s boldness, although Arnold hardly notices, and replies, “Peggy does love to dance, and I love to watch her, even if it is with less handsome men then myself.” He chuckles as I pray Smith keeps his composure.

  Arnold then smiles and turns to tell the rowers, “Return Anderson to his ship.”

  But the rowers stand up unsteadily, and one mumbles, “General, beggin’ your pardon sir, but we are in no condition to row back across these waters against current.”

  Arnold bellows, “What do you mean, no condition? You’ve been resting this whole time.”

  “Well,” slurs the shorter brother, “I’vs got these here nasty blisters—”

  “And with the spirits…” The skinnier brother wobbles.

  “Spirits!” Arnold barks. “What spirits?”

  “Your jug of rum.” The shorter brother questions Smith. “Didn’t you say it was for us all?”

  The other brother chimes in quickly, “We touched but a drop.”

  Smith quickly steps one foot in the boat and shoves him, sending him over the boat into the shallow water with his shoddy boots still hanging on the rail of the boat. “Don’t touch my rum, farmer!” He shouts over him. “That whole jug is worth more than you harvest this month.”

  His brother waits for Smith to back away before leaning down to help his stunned and sopping brother up and out of the boat. We watch them as they stagger up the hill and out of sight.

  We stare out at the sun rising behind the Vulture, everyone quiets, trying to figure out what can be done. Smith hits his hat on his thigh and then turns quickly to me. “You’re welcome to wait out the day in my house at the top of this hill, and I can get two other rowers by nightfall.”

  I glance back at the Vulture. “It is probably better to go back under the cover of darkness anyway.”

  Smith picks up his jug and shakes it. “There still might be a good toast or two in here yet.”

  Arnold limps up the ravine, grabbing at every small tree within reach to propel him up as fast as the two able-bodied men ahead. Seeing him labor, I reach down to help him, and he stares into my eyes, grins and shakes his head as he hops even faster on his good leg to ascend on his own.

  As soon as we reach the road, I see there are two horses tied to the trees beside the path. Smith hops on and throws his head back for me to get on behind him. Arnold, trying to make up for his lagging behind, leads the way. My heart stops when the outpost appears suddenly in the road. I want to demand that I will not go through, but Arnold shows his pass to the sentry who waves us by with his gun.

  I have broken two of Clinton’s rules now.

  Chapter 17

  Smith’s house is a wealthy ship captain’s house with a long double porch in the front and a widow’s walk to watch the ships coming into harbor. His white house on the hill overlooks King’s Ferry and has many outbuildings and barns scattered over the stonewalled farm. Cows and horses are already out for their breakfast under lazy willow trees and staunch hemlocks. A panting Arnold hobbles up the long winding stone pathway, into the parlor of Smith’s house, and clamors for the first available chair to flop into and wipe his brow.

  “Not bad for a half-cripple.” Smith says as he slaps the traitor’s shoulder. Arnold tries to regain his composure.

  “Where’s your help, Smith? I need a drink,” Arnold says, his chest heaving.

  “Jeremiah!” Smith yells, and a young colored boy hurries into the parlor. Smith turns to us. “I sent all of my servants away on long errands, for secrecy.”

  Jeremiah listens intently. Arnold points at him. “What about him then?”

  Smith scoffs. “He can’t testify.” He turns to the boy. “Bring me three glasses for our rum.”

  “Make that four.” Peggy steps into the room from within the house. All eyes turn to her. She looks especially beautiful in her grey-blue, French silk dress. Smith freezes in her presence as I break the awkward moment by stepping forward to receive her warm hug. She curtseys to Smith and says convincingly, “So this is our brave and hospitable host?”

  He can barely find his words. “Joshua Hett Smith, Miss. At your service.” He ends in a half bow. Then he gets some courage and turns to Arnold. “You didn’t tell me to arrange a room for your daughter, too?”

  Peggy smiles as Arnold stands to greet her. “You nit, this is not my daughter.” He gives her a tight embrace. “By her beauty, this is my Peggy.”

  Smith smirks. “No wonder you have all those grey hairs, having to leave alone such a young and desirable thing.”

  Arnold studies him for a moment. “Be careful there, Smith. I can only guess by how you have kept all your teeth how few fights you have been in.”

  Smith stares back. “It only testifies to how many fights I have won.”

  Arnold laughs, thinking it a joke. “That is a good one, I’ll have to remember that one.” Once we stand in the common room with a view overlooking the water, Arnold leans toward Peggy. “I still feel uneasy with you being here at this dangerous moment.”

  She gives one of her fake smiles. “I have sent away my servants, as you instructed, and I cannot bear to be away from you one moment.”

  Arnold pulls her to him in another awkward hold. “It is all almost over, and we shall soon sail away safely across the ocean and be alone together.”

  Peggy looks over his shoulder at Smith, who burns her with his eyes. She mouths, “Only you, my love.”

  I don’t know if more danger lay in that very room or outside the door.

  Smith turns away as Jeremiah returns with the silver tray of crystal glasses and pours us each a full glass.

  “Arnold, now that we have light, can we go over my notes again?”

  Arnold removes a box from his pocket and holds the snuff out to me. I shake my head, and he takes a finger-full to inhale into each nostril. “I have some maps I’d like to show you now that we have the time.”

  I bring out my papers and sit across from Arnold. When I look around I realize Smith and Peggy have disappeared somewhere.

  As I study the fantastic maps he places before me, he leans back in the armchair and confesses, “My courage was acquired. I was a coward ‘til I was fifteen years old.”

  I don’t know what to say to him. “Most courage is acquired.”

  He continues as though I’m not even there. “Do you know that when this war broke out, I rounded sixty militiamen up, encouraged them all loudly to cheer for revolution?”

  I nod, wondering what this has to do with the task at hand.

  He runs on. “The committeemen held the keys to the powder house, so I marched my new and rowdy boys up to the tavern where the town fathers huddled and demanded the keys. Colonel Wooster said, ‘New Haven had already voted on neutrality.’”

  I notice one leg is much shorter than the other, and I try to look away as he carries on.

  “I damned the town meeting to hell as Wooster went to calm the militiamen down and wait for orders. I yelled out that I was going to break the damned door in and that ‘none but the almighty God should prevent my marching!’ After the boys went wild I was quickly handed those keys.” He laughs, deep in a long time past.

  I snicker. “I wished you hadn’t. I could be back in Litchfield had you not.”

  “I spent lavishly to supply the needs of the troops, never stopping to write out the vouchers Congress demanded. Vouchers! Who has time for writing bloody vouchers when my troops were starving? Dropping dead while marching on Ticonderoga!”

  I see now I don’t need to say anything. He’s lost in some sort of guilty reminiscence.

  “Trying to fend off your Hessians.” He points at me accusingly. “In an attempt to allow my brave boys to escape as our barricade
fell at Ridgefield, my horse was shot out from under me. Eight bullets hit my noble beast and, as it fell, it pinned my foot in the stirrup, landing me face-down in the bloody mud!” He twists his body and leg to show me visually. “As I looked up, I wiped the mud from my eyes to see a Tory with his bayonet-point straight at my chest yelling, ‘You are my prisoner!’” He dramatically holds his hand at his chest. “Pulling my pistol from my holster, I cried, ‘Not yet!’ as I pulled the trigger. I sprang out from under the horse before his body even fell and took off for the swamp under a hail of grape and shot!” His eyes glimmer with pride.

  He pauses and claps for Jeremiah. “What sort of bread is there?”

  The boy responds without making eye contact, “Cheate bread, sir.”

  Arnold scrunches his nose up slightly. “Any butter?”

  Jeremiah shakes his head. “Oil, sir.”

  “Confounded war!” He breathes out. “Bring me the bread.”

  Arnold is brought bread and oil. He cuts off the blackened base of the bread and hands it in a napkin to the slave boy, who nods in thanks.

  “Yet five officers were promoted over my head.” He just picks up where he was before as he stuffs the dripping bread into his mouth. “And what did I get? A damned Caparisoned horse! And a pat on the back for gallant conduct during the Danbury invasion. Yippee.” He twirls a feeble finger in the air in sarcasm. “My seniority was never reestablished, and inferior after inferior was promoted above me.”

  He offers me some bread, which I take gladly since I haven’t eaten and being awake all night has provoked a gnawing in my stomach.

  “I was there holding the river when Washington crossed! I practically resigned just as you Brits came back, and Washington was more than happy to have me lead at Brandywine.”

  I feel sorry for this person suddenly. This person who put so much on the line for his men to end up with me in this house, this way.

  “It was my idea to give a reprieve of a death sentence to an Indian in our custody. Actually, a white man who lived with the Indians so long he forgot he was white. I thought of an exchange so that the half-lunatic would go back to his people (who were allied with Burgoyne), and report I had such great arms and numbers that no one would fight and live to tell about it.” He chokes on some of the bread as he laughs. “The half-lunatic convulsed in hysterical fits like the Great Spirit was directly talking to him. Convincing the chiefs that there was such danger if they stayed and fought that all of the allies fled!”