Infinite Loss (Infinite Series, Book 3)

by L. E. Waters

  Chapter 20

  We wade our horses through the cold Croton River, and they stop to take a much-needed drink after the long day’s ride. Smith exclaims, “Pine Bridge! You’ve arrived; this is the end of the rebel patrols. We are now entering no man’s land.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank the Lord,” I say, never having said that phrase in my whole life.

  I burst into happy conversation, suddenly forgiving Smith for all his escapades. “This war is almost over, Smith. Can you feel it?”

  He says, “I sure can.”

  “This will bring peace that much quicker. We are single-handedly saving hundreds and hundreds of lives.”

  Smith nods. “That’s why I’m doing this.”

  “All I have ever wanted was to end this civil strife, that and”—I laugh—“go back to Britain a hero.”

  “Your name will be in all the newspapers around the globe.”

  I smile at the imagined headlines bearing my name. “These American peasants are too simple to see that there will be great relief when Britain regains full control. The whole fabric of the colonies have unwound, and no one can be happy until the King mends it.”

  The landscape shines, brilliant with the orange sunset thick upon the lush, fertile, green hilltops and beaming off the Hudson, which we ride parallel to.

  Smith draws his horse to a stop. Jeremiah hasn’t noticed until he’s many paces down the hill and then turns his horse back to his master. “I can go no further limey. No man’s land is dangerous ground for me while I’m alongside you.”

  I nod and look up the Hudson at the Vulture, appearing larger as we near. “I understand. I am nearly there.”

  “I have arranged through the Commandant—”

  I smile when I realize his urgency for stopping there. “He is a friend of ours?”

  “Yes, he and I are old friends. Well, I arranged for a patrol to arrive dressed as raiders to assist you to your destination. One of them will be wearing a hessian coat and when they ask you what party you belong to, your code word will be, ‘Yours, the lower party.’”

  I smile, thinking that I’m so near the British patrols. I turn my horse to face Smith and bend to shake his hand, but Smith looks away. “Unnecessary. I am only doing service to my country.”

  “Well, I do hope we meet again and wish the best for you and Peggy. I feel like we can have anything we want at this moment.”

  Smith hands me the last of his continental dollars. I try to offer him all I have. “Here, take my gold watch as security until I can pay you back.”

  Smith withdraws his arm. “I will not allow it. I will see you again, I’m sure.”

  Smith keeps looking to the water. “Good luck to you, André, and we have both done our best to bring an end to this war.”

  “Cheers to that, and to our own reunion.”

  He turns and heads back to the border.

  ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

  As I trot off in the direction of White Plains, a wide smile spreads across my face. If I come upon any of the loyalist cowboys they will in no doubt assist me and if I chance upon any wayward rebel skinners I’ll simply show them Arnold’s pass.

  I am home free.

  I pass empty orchards, the grasses covered in fallen and rotting fruit with no hands to pick them. The air smells fermented and sour as flies swarm in multiplied number on the abnormal bounty. As I keep my pace, the shutters all about me snap closed at the sound of my horse’s hooves, and I hear the ghostly sounds of children but never see any come out from their hiding places.

  A shot rings out, and I turn to see three scraggly raiders galloping toward me with flintlocks raised, pointing at my head. I try to calm my horse from rearing as they speed straight at her. Their leader comes barreling up and grabs her by the harness, making her snort and her eyes roll back in her head at the assault. I straighten my back and try to size everything I can up in that quick moment—a giant of a man wearing a torn hessian coat, two sizes too small.

  Their leader demands in a gruff voice, “What party?” His horse twitches its tail impatiently.

  The other two look completely daft, as I answer in an assured tone, “Gentleman, I belong to your party.”

  The leader chuckles in amusement and the other two decide it’s safe to laugh since he is. The small one starts cackling and the giant brays like a mule when the leader brings his flintlock up, quieting them. “And what party is that?” he says slowly, as he bends the barrel down toward me.

  “Yours, the lower party of course.”

  The leader’s steel grey eyes flash like a drawn sword, and he nods strangely back to me as I let out the air I’ve been holding in. “I’m glad to see you. I am an officer in the British service, and I have now been on particular business in the country.”

  “What sort of business have you been up to?” He smirks.

  Something in his demeanor worries me, but I try to brush it away. “I am sure Smith has informed your superiors.”

  The large one draws a puzzled look and says to his leader, “Smith? Wasn’t that the man who gave me this fancy coat in the tavern last week?”

  The smaller ruffian with a feminine flush to his cheeks, says, “Yeah, that was him, Smith. The one who paid us to come this way today.”

  My heart stops as the steel-eyed man suddenly barks at me to dismount. Taking it all in, I quickly put my hands up and try another tactic. “My God”— I give a theatrical laugh as he points the barrel at my chest—“I must do anything to get along!”

  I point to my breast pocket with one finger, and the leader says without looking, “Isaac, go reach in, and see what he’s got in that pocket.”

  Isaac whines, “Why should I, John? David’s closer to him.”

  “Isaac, now!”

  Isaac jumps and brings his fat horse up on my right and slouches forward without grace to dig his grubby, thick hand into my pocket.

  He pulls out the paper and begins to unfold it when John yanks it from his hands. “You can’t even read, you idiot.”

  “It could have been a picture or something.” Isaac puts his hand back in my waistcoat and removes my little painting. “See, I found a picture!”

  The giant shadows over him, leering obscenely at my Honora, but Isaac pulls it back and says, “She’s mine.”

  John gives him a sharp look and forces him to hand her over too. I wish I thought to leave her back with my things on the Vulture. The thought of Honora in those grubby hands for eternity makes me physically sick.

  It takes three times as long as it should for John to read the pass, he mouths each word like a child, and I hope that he’s somewhat literate to understand the pass. I attempt, “It’s a pass—”

  “I know what it says. I can read, fop.” The other two cackle and bray again at his insult.

  “Gentleman”—the lie barely rolls off my tongue—“you had best let me go, or you will bring yourselves into trouble, for, by your stopping me, you will detain the General’s business.”

  The two look nervously at John, buying my story, but John keeps looking at the pass then back to me. A snide smile sweeps over his face. “Damn Arnold’s pass. You said you were a British Officer. Then where is your money?”

  “Gentlemen, I have none about me.” I hold my chin straight.

  “Right a British officer and no money. Search him boys.” The two fools come at me, the giant grabbing me by my coat and lifting me off like a child.

  I put my hand around my chain. “The only thing I have on me of value is this gold watch here.” I lift it up in the air like a small fish I caught and John’s eyes twinkle. “Take it and be done with me.” A pang for losing the sentimental watch clenches at me.

  John snatches the watch from me. “Remove all of his clothing and check in every pocket, seam, and lining.”

  The giant makes his way toward me, and I decide I’d rather undress myself. I peel off Smith’s coat and watch as they take the continental money greedily. I sho
uld have offered up the watch and money immediately and saved myself a search. I pretend to care little about the search as I strip down to my stockings and breeches, my clothing piled up on the ground next to the buffoons. When David pulls out my little snuff box and releases its music, the giant dances in circles, holding the music box above his head, flopping around in his battered slipshods. With everything removed, I realize that I must have lost Peggy’s necklace of protection…how very fitting.

  “It looks like we got it all, John,” David says.

  John sits on his horse still staring me down. “Have we it all, Officer?”

  I try to act as innocent as possible. “All, but my breeches and stockings.”

  “Right, take the stockings off too, a likely place to hide a fortune.”

  The color drains from my face. “John, is it?” I ask taking my stocking off and peeling the papers off my sweaty foot. “I have here matters of great importance, sir, only papers, no value to you.”

  He motions for me to bring the papers forward to him and when he unfolds it and sees the drawing of West Point with the plans, he cries, “This, is a spy!”

  The buffoons wring their hands in delight, and John spits at me, “Get dressed.”

  After I’m fully clothed again I reach to mount my horse, but John pauses me, and says, “If we were to let you go, would you send back a hundred guineas for exchange of these here papers?”

  “Yes,”—I perk up—“and the watch, horse, and bridle could be yours as well.”

  John sits, staring at me, so I continue, seeing the greed in his eyes. “I could direct it to any place you like. This very spot if you must.”

  John presses, “Could you not give us more then?”

  Relieved to see him bargaining, I say, “Any quantity of dry goods, and sum of money, anything if you deliver me to Kingsbridge.”

  John puts his hand up to stroke his chin. “But then as soon as we get there you’ll have your dragoons arrest us and you will save your money.” The fools take a moment to understand, and they make grunts of agreement.

  “Then two of you guard me while the third goes to the British lines with a note that will procure you a hundred guineas for my exchange.”

  John thinks about it for a moment and laughs. “Yeah, I can just imagine these two blockheads in charge of you while I run off. You would be free from them in minutes.”

  The blockheads look down, probably thinking of the past offenses he’s speaking of.

  “Well, you could always send one of them with the note?”

  He laughs harder. “You certainly have more faith in these dolts than I do. We could be waiting here for days when they appear behind us after they’ve gone in circles.”

  The giant speaks up, “I did that once, John. Why do you keep bringing it up?”

  Isaac begins to laugh when John attacks, “Oh, don’t you get all full of yourself now there, Isaac. Who nods off on watch?”

  David pipes up, “Hey, now who’s the one that was caught with the pigs?”

  “Everyone quiet now. I have to think.” John stops talking as his horse backs up and takes a few steps forward, anxious to move. He picks his teeth with his grimy index fingernail, deep in thought. He shakes his head. “Naw, you’d just have a party come and take us all prisoners.”

  “You have my word as a gentleman, sir.” I hold my breath.

  All three of them start cackling. David shakes with laughter. “You hear that John? His word as a gentleman!”

  John says, “If we do have here a spy, then it’s possible we might get some kind of reward for bringing him in, which is better than the alternative, even with your words and all.”

  The giant comes toward me to lift me onto the horse, but I decide to get on myself. John takes the lead and I think the whole way of how I might still get out of this.

  Chapter 21

  I’m taken to North Castle, where a Lieutenant Colonel Jameson introduces himself to me after hours of my being left alone in a small room. “Finally, a gentleman,” I say, once I see the way he dresses.

  He presses back in his chair as I try to maintain my look of innocence. “Tell me your name and rank?”

  “My name is Mr. John Anderson and I am a secret agent for the area commander.”

  “I find myself in a difficult situation.” He sighs, bringing his hand up to his face, obscuring the two large moles on his jaw. “Last week, I crossed Arnold’s way, and he made it a point to tell me that should I come across a Mr. Anderson coming from British lines that I should send him on to his headquarters.”

  I smile. “I knew you’d be sensible, I must continue on then with my mission, Lieutenant—”

  “Normally I would, but I find some things troubling. First, you were headed toward the British line. Second, you are carrying papers of a dangerous tendency, which I can only see of help to the British. And third, and most troubling, I find that some of the notes written are in the very same hand writing as the pass.” He studies my reaction carefully.

  I say quickly, “That sounds like insubordination, Lieutenant.”

  He drops his smug grin and relaxes his face a bit. “I can only accuse that you are a double agent.”

  “Well then, send me back to General Arnold, who will see to my punishment.”

  He sighs. “I am ordering you back to General Arnold.” I hide my expression of relief. “But, on the twitch that is in my gut that something is not right, I will send out a letter and the papers you were carrying to General Washington, and I have sent out your pass and a letter informing Arnold of your capture. I feel I have covered all areas of error.”

  As he leaves, he motions to a guard, who throws my watch, painting of Honora, and snuffbox (now empty of course) onto the pine tabletop with three light clinks. John was smart enough to conceal his true intent, since raiding is forbidden in Washington’s army. I’m left alone to pray that Jameson sent his slowest messengers.

  Four armed guards march me out that day. I’m allowed on horseback but have my arms tied together behind me with a black strap, making it exceedingly uncomfortable and difficult to stay on horseback. Two hours down the very roads I traveled with Smith, a dragoon rides up in great haste. “I have orders to bring the prisoner back. There are enemy patrols above.”

  Thankfully, a soldier states, “There is no danger, ‘tis best we proceed.”

  I chime in. “I second that proposal.”

  “I have orders straight from the Lieutenant.”

  The party turns back. My eyes close. Has Washington received word so soon?

  When we return to the fort, Lt. Jameson comes right up to cut the strap from my sore arms, and I say, “I thought I was to be delivered to headquarters?”

  He smiles. “Tallmadge here, decided it would be safer for you to be kept farther inland in South Salem.”

  I remember, as Tallmadge marches beside me to my more protected destination, that Nathan Hale, the unfortunate American spy, was a close friend of Tallmadge.

  I ask, “Do you think Hale’s and my situation similar?”

  Tallmadge replies with a broad grin, “Yes, precisely similar, and similar shall be your fate.”

  ∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

  At the end of the night I’m locked in a small room with mounted guards at the door and window. It’s ungodly hot, and I steam in my filthy clothes, uncomfortable as itchy stubble grows. I ask Tallmadge as he’s leaving, “Can I take to bed while my clothes are washed?”

  He looks at my soiled clothes and takes some pity. “I will lend you clean clothes of mine own in the morning.”

  I gladly pull on his larger-sized, simple clothes as mine are washed, and I’m allowed to stroll the yard. Seeing Tallmadge also walking in the garden there, I decide Arnold must have received word of my capture by now and fled.

  I walk right up to him, disturbing him from his thoughts. “My name is not John Anderson, and I am not a spy. I am Major John André, adjunct general to General Clinton in the British
Army.”

  “An adjunct general to Clinton,” he says, impressed.

  “Yes, sorry to have deceived everyone, but you understand the situation I was in.”

  He nods. “Well, thank you for your honesty now. Can I get you anything, Major?”

  “I would be grateful for parchment and a quill. I feel as though I may have to plead for my life.”

  When I return to the small bedroom there is a generous stack of parchment, a full inkpot and a fine quill.

  General Washington,

  I beg your Excellency will be persuaded that no alteration in the temper of my mind, or apprehension for my safety induces me to take the step of addressing you, but that it is to rescue myself from an imputation of having assumed a mean character for treacherous purposes or self-interest, a conduct incompatible with principles that actuated me, as well as with my condition of life. It is to vindicate my fame that I speak, and not to solicit security. I was in my regimentals and had fairly risked my person. However, a military official from the Continental Army ordered me, against my will, to change into civilian clothes to cross American lines. I was thus a prisoner of war and a prisoner of war has the right to change into civilian clothes to escape. In any rigor policy may dictate I hoped to be recognized as a gentleman who has done nothing dishonorable. I also request permission to write my superior, General Clinton and a nearby friend for clean linen. I must also bring to your attention, the prisoners held presently in South Carolinas, who conspired against the crown while either under parole or under protection. Though their situation is not similar, they are objects who may be set in exchange for me; or are persons whom the treatment I receive might affect.

  Your prisoner,

  Major John André, Royal Army

  Chapter 22

  I draw caricatures of my bumpkin captors, John, Isaac and David, much to the amusement of my guards, who, relaxed in leaned chairs with their boots upon the table, laugh hysterically. Smith walks in, in the full uniform of a lieutenant. The guards jump up and stand at attention.