The exaggerated dignity of his tone and attitude gave Gilles an idea. Clearly, the man took himself for a great personage. So, drawing himself up to his full height, Gilles stepped forward and bowed with the respectful courtesy of an ambassador presenting his credentials.
'I fear, sir, that there has been a regrettable misunderstanding. There is indeed no reason why I should withhold from you information which I should be the first to wish for, since this Avenger is as much an enemy of mine as of yours. My name is Gilles Goëlo. I am a Frenchman and private secretary to His Excellency General Count de Rochambeau, who commands the expeditionary force sent by His Most Gracious Majesty Louis the Sixteenth, by the Grace of God King of France and of Navarre, to aid the Rebels. And, since we have come to this land in friendship, I am confident, Mr Paulding, that my best security lies in the courtesy and hospitality of a true American gentleman.'
The 'American gentleman' flushed with pleasure and bowed in a dignified fashion as the younger man continued coolly:
'As for our horses, with which you seem to be so well acquainted, I will confess in all honesty that we stole them in the mountains, from one Jakob Van Baren who had them concealed in a disused coal mine.'
Sam Paulding stared at him with honest amazement.
'Van Baren? Horses hidden in the old mine? What is this? Old Jakob is so bent from working his land that he could not so much as get his leg up to the stirrup. As for the mine, it's long since anyone went down there! What would he be doing with horses, poor fellow?'
'Just a moment!' Tim broke in sharply and then continued in a fair imitation of Gilles' courtly manner:
'Mr Paulding, may I ask you to tell us how long it is since you set eyes on Jakob Van Baren, and what he looks like?'
'Why, he is the strictest and most pious of all the Mennonites of my acquaintance! A little old man like a wizened apple, with a square-cut grey beard and long hair to his shoulders. He's as solemn as the Bible, which he quotes all the time, and his only weakness is his wife Mariekje, a little round old Dutchwoman, fresh-faced still and as quick as a mouse. She's probably the best housewife in the whole county. It must be six months since I saw them. But, here! I thought I was supposed to be asking the questions!'
'Only one more! Is the Avenger a tall man, thin but somewhat of my build, with reddish grey hair and eyes like grey granite?'
'If you are one of his men, you ought to know that's just exactly what he looks like,' Sam Paulding retorted with a sneer. 'But I don't see—'
'But I do,' Tim said coolly. 'And now we will answer the question you asked earlier. If you want to find the man you're seeking, go to look for Jakob Van Baren and there you'll find your enemy, using his name and living in his house. As for the old couple you described to us, seek them in the main tunnel of the mine, on the left side about a hundred feet from the entrance. That's where the Avenger buried them.'
A total silence followed Tim's words. Sam Paulding had turned very pale and, all around him, every eye was bright with suppressed anger. Gilles turned on his friend indignantly.
'Is that what you saw in the mine when you put out the light? Why didn't you tell me?'
'Because I wasn't sure then – and because we had to get away from there at all costs.'
'A robber? A murderer! And we left those two poor women there?'
'There was nothing else we could do.'
'I know that and I'm not blaming you. But now you can go to Washington by yourself.'
'And you?'
'I?' Gilles turned to Paulding. 'Give me back my horse and let me have weapons and I'll promise to bring you back your enemy's head.'
'I'm quite capable of getting it for myself,' the other man said grimly. 'It's not a pleasure I'm willing to leave to anyone else. But I am beginning to believe your story. Tell me what happened at Van Baren's house and we shall see.'
Gilles told him, as clearly and concisely as he could, of the events which had brought them, with Sitapanoki and Gunilla, to the Mennonite's small farm. He described honestly all that they had seen and all that had been said and done. He told finally how, in order to reach Washington and warn him of a grave danger threatening him, they had been obliged to desert their companions. Without quite understanding why he did it, he obeyed his instinct and kept nothing back, taking the leader of the Skinners very much into his confidence. There was something about him which was different from the ordinary brigand, if only the way he had of looking people straight in the eyes.
Sam heard him in silence. At the end, he seemed to consult the faces of the men who stood about him and even to look over the heads of his prisoners at the remainder of the band. From all he got the same response, a silent nod of approval. Then the Skinner rose from his cask and came towards the two young men.
'Where were you to rejoin Washington?' he asked.
'We were expecting to find him where we left him, at Peekskill,' Gilles said.
'He is no longer there. He has pushed on and set up his new headquarters at Tappan, some twenty miles farther south, on the right bank of the Hudson, right on the border of New Jersey. But you may not find him there. I heard that he was preparing to march to Hartford, Connecticut, so as to link up with the French commanders, General Rochambeau and Admiral de Ternay, and confer with them.'
'You're very well informed,' Gilles said admiringly.
Paulding smiled and became a different man.
'This country is packed with spies,' he said, 'but our information is no worse than the Redcoats'. As for yourselves, I collect that it is truly urgent for you to reach the Virginian as soon as maybe?'
'The fate of the war may depend on it,' Tim said gravely.
'Then you can't go running all over the country after him, and he moves like lightning… I must think. In the meanwhile, we'll have some beer and a bite to eat.'
'We are no longer prisoners, then?' Gilles asked.
'When men are fighting for the same cause, they should learn to know and help one another. Even a Skinner knows that! You will go where your duty calls you. I'll settle my account with the Avenger, and I'll take care of your friends.'
Gilles did not hesitate. He put out his hand.
'How can we thank you?'
'By speaking up for me to the General when he's had enough of my peculiar methods of warfare. None of us wants to finish at a rope's end.'
'I swear it, by all the saints in Brittany—'
Their hands met and clasped for a moment, with a firmness which said more than words. It expressed the feelings of both men and all around them the rest of the band broke into applause. Tim, in turn, shook Paulding by the hand and then they all seated themselves round a roast which appeared as though by magic and took counsel together, while two of the Skinners set about broaching the cask on which their leader had just been sitting.
As dusk was falling, Gilles and Tim left the mill on Ten Mile River and were escorted down to the valley by Sam Paulding himself with two of his lieutenants. They carried guns, a rifle for Tim, since that was his favourite weapon, and a pair of pistols for Gilles. They had also been given precise directions and their horses had of course been restored to them.
'But only as a loan, mind,' Sam had insisted. 'I've had my eye on that Winner for too long now. When you're through with your mission, you need only seek out my brother Ned. He leads another band of Skinners, north of White Plains, over by the Croton River. Give the horses to him and he'll see they get back to me. Good luck!'
Once they got over his ruffianly side, Sam Paulding had shown himself a sensible man, so sensible, in fact, that his new friends had not hesitated to confide in him the real reason for their haste to rejoin Washington. And since their greatest problem was to find out where the General was at that time, Paulding sent them to the house of his cousin, a farmer by the name of Joshua Smith who lived near Tellers Point on the right bank of the Hudson, not far from the fort of West Point.
'Go and see Josh,' he told them. 'You'll gain by it in several ways. First
, if you keep going straight ahead, it will bring you almost to Tellers Point, and then my cousin is surely the best-informed man for a hundred miles round. Finally, if there is anything suspicious going on at West Point, he'll be the first to spot it and give you a helping hand in trying to keep the damage to the minimum, if only by calling in my brother Ned to the rescue!'
So that Gilles and Tim went on their way thanking providence for putting a brigand named Sam Paulding in their path and determined not to halt again for anything except to rest their horses.
Forty-eight hours later, just as dusk was falling, they caught their first sight of the Hudson River. The last rays of sunset were gleaming on the water and, tired as they were, the sight drew from them both a deep sigh of relief, which Tim was the first to put into words.
'We're not far from Tellers Point. Now all we have to do is find Joshua Smith's house. I hope he'll have a bed, or at least a bale of straw for us.'
'A bed? And what if he tells us Washington is prancing about a hundred miles away? Although, I must say, we'd have to go on foot because our horses could never hold out. Though we could always steal some more, of course,' he added nonchalantly, as an afterthought.
'Well, for one who was going to be a priest, you're certainly making progress,' Tim observed. 'Come on, then. It's getting dark infernally fast.'
They set off up river, having struck it somewhat downstream of the place they wanted. Gilles, who was bringing up the rear, reined in his horse suddenly and called softly to his friend.
'Look!' he whispered. 'What's that?'
It was a warship, moving silently in the same direction as themselves, coming up the Hudson under shortened sail, gliding like a great ghost, a darker shadow among the shadows of the twilight.
'A corvette,' Gilles murmured. 'A real miniature ship of the line. Look at the two pretty carronades on the foredeck. Add to them the twenty more guns she's hiding modestly under her lowered ports and you'll have an idea of what she can do. I wonder what she's doing here?' he added, trying to throw off the uneasy feeling that it gave him.
'We used to see them often enough in the past,' Tim said slowly. 'They used to ply between New York and Albany, carrying supplies for the forts on Lake Champlain, Ticonderoga and Crown Point. But no English vessel has sailed up here since the war began, and especially not since the new defences were erected at West Point and the big chain stretched across the river.'
'You think that is an English vessel?'
'Why yes! I'm sure of it. There's still light enough for me to know her, even though she's not showing her colours. She's the Vulture, the ship Sir Henry Clinton is accustomed to use for his tours of inspection round New York.'
There was something ominous in Tim's level voice. The two friends stayed quite still in the shadow of a large tree, watching the dainty vessel, each gripped by a dread which neither could bring himself to utter. Could it be that they were too late? That the West Point forts had already been yielded up by their unworthy defender? Where else could the Vulture be heading but for West Point, even if the passage through to Albany were not yet open?
'We must know!' Gilles said flatly. 'Let's seek out Joshua – or even go on to West Point—'
'Just a moment! I suggest we go down to the bank first, to get a closer view of the river. What we want to know is whether the Vulture is alone or if she is the first of a flotilla, in which case it could be the landing party making for West Point—'
'Or, if the fort has already fallen, for Ticonderoga or Crown Point. But if that's so, it seems to me that vessel is keeping pretty quiet. She looks as if she's trying to avoid notice.'
'We'll do the same. And above all, no noise! Sounds carry over water.'
They left their horses tied to the tree, which gave them good concealment, and descended the short slope, keeping in the shelter of the bushes. Then they wormed their way through the reeds and long grass to the edge of the water. From there, they could see the stern of the corvette which was in complete darkness, with not even a riding light. They could also see the whole of that reach of the river downstream and their question was answered. The river was empty. The Vulture was quite alone.
Suddenly, the ship seemed to melt even more completely into the darkness. All her sails had been struck. At the same time, the rattle of an anchor chain being paid out floated over the still water.
'They're dropping anchor!' Gilles whispered.
'Hush! Listen!'
As though echoing the anchor, they heard another, fainter sound: the cautious splash of oars. In a little while the outline of a boat appeared, making for the corvette. It was growing darker minute by minute but at the same time their eyes were getting accustomed. The watchers were able to see the boat pull alongside and a man get to his feet, while someone else wrapped in a cloak came down a rope ladder over the ship's side into the boat. Then it moved off again into the darkness but the sound of oars continued for some time, though growing fainter. Meanwhile, on board the corvette, all was still and silent again, except for the gentle creaking of her timbers.
Gilles wriggled backwards into the bushes and got up.
'That's odd! Shall we go and see?'
'Good idea, but on foot if we don't want to be spotted.'
Abandoning the path, where they would have been too conspicuous, Tim and Gilles followed the river upstream as fast as they could with safety. They soon heard the sound of the oars again and slowed down as the small boat came in sight, being content simply to keep it within a reasonable distance.
All at once it turned in towards the bank and disappeared. A moment later, the sound of oars gave way to the rasp of wood on stones.
'They seem to have arrived,' Gilles whispered. 'But I can't see anything but blackness.'
'It's a fir wood! It fills a gulley in between two hills. I know the place. It's called Long Cove. Follow me. We're going into that wood, as well. But don't make a noise.'
It was not the first time Gilles had had reason to admire the tracker's easy, noiseless progress through the trees, but this time he excelled himself. His big body might have weighed nothing at all as he advanced through the dark undergrowth without the crack of a twig or the rustle of a leaf. Gilles endeavoured to copy him and succeeded tolerably well, thanks to his Indian moccasins.
Suddenly Tim stopped and groped for his friend's arm. A light had sprung up a few yards away from them. In the glow of a lantern which had been set down on a fallen tree trunk, they saw three men. One, by his rough clothes, was evidently the boatman. He it was who had been carrying the lantern and he was already retiring into the shadows to leave the other two alone. That both of these were officers was clear from the uniforms they wore beneath their identical black cloaks, but there the resemblance ended, for one was British and the other American. The Englishman was young, fair and good-looking, with the clear eyes, gentle features and winning smile that would attract immediate liking. The American was very different, short and fortyish, with a tense, nervous manner which made it impossible for him to keep still, in spite of a lame leg. The yellow light accentuated his beaky profile and the regular twitch in his thin features.
Beside him, Gilles heard Tim catch his breath.
'Good God!' he gasped. 'The little one is Benedict Arnold! The damned—'
Eager patriot as he was, young Thocker had seemed to accept the possible defection of the hero of Saratoga readily enough but Gilles knew now, from the real distress in his voice, that he had not wholly credited it until now. The proof was very grievous to him.
'Yours is a big country,' he whispered back. 'For every traitor, how many heroes are there? Let's try and creep a bit nearer. We can't hear anything.'
A sudden gust of wind whirled noisily through the trees and covered their movements. They were able to get close enough to hear that the two men had got no farther than the preliminaries. Then the American hugged his cloak around him and put up his head and sniffed the wind.
'We're in for a storm. Better not linger her
e. Did you tell them when to expect you back on board, Major?'
'No, General. Colonel Beverley, who is waiting for me there, knows that we may take some time. All night perhaps.'
'Good. In that case, there's no need to stay here. Joshua!'
There was a pause and then the boatman reappeared. In the light it could be seen that, although his clothes were those of a labourer, his manner was not. He was a cool, active-looking individual with well-cut features and an air of distinction.
'General?'
'The weather is worsening and, as you may guess, we have much of a delicate nature to discuss. Can you give us shelter for the night without too much risk? Your house is close at hand.'
'My house is ready. I guessed it was going to be a bad night and I made my arrangements accordingly. Everyone is asleep, or else from home.'
'Excellent! Take the lantern, then, and be our guide.' Turning to the English officer, Arnold went on: 'You can put complete confidence in Joshua Smith and his house, Major. He's an honest man and hospitality is a sacred trust to him.'
The Englishman bowed and smiled pleasantly. 'I don't doubt it for an instant, General, and I will gladly go with you.'
The three men began walking into the wind, which got up again just as the first drops of rain began to fall. Gilles and Tim let them get some way ahead. Apart from anything else, they needed time to assimilate what they had just heard. Gilles said, thinking aloud: 'Is there only one Joshua Smith in these parts?'
'I'm sure, and I must say I don't understand much, except that Arnold is not the only rogue round here. We'll work out what to do about it later. For the present, we can only follow them.'
'And try and find out more. I suppose the thing that is going to take them so long to discuss must be the handing over of West Point. It's a good thing in a way. It proves that nothing has happened yet and we are still in time.'
Falcon 1 - The Lure of the Falcon Page 29