Falcon 1 - The Lure of the Falcon

by The Lure of the Falcon (v1. 0) (lit)

  The yellow light flitted among the trees, farther and farther off. It went out abruptly, once it left the wood, but the two following were able to make out some low roofs behind a hedge and a number of farm buildings through the rainy night. Everywhere was in darkness but as they reached the hedge they saw lights go up in two downstairs windows.

  'There!' Tim said softly. 'Let's take a look, and pray God there are no dogs!'

  The farmhouse was connected to a little lane by means of a narrow gate in the hedge which, on the other side, went on down to the river. They passed through it easily, making no noise to give away their presence, and then stood poised for barking dogs, or even an attack.

  'This is absurd,' Gilles said. 'If Smith has a dog, he must have shut it up to keep it from betraying that there are strangers here.'

  In the event, they reached the lighted windows without incident and settled themselves in a gooseberry bed beneath it, from where they could see the two officers in the act of removing their cloaks. Smith stood waiting to take them.

  Two rocking chairs were standing one on either side of a broad hearth in which a good fire was burning. A pot was steaming on an iron trivet and on a small table by the fire was a large tray laden with pewter mugs, an odd-shaped bottle of venerable appearance, a basin of dazzling white sugar and several spice jars. On another table, a little farther off, where Josh Smith had just finished lighting the lamp, was a supply of writing materials. Arnold laid a roll of white paper on it, which might well have been a map.

  The two officers sat down and Josh Smith, without the slightest loss of his cool dignity, set about preparing a hot punch for them. Then, with a slight bow, he withdrew, as discreetly as a good servant, closing the door behind him.

  'Well,' Tim said gloomily, 'we can sit here getting soaked to the skin and watch them all we like, but we shan't be much the wiser. We'd have to break the window—'

  'I may have an idea,' Gilles said and he disappeared into the darkness without waiting for an answer, leaving Tim crouching among the gooseberries and cursing inwardly. The vision of the traitor sitting there at his ease before a good fire and drinking rum punch with his confederate, while he himself squatted in the bushes with rain pouring on his head, was more than his good American soul could endure. But he had great faith in his French friend's ingenuity and so he bore his discomfort patiently.

  Soon, however, the peaceful scene within was somewhat disturbed. The fire, instead of burning properly, began to smoke, slightly to begin with and then more and more thickly. The room filled with smoke and the two men started to cough. Tim had just time to duck down among the gooseberries before General Arnold was at the window, throwing it up.

  'We'll choke to death!' Tim heard him say. 'I'll call Smith—'

  'Don't trouble,' came the young Englishman's voice hoarsely. 'It's this dreadful weather. The water must be coming down the chimney. Leave the window up a little and don't call anyone, or it could go on for ever. What does it matter if it is a little cool? Let's get down to business… Acting on behalf of the British government, Sir Henry Clinton is willing to accept your return to a proper way of thinking and to grant you the rank of brigadier-general in the British army, as well as the sum of £20,000. The Vulture will, of course, remain within call to take you and Mrs Arnold to New York as soon as matters are in hand at the fort. She has an excellent anchorage. In fact we spent last night there, while waiting for your signal.'

  Just then, Gilles, wetter than ever, rejoined his friend among the gooseberries. He was dripping but cheerful.

  'Well?' he asked in a whisper, indicating the chimney, which was still smoking heavily. 'What do you think of it?'

  'How did you do it? Throw water down?'

  'No. Put a big flat stone across the top of the chimney. It will go on smoking until Smith goes up there to see what's the trouble. Interesting?'

  'Even more than you think. Listen—'

  Inside, the two men had got to the point of discussing the price, and somewhat acrimoniously. Arnold considered £20,000 rather too little, in view of the enormous advantage he was giving to the English by delivering up to them the plans of the fort's defences, the size of the garrison and the strength of the guns, even down to identifying defective pieces.

  'I can even give you,' he went on, 'the text of Washington's last speech at the council of war held on the sixth of this month and the overall situation of our forces.'

  Tim turned away suddenly, retched and vomited. Gilles was very pale and there were beads of sweat on his brow, but he could not take his eyes off the figure of the man who, for money, was prepared to sell his friends, his brothers, his own land whose only crime lay in wanting to be itself and not a colony. But inside the room the voice of the young English major rose scathingly.

  'Sir,' he said, 'we are not unaware that a short while ago General Washington transferred to your cellars a large sum in gold, brought from France by Admiral de Ternay. There is no objection to your carrying away with you as much as you can take. The Vulture's holds are capacious and empty. But I am not empowered to argue further about the. conditions which are offered you. Take it – or I must go back and defer the whole matter until some later date.'

  Arnold's beaky profile was etched darkly against the smoke-red glare of the hearth as he stood with his eyes closed in thought and his hands clasped behind his back. Gilles felt Tim tugging him back and he eased himself carefully out of his bush into' the denser shadow of an old apple tree that stood at the entrance to the vegetable garden. Until then, the silence of the night had been broken only by the patter of the rain and the moaning of the wind, but now another sound had been added, the distant rattle of musket fire and, farther off, the rumble of the guns.

  'What is it?' Gilles whispered.

  'The English and American positions are still somewhat confused. There are plenty of places between here and New York where there's nearly always some firing going on. But that's not why I called you away. There was something I had to say. Look, you go back to the gooseberry bushes and stay there until they've finished their damned talk. Then, when it's over, or when it's getting light, come back and join me where we left the horses.'

  'But what about you?'

  'It's my turn to have an idea! And since we must find out all we can about this devil Arnold, we must go our separate ways. See you later.'

  With that, Tim vanished into the darkness in his customary fashion, making no more noise than a cat, and Gilles went back stoically to his post beneath the window. He remained there for hours, listening as hard as he could. Arnold and the Englishman let the fire go out. The room was no longer full of smoke but they were so absorbed in their plans that they did not think to close the window. From where he crouched, Gilles could see them both bent over the big map spread out on the table, marking roads and taking notes. Arnold's features shone with a frightening intelligence which had the young Breton torn between admiration and disgust. The traitor had the stuff of greatness in him and yet he chose to debase himself, to destroy his own legend, for the sake of worldly gain. He worked with a fierce concentration, quite unconscious of the sad, contemptuous looks which came over his young companion's face from time to time as he glanced at him. Clearly, the British major had a very different concept of a soldier's honour.

  An asthmatic cockerel crowed somewhere not far off, rousing the one in Smith's fowlhouse to retaliate with a triumphant cockadoodledoo! As if in answer, a cannon went off close by, rousing the two men bent over the map abruptly. It was followed by another.

  'Who's that firing?' the Englishman asked. 'And at whom?'

  'I don't know. I didn't know there were any big guns near here.'

  Just then, Josh Smith reappeared. He held a telescope in one hand. His glance took in the cold room, the dead fire and the open window.

  'It was such a warm night,' the Englishman said, smiling. 'We wanted to make the most of it.'

  'That damned chimney of yours started smoking like a hundred Indian
chiefs,' Arnold growled.

  Gilles took advantage of Smith's entrance to quit his post in the gooseberries at last. It was nearly light and he was in danger of being caught. Running quickly, keeping his head down, he reached the gate and cleared it in a bound, despite his stiffened muscles, but then crept back along the hedge until he was level with the window. Joshua Smith was standing at it, his telescope to his eye and an officer on either side of him. His startled voice came clearly to Gilles.

  'The Vulture! They're firing at the Vulture!'

  'Who? Who?' Arnold cried, beside himself and oblivious of caution.

  'The only gun we have between here and West Point is the one at Colonel Lamb's post. But he's too far away,' Smith said. 'That sounds as if it's coming from Colonel Livingston's, but he has none! Oh, my God! The ship is weighing anchor – she's going!'

  Clear on the morning breeze which had followed last night's storm came the sound of the young Englishman's laughter and his voice saying coolly: 'And without me! It looks as though I'm going to have to walk back to New York.'

  'I'll find you a horse, sir, and I'll take you myself if need be,' Josh Smith declared. 'I'll not have it said that any man came to parley from the enemy and I didn't see him safely back. It's a matter of honour with me.'

  Then the window was closed again at last and Gilles heard nothing more. But the farmer's last words had made him think. He had used the phrase 'to parley from the enemy'. Was it possible that he was not in league with Arnold, or at least not wittingly? Could he have been another of the lame devil's dupes? He could well have been blinded by hints about a possible truce, in view of the onset of bad weather making operations difficult.

  His thoughts were interrupted by noise of galloping hooves and he flattened himself as best he could against the hedge. A troop of American horse with an officer in command came down the lane at the back of Smith's house and clattered to a halt. The officer dismounted and went inside, to return a moment later escorting General Arnold. A horse was brought to him and he paused with one foot in the stirrup to speak to Josh Smith.

  'Goodbye for the present, Smith,' he said, perhaps a shade too loudly. 'Do nothing without orders, do you understand? Nothing!'

  'I understand, General. I'll wait for orders.'

  It seemed to Gilles that it was high time he rejoined Tim and told him what had passed. The traitor's last words were clear enough. The Englishman was to remain hidden in Smith's house until a way could be found for him to return to his own lines. Indeed, it could hardly have been possible for him to show himself in broad daylight in his red coat in the very midst of the American positions.

  Keeping in the shelter of the hedge, Gilles made his way down to the river under cover of the bustle of Arnold's noisy departure on the road above. Once there, he took to his heels and sprinted all the way back to the tree where they had left the horses tethered. There he found Tim rubbing the beasts down. He had already fed them and they seemed none the worse for their night out in the wet. The American was apparently in the best of humours and was whistling as he worked. He greeted his friend as cheerfully as if they had both just risen from a good night's sleep in comfortable beds.

  'And suppose you tell me all about that gun,' Gilles suggested, half-laughing. 'It sounds extraordinarily interesting.'

  Tim's smile broadened until it seemed to split his face in two.

  'Good, eh? I knew that Colonel Lamb, whose post is farther up the river, had a very pretty cannon that was quite easy to move. I persuaded him to lend it to the commander of a small fort up there, where you can hardly see it, a certain Captain Livingston. It wasn't altogether easy. Lamb cherishes his piece of artillery like an heirloom. Livingston had to promise him to get it back to him by midday, in case of an inspection. But it worked, you see. The Vulture thought herself so well hidden, and now she's upped and gone. Now let's hear from you. How do things stand?'

  Gilles gave a brief account of his night and of the effects of the gunfire and then, full of enthusiasm, he went on: 'Arnold has gone. The Englishman is all alone at Josh Smith's house. Why don't we go and take him prisoner and carry him off to General Washington?'

  'We might do that if Josh Smith really were a traitor but from what you've told me I do believe he thinks that by helping to bring about a meeting between an emissary of the British and the commander of West Point he has been serving the cause of Independence. He would not understand and we should get no help from anyone, either from Livingston's men or those at West Point. Do you want me to tell you what would happen?'

  'Don't bother. I know. They would think we were either spies or madmen and hang us on the spot—'

  'For the very good reason that we should be taken straight to Arnold himself. So that's that. We'll have to think of something else. Don't forget that we look much more like highway robbers than like honest soldiers fighting for a just cause. What we want is to be able to lay hands on the little English major, but out of Arnold's reach. Only then could we take him to Washington and there at least we should have more in the way of proof than a vague tale told by an Indian.'

  'It sounds wonderfully simple,' Gilles said, with heavy irony.

  'All we have to do is put it into practice. So what are we going to do now?'

  'The horses are ready. We'll have something to eat – Livingston, bless his heart, not only gave me oats for the horses but took pity on my hungry looks as well and gave me enough for a substantial breakfast – and after that, we'll be on our way.'

  'On our way to where? Wouldn't it be better to go on keeping watch on Smith's house? What if he puts the Englishman over the river tonight in his boat?'

  'He won't. For then the major would have to pass Peekskill and our lines. If he wants to reach the English outposts at White Plains, he will have to keep on this side of the river all the way down to King's Ferry. That is the first place he can cross. He'll be disguised, of course, but you got a good enough look at him last night. You would know him again, surely?'

  'Without a moment's doubt. Even disguised as a woodsman or a parson!'

  'There you are then! Rather than risk getting caught round here, we'll go ahead to King's Ferry and wait quietly for him on the other side of the river.'

  Tim's confidence was infectious, and yet Gilles could not wholly bring himself to share it. The uneasiness which was to come upon him so often in after days that he would learn to recognize it as a kind of sixth sense, warned him against it. Who could say that Arnold, whose brains were not in doubt, would not find some other way of getting his accomplice back to his own side, even if it meant procuring an American uniform for him to enable him to pass securely through their lines, while his pursuers waited for him in vain at King's Ferry?

  For all that Tim Thocker was not fond of hearing his companion dispute his opinions, Gilles felt so strongly that they would be taking too great a risk that he said so roundly. To his surprise, Tim readily admitted his objection.

  'Anything is possible with that devil! But in that case, there's only one place to wait for the Englishman, one place he'll have to pass on his way back, and that's the ford at Croton River. If we miss him at King's Ferry, we'll have him there. Now let's have done with talking and be on our way!'

  Gilles' answer was to hoist himself into the saddle.

  The rain caught up with them again long before they reached the crossing and beat down on them as though it had a personal grudge against them. In the grey daylight, masses of thick cloud raced along the valley, releasing an icy deluge which no clothing could keep out.

  'I wonder if I'll ever be quite dry again?' Gilles muttered through clenched teeth. 'I think I'm turning into a fish!'

  Shoulders hunched against the downpour, the two riders cantered along the wooded skirts of the valley, oblivious of cold, weariness and even the wet. Their minds and bodies were bent ruthlessly to one end only, to stop the English emissary and bring Washington the proof of Arnold's betrayal, the written proof which Gilles had seen passed over before hi
s eyes. This object they must achieve at all costs, whatever obstacles might stand in their way.

  The first of these presented itself at King's Ferry in the persons of two militiamen, recognizable by the pine sprig they wore in their battered cocked hats. The ferry was not to go. They had orders from above. This was to prevent the necessity of firing upon it in the event of any more English ships attempting to sail up to West Point.

  Tim was already opening his mouth in furious protest when a frosty look from Gilles made him shut it again. Meanwhile, the Breton was saying cheerfully: 'Oh, well then, let's wait. If we can't cross, we can comfort ourselves with the thought that no one else can either. And I see a tavern over there.'

  'Are you out of your mind?' Tim asked roughly. 'Taverns cost money and we haven't a bean!'

  'Quite right! Not a bean – but a few dollars, all the same, thanks to our understanding friend, Sam Paulding. He slipped them to me quietly and I never remembered to tell you. I shall repay him, naturally—'

  'He gave you money? I'd never have thought he would be so generous,' Tim said in astonishment.

  'Nor should I,' Gilles retorted with a chuckle. 'But I heard his pocket chinking and saw the great bulge in it. We can send it back to him later – if we're alive to do it!'

  Tim's eyes were as round as the coins which emerged so miraculously from his friend's sodden gown.

  'Well, well, well!' he said again. 'I'd never have thought that someone who was going to be a priest could turn out so neat-fingered when it came to picking a rogue's pocket!'

  'If you knew what my family had been capable of a few hundred years ago, you'd not be so surprised. And it wasn't always a matter of life and death, either,' the last scion of the lords of La Hunaudaye remarked in a self-satisfied tone. 'Well, are we going to the inn?'

  'I'm right behind you!'

  A few minutes later, the two young men were sitting with their wet feet steaming on the fender of the inn and savouring a hot punch, with the prospect of a nourishing onion broth to follow. But Gilles had taken care to seat himself where he could keep an eye on the road and the approach to the ferry.