Falcon 1 - The Lure of the Falcon

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

  'Get up behind two of my men,' he told them. 'We are going back to North Castle.' And he added, as though to himself: 'Colonel Jameson is a good soldier but he is also a particular friend of General Arnold and deeply indebted to him.'

  They found the post in a state of ferment and Colonel Jameson standing in the yard with two of his officers. But there was no sign of the Skinners or their prisoner. They soon discovered, however, that they had been there and that Colonel Tallmadge's half-expressed fears had been fully justified. Much incensed by what he regarded as a base attack on his beloved General Arnold, Colonel Jameson's reaction had been to despatch the prisoner to West Point with an escort commanded by a Lieutenant Allen.

  Tallmadge went straight in to the attack. He spoke calmly and without raising his voice, but every one of his words went home.

  'Colonel Jameson, unless you have a fancy to find yourself answering a charge of high treason before General Washington and the United States Congress, you had better send after Allen and get that prisoner back here at once. He is a member of General Clinton's staff.'

  'What gave you that idea, Tallmadge? He's a man called John Anderson and he carries a pass signed by General Arnold and other papers which confirm him as a spy.'

  'He is not a spy, and Arnold is a traitor. Question these men here. They are on their way back from a mission on Washington's behalf.'

  Two hours later, when the night was far advanced, Lieutenant Allen and his party returned to North Castle. At the sight of the prisoner, who looked tired and discouraged under this fresh blow of fate which had brought him back when he had thought himself within sight of freedom, Tallmadge turned to Gilles.

  'You were right. This man is certainly an English officer. That much is clear from his bearing.'

  The Englishman shrugged and gave them a weary smile.

  'There's no point in concealing it now. I am Major John Andre of the British Army, on a mission for General Clinton.'

  As he was led off to Colonel Jameson, Gilles turned to Tallmadge.

  'What will happen to him?'

  'The usual fate of spies. If he had been taken in uniform, he would have been treated as a prisoner of war, and shot at need. But thanks to his civilian dress, he will be hanged.'

  'But he is not a spy! He came in response to a summons from Arnold, to talk to him, and I can swear that he was wearing uniform then. It was circumstances forced him to dress like that.'

  For the life of him, Gilles could not have said what it was that made him spring to the young Englishman's defence like this. His own sense of justice and honour were part of it, but there was also an instinctive liking which he could not help. He felt attracted to the good-looking young man, scarcely older than himself. He would have liked him for a friend. And in fact it was as a friend that John Andre had greeted him as he entered the post, with a smile and a lift of his hand.

  Tallmadge shrugged. 'Well,' he said, 'you can always speak for him at his trial.'

  With the prisoner under lock and key, there was some discussion about what to do with him. It was decided that, in view of the urgency of the situation, he should be delivered to Washington as soon as possible. But where was the General to be found? Was he still at Hartford, where he had been meeting Rochambeau and de Ternay, or had he already moved on from there to West Point, which had been his intention?

  'There's only one thing to do,' Tallmadge said. 'We must send messages to both places.'

  Jameson looked gloomily from Gilles to Tim.

  'Washington knows you both. Could you undertake to do it? One of you would go to Hartford with a letter from me, and the other to West Point, with these damned papers. You'd be given horses and could start at dawn.'

  'We are at your service, Colonel,' they replied with one voice.

  So, as dawn was breaking the next day, Gilles and Tim rode out of North Castle, bade each other a cheerful farewell and went their separate ways. Tim headed north-west for Hartford and Gilles sped back the way they had come the day before, making for King's Ferry and West Point. It was he who carried the proof of Arnold's treachery. He was also the bearer of a letter which Major Andre had asked should be given to General Washington. In it, the major bravely admitted to the charges laid against him. He went on:

  'Unhappy as I am, I have nothing to be ashamed of. I have had no other object than to serve my King. I engaged in this subterfuge willingly. I ask your permission to write an open letter to Sir Henry Clinton and another to a friend to ask for fresh linen and clothes. I take the liberty of reminding you of the situation of several persons who, being prisoners on parole at Charleston, engaged in a conspiracy against us. Perhaps they might be exchanged for me. It is my trust in your generosity no less than my respect for your high office which encourages me to importune you in this fashion. I am, etc...'

  In handing this letter to the young Breton, the prisoner had insisted that he read it.

  'Since you have the General's confidence, perhaps, sir, you would tell him what you know of this sad business and—'

  'Plead an honest man's cause? You may rely on me, Major. I cannot promise you success but I will do all I can to see that you do not suffer for another's crime.'

  Bending low over the neck of his galloping horse, Gilles felt as though on wings. It was a long time since he had felt such inner content. Against all the odds, he and Tim had succeeded in forestalling treachery, the Rebels were saved and he himself was on his way back to rejoin the man he admired more than any other. Then, too, he had the hope of being able to save the life of the young Englishman who had been caught in the toils of treason and was now under threat of a shameful death. The thought of Andre dangling at a rope's end was one he did not like to contemplate. It was absurd and unjust and thoroughly distasteful. Lastly, he was back in uniform once more, for the first time in many days. Tallmadge had equipped him with a cavalryman's dress and Gilles had felt a thrill of excitement as he put on the white breeches, boots and black coat with gilt buttons worn by every soldier of Congress, from the latest recruit up to Washington himself. When he placed the black tricorn with its black cockade on his head, it was as if those few yards of cloth and scraps of leather had bestowed upon him a kind of baptism into this great country which was growing dearer to him with every passing minute. Given victory and promotion, he would be able to go boldly knocking on the door of the convent at Hennebont, snatch Judith away and bring her back to America so that they might found a family together.

  The thought of Judith came into his mind quite naturally. It may have been his wild ride and the salt tang of the not far distant sea borne on the wind which had torn away the soft veil of mist that covered her in his memory, or perhaps the hope of a worthier future which was beginning to take shape in his mind, but Gilles found his love for her and his need to win her and to make her his for ever still unchanged. The fierce desire he had felt for Sitapanoki had faded as soon as he was no longer with her. She drew him as a magnet would draw iron, but the attraction could not survive separation. And now he was glad of a parting which had seemed painful only for a moment. God knew what folly he might have been driven to by his imperative need for her body!

  'She would have made an idiot of you, my friend,' he told himself, clapping spurs to his horse. 'And that is no fit state for a Tournemine.'

  It was just after one o'clock in the afternoon when the messenger came in sight of West Point. He reined in for a second, gazing in admiration at what La Fayette was to call America's Gibraltar. The site was very impressive. The fortress stood on a rocky hill on the right bank of the Hudson. The river at that point was as broad as a lake and flowed between steep, thickly wooded banks covered in a mixture of oaks and conifers. The outer fortifications, partly carved out of the living rock and partly built of stout logs covered the surrounding slopes. As for the citadel itself, it housed at that time four thousand men and a score of guns, and the flag with the thirteen stars of the new Republic flew proudly from the topmost pinnacle. Several well-armed
schooners lay at anchor in the river.

  There was a good deal of activity in the narrow field that lay between the fortress and the river. A company of foot, dressed in assorted garments but each with a splendid red and black plume in his hat and a gilt sword at his side, were drawn up there.

  Not quite sure what he was going to find, Gilles rode forward cautiously and addressed the nearest man.

  'Despatches from North Castle,' he said briefly. 'Our information is that General Washington is expected here?'

  The man looked at him oddly and then roared with laughter.

  'Well I'm blest!' he said, speaking in French with a strong accent of the Auvergne. 'You've an accent that doesn't go with your fine uniform, my friend! You wouldn't be one of us, by any chance?'

  'Why, of course I'm French! And a Breton, what's more,' Gilles responded gaily, leaning down to shake the soldier's hand. 'But what is your regiment? I don't recognize your colours.'

  'You may well say that! And there are none too many Frenchmen among us, I must admit. This is General La Fayette's division.'

  'La Fayette is here?'

  'He is indeed! He arrived a good hour since, with Colonel Hamilton, sent from General Washington to accompany him. We've been on escort duty ever since Litchfield. All three of them must be up there still.'

  'And General Arnold?'

  'Ah, him! No one knows where he is. Seems he went off on a tour of inspection across the river.'

  But Gilles was no longer listening. Calling out his thanks, he set his horse at a gallop up the ramp leading to the gate and thundered into West Point. He cleared the sentries' crossed weapons like a hedge, with a cry of: 'Urgent despatches for General Washington!'

  A moment later, he was dismounting almost at the feet of the Virginian who had appeared in the doorway of a casemate like Lazarus summoned by Jesus from the tomb. He knew Gilles at once, but showed a good deal of surprise at seeing him.

  'You, sir? And in this uniform?'

  'I bring grave news, General. Colonel Jameson, who sent me, thought that this would give me the best chance of delivering it.'

  Saluting formally, he held out the packet containing the papers as well as Andre's letter and another from Jameson himself explaining matters.

  It came as an even greater blow to the commander-in-chief than he had feared. For all his legendary self-control, Washington turned pale, swayed and closed his eyes. Gilles heard him murmur softly: 'Twenty thousand pounds!… The rank of brigadier general! Oh, God!'

  For a moment it seemed that he would swoon, overcome by the perfidy of the man he loved and trusted. Gilles scarcely dared to breathe, much less stretch out a hand to support him. Guessing that the best way to respect his feelings was to pretend not to notice, he remained standing straight as a ramrod, his eyes fixed on the wall of the casemate. There was a silence which seemed to him to last a thousand years but which was not in fact more than a few seconds. At last, Washington opened his eyes. They rested on the military dummy before him and Gilles heard him draw a breath.

  'I am told that it is to you and your friend Tim Thocker that we owe the discovery of this plot?' he said dully, keeping his voice steady with an effort.

  Gilles nerved himself to look at him.

  'We are at your service, General,' he said with a fervour that brought a touch of colour back to the commander's face. 'We have done no more than our duty.'

  Washington stepped forward and laid a hand on his shoulder and gripped it, saying simply: 'Thank you.'

  Gilles felt himself more royally rewarded by that word and the gesture that accompanied it than if he had been made a full colonel and presented with a fortune. But already the momentary show of feeling was over. Washington blenched suddenly and a startled look came into his eyes.

  'My God! The gold?' he said. 'Follow me!'

  One after the other, they ran across the courtyard to where a low door in the far corner was guarded by a soldier with a musket.

  'Get me the keys!' the General snapped. 'They are in General Arnold's office. Ask Major Grant for them.'

  The man was soon back and Major Grant with him.

  'We have not got the keys,' the officer said. 'General Arnold carried them with him at all times.'

  'Then break down the door.'

  It took ten men and a stout ram to accomplish it. It gave at last, with a thunderous crash, revealing the beginning of a flight of steps leading down into the ground.

  'A lantern! Hurry!'

  With Gilles going ahead to light the way and Major Grant bringing up the rear, Washington descended the steps. They ended in a narrow passage at the far end of which were more steps leading deeper still. It was miserably cold and damp. At last they came to another door, so formidably barred with iron that Gilles wondered how they were ever going to get it open without blowing up the entire fortress. But, strangely enough, it opened without difficulty once they had withdrawn the bar.

  Before them lay a long cellar. It was empty except for a row of small casks ranged neatly in order. They did not seem to have been tampered with, for the impressive seal on each one was unbroken.

  'Thank God! I think we are in time,' Washington said grimly. 'All the same, we had best make sure. The man is cunning. Major, get one of these barrels open—'

  The major selected one at random and prised the lid off with the point of his sword, while Gilles held the lantern up for him. What he found inside wrenched an exclamation from him.

  'Stones! Nothing but stones!'

  Swearing like a trooper, the General tipped the barrel over and then, in a kind of fury, drew his own sword and began ripping the lids out of the remaining ones. With the exception of two which stood a little removed from the rest, they were all filled with stones. Most of the French gold had gone.

  White to the lips, Washington stared from one to the other of his companions. Both were equally pale and Gilles was trembling.

  'He did not have time to complete his wicked work,' he said bitterly, 'but this winter also my men will die of hunger. Damn him! The coward!'

  He looked at Grant. 'Have the two remaining barrels taken to the fortress's strong room and tell them to saddle my horse, and a fresh mount for this man here. We are going to Robinson House. That is where Arnold lives,' he added for Gilles' benefit. 'General La Fayette and Colonel Hamilton have gone there ahead of me, so as not to keep Mrs Arnold's dinner waiting. Her – her husband should be there, since he has not come to me here… Oh, how could I be mad enough to trust him with such a fortune? It was tempting providence. But then how could I have foreseen this catastrophe?'

  Once mounted, they left the fortress and rode like the wind towards a substantial house built at some small distance away and set in a neat garden planted with coniferous trees. The setting, with the noble river flowing by, was both splendid and serene, which was more than could be said for the house itself, for a state of total confusion reigned within. A black footman, speeding towards the stables, passed the two riders with no more than a glance. Grouped about the doorway were La Fayette and Hamilton, apparently conferring together, with two more footmen and a mulatto woman weeping copiously into her apron. At the sight of the General, the two officers sprang forward with evident relief.

  'Ah, General!' La Fayette cried. 'You come in the nick of time! We are in great distress of mind. General Arnold has gone and—'

  'Arnold is a traitor,' Washington broke in curtly. 'My God! Who can one trust! I have just received this, Marquis. Read it.'

  One peering over the other's shoulder, the two men scanned the documents, unable to restrain their cries of indignation. When they had done, each turned his appalled gaze on Gilles, standing three paces behind the General.

  'Yes,' Washington said, his teeth clenched on a scrap of bark torn from a tree which he was chewing to calm his nerves.

  'We have to thank this young man for the discovery of what was planned. He has acted with great courage.'

  'Why, but surely it's our great catcher of In
dians?' La Fayette cried, his anxious face suddenly illumined by a youthful smile. 'Put it there, sir! To find a Frenchman equally devoted to our dear General and to the American cause makes it doubly a pleasure to shake you by the hand. General Rochambeau speaks very highly of you.'

  With a thrill of pleasure, Gilles did as he was bid, reflecting that this was indeed a land of miracles, where a great lord of Auvergne offered his hand to a Breton bastard. But Washington called a halt to the exchange.

  'Now tell me what has happened here.'

  It was Colonel Hamilton who undertook the tale. In a few words, he told how on arriving unexpectedly for dinner at the Robinson House with the news that the commander-in-chief was on their heels, they had found Arnold just getting off his horse after coming from across the river. Rather than keep his wife waiting or risk passing Washington on the way from West Point, he had sat down to dinner with the two young men. The meal had begun pleasantly enough when a messenger had arrived with a letter.

  Arnold had read it with no change of expression and begged his guests in the most natural way to excuse him as he was called away on urgent business. He got up and left the dining-room, giving a sign to his wife who presently rose and followed him to his own room. Shortly afterwards, La Fayette and Hamilton had seen him mount his horse and ride away southwards.

  Left alone at the table, they soon found themselves growing restless, for Mrs Arnold did not reappear. Eventually they questioned the servant who returned after a moment, bringing the lady's maid. She seemed to be in near hysterics and was weeping copiously.

  The girl had told them through her sobs that her mistress was in strong convulsions and, since she was also in an interesting condition, her symptoms had become so alarming that a physician had been sent for.

  'We presumed upon our friendship,' La Fayette said, 'to go up to her. She was a pitiable sight. The poor woman is quite out of her mind. She is throwing herself about and you would hear her screams from here if we had not shut the window. She is saying – forgive me, General, but I think it right to tell you the whole – she is saying that you are coming here to kill her child—'