Falcon 1 - The Lure of the Falcon

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

  Gilles never forgot the murderous flash of Washington's blue eyes.

  'So that is what they think of me here!' he said. 'That is what we may expect from those we love. Peggy Arnold is no fool. If she is acting like one, it is because she knows her husband has fled.'

  'Will you not see her?' Hamilton asked.

  'No. Stay here, both of you, just in case the traitor should try to return for his wife. I and the Frenchman will return to West Point. I have things to do before I leave here.'

  Throughout the remainder of that day, Washington carried out a detailed inspection of the defences of West Point, sent out scouts and read despatches, surrounded by his silent and shamefaced staff. Gilles, promoted to the rank of temporary aide-de-camp, trotted after him, ready to ride to the ends of the earth at the snap of his fingers.

  Towards evening, when they were all assembled in what had been Arnold's office for something like a council of war, a black slave appeared as though from nowhere bringing a letter. It was from Arnold and Washington read it aloud:

  'When a man has the consciousness of having acted for the best,' the traitor dared to write, 'he does not seek to excuse his actions because the world might censure them. I have always been guided by the love of my country from the beginning of this fatal struggle between Great Britain and her colonies. The same love of my country dictates my present conduct, however contradictory that may seem to the public, which rarely judges us with justice. I have too often experienced the ingratitude of my native land to expect anything of her. But I know enough of Your Excellency's humanity not to fear to solicit your protection for Mistress Arnold against the injustices and insults to which she may be exposed by the desire of revenge. I alone must be its object. She is as innocent as an angel and incapable of the slightest wrong. I ask you to permit her to return to her friends in Philadelphia or to come to me, whichever she prefers. I have no fears for her where Your Excellency is concerned, but may she not be in danger from the unbridled rage of the citizens? I entreat you to be good enough to have the accompanying letter delivered to her and to permit her to write to me. I must also request you to send to me my clothes and baggage which is of little value. If necessary, I will account for their value.

  P.S. I owe it to the officers of my staff to make it clear that they had no knowledge of these events which they would have considered fatal to the public good. The same is true of Joshua Smith, on whom suspicion may also rest…

  Washington finished the letter to a shocked murmur from the officers. He folded it and put it into his pocket, while his eyes travelled coldly from one to another of the assembled men.

  'Calm yourselves, gentlemen! This is all very sad. Who can say for sure that this man is cynical or conscienceless? Truly, it is past understanding.' He turned to Gilles.

  'Go back to the Robinson House, Mr Goëlo. Tell General La Fayette and Colonel Hamilton to come here. But first of all, deliver Mrs Arnold's letter to her and assure her that her husband is quite certainly safe behind the English lines and that I will send her to her father in Philadelphia whenever she wishes. Say also that her – husband's personal effects are to be got together and brought here to me. You shall bring them, but see that it does not take you too long. We are leaving again in the morning for Tappan for the trial of the English spy who will have been sent there by Colonel Tallmadge.'

  The tone in which Washington uttered the two words 'English spy' drove Gilles to break the silence he had preserved upon that subject all day, rather than exacerbate the General's anger.

  'Forgive me, General, but have you read Major Andre's letter?'

  'I have. Why do you ask?'

  'Because that letter must have told you that the major was no spy. He is a brave and loyal officer who was merely carrying out Sir Henry Clinton's orders, although much against the grain.'

  'I do not doubt it. Yet he was taken out of uniform.'

  'But through no wish of his own. Necessity alone—'

  Washington struck the table with his fist.

  'Do not trifle with me. The law is the law. Any officer or man taken in civilian clothes upon enemy soil shall be regarded as a spy and so treated. He shall be hanged, as our man, Nathan Hale by name, was hanged as a spy by General Howe.'

  'I daresay, but if the law is the law, you are General Washington,' Gilles pleaded, throwing caution to the winds. 'You are the law, the law for all of us, even for me, a foreigner. Can you not be merciful?'

  He was encouraged by a general murmur of approval, but Washington cut it short with a lift of his hand. However, his voice softened a little as he said:

  'Whatever you may think, I have not the right to take the law into my own hands, or to pardon anyone, for our supreme authority is vested in Congress. I am commander of the army merely – and whether you like it or not, Major Andre must face a court martial. From its verdict there is no appeal, and you must not count on me to try to influence it. The danger to those fighting for liberty has been too great. Go now and remember only that you are a soldier.'

  No sleep came to Gilles that night. Washington's quiet anger troubled him infinitely more than an outburst of rage would have done. The General's disappointment had struck deep, into the regions where grief becomes unbearable. Arnold's unwitting accomplice had everything to fear from a man who had been so cruelly wounded.

  Chapter Twelve

  Between Love and War

  Standing stiffly to attention with a straight back and eyes gazing fixedly in front of him, Gilles Goëlo tried not to see the gallows which had been erected not far from the farm where Washington had his headquarters. It was the second of October and the troops were drawn up about the field at Tappan where Major Andre was to die by hanging, like the rogue he was not.

  Gilles was appalled at what was coming. Not because a man was going to die, for this was war and hanging was a familiar penalty in his native Brittany, but because the Englishman did not deserve to die by the rope. If they had shot him, Gilles would have accepted it as in the nature of things. A firing squad was a soldier's death, carried out by soldiers. The gallows meant death by the hand of an executioner, who today would be a Cowboy prisoner with his face masked by soot.

  They had no right to do it, he felt. They had no right to do this to the prisoner, or to himself. It gave a sour taste to the pleasure of the reward he had received, to his new rank of lieutenant and the silver medal engraved with a shield and the word 'Fidelity'. The same medal had gone to Tim, together with the sum of two hundred dollars because he had preferred to remain a free tracker, and they owed it to the man who was now about to die upon this shameful scaffold.

  He had told Washington so, with his usual bluntness, when the General had informed him that he had written to Rochambeau requesting him to release his former secretary for service on his own headquarters staff.

  'I am as sorry as you are,' Washington had replied. 'But the tribunal has pronounced sentence and its president, General Greene, is quite inflexible. An example must be made. I did all I could. I even made Clinton an offer to exchange Andre for Arnold. I had my answer from Arnold himself.'

  'And that was?'

  Washington shrugged his shoulders.

  'Just what one might expect from such a man. If we shoot Andre, he will execute the American prisoners they hold in New York. We cannot draw back now. I have just explained all this to General La Fayette,' he added sadly. 'Like you, he was interceding for Andre. War is a terrible thing but for us, who have chosen rebellion, it is the only possible way and we must wage it to the end. If it is any comfort to you, I shall mourn the poor young man as much as you, for I have rarely found an enemy so sympathetic'

  Certainly an execution could rarely have been carried out in an atmosphere of greater gloom. The courage and charm of the young Englishman had won all hearts. Even Tim, standing a few yards away from Gilles, in the forefront of a group of the local inhabitants, wore his most bearlike expression and a suspicious brightness in his eyes. The 'English spy' was goin
g to his death amid the tears of his enemies.

  At the first stroke of noon, the drums began to roll and the military bands drawn up along the road the condemned man was to follow broke into the the tune of Blue Bird. Then Major Andre, escorted by a platoon of soldiers, appeared in the doorway of the house where he had been held. He was dressed in the clothes in which he had been captured, and which were the justification for his sentence, but his hands were free and his eyes steady. He even smiled at the musicians and congratulated them pleasantly on the excellence of their playing. Then, all at once, his eye fell on the gallows and the cart which had been placed beneath it to serve as a scaffold. He bowed his head a little and bit his lip, stamping his foot in anger as he was heard to ask with a sigh: 'Must I really die like that?'

  But it was only for a moment. Then he recovered himself and walked firmly to the cart and climbed up on to it without assistance, although he could not refrain from a slight grimace of revulsion as he came face to face with the executioner with his blackened face. He turned his back to him, so that he need not see the running noose, and stood with arms akimbo studying the troops drawn up around. His eyes met Gilles' and he greeted him with a little nod and a half-smile.

  Then the officer in command of the escort party mounted his horse and said in a loud voice: 'Major Andre, if you have anything to say, you may speak now, having only a short time to live.'

  The condemned man shrugged his shoulders.

  'Concerning my sentence, I have nothing to say, but only regarding the manner of execution. All I ask of you, gentlemen, is to bear witness that I die bravely.'

  Just then, the executioner would have placed the rope around his neck but he repulsed him, saying that his hands were dirty. Then he took the rope and put it over his own head and gallantly tightened the knot himself. After that he took out a handkerchief and passed it to the executioner so that he might tie his hands behind his back, with another to bind his eyes.

  Again, the drums rolled. The officer raised his sword. The executioner whipped up his horse and at the same time a soldier swarmed up on to the gallows. The cart moved away, leaving the victim's body swinging briefly in the air. As it began to writhe and jerk, the soldier on the gallows flung himself on the man's shoulders, bearing down with all his weight to shorten the death throes. The body was still.

  Unable to remain longer gazing at the corpse for which he felt partly responsible, Gilles turned and ran. He wanted to hit something or someone, preferably the executioner who had earned his own release by putting to death one of his own side – or even General Greene who had presided over the court martial and refused the firing squad, but instead had stood by and let an honourable man die wretchedly. But it was better to plunge deep into the woods, as he used to do at home, and let their unbroken peace sink into him.

  He had not gone far when a young soldier came galloping after him, calling his name hoarsely.

  'Well?' Gilles snapped, turning his rage against the harmless lad. 'What are you yelling about? You wanted me?'

  'I? No, sir!' the boy gasped out. 'It's the General, General Washington is asking for you. He's in a hurry, sir.'

  Gilles turned and strode back towards the small, shuttered brick house where Washington had chosen to immure himself all day, which was his way of showing his disapproval of an execution he liked no better than his men did. The militiaman on guard saluted and opened the door, without moving from his post. Washington's voice spoke icily as he entered.

  'These two women have just been brought in from our outposts. They are asking for you. Will you tell me what is the meaning of it?'

  Seated side by side, like two birds on one twig, Gunilla and Sitapanoki gazed up at the young man with wide, apprehensive eyes. He flushed scarlet but Washington gave him no time to decide whether this reunion was agreeable to him or not.

  'The only thing we can get out of them is that they come from Sagoyewatha's camp and that they insist upon seeing you. Apart from that, they don't seem to have a thought in their heads. Will you kindly tell me who they are? The Indian especially. I have frequently heard that the French are devout ladies' men but you appear to me to hold some kind of record.' The drama of West Point and the death of Major Andre had driven the Seneca tribes out of the forefront of the commander's mind. Gilles had certainly given him a rapid summary of the events which had taken place by the Susquehanna but he had listened somewhat abstractedly. And just as Gilles was recounting how he and Tim had rescued Sitapanoki from Cornplanter's men the door had opened and caused a diversion.

  'Excellent, excellent!' Washington had murmured, without seeming altogether aware of what he was saying, and had turned at once to Colonel Hamilton who had come into the room. A little resentfully, Gilles had let the matter drop.

  'You are mistaken, General,' he answered abruptly now. 'I did not seduce these women and if you had been good enough to hear me out the other day, you would know precisely who they are. This young lady's name is Gunilla Söderstrom. She has been held captive by the Senecas for a number of years. She helped us to escape and now her wish is to join her aunt in New York, who is the only family she has left. This other is a great lady, the wife of Sagoyewatha himself, who would have been abducted by the Iroquois but that we prevented it. You may recall that you charged us to warn the Seneca chief of Cornplanter's treacherous intentions towards her—'

  Washington's face changed colour and his fist crashed down on the table, making the papers on it jump.

  'And you encouraged her to go with you? Are you utterly insane? Does it not occur to you that Sagoyewatha will promptly accuse us of stealing her away and that Cornplanter will be only too happy to back him up? Far from dividing the nations of the Iroquois, you will have united them more firmly than ever.'

  'There was nothing else we could do, General. If the woman had gone back to the Indian village, she would not have been safe while her husband was still away. The medicine man, Hiakin, was in league with the abductors. They would have repeated their attempt in a day or two.'

  'Why should we care for that? Would it not have been the living proof that my warning was genuine? The two chiefs would have fought to the death—'

  The Indian girl's great golden eyes had been going from one to the other of the two men in growing indignation. At this, she rose up.

  'So this is what is hidden behind the white men's words of friendship?' she said scornfully. 'Secretly, they wish to see the Indian tribes rend one another, to increase their own power. My husband speaks truly when he says that the red man's sorrows began when the white man came to him. And I, I believed the words of this, your messenger, when he urged me to place myself under your protection! I looked to be received with honour, as is fitting for the wife of a great chief, but here I have only insults. You dare to express your sorrow that they failed to drag me like a slave to Cornplanter's bed? And you dare to say it in my hearing?'

  Her low, rather husky voice was shaking with grief and anger. Washington turned, without a word, and went to the window, where he pushed the closed shutters back a little. A ray of sunshine entered through the gap and clothed the girl's figure in its warm light. She did not flinch. The General looked at her for a few moments in silence.

  For all her obvious weariness and wretched clothes and dirt, the Indian girl's beauty illumined the room. Gilles devoured her with his eyes, feeling all her old fascination for him tighten its grip on his heart and his brain already reeling and ripe for any folly.

  The silence that followed Sitapanoki's outburst lasted for no more than a moment. Then, ever the perfect gentleman, Washington was bowing gracefully before her.

  'Forgive me,' he said quietly. 'I said more than I meant. I was angry at the thought of losing for ever the friendship of Sagoyewatha, which I had hoped to win, for they say that he is wisest of the wise. As long as you remain in my camp, you shall be treated according to your rank, but that will not be for long. As soon as I can learn that your husband has returned to his own camp fires, I
shall send you back to him with a proper escort and a letter from me to tell him what really happened. For the present, I beg you will consider yourself my guest, and this young lady also. For as long as the siege continues, it will be impossible for her to reach New York. In a moment, you shall be taken to a house where they will look after you.'

  He ushered the two women courteously into the neighbouring room and then returned to Gilles who, feeling his usefulness to be at an end, was on the point of leaving the room.

  'I have not yet done with you,' Washington said curtly.

  He selected a letter from among the maps and papers littering the table and the Breton's keen eyes recognized the seal at once. It came from Newport.

  'I have news from General Rochambeau which will be of interest to you,' Washington said. 'He is happy to know of the large part you played in unmasking the plans of the traitor, Arnold, and readily consents to lend you to me. He declares himself delighted that a soldier of the Royal Deux-Ponts should become an American officer. He is sure that you will prove worthy of your appointment. Here, also, is a letter from him addressed to yourself. Take it, and then be off with you.'

  Gilles took the letter and tucked it into his belt but stood his ground.

  'May I say one more thing, General?'

  'Yes. But be quick.'

  'I should like to ask a favour. May I make one of the escort party to accompany Sagoyewatha's wife back to her camp?'

  'A strange request. Why, may I ask?'

  'Simply that it was I who took her away and consequently I who stand accused of having abducted her. So it seems only natural that I should be the one to return her. If only to give Sagoyewatha satisfaction if he should demand it.'