XIOUT OF THE NETTLE, DANGER
CHAMPE let me sleep until day-dawn was fully come and the inn was stirring, calling me then, as he explained, only because he was fearful that some orderly from Arnold’s quarters would be up and asking for me, and so raise a wonder at my holding him, Champe, in my room over night.
Being confronted by the perils of the new day, we were first concerned with the problem of keeping the sergeant out of the way, and out of sight of any curious eyes. It was asking too much of the hazards to make the tavern a rendezvous for him, and while he might possibly venture to show himself in the town, trusting to a nimble lie to account for his absence from his regiment and the fleet, it said itself that he must keep well out of sight of Arnold, Major Simcoe, or any shore-keeping officer of the Loyal Americans.
Breakfast was the earliest consideration, however, and I made shift to answer for that, going down to the common-room when the meal was called, and later bribing the cook to give me a tray of dainties for a brother officer, who, as I said, had been forced to share my room with me for the want of sober sense to find his quarters.
How much this tale imposed upon the cook, a fatDutchman big enough to make three common men in any fair division of flesh, I do not know. But he gave my “brother officer” the credit of a well man’s appetite, and was discreet enough to discard the tray, making the provisions into a paper-wrapped bundle which I might take to my room without exciting remark.
His breakfast despatched, Champe next wished to know how he was to get out of the tavern unhalted to go upon the boat-seeking quest; and here the contents of my portmanteau came into play. In a little time we had him out of his Loyal American regimentals and into the civilian’s clothes I had purchased to replace my patriot homespun. He made a better-looking gentleman of elegance than I had hoped he would, and when he was well-muffled in the cloak that went with the outfitting, I thought he might pass without curious question.
He was eager to make the attempt, as I was to have him. Any minute a messenger might come from Arnold requiring my attendance, and the wonder we had been trying all the morning to avert would be raised with a vengeance. So, after agreeing upon a low sailors’ groggery beyond the burned district on the eastern water-front as our meeting point for the evening, where either of us who chanced to be the first comer would await the arrival of the other, we parted, Champe going boldly down the inn stair in his new toggery and carrying himself as little like a soldier as any young man of fashion in New York.
Now I took it afterward as a piece of sheer good fortune that the idea came into my head to follow thesergeant down, two steps behind him; and assuredly the event proved the timeliness of the prompting. For in the tap-room, at a little table drawn up before the fire, sat Lieutenant Castner as large as life, breakfasting at his leisure; and if I had not steered Champe aside with a muttered exclamation, the sergeant would have brushed Castner’s elbow in passing. As it was, I had time to thrust myself between; and when the door clanged behind the outgoing Champe, I was making my greetings to the lieutenant and asking him if I might share his table for a dish of tea.
He gave me the invitation cordially enough, but there was a look in his mild eyes that I could not fathom. And I was scarcely facing him across the table before he had me skating on the thinnest ice.
“Who was your double, Captain Page?” he asked, with a jerk of his head toward the door which had let Champe out to freedom.
I saw it all instantly. Castner had been with me two days before and had helped me to select the very clothes Champe was now wearing. It was a thrust that called for the deftest parrying, and I was not at my best—I never am in the mornings.
“The man who went out as I came down?” I said, sparring to gain time. “Do you think he favored me?”
“As to his face I could not say,” was the cool reply. “I think he must have the toothache, to judge from his mufflings. But I spoke of his clothes. Hadn’t you noticed that he was wearing a copy of the suit I helped you buy of the little Dutch Jew day before yesterday, Captain?”
I said I had not noticed it, having other things to think of, but the nonchalant reply did not banish the queer look from Castner’s eyes. And when I sought to drag him away from the dangerous subject by asking if he had learned anything new about the movements of the fleet, he answered my question briefly and went back in a word to my perilous skating pond.
“I wonder that you didn’t remark the gentleman’s clothes,” he said musingly. “I don’t think there is another cloak like that in all New York. You say you don’t know him?”
“How should I know him?” I demanded with a good show of impatience. “I merely saw that some one walked ahead of me down the stair and out of the door.”
“Strange,” he said, in the same half-musing tone. “Do you know, Captain Page, I could have sworn that you spoke to him less than a second before you—rather rudely, I fancied—pushed him aside to shake hands with me?”
I thought it was all up with me now, but I set my teeth on a grim resolve to die fighting.
“Perhaps you could even tell me what I said to this gentleman who, at the moment, was nothing more to me than a stumbling-block in my way,” I said, laughing ironically.
“I can,” he rejoined quite evenly. “You gave him the soldier’s word of command: ‘File right!’ you said, and I almost looked to see you follow it up with an oath.”
He had me fairly at a standstill. He had quotedmy word of warning to Champe precisely, and I doubt not the tone in which it was given suggested the oath which might have capped it. Having nothing more to say, I held my peace, and when the lieutenant had given his rejoinder time to sink in, he came at me again, this time very gravely.
“You are not altogether transparent, Captain Page, nor have you been since the hour you landed in New York. I don’t want to think ill of you, because ill-thinking of a man in your situation could have but one meaning. Now I shall ask you a fair question, and you shall answer it as you choose. Do you—”
I held up my hand.
“First tell me frankly what you know, Mr. Castner, and then I shall be equally frank with you,” I interposed; adding: “at least, as frank as I can be without involving a gentleman who, I am sure, wishes to be charitably unknown in this little controversy of ours.”
His smile was shrewdly triumphant, but it comforted me beyond measure. Whatever he knew, it was not enough to hang me—yet.
“You had a fellow guest in your room last night, Captain; so much any one who passed through the corridor and heard you talking might know. That you kept this guest all night is quite apparent from the fact that he wore your clothes when he went out just now. It may be a very simple little mystery and easily explained; but, as I said before, mysteries are dangerous things, Captain—for you.”
Now I knew who had bored the hole in the wallof the unoccupied room next to mine and why it had been bored. Castner had wished to see the face of the man whom I was keeping over night. Remembering how hard it would be to see anything definite through a quill-sized hole in a thick partition wall, I took a chance that Castner was still in doubt as to my roommate’s identity. And so long as I could keep this in the dark, there was hope.
“There is no great mystery about it, Mr. Castner, and nothing to conceal save the gentleman’s name and standing. Before I attempt to explain, may I ask if you know anything of General Arnold’s domestic affairs?”
He shook his head.
“As little as may be, and I might say that I don’t care to know more.”
“Then my task is the easier,” I said. “I had the honor of knowing the general’s wife when she was Mistress Margaret Shippen, of Philadelphia. I may tell you, without breaching her confidence, or the general’s, that I was entrusted with a message for her last night. She gave me no answer at the time; but later, learning, possibly, of the change in the sailing orders, it is not beyond belief that she would wish to communicate again with her husband, is it?”
“I suppose not,” he agreed. “But are you trying to tell me that Mistress Arnold’s messenger came naked, and had to borrow your clothes to return in?”
I laughed heartily at this.
“Were you ever drunk and disorderly, Lieutenant Castner?” I asked. “If so, you may have had to borrowa suit of clothes yourself before now. And possibly the loan of a friend’s room to sober up in. And after such an experience, I dare say you would not care to be recognized by your friend’s friend in the morning when you were making your escape.”
“Then they were your clothes?” persisted Castner, laughing now with me.
“You asked me if he came naked: he did not, but he might have gone that way, but for my generosity. Are you quite satisfied, Mr. Castner?”
“I am obliged to be,” he said musingly.
“Oh, no,” I said. “You may go up to my room and see the gentleman’s castoff clothes, if you wish—though they are not over-pretty to look at. In fact you may have everything but his name, which I feel in duty bound not to disclose. If I hint that he is a near relative of—”
“I beg your pardon,” said the lieutenant, almost shamefacedly, I thought; and then I took my turn at him. It is always well, when you have your enemy on the run, to press him closely lest he turn on you like the Parthians of old.
“How close were you behind us last night, when we came in, Lieutenant?—and how long did you have to listen at my door to have your suspicions aroused?”
He pushed his chair back, and tried to laugh it off, but I would not let him go.
“No, you must not laugh,” I said soberly. “I am not over-quarrelsome, I think, nor do I make too little of your many kindnesses to me. But you can add greatly to my obligations, Mr. Castner, if you will rememberthat there are gentlemen in Virginia as well as in the king’s army.”
By this time he was apologizing in good earnest, and when he had gone far enough to be quite out of sight and hearing of the danger point, I forgave him most magnanimously, and drew my first real breath of assurance.
His breakfast finished, Castner would not stay to smoke a pipe with me before the fire. His reason for haste added nothing to my comfort. He told me that Major Simcoe was expected from the fleet, and that he must go to the landing-place to meet him on Sir Henry Clinton’s behalf.
This set me to thinking of how I might best throw up a hasty shelter against the storm the major’s coming would doubtless raise in my quarter of the heavens. By all the military canons I should presently have to go and present my duty to Arnold, and I thought it would be well to do this before Major Simcoe could precede me. Though as for this, I was like a hound in leash, with only so far to run before the cord should choke me, anyway.
Hitherto, I had always gone willingly enough into the den of the wild beast we were seeking to entrap, but now I had a curious chilling of reluctance. What if Major Simcoe had already come ashore? What if he had sent another boat, after I had left him, with a second message to the expedition commander? What if—but there was no end to the list of things that might have happened, and the only way to die was to do it quickly and have it over with.
So, packing my qualms into the smallest corner of my soul, I crossed swiftly to the house of threatenings, only to learn that Arnold had gone to an early conference with Sir Henry Clinton. Following him to the house next door, I was told by an orderly that he was closeted with the commander-in-chief, and was asked if I were the bearer of despatches.
I said I was not, and lingered upon the door-step to wait for my interview. When it was over-long in coming, I left word with Arnold’s orderly that I would return later, and went to make a brisk circuit around the fort by way of walking off the cold chill of apprehension that seemed to be freezing the very blood in my veins.
This walk brought me, in due time, to the water’s edge, and turning eastward I was led into that search for a boat which must precede all else in the plot we had devised. Some little distance up the shore, and well within range of the fort’s heavier ordnance, I placed the sailors’ groggery where Champe and I were to meet at the day’s end. It was a mere hovel on the hillside; a den where I thought a man would do well to go armed after nightfall. It was kept by a shock-headed Irishman, with foxy eyes and a fist like a rail-splitter’s. He served me with a can of grog, and when I asked him if he knew of any one who had a boat to sell, he gave me a cunning leer, and said the “other gentleman” was ahead of me. This told me that Champe had been before me; and thinking I might only direct suspicion toward him or myself, I paid for my drink and went back to see if Arnold had returned.
This time I did not have to wait. Arnold was in his office-room above-stairs, and when I reported to him, he told me briefly that I was at liberty for the forenoon. Whereupon I was going away with a lighter heart, and should have carried the same out at the street door if I had not just been in time to meet Major Simcoe entering.
There was clearly nothing to be done. The major was going up-stairs, and I did not see how I could stop him. If by any chance my shifty exploit of the night before should come in for mention, my race was run.
“One moment, Major,” I said hurriedly, halting him when his foot was on the first step of the stair; “have you seen Lieutenant Castner?”
He turned and said he had not, by which I inferred that he had not yet been to Sir Henry Clinton’s quarters.
“He left me a little while ago, saying that he was going to the landing-place to meet you, or failing that, to send a boat off for you,” I went on calmly.
I was almost without the hope that it would turn him back, but it did—from the very threshold of my peril. He took it precisely as I had hoped he might; as a notice that Sir Henry wished to see him without delay. No sooner was he gone into the house next door than I ran up-stairs to present myself again to Arnold. As before, he was preoccupied with his work, but gave me his attention when I stood deferentially aside and waited.
“There was a little matter which I meant to mention and forgot, General,” I began, trying my best tobe routine-like. “It has come in my way once to stand sponsor for a rascally fellow-colonist of mine, named Champe, and I’m sorry to have to do it again, or rather to report him. Last night you entrusted him with despatches for Major Simcoe, and I regret to say that I found him some time afterward in a condition totally unfit to be responsible for his duty. You will understand when I say that he had gone so far as to show his despatches and to boast of his errand. I promptly put him under guard, took your letter and delivered it myself to the major.”
“That was right,” he said approvingly; and then he asked the question I had hoped he would ask. “What did Major Simcoe say, when he saw you in Champe’s place?”
Here was my opportunity, and I seized it immediately.
“Major Simcoe was not over-courteous to me. For some reason or other he, and many of his fellow officers in the king’s service, seems very ready to put a slight upon us of the Loyal Americans, General, and when he began to question me dictatorially about Champe, I—well, for the honor of the legion I felt constrained to put him off, asking him in effect, if it were any of his business if you chose to send a sergeant of your own regiment on another errand.”
I saw before I was through that I was touching the proper chord. It was the gossip of the town that Arnold was practically ostracized by the officers of the regular army, and it was equally common talk that this was our traitor’s sorest point. So I was quite preparedto have him approve my course, as he did with his eyes glooming, and the furrows deepening in his brow.
“You did quite right, Captain Page,” he said, “though I doubt not you were too easy with the drunken sergeant. Have you Champe still under lock and key?”
“No,” I admitted; “he was so penitent this morning, and so anxious to get away before the story of his misbehavior should come to your ears, that I let him go to seek a boat in which he could return to his company. He can be disciplined later, if you so direct; though, as a fellow Virginian, I hope you will see how good a soldier he can be on the battle-field before you do it.”
He was looking past me before I had finished, with that absent gaze I was coming to associate with his milder moods, and when I had made an end he waved his hand and said: “You are a merciful man, Captain Page; which is rather to your credit if you do not carry it too far. If Major Simcoe complains to me, I shall know what to say to him.”
Now was my time to vanish, but as I was turning away, he broke in again: “I gave you leave for the forenoon, Captain, but I am tempted to ask you to do me a small personal favor, if you will. Mistress Arnold does not yet know of the delay in our departure, and if you can make it convenient to see her and to say to her that I shall be engaged until after midday—”
I bowed and said I should be only too glad to carry his message, which, for once in a way, was the truth in fact as well as in intention.
Being free to go, I went hastily, and before Major Simcoe could return to catch me in this business of pipe-laying. Not to have Arnold’s errand on my mind, I made it my first care to discharge it quickly. It was Mistress Margaret herself who met me at the door of the Vandeventer house, and it hurt me to see how glad she was at the news I brought; hurt me because if our plans should succeed, the delay would mean nothing but agony and life-long sorrow for her.
I did not go in, though she asked me very kindly if I would, but when I hung upon my leave-taking, she divined the cause and said: “Mistress Beatrix is quite well this morning, thank you, Captain Page, and I know she will be overjoyed to hear that you asked for her.”
It was surely a needed pin-prick, and I responded to it.
“It is truly wonderful, Mistress Margaret, how you are able to read a man’s inmost thoughts, and to set them in the words he is trying to find. Later in the day I trust the general may make me his letter carrier again, and if he does, may I hope—”
“Your privilege is always to hope, Captain Page, and I think I should be the last person in the world to rob you of it,” she said; then she gave me a loving message to her husband, and truly I felt more and more the despicable villain the deeper I was drawn into this playing of the go-between for husband and wife.
On my return to the lower end of the town, I made a détour to the western waterside with a view to familiarizing myself with the situation which wouldconfront us when we should not have daylight to show us what we needed to see. The riverside was well guarded to a point far beyond the town, and the river itself was patrolled by small craft. I saw no rowing boats at all on that bank. It came to me now, that our greatest difficulty would lie in this finding of a suitable boat. Unless I could use my authority as an officer in seizing one, I fancied that we should look long before obtaining one in any other way. This would be an extra hazard, to be sure, but we were already so deep in hazards, that the addition of another could make little difference.
I had turned inland, and was passing the sugar-house prison in the corner of the churchyard, when I met Major Simcoe again; and this time it was he who halted me.
“Your fellow-countryman, the sergeant, seems to have got himself into trouble, Captain Page. Had you heard of it?”
My heart turned to lead at his words, but I was careful to keep the weight of it out of my face and voice.
“Our sergeant seems to trouble you much more than he does me, Major,” I said, trying to say it as lightly as I could. “What has he been doing now?”
The major laughed.
“That remains to be determined. He was found prowling about the waterside in citizen’s clothes a little while ago, and since he could give no reasonable account of himself to the officer of the guard, he was clapped into a cell.”
I was burning to ask if the news of this climaxing disaster had been carried to Arnold, but I dared not. So I escaped from the major as I could, and hurried down to Fort George, passing the door of Arnold’s house on the way, as one might take a morning’s saunter in front of a cannon loaded, and with the slow-match burning.
At the fort the commandant, a British officer of the bulldog type, was exceedingly brusk with me, paying his backhanded compliment to the uniform I wore, and at first would give me no satisfaction whatever.
“The man was first a deserter from the rebels, and now he has shed his regimentals, and was trying to desert from us,” he said sharply. “Of course, Mr. Arnold will do what he pleases with him, but if the matter lay with me, he would stretch a cord very promptly, Captain.”
“Fortunately, the matter does not lie with you,” I retorted, matching his sharpness. “You have blundered, as some of you gentlemen in the king’s service seem quite prone to do. Sergeant Champe was on duty when you arrested him, and that duty required that he should not appear in his regimentals, as it also required secrecy on his part, even under the questioning of so great a man as you are, Mr. Commandant. I’ll trouble you to set the sergeant at liberty, sir.”
“Upon order, certainly, Captain,” said my bulldog stubbornly.
“You have your order, sir,” I retorted, bristling back at him.
“I have not seen it,” he remarked.
“By heaven, sir, you are hearing it!” I cried. “Do you require me to go back to Sir Henry Clinton and General Arnold, with the information that you decline to take the word of the general’s aide?”
Now there are bullies who can not be bullied, but happily the commandant was not one of them. When I was turning upon my heel, as if in a passion, he called me back.
“I know you are Mr. Arnold’s aide, Captain,” he said, rather less truculently, “but duty is duty, and—”
“Oh, very well,” I said, “it is but a matter of walking up to Sir Henry’s house and telling him that your meddlesome interference has doubtless spoiled the service upon which the sergeant was engaged.”
That shot brought him down, and now he seemed as eager to give me my sergeant, and to be quit of us both, as, a moment before, he was reluctant. Champe was fetched from some dungeon underneath the battlements, and he was shrewd enough not to make much of seeing me with the commandant, who now followed me to the sally-port, with protestations of his guiltlessness in Champe’s arrest, and begging me not to make too much of it with Sir Henry Clinton. I set his mind at rest on this point, telling him that if he did not report thefaux pas, I should not; a statement which was well within the bounds of truth.
Once free of the fort with my derelict, I hurried him around to the tavern and up to my room.
“Out of that masquerade and into your uniform quickly!” I commanded; and I would not let him tell his morning adventures until he had made the change.
When he was once more, in outward appearance, a soldier of the Loyal American Legion, he set his back against the wall and said:
“Well, Captain Dick, I’ve found the boat for us, though I don’t know but what I’ve had to kill a man to quiet our title to it.”