Sophia's War (25 page)

As we sailed northward, Johan stole glances at me, as if trying to discover something. Though fearful I'd given myself away, there was nothing I could do.

We sailed on. At some places, the river broadened greatly. Other places it narrowed. On both shores, the land rose high. When I gazed upriver, I began to see highlands, a few peaks crowned in gloomy clouds. As the day wore on, these clouds began to spread and fill the sky. Then the wind freshened and bore a ripe, earthy smell, the scent of rain. Ripples fluttered the river's surface.

“Squall coming,” Johan announced, and aimed his boat toward the eastern shore.

Fretful, my unspoken thought was
I'm losing time
.

As we ground against a stony beach, rain began to patter. We hauled the boat high, left it, and then threaded ourselves among the dense trees until we found a spot
protected by a canopy of branches. By then the rain was pelting.

Bente and I scurried about in search of fallen wood. It was she, using flint, spark, and breath, who expertly lit a fire. During that time I had slept on the boat, she must have caught a salmon. Now she cleaned it with a knife and proceeded to cook it.

The rain came harder. A sudden crack of lightning made me jump. Moments later, lumbering thunder came, followed by even heaver rain. Water dripped in silver sheets.

For some hours, we waited beneath that storm. In time, it moved on, leaving the air as sweet as Adam's first day. By then, however, it was night, and the tide had turned.

“No farther today,” Johan announced.

We sat before the smoky, sparky fire. My damp clothing itched. No one spoke. At one point, however, Johan abruptly said, “Tell me, girl, what's in the city that you're running from?”

“Nothing, sir,” I answered truthfully, relieved when he asked no more. But sensing that he
had
become suspicious, I wished my time with them were done. Should I slip into the forest? Alas, though I had little knowledge as to where we were, or how far from West Point, I realized I had but two days left to stop Arnold from meeting André. I therefore resolved to stay with these people as long as I might manage it.

54

HAVING SLEPT ON
damp ground, we awoke at dawn, the nineteenth of September. For breakfast we ate what remained of the fish from the night before. There was not much talk as we waited for Johan to announce that the tide was flooding in our favor. Meanwhile, I kept out of his way by bailing water from the boat.

When Johan pronounced us ready, we pushed the boat back into the river, climbed in, raised the sail, and kept heading north. I was much relieved.

In New York City, His Excellency General Henry Clinton sent orders to his troops on the transport ships to be ready to make an assault in a few days' time. He told Admiral Rodney that the attack would be upon Fort West Point but asked that he keep it a secret.

General Arnold was having difficulties finding the means to reach the
Vulture
. Unable to secure a boat or find rowers, the meeting with André had to be put off yet another night.

The Vanzandts and I sailed for about an hour beneath a bright morning sky. It was already warm.

I said, “How far have we come?”

Johan answered, “'Bout twenty miles south of your Tellers Point.”

That pleased me.

Johan was quiet for an interval, but then said, “You seem a good girl, miss. All the same, I sense something wrong. You need tell me what it is.”

Bente shifted around expectantly.

Taken by surprise, I said, “It's what I said. My mother is ill.”

“So you say. But yesterday, when we passed the
Vulture
, you were frightened. Why's that? Made me think you were running away from something.”

“No, sir,” I insisted. “I'm not.”

It was a while before he suddenly said, “Where are you in this awful war?”

Fearful that no good would come of any answer I might make, I stayed silent and would not even look at him.

He said, “I don't ask it of you—you're a girl—but your father. I suppose you have one. You said you came from the city. What did you do there?”

“A housemaid, sir.”

He seemed to accept my answer, but then said, “I want nothing to do with this rebellion. I stand with the king. We had some land and cattle. The rebels stole it all when I wouldn't pledge to their new government.”

I said, “I'm sorry to hear it, sir.”

He remained silent for a while, so that I thought his mood had passed. Instead, he leaned toward me and said, “Which side do you wish to be?”

“Side?” I said, thinking he meant which side of
politics
.

“Which side of the river,” he said. “I won't carry rebel folk. If you'll not declare with me, you must be against.” He gave a brusque nod as if agreeing with himself.

Not waiting for my reply, he abruptly shifted the tiller, causing the boat to sail toward the nearest shore, which was to the east.

I didn't know what to say.

In moments we jolted against the shore. “Out, then,” he commanded.

I gazed about. Beyond the slim shingle of stone and rock lay thick forest. I appealed to Bente with a glance, but she would not lift her eyes to mine.

Johan said, “It's not so far that you can't walk the rest. Out!”

I stepped into the shallow, warm water and went on the land. Johan leaped from the boat too, but only to push it back out. He hauled himself in, turned the tiller, and without so much as a glance, sailed his boat away. Only then did Bente turn toward me, her face offering distress. Dismayed, I watched as the couple moved upriver until they passed from my view.

As I stood there on the shore, my breath coming with difficulty, I tried to recover my dizzy wits, quiet my heart, and sort out my circumstance. With but poor
knowledge of where I was or what I might do, I felt marooned. Had I had been folly-blind to undertake this venture?

After some time had passed, I became calmer. I reminded myself that I had already come a long way. Moreover, there were less than
two
days until André's meeting. Did not Johan say I was close to Tellers Point, that I might walk the rest? True, I was not sure how many miles Tellers Point was from West Point but had hopes I could reach it.

Having composed myself, I considered where I was. Before me ran the wide river. The opposite shore was nothing but forest, which rose like a wall. Behind me, the trees were equally thick, making the interior impossible to observe at any depth. Moreover, I had been left in a small cove, so I could not see north or south.

Yet I knew I could not remain where I was. That said, I was fearful of the forest and what might lurk within: savage animals, or people who might do me harm.

In short, the river was the sole road I knew. Little choice then but to continue moving north along its edge.

I set off.

55

THERE IS THAT
expression “as the arrow flies,” which, presumably, means “straight.” You might contrast that with the phrase “as Sophia walked.” For I went every which way but straight. The undulations of the river shoreline were as jagged as handsaw teeth. I made progress northward, but never directly.

More often than not, I simply tried to follow the water's edge, in and out, though now and again I attempted to wade across the many inlets, shoes in hand. In many places, the water was shallow, no higher than my knees. But sometimes the bottom dropped off sharply, forcing a retreat, so I must creep round that spot. Once, twice, I slipped, fell, and became soaked. I shook myself like a wet dog and went on. With my dress—dirty, damp, and torn in a few places—I must have appeared (if anyone were there to see) like a female Robinson Crusoe.

Three times I saw paths that led from the water's edge into the forest. Once I came upon what I supposed was a landing. A broken boat lay to one side. Of people or houses I saw none, though I startled a raccoon that had
come to the river's edge to wash its food. How I wished I had food to wash! I saw no oysters but was sometimes cheered by flowers, goldenrod and purple asters, and countless flaming maple trees.

How many hours I edged northward in such a fashion, I cannot say, but in time daylight dimmed to dusk. I searched and found a sandy patch between large boulders. Miserably cramped, damp, hungry, and weary, I tried to settle down.

As I lay there, night crickets creaked unceasingly and the river water jabbled. I gazed upon the stars in the vast black sky, and the half-moon, which gilded the river's surface with a rippling golden hue.
Will I be in time?
I kept asking myself. I could not help wondering where John André was at that moment. Thinking of him, ever gallant, splendid in his uniform, handsome, self-assured, and eager to attack, to destroy my country, I fell asleep.

At Beekman Mansion, a restless Major André kept talking to Colonel Robinson, speculating why General Arnold had failed their two previous appointments.

“Then you think he'll really come?” said Robinson.

“He's committed himself,” said André.