53

THOUGH I WAS eager to depart, it was necessary to wait till the river tide flooded north. Moreover, despite being very tired, I dared not sleep, worried they would leave without me. As it happened, it took some hours before Johan announced, “We can go.”

After loading their few possessions—kettle and fishing equipment—we pushed the boat into the water. Bente and I scrambled in while Johan shoved until he was up to his waist, then clambered aboard.

While I sat down in the bottom, amidships, Bente hoisted a triangular sail—a lateen rig—up the short mast. Johan took the stern, hand upon the tiller, which he shifted. The boat turned and the gray and patched canvas stiffened with breeze. We heeled slightly, righted ourselves, and began to move in a northerly direction.

Johan maneuvered the small boat until she ran a middle course upriver. Not that we went fast or in a straight line. The wind, hedged in by the cliffs on the western bank of the river, as well as the forest on the eastern, was erratic. Johan tacked constantly, but the zigzags brought us upriver.

Happily, the couple did not talk much. Rather, Johan concentrated on his steering, while Bente threw out a fishing line and put her attention to that. I spent my time gazing upon the shore.

It was a hot and humid day with a haze hugging the river, softening the light. Here and there, horse-stingers darted cross the water’s surface. Once, at the river’s edge, I saw a buck with many-pronged antlers that had come down to drink among the drooping tree leaves, leaves already tinged with autumn reds.

Convinced I would now reach West Point in time, I allowed myself to relax. As we sailed north, the steady slip-slap of the bow teased me to sleep. Only when Johan abruptly called out, “Ship ahead!” did I awaken.

Sitting up, I looked where he pointed.

Upriver I saw a one-masted ship with a square topsail and large mizzen sail furled on her single mast and boom. Facing north, she lay quietly in the water, riding so calmly I presumed she was at anchor. Along her port quarterdeck, I counted six small cannon muzzles. From her stern hung a limp flag, so enfolded I could not determine who it was. A few people were on her deck.

“What is she?” I asked.

“The Vulture,” said Johan. “British. She patrols the river here about. Captain Sutherland commands.”

Openmouthed, I realized that this was the same ship that John André was intending to board to meet Arnold.

Thinking that perhaps André might already be on board, I tried to imagine what he might do if he knew I was on this tiny boat trying to keep him from his appointment. André and I, hiding from each other, equally deceitful but bent upon opposite goals.

Fearful, I turned to Johan. “Will she stop us?” I asked. “Board us?”

I suspect my face betrayed anxiety, for the old man gazed at me with more intensity than he’d shown before. “You needn’t be concerned,” he said. “Captain Sutherland knows me.”

I wished I had not spoken.

As we drew even with the Vulture, Johan lifted an arm in greeting. Someone on the deck answered the salute. For my part, I turned away and could not help trying to make myself small.

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.