Sophia's War (33 page)

What feelings
did
I have for him?

I believe we waited for a few hours. It was yet morning, and I was still lost in all my mental commotion when I saw that Mr. Paulding was waving his hand at me.

With a pounding heart, I turned my eyes along the road.

A man appeared, pushing a barrow.

When I saw that it was not André, I made no sign to Mr. Paulding. The man passed by. We continued to wait.

It was not long before a brown horse and rider appeared.

Though his clothing was utterly different than I had ever seen upon him, I immediately knew it was John André. What's more, I could tell from the way he sat upon the horse that he was exhausted. And I, my heart anything but calm, felt a pang of pity for the man.

I darted a glance across the road. Mr. Paulding was looking right at me, waiting again for me to sign—or not.

Oh, weak heart
, I cried to myself,
tell me what to do! Shall I preserve his life or mine?

I lifted my hand.

The moment I did, Mr. Paulding and his two friends
fairly leaped out upon the road so that Major André could not go forward. Taken by surprise, he clutched nervously at the horse's reins and stared down upon the men, but mostly at Mr. Paulding, who had grabbed the horse's bridle.

In fact, I believe the green German military coat my friend was wearing confused him. For André, settling himself upon his saddle with all his dignity on display, said, “Gentlemen, I trust you belong to
our
party.”

“What party is that?” said Mr. Paulding.

“The lower,” said André. Then he added, “I am an officer in the British service and have been on particular business in the country. I hope you will not detain me.”

The men exchanged glances, after which Mr. Paulding said, “Climb down, sir.”

André, not budging, said, “But I must get along.”

No one moved.

“Down, sir!” insisted Paulding.

Apparently grasping that he must deal with these men, André pulled out Arnold's pass and handed it down. Isaac Van Wart took it and unfolded it. I rather suspect he could not read, for he passed it to Mr. Paulding, whom I knew could.

“My lads,” said an impatient André, “you're going to get yourselves into a lot of trouble.”

Mr. Van Wart grinned and said, “But you just said you were a British officer.”

“I'm engaged upon the general's business,” said André. “Do you intend to rob me?”

“You need not worry,” said Mr. Paulding. “We don't intend to take your money.”

“Good,” said André. “I don't have any.”

“British officers always have money,” said Mr. Van Wart. He turned to Mr. Paulding.

“Let's search him,” said Paulding.

“Get down,” commanded Mr. Williams.

After a moment of hesitation, André dismounted. The men removed his coat and jacket and went through his pockets. They found two watches and a few dollar bills, nothing more. They threw the clothing onto the ground.

“Take off your boots,” said Mr. Van Wart.

André looked hard at him—as if insulted by the demand—but sat down upon the ground. Mr. Van Wart bent over and yanked off both boots. The men searched inside them. Once more, they found nothing.

It was Mr. Paulding who said, “Take off your socks.”

André did not move, but just sat there. Mr. Williams reached down and yanked off the right sock. They found nothing. It was an impatient Mr. Paulding who pulled off the left sock. When he did, the papers Arnold had given André tumbled out.

Williams snatched them up and handed all to Mr. Paulding, who examined the papers closely. It was then he said, “This man is a spy.”

67

IN ALL OF
these proceedings, Mr. Paulding did not look at me. I am equally certain that John André never noticed me in my place of concealment. Yet I, to my increasing mortification, watched and heard it all. The way the men went through André's pockets, pulled away his boots, and then stripped him of his stockings was like some crude mockery. I have no doubt that for André, it being low Americans who had accosted him and treated him thus was deeply wounding to his pride.

Indeed, the major, standing there in his bare feet, offered the men a large sum of money—a bribe—if they would let him pass. He smiled. He tried his charm. He bullied. He threatened. He offered more money. The three men refused it all. To see André's growing frustration, anger, and finally his humiliation made me ashamed. Had I not tried bribes to free William?

It was Mr. Paulding who said to him, “Mount up. We need to take you to Colonel Jameson. He's my superior. He can decide what to do with you.”

André put on his socks and shoes slowly. I knew him well enough to read his thoughts and looks:
How dare
such men treat me so!
As if to regain some dignity, he picked up his coat and hat and dusted them off.

Only then did he remount his horse. Once set, he again offered money for his freedom, considerably more than he had before. It was to no avail.

Taking the reins of André's horse in hand, Mr. Williams began to lead the way north, along the road. Mr. Van Wart took a place by André's side, one hand on the major's boot, as if to remind him he was there. Mr. Paulding came last, behind the horse.

As they started off, Mr. Paulding turned to determine where I was.

Wobbly with emotion, I stepped out onto the road. For a moment I stood there and watched them move along, incapable of clear thought. Part of me wished to run away. The greater part insisted that I must see all that happened. And indeed, I did follow, but kept a considerable distance behind. Yes, I did not want John André to see me. I also did not wish the men to see the pain in my heart.

What have I done?

The answer I insisted upon—then—was
I have saved my country.

68

ALONG WITH HIS FRIENDS
, Mr. Paulding led John André in the direction of Wright's Mill. Along the way, they paused at a place called Reed's Tavern, where Major André was given milk and bread.

I stood apart and watched him. He seemed despondent. How strange for me to see him without his charm, his beguiling smiles and graces. It made me think of a puppet from which the inner, living hand had been removed, making him empty of life.

It was at Reed's Tavern that Mr. Paulding discovered that Colonel Jameson and his troops had been transferred to a place called North Castle, some six miles farther. They turned that way.

When Mr. Paulding informed me of their new direction, he asked me what I wished to do.

“I'll follow along,” I said.

As they went, I am quite sure that John André never so much as glanced back to where I was, for as before I remained some distance behind. Thus I always was there, always watching, but never part of the group that included John André.

Yet, in my way, was I not the closest of all?

I kept asking myself,
What is this man to me?
I kept reminding myself that he had been trying to destroy my country.

As we moved along, Mr. Paulding twice came to inquire after me. I assured him I was fine in all respects, which, of course, was not true. Making no explanations, I told Mr. Paulding I preferred to continue but keep out of sight.

So it was that we walked all day, the only one mounted being André.

Late afternoon we reached North Castle, a place hardly more than a sawmill and a few farmhouses. Here Mr. Paulding found Colonel Jameson and his troop of dragoons. They were awaiting the arrival of some important officer whose name was not mentioned. As soon as we arrived, Mr. Paulding turned Major André—along with the papers they had found on him—over to the colonel.

The news of André's capture and who he was quickly spread among the soldiers and then, apparently, elsewhere. I hardly know how, but soon civilians, attracted by the hubbub, gathered. The word “spy” was on all lips.

When I drew close, no one paid me any mind. No doubt each group thought I was part of another group. You may be sure I never let André see me.

The enthusiasm brought on by who and what André was, and the seriousness of the charge against him, as well as there being no meeting house, was such that a
loud discussion about what to do with him was conducted in public.

There was no question about the meaning of the papers found on André—plans and diagrams about an attack on West Point. Colonel Jameson was greatly shocked, as were all the other soldiers on duty. So too the civilians. Yet, let it be noted that General Arnold had not put
his
name on them. Still, there was that pass Arnold had provided for “Mr. Anderson.” That
seemed
to incriminate André and Arnold, but it was not conclusive. Then again, the major
had
told Mr. Paulding and his friends that he was a
British officer
. He further claimed, “I'm engaged upon the general's business.”

Arnold's role in all this thus remained a mystery to all—save Mr. André and me. I, in my emotional turmoil, was hardly going to step forward and proclaim what I knew. For his part, André was not about to reveal what he had been doing.

There we were, bound together by knowledge neither dared to reveal.

Colonel Jameson made two decisions. First, he decided to send all the captured papers to General George Washington, who was apparently somewhere close, in Connecticut. Second, Jameson made up his mind to send Major André to General Arnold's headquarters. There was some logic in this insofar as Arnold was, after all, the commander of West Point, and Jameson's superior. Jameson believed it was General Arnold's responsibility to deal with this presumed spy.

Mr. Paulding objected. When pressed for a reason,
he, unwilling to engage me, and reluctant to accuse Arnold, could give no reason. In so doing, he was easily overruled by his superior, Colonel Jameson.

To be sure, André made no protest. He must have been aware that being sent to Arnold was the best thing that could happen to him.