the lapping of the waves against the boat. I saw the shore and the light from the farmer's lantern shining on the water.
The Hessian had put his musket down and was still standing in the stern of the boat, singing to himself.
I took off my shoes and tied the laces together. I kilted my dress and put the shoes in its folds. The oarsmen were starting down the ladder. The first one stopped to shout something, then the other laughed. The rope ladder creaked as the men came down. I saw Sergeant McCall standing at the rail and David Whitlock standing beside him.
Silently, I let myself over the side and struck out along the path east by the farmer's lantern. The water was so cold it took my breath. I had never swum in all my life, and I didn't swim now, but driven by fear I managed to stay afloat.
I had gone no more than a dozen yards when my feet touched bottom. I began to walk forward on a mat of thick grass. I kept the lantern in sight. Behind me I heard the oarsmen shouting. Then it was quiet and Sergeant McCall's clear voice called out, "Come back. We'll find you. You can't hide. Come back, you fool."
I took my shoes out, but I didn't take the time to put them on. I ran along the shore, away from the farmer's light. I heard the Hessian's musket go off, then the whine of a bullet near my head. I didn't stop. I ran until my stockings were torn and my feet were cut and bleeding; then I sat down and put on my shoes.
Far off in the east I saw a small cluster of lights that I took to be a village. I found myself on a path trending in that direction, and I followed it. The moon came up, which helped me to move faster.
I reached the village about an hour later. None of the houses showed lights, so I found no one who could tell me where I was. At the last house on the street a dog ran out of the bushes and barked. A man, holding a musket, opened the front door and asked me where I was going at midnight. He came close and peered at me.
"It's no hour for a girl ;o be out," he said. "Where you bound, all sopping wet?"
"The Lion and Lamb tavern," I told him.
"It's a far piece from here. You'd best spend the night. Come in; we'll put you up."
"I'll be going," I said. "Just tell me the way, please."
The man showed me a path that ran off to the southeast and took me a half mile along the way. When he turned back, he wished me a safe journey and said for me not to be afraid.
"The countryside's calm," he said. "But I wish you'd stay the night."
I thanked him kindly and went on, with the moon at my back, casting a faint moon shadow in front. Toward morning, as the first light showed in the east, I reached the Lion and the Lamb.
I went quietly around to the back of the tavern, not rousing the dog, and made myself a bed among the trees in the hickory grove. It was nearly noon, with a hot sun shining, when I woke. Mrs. Pennywell was staring down at me and asking questions.
15
M RS. P ENNYWELL BUILT a fire and heated water for me in the big iron tub. I washed away the soot and mud and smoke of the journey.
I washed away everything but the memories and my fear. I could still see the round face of Captain Cunningham leaning over me with his pale eyes and his false smile. I could hear David Whitlock croaking out the grievous words about my brother, Chad. I could still hear the sound of the musket shot as I stumbled along the shore in the dark night.
Mrs. Pennywell seemed uneasy. She kept untying and tying her apron strings. Suddenly she said, "You shouldn't
have run. The King's men aren't like the rebels. Not like Birdsall and his gang."
"There's no difference."
"You're not guilty. They'll have a trial and set you free. Then you won't need to worry."
I said nothing. Everything seemed unreal. The kitchen, the crows cawing in the hickory grove, even Mrs. Pennywell herself, talking, fussing over me, were shadowy things. They were happening to someone else. Demented people, I thought, must feel this way.
I feared Captain Cunningham.
The Hessian had put his musket down and was still standing in the stern of the boat, singing to himself.
I took off my shoes and tied the laces together. I kilted my dress and put the shoes in its folds. The oarsmen were starting down the ladder. The first one stopped to shout something, then the other laughed. The rope ladder creaked as the men came down. I saw Sergeant McCall standing at the rail and David Whitlock standing beside him.
Silently, I let myself over the side and struck out along the path east by the farmer's lantern. The water was so cold it took my breath. I had never swum in all my life, and I didn't swim now, but driven by fear I managed to stay afloat.
I had gone no more than a dozen yards when my feet touched bottom. I began to walk forward on a mat of thick grass. I kept the lantern in sight. Behind me I heard the oarsmen shouting. Then it was quiet and Sergeant McCall's clear voice called out, "Come back. We'll find you. You can't hide. Come back, you fool."
I took my shoes out, but I didn't take the time to put them on. I ran along the shore, away from the farmer's light. I heard the Hessian's musket go off, then the whine of a bullet near my head. I didn't stop. I ran until my stockings were torn and my feet were cut and bleeding; then I sat down and put on my shoes.
Far off in the east I saw a small cluster of lights that I took to be a village. I found myself on a path trending in that direction, and I followed it. The moon came up, which helped me to move faster.
I reached the village about an hour later. None of the houses showed lights, so I found no one who could tell me where I was. At the last house on the street a dog ran out of the bushes and barked. A man, holding a musket, opened the front door and asked me where I was going at midnight. He came close and peered at me.
"It's no hour for a girl ;o be out," he said. "Where you bound, all sopping wet?"
"The Lion and Lamb tavern," I told him.
"It's a far piece from here. You'd best spend the night. Come in; we'll put you up."
"I'll be going," I said. "Just tell me the way, please."
The man showed me a path that ran off to the southeast and took me a half mile along the way. When he turned back, he wished me a safe journey and said for me not to be afraid.
"The countryside's calm," he said. "But I wish you'd stay the night."
I thanked him kindly and went on, with the moon at my back, casting a faint moon shadow in front. Toward morning, as the first light showed in the east, I reached the Lion and the Lamb.
I went quietly around to the back of the tavern, not rousing the dog, and made myself a bed among the trees in the hickory grove. It was nearly noon, with a hot sun shining, when I woke. Mrs. Pennywell was staring down at me and asking questions.
15
M RS. P ENNYWELL BUILT a fire and heated water for me in the big iron tub. I washed away the soot and mud and smoke of the journey.
I washed away everything but the memories and my fear. I could still see the round face of Captain Cunningham leaning over me with his pale eyes and his false smile. I could hear David Whitlock croaking out the grievous words about my brother, Chad. I could still hear the sound of the musket shot as I stumbled along the shore in the dark night.
Mrs. Pennywell seemed uneasy. She kept untying and tying her apron strings. Suddenly she said, "You shouldn't
have run. The King's men aren't like the rebels. Not like Birdsall and his gang."
"There's no difference."
"You're not guilty. They'll have a trial and set you free. Then you won't need to worry."
I said nothing. Everything seemed unreal. The kitchen, the crows cawing in the hickory grove, even Mrs. Pennywell herself, talking, fussing over me, were shadowy things. They were happening to someone else. Demented people, I thought, must feel this way.
I feared Captain Cunningham.
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