A Girl Called Samson (59)

I shook my head, but he wasn’t convinced.

“You a runaway?”

That’s exactly what I was, though not the way he meant.

“We’re all running away from something, aren’t we?” I said. “But no . . . I don’t belong to anyone. I don’t owe anyone anything. And no one’s looking for me.” The last part might not be true, but I hoped it was.



Near the end of the day, as we were nearing the post at Peekskill Hollow, a man on horseback rode out to meet us, and even twenty rods out, I identified Colonel Sproat. He greeted the general with a crisp salute and acknowledged Colonel Kosciuszko. His eyes lingered on me for a moment, and I held my breath, but he simply greeted me by name and praised me for my swift action and my level head in Tarrytown.

“Private Shurtliff is my new aide-de-camp, Colonel Sproat,” Paterson said.

“You are familiar to me, Shurtliff. There are Shurtliffs in Taunton. Perhaps I know your family?”

“I don’t know, sir. Even I do not know my family. But I am not from Taunton.” It was the truth for the most part, and it rolled from my tongue.

He nodded easily, and I was forgotten. He rode alongside the general and, in muted tones, shared some information that straightened the general’s back and sharpened his gaze.

“We received some information about a trove of supplies near Eastchester in some sort of underground cavern. The man who reported it claims the supplies that never made it last August are there.”

“An underground cavern? It sounds like a trick.”

Colonel Sproat shrugged. “I thought the same thing. But I trust the source. He said not many know it’s there, and it’s not well guarded.”

“He claims he’s been inside?”

“Yes, sir. A couple brothers, just youngsters, were keeping an eye on the entrance. They didn’t realize he wasn’t part of the same gang that hired them. He told them to take him inside, and they did.”

“Who’s paying them?”

“Don’t know. But nobody on our side. I’m guessing the detachment that went missing was bribed to desert or they’re dead. I think dead. DeLancey doesn’t pay when he can just take.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“He said it’s chock-full. Wine. Hams hanging from an overhead beam. Barrels of flour. Beans. Rice. Potatoes. Molasses. Lard. Jars of fruit.”

“How many wagonloads?”

Sproat blew out a breath and shook his head. “He seems to think the barrels alone would fill a barge.”

“What do you propose we do?”

“We take it, sir.”

“Any troop movement or wagons toward Eastchester, and they’ll know. There are no secrets in the neutral zone.”

“True enough. But if we send a brigade, there won’t be much they can do to stop us.”

“Unless they get word and move it before we get there.”

Sproat scratched his head. “We need those supplies, General. Nobody knows that better than you. My men have been on half rations all winter. We’ve been holed up. Not scouting. Not marching, not fighting. So we don’t need as much, but that can’t continue.”

“I know.”

“DeLancey hasn’t answered for the attack in Tarrytown. I would very much like to empty those stores.”

“There and back, how far?” General Paterson asked.

“Thirty miles. Maybe a little less. Ten or so from White Plains.”

“We’ll leave at daybreak tomorrow. I will go with you.”

“You, General?” Sproat sounded stunned.

“I can’t devise a plan for seizing the provisions if I don’t know the particulars. I need to see where they are kept, how many men and wagons we will need to move them, and if it’s worth the risk to the men who might find themselves in the middle of a gunfight if my plan isn’t a good one.”

Sproat nodded slowly, a grin splitting his homely cheeks. “I’ll be ready.”





16

TO SECURE THESE RIGHTS

We were already riding toward White Plains when the sky stretched and turned back her dark coverlet. Sproat had chosen a handful of trusted men, including the scout who had brought him the information. I recognized a few of them from Tarrytown but knew none of their names. Kosciuszko had remained at Peekskill, but Grippy had come along, lured by the talk of caverns and treasure, but by early afternoon, he was looking at the hovering clouds. The temperature had dropped again, and our spring thaw seemed to have changed her mind.

“You think it could snow?” Agrippa worried. “I hate being cold, I hate being cold on horseback even worse, and I hate riding said horse in the cold when I’m heading into enemy territory.”

“If it’s what we’ve been told, you’ll be heading back to the Point with your own ham,” General Paterson promised. “Mrs. Allen can prepare it for you, and you can eat every single bite all by yourself.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

“I’m a man of my word,” the general said.

Grippy nodded and grinned. “That you are, so there better be ham. One for Bonny too. We need to fatten him up.”

Our ride was uneventful, and we moved quickly under the roiling clouds, constantly on the lookout and skirting picket points and known hotbeds. The scout, a man named Williby, seemed to know where he was going, and when he suggested we stop and let him and Sproat go ahead to ascertain whether the depot was being watched or guarded, we agreed and dismounted at a creek that cut through the trees, letting our horses rest and drink while we waited. Sproat and Williby were not gone long, and Sproat was excited.