Then Jonathan climbed over. On the other side he gathered the boy up again, placing him as high on his shoulder as he could. The boy stirred once, opened his eyes, and made a slight sound. Then, pressing against Jonathan’s neck, he closed his eyes again.
10:10
Which way? Jonathan asked himself. On all sides he could see only the dark, slender silhouettes of trees, as if he were in a vast cage. The road, he knew, was not far off. But which way, and how close?
He turned around in a full circle, but knew no better than before. If anything, he was more confused.
He paused, then lifted the boy, who kept slipping, and forced himself to move, knowing he had to go somewhere, anywhere now, no matter what, or where.
10:15
As Jonathan moved among the trees, the darkness swallowed him. He wondered at its many shades, the many shapes of black that came before his eyes.
A high and fragmentary moon came and went elusively. All about, the forest spoke, sometimes sounds of animals, sometimes the white whirr of insect wings, sometimes only the trees shifting gently.
His eyes sought the road. More than once he staggered, but he did not fall. Several times he put the boy down to rest. Then he rose and, gathering him up, pushed on.
He felt as if he were going nowhere. The more he went, the more it seemed the same. Over and over again he asked himself: Where am I going? Is this the right way?
It was an hour before he saw a light.
11:20
At first he wasn’t sure what it was. It seemed so small and flared only once, after which he lost sight of it. Still, it was enough to make him stop and wait. Putting the boy down, he stared at the place where he thought the light had been.
It did not return.
Just when he had decided it was only his imagination, the light flickered again. This time he was certain it was real.
He picked the boy up again. Holding him tightly though his arms ached, he began to move cautiously toward the light.
11:25
He could see the fire, and he heard low, muffled voices. Nervously, he waited. The boy by his shoulder stirred and made a sound. Jonathan put a hand to his mouth and the boy became quiet again. Jonathan gazed at the light and listened.
He knew they could be the other Hessians. “Americans,” he prayed, “make them Americans.”
Still more cautiously, he moved forward, trying to feel his way without making any sound, trying to see through the dark. As he drew closer, he could make out at least six forms hunched around the fire.
He crept forward. Soon he began to hear hushed words, and he strained to catch the language. German . . . or English?
“Halt!”
A form loomed up. Jonathan spun around, wanting only to flee. But when he turned, another person stood to block his way. That man was facing the fire. It was the Corporal.
11:35
Eight excited men circled Jonathan. Some held firebrands, some muskets. They gaped at him, pushed at him, touched him.
“What are you doing here?” the Corporal demanded. “What’s your name? Where’ re you from?”
“He was with us at the tavern,” cried one of the men. “He’s the missing one! The one that ran. The one those Hessians were after!”
The Corporal snatched a burning stick from one of the men and brought it close. Jonathan felt the heat on his face. For a moment the Corporal stared at him, his own face masklike. Then he pulled back the flame.
“Where were you?” he said sharply.
Jonathan, exhausted, tongue-tied, took a quick look about the group of faces. They were all from the morning’s fighting. Two of the men were bandaged. Jonathan held the boy tighter.
“I asked you where you were,” the Corporal repeated harshly.
“Up the road,” began Jonathan, struggling against his rising tears. “And when the fighting happened . . . when we were retreating . . . I . . . I ran. . . . Three of the Hessians caught me . . . made me prisoner. . . . Only”—he fumbled for words— “I . . . escaped.”
“Who’s that?” the Corporal wanted to know, pointing to the boy, whom Jonathan was still holding. “Where does he come from?”
Jonathan felt as if the question was an accusation.
“They took me to a place,” he said. “A . . . house.” He was finding it difficult to explain. “And he was there. I’ve been carrying him for a while. I . . . I have to put him down. I’m hungry.”
The men, muttering words of encouragement, stepped away, allowing Jonathan to walk between them toward the fire. There, Jonathan carefully eased the boy down. The boy awoke with a start. Frightened, he stared at all the peering faces, refusing to let go of Jonathan. To keep him calm, Jonathan sat down at his side, aware mostly of his own great weariness.
Once again the men, curious, pressed close.
“Here you go,” said one of them, reaching out a hand and offering him johnnycake. Jonathan gratefully took it, broke off a piece for the boy, then greedily devoured his own portion.
The Corporal squatted directly in front of Jonathan. “Those three soldiers,” he said with barely surpressed urgency, “I need to know where you were with them.”
Jonathan, not wanting to talk, thankful to be among friends, but knowing he must answer, tried to push away his fatigue. He looked up at the Corporal. “Back there some,” he said.
“How far?”
Jonathan shook his head. “Not sure. I’ve been walking a time. I didn’t know what they were going to do to me. At first, I thought they’d kill me. They kept me on a rope. I couldn’t get away. Not till they fell asleep. They don’t speak any English. They don’t. Not one word. . . . I couldn’t understand what they were saying. Nothing. I had to guess. It sounded bad.” He took a deep breath, glancing around the circle to gauge the reaction. The men seemed concerned, kindly. His eyes came back to the Corporal.
Taking a breath, he continued. “I was sure I saw you on the road before,” he said, “in all that fog. Didn’t you see me? I was right there with them. On the rope so I couldn’t get away. I couldn’t . . .” He felt like he wanted to cry again and didn’t know why. “I wanted to call out to you.”
The Corporal’s face was blank. Jonathan couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“I did see you,” the Corporal said slowly. “But I was alone. There was nothing I could do. Go on. Tell the rest.”
Jonathan closed his eyes and shook his head to clear his mind. “We went farther after that,” he continued, “till we found the house. It was a cow needing to be milked that led us there. I milked her. They were . . . trusting me by then,” he confessed. “Worst fog I ever did see. You couldn’t tell which way to go. . . . Later on they tied me up again. I slipped the knot.” He looked up, grateful for the rapt attention the men were giving him. He studied the Corporal’s face again. It had changed. There was a look of suspicion.
“That house,” said the Corporal carefully, “is that where you found the boy?”
Jonathan nodded.
“Anyone else there?”
Jonathan had begun to doze off. He jerked free of the drowsiness. “What?”
“I asked you: Was anyone else there?”
Jonathan looked about. Something had happened. He didn’t understand what. Was it something he had said? The Corporal’s voice had grown hard again, the questions more urgent. The man’s stare made him uncomfortable.
“Anyone else?” the Corporal repeated.
Jonathan gazed at him, slightly nodding his head.
“Who?”
“His parents,” Jonathan said, indicating the boy. “I think it was them. Dead. Both of them. Killed. I found them out by a field. They had been just left there . . . like that.”
The men murmured.
“It was . . . I think it was . . . I mean, I thought it was the Hessians who had killed them,” Jonathan went on to say. “They acted strange, not like they cared at all . . . not surprised—as if they knew all about it. One of them, a young one, friend
ly, a bit, he said a prayer. Sounded like it. Maybe it wasn’t. I couldn’t tell.” Now that he spoke about it, what he thought had happened no longer seemed so clear in his mind. He nodded toward the boy.
“I kept asking him about what happened. Lots of times. But he wouldn’t say. Not a word. Anyway . . . I buried them. Thought it was right. . . .” Jonathan looked up and around. They were all staring at him. No one said a word. Some shifted uneasily.
“What happened?” asked Jonathan after a moment. “What happened when we were fighting?” He lowered his voice. “They licked us right bad, didn’t they?”
“Nothing like,” replied one of the men quickly. “More them than us got beat. Nope. Not us.”
“Them!” cried Jonathan. He looked to the Corporal for confirmation. “Didn’t they beat us?”
“We held them off,” said the Corporal. “Held them enough so they didn’t want any more. They went back.”
“And faster than they came,” threw in one of the men.
“Saving for those three that went after you,” added another. “Must have thought they’d won and wanted to catch themselves a prize.”
For a moment Jonathan felt the swell of pride. “Think so?” he said hopefully.
“Sure thing. Trade you in for a general,” said one of the men.
Jonathan felt his face burn.
“We’ve been looking for them ever since they took after you,” said another.
“Were you looking for me too?” asked Jonathan.
“Sure. Think we’d leave you, do you? Not us.”
“I didn’t know,” said Jonathan, comforted by the words. “I was sure we got beat,” he said.
“Not us. Them who turned scared and ran—wouldn’t be us, would it?”
Guilt returned. “I ran,” Jonathan said in a small voice.
“Don’t you worry,” said one of the men. “You’re here. Don’t you worry.”
The Corporal, still squatting before him, reached out and shook his shoulder to get his attention. “Those three soldiers,” he asked, “where are they now?”
“At the house,” said Jonathan, trying to bring his thoughts and feelings together.
“By jingo, we can get them now,” cried one of the men. “How far was that?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” replied Jonathan. “It was all so dark when I left. It’s down the road some. That’s all I know. I don’t know any more.” He wanted to stop, to sleep and go no farther.
But the questions only came faster than before. “They know we’re looking for them? They expecting us to show up?” Jonathan couldn’t answer. He felt dizzy.
The Corporal put out a hand and cupped Jonathan’s chin, turning his head so he would get all of his attention. “Did they post a guard?” he asked.
“No,” Jonathan answered.
“We can get them then, easy,” insisted someone. “He can lead us. Nothing to it.”
“When you left them,” continued the Corporal, paying no attention to anyone else, “what were they doing?”
“Sleeping,” said Jonathan. Suddenly, he remembered—”I tried to kill them,” he said, his voice faltering. “I really did. But I couldn’t. I just . . . couldn’t.” Jonathan glanced at the boy, whose eyes were on the Corporal. He was trembling, and Jonathan wondered why.
“What happened to your gun?” the Corporal asked.
“I couldn’t carry it and him,” said Jonathan, feeling embarrassed. “I just couldn’t.” He shook his head. “I thought they had us licked bad. I really did.” He looked up at the men and then at the Corporal, whose eyes were still fixed on him. “You going to get them? The Hessians?”
“You lead us and we’ll do it,” called a man.
Jonathan shook his head. “I don’t know if I can,” he said. “I’m not sure of the way. Before, I just walked. Anyway, I’m awful tired.”
The Corporal withdrew his hand. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, and stood up. “I know where they are.”
“You do?” said Jonathan, surprised.
The Corporal nodded yes. Jonathan stared at him. Something wasn’t right. A small curl of suspicion began to twist inside Jonathan’s stomach. The boy was still staring up at the Corporal, his face now full of fear. Jonathan waited for someone to speak. When no one did, he said, “How come?”
“How come what?” returned the Corporal.
“How come you know where they are?” asked Jonathan with a shaking voice. “You said you didn’t do anything when you saw us. Did you follow?”
The Corporal shifted about as if the answer hung somewhere in the air. He said nothing.
Jonathan’s unease continued to grow. He was completely awake now, and he studied the faces of the men. The smiles of a few moments before were gone. The men were nervously waiting for the Corporal to speak.
“Did you follow?” repeated Jonathan, suddenly not sure he wanted the answer.
The Corporal moved his head sharply, raking his eyes along the faces of the men. Then he looked down and gazed at Jonathan. “I was there,” he said.
“At that house?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before.”
“What do you mean, ‘before’?”
“Last night.”
“I don’t understand,” said Jonathan, struggling against the monstrous idea that had formed in his mind.
11:50
In the silence that followed, Jonathan felt an intense, suffocating pressure in his chest. It was as if his heart and lungs had been compacted into a hard, round ball, making it difficult for him to breathe.
“They were Tories,” said the Corporal at last, as much to the men who were gathered around as to Jonathan. “French Papists, for that matter. Didn’t speak a word of English. Least that’s what they claimed. Try talking to him in French,” he said, indicating the boy. “He’ll give you a reply, I’d guess.”
“But his father knew enough English to go spying for the Hessians in Trenton. That’s what he was, a spy. Our Committee of Public Safety discovered it. Gentlemen,” he said, appealing to the group, “what do you do when you discover a deadly snake? You destroy it, don’t you?”
No one said a word. The little fire danced. Beyond, the trees stirred.
“There was an older boy there too,” continued the Corporal. “He got away. He must have reached the Hessian garrison and informed them. As I told you gentlemen this morning, it was probably he who brought the Hessians out today, seeking some sort of revenge.” He turned to face the men squarely. “You all knew that. What was done was an act of war. An enemy in civilian dress is a spy. Spies, when found, are executed.”
“But my Snyderville Committee friends did not wish to see things through,” the Corporal continued. “It took others. Brave men. Yourselves.” As if suddenly remembering Jonathan, he swung about to look at him. “Does that answer your question?” he asked.
“What’s the difference?” cut in one of the men. “We can get those three Hessians now, while they’re sleeping. Just three of them. We’ve got all of us, don’t we? Easy.”
Jonathan struggled to his feet, then bent hurriedly to pick up the boy.
“I want to go home,” he was just able to whisper.
The Corporal looked him over. “We’re going to finish this first,” he said. “And you’re going to help. You’re needed.”
April 4, 1778
* * *
12:30
While the Corporal and most of the other men began their preparations, the Frenchman sat near Jonathan. He had a bandage around his head that was stained with dark blood. Another man stood nearby and looked on.
“You feel poor, I think,” said the Frenchman. He spoke only a little above a whisper.
“Don’t take it so hard,” said the other man. “You did all right.”
“That Corporal,” continued the Frenchman, “he is one who believes in the struggle with all his heart. He believes, truly. I do not take an opposition to him.” He glanced up at
the other man, who nodded his agreement. The Frenchman went on. “Yes, it is difficult. Hard, perhaps. Very much. But you must not take it badly to yourself, my young friend.”
“Happens all the time,” put in the other.
“Soldiers,” said the Frenchman, “they will get killed or they will do the killing. That is what happens.”
“He’s saying the truth,” said the man.
Jonathan nodded, but felt that he did not truly understand.
“No one’s going to blame you,” said the man. “Will they?” he said to the Frenchman.
The Frenchman shook his head no. Then he turned to the boy. “Et toi, mon beau,” he said. “Ça va?”
Startled, the boy looked up. His face cleared with unfolding relief. “Oh, monsieur,” he began, “mes parents . . .” His words came quickly, tumbling faster and faster, mixed increasingly with crying and great heaving sobs. Jonathan looked on, astonished.
“See?” said the man to Jonathan. “He talks plenty.”
The Frenchman listened to the boy intently, nodding, shaking his head, occasionally reaching out and touching the boy’s face, his hand, his arm. As the boy talked, the man who had been looking on yawned and turned away, but not before tapping Jonathan on the head and saying, “Don’t you worry none.” Then he was gone.
The boy continued to talk to the Frenchman. As he did so, he kept moving closer until when he was done, he had his head in the man’s lap. The Frenchman stroked his hair.
“Is that what happened?” asked Jonathan, his voice hushed. “Did the Corporal kill them?”
The Frenchman looked about before speaking.
“He and a few others,” he said, speaking quietly. “This ‘Committee.’ But he was in charge, as he is here. There was some . . . meeting. And, I believe, words. . . . You understand, an argument. . . . I don’t know. Perhaps that man who was just here . . .” He searched for him, but he was no longer in sight. “Well, I don’t know, then. . . .” He made an empty gesture with his free hand. “Well, his brother is—one hopes—safe, and somewhere.”
Jonathan slumped down, trying to piece it all together. Then, after a moment, he asked: “In the fighting on the hill, before, did any of our side get killed?”