Surprise at Yorktown

by Marianne Hering

  “It’s a delivery map,” Beth said.

  “But look, Beth,” Patrick said. “It also has danger areas marked.”

  Beth pointed to an X on the map. “This must be where we are now,” she said. There was a line of buildings across from it. “I say we leave the docks this way. It should take us to the Americans.”

  “But look. That way goes across an open field,” Patrick said. “We might get shot at or hit with cannonballs.”

  “What if we hide in these trees?” Beth asked, pointing to another area of the map.

  “We may find cover there,” Patrick said. He grabbed the map and folded it up. Then he pushed it into his pocket. “Let’s go while we can.”

  Beth and Patrick hurried out of the building. They turned a corner to slip behind the warehouses. Then they followed a small street away from the river.

  Soldiers in bright-red jackets gathered at the edge of a dirt wall to the left. Sharp-pointed logs stuck out of it. “Not that way,” Beth said.

  The cousins headed toward the trees along the edge of the town. Soon they were in the woods. After several minutes, they came out the other side.

  They faced a large open space. Forts made of dirt and large logs stood nearby.

  Beth peered through gaps in the logs. She saw British soldiers moving wagons and horses.

  “Look at the cannons,” Patrick said. “They’re all aimed at Yorktown. That’s where the Americans are!”

  “They’re that close?” Beth asked. No wonder the cannons were so loud.

  “How do we get to the other side without being shot by a stray bullet?” Beth asked.

  Patrick pointed to deep holes in the ground. “Those were made by the cannonballs,” he said. “We can run from one to the other all the way to the American line. Hurry!”

  Patrick dashed away before Beth could say anything. She reluctantly ran after him.

  Patrick led them across an open area of grass. Then they crouched inside one of the holes. It was so deep it hid them completely. Then they ran behind the wide trunk of a tall tree. Then they found another hole.

  The cousins slowly made their way across the field. The American fort was now close. Their last stop was a wide boulder. They threw themselves behind it.

  Beth gasped in surprise.

  A man sat on the ground. He wore a black hat with white-and-purple flowers on it. In his hand was a tall boot. He was stuffing papers inside it.

  He looked up at them with alarm.

  Beth recognized him. It was the servant from the cave. General Cornwallis had called him Armistead.

  Armistead glared at them. He asked, “What are you doing here?”

  Lies?

  Patrick was panting hard from running. He crouched down next to Armistead.

  Beth dropped to her knees next to Patrick.

  Armistead continued to glare at them. He was waiting for an answer.

  “We’re trying to get to the American side,” Patrick said.

  “I saw you in General Cornwallis’s cave,” Armistead said. “What business do you have with the Americans?”

  “We got lost,” Beth said quickly. “We weren’t supposed to be on the British side.”

  Armistead eyed them a moment. Then he calmly pulled his boot back on his foot.

  “What are you doing here?” Patrick asked.

  Armistead said, “I’m about to eat breakfast. Are you hungry?” He reached into a large white canvas bag on the ground next to him. He pulled out two red apples and held them out for the cousins.

  “Thank you,” the cousins both said.

  Patrick bit into his with a loud crunch. It was sweet goodness. Beth loudly bit into hers.

  “This is a strange place to have breakfast,” Patrick said between bites.

  Armistead shrugged his shoulders. “For some folks, maybe,” he said. “But not for me. I gather supplies for the Continental army. I just picked a poke of apples. They’re here in my haversack.”

  “You work for the Continental army?” Beth asked. “But you were with General Cornwallis.”

  The man smiled like a cat. He said, “My name is James Armistead. Who are you?”

  The cousins told him their names.

  Patrick was about to question Armistead. But cannon fire interrupted him. The Americans were attacking the British.

  Boom! Boom! BOOM!

  Patrick thought his eardrums would burst from the noise.

  Armistead crouched on his feet. “I shouldn’t have taken so long to eat,” he said. He turned and gripped the boulder with both hands. He peered around it.

  Boom. Boom.

  Boom! Boom! BOOM!

  “This will go on all day,” Armistead said.

  “How do you know?” Beth asked.

  “The Americans want to force the British to give up,” Armistead said.

  “But I heard General Cornwallis say he was going to write to George Washington,” Patrick said. “Cornwallis would pretend to surrender. Then the British soldiers could escape.”

  “The British couldn’t escape in the storm last night,” Armistead said. “That was their last chance.”

  “Whose side are you on?” Beth asked.

  Armistead looked at the cousins, and then he said, “Righ now, the side of safety. We have to get off this battlefield.” He gathered his things and waved at them. “Follow close!”

  Patrick and Beth reluctantly followed Armistead into a field of tall weeds. It led to a marsh with bulrushes and tall cat-o’-nine-tails. Patrick’s boots stuck in the mud with each step. He felt as if he were walking in a giant tub of gooey chewing gum.

  Beth held up the bottom of her long dress. But it still got caked with mud.

  They crossed a narrow creek. The rushes grew thicker.

  “We’re moving away from the Americans,” Patrick called out to Armistead.

  Armistead pressed on.

  Beth came close to Patrick. “Remember the spies we met in Lexington?” Beth asked.

  Patrick nodded and said, “There were spies everywhere in the Revolutionary War. Did you see the papers he was shoving in his boot?”

  “I saw,” Beth said.

  “And it looks like he’s leading us back to the British side,” Patrick said.

  James Armistead stopped up ahead. “It’s safe now,” he said. He pointed in the direction of Yorktown. “If you run that way, you’ll find your way home.”

  “We don’t want to go that way!” Patrick said.

  Armistead didn’t answer. He turned on his heel. He headed back toward the American army.

  Patrick watched Armistead cross a small field to the edge of the woods.

  “He says he’s gathering food for the Americans,” Beth said, wringing her hands. “But he is probably spying. He wants to find out the American army’s plans. He’ll go and tell General Cornwallis.”

  “Or he’s going to deliver the letter that Cornwallis wrote to fool George Washington,” Patrick said. “Maybe that’s the paper in his boot.”

  “What should we do?” Beth asked.

  “We have to follow Armistead,” Patrick said. “I bet he’ll lead us straight to George Washington. Then we’ll show everyone that he’s a spy.”

  James Armistead disappeared into the woods.

  “Come on,” Patrick said. “We can’t lose him!”

  The French

  Beth now hated her long dress. It was heavy with mud along the fringe. Walking was hard work.

  She followed Patrick through the woods. Patrick carefully trailed James Armistead. Sometimes Patrick stopped and signaled for Beth to hide behind a tree. He didn’t want Armistead to see them.

  They crossed another creek. Beth hopped from stone to stone across the rushing water. Her foot slipped. She stumbled into the shallow water. Her dress was now wet and cold and clung to her legs.

  Beth struggled up a small ridge. Then down the other side. She joined Patrick standing on the edge of the woods.

  A grassy field stretched out befor
e them. The land had been trampled and blown to bits. Everywhere Beth looked she saw signs of war.

  For a moment Beth imagined what Yorktown would be like without the war. Would it be peaceful, beautiful, and quiet?

  Just then, Beth caught sight of a skunk family. It was as if they were out for a morning stroll. Their tiny black noses sniffed the ground. Their black bodies with white stripes waddled past her.

  “Patrick,” Beth said, “look!” She pointed toward the mother and four babies. They shuffled inside a hollow log.

  “Poor animals,” Patrick said. “I hope a cannonball doesn’t smash them.”

  “I hope a cannonball doesn’t smash us,” Beth said. “Which way now?”

  Patrick lifted his hat and wiped his brow. “I wish I knew,” he said. “I can’t see Armistead anymore.”

  Beth studied the scene. Row upon row of cannons blasted cannonballs toward Yorktown. Clouds of smoke hung over the field. Groups of soldiers stood at the cannons. Each one was busy loading powder and cannon balls into the cannons. The men fired and loaded them again.

  Horses and wagons rattled across the fields. More soldiers marched and drilled. Rows of white tents were everywhere. Beth thought they looked like pigeons sitting on telephone wires.

  It was all noise and confusion.

  At last Beth spotted Armistead near the center of the field. He was the only man among the Americans wearing a red coat. “There he is!” Beth said to Patrick, pointing.

  Beth and Patrick left the woods and entered the green field. They wound their way past tents and cannons toward Armistead.

  The spy was chatting with two soldiers. All three men were sitting around a small campfire. Armistead handed each soldier an apple.

  Is he bribing them with apples? Beth wondered.

  Armistead gestured to a tall, white tent nearby. It was larger than all the others. Armistead gave a slight bow to the two soldiers. Then he walked toward the tent.

  “Do you think that’s George Washington’s tent?” Beth asked.

  “It has to be,” Patrick said. “Come on. We have to warn him that James Armistead is a spy!”

  Patrick ran off. He dodged past soldiers. They didn’t seem to notice him at all. Beth gathered her heavy wet skirt and followed.

  Patrick raced past the two soldiers by the campfire. Beth was close behind. The two soldiers looked stunned at the arrival of the cousins. Patrick and Beth scooted inside the large tent before the men could stand up.

  A large table sat in the middle of the tent. It was covered with maps. Five soldiers stood around the table. Four of them wore white uniforms.

  The fifth man was in the center. He wore a white wig with curls on both sides of his face. Gold medals hung from the front of his fancy blue uniform. He looked up at the cousins.

  “What is this?” he asked. He spoke in a thick accent. The words came out as “Wot iz zis?”

  The other officers responded in a language Beth thought was French.

  Patrick turned pale. “Where is the man who just came in here?” he asked. “More important, where is George Washington?”

  Beth noticed a door-like flap at the back of the tent. It swayed in the breeze. Armistead must have gone out that way.

  The French officers jabbered to each other.

  “Where is George Washington?” Beth asked again.

  “General Washington?” the young Frenchman asked in his thick accent.

  Beth was aware of the two guards from the campfire. They were coming up behind her.

  Something was terribly wrong. What were the French doing on the American side? Where was General Washington? What had become of James Armistead?

  A French officer shouted at the guards. They stepped forward to grab the cousins.

  Skunked

  Things happened quickly. The two guards lunged for Patrick and Beth. The cousins dodged them, knocking over the table. Patrick nearly fell. Then Beth grabbed his hand. She pulled him toward the back of the tent. Patrick saw the opening there.

  Noises and shouts came from behind them. But the cousins made it outside.

  “This way!” Patrick cried. He dropped Beth’s hand and raced behind a nearby tent.

  “They’re coming,” Beth gasped.

  Patrick peered around the edge of the tent. The two guards ran toward them.

  Patrick saw a corral filled with horses. Roughly cut logs had been set up as a fence. “There!” he whispered.

  The cousins scrambled over to the corral. The horses stirred as they leaped over the fence. The cousins crouched down and moved among the horses.

  One French soldier climbed over the fence to the corral. A horse stepped in front of him, blocking him. The soldier shouted at the horse. It moved with a snort.

  The other soldier came into the corral. He was bumped around by the nervous animals.

  Patrick and Beth crawled under the other side of the fence. They faced a field. There were woods on the far side.

  “To the woods,” Patrick said.

  They dashed into the field. They ran as fast as they could.

  The soldiers shouted at the cousins in French from the corral.

  The cousins reached the edge of the woods. Patrick was out of breath.

  “They’re still chasing us,” Beth said, panting.

  Three soldiers in white uniforms now ran across the field.

  Patrick knew they couldn’t outrun them much longer. He needed a plan. His eye went to the fallen log he’d seen before. He ran over to it.

  “We have to keep going,” Beth said.

  He pointed to a large tree. “Hide behind that,” he said. “When I say ‘run’ then run as fast as you can into the woods.”

  Patrick went to the back end of the fallen log. He grabbed a stick and began to beat on the top. Patrick watched the edge of the woods for the soldiers.

  Beth looked confused. “What are you doing?” she shouted.

  “I’m trying to get the skunks out,” Patrick said.

  Beth blinked. “Why didn’t you say so?” she asked. “But pounding won’t help.”

  “Then how do we get them out?” he asked.

  Beth frowned. Then her face lit up. “Skunks hate strange noises.” She took the fife out of her pocket. She blew a high-pitched note. Nothing happened.

  One of the soldiers reached the woods. He saw Patrick and Beth.

  Patrick looked at Beth in panic. He jumped on top of the log and stomped his feet. He hoped the skunks hadn’t left the log.

  The French soldier stopped. He looked puzzled by the cousins’ strange behavior. He called out to them in French.

  Beth changed her fingering on the fife. “Stop jumping,” she said. “You may be scaring them.”

  “I thought that was the point,” Patrick said.

  Beth knelt down at the back opening of the log. She blew another note. This one was louder and off-key.

  The other two soldiers entered the woods. The first soldier held up his hand to stop them. He said something in French. The three men slowly walked toward the cousins.

  Patrick watched the soldiers. They spoke calmly. They seemed to be coaxing the cousins to come to them.

  “They’re getting closer,” Patrick said.

  Beth kept blowing on the fife.

  The soldiers were only a few feet away now. Patrick worried they might jump at them. He jumped off the log and backed toward Beth. “Get ready to run,” he said.

  Just then, the skunks rushed out of the front opening of the log. They ran toward the Frenchmen. Their black-and-white fluffy tails were raised high.

  “Yiii,” the first French soldier cried out. He staggered into the other two men.

  “Moo-fet! Moo-fet!” the second soldier shouted. Patrick guessed the soldier was shouting the French word for skunk.

  The three men stumbled back, tripping over each other.

  The skunks ran at them.

  The three soldiers ran out of the woods.

  Explosion!

  “
That did the trick,” Patrick said.

  Beth laughed.

  Then the skunks turned toward them. The mother skunk came close and stamped her paws on the ground.

  “Uh-oh,” Beth said. “I think they want their log back.”

  The cousins backed away from the skunks. Beth was about to turn and run.

  Then boom! A cannonball landed nearby.

  Beth saw leaves and bushes fly upward. Sand rained down on the cousins. The skunks bolted into the thicket.

  “Run!” Patrick shouted. The cousins ran deeper into the woods.

  Beth saw a thicket that made a shelter like a tent. The opening was too small for an adult. But a child could fit. She crawled inside.

  The floor was covered with leaves, twigs, and coarse sand. There was a sandpile in the back. But there was enough flat area to sit down.

  Patrick crawled inside after her. “This . . . feels . . . safe,” he said between breaths.

  Beth’s breathing slowed. She said, “I’m confused. What happened in the tent? Why are the French here?”

  “I think I remember something about the French,” Patrick said. “They didn’t want England to get too powerful. So they helped the Americans in the Revolutionary War.”

  “Then why did we run from them?” she asked.

  “Because they thought we were spies,” Patrick said.

  “Not again,” Beth said with a groan. “Why do people always think we’re spies or slaves or stowaways?”

  “Because we usually are,” Patrick said. All of a sudden, he slapped his leg. “Ants!”

  Just then Beth felt a sting on her hand. She looked at it. There was a red bump near her thumb. There was also a large red ant.

  “Ouch!” she cried. “I’m getting out of here!”

  She brushed the ant off. And then she pushed past Patrick and crawled out of the opening. She stood and shook the skirt of her dress. “Get off, you little pests,” she said.

  She put her hand inside her pocket. The fife was gone.

  Patrick’s head and shoulders poked out of the hole. But he was still on his hands and knees.