The Messenger by Siri Mitchell Page B

from the counter and held out a hand to a major, who was swiftly approaching.
    “Jonesy? Major John André. John, this is Jeremiah Jones. He was invalided out after Devil’s Hole.”
    “Oh? Tough luck, then.”
    I saved my smile.
    “Jonesy and I were talking about General Howe’s departure. How we ought to fete him.”
    The major flashed me a look. “I’ll have a brandy as well.”
    I took another bowl down from the shelf as he leaned on the counter next to John. “It’s got to be something extraordinary. Something more than another play or a ball.” The major accepted the bowl from me and took a drink. “Something different.”
    General Howe’s brother, Admiral Howe, was due to return to the city soon. “What about the boats?” I asked.
    André looked up at me. “What about them?”
    “Couldn’t you do something on the river?”
    “A regatta?” He flashed a smile that was stunning in its brilliance. “A regatta on the river! Splendid idea. And we could do everything else as well. It could be a regatta-theater-ball. A regatta- pageant -ball—even better! A whole day filled with celebrations. It would be a medley of events. A veritable Meschianza !”
    I shrugged as if it didn’t matter much to me, one way or the other. But a day filled with festivities would provide multiple opportunities for a diversion. I only hoped it would fall late in the season. The tunnel might take a while to dig. “Let me know how I can help.” I’d do whatever I had to in order to keep abreast of the event. On the night of the festivities I wanted every officer within ten miles of the city to be completely and utterly drunk. Unfit to respond to the prisoners’ escape.
    “We will.” With a clap on the back and a wink, John left with André. But they would be back. If I played them right, they would plan the whole event right here at my counter. And I would be informed of every detail.
    Once they were well gone I gave over control of the drink to my barkeeper and went upstairs to my room. Locking the door, I drew the curtain and took Common Sense down from its shelf. Then I worked for the next two hours to find just the right words.
    By the time the watchman called out eleven o’clock, I had completed my message.
Howe expected to be recalled in spring. Officers to have a gala upon his departure. Suggest that night for escape.
    I uncoded it once just to make sure it said what was meant. Satisfied, I hid it in a finger of a glove. Now I just had to find a way to get it to General Washington.

     
    The next morning I braved the rain and returned to the tailor’s. Two visits within a week’s time. More times than I’d visited in the previous two years. He eyed me with no little suspicion. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.” He shot a glance toward his apprentice. “Did you want something altered?”
    I cursed my lack of thought. I should have brought my other coat. “I thought . . . perhaps . . . it could be I’ll need another.”
    “Another?”
    “Coat?”
    He sighed and tossed a look at his apprentice. “Go and take those new shirts over to Howe’s headquarters for Colonel Hillman.” He nodded toward the corner where a package sat tied up with string.
    When the boy had sauntered off, the tailor sent me a look over the rims of his spectacles. “Another coat?”
    “Not really.”
    “Then what is it? I already told you everything I know.”
    “I have to pass a message to the general.”
    He shook his head. “To headquarters. That’s what we say. To headquarters .”
    “Fine. I have to get a message to headquarters.”
    “Then you’re going to have to do like I told you and find the egg-girl.”
    “Which one? And how will she know to trust me?”
    “She’s the one with the blue cart. And you’ll have to wear a purple-colored feather in your hat.”
    “A feather in my hat.”
    “To signal you’ve something to pass. And she’ll have a scarlet-colored ribbon on her cap if she’s