intoned.
Where was the chaplain’s god? Washington wondered. In that book? The chaplain’s eyes narrowed with impatience.
“Well?” he demanded.
“Yes,” Washington said. “I do!”
“Good, then. From both of us, the truth.”
Muffled laughter. Had he caused this? The captain waved the small man away, and approached the rail above the quarterdeck.
“Prisoner. What is your name?” he demanded.
“Washington.”
“And your Christian name?”
Washington’s eyes stayed focused on the intensity of the captain’s gaze as his mind searched. Nothing. He would have to name himself, he reasoned. “Henri—Henry,” he amended.
“You are French?”
“No. I am American.”
“From where?”
He must not lie. What had Judith told him? Judith never lied. “The South,” he said.
“The South? In which of the United States were you born?”
He hesitated. The captain laughed. It was a cruel sound. Washington did, from somewhere deep in his dreams, remember the sound of that laughter. “You are a rather empty-headed spy!”
Washington took in a steely breath. He was not stupid. There was no need for any of them to think him stupid, empty-headed, not anymore. He took a deep breath. “The United States of America are Delaware, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Georgia, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Maryland, South Carolina, New Hampshire, Virginia, New York, North Carolina, Rhode Island, the District of Columbia, Vermont, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Ohio.” He listed the names by order of their admission into the Union.
“Louisiana,” the captain corrected quietly, as if to a dinner guest. “Louisiana is now a state.”
“Is it?” Washington asked, as if he was that guest.
“Since eighteen hundred and twelve.”
The new Henry Washington remembered the purchase of land. President Jefferson bought a vast territory, no one knew how vast, from the
French emperor Napoleon, for whom Fayette used to fight. Had all that land become a state? So much had happened. His flag had another star. And the war, the second war between his country and Britain, was over. Hurry, Judith, he thought—filled with the intensity of his need to go home, to embrace those places that were only stars and stripes and names to him.
Washington absorbed the strength that Fayette had left in his chair, in his coat. He lifted his head higher. “I know my country,” he told Captain Willis.
“Then you know your American ship.”
“No. I don’t remember it.”
“It was manned by a crew of British deserters, not Americans.”
“I was sick—”
“You were dead! They told me you were dead!”
“I don’t remember before I was sick.” Henry Washington’s quiet tone cut through the captain’s mounting hysteria.
“Then how are you so sure of your nationality, powder monkey?”
“Fayette told me—”
“The Frenchman? He was captured after I pulled you off that merchant ship. In the battle off Trafalgar we captured him, so how did he know anything of you?”
“He knew. I know.”
“He was your master, this man who called himself Lafayette?”
“No. My friend.”
“I see. Did he teach you to speak French?”
“Yes.”
“Did he fill your young mind with notions of a Franco-American alliance? Did he teach you to spy?”
“We did not spy.”
“‘We’? Can you speak for your friend, Henry Washington? Were you with him always? He left this ship. What did he do on shore leave? Where did he go? Who were his contacts, his sources of information? How did he do it? God damn you both to the fires of Hell! How did he keep this ship out of the conflicts of a decade?”
Washington thought of Fayette listening to the outlandish claims and smiling. He found himself doing the same.
“Something amuses you?”
Washington’s smile grew wider. He was infected now, somehow, by the chair, the coat. It was as if he were Fayette, already dead, and unafraid. “It is ridiculous, this notion of spying. Fayette gave up his country. He gave
Where was the chaplain’s god? Washington wondered. In that book? The chaplain’s eyes narrowed with impatience.
“Well?” he demanded.
“Yes,” Washington said. “I do!”
“Good, then. From both of us, the truth.”
Muffled laughter. Had he caused this? The captain waved the small man away, and approached the rail above the quarterdeck.
“Prisoner. What is your name?” he demanded.
“Washington.”
“And your Christian name?”
Washington’s eyes stayed focused on the intensity of the captain’s gaze as his mind searched. Nothing. He would have to name himself, he reasoned. “Henri—Henry,” he amended.
“You are French?”
“No. I am American.”
“From where?”
He must not lie. What had Judith told him? Judith never lied. “The South,” he said.
“The South? In which of the United States were you born?”
He hesitated. The captain laughed. It was a cruel sound. Washington did, from somewhere deep in his dreams, remember the sound of that laughter. “You are a rather empty-headed spy!”
Washington took in a steely breath. He was not stupid. There was no need for any of them to think him stupid, empty-headed, not anymore. He took a deep breath. “The United States of America are Delaware, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Georgia, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Maryland, South Carolina, New Hampshire, Virginia, New York, North Carolina, Rhode Island, the District of Columbia, Vermont, Kentucky, Tennessee, and Ohio.” He listed the names by order of their admission into the Union.
“Louisiana,” the captain corrected quietly, as if to a dinner guest. “Louisiana is now a state.”
“Is it?” Washington asked, as if he was that guest.
“Since eighteen hundred and twelve.”
The new Henry Washington remembered the purchase of land. President Jefferson bought a vast territory, no one knew how vast, from the
French emperor Napoleon, for whom Fayette used to fight. Had all that land become a state? So much had happened. His flag had another star. And the war, the second war between his country and Britain, was over. Hurry, Judith, he thought—filled with the intensity of his need to go home, to embrace those places that were only stars and stripes and names to him.
Washington absorbed the strength that Fayette had left in his chair, in his coat. He lifted his head higher. “I know my country,” he told Captain Willis.
“Then you know your American ship.”
“No. I don’t remember it.”
“It was manned by a crew of British deserters, not Americans.”
“I was sick—”
“You were dead! They told me you were dead!”
“I don’t remember before I was sick.” Henry Washington’s quiet tone cut through the captain’s mounting hysteria.
“Then how are you so sure of your nationality, powder monkey?”
“Fayette told me—”
“The Frenchman? He was captured after I pulled you off that merchant ship. In the battle off Trafalgar we captured him, so how did he know anything of you?”
“He knew. I know.”
“He was your master, this man who called himself Lafayette?”
“No. My friend.”
“I see. Did he teach you to speak French?”
“Yes.”
“Did he fill your young mind with notions of a Franco-American alliance? Did he teach you to spy?”
“We did not spy.”
“‘We’? Can you speak for your friend, Henry Washington? Were you with him always? He left this ship. What did he do on shore leave? Where did he go? Who were his contacts, his sources of information? How did he do it? God damn you both to the fires of Hell! How did he keep this ship out of the conflicts of a decade?”
Washington thought of Fayette listening to the outlandish claims and smiling. He found himself doing the same.
“Something amuses you?”
Washington’s smile grew wider. He was infected now, somehow, by the chair, the coat. It was as if he were Fayette, already dead, and unafraid. “It is ridiculous, this notion of spying. Fayette gave up his country. He gave
Similar Books
