The time was come for striking the deadly blow, and it fell upon poor Champe without warning.
“Stay where you are, Sergeant,” I commanded in low tones. “The game is up, and we shall not do this thing which we set out to do. Take the oars and let the tide and your two arms get you safely back to Major Lee’s camp at Tappan while you have the chance.”
I could not see his face in the darkness, but my imagination could very well picture the fierce rage which was distorting it.
“What’s that you say?” he choked. “You are giving it up?—now, when the devil himself couldn’t balk us? In God’s name, what do you mean, Captain Dick?”—this last in an agonized whisper.
“I mean precisely what I say; you can not take him alone, and I shall not help you.”
“You are turning your back upon it, and you are staying here?” he muttered, as one half dazed. Then he came suddenly alive to the full meaning of my words: “You are a foul traitor, Captain Richard Page! Curse you, curse you, curse you!—that Judas and the women have won you over! I’ll see you hanged for this, if so be I have to hang with you! Out of my way, or I’ll kill you where you stand!”
He had started up, and was clambering over the thwarts to get at me, when I stooped and gave the boat a mighty shove out into the stream. The sudden lurch made him lose his balance and come down with a noisy crash among the unshipped oars. As quick as thought, the sentry on the bank above cried out his challenge of “Halt! Who goes there?” but Champe, furious as he was, was yet wary enough to lie still, letting the wind and tide carry him on. The sentry did not climb down the bank to investigate, as I made sure he would; and better still, he did not fire his piece to give the alarm. I thought surely that Arnold must have heard his shout, in which case my capture would be certain.
That the shouted challenge had been heard, I had proof presently in a wind-blown muttering of voices at the top of the bank overhead. I figured that the sentry had stopped to speak to Arnold, but I could make no move to escape. Champe’s boat had disappeared in the darkness, but I could not tell whether it had gone up or down the river or was drifting with wind and tide out toward the Jersey shore. It was enough that it had gone, as I fondly hoped, beyond the possibility of a return. Champe, I fancied, would come to his senses shortly and make his way to safety. Surely he would know that it would be nothing short of suicide for him to land again within the enemy’s lines.
When all was quiet again on the bank above I still had to wait some little time before venturing to cross the sentry’s path on my retreat. There was good hope in the interval since I neither heard nor saw more of the sergeant and was thus convinced that he was making the best of his way out of the peril. More than once, however, while I waited, I could distinguish the sound of Arnold’s footsteps on the gravel walk in the garden, so I knew that the traitor had not been frightened away by whatever talk he had had with the bank-pacing sentry.
Since boldness is often the truest kind of caution, it was in my mind that I should snatch my chance to pass the sentry and so slip through the gap in the fence to join Arnold in the garden, trusting to my wit to frame a plausible excuse for the intrusion. Though for honor’s sake I had turned my back on the purpose of betraying our chief deserter, I meant to delay my own escape long enough to make sure that Champe was safely out of the way. Try as I might, I could not rid myself of the fear that he might yet be retaken, and in that case he would sorely need a friend at court to save him from the rope. You will say that I might have cut this knot by going with him in the boat, but I confess frankly that I had no stomach for such an enterprise. Indeed, as matters stood at our parting, it was plainly evident that I should have had to kill him or let him kill me to patch up a peace between us.