The boatmen were rowing vigorously now, as a few floating chunks of ice struck the sides of the boat. Even the major had to grab an oar. Hercules at first wondered why they didn't make him row too. But he figured they didn't want to hand a runaway slave an oar only to have him swing it at them.
Hercules pulled at the collar of his coat as pellets of sleet slapped his face. He felt the stare of the major in the bow, whose own coat was not so heavy. But Hercules had paid for the coat himself, and his tailored wool trousers and buckled shoes, too. The General had allowed him to cook outside of the Philadelphia house in nearby taverns to earn extra money. Much of it he spent on fine clothing, which offended soldiers in the General's charge who were not paid nearly as much nor dressed as well.
Finally the sleet stopped and the boat struck the opposite shore. The soldiers pulled him out and escorted him toward steps that led up the hill to the General's estate.
Mount Vernon was ablaze with light. There were torches everywhere, and Hercules saw carriages and horsemen five deep in the court as he was marched toward the servants' entrance. An express courier galloped past on horseback, shouting for them to get out of the way, and almost trampled them.
Inside the manor, at the bottom of the back stairs, Hercules waited with several parties of private citizens and military officers and wondered what he was doing among such august company. The General's personal physician, the lanky Dr. Craik, was exchanging sharp words in hushed tones with a portly Catholic priest. Hercules couldn't hear what they were saying, and he was embarrassed by the curious glances from the others. They all seemed to know some terrible secret that he did not.
A few minutes later, a gaunt-looking man Hercules recognized as the General's chief of staff, Colonel Tobias Lear, plodded down the steps. Hercules anxiously watched the group part as Colonel Lear walked straight up to him. His military escort, seeing no chance for him to flee, stepped back and released him.
Lear looked him over. 'My God, man, they were supposed to bring you, not beat you senseless.'
Hercules didn't understand what Lear meant, nor Lear's glare at the major, whose expression remained emotionless.
'I been beaten worse,' Hercules said.
Lear glanced about the room in search of Dr. Craik, but the General's physician was still occupied with the priest. He took out his own handkerchief and touched it to Hercules' temple. When Lear withdrew his hand, Hercules saw blood on the cloth. Instantly worried about his coat, Hercules glanced down and was relieved to find no soiling.
'His Excellency will see you now,' Colonel Lear said.
Hercules glanced back at his military escort and then followed Lear up the stairs. Lear paused before the door to the General's chamber.
'Brace yourself, man,' Lear said and opened the door.
Hercules at last beheld the cause of all the hue and cry: There, in his bed, writhing in pain and gasping for air, lay General George Washington, first president of the United States of America and current commander-in-chief of its armed forces. A string was tied around the great man's arm, where blood, thick and heavy, oozed from a vein.
They're bleeding him, Hercules realized. A bad sign.
Sobbing quietly at the foot of the bed was the General's wife, Martha, who rose to her feet and smiled weakly at Hercules. Young Christopher, the General's personal servant, helped her out of the room and shut the door, all the while averting his eyes from Hercules. The guilty look on his face made Hercules wonder if he was the servant who gave him up and told Washington his whereabouts.
'The General asked for you,' Lear said now that they were alone. 'As you can see, he's dying.'
How can this be? Hercules wondered. The last time Hercules saw his master, he seemed as robust and regal a man in his 60s as he had ever laid eyes upon. That was shortly before Hercules had run away. Terror seized his heart as he approached the bed, anxious to know what punishment his master might have in store for him.
'Massa Washington,' Hercules said. 'I didn't mean no disrespect. I just wanna be free, like you said the law allowed back in Philly.'
'Don't be alarmed, Hercules,' Colonel Lear said. 'His Excellency understands the reasons for your departure and apologizes for the abruptness of your summons. He wants you to know all is forgiven. But he asks one final favor of you, not as a slave but as a freedman and patriot. Apparently, you are the only man he trusts with it.'
Astonished, Hercules drew himself up to his full stature, his pride mixed with fear. For years the General had trusted him with his life-every time he put a fork in his mouth-like the Pharaohs of Egypt and their taste-testers, paranoid of conspirators who would poison them. But this was different.
Washington tried to speak but struggled with it, forcing Hercules to bend his ear. 'The republic requires your services,' Washington gasped hoarsely, in so low and broken a voice that Hercules could hardly understand him. He could smell vapors of vinegar, molasses, and butter on the General's breath. 'I would be most grateful.'
Hercules, moved deeply, bowed low. 'Massa Washington, I ain't up to something like this no more.'
But the General seemed not to hear him and gestured to Colonel Lear, who held out an envelope for Hercules.
Despite his protest, Hercules took the yellowed envelope and saw the bold letters written across that spelled STARGAZER. Like most of Washington's slaves, Hercules couldn't read, and he often wondered if this was another reason why the General trusted him with these sorts of communiquis. But he knew the code name all too well.
Colonel Lear asked, 'Do you know the Christian name of this patriot, this agent with the code name Stargazer?'
Hercules shook his head.
'Neither do I, and I know more about the General's military papers than anybody else,' Lear said. 'But you know where to find him?'
Hercules nodded.
'Very well then. Two of the General's officers will escort you to the woods outside the Federal District. From there you will take the route the General says you have taken before for him, and deliver the letter to its proper destination.'
Hercules put the letter in his coat, aware of Washington's anguished eyes following the path of the letter closely. The General preferred his spies to carry secret communiques at the bottom of their knee-high boots. But tonight Hercules was wearing his shiny buckled shoes, which the General considered far less secure, so that was not an option.
'One more thing,' said Lear, and presented Hercules with a small dagger in a leather sheath. 'As a token of his appreciation, the General would like you to have this. It's one of his favorites. During the Revolution you apparently proved yourself very good with a knife.'
Hercules took the dagger in his hand. Engraved on the handle were strange symbols that Hercules would never understand but which, after decades in the service of his master, he recognized as Masonic. He slipped it under his coat and into his belt behind the small of his back.
The General seemed to approve and strained to say something. He gulped air to breathe and made a harsh, high-pitched respiratory noise that frightened Hercules.
'Hercules,' he gasped. 'There is one evil I dread, and that is their spies. You know whom I mean.'
Hercules nodded.
'Deliver the letter,' Washington hissed, his voice losing strength. 'Rid the republic of this evil. Preserve America's destiny.'
'Yessa.'
Hercules rose and glanced at Lear.
'You have the final orders of His Excellency General George Washington, commander-in-chief of the United States armed forces,' Lear said. 'Carry them out.'
'Yessa.'
Hercules bowed and walked out the door just as Dr. Craik and two consulting physicians rushed in with Martha. As Hercules stumbled down the stairs in a daze and stepped out into the bitter night, the cries of the servants rang in his ears:
'Massa Washington is dead! The General is dead!'
Outside, dispatches concerning the General's demise were already being handed to express couriers for delivery to President Adams and Generals Hamilton and Pinckney.
