Read Online Victory at Yorktown: A Novel by William R. Forstchen, Newt Gingrich - Free Book Online Page B

heart that there was a momentary glance to him as his gaze swept across the gathering.
    “This shall be but a momentary pang. Just tell all that I died bravely, as befitting one of His Majesty’s officers.”
    With his own hand he drew the handkerchief back down. He put his hands behind his back and the executioner bound them tight. John nodded to the executioner and whispered something to him.
    The sergeant, shaking with emotion, stepped off the back of the wagon, walked around to the side of it, picking up a heavy strap of leather, and looked to the officer in command of the execution, who stood with arm raised.
    “Major Andre, today you shall sup in paradise,” someone from the ranks cried as the officer let his arm drop.
    The sergeant raised the leather strap and slashed it across the back of the horse hitched to the cart. The beast whined with pain and fear and leaped forward.
    Major John Andre tumbled from the back of the wagon and Allen was torn to the soul, but also relieved when there was an audible crack, the sound of John’s neck breaking.
    He swung slowly back and forth, legs twitching spasmodically for a moment, and then was still.
    Several more in the ranks collapsed, others turning their heads away. There was a bit of ragged cheer from others, met by officers shouting for silence in the ranks.
    Allen turned and looked back at General Greene, who, still mounted, was only a few feet away.
    “And was this justice, sir?” Allen snapped bitterly.
    Greene looked down at him sad eyed.
    “This, young major, is war.”
    *   *   *
    The last shovelfuls of earth were heaped atop John’s grave, which had been dug and waiting within feet of the gallows. They had afforded him a simple coffin. Jenkins, again sobbing, had affixed John’s cravat and neck cloth around the bruised and torn neck and carefully set his wig and hat on him along with his decorations before the lid was hammered shut.
    The assembly had long since marched away, this final detail attended to by the sergeant who had been the executioner. The last shovelful was smoothed out over the grave, and the six enlisted men working on the task stepped back, not sure what to do next. The sergeant ordered them to return to camp.
    The sergeant looked at Allen, who had stood at the foot of the grave, flanked by Jenkins and Sergeant O’Toole, who apparently during the night had found some Rebels willing to share a bottle of what smelled like whiskey.
    The sergeant in charge of the detail looked at Allen, came to attention, and saluted. “Sir, I’ve never seen a man go as bravely to his death as he did.”
    Allen could not reply, just merely nodding his thanks, and the sergeant turned and walked away. The day had a definite chill to the air, the early morning sun now obscured by clouds rolling in from the east, a certain sign of a cold rain to come. Allen looked over to where Peter waited, again flanked by his cavalry escorts, each of them leading a horse. Allen came to attention, saluting the grave.
    “Farewell my friend, I pray I shall meet my death with but a fraction of the bravery you have shown. If there is a heaven, I shall look for you there.”
    He mounted and the small cavalcade rode south, finally reaching the barricaded road where Peter reined in. Allen looked over at him. “Would you mind riding with us to within my own picket lines. Your militia most likely is just waiting for my return, and I’d prefer a better death than to be murdered for a horse and the buttons on my uniform.”
    Peter nodded in agreement, ordered one of his escorts to take the flag of truce from O’Toole, and they rode on, passing the place where Allen had, indeed, nearly been killed less than eighteen hours before. There was a faint rustling in the woods, a muffled curse echoing, but no one was visible. They rode on for another mile and, coming about a bend in the road, Allen could see an advanced picket guard of half a dozen mounted dragoons of his army, the army