Personal Narrative-Changing Decisions In Nathan's Life

I crept through the dark streets as I could imagine Robert Townsend doing. He had written to me. I was perfect for the job, and I could hardly disagree. As the docks came into view, I began to doubt whether my decision to help General Washington’s army was the right choice. Was I being disloyal to my father or loyal to my brother? I decided it was both as a single figure appeared through the heavy mist. I approached him nervously, hoping his face would show if this was the right man. His face was expressionless. I cleared my throat nervously. “ Red White and Blue, always stand true.” I recited the line my older brother, Nathan, had taught me. “It’s what you have to say so they know you’re not a British spy.” He told me. I’d …show more content…

“ Well, after Nathan, my brother, left to the war my other older brother, George, (he’s sixteen) got very sad because he was very close to Nathan. He’s allowed to take the horses and wagons to the countryside to buy our crops fresh and sometimes he takes me with him. I convinced him to tell my father I was coming with him on his trip he was making today. That gives me an excuse to be gone a few days.” I could see he was trying to hide it, but he was impressed. Then he frowned. “You told George where you were going?” I quickly reassured him I had not. “ No, I didn’t tell him what or where I was going. Only that it would help Nathan, George isn’t really on either side of the war but would do anything to help Nathan.” Brewster nodded like he had heard of similar cases. `It was hours before we reached Long Island. I had been drifting in and out of sleep on the boat and now forced myself to wake up so I could walk to Rivington’s coffee house. Still, I didn’t notice how many streets we walked down, or even how long we walked. Was it hours …show more content…

Tallmadge wrote to me himself! He asked me to try and see if any of the officers talked about a strategywith the boats at any party, but so far I hadn’t heard much. The few clues I gathered I sent via courier (messenger) straight to Tallmadge in a new sort of invisible ink George Washington had given our ring. Then in late September I got a letter from Tallmadge. Maj. Andre was found with spy letters and was traveling under a fake name. His pass was written by now General Benedict Arnold! An American General was a British spy. Within the next month Arnold escaped capture and Andre was hung. I didn’t cry but I was upset. Andre was a respectable person even though he did turn out to be England’s spymaster.Then in early November, I was walking along the docks alone, desperately trying to clear my thoughts of Andre when someone grabbed me. I tried to yell for help but a hand clamped over my mouth. “Mm!” I yelled through the hand. Someone walked in front of me, someone I recognized. I glared at the smearing face, of Benedict Arnold. “Hello, Mary. I figured it out; you’re the American spy. You helped them figure