Mines

Chapter Seven

     "Peggy, this is useless! Lee'll tell us when we need the information." Angelica says to her sister.
     "No you don't understand! Washington wanted the information! I heard him, but Lee said, 'no', so now we need to figure out why." I retort to my sister.
"Peggy, I'm sure Washington will get the information out of Lee eventually." Eliza says kindly to her sister. She was sitting on some cushions by the tent flap, resting her broken ankle on a stool nearby. According to the doctor, she will heal just fine. Angelica nods at Eliza's words, and turns a page of the book she's reading, Common Sense, as she's laying down on her sleeping bag.
"Ugh! Guys! Come on! I'm not wrong! Lee is hiding something and we can figure out what together." I shout at them.
"It's not our business to know, it's Washington's business to know his rebel's backstories and get them out of us. You know he'll get the information out of Lee." Angelica sighs.
     "But we need to know now! Alex is trapped in that mine, and Lee knows how to get him out but he's not telling us!" I say furiously.
     "Enough! I don't want to hear anything else out of you." Angelica says angrily, putting up her hand to silence Peggy.
     "You- you- Fine! You know what? I don't need your help! I'll find out myself! Then maybe you'll finally start respecting me!" I scream, and stomp out of the tent, Eliza calling after me, telling me to wait. But I'm done waiting for it, I'm done waiting for them to notice me and see I'm not just their pretty little sister who's incapable of doing anything. So, I have to do this by myself. I just have no idea how. I don't have access to a library, or, anything useful. Well, think this through. Come on Peggy! I scold myself. Think! I could listen to him some more, but he won't spill anything. So... does he have a friend? Someone he can trust? I smile slyly as I realize he does have someone he can talk to, and someone who'll have to talk to me.

      I silently creep around the empty quarry, hearing the snores of the peacefully sleeping miners, who will be awoken tomorrow for assignments, since today was the first day in almost two weeks that we all had to work. None of us were given special jobs, we all had to mine in the excavation, including Alex. I didn't hear him complain all day, but then again maybe that's for the better since he would just get himself into more trouble. Right now, it was phase one of our rescue plan, or as Herc called it: "Get our asses out of this hellhole plan", which was a useable title as well. My job was to grab guard uniforms from the wash, since we couldn't count on waiting to get assigned to laundry duty. The washroom was located near the elevator in a carved out cave, and the washers and dryers were right out in the open, which meant it should be easy to grab some uniforms, right? Well, you'd be surprised at how unhelpful the British can be when it comes to these sort of things. Only the high ranking officials were allowed to sleep in the servant quarters in the Captain's base, which meant that all of the staff that worked in the quarry apart from guards had to sleep in their offices. Unluckily for me, the office of the washer was right next to the washer and dryer. So, grabbing a uniform would risk waking him up. I could hear his loud snoring as it filled the small cramped washroom. I sneak around a large table in the center used for folding clothes and to the two appliances. As I pass the door of the washers' office, my foot kicks a large stone in front of the door. It hits the metal side of the dryer with a loud clang. My blood freezes as I hear the washers' snores stop, and the creaking of old bones as he walks towards the door. Hide. I told myself, looking around for a place to duck and cover. The only place I can really think of is the large table that's taking up most of the space, and I duck behind it just as the door of the office bursts open. I cover my mouth to silence my heavy breathing and I hear the pounding of my heart.
"Anyone there?" a gruff voice calls out over the silent quarry. It's the washer. I don't answer, because I don't really feel like getting killed over clothes. After a few moments, he says: "Shame. Because if there was someone I'd be to tell him that the British don't wash their clothes here anymore." I think I might have stopped breathing again. Or my breath hitches, either one is possible. I want to go out and question this man further, but part of me is thinking: John you idiot why do you want to talk to him, he's going to get you killed. This is a trap. "I could also give him some free advice on escaping, but then again, no one's here. So I'll just go back to sleep." I hear foot steps, not the washer's foot steps, but mine as I fly out from my hiding space.

I don't think my brain and limbs are working at the same speed now, but it's to late for that. I freeze, staring at the washer in horror for what I had just done. I immediately start to think of an excuse.
"Uh- um, s-so sorry sir! I must have fallen asleep after my work for today! M-maybe some clothes fell on me or s-something because nobody woke me up! I'll just head back to my bed then... so.... uh...." Idiot. I mentally kick myself. Everyone was working in the mines today, how could I have been working with the washer? But I see the man smile, even behind his thick mustache. He's short, and leans on a cane with hairy eyebrows that cover his small brown eyes.
"Come with me." he says, motioning for me to follow him into his office. I hang my head, knowing I'm about to get beaten with that cane he holds. I sit down in the chair he points too, while looking around. Like most everything else in the quarry, it's carved out of the stone. But it doesn't have the luxury of velvet or chocolate. He sleeps on a cot in the corner that has a thin blanket like the ones slaves use to sleep. His desk looks old and worn, with a leg missing. He groans slightly as he plops in the chair in front of the desk.
"Sir?" I ask, my voice cracking.
"Don't worry son. I'm not going to report you." he answers the question inside my head.
"Why not?" I wonder aloud.
"Because I hate the British as much as you do!" he says, too loudly. Loud enough for someone passing the entrance to the wash room would hear.
"Aren't... aren't you British sir?" I question.
"Oh no, no not at all. See, the problem for George was that I was too old and broken to work in the mines. But I couldn't run off and join any rebels, so I was given this lousy washer position." he grunts.
"George? You mean the Captain?" I inquire.
"Yep." he says.
"Anyway, sir, you said something about the British not washing their clothes here?" I ask, my voice somewhat trailing off.
"Your planning on escaping aren't you? Got some friends you want to bring along with you?" he asks me, yet again reading my mind.
"Yes." I answer simply,
"What's your plan?" he asks. I don't know what to tell him. He seems like a good guy, but what if it's all a facade? And I get reported for an escape attempt? And what if four of the five slots are filled by myself, Laf, Herc, and Alex? But I don't have a choice. I have to tell him, because even if he's American, he's a commanding officer and a commanding officer just asked me a question I must answer. So I tell him, and for the longest time he doesn't say anything.
"You working with that French guy, Lafayette, yeah?" he says more than asks.
"Um... yeah, if our plan works we're going to take him with us." I answer. He nods slowly.
"I don't know if Washington can speak French, I don't think he can. But maybe he ask people working for him who can." he says to more to himself than me.
"Sir, what do you mean?" I break his whispers.
"Instead of sending a code that could be broken, why not have Lafayette write a letter in French to Washington? No British soldiers here are fluent in French because it's a crime apparently, along with everything else." he informs me.
"I don't know... we considered that option but it's risky. What if someone does speak French but is keeping it quiet? And Lafayette might get recognized in the base, since he used to be a rebel." I say hesitantly.
"And this Mulligan guy can get recognized just as well. And a code in a different language is harder to break than in your own." he says.
     "But there's a lot of assets that add up to this!" I say, now a little angry that he doesn't understand. "First of all, if Laf did go, what would happen if he spoke to someone? Everyone would recognize his French accent."
     "Then have him not speak! It's as simple as that." he answers.
     "No it isn't, what if he's in a situation that forces him to respond?"
     "Listen kid, I'm not telling you how to escape, that's on you. I told you my thoughts, my advice, take it into heart, or not. I don't care. If you're still looking for uniforms though, I can hook you up. Just come and see me when you need." And with that, I leave the washers' office, the carved out room, and head back to my sleep quarters. The only problem is, I wasn't careful enough, so every soldier on duty saw me, and that's why I'm surrounded right now.