The spy ring itself remained in mortal danger. The British had reacted to yesterday's jail break with great indignation, to say nothing of increased patrols and a tripling of the normal guard at every facility. Nearly every soldier who remained in the city had been set to work harassing suspected patriot sympathizers, and
there was word that the authorities were planning to conduct a house-to-house search for the escapees.
Culper had taken the precaution of sending men known to be wanted into hiding and emptying the places the Sons of Liberty had used with great regularity. This infirmary was one of them, but as it was the place Jake was to return to, someone must wait here. And Daltoons had appointed himself that someone.
The Connecticut native had served Culper and the other members of the Sons of Liberty spy ring in a variety of capacities. He had never been more concerned than now, however. The lieutenant was not so much worried about Jake, whom he regarded as something of a mentor, but the spirited Miss Alison, whose beauty he had no trouble spotting beneath her rough disguise. She was a very remarkable girl, he thought to himself. More than remarkable. Were the circumstances different.
The reader may well fill in that last thought, as Daltoons had no time to do so himself. A loud wail rose at the far end of the block and sent the lieutenant to the window. He had not heard such a horrible sound since the landlord had packed five bags full of cats and kittens and tossed them into the harbor.
As his ears struggled from the strain, he realized the wail was actually a maudlin Dutch song of thanksgiving:
We gather together
To ask the Lord's blessing.
He chastens and hastens
His will to make known.
The wicked oppressing
Now cease to be distressing.
Sing praises to His name
For He forgets not His own.
Except that the words sounded more like:
We gather together
To ask good Laura's blessing.
She hastens to unbutton
That her bosom be known.
With lavish caressing
We complete the undressing.
Sing praises to her
Whose lips are our own.
"I assume this singing is some strategy of yours, meant to scare off the English," Daltoons said, meeting the two purveyors of this song at the back door with a sharp halberd as they concluded the verse. He had to retreat a step, so thick was the stench of beer from them.
"Just so, sir, just so," declared van Clynne, putting his finger to the point of the weapon. "We have pretended to be drunken revelers to put off the patrols. We are not, of course, though I daresay such accomplished tones have not been heard on these streets in many years."
"Thank God."
"Allow me to introduce my friend and fellow kinsman, Mr. Egans, a worthy Dutchman of the finest stock, and a fine tenor, all told.
Daltoons's head tilted forward incredulously as he examined the man before him. He did have white features, and they might perhaps be Dutch, but they were sheathed in garb that was so obviously Indian as to chase any other nationality far away.
The man greeted the young lieutenant's inspection of his tattoos and scalp lock with a prodigious and very beery burp.
"Inside, quickly, both of you," ordered Daltoons. "Drunken fools."
At this, van Clynne's dander stood up.
"We are neither drunk nor fools, sir," declared the squire, who was in fact a far distance from being inebriated, no matter how off-key his singing had been.
"Speak for yourself," said Egans. "I am drunker than a cat in an herb garden."
And with that, he fell forward into Daltoons's arms.
"Being Dutch, I naturally assumed he could hold his beer," said van Clynne after he and the lieutenant had delivered the man to a bed upstairs. "But perhaps the strain of the night has been too much on his humors."
"I don't know if we should trust him."
"You can trust him," said van Clynne. "And he will be a valuable agent to you. He is, after all, Dutch."
"You have admitted yourself he was raised by the Iroquois and served the British."
"The latter was due to a profound misunderstanding, which I have rectified," declared van Clynne. "As for the former, the federation is a powerful one, but varied in its nature. Many of its nations are indeed on our side. The Oneida are very much inclined toward us."
This was not so much a lie as a slight shading of the notion of neutrality.
"We'll see what Culper has to say about it," said Daltoons finally. "In the meantime, Jake is still missing."
"Tut, tut, he will arrive as appointed," said the Dutchman, walking toward the chair where he had spent the previous night. Having done a full day of work, he decided he would reward himself with a good nap. "And undoubtedly he will insist on carrying on with his plan, though I have already solved the problem. Be sure to wake me on the morrow."
"Wake yourself," said Daltoons. "I have details to see to. There are barely three hours till dawn. We will have to kidnap Bauer ourselves if Jake does not show up. I half hope he will not come easily."
"Always with the fisticuffs," complained van Clynne, drifting off. "You youngsters must learn the great Dutch art of finesse."
Chapter Thirty-six
For a man who knew he was likely to die in twelve short hours, Jake walked toward the Brooklyn shoreline with an easy step indeed. Granted, the knowledge that he would rise soon after being hit by the bullet added to his confidence, but he might nonetheless be taken as proof of the old proverb construing peace on those who face their demise mightily. The smile on his face was due to the thoughts of how he would fool Bauer when he was revived; there is little so amusing as making a complete ass of your enemy with the aid of a child's pretend game.
"It's colder than last night," said Alison, turning around just as they reached the road that led down to the ferry. "Why are the nights so cold when the days are hot?"
"Ssshh," said Jake, whose mood suddenly turned as heavy as the bag he was carrying. "Those are Loyalist rangers."
"How do you know? They have no uniforms."
"It's not much of a guess. Who else would be armed here? Pretend you are helping tie this bag."
Alison did as she was told. The road they were on led down into the cluster of buildings near the ferry landing, which was still a few turns away. If there were rangers here, it was a good bet there would be many more guards at the ferry itself.
Why? Yesterday's escapees would be leaving New York, not trying to sneak back into it. Was something else going on, or was the patrol merely the result of an overanxious subaltern, bored with his normal assignment?
"We need to do a little reconnaissance," Jake told Alison as he pulled her to one side to allow a man leading two sheep to pass by. "Do you think you could walk around the quay?"
"If you mean spying, I have been waiting all day for some chance at adventure."
He took hold of her arm. "This is deadly serious, Alison. They'll kill us if they find out who we are."
"I'm not a child."
The strong glance from her eyes shone with something he had not detected there before, a look that did not retreat. It was more than bravery. Jake wondered if, in changing her dress, Alison had made the transformation from girl to woman.