The second problem took longer to solve, partly because Jake, his head still swirling from his plunge through the window to the pavement, did not realize which way he was going. It was only when he saw several shadows looming in the dark, answering the general alarm, that he realized his mistake.
What does one say to an armed host when one’s suddenly sprung into their midst, and people running down the road are shouting various variations of “Stop that man!”?
“ Who’s in charge here? Sound the alarm! Hurry, a spy has escaped!”
And so Jake quickly rallied his pursuit, mustering the men and sending them down the quay back towards the governor’s palace, ready to shoot anything that looked vaguely Americans.
He, meanwhile, sought out something to get onto the St. Lawrence with. A small birch canoe presented itself at the end of the wharf; Jake dove from the horse into the craft, pushing off into the water in the same motion.
It would have been more convenient if the boat had paddles. Nonetheless, he was able to make decent progress by leaning over the sides and rowing with his arms; by the time they felt as if they would positively drop off, he was clear across the channel, and the confused search on the shore was just an inconvenient buzz in the background.
Chapter Eleven
The commotion caused by Lieutenant Colonel Jakes Gibb’s sudden appearance in Montreal took several hours to die down. The ball was disrupted and the entire city put on alert; the wharves were sealed off and patrols were sent in all directions around the island without waiting for the morning to dawn.
In the meantime, Marie escaped quietly to her friend’s apartment. Her fellow French Canadians held her in high enough esteem that the British could not move against her without raising the ire of the populace; as long as she protested ignorance and kept to herself for a month or two, she knew she would escape with no more serious damage than the loss of her beau, Captain Clark. She was angry with Jake for having exposed her, yet at the same time worried greatly about his fate.
General Burgoyne, in his offhanded and pompous way, dismissed the rebel as inconsequential. “A mere spy will not have any effect on my plans,” said Gentleman Johnny, whose reputation as an overconfident horse’s body part had proven years before to everyone’s satisfaction except Lord North’s, who as head of His Majesty’s government had the only opinion that counted. “I have half a mind to write a letter to Washington himself, detailing my plans,” Burgoyne told Carleton when the first patrols reported that they could not find Jake. “Let these backwoodsmen try and stop me; I intend on dining in Schuyler’s mansion in Albany before Christmas.”
Some portion of the general’s bluster was undoubtedly for show, however, as he gave orders for the invasion force to accelerate its preparations. He spent the rest of the night dictating commands for his troops, determined to launch the first phase of his attack with the week. If he had never counted on strategic surprise in the first place, still he pushed his men to seize the tactical initiative, before the American army could fully mobilize against him.
Governor Carleton did not even pretend to take Jake Gibbs lightly. In fact, the governor could be forgiven if he interpreted Gibb’s reappearance in Canada as little less than a personal affront. The anger he felt could not be placed adequately into words. Nor was it satisfied by the prolonged pounding he treated his desktop to.
And so the meeting that took place in the governor’s chambers around three a.m. should come as no surprise. Carleton sat at his desk, grim; the lateness of the hour wore deeply on his face, fatigue having ingrained lines on his cheeks and brows. Ordinarily a calm and even mild man, Carleton was quite beside himself with rage. His lone visitor stood a few feet away, waiting for his orders as the governor did his best to bring his emotions back under control so he could speak. Finally, he found his voice.
“ I have sent nearly a hundred men, and Burgoyne, despite his bluster, has his own troops on alert. But he is a wily man, this Gibbs. Half the army could look for him, and he would find a way to sneak through their ranks.”
The man across the room from the governor nodded. Carleton frowned, then continued, his tone still strained.
He stole my wig, you know. He had the audacity to take my wig and escape after he’d given his word as a British gentleman not to leave house arrest. But of course, he no longer considers himself a British gentleman. My favorite wig — I’d bought it from Gladders in London.
Though he knew well where Gladders was and even felt some sympathy for the governor — the affront to his honor by a man he’d treated as his son made the governor look foolish — Carleton’s visitor did not speak. He merely shifted his legs slightly as his large blue eyes calmly searched his commander. These eyes were twice the size normally apportioned for such a face, as set deep into the skull, so that he had the appearance of a wild owl, recording everything, scanning for his prey.
Major Christopher Manly had performed many tasks for the governor over the past six months, though none had begun with an interview such as this. He was confident, however, that the end result would be entirely the same.
Manly had a truck full of talents, but his physical appearance belied his skills and strength. He was well over six and a half feet tall, standing a good head and shoulders above most every other man in the army. His body weight was not similarly portioned: his arms and legs were as thin as the branches on a year-old birch tree, and a girl would blush to have a waist as thin as his. His height made him appear awkward when he walked or ran, though his long strides actually made him fleet and he’d learned to use the leverage inherent in his limbs to great advantage in a fight. He was another breed of man on a horse; so light and yet so sinewy and pliant that he seemed to blend with the animal; the pair became a different being altogether.
But as far as the British army was concerned, Major Manley’s most attractive trait was his willingness to do whatever his commander asked — no, not asked, but hinted. For the major was a member of His Majesty’s Secret Department, an agent of the shadowy brigade assigned specifically to Governor Carleton to carry out whatever tasks were too delicate for other branches to handle. If he appeared awkward at rest — even standing erect he was an unlikely collection of limbs put together by a sculptor in jest — he was a fluid and efficient as a Caribbean hurricane once set in motion, and twice as deadly.
“ Burgoyne may be right about the rebels,” continued Carleton after a new round of pounding on the desk finally drained his anger. “They are quite sharp when they face old men as they did taking Ticonderoga, but put a real army together and they fall back, as they did last fall. Still, he is a fool for overestimating his own abilities and the loyalty of these people. The Canadians — I’m boring you Major, am I not?”
“ You never bore me, Governor.”
Carleton smiled. He had that rare ability in a British commander to know flattery when he heard it — and to turn away from it.
“ Jake Gibbs is a deadly fellow. He helped stir up the populace against me while he worked at my right hand, and he scouted the Canadian defenses most effectively.”
“ If his work at Quebec is any indication,” said Manley dryly, “I should think you’d be happy to have him spying about.”
“ The Americans attacked out of desperation,” answered Carleton, aware that his great victory two years before was due partly to luck. “No, Gibbs is quite something. I’d heard rumors that he was killed; obviously they were wishful thinking.” Carleton rose from his desk and began pacing through the room. “He could have assassinated me tonight.”