Remembering his experience coming in the other direction, van Clynne stood as the water approached his lap, figuring he had only to stand and walk out of this predicament. Unfortunately, rivers are rarely symmetrical.
“ Help!” shouted the squire as he sank beneath the waves.
Jake threw his shoes to shore and dove into the river just as the boat gave up all pretense of floating. The icy grip of the river closed quickly around his chest. The water tasted bitter as well as cold. It splashed into his eyes, stinging and making it hard to see.
Van Clynne was gurgling and splashing somewhere nearby. Jake stroked in the direction of the sounds, but found nothing.
Suddenly, he realized he wasn’t hearing anymore. Wiping his eyes, Jake looked around and around, scanning the surface. He could make out the shadows of the nearby shore — but no van Clynne.
Desperate now, Jake tucked his upper body into the river and dove straight down, extending his arms in a vain hope to snag his drowning companion. Still nothing.
Had had to come up for another breath of air. Once again he scanned the surface, saw not even a hint of his companion, then pressed back below. He swam in a broad, desperate circle, fighting against the current.
Lungs bursting, Jake started to kick for the surface when his foot struck something soft and mushy. He bent down and snagged a piece of thick cloth — van Clynne’s jacket.
Fortunately, van Clynne was still in it.
Jake pulled him to the east shore and dragged him onto land. The Dutchman’s body was cold and he didn’t appear to be breathing. Jake turned him onto his stomach — no small feat in itself — and began pumping rhythmically, hoping to restore him to life.
It was nearly a minute before the Dutchman began coughing. Soon, however, he was exhaling both water and oaths, uttering curses in Dutch, English and a language all his own. Teeth chattering, he finally righted himself, and they proceeded to Roelff’s inn.
Given its strategic location, the inn was not a large one, consisting of two rooms downstairs, several small ones above, and a kitchen in the basement. Jake and van Clynne found the British messenger Herstraw and the officers of his escort in the second room of the first floor, sitting around the fire.
“ Well, look who’s here,” said Jake cuttingly as they entered the great room. “Our friend, the violent patriot.”
Van Clynne’s teeth were chattering too strongly to join in the greeting. Roelff, surprised to see them but utterly discreet, fetched blankets and immediately stoked the fire. Jake took a flagon of rum in hand and pulled up his chair near the Englishmen, refreshing the cups of all but Herstraw, who was drinking cider.
“ It turns out that our destination was similar after all,” Jake said to Herstraw, eliciting only a grunt in response. “Are you going to introduce me to your friends, or will I have to make my own acquaintance?”
Herstraw shrugged. Jake immediately proclaimed how happy he was to see “fine English gentlemen” after having spent the past few days among the “insulting colonials.”
“ We have just been chased into the water by the rebel rabble,” he lied. “They ambushed us near King’s Bridge, and the only way we could get away was to dive into the river. I thought poor Claus was going to drown.”
Van Clynne shivered on cue. Color had not yet returned to his cheeks, and his beard was pasted to his neck like a drowned rat’s tail.
“ And what is your business here?” demanded Herstraw. “What happened to the mother in White Plains?”
“ My mother lives in New York,” said Jake. “I did not think it wise to admit that in the revolutionists’ country. My friend here, Squire van Clynne, does much business behind the lines, and advised me wisely.”
Van Clynne coughed vaguely in agreement.
Herstraw snorted in derision as Jake congratulated him on having played the role of a rebel so convincingly.
“ I had my suspicions, but at the end you fooled me. It has been a troublesome journey,” added Jake. “Really, who do these damned rebels think they are? Give me five minutes in a locked room with Washington, and I tell you, this war will be over.”
“ I shouldn’t underestimate Washington,” suggested the lieutenant to his right. He had a vaguely Scottish accent. “He served with us during the French and Indian War.”
“ You don’t look old enough to have been there,” said Jake, topping off the man’s cup.
“ My father served under Braddock. Washington was a man of great ability, I can tell you. There are certain skills of leadership that cannot be underestimated.”
“ Not one of the rebels can match even our worst private,” said the captain. He was the same man who had posed as a patriot major at Prisco’s. Jake feigned not to recognize him and the captain didn’t bother announcing himself. “Most of the American commanders are foreign has-beens. Imagine, taking Lee in — that’s a sure sign of insanity, if not incompetence.”
Jake readily agreed — the capture of American Major General Charles Lee by the British last year before still ranked as the single most important patriot victory in the war.
“ What do you think, Herstraw?” Jake asked. “I suppose that you are an authority on such matters.”
“ Why is that?”
“ You seemed to be an authority on everything, the last time we spoke.”
Herstraw took that as the veiled insult it was, and scowled.
“ Major Herstraw is just completing an important mission,” said the friendly lieutenant. He held out his cup for a refill. “He’s seen General Burgoyne, and is now on his way to meet General Howe.”
“ Really!” said Jake, instantly adopting the star struck Tory role. “I should like to meet both gentlemen.”
Herstraw said nothing. His eyes cast a withering stare through the room, and someone less bold than Jake might have ended the conversation.
“ What is General Howe like?”
“ I don’t know.”
Herstraw stood; Jake watched as he walked toward the other side of the room, near the outside door. But he wasn’t leaving, merely calling to the innkeeper for a refill.”
“ The general is a very refined man, with very strong opinions. He is an excellent tactician,” said the lieutenant.
“ He often plays the fool,” said the captain. “He is always looking for an excuse to delay an attack. I don’t care who hears me say it — we should have beaten Washington by now, and it’s the commander’s fault. If he didn’t spend his time whoring and drinking, we’d all be better off.”
That bit of blasphemy — common enough among the general’s officer corps — sent the room into a momentary silence.
“ What about this General Bacon?” asked van Clynne, starting now to come to himself. “Is he a fool as well?”
“ What do you know of General Bacon?” demanded Herstraw.
“ One hears things, here and there,” tutted van Clynne.
Herstraw sat back in his seat. “Black Clay and his men be damned. They hold themselves above us all, regardless of their rank.”
“ We do not talk of his work,” the captain told van Clynne. “I’m surprised that you know of him.”
“ He’s famous among Loyalists who want to see a firmer hand applied to the rabble,” explained Jake, who wished van Clynne hadn’t mentioned him at all. “Otherwise we know so little of him. What does he do?”
“ You ask so many questions,” teased the lieutenant, “we might take you for a rebel spy.”
Jake laughed. “That would be quite ironic, since I was taken for a British one near Ticonderoga. They even detained me in a prison cell. I thought my days on earth were over.”
“ Believe me, son, if they had truly thought you were a spy, they would have hanged you straight out,” said the captain. “Many Royalists have been mistreated at their hands. Fortunately, this nonsense will be ended soon.”
Jake tilted his head, all ears for details on how that would come about, but the captain’s attention was drawn to young Miss Roelff, who entered the room with two pitchers to refresh the men’s drinks.