Howe stormed back and forth across the deck, his florid face swollen to twice its former size, or so it seemed. The star he wore on his coat as a sign of rank and duty glowed hot with wrath; at every moment it threatened to launch itself into space.
If it did, and if it could be guided, surely it would seek out Howe’s rival general many miles north in Canada. The message van Clynne had carried was so tactlessly worded that Howe’s interpretation of it as an insolent order was quite understandable. Under ordinary circumstances, the merest mention of the name “Burgoyne” invited displeasure. Howe, with some justification, felt that Gentleman Johnny had spent much time in Boston lolling at headquarters and claiming credit while he himself was out risking his neck at the head of the troops. There was also a political element to this jealousy. Both men had been parliamentarians, but Burgoyne was generally conceded the flashier figure; Howe, if he had gone into the Commons for anything but to help his military standing, would never have gotten further than a splinter-stuck back bencher.
Years of insults reared up as his temper was released. The masts shook with it; the deck began to wobble. The Norse god Thor, had he achieved half this effect with his thunderbolts, would have been well proud of himself.
Van Clynne stood calmly through it. He had experienced much worse trying to cut half a crown off the price of a load of beaver pelts.
“ I have been planning a Philadelphia campaign,” said Howe when he caught enough control of himself to form his thoughts into complete sentences. “I had been planning to seize all of the colonial capitals and then negotiate in a civilized manner. But this — he aims to make me look the coward. Don’t bother coming north to Albany! He’s saying that he will beat the rebels single-handedly. The arse.”
“ Begging your pardon, sir,” said van Clynne gently, “and while I agree with your opinion of the general, is it no he who is the coward here?”
“ How’s that?”
“ Well, the note does not say he is attack Albany. On the contrary, it says nothing to that effect at all.”
“ And how do you know?”
“ You’ve read it three times to me, Sir William, and I would have to be either a dunce or deaf not to know it by heart now. ‘You’re not needed; don’t bother coming north. Yours, General Burgoyne.’”
“ Is it not the most insubordinate piece of piss you’ve ever heard?”
“ It is indeed, but if I may be so bold, that is all it says.”
Van Clynne paused, firmly in control. How many contracts had he dissected with similar rhetorical skills? How many agreements with the Indians had he navigated? To him, this message, with only ten words including the signature, was a trifle. “The general does not say he is coming south, does not say he intends to attack at all. More likely, given his reputation, he means to stay in Canada. He will fill his time with delays and ballroom dances. Remember how late in the year he and Carleton attacked last year.”
“ Carleton is a good man. He is a bulldog as a general.”
“ Yes, but he has been sacked by Lord Germain and is returning to Britain. Without Carleton as his prod, how far will Burgoyne get this year? Ticonderoga? He will dawdle away his early advantages and then, at the first sign of snow, pull back.”
Howe, himself no fan of the continent’s winters, began mulling this.
“ If here were intending to attack,” continued van Clynne, “he would surely have said”
“ Not if he were worried that the message would fall into rebel hands.”
“ Impossible!” declared van Clynne, his voice rising. “He knew I was the messenger. Besides, the patriot lines are like a sieve.”
“ Patriot?”
“ Excuse me, General; I go among them so much on my missions I fall to using their own terms. I meant to say, the dastardly scum cowards.”
“ And when he doesn’t attack, he’ll blame his shortcomings on me — saying that I was the reason he failed.”
“ But you have his note,” said van Clynne, closing the transaction. “And, of course, you shall have my testimony.”
“ Yes, yes. You’re a good man, van Cloud.”
This was one time the Dutchman was content to have his name misunderstood. He gave the general a saluted, stepped back to bow, and turned to leave.
“ Stay awhile and we shall talk,” said Howe. “I may have a position for your in my civilian cabinet.”
“ I can’t, sir, truly. I’m flattered, but I have pressing business north. I am under Burgoyne’s command, after all.”
“ I had forgotten, given the way you speak of him.”
“ Well, we have no choice as to who we serve when duty calls,” said van Clynne, echoing the argument Howe had earlier made on why he reluctantly took the commission to fight in America.
Howe was just about to say he might be able to do something about a transfer when he was interrupted by the arrival of a lieutenant of the city guard. The breathless man rushed upon the deck and ran to the general so quickly the marines nearby jumped up in defense.
“ A rebel horde has broken into the city!” the man exclaimed. “All of New York is in revolt!”
“ Damn. You see the troubles I have,” Howe told van Clynne. The general took three long strides to the side of the ship. In that small space, his physical bearing underwent a mighty transition; van Clynne recognized at once how he had come to command the army. His belly — smaller than the Dutchman’s, but by any other measure large — tucked up and in, his chest bolted forward, his chin jutted like an advance scout clearing the woods. Ajax had not looked so regal.
“ My boat, quickly, and send for two companies of marines,” he shouted. “We will land directly in the harbor and rally the defenses.”
Howe turned to van Clynne. “You’re best off staying here, until we have this matter under control. For your own safety.”
“ But I — “
“ It’s an order. The wrong rebel might see you in my company and endanger your future missions.”
It took van Clynne only one look into the huge swells lapping at the hull to convince him there was no sense arguing. He could stay aboard until the riot quieted — and the waves slowed.
Or darkness came on, when he wouldn’t see them.
Chapter Thirty-three
Jake’s attempt to punch the British sergeant who was pulling him to his feet was thwarted by another soldier from the rear. Numerous hands were now clamped upon him, and he was thrust back to the ground. A crowd began to gather; if they had been slow to help the redcoats, they made up for it with threats against Jake now. He was blamed for everything from the burning of New York to the introduction I small pox. The pitch of the bystanders soon reached such proportions that the soldiers were as much protecting him as preventing his escape. Indeed, escaped would now have been difficult, as his legs and arms were clamped in chains.
A succession of officers arrived to take charge of the scene: a lieutenant relieving the sergeant, a captain the lieutenant, a major the captain. They got as far as a colonel before they felt satisfied that there was sufficient authority to take him to the fort.
It was not immediately clear what would become of him there, or at least it was not clear to Jake. He had said nothing the entire time, and they had said nothing to him; he had not been searched, except for weapons. The bullet he had snatched from Herstraw remained at the toe of his boot.
Jake was prepared to trade his life for the surety that the patriot plot remained undiscovered. But he couldn’t simply drop the bullet on the street; even if he could get it from his boot unseen, the fact that it was made of silver guaranteed that it would be quickly noticed. The best solution was to drop it in the river. Getting there, however, was a major problem. He couldn’t just ask to be taken out for a boat ride.