This new conference was cut short by the arrival of a fresh contingent of guards who ushered a small group of prisoners aboard. The men were chained and in very poor condition, with welts and bruises covering their bodies. Dragged and pushed forward, the poor wretches were too beaten even to groan with pain.
“ These are the Sons of Liberty we found in the city,” said the lieutenant in charge of the detachment. “Their ring leader is that one.”
He pointed to a man in a plain brown coat, just now being led over the side. He had been spared the humiliation of a beating; his clothes were so fresh they appeared new, and while his face had been smudged with grease or dirt, he bore himself with an almost aristocratic manner, if such can be said of a man in chains.
“ What have you to say for yourself?” Howe demanded of the prisoner.
“ Long live Liberty!”
A sharp cuff on the ears knocked him to the deck near Jake’s feet.
Jake wanted to help him, but doing so would only seal his own fate. Instead he took a step back and kicked at him. Jake’s legs were still manacled, and he was able to make his miss look more than convincing — he slipped as if he’d forgotten his binds, so that the thing he did completely against his instincts appeared the most natural action of all, a loyal British subject trying to kick away treason’s snake.
The soldiers laughed as Jake tumbled backward onto the deck.
“ You bastard,” said the Liberty man. “I know who you are. You helped launch the plot against us.”
“ Who is he?” demanded Howe.
“ Jake Gibbs,” said the prisoner. “As notorious a Tory as any in the countryside.”
The Son of Liberty spit on Jake as his guards restrained him. The huge, venomous piece of spilled burned Jake’s face.
A look passed between them at that second. Everyone else in the party, even van Clynne, would swear it was hate; Jake recognized it as the solemn torch of Freedom.
“ Unchain him,” Howe said to the guards around Jake. “Then take these prisoners ashore and hold them on charges of treason.”
No apology was offered and Jake didn’t care to make an issue of it. He asked only for a cloth to bind his knee; that done, he tested it and found it reasonably sound. He was mildly surprised to find his pocket pistol and Leal’s knife, surrendered during his capture, returned to him.
Van Clynne, meanwhile, was preparing to leave the ship. He practiced keeping his eyes closed as he walked toward the railing.
“ Aren’t you forgetting something?” Bacon asked.
“ Of course,” said van Clynne, sweeping down in a graceful gesture. “Thank you for the dinner, Your Honor,” he said to Howe.
“ Your weapon,” suggested Bacon.
Jake noted the glimmer in the general’s eye, and felt his hope of escape sinking to the bottom of the harbor.”
“ I was afraid you’d come to relieve me of my duty,” said van Clynne so smoothly that even Jake was impressed. The Dutchman put forward his hand bashfully. “I feared you had orders from the king to, er, countermand me, as it were.”
Van Clynne met the question with his usual bluster — which naturally was the proper response. Bacon gave back the knife with a stern warning that he would be watching for the Dutchman — and expected Jake to be prompt for dinner. The pair was soon back on the water, being rowed into New York, the end of their mission in sight.
Chapter Thirty-four
When in 1765 England imposed the Stamp Act, laying a tax on virtually every document necessary to American life, from newspapers and journals to deeds and custom manifests, the colonies rose en masse against it. But while many commentators date the activities of the various organizations now known as the Sons of Liberty from that year, if should be noted that the Sons were active by 1745 at the latest in New York. They were an effective and innovative group that prior to the open declaration of hostilities was, contrary to British propaganda, a most moderate influence on the populace.
Many instances serve to prove this argument. There was, for example, the matter of Cadwalladar Colden in New York, the lieutenant governor who had armed and reinforced Fort George after the people made their opposition to the stamps known. He intended they would take these ignoble swatches whether they liked them or not, and seemed ready to go about slaughtering anyone who opposed them.
The Sons responded by stuffing an effigy of Colden onto a carriage and parading it to the fort. This was quite a show, with hundreds of seamen as well as local citizens attending. To a man, the British inside feared a horrible slaughter — and not of the citizens opposing them. But the Sons, taking a temperate view, led the crowd to content itself with merely burning the effigy.
They also sacked the mansion of the fort commander, Major James, a disagreeable sort who clearly deserved it.
The stamps were henceforth abandoned, and peace restored without the loss of a single person on either side. Clearly, the Sons have suffered great libels from their oppressor’s pens.
Once the redcoats occupied New York, many of the more notorious members of the group had to flee for their lives to the countryside. Those who remained found it necessary to hide their loyalties. This did not end the organization’s operations in the city, but did make it very difficult, even for those familiar with the group at its highest levels, to identify exactly who was and who was not a member.
It was for this reason that Jake did not know the man who had saved him, even though he had often had occasion to call on the group for assistance. He had no doubt, however, that the man who saved him had been acting on Culper Junior’s orders. As he told van Clynne when they clambered onto the wharf, his gratitude was boundless. The Liberty boy had risked death to save them. It was just this kind of selfless activity that would guarantee the country’s future.
“ I quite agree,” said van Clynne, his legs still wobbly from the journey. “I know of a place just north of the King’s Bridge where we might purchase some food and drink at a fair price. It is run by an old Dutch friend of mine whose sympathies are quite with the patriots, though he has stayed in the neighborhood due to his health.”
“ Fine, we’ll eat there tonight. First we have to retrieve our horses and my bomb. Then I’ve got to find a wagon.”
“ Tonight?”
“ We’ve got to rescue our friend,” explained Jake, leading the way back toward the stable where he’d boarded the horses. “They’ll be taking him to jail on shore before they hang him. I’ll have a plan cobbled together in no time.”
The only plan van Clynne wanted to hear was one to escape the city. Directly.
Van Clynne pointed out that Jake was under orders to return to Albany, that there would be great consternation if he failed to meet Schuyler’s time limit, etc, etc.
Jake never answered. There was no possibility he could be swayed. His sense of duty and honor, his obligation and his gratitude, combined in such a way that he would have swum against Gibraltar had the Liberty man’s rescue depended on it.
It might be said that the Dutchman admired his companion’s resolve and character, realizing that he could all upon them if he were in a similar situation. Nevertheless, it would have been very much against van Clynne’s nature to simply shut up. Thus, he was still arguing when Jake finally found the four-wheeled wagon he wanted. That the wagon was accompanied by a driver was not critical, since the narrow lane in front of the storehouse where it was parked was temporarily deserted. Jake snuck up behind the man and knocked him unconscious in a trice.