a young lad would have. She dismounted in a flash, her heavy woolen cloak swirling around to reveal her homespun skirts — all soaked as badly as any shirt of Job's. To Claus van Clynne, this was the most beautiful sight imaginable, the swish of a tulip petal loosened by the wind. 'My sweet Jane!' 'Claus!'
The two dear hearts came together with a crash that rivaled the recent explosion. General Putnam was about to take the opportunity to attend to more important matters, when Jane broke free of her lover's grasp and stopped him.
'General, please — I've ridden nearly the whole night to find you. A British spy has taken a young servant girl named Rose McGuiness hostage. She must be rescued — Claus, the man's name is Dr. Keen; he says you're to come to Marshad's cottage without any soldiers, or he'll kill Rose straight away. And then he'll start in on Uncle.'
While van Clynne was confronting this new twist, his erstwhile partner was basking in the sweet calm that victory brings. Triumph makes all manner of injuries light nuisances, easily dismissed. The river was illuminated by fresh watch fires across the way; overhead, the stars fought through the fading clouds and glittered with all their might. Bear Mountain seemed to hunch his shoulders and proclaim his majesty, the Hudson lapping at his feet with a gentle snicker.
Jake might have been forgiven if, as he sat cross-legged, still half in the water, he thought this glorious show of Nature was all for his benefit. His exertions had left him near drunk with the afterglow of his body's fiery humors. The knife wound in his hip had stopped bleeding; his other wounds and bruises drifted away like memories of lost bets.
Some hoarse shouts nearby quickly sobered him. The patrolling whaleboat had been literally blown to splinters, and its soldiers were now clinging to the rocking chain as if it were a life raft.
'Make your way towards me,' shouted Jake, gingerly going out to help them. The British sailor and one of their comrades had been lost in the confusion, but otherwise their injuries were light.
Jake pointed them back to shore and helped the stragglers. As the way became easier, his thoughts turned to his mission to Albany; he must leave tonight if he were to reach General Schuyler before his deadline. He also thought of the woman he had left there some weeks before, Sarah Thomas. She would welcome him gladly when he arrived.
Distracted by her image in his brain, he did not notice the man with the rifle leveled at the shivering regulars who had reached shore ahead of him.
'Stand back,' said the old man, his shoulders against the rocky crag on the narrow bank. 'Stand back or I'll kill you all.' Jake knew who he must be at once. 'Mr. Busch — don't shoot at us. We're on your side.' 'Side? What side?' 'The patriot side,' said Jake. 'I don't know what you're talking about. You are all trespassing on my land.'
They outnumbered him, and if they rushed him would surely overcome him. The rifle was loaded though, and even in the dim light he surely would not miss hitting someone.
'We've come to try and help you find your daughter,' offered Jake. 'We heard she was lost.'
'Annie? Yes, I cannot seem to find her. She and John have been missing since supper. It's John — the boy always gets into trouble. He is a rebellious scoundrel — if I told him to walk he would run.'
'Mr. Busch, please put the gun down,' said Jake, taking a step forward. His injured feet made him wince with pain, but at least his eye had opened and he could see normally. 'It'll only scare your daughter when we find her.'
The old man looked down at the weapon in his hands, as if confused at how it had gotten there. His attention was turned long enough for Jake to spring at him. But the gun was surrendered meekly. 'My daughter?' asked the elder Busch. 'She's gone. She died in the river. John, too.' 'John, too?' 'Yes, sir.'
The old man's face erupted with tears at the fate of his family, whether for the first or last time, neither Jake nor anyone else could tell.
In his defense, Van Clynne felt it was only fair to point out to sweet Jane that had this Rose followed his directions as to the proper path to take, she would not be in her current predicament. “This is what comes of questioning a Dutchman's counsel, my pumpkin.'
'Claus, you have to rescue Rose,' said Jane. 'You must.'
'Well, yes, I will do so without fail,' said the Dutchman, who in truth was as interested in liberating his coins as the girl. His opinion of Rose had shifted slightly because she was a friend of Jane's — but only slightly. 'If the general will lend me my troop back.'
'Granted,' said Putnam, who was prepared to do much more to get the squire out of his powdered white hair.
'But Dr. Keen said you must come alone — '
'Tut, tut, my dear; one doesn't go into the lion's den unarmed. Undoubtedly our doctor friend has some surprise in store for me, some stupendous-sized leech which he plans to twirl around my head. My men here will sneak through the brush and wait until I have flushed out his plot. It will undoubtedly be clever,' added the Dutchman as an aside, 'but the inherent limitations of the British intellect will leave a large gap for us to proceed through.'
Jake and the soldiers helped the grief-stricken old Mr. Busch up to his farm, comforting him as best they could with the aid of some medicinal rum kept by the fireplace. The lieutenant colonel had just finished wrapping his wounds in bandages and taken a sip of the rum himself when there was a sharp knock at the door. One of the soldiers answered it to discover two men sent by General Putnam.
'We were told to fish Colonel Gibbs from the river if necessary,' said one of the privates, 'and return him before the general is drowned by verbiage.'
'Do you understand those orders, sir?' asked the other, whose face betrayed the fact that he himself did not.
'Oh, absolutely,' said Jake, laughing. 'It means the general has made the acquaintanceship of my good friend, Claus van Clynne.'
Jake borrowed some shoes and Mr. Busch's horse to ride to the house on the Fishkill road where the general had made his temporary headquarters. Along the way he found Private Martin, who claimed to have been blown there by the bomb blast. While that seemed highly unlikely, the Connecticut private could not remember what had happened if not that. In fact, he could not remember much of anything at all, including his adventure on the river or his brief sojourn under the command of 'General' van Clynne.
Nor did he remember having been among the privates that Old Put had routed from a New York City wine cellar on the eve of the British invasion a year before.
'I'm sure I would remember that, sir,' muttered the distressed soldier as General Putnam questioned him about the incident. In Jake's opinion, that was the one thing he might well remember, his profuse headshaking to the contrary.
'Well, what do you remember?' demanded the general.
'Being inoculated against the pox, sir.'
At that, Old Put turned several shades of color. 'Get back to the damn hospital then. Get!' The general turned to Jake as Martin vanished through the door. 'These damn inoculations. Half my army is sick, and the other half is guarding the damn fools.' 'Begging your pardon, sir,' said Jake, 'but the Dutchman?' 'The Dutchman?' 'Claus van Clynne. I understood from your message that he was here.'
'I sent him off with some men to look after a kidnapping. Frankly, I was glad to get rid of him. This van Clynne — he claimed to be your partner.'
'He has served lately as my assistant,' said Jake. 'He has his own ideas about his importance. He has saved my life now on more than one occasion, though I'm not sure I would admit it in his presence.'
'I doubt he would give you the chance,' said the general.
Chapter Forty-seven
