“ You will deliver my message to Howe himself,” Burgoyne declared as he entered.
“ Begging your pardon, General, but that is explicitly against protocol. We have an elaborate procedure. I’ve never met Sir William; I have a staff officers I deal with, who in turn deals with another officers.”
“ If I’m good enough to be met personally, Howe is no better,” said Burgoyne. He reached over the top of the desk, hovering less than eighteen inches from Jake, and quickly wrote a note. “He’s to carry on with the offensive the way I mapped it out. The orders from England are quite explicit, even if they are worded to avoid offending his delicate sensibilities.”
Sir, again I must protest. For matters of security, I should not know what the message contains. This way, I can dispose of it, and honestly answer — “
“ What is your name and rank?”
“ Captain William Herstraw, sir.”
“ Are you always in the habit of telling your superiors their business?”
“ No, sir.”
While Burgoyne was defending his bruised ego, the other officers were shifting nervously around the room. Jakes ribs did their own shifting, trying to stifle the outraged squeaks his lungs were emitting in protest of being contorted to fit his chest beneath the desk well.
Burgoyne finished his message and straightened. Jake, sensing the session would end soon and he could escape, began to feel relief — until the general sat on the edge of the desk. The wood groaned with the weight and pressed down into the spy’s back. “Now I will tell you a bit of your business,” the general said to the messenger. “Any simpleton, even a rebel, will search your canteen for a message. You need something a bit more secretive, and easily disposed.”
“I don’t intend on being searched,” replied Haverstraw. “I travel among the rebels as a poor yeoman farmer and am never suspected.”
“Our own messengers use silver bullets,” said Carleton, with a note in his voice that meant he wanted this whole business concluded. “Captain Clark, can you prepare one for Captain Haverstraw?”
Clark — the same Clark you’re thing of, if you’re thinking he’s Marie’s — didn’t answer. Instead he walked towards the desk.
The same desk you’re thinking of, if you’re thinking of Jake’s. Jake pressed in deeper and tried to conjure some excuse, lame as it might be, as Clark approached.
Fortunately, Clark did not come around to the back of the desk, where he might have had occasion to glance down and see an unaccounted-for leg. Instead he reached over the side and pulled the drawer open — and in the process whacked Jake on the side of his skull.
Which would not have been so bad, had Jake’s wig not gone flying with the friction of the drawer.
A popular manufacturer in France once sewed small strings on his wigs. These were meant to be tied to the collar or the back of the neck, so the wig could easily be retrieved if knocked loose by the wind or some other force of nature. Surely such a device would have been a godsend for Jake at that moment. The wig was lying on the floor, positively due for discovery once the drawer was closed.
Jake strained his fingers from their sockets, grabbing at the ribbon that tied the ponytail. Meanwhile, Clark rummaged through the shallow drawer, looking for a sharp knife to open the silver ball with. He leaned harder and harder on the desk, pressing Jake’s side.
“ We use them to communicate with Sir Johnson and his Indians,” Clark said. “I only need a thin blade.”
Jake felt like volunteering his own pocketknife. Clark shook the drawer and tried opening it farther — scraping against Jake’s skull.
“ Damn drawer is always sticking. I have a penknife in here somewhere.”
By some compression of the spine that would no doubt strike an anatomist as impossible, Jake managed to duck his head down as Clark struggled with the drawer. The same motion, fortunately, gave him a better grip on the wig’s ribbon.
Which pulled look from the hair as soon as he exerted pressure.
“ Will my knife do?” volunteered on of Burgoyne’s men.
“ Yes, I think so,” said Clark, slamming the drawer shut across the top of Jake’s head.
Jake managed to whisk the wig up as the drawer closed. But what really saved him was the party’s immediate retreat back inside the chamber. Head creased but otherwise intact, Jake extricated himself and breathed as deeply as a horse, ungluing his lungs from his kidneys. Then he crept across the room, resuming his post at the door.
“ I like the idea of a silver bullet,” he heard Burgoyne say inside. “It has panache.”
“ Carleton proceeded to quiz the messenger on the situation at Ticonderoga and Albany. The man claimed there were ten thousand American troops at Ticonderoga and perhaps four or five thousand more at Albany.
Both numbers were wild exaggerations. There weren’t ten thousand American soldiers in all of New York. In fact, Schuyler would be lucky to muster 3,500 at Ticonderoga, including militia.
That’s what the British got for spying, though.
“ I’ll have nine thousand men marching with me June seventeenth,” Burgoyne boasted as the governor started to argue that perhaps his attack should be rethought in light of the rebel’s strength. “We’ll pick up many more on the way, once the colonists hear my proclamation. I’m not worried about the numbers, not at all.”
Jake silently congratulated Burgoyne for having given him everything he’d come north for. He fixed his wig atop his head, repositioned the eye patch and prepared to take his leave.
“ We will have no problem as long as Howe follows orders,” Burgoyne said. “The message is critical. The entire success of the campaign depends on it. Well, the entire success of the campaign depends on me.” The general permitted himself a polite laugh, apparently expecting the others to join him. They did not.
“ Take the bullet and go,” he told the messenger. “Leave directly.”
“ I’d hoped for some sleep, sir. My horse is tired after the long journey.”
“ Get him a new horse,” commanded Burgoyne with a snap of his fingers. “Every hour is critical. How must come north with his troops the moment I set off. Let’s go, man; this is a war, you know, not a summer party.”
The impatience of generals knows no national borders.
“ Sir, I have rode without stopping from the Bull’s Head Inn near Fort Hubbardton.”
“ What is that, the Bull’s Head? A frontier dance hall? Do they dress up their cattle and parade them on stage?” Burgoyne drew titters from his aides.
“ It is a tavern, sir,” said Herstraw tightly, trying to preserve some of his dignity. “Fortunately, the owner is secretly loyal to the king. He is a distant relative of mine.”
“ We will remember him when we liberate the area,” said Burgoyne. “Go on, march off. Go on, march off. You must be in New York City before the week is out.”
“ Sir, traveling two quickly through enemy lines attracts too much attention. It is better to seem nonchalant. And this — “
“ Leave this instant, or I will court-martial you for insubordination!”
Jake had just enough time to step back into a shadow — there was no way he was going near that desk again — when the door opened and the messenger emerged.
He was not a happy man. Dressed plainly, in a nondescript brown coat and white britches, Herstraw walked briskly through the room and stormed into the hall. Jake caught his profile as he passed — a large nose was his most distinguishing feature.
The door to the chamber closed as the general and governor renewed their discussions. Jake added one more aspect to his disguise — the slightly piqued manner of a secretary called from the dance floor to do his duty — and proceeded to the stairwell.
“ I believe the general wants to see you,” he told the soldiers who’d just taken up stations there. They obediently went off to see their master, having no reason to question a man who had obviously just come from inside.
Jake paused briefly in front of a mirror at the head of the stairs to readjust his eye patch — and watch Herstraw reach the landing. He planned on making his acquaintance very shortly — he’d tackle him outside, kill him and destroy his message. Just let the Briton get a few yards ahead so he wouldn’t suspect he was being followed, and it would be easier than any of the dancing he’d just done.
Meanwhile, Carleton was unsuccessful in convincing Burgoyne that he had overestimated the local Loyalist
