They took a brief lunch on a small island on the east, a hundred yards at most from the rocky shore. Their refreshment was hard bread only, washed down by the water of the lake. By early evening Jake was famished and exhausted, and almost didn’t join his guide when Leal picked up his rifle and motioned him toward the woods. But of course he had to, not merely to help catch dinner, but to show he was not like the soft Englishmen Leal held in contempt.
The trapper had decided on rabbit for dinner, and it took him only a few minutes to find one; a single shot and the animal lay at their feet. Leal searched for a second rabbit and was rewarded with a few minutes. As a bonus, they found a few edible mushrooms nearby.
The dinner was among the most delicious Jake had ever tasted, far better than any he had in Europe or Boston or even his home of Philadelphia: hunger being the best seasoning. Once more he was given the biggest portion, but this time Jake felt no need to contain himself, Leal’s being nearly as plump.
“ You wonder why I hate the British,” said Leal after they had finished.
“ They cheated you at the fort.”
“ That is only a small part of it,” said the Minqua. He retrieved his pipe and stoked it, puffing thoughtfully and handing it to Jake. Nearly a quarter of an hour passed before he spoke again.
“ I have a wife,” said the half-breed. “She was stolen by them last year, in an attack.”
“ The British took her?”
“ The Mohawk. It is the same thing. These tribes are cowards without their white grandfathers to protect them.”
Jake knew better than to argue with the overstatement.
“ She had gone among the settlers to sell some of our furs when the town was attacked. I arrived too late.” Here the stoic mask slipped ever so slightly before Leal continued. “If she had been white, she would have been killed. It would have been a mercy.”
Jake nodded. In fact, invading tribes often adopted women and children — and in very special circumstances, men as well — treating them as one of their own. But from Leal’s perspective, his wife’s soul had been stolen — and so, therefore, had his.
“ I have tried to get the British to make them return her, but no officers will even speak to me. They call me a devil and spit at me.”
“ Do you know where she is?”
“ With the Mohawk, it is difficult to tell. I have searched settlements west of here and not found her. But women often travel with their men, as Meeko did with me.”
Jake told Leal of the group he had come across on his way north some days before. He had to fight against ever instinct inside not to volunteer to help the Minqua; a detour now would be catastrophic for the Cause.
Leal took the information without comment, and did not reproach Jake for not volunteering his help. Instead, he placed another piece of tobacco in the pipe and smoked strongly for a few minutes more.
“ She is Algonquin and does not speak your language, or even French. Meeko is the name of a magic squirrel with great powers,” Leal said. “In battle, the squirrel could be tapped on the back, and two sons would appear from her, stronger than their mother, whose strength itself was enormous. The squirrels helped the great hero Pulowech, the Partidge, in the days of the ancestor’s ancestors. Her namesake will help me find her, I’m sure.”
Jake nodded. Leal silently took up his blanket and curled himself before the dying fire. Jake stayed awake a while longer, wondering at the great sacrifices even the innocent were making in the name of Freedom.
The next day Jake woke earlier, only to find Leal waiting for him again. Jake took the front of the canoe and rowed strongly, once more without breakfast. Crown Point lay ahead, and beyond it, Ticonderoga; a surge of adrenaline powered his strokes.
Jake continued to scan the road along the lake, hoping Herstraw would appear. They’d come south so quickly, Jake began to suspect he’d beat him. But he knew he could not afford to wait at Bull’s Head for very long, if at all; General Schuyler must be alerted to the invasion plans immediately. Even so, if the messenger were missed there, it would be increasingly difficult to find him.
Once or twice Jake’s heart leaped as he saw as party on the shore, heading south, but these turned out to be false alarms. Finally, near midday, he caught sight of several wagons on the eastward shore. As he signaled with his head for Leal to paddle closer, his spirits soared — there was his man. Truly, God wanted the Revolution to succeed.
Herstraw was dressed in the yeoman’s garb he’d worn in Montreal; indeed, he looked as if he had neither changed nor stopped en route. He rode at the edge of the group; whether they were strangers or escorts was impossible to tell.
Jake motioned with his hand to Leal, indicating they should paddle ahead. But as he turned to check the lake ahead, his glance was forced back by surprise — the party on the shore was being led by a fancy carriage, upon whose bench sat his former companion, Claus van Clynne.
What trick was Fortune playing here? As this was the most dependable road heading south, Jake should not have been so surprised to find him there. Still, could this be only a coincidence?
If Providence was disposed to placing van Clynne so conveniently at Jake’s disposal — well, then, he must be taken advantage of.
Jake paddles with a sudden burst of energy. Once they had gained some distance and rounded a bend, he turned to Leal and told him that they must part here.
Jake detected the slightest disappointment on the stoic’s face before he steered the boat onto a small beach. He slipped the money from the money belt he wore and tucked it beneath one of the bundled packages — he wanted no argument from the man because he’d left a few shillings more than they’d agreed upon. These were the last of his coins, indeed, of all his money, but Jake was now within a few hours of the American line. There his troubles could be paid by Schuyler himself.
Leal did not shake his hand; instead, he held out his knife, hilt first, the same knife he had tried to kill Jake with two days before.
“ Take this and remember me,” said Leal. “The bone is from the elk. It comes from far north; and once held a blade of stone. There is a story behind it.”
Jake took the knife and reached for his pocket knife, all he had to give in return. But Leal had already pushed off from shore.
“ I shall tell you the story when we meet again,” said the half-breed. “Our fates are intertwined.”
Chapter Thirteen
Jake had barely enough time to tuck the knife into his belt, dust the sand from his pants, and scramble to the road before the party appeared. They were on the shore opposite Crown Point and Ticonderoga, roughly midway from both. The land hereabouts was owned by men friendly to the patriot cause. If it was not so arable as that on the western shore, still it had a certain smell about it, the scent of Freedom.
Or so Jake would later claim. For now, he put up his hand and saluted the party, immediately drawing the attention of two men in the lead wagon, who aimed their long Pennsylvania rifles in his direction as soon as they saw him.
“ Good Squire van Clynne, we meet again,” said Jake, ignoring them as he walked directly to the carriage where van Clynne was seated. The two-wheeled phaeton was by far the finest vehicle in the convoy; painted a shiny black, it would have looked more at home in London or Paris, and undoubtedly done better on their streets. It had immense wheels, and the seat was set so high passengers would have an easy time boarding from the roof of a house. Pulled by two horses, a driver not more than fourteen years old sat bareback on one of the animals to guide it. Van Clynne’s own horse was tethered to the rear; though heavily burdened with packages, he seemed to step along quite lightly, no doubt glad to be relieved of his master’s weight.
