Champlain that would take them to Fort Ticonderoga, already lay in view.
“ Good citizens,” said Jake, “your patriotism cheers me. But you are making a dreadful mistake. My name is Lieutenant Colonel Jake Gibbs, and I am on a mission for General Schuyler.
This drew titters from the crowd.
“ Good citizens, hear me!” Jake tried again, rallying his best speaking voice. “A British spy is getting away even while we amuse ourselves with this diversion.”
“ Damn traitor,” said one of the men, “we ought to tar and feather him, then take him to the halter.”
So much for a career as a politician.
“ Who’s in charge here?” Jake demanded.
“ You’d best keep your mouth shut,” said one of the militiamen. “Several of these folk have lost relatives in the war, and they would like nothing better than to take retribution. You’re lucky we’re talking you to the fort.”
Jake fumed, but there was little he could do. Surely his identity would be cleared up at Ticonderoga.
There was one slight difficulty he would have to overcome, however. Jake’s everyday coat had buttons pressed with the Masonic symbol used by members of the secret service to immediately identify one of their brethren; a high-ranking intelligence officer would recognize them immediately. But his coat was lying more than a hundred miles to the north, in Marie’s bedroom.
The symbol was impressed on one other item that ordinarily he carried with him at all times — his money belt.
It is inaccurate to say that Jake cursed van Clynne a hundred times as he was transported from the wagon to a small, flat-bottomed boat on the creek. More likely the oaths numbered in the millions, though one or two thousand were saved for the militia officer in charge of this procession, and perhaps one thousand found their way to General Schuyler, and his assistant Flanagan for having him march all the way to Canada and back in record time, only to let him be arrested by their own troops.
The commander of the guard who met the boat had to step back two full steps under the force of Jake’s tongue lashing.
“ I demand to be released. I am an officer in General Greene’s command and was in the middle of a vital mission for General Schuyler. Let me go or I’ll have you trussed and stood on your head for six months.”
Typical of the patriot army, the officer’s retreat was no sign of surrender. He didn’t even bother with an answer, much less a counterattack, turning instead and walking toward the guardhouse. Jake’s legs were tied in a way that made it difficult for him to stand, let alone walk; he was pushed from the boat and fell flat on his face. Before he could even attempt to roll to his feet, he felt himself lifted and bodily carried to a jail cell.
The hours he spent in solitary confinement worked wonders for Jake’s temper. Before being locked in, he had been merely livid, ferociously upset and greatly insulted at being mistaken for Tory scum. Now his wrath had truly continental dimensions, erupting in volcanic waves that would have impressed even Achilles, whose own well- nursed grudge had destroyed the Trojan’s hero Hector and launched Homer on the way to epic stardom.
Still, a man with a profession such as Jake’s often finds himself in situations where great self-control is called for. He develops, therefore, a veritable arsenal of temper-saving devices and tricks, all designed to cool the hot vapors of passion and let reason prevail. Mental diversions, exercises, complete flights of fancy — Jake employed them all, and was in reasonable control when he was finally led, chained at hands and feet, to the building where he was to be examined. In fact, he found himself nearly philosophical.
“ You’ve been most businesslike,” he told the sergeant as he was led to the interrogation chamber. “I won’t hold this against you when I’m released.”
The door slamming behind them stifled the laughter of the guards. Jake found himself facing an officer in a worn blue uniform.
Scribe, change the word “examined” above to “tried.” As in court-martialed. As in, penalty — death by hanging if guilty.”
And what other verdict is there?
“ Of what am I accused?”
“ You’re a spy, plain and simple,” said the officer in a tired voice. The room was windowless and dark, despite the efforts of a number of candles on the desk. “How do you plead?”
“ Plead?” This isn’t a court. This isn’t justice. This is what we’re fighting against!”
Jake’s comment was answered by a sharp blow from behind, delivered by a guard at a nod from the officer.
“ The prisoner will answer in turn, only the question which the court directs.”
“ I demand to see General Schuyler.”
Another blow, this one a bit harder to the top of the shoulder.
“ I am in charge here,” said the officer.
“ You’re not the commander of the fort,” said Jake. “Where’s the commander?”
Jake swirled and ducked to the side as the private aimed another blow.”
“ I’m warning you,” said Jake. “General Washington’s regulations specifically forbid you hitting a prisoner.”
The officer waved at the guard, who took a step back toward the wall. “Obviously, they are issuing rules of army conduct to all Tory spies,” he said in a weary voice.
“ I am Lieutenant Colonel Jake Gibbs of the secret service. Assigned to General Greene’s staff, on temporary duty to General Schuyler. I request that you contact the general immediately.”
“ Which one?”
“ General Greene, actually. At this moment I wish I’d never heard of Schuyler.”
“ I see,” said the officer, making a notation on a piece of paper before him. “Sure you don’t want to try for Washington?”
“ Excuse me, but whom do I have the pleasure of addressing,” asked Jake. His contempt was unconcealed.
“ Captain Horace P. Andrews, General Gage’s staff. I’m empowered to try all spies.”
“ Begging your pardon, but first of all, as I understand it, if there’s going to be a trial, it should be a standard court-martial proceeding. That would require — “
“ I have ten minutes for you. Do you want to fill it all with protests, or will you plead for mercy?”
“ What possible evidence do you have against me?”
The captain flipped through the pile of papers and pulled out a piece of foolscap filled with writing in a tight, cramped hand. With some difficulty because of the lighting, he began reading it in a loud monotone, uninfluenced by Jake’s groans.
“ ‘ I, the honorable Claus van Clynne, Esquire, businessman, hearty patriot, member of the New York Militia Auxiliary Advisory Force, sworn enemy of the British Parliament and hater of all things English, do hereby solemnly swear and warrant that the information which I am about to give is the absolute truth as I know it, and that I am witness to the following particulars without prior prejudice and with no personal gain or offering.
“ ‘ To wit, in the first part, that the party who goes by the name of “Jake Gibbs” lately apprehended at the Bull’s Head Tavern by the local militia, which was alerted by my own self while I smartly snuck away on another pretense, did attempt to enlist and hire me to take him north part the legally constituted and patriotic armies of the state of New York and the Congress of these several provinces.
“ ‘ Said Mr. Gibbs did also threaten me bodily and physically during the course of our contact, and on one occasion fired four bullets in my direction, which, due to my dexterous efforts and the Grace of God, missed. Said Mr. Gibbs made numerous other shows of threat and strength, the effect of which were to put me in a general mood of fear and concern for my own safety.
“ ‘ Notwithstanding this and at great personal risk to myself, but in the true spirit of patriotism, I did endeavor to lead said individual Mr. Gibbs to a place where he could be apprehended by duly authorized militia or Continental Army units or, failing that, where I myself, at great danger to my person, might overcome and control him unaided.
“ ‘ Said Mr. Gibbs being continually on guard and always alert and several times stronger than I, plus having the convenience of a multi-barreled weapon, the likes of which have scarcely been seen in such environs, if at all, my efforts to capture him were for naught.
