The first egg hit Herstraw square in the forehead. Just as he opened his mouth to protest, it was filled with a putrid, year-old apple, half-bitten, incidentally, by one of the attacking troops, none of whom was over ten years old.
Three dozen young lads held the woods above the ravine, raining all manner of vegetable debris on the helpless redcoats. A brilliantly coordinated hammer and anvil movement had left the troop trapped in the defile. Just as the first egg was lobbed, the hammer was launched — a large cart of manure was dumped over the side of the hill behind the troop, cutting off retreat. And then the anvil: at the head of the column, two large and odiferous carcasses of former cows were deposited on signal from a trapeze like device in the trees.
The assault being made by children, the British troops found themselves frustrated to the extreme. The dared not fire, for fear of hitting one of the urchins and causing a major incident; yet they could not advance in the face of what was a rather ferocious stream of rancid fruit and vegetables, together with some rocks and miscellaneous debris.
The British formed a defensive perimeter as best they could, and once their assailants’ ammunition ran low, dispatched a party to rout out the young rebels. The boys led those on a merry chase, avoiding capture yet staying close enough to entice the soldiers onward. In this way, the messenger was delay nearly an hour until close to one p.m., and his guard force much depleted.
Herstraw was heard to complain as they marched south that never had he witnessed such a poor state of affairs as that experienced over the past few days. The colonials were harassing the whole countryside. Common thieves, such as the scoundrels who stole all of Roelff’s plate and silver before trying to set the inn on fire the night before, ran rampant. Children were able to make fools of a company of handpicked grenadiers. Perhaps, said Herstraw, the British were not preordained to win this war as he had earlier believed.
This brought strenuous objection from the captain, and the two officers were still arguing when they were met in the road by a small group of Hessians up from the harbor. Had it not been for this disagreement, the captain might not have left Herstraw; like most other British soldiers, he had no respect for the Germans, though their army was as professional as his. But his orders were only to conduct the messenger into the city, and here they were standing at the intersection of Broad and George streets, well within the precincts of the north ward. If the truth be told, Herstraw had been quite a pain the whole way; the captain was only too glad to be rid of him. With no other ceremony, he promptly turned his men around and marched northwards to reassemble his force.
Herstraw was impressed that Howe had sent out another guard, even if it were composed of foreigners. The only English speaker was a young man of thin build who hardly looked old enough to shave. Nonetheless, the young man wore the markings of a sergeant; if the promotion was due to exploits on the battlefield instead of experience, well, so much the better. The fact that the sergeant was on horseback also did not arouse suspicion, but their path through the city — down Wall and then over Queen, heading away from the fort — did.
“ The general has set up auxiliary headquarter,” explained the sergeant. He had an apologetic tone in his voice. “It has to do, well, you know of Mrs. Loring, I assume.”
Herstraw showed great restraint in not asking any further questions, and the sergeant displayed equal discretion in not volunteering further information. In fact, such discretion might be thought unparalleled — provided, of course, that the man were truly what he claimed he was. But if such were the case, he would never had conducted Herstraw to Nicoll’s mansion, which had been temporarily appropriated by the Sons of Liberty under Jake’s direction a half hour before.
Nicoll was a Tory who had fled the city some months before the British invasion and hadn’t yet found the chance to return. The house had a good view of the east ward and the harbor. The officers from one of the guard companies who occupied it had just so happened to be called out on a special assignment a few moments before Jake’s arrival.
Well, perhaps this wasn’t entirely a coincidence, since they had been called out to look specifically for Mr. Gibbs, who was now suspected of having been involved in the firing of New York the previous fall. At least that was what the warrant claimed. Considering that the warrant also described Mr. Gibbs as being five-feet-two, with black hair and brown eyes and well past his prime, perhaps the warrant should not be fully believed.
In any event, the front room of the mansion was now under the control of a lieutenant and his aide. (The lieutenant bore a remarkable resemblance to Culper Junior’s own chief lieutenant, Mark Daltoons, and the aide, if not for the mustache, looked somewhat like the real Jake Gibbs.) Herstraw was marched before them and presented by the sergeant, who snapped to attention with all the ceremony of a guard presiding at the king’s palace.
“ Very good, Sergeant, that will do,” said the lieutenant as his aide inconspicuously took up a position behind the messenger. “Mr. William Herstraw, I presume. Do you have identification?”
Herstraw took out his coin and handed it to the lieutenant, who waved it to his aide. The assistant plucked the coin from the messenger’s hand and slid it into his pocket.
“ I am given to understand you have a message for the general,” said the lieutenant. His accent made him sound as if he had come from Westminster not a week before — a remarkable achievement for Daltoons, who had never been further east than Brooklyn.
The elaborate fiction he and Jake had constructed here was aimed not at retrieving the bullet — that could be done as soon as Daltoons leaned forward, pressing the level attached to the pistol wired beneath the desk. The Sons hoped to follow Herstraw through the city after he made his delivery, thereby gathering hints about the British messenger network. Jake had let himself be persuaded on this point by Culper Junior, but in truth had some doubts about whether Herstraw would agree to hand over the bullet without a struggle.
“ My orders are to see the general in person,” said the messenger.
“ I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” answered the lieutenant. “That is against procedure.”
“ Nevertheless, those are my orders. I’ll wait until he’s free, if that’s a problem.”
“ That would be a very long time,” said the mustachioed aide, who had his pocket pistol loaded out of sight up his sleeve.
“ General Burgoyne gave the order to me directly, and I am honor bound to carry it out,” said Herstraw, turning to face the aide. “Excuse me, but have we met?”
“ I don’t believe so.”
“ Why do you wear a mustache?”
The aid — we all know it’s Jake, don’t we? — feigned embarrassment before answering.
“ It’s to hide a scar I received. My upper lip was cut at Lexington.”
“ Lexington? Whom did you serve under?”
“ I was serving under the lieutenant here.”
“ Impossible. His unit was not in Boston at the time.” Herstraw rose and took a step back as recognition flooded into his eyes. “I know you!”
Chapter Thirty-one
It’s nice to be recognized, but only if recognition brings with it some token of esteem or affection. The only thing displayed by the spy was a pistol, which he promptly leveled at Jake’s chest. This gained him a temporary advantage, allowing him to ease back toward the door.
His retreat removed him from the aim of Daltoon’s rigged pistol. But neither Jake nor Daltoons was too concerned, since the sergeant and his Hessians were standing outside the door, prepared for this contingency. In fact, as Herstraw reached for the door handle, Daltoons dove to the floor, out of the line of fire — the ersatz Hessians had orders to shoot if the door was opened without a signal from Jake.
The maneuver was premature. The contingent of British officers roused from the building earlier had chosen at this moment to return with a company of their men. Angry at having been sent on a wild goose chase, the officers were surprised to see their posts taken up by Hessians, and more surprised still when one of them shot at them. A general cry and alarm went up, a shout, a shot, a great number of alarms — Chaos, the great, disorganized goddess of riot and confusion, had arrived on the scene.
