apprehended several Sons of Liberty in German uniform. Dr. Gibbs — what are you doing here?”
“ It’s a long story, General, but the short of it is, I have been mistaken as a Whig.”
“ You know him?” asked Howe.
“ We’re to have dinner Sunday,” said Bacon, “to discuss certain aspects of the voodoo. Your name came up earlier today, Gibbs, in connection with a plot by these rebels. Have you gotten involved with them?”
“ A good question,” said Howe, pulling the general aside. Bacon’s men gathered around him, listening to the discussion. Their backs were between Jake and the two generals, effectively screening them from view.
The nature of the Secret Department meant that only a handful of agents were known to Bacon, and at any given moment there were bound to be a few operating in his theater whom he had no authority over or knowledge of. A man assigned to Carleton or Burgoyne could easily be a stranger to him.
But this Dutchman?
“ The doctor, perhaps,” said Bacon. “I sense something about him that stands out. On the other hand, we used foreign agents in Spain for the prince’s assassination.”
The two generals punctuated their debate by stealing glances at the pair of prisoners. Though he couldn’t overhear, Jake knew precisely what the problem must be — who would believe van Clynne as a secret agent?
And yet, wasn’t that the most powerful argument in his favor?
Howe called one of the ship’s officers over to join the conference. In the meantime, Bacon took a knot of men aside and dispatched several back to the city, whether on this or other business, there was no way for Jake to tell.
“ Once more the debate was rejoined, this time continuing for nearly a quarter of an hour — a comparatively short time for a British command conference, as anyone familiar with Howe’s notorious delays attacking New York will realize. Finally, the remaining subordinates parted and the two generals emerged nodding. They directed their attention toward Jake, not van Clynne. Which was fine with all concerned.
“ You’re a doctor?” Howe asked.
“ I’m not admitted in London,” said Jake, “but I attended Edinburgh.”
“ My officers say he has the best headache remedy in the colonies,” said Bacon. “But of this profession as a messenger I’m completely unaware.”
“ It’s not a profession, Sir Henry. I met Squire van Clynne while on a trip to obtain rattlesnake venom from the Indians near Canada. WE fell in as fellow travelers, and when he needed assistance, I rendered it. I had not realized he was in the service of the Crown. I assumed that, since he was Dutch — “
“ Careful,” said van Clynne, warming to his role. “Remember your oath.”
“ What oath is that?” said Bacon, his birthmark glowing.
“ I have taken an oath not to reveal his oath,” which itself is based on a prior oath of my own,” said van Clynne. “Kill me for it, if it is your pleasure.”
“ It may well be a pleasure,” said Bacon, turning back to Jake. “You have been north before.”
“ Many times, Sir Henry. My travels take me far and wide.”
“ Behind rebel lines.”
“ I have sworn allegiance to the king, and will do so at any time or place the general proscribes. I have lost my land for hit. I am not a traitor, sir. Science requires me to travel. My headache cure, for example.” Jake turned to Howe, who had a skeptical look on his face. “Unfortunately, my latest duties detained me from obtaining the ingredients necessary for my potion, General, but I will gladly supply you with a complimentary bottle from my next batch. It would be most beneficial to me, actually, to have your endorsement.”
It would be fitting, would it not, if the matter of Jake’s identity could be settled by some headache powder? After all, the Americans were the biggest headache Howe and all of Britain could ever have, and the expedient of using a cure for a much small one to escape would be but poetic justice. Unfortunately, neither Howe nor Bacon was much on poetry. When they retreated a ways on day to discuss the matter once again, Jake would not have bet a farthing that Shakespeare entered the discussion.
This new conference was cut short by the arrival of a fresh contingent of guards who ushered a small group of prisoners aboard. The men were chained and in very poor condition, with welts and bruises covering their bodies. Dragged and pushed forward, the poor wretches were too beaten even to groan with pain.
“ These are the Sons of Liberty we found in the city,” said the lieutenant in charge of the detachment. “Their ring leader is that one.”
He pointed to a man in a plain brown coat, just now being led over the side. He had been spared the humiliation of a beating; his clothes were so fresh they appeared new, and while his face had been smudged with grease or dirt, he bore himself with an almost aristocratic manner, if such can be said of a man in chains.
“ What have you to say for yourself?” Howe demanded of the prisoner.
“ Long live Liberty!”
A sharp cuff on the ears knocked him to the deck near Jake’s feet.
Jake wanted to help him, but doing so would only seal his own fate. Instead he took a step back and kicked at him. Jake’s legs were still manacled, and he was able to make his miss look more than convincing — he slipped as if he’d forgotten his binds, so that the thing he did completely against his instincts appeared the most natural action of all, a loyal British subject trying to kick away treason’s snake.
The soldiers laughed as Jake tumbled backward onto the deck.
“ You bastard,” said the Liberty man. “I know who you are. You helped launch the plot against us.”
“ Who is he?” demanded Howe.
“ Jake Gibbs,” said the prisoner. “As notorious a Tory as any in the countryside.”
The Son of Liberty spit on Jake as his guards restrained him. The huge, venomous piece of spilled burned Jake’s face.
A look passed between them at that second. Everyone else in the party, even van Clynne, would swear it was hate; Jake recognized it as the solemn torch of Freedom.
“ Unchain him,” Howe said to the guards around Jake. “Then take these prisoners ashore and hold them on charges of treason.”
No apology was offered and Jake didn’t care to make an issue of it. He asked only for a cloth to bind his knee; that done, he tested it and found it reasonably sound. He was mildly surprised to find his pocket pistol and Leal’s knife, surrendered during his capture, returned to him.
Van Clynne, meanwhile, was preparing to leave the ship. He practiced keeping his eyes closed as he walked toward the railing.
“ Aren’t you forgetting something?” Bacon asked.
“ Of course,” said van Clynne, sweeping down in a graceful gesture. “Thank you for the dinner, Your Honor,” he said to Howe.
“ Your weapon,” suggested Bacon.
Jake noted the glimmer in the general’s eye, and felt his hope of escape sinking to the bottom of the harbor.”
“ I was afraid you’d come to relieve me of my duty,” said van Clynne so smoothly that even Jake was impressed. The Dutchman put forward his hand bashfully. “I feared you had orders from the king to, er, countermand me, as it were.”
Van Clynne met the question with his usual bluster — which naturally was the proper response. Bacon gave back the knife with a stern warning that he would be watching for the Dutchman — and expected Jake to be prompt for dinner. The pair was soon back on the water, being rowed into New York, the end of their mission in sight.
Chapter Thirty-four
When in 1765 England imposed the Stamp Act, laying a tax on virtually every document necessary to American life, from newspapers and journals to deeds and custom manifests, the colonies rose en masse against it.
