'The prison break was arranged,' said Busch. 'A man named Wedget told me all.'
At that, the rangers began to murmur, and a few even to laugh, saying they knew of Wedget, and believed Caleb and Jake's story that he had been left behind for bullying the others. Busch put up his hand to silence them. 'He has cleverly arranged everything, including an attempt on my life. His name is not Smith, it's Gibbs.'
Until that moment Jake had been undecided on his course, content to let Busch state his case so it might be more easily refuted. But as Jake saw the British officers eying him suspiciously, he realized that even if they hadn't been by nature inclined to prefer a captain's suspicious word above the faith of an army of privates, they would certainly detain him for further investigation. Inevitably he would be found out.
And so, sensing that the locks about to be slapped around his arms were held by Fate herself, Jake decided he would go to his death as a man, not a rat shrinking in the corner. Along the way, he would do what he could to preserve his mission, which now depended on van Clynne and Rose, and General Putnam's troops.
'I did not arrange for an attempt on your life, nor did I work with others,' Jake said solemnly. 'Chance put us together. I admit I took full advantage of it.'
Jake undid the buttons on his green coat and threw it to the deck, kicking it away with a disdainful push of his boot. 'I am Lieutenant Colonel Jake Gibbs, a member of General George Washington's army. I demand to be treated as a prisoner of war, as I am entitled.'
'You are entitled to nothing,' declared Valden. 'You came aboard as a spy.'
'You betrayed your country and your king,' said Busch.
In waistcoat, bareheaded, unarmed — save for the elk knife still concealed in his boot — Jake addressed the entire ranger troop, speaking as boldly as old Sam Adams would have.
'It is you who have betrayed your country. You would give up your birthright to a man you have never seen, and who regards you as a farmer regards the ants beneath his feet.'
Busch spit on the deck. 'You are beneath contempt, aligning yourself with criminals.'
'It is your allegiance that puzzles me,' said Jake, his voice a mild, calm rebuke. 'A man with as much intelligence and courage as you ought to be fighting against the people who would make us slaves, not acting as their lapdog.'
'The Devil speaks with a golden tongue,' said Busch, his words equally soft.
The reader should not misinterpret Jake's next actions as the ship's captain and Valden did. For when two marines stepped up to grab him, Jake meekly let his arms be taken, and did not offer more than token protest as his hands were slapped in a set of iron cuffs. Before being searched, he volunteered that there was a knife in his boot.
The patriot spy surrendered so easily not because fighting would have been futile — certainly he would have been overpowered eventually, but by grabbing a nearby cutlass he might have taken a half-dozen Loyalists and perhaps one or both of the officers before being slain. Jake gave in because he wanted to turn his surrender to the patriots' advantage. He went easily to the captain's cabin, and gave a full if utterly false accounting of his operations, saying that he had been assigned by General Washington to spy in the area, though he had as yet been unable to report. He studiously avoided giving any impression that Old Put knew there was a plot afoot, hoping that the details he had already given Rose would be enough to foil it.
Jake said he'd been due to make a report the previous night, but had been unable to reach his contact in Dobb's Ferry. He named a prominent Tory there — a man he knew was loyal to the king, not the Americans — as his contact. He also took full credit for Johnson's disappearance, deciding that it was best to solve that mystery for the British before they complicated things by trying to do so themselves. When Captain Gidoin asked who his accomplices were, Jake had a simple reply: 'If I had assistants, would I have been so easily found out?'
Busch, confident now that he had squelched the rebel design to foil him, attended to his plans with Valden and the captain of the Dependence, Lieutenant James Clark. Clark had been a mate on the Phoenix in December when the galley was captured, and as customary with the navy, given command of the prize.
The rangers were still shocked by the announcement that a man they had looked toward as a leader had been discovered a traitor. Taken together, the events of the last two days had greatly undermined their faith in the British, and while they found themselves now committed on this path, they could not but fear they had chosen unwisely. Nearly every soldier, even when reminded of the bounty offered for his allegiance, would have sworn on three Bibles that he would have preferred the war never happened.
Not so their leader. Busch emerged from his conference and strode across the deck to his men with firm resolve, projecting the strenuous image of a leader with a full grip on Future's throat. If he reproached himself for having misjudged Gibbs, there was no sign of it. If he felt betrayed — if indeed some part of him wanted to hear from Gibbs that he was indeed the man he'd taken him for — no one would have guessed from his manner.
A company of marines was mustered alongside the rangers behind the tarpaulined supplies, waiting for their commanders to give them their last instructions. As Busch walked forward, he caught a glimpse of Jake being led from the captain's quarters under guard. He swung to his right, pulled his hands together at the hips of his green ranger coat, and addressed a knot of sailors standing near the main mast.
'I need a strong man who is not afraid of becoming a hero to posterity,' said Busch without blushing. 'You, sailor, what is your name?'
The man, a tall fellow from Devonshire, smirked a bit before answering. It was obvious he thought the colonial captain full of himself. 'Able Seaman Williams, sir.' 'Can you paddle a canoe?' 'I've never tried, sir.' 'Never?' 'I've stroked an oar in a ship's boat many times, if that counts.' 'Are you brave, Williams?'
The hard look in Busch's eye caught the seaman off guard, and he took an involuntary step backwards. His face turned as red as the sun that sets over the Indian Ocean. 'Well?' Williams pulled his chest up. 'I am as brave as any man in His Majesty's Service, sir.' 'Excellent. I have need of a volunteer I can count on. Come with me.'
Williams fell in without so much as a glance at his comrades. Busch — who stood a full six inches shorter than him — had transfixed the man by some innate power.
Jake, watching from near the cabin, could not help but smile. The show had undoubtedly been put on for his benefit, but that did not make the figure strutting across to the knot of red and green coats any less impressive.
'We will board the boats shortly,' Busch told the troop. 'We will proceed with the Dependence to the far shore, where we will wait until twilight. When the shadows are long enough, we will move ahead and engage the rebels directly below their fort near the Peek Skill Creek. The sergeant will coordinate the attack on land, and we will have the support of Lieutenant Clark and his craft. Myself and Seaman Williams will proceed upriver once the assault is launched. We will arrive just after their patrols have retired; I timed it myself the other day.
'You see the canoe lashed there on deck,' he added as two sailors pulled back the canvas before them to reveal the odd looking but deadly craft. 'It will be a surprise for the rebels, I warrant.'
The vessel was a cross between a native dugout canoe and a pregnant Franklin stove. A cone made of tin and painted black covered the entire front half of the canoe, its leading edge shaped into a triangular wedge like a rounded pyramid. The second half of the canoe was more familiar, though a little wider than normal, apparently to add extra buoyancy.
The tin canister at the front contained a massive amount of gunpowder, which would be set off by a special waterproof charge contained in a glass tube. It was this charge that was to do the work against the river's iron chain; Busch would lash the canoe against the floats and set it off. Once the cable was broken, the British fleet would be free to proceed upriver at its leisure.
Jake surmised from the fact that only a small ship and not the entire fleet was anchored behind the Richmond that there was a certain degree of skepticism about the plan among the British command. Nonetheless, they were happy to let some Loyalist rangers take a crack at it, especially since their contribution amounted to landing a few marines ashore and running a captured galley under a few ill-aimed cannon.
But it was just the sort of bold, unexpected attack that would work best if the fleet stayed away. A full mustering of ships in the river would have put the entire countryside on alert. And more troops, no matter how well trained, would not increase the chances of success.
Busch turned from briefing his troops and walked back toward Jake, who with his marine guards was still waiting for the captain to finish some other business.
'I would have taken you with me,' Busch told him. 'You would have had the glory instead of this simple sailor.' 'It would have been your greatest mistake,' said Jake. 'I would have stopped you.' 'I doubt it.' 'I'll stop
