you still.'
Busch laughed. 'You'll be hanging from a noose before I'm halfway there. I'm only too sorry that I can't stay to see that.'
Jake shrugged bravely as the Tory went to supervise the crew struggling to get the bomb canoe into the water. Aided by a block and tackle, they finally lowered the vessel to the water, where it was tied to another canoe, and then rowed to the Dependence. Both small boats would be towed upriver behind the galley.
The Dependence herself looked oddly benign. Her sails gave a taut rap as the wind continued to pick up, the sheets fluttering against their rigging. The massive pipe in her bow was quiet, covered with a loose black tarpaulin that from a distance looked like a casually deposited blanket. Her sailors, in their striped jerseys and black trousers, exuded the nonchalant but busy air of men working an admiral's pleasure cruise, bustling about as if preparing for one more dalliance before the weather broke. The ship took on a load of marines and then her complement began working the oars, galley slaves like ancient Athenians.
Busch's company, again under the sergeant's command, descended to their whaleboats after the marines. Their captain had buttressed their emotions, though here and there a face betrayed great doubt.
Even taken together, the British landing force was many times smaller than the several hundred men that had harried Peekskill a few months before, but it was more than enough to draw attention from the chain while Busch and his sailor set their charge.
Jake busied his eyes with an appreciation of the rugged tree-lined shore to the north. His focus blurred as he gazed northward, as if he could somehow spot the iron and wood floating in the water. By now, Rose and van Clynne would have delivered his messages to Putnam; the general would be waiting.
The patriot spy bit the inside of his lip, wondering if his decision to admit his identity had been the correct one.
Some reflection on the choices of his life, both immediately past and those of long standing, were inevitable given the circumstances. The ship's crew, having gotten the raiding party safely off, now turned its attention to the traitor. A gibbet party was a rare treat, especially on so disciplined a ship as the Richmond, and the very ad hoc nature of the arrangements added to the excitement. Jake's situation was not unlike that of the first few Christians to be eaten by lions in the Forum, before the Romans truly got the hang of things. There was genuine excitement and anticipation, and even Captain Gidoin, who had witnessed executions of many different varieties, exhibited some jitters, which he disguised by striding back and forth as the rope was readied.
There was some discussion of whether the condemned man ought to be allowed the privilege of climbing up the mast to the spot where he was to be pushed off; this would require his binds be loosened if not completely freed, and it was decided Jake had forfeited such a right by rebelling against the king. Besides, there was some question of whether he might then be able to jump off of his own free will, and what the consequences of that would be; there was a heavy superstition against suicide aboard ship, though the doctor argued that a man who jumped under such circumstances could not be properly considered a suicide.
'You're not going to make me walk the plank?' asked Jake lightly.
'You've been reading too many rebel journals,' said the captain. 'This is a ship of the Royal Navy. We do not allow such barbarities.'
'No, you merely hang people without proper trials.'
'Gag him,' said Gidoin firmly. 'Then haul him up by the neck. If that doesn't kill him, drop him and repeat the process until it does.'
Jake's curses were stifled by a stiff cloth that forced its way between his teeth. A rope thick with the toil of the sea was pulled around his throat and the knots adjusted while the other end was tossed upwards. Just as Jake felt the pressure beneath his chin, the ship's captain put up his arm and stopped the proceedings.
Merciful God, thought Jake to himself, at last justice prevails. I will have a trial in New York City, where at least I will gain some fame from a speech before being condemned to death.
'I'm forgetting myself,' said Gidoin. 'I'll not have a hanging without some passage from the Bible.'
A collective sigh of disappointment at the delay rose from the sailors. A lad was sent scurrying to the doctor's cabin. Jake felt the light prick of raindrops on his face and looked up into the pregnant clouds. He wondered how wet he would get before being hanged.
'Ahoy! I say ahoy!'
So many of the ship's complement ran to the side to see who was yelling at them that the Richmond began to list.
'Help me up! Come now, I haven't all day! Toss me a line, lubber your yards, move your masts, I have important business and news for the captain!'
Frowning, Gidoin walked to the side. Without saying a word, he motioned with his arm and a half-dozen sailors flew into action. In a thrice, a rotund Dutchman in a black-gray beaver and old-fashioned clothes unceremoniously toppled through the entry port onto the deck.
Chapter Thirty-six
Allow me to introduce myself,' said the Dutchman after he righted himself. 'Claus van Clynne, Esquire, counterintelligence agent par excellence, at your service. And — '
Suddenly the squire's complexion, which had been shading toward a deep green, changed to beet red. 'There you are, spy!' he shouted. 'I arrest you in the name of His Majesty the King! You shall not escape me this time, you cowardly bastard — you are my prisoner!'
Van Clynne advanced on his man like a first-rate warship bearing down on the enemy line. His arms flared, his neck telescoped; were it not for a smudge of mud on his russet socks, he might have appeared the personification of a heavenly avenger. Indeed, his thundering voice and sharp manner brought the entire ship to attention, and a few superstitious souls believed that Old Man River himself had come aboard, aiming to stop a deed that would cast bad luck upon the boat and all who sailed through this stretch of water.
'You there,' van Clynne said to a marine. 'Take charge of the prisoner. Get that ridiculous necklace off him and double the ropes on his hands and feet. You don't know who you're dealing with. Move!'
The last sentence thundered against the hills loud enough to wake Hudson's crew.
'Belay that,' said Gidoin, stepping forward. 'Who the hell do you think you are?'
Van Clynne swept around and doffed his hat in an aristocratic gesture that would have impressed the dandiest macaroni. His voice changed instantly from brimstone to sugar. 'As I was saying, sir, my name is Claus van Clynne, and I am engaged on a mission for the king to rout out treacherous traitors.'
'The king?'
'Through Sir Henry Bacon,' said van Clynne, letting the name drop like a piece of fiery shot on the deck. 'You have heard of General Howe's intelligence chief, I assume.' 'Don't insult me.' 'I wouldn't presume to,' said van Clynne, 'and I expect similar respect.' Gidoin eyed him suspiciously. 'Captain Busch warned me this man had several accomplices.'
'Do I look like a rebel, sir?' Van Clynne stuck his nose into the air. 'Here you, marine — double his binds, I tell you. This man is not only clever, he is a thief. He will steal the very ropes you tie him with if they are not heavy enough.'
As van Clynne fussed, an assistant followed him aboard. Wearing the somewhat tattered clothes of a country bumpkin, the man — we have met him before as Private Martin, though he now wears even less official markings than previously — saluted his commander and informed him that all was ready.
'Bring it aboard then,' said van Clynne. 'Must I issue a specific order for every stage of this operation! I tell you, sir,' the Dutchman confided to Captain Gidoin, 'there was a time when subalterns showed their own initiative. You could count on them to take the proper actions and get where they were going without having to wash their linen for them.' 'Excuse me,' said Gidoin loudly, 'but just what do you think you're bringing aboard?' 'Salt,' said van Clynne. 'A dozen barrels of it, and at bargain prices, too. Lord Howe will be overjoyed.' 'We are not a supply ship.'
