reformed. His officer's voice hit full stride as Freedom herself perked up his timbre. 'The province's safety, and perhaps of our whole country, relies on the integrity of the Great Chain thrown across the Hudson north of here. Even as I speak, a force of despicable Tories and British marines are mustering against it. The Continentals who have been alerted may not realize where the real danger is, and so it is up to us — we will have to stop them. We will have to kill the Tory bastards with our bare hands if we have to! Get the horses and follow me!'
'Begging your pardon, sir,' said one of the men respectfully. 'But Captain-General van Clynne is our leader. He has taken us this far.'
'That reminds me — '
'Gentlemen, I turn over my command to Lieutenant Colonel Gibbs,' the Dutchman said quickly. 'He has a tactical sense of the situation that I could not possibly challenge. When we have finished this next phase of our assault, I shall, er, resume my rightful position.'
Jake was in too much of a hurry to scold van Clynne on his shameless self-promotion. Nor did he note tartly, as he might have, that the Dutchman was coming up in the world, having progressed from a landless squire to a general of fantastic rank.
'Take the horses and follow me,' Jake shouted, running to the animals the rangers had tied here. His boots were still sodden from his brief plunge in the water before boarding the whaleboat, but he nonetheless managed to leap atop the biggest horse he saw.
“Claus, the best road north along the river,” Jake commanded. “We need to reach Anthony's Nose before nightfall.'
'Less than an hour,' grumbled the Dutchman, heading for his horse. 'They are not making days as long as they used to.'
Chapter Thirty-nine
As they raced northwards, Jake was somewhat surprised to find that van Clynne, contrary to his usual habits, not only galloped along every bit as fast as the rest of the company, but hardly uttered half his usual complaints against the roads, the weather, or the British. He didn't even open his mouth to show them shortcuts, merely pointing the way to country paths that sliced off precious moments from their route. Perhaps the mantle of leadership agreed with him.
Jake realized Busch's plan had a major flaw — the Tory would be highly vulnerable once he separated from the diversionary forces and the Dependence. The trick for the patriots would be to get around the screening ranger force and avoid the Dependence.
The woods of upper Westchester were heavy with shadows, and the leaves crinkled with the ever-growing rain. Jake put up his hand to halt the column and let it catch its collective breath while he consulted with van Clynne.
'Where can we get boats along the river near Peeks Kill?' he asked the Dutchman.
'During peaceful times I would direct us to Lent's Cove,' said van Clynne, 'as we are only a few miles away. But Annsville Creek further north will be much surer. Francis Penmart's Dock is near the road to the King's Highway, and inevitably there will be boats idle.'
'Can I get to the chain from Lent's Cove?'
'In almost a straight line north,' conceded van Clynne. 'But if they are attacking ashore, the British will most likely land at the cove and move northwards, as they did at the end of March. I know a man named Green who lives on the cove,' added the Dutchman, twirling his beard. 'He inflates his prices and his politics have been questioned. Now, on the Annsville, there is a good Dutchman who will rent his craft out for a few pence below the going rate, and they are a higher quality besides.'
'Take us to Green.' Jake glanced northward, as if he could see their destination through the thick trees and growing rain. It was almost nightfall; the attack might already be underway. 'We'll risk whatever we must to make up the time. If we run into the rangers, I will go ahead to the river or wherever I can find a boat. You lead the men.'
'But if we stay inland, our chances — '
'Come on, General, there's no time to lose,' smirked Jake, picking up his horse's reins and getting the party into motion again with a good kick of his heels. 'I would think a captain-general would not waste a moment when the enemy is at hand.'
'It is a hereditary title only,' mumbled van Clynne.
The Tories had proceeded upriver at a slower though nonetheless deliberate pace, shepherded by the Dependence. Their first test came at King's Ferry, which despite the name was held by American troops.
The Dependence fired a few shots from her smaller guns above the ferry at Verplanck's Point, which was lightly and in truth poorly manned. A few muskets answered from the primitive earthworks, but the British forces didn't tarry long enough to be bothered by them. The stretch of river north of Verplanck's was ordinarily a calm lake, lying placidly below Dunderbury Mountain; the Dependence and her accompanying boats made their way slowly along the eastern shore, conserving their strength for the coming attack as the weather steadily rose against them.
The river forms a V here, with the Peeks Kill at the vortex. As the assault was launched, the Dependence would draw the attention of the defenders near the riverside and inland at the camps near Robinson's Bridge that have come to be known as Continental Village. The marines and rangers, meanwhile, would come ashore in the relative calm of Lent's Cove, an easy landing area removed from the main rebel positions. This would allow them to form up before proceeding inland. The strategy followed roughly the same pattern taken during a raid earlier in the year, and the marines could walk through it with their eyes closed.
Busch and his bomb canoe, meanwhile, would slip upstream to the chain. He would have to stay as close to the eastern shore as possible to avoid Forts Clinton and Montgomery, which lay directly across the narrow neck of the river from his target.
Lieutenant Clark, the master of the Dependence, inspected his vessel as they reached their staging area. Already the night was falling, and the pistol which would launch the attack was loaded and stuck in his belt.
Busch, walking the long deck and scanning the empty river, kept to himself. This day was the culmination of many weeks of planning; now that it had come, he felt a certain stillness inside his chest, a quiet even more profound than his studied outward manner. He had no doubt that he was about to strike a death blow to the Revolution; in so doing, he would also win much glory for himself. But his thoughts were not focused on that, nor even on the difficulties of the mission ahead. For one brief moment he looked southward on the river in the direction of the Richmond. Smith — or Gibbs, if that was his true name — would be dead by now. A twinge of regret wandered through the depths of the Tory's soul, for he recognized that under different circumstances the two men might have been good friends.
But Gibbs had made a fatal mistake, placing his own ego before that of his sovereign's; all of these rebels had done this in their hubris, and now they must pay for it.
Lieutenant Clark met Busch at the bow of the ship, standing near the massive gun that made the galley the most fearsome raider above New York. Even in the growing shadows and light rain it was an impressive weapon, with a bulk that belonged to a living thing. The wooden carriage that cradled it seemed a squat elephant, taken from the Hindoo wilds. The large iron pipe was a lion's prone body, coiled and ready to strike.
The deck around her had been cleared and made ready for action; the gun crew stood to one side, watching as the captain studied the far shore with his spyglass. Many of these men had been with Clark aboard the Phoenix when the galley was captured, and were the hardened salt of the sea, prepared to follow him up the River Styx if necessary.
The marines, bayonets sharpened and musket locks covered with protective cloth against the weather, stood amidships, trying to pretend that they were not nervous about the pending battle. A supply of whale oil, as well as candlewood and kindling, had been stored in a row of casks; half the countryside would soon be on fire, if the
