The Golden Flask (20 page)

"Very possible," said Culper. "His whole staff has
disappeared from Manhattan. They're not on Staten Island either. Apparently everyone Howe values has been placed aboard ship and is sitting just over the horizon, whether waiting for the winds to change or
some portent from heaven, it is impossible to say. Bos
ton may be his target."

"Why would he go north? Why risk another defeat
there?"

"If it were Philadelphia, why not just continue across
the Jerseys?" answered Culper. "We have heard every
city on the continent as a destination. I have sent a
number of our men to try and discover Howe's plans,
with nothing to show for it. My best hope was Robert
Anthony, who infiltrated General Clinton's headquarters. Clinton has been left behind, though whether
Howe trusts him with his plans seems to vary from
week to week."

"Where is Anthony?"

"Sitting in one of the city jails, waiting to be taken to
the prison ships or hanged, whatever they decide."

"We must rescue him and see what he has found." Jake said.

"I'm glad you feel that way," said Culper, a bit of his
more usual spirit reviving in the twinkle of his eyes. "We have an operation planned this very afternoon. Tell me, how is your German these days?"

Chapter Eighteen

Wherein, Claus van Clynne is bundled in British rope
and, more fearsome, red tape.

W
hile Jake was enjoying
his brief breakfast at Clay
ton Bauer's mansion, Claus van Clynne was in need of
much stronger relief. Having been transported down
river to a small landing north of Peekskill, he was bundled and taken south in the back of a hay cart. The cart
skirted the American patrols and defenses in the High
lands, which centered around the immense river chain
and its neighboring forts on the river. South of King's Ferry, the small group of disguised British sailors and
the renegade Egans took a road that led to the shore. Had he not been gagged, the squire might have remarked that he knew this particular lane well, as he had ridden down it during his adventures as the
adopted general of a Connecticut brigade but a month and a half before. He might also have protested, with
great severity, when Egans took up his hat and placed it on his own head, deciding to treat it as a trophy of war.

But then there was much van Clynne might have said at any stage of his journey. He could have waxed elo
quent about the indignities of being lifted like a bag of
year-old potatoes from the back of the cart and dumped unceremoniously into a longboat. He might
have essayed at length about the untidy and haphazard
rowing that took him to the river sloop waiting in the
shadows offshore. He undoubtedly would have complained
of the fickleness of the starlight as he stared at
the sky for three hours while the sloop raced furiously south. Nor should anyone suspect that he would have
stifled his complaints at the bidding of the marines who
stood guard, nor Egans himself, who brooded at the front of the vessel.

More Indian than white, the Oneida was suspicious
of his British paymasters, and his many dealings with
them had made him less, rather than more, inclined to
trust them. But he nonetheless had made himself their
agent, and an effective one at that. His motivations
were a mixture of revenge against the people who had
killed his adopted father, a misguided notion that ad
venture against the whites was the equivalent of glory in battle, and a determination to use the wealth he received to increase his own position and standing
among his adopted people. Indeed, the man who was
called Snowsnake longed above all else for acceptance
and honor, not merely from his immediate family but
from Iroquois in general. The lines of power in his clan
and nation ran through the maternal side, and Egans
with some reason felt he had never been properly ap
preciated by his adopted aunts. Returning with the tro
phies British silver could provide was one way of raising their esteem.

His adopted father's death had left a great hole
within his breast, which he felt could only be closed by
over-awed respect. He would trade half the fingers on
his hands for the position a man such as Johnson —- also
white — commanded among the confederacy.

For his part, Claus van Clynne believed Egans more
misguided than evil. In the Dutchman's opinion, his
alignment with the British was due solely to the misi
dentification of his adopted father's killer. The Dutch
man placed a great trust in blood instincts, as well as
his own abilities of persuasion, and felt that if the gag
around his mouth were removed, he would soon have
Egans leading the charge against the English. A word
here, a hint there, and Egans would be among the hot
test Revolutionists.

Alas, his theory was never put to the test, for the gag
was not removed; not when the sloop pulled into Loy
alist Spuyten Duyvil to discharge some other passen
gers, nor when it slipped along the shore to find the wharfs further south in Manhattan at early morn. The rag was still firmly around his mouth as van Clynne,
with considerable straining from the crew, was loaded into a wheelbarrow and dragged ashore, where he was
hoisted into a wagon.

If they chafed at taking directions from a man they
might regard as a traitor to their race, the crew nonetheless followed Egans's orders and took some care as the trussed prisoner was lifted from the back and car
ried — again with a surfeit of groans — up the steps to
the British administration building across from the jail.

Even in wartime, there' are forms to be completed and papers signed. Egans waited stoically while the
British went through their procedures for interning the
prisoner. Van Clynne's money and his passes had been
transferred to a satchel Egans kept at his side. He
judged it unnecessary to produce them for the clerk,
especially as they might be of use in his future endeav
ors.

It was a good thing, too, for otherwise the process
would have taken three times as long, between the cat
aloging and accounting.

"An examination will have to be arranged," said the
clerk at the desk, pointing at van Clynne after the forms were filled. "According to the calendar, it will not be before next week. After that, he will provide nice ballast at Wallabout Bay."

Egans did not join in the laughter. The mud flats of
Wallabout Bay were the home of a series of derelict
hulks used as prison ships. In his mind, there was no
glory in keeping prisoners in such torturous conditions.
Better to kill a man outright, so that his spirit might be
used by the victorious warrior.

Needless to say, van Clynne had his own ideas. In fact, he tried to share them with the clerk.

"I cannot hear you through your gag," the man told him.

Van Clynne's gesticulations that it be removed were insufficient to convince him. The clerk was, however, required by the regulations to ascertain from the prisoner his name and role in the rebellion. Custom also dictated a few other inquiries, such as the nature of his religion. At length, therefore, the clerk nodded at the sergeant-at-arms, who removed the spittle-drenched
gag.

"I was just about to wonder what had happened to the custom of law in this country," thundered van Clynne the moment his lips were freed. "To be tied like a common hog —"

"We were confused by your grunts," said the clerk dryly. "What is your name?"

"I am a personal friend of Sir William Howe. I demand to be taken to him at once!"

"The general will be with you shortly," said the clerk. "He is currently on his way to tea with Mr. Washington. What is your name?"

"It was not two months ago when I dined with Sir William aboard his brother's ship and debated the merits of Madeira versus ale," answered the Dutchman. (He happened to be speaking the truth, though the clerk should be forgiven for not thinking it possible.) "Take me to him immediately."

"This gentleman will show you there," said the Englishman, nodding at the sergeant-at-arms. "For the record, do you refuse to give me your name?"

"I refuse to answer any of your questions," said van Clynne indignantly. "I refuse to be a party to this injustice, and stand on my rights."

"You would do better to stand on your feet," said the clerk, making a notation in his book. "Take him away."

"My hat, I demand my hat!"

"You do not require a hat in jail," answered the clerk.

"I stand upon my rights," blustered van Clynne. "A
man cannot be deprived of his hat under British law."

The clerk's brow knotted. He realized the Dutchman might indeed be correct, and in any case, there were
considerable forms to fill out regarding its loss. The
crisis was averted by Egans, who stepped forward and
jammed the beaver on van Clynne's head. "Here it is,"
he said. "Wear it in good health."

"I demand restitution," said van Clynne. "I was without its services for several hours and am entitled to just
compensation."

But the possibilities of delay, if not argument, had
been exhausted. Van Clynne was taken, with great con
sternation, across the street to the jail.

With his prisoner gone, Egans asked the clerk where
his reward was.

"Which reward would that be?"

"I am promised twenty crowns for each rebel spy I
bring to the city," said Egans.

"I know nothing of that," said the clerk. He turned to his other work. "That is not my department."

"I will not leave without my money."

The clerk did not bother answering. Instead, he gave
a minuscule motion with his hand, and the two guards
who had been standing by the side door promptly came
to take hold of Egans. The Oneida shook his arms out so fiercely they hesitated.

"I will have my money."

"Consult General Bacon's staff," said the clerk.

"Give me a receipt for my prisoner."

"That I will gladly do," said the clerk. "Once you
complete the proper forms."

Chapter Nineteen

Wherein, Jake hears a familiar sound.

J
ust
at the close
of the afternoon dinner time, a procession of wagons piled high with bricks made their
way down from Broadway toward one of the recently
opened British jails, an auxiliary edifice converted from a warehouse and now generally used for holding sus
pected rebels and spies. The lead wagon, it developed,
had a faulty axle pin, which gave way just as the vehicle
passed the entrance to the jail. The load of bricks sud
denly tumbled out, upsetting the horses behind, who in
turn upset their own wagons. Within a short minute, the entire roadway was piled nearly waist-high with fresh clay bricks. Thick dust filled the air.