The Golden Flask (7 page)

"Does your uncle know that you have allied yourself
with the English?" asked van Clynne, steadying his horse as it climbed down the obscure, rock-strewn path. They were far from the main roads, approaching
a wooded bluff overlooking the Hudson. The water was
so close the Dutchman could catch glimpses of the
gently rocking waves through the trees. "I would think
he would have something to say about it."

"I have not seen my uncle in many years, fat man."

"I would think, sir, that personal insults will not for
ward our relationship in the least. But let me mention that your uncle still grieves your family's loss."

"No other man has lost two fathers," said Egans suddenly, turning on van Clynne. "And now I suggest that
you keep silent, or I will fill your mouth with lead."

"As you wish, sir," said van Clynne. "Though, I would
think you much wiser to align yourself with the
patriotic cause, as it is one that argues for freedom and
should be most compatible with the native lifestyle. These English — "

"Enough! It was a Dutchman who killed my second
father. Do not tempt me to take revenge."

With great effort and a strong glance at the pistol lodged against his nose, van Clynne stopped his
tongue. Egans's red father had in fact been killed by a
German — the story was well known in the inns near
the family's old homestead—but his friend was not in a
mood to be corrected.

Egans was a wily fellow, and he made sure to stay
several yards behind van Clynne. He had also taken the precaution of removing the squire's pistol from his saddlebag, as well as confiscating his four purses. The pis
tol was of little account, as it hadn't been loaded, but
the purses had a certain sentimental value — the Dutch
man nearly cried over the bills they contained. True, he had taken the precaution of leaving nearly all his coins
with Sarah Thomas's father for safe keeping before at
tending the ball, and had a good supply of New York
pounds and a few British notes besides hidden in his
heel. But this he considered emergency money, and of
dubious authenticity besides.

What van Clynne really wished for was a tomahawk.
He was well known as one of the best ax chuckers in
the province; were one in his hand right now, Egans
would be wearing his hair much differently.

"Stop," said the white Oneida as van Clynne's horse
reached a high point in the trail. The trees immediately
to the east had been cleared, giving them a good view
of the Hudson below. The river was a bright expanse of
blue, gleaming with the sparkle of the midday sun. Only a few boats were about.

With Egans's attention turned toward the water, Es
cape was flapping her wings and heading for greener
pastures. But the Dutchman needed a weapon to gain tactical advantage, and only one thing presented it
self — his large and well-treasured silvery-gray beaver
hat. Desperately, van Clynne flung it, startling Egans as
he turned, and causing him to misfire his gun. In the
same motion, van Clynne kicked his horse sharply. The
animal leapt forward, but stumbled after only three
steps, sending the Dutchman in a heap into the hillside brush. The considerable slope of the terrain added mo
mentum to van Clynne's tumble, and the Dutchman
was soon rolling down the hill with the force of an
avalanche, throwing all manner of debris and dust in
his wake. He was just barely able to steer himself by
shoving his arms in front of him, managing to avoid
several large rocks but crashing over a number of smaller ones.

Egans started through the brambles at the top of the
bluff, then realized he would have to find an easier
passage. He jumped atop his horse and rode down the
path, toward an abandoned step-back trail leading to the river bank.

With a great groan, van Clynne bounced against a
stone wall that stood a few yards from the edge of the water. He could hear the struggles of Egans's horse just to the south and knew he would not get very far on the
ground in that direction before the Indian arrived. The
way north was blocked by a large patch of overgrown
blackberry sticker bushes; escape in that direction was
likewise improbable.

Indeed, the only path open was the river a few yards
away. Not only did its waters beckon with a disarming
calmness, but a canoe had been placed on the bank to
make his exit child's play.

Except that Van Clynne was deathly afraid of water.
Given the choice, he would have walked barefoot
through a field of burning corn before being berthed in
the captain's quarters of a fine sailing ship.

The sound of Egans's horse crashing through the woods vanquished his fear. Or rather, it gave the Dutchman
courage enough to close his eyes as he dove
into the canoe, his weight helping to move it out onto the water as the current caught hold and pushed it toward midstream.

Chapter Six

Wherein, a certain flask is opened and a perplexing problem pours out.

J
ake and his guide passed
through a fertile farmland of
southern Ulster and northern Orange counties without encountering any other difficulties. For the most part, the people here were strong patriots who
had already suffered much for the war. A good number
had been deployed as militia in the Highlands a few
months before. The long rail fences and haphazard
stone walls that marked the boundaries of their lands teemed with tall grass and summer flowers; truly Nature had blessed the area with an abundant flow of life.

Had we the leisure, we might dally in one of these
meadows or walk among the furrowed corn. The stone
houses of the Huguenots that made up New Paltz
might be of special interest, not merely for the archi
tecture but the stories these stones might tell of harrowing winters and violent struggles in the old
wilderness. But Jake and Colonel Hamilton did not lin
ger here, taking without comment their fresh horses from the waiting militiaman, a tall fellow named
Schenck, who had stood a lonely vigil by his yard's gate
all night. They thundered onward, sucking hard bread
crusts between their teeth, the fresh animals soon wheezing with the difficult pace.

There was much the two men might have said to
each other. Hamilton was especially interested in Miss
Schuyler, whom he'd already heard rumors of another of Washington’s aides,
Tench Tilgham, but their
haste precluded idle chatter. Immediately south of the
village, Hamilton left the main road, heading over a series of obscure paths that would have made van Clynne proud. The Shawangunk Mountains stood at their right shoulders, watching their progress through the foothills. Newburgh and New Windsor sat off to
the left, closer to the river. Red-tailed hawks, surveying the fields for a midmorning snack, circled warily overhead, anxious lest the hurrying travelers suddenly covet
their feathers.

It was just about noon when the two men neared the
vicinity where the rendezvous with the commander-in-
chief had been arranged. The tangled area is known as
the Clove. With the Highland mountains guarding the
approach from the river, the land dives down into a lush valley, overgrown with all manner of Nature's bounty.

Jake and Colonel Hamilton pushed down a path nar
rowed on both sides by massive bolts of daisies, laurel,
and other wildflowers, their sweet scents filling their
lungs. Hamilton suddenly veered to the right, crossing
into what seemed at first a field made entirely of black
berries. But the bushes gave way to a meadow inter
sected by a firm path; Jake let his horse follow
Hamilton's lead as they dipped down a gradual incline.

Ahead, the two riders spotted a tall, regal man on
horseback, gray hair flying beneath his hat as he paced with his mount on the hilltop. Some trick of the light
washed out all else before, them, and for a moment it
seemed as if horse and rider were walking on air.

J
ake spurred his horse at the sight; many months
had passed since he had seen General Washington.
Crossing a stream that lay between them, a shout went
up. The general's guard appeared from both sides and intercepted the men. Recognizing Hamilton, they joined in escort, and the commander-in-chief found
himself besieged by an eager body of young men whose
emotions stirred even his fabled constitution.

There are those who have made General Washing
ton into a latter-day Caesar, only wiser and bolder. An
other contingent, smaller but nearly as vociferous,
crayons him a tyrant and fool. Those closest to him can
speak equally of his steady faith and ready temper.
Let
us agree that he is neither demigod nor demon, but if
the compass should shade toward one extreme over the
other, let it be the former. No other single man has
embodied our noble struggle so completely. No other man has pulled us together so completely, nor inspired
so many tattered soldiers, ranks broken by bayonet charge, to turn round and face the enemy one last time, and thereby win victory and honor.

The first sight of the long blue coat with its wide
collar turned out gave Jake a flush of inspiration and strength. Any doubts over the outcome of the war were
vanquished at the sight of this surrogate father on the
hilltop, watching them approach.

Washington's majestic blue uniform was fitted out
with buff lapels and topped by gold epaulets, its swal
lowtails buttoned for riding. The light tan vest
and
breeches hugged his powerful body, draped by a diagonal light-blue ribbon. This ribbon, along with the un
adorned cockade on his black, three-cornered hat,
showed his rank, much as the yellow cockade had con
firmed Hamilton's.

With no hat to doff in salute, Jake held out both arms in exaltation as he drew up close. "General, sir," he exclaimed, "I have come as quickly as I could."

Washington's light tone belied his words as he
chided his young officer. "You look as if you've come
straight from the dance floor. Is that a tailored uniform? On a member of the Secret Service? When I
sent you to Schuyler I thought he'd put you to serious
work."

"I've had my moments, sir."

"I rescued him from Betsy Schuyler's clutches, your
Excellency," said Hamilton, drawing near. "It was a dif
ficult fight, and I shall stand for a medal.”

“
It's I who rescued him," countered Jake. "Your sec
retary was ready to give himself up as a prisoner."

Washington smiled, but already gravity was returning
to his face. "Hamilton, there is some business for your
immediate attention," he said, dismounting. "Harrison
has a critical dispatch. Young Jake, walk with me a bit."

The long grass brushed against the tight breeches of
Jake's fancy dress pants as they walked. A clump of
daylilies sat at the edge of the hilltop meadow, their
red-and-yellow faces basking in the sun. Sprigs of daphne mixed in behind them, their berries just shading from blue to black.