The Golden Flask (8 page)

It would not have taken much imagination to think
themselves on a picnic. Until the general began speak
ing.

"You met Howe a few months ago," said Washing
ton. "Or so I have heard."

"Aboard his brother's ship in New York Harbor. They thought I was a spy — for their side."

Washington laughed heartily. Certain of the younger
men always tickled his sense of humor, and Gibbs had
been among them from the first day they met. "I won
der how they got that idea."

"You know the British. Always adding two and two
and finding five."

"What was your opinion of Sir William?"

"The general is the letter of the reports about him,
perhaps worse. He's vain and indecisive. Given to drink
and whoring."

"Yes, and I'm sure the British say the same of me."

"In his case it is true."

Washington was silent a moment, as if considering
the field around him. But his thoughts were much fur
ther away.

"The general has helped us many times without
knowing it," he said. "Still, he is more formidable than
you give him credit for, and he can be perplexing."

Washington reached into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out an ornate golden flask. If King George
had appeared on the hilltop before them,
Jake would not have been more surprised.

"General?"

"Take the flask and open it, Jake. Go on; it's not one of your poisons, I assure you. Nor is it rum."

Beautifully worked, the flask was made of metal, shaped like a flat shovel used in a stable, though naturally much smaller. The stout neck had a delicate flute, stoppered with a common cork, in great contrast to the glimmering metal it fit into. There were no identifying marks, no signs of ownership or even the initials of the man who had made it. About the size of Jake's hand, the bottle appeared to have been hammered from pure gold, and must have been worth a considerable sum.

Jake opened it slowly. Instead of liquid, it contained a tightly rolled parchment.

In an ornate hand, the writing on the paper greeted General Burgoyne, congratulated him on his successes, and then declared that things were proceeding as planned.

"If,"
the writer said,
"according to my expectations, we may succeed rapidly in the possession of
B
—
, the enemy having no force of consequence there, I shall, without loss of time, proceed to cooperate with you in the defeat of the rebel army opposed to you. Clinton is sufficiently strong to amuse Washington and Putnam. I am now making a demonstration southward, which I think will have the full effect of carrying our plan to execution. I have sent this message by duplicate couriers, to ensure its prompt arrival."

The message was signed by General Howe.

"B
is Boston, obviously," said Jake. "But can it be?"

"Perhaps," said Washington. "We bloodied Howe's nose in the Jerseys but he was still quite strong. At first I believed he was aiming for Philadelphia, but it became clear his true strategy was to draw us into a fight on poor grounds. When that didn't work, he took his men back to Perth and Staten Island. Now he's loaded them aboard ship and disappeared." There was an
impish twinkle at the corner of Washington's eye as he
added, "Not to return to England, I'm afraid."

"Where was the message found?"

"The message came into our possession yesterday morning. A man stumbled into a patrol of General Mc
Dougall's soldiers in the Highlands. Clumsy, for a Tory
spy."

Jake nodded. Not two months before, he had trailed
a British messenger south from Canada to New York
City. The last thing the man would have done was stumble into an American patrol and get captured.

But the paper in his hand certainly seemed genuine. And the container it had come in was not something to
be given up lightly.

"Have you asked the Culpers for their opinion?" Jake asked. Culper was the code name for the leaders
of the patriot spy ring in New York City. Their information on British intentions had proved extremely reli
able in the past, and Jake had made use of both
Culpers — Junior and Senior — in several of his opera
tions. As contingencies continue to demand discretion,
we will use only the name Culper in referring to the
man at the head of the patriot spy ring, wherever we
shall meet him in our tale.

"Another problem," said the commander-in-chief.
"We haven't had a message out of New York City for
more than a week."

"Nothing?"

"I fear our men have been captured or worse. This is the longest I've gone without a message. I've even sent
two men in for word. They haven't returned."

The general turned his attention briefly to the daphne at his feet. The beautiful plant and its berries contained a deadly poison, easily extracted.

"You want me to go to the city and find out if this
captured message is genuine."

Washington nodded. "We have sentinels on the coast
looking for Howe's ships. Our best information is that
they wait just over the horizon. But I can't afford to sit still
until Sir William decides he's had enough of his mistress Mrs. Loring and goes on."

"If I were to guess," said Jake, "it would be Philadel
phia. Boston is not a logical attack."

"Agreed. But if I were attacking Philadelphia with
his army, I would simply march across southern Jersey.
He could try the Hudson, to join up with Burgoyne
after this news of Ticonderoga. After all our efforts — after all your efforts particularly — it would be a great
blow. Meanwhile, the South is wide open to him, arid it
would cause us considerable difficulty if he were to at
tack there. But Boston?"

"It is Howe we're speaking of," said Jake lightly.
"Anything is possible."

Washington laughed. "It would be an imaginative
stroke, though we can't rule it out on those grounds
alone. The despair if we lost the city after regaining it would be tremendous, and we couldn't hope he would
neglect the defenses a second time."

The general had a certain mood that came over him
when he contemplated a strategic situation. His head
tilted down slightly, and his eyes seemed to focus on something inside his mind. Meanwhile, his arms depos
ited themselves behind his back.

Jake, walking at his side, studied the supposed message from Howe. There seemed no doubt that he had
written it—but in truth or as a deception?

"If I am to protect Boston, we must march by the middle of next week," said Washington finally. "It is
the last possible moment, and I would be depending on
the local troops to hold Howe, if he lands, until I could
arrive and counterattack. It is a desperate strategy, but
it is the best I can do until his destination is found. At
least from here I can go in whatever way is necessary."

Jake nodded. The consequences of losing any major city would be great, but losing Boston a second time
might crush the Revolution completely and would cer
tainly end all hope of foreign aid. Jake knew the com
mander-in-chief would never say that, however; he would never bring himself to even hint that the war might ultimately be lost.

The spy slipped the letter back inside the flask and
handed it to his commander.

"I'll leave for New York immediately," said Jake. He
had no idea, as yet, how he might find out what Howe was up to, but clearly there was no time to lose worry
ing up a plan.

"If our friends in the city are still alive," said the general, "they may already know the answer."

Jake nodded, realizing that the general was implying that he feared the worst. "It will be an easy trip then, in
and out."

"If not, your imagination will be put to good use in
creating a solution."

He felt Washington's strength as the general’s strong arm
patted him on his back. The Virginian came off stiffly
in certain formal settings, but easily relaxed among the
small coterie of men who knew him well. He could be a
warm and doting uncle, as Jake well knew. And once
he took a shine to you, mountains could erode to ant
hills before his faith wavered.

"Four days is all I have, Jake, and even that is cutting the hare's whisker close. If I don't hear from you
and the British fleet is still unsighted, I must march for Boston." Washington began striding back towards his aides. "Get some new clothes. Hamilton will give you
letters of credit. You'll have need of a fresh horse as well."

Jake thought of mentioning his friend van Clynne
and his petitions, but realized this was not the time for
it. He was already trotting ahead, looking for his horse.
"I will be back as quickly as possible, sir. And we will
have a few rounds of throwing shot."

"I won't stand you or the rest of my family an advan
tage this time," the general called out. He always referred to his staff members as family, and indeed he
treated them as such. "I have heard you learned much
from the natives during your recent visit with them.”

Chapter S
even

Wherein, Jake meets a weaver but not his daughter.

W
hile Hamilton led him
south of Suffern's Tavern to a small village to see to a disguise, Jake worked his brain around a plan to enter New York.

The spy had last trod the city streets a month and a half before. His coming and going had created such a stir in the Westchester environs that he felt it would not be wise to enter from that direction again. Like
wise, taking the river south, which would be the quick
est route, was too dangerous. Jake had almost been
hanged on the deck of the
HMS Richmond,
which Washington's men said was patrolling off Dobbs Ferry;
its master bore him a serious grudge and would not be
easily fooled by any disguise. And the men on at least
one other ship — the galley
HMS Dependence
— would
like to see him displayed high on their yardarm, or perhaps launched in pieces from the massive cannon they carried at their bow. Prudence dictated that his best course was by land south through New Jersey; there were any of fifty places where he might sneak into the river, take or rent a boat, and steal across to the city.

A few papers forged in Benjamin Franklin's son's
name would come in handy if he ran into problems.
Though a stout patriot himself, Franklin's son William
was royal governor of New Jersey. He had been turned
out the previous year and arrested, but his signature still impressed British authorities and Tories. It was
also readily available to the Americans, and Washing
ton's staff often amused themselves by duplicating it.