"You see the canoe lashed there on deck," he added as two sailors pulled back the canvas before them to reveal the odd looking but deadly craft. "It will be a surprise for the rebels, I warrant."
The vessel was a cross between a native dugout canoe and a pregnant Franklin stove. A cone made of tin and painted black covered the entire front half of the canoe, its leading edge shaped into a triangular wedge like a rounded pyramid. The second half of the canoe was more familiar, though a little wider than normal, apparently to add extra buoyancy.
The tin canister at the front contained a massive amount of gunpowder, which would be set off by a special waterproof charge contained in a glass tube. It was this charge that was to do the work against the river's iron chain; Busch would lash the canoe against the floats and set it off. Once the cable was broken, the British fleet would be free to proceed upriver at its leisure.
Jake surmised from the fact that only a small ship and not the entire fleet was anchored behind the Richmond that there was a certain degree of skepticism about the plan among the British command. Nonetheless, they were happy to let some Loyalist rangers take a crack at it, especially since their contribution amounted to landing a few marines ashore and running a captured galley under a few ill-aimed cannon.
But it was just the sort of bold, unexpected attack that would work best if the fleet stayed away. A full mustering of ships in the river would have put the entire countryside on alert. And more troops, no matter how well trained, would not increase the chances of success.
Busch turned from briefing his troops and walked back toward Jake, who with his marine guards was still waiting for the captain to finish some other business.
"I would have taken you with me," Busch told him. "You would have had the glory instead of this simple sailor." "It would have been your greatest mistake," said Jake. "I would have stopped you." "I doubt it." "I'll stop 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!"