Van Clynne advanced on his man like a first-rate warship bearing down on the enemy line. His arms flared, his neck telescoped; were it not for a smudge of mud on his russet socks, he might have appeared the personification of a heavenly avenger. Indeed, his thundering voice and sharp manner brought the entire ship to attention, and a few superstitious souls believed that Old Man River himself had come aboard, aiming to stop a deed that would cast bad luck upon the boat and all who sailed through this stretch of water.
"You there," van Clynne said to a marine. "Take charge of the prisoner. Get that ridiculous necklace off him and double the ropes on his hands and feet. You don't know who you're dealing with. Move!"
The last sentence thundered against the hills loud enough to wake Hudson's crew.
"Belay that," said Gidoin, stepping forward. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
Van Clynne swept around and doffed his hat in an aristocratic gesture that would have impressed the dandiest macaroni. His voice changed instantly from brimstone to sugar. "As I was saying, sir, my name is Claus van Clynne, and I am engaged on a mission for the king to rout out treacherous traitors."
"The king?"
"Through Sir Henry Bacon," said van Clynne, letting the name drop like a piece of fiery shot on the deck. "You have heard of General Howe's intelligence chief, I assume." "Don't insult me." "I wouldn't presume to," said van Clynne, "and I expect similar respect." Gidoin eyed him suspiciously. "Captain Busch warned me this man had several accomplices."
"Do I look like a rebel, sir?" Van Clynne stuck his nose into the air. "Here you, marine — double his binds, I tell you. This man is not only clever, he is a thief. He will steal the very ropes you tie him with if they are not heavy enough."
As van Clynne fussed, an assistant followed him aboard. Wearing the somewhat tattered clothes of a country bumpkin, the man — we have met him before as Private Martin, though he now wears even less official markings than previously — saluted his commander and informed him that all was ready.
"Bring it aboard then," said van Clynne. "Must I issue a specific order for every stage of this operation! I tell you, sir," the Dutchman confided to Captain Gidoin, "there was a time when subalterns showed their own initiative. You could count on them to take the proper actions and get where they were going without having to wash their linen for them." "Excuse me," said Gidoin loudly, "but just what do you think you're bringing aboard?" "Salt," said van Clynne. "A dozen barrels of it, and at bargain prices, too. Lord Howe will be overjoyed." "We are not a supply ship."
"Admiral Lord Howe will be pleased to discover your high opinion of yourself," said van Clynne in a withering voice. "Dump the salt overboard!"
Captain Gidoin was an able seafarer and a competent captain, but when van Clynne was in the middle of a streak like this, no mere mortal could resist him. The references to Black Dick Howe, the navy commander whom Gidoin answered to, were particularly potent. The captain grimaced and belayed the latest command, waving two men to help hoist the barrels aboard.
"You thought you saw the last of me, I warrant," said van Clynne, addressing Jake. "Thought you'd escape me by giving yourself up here. Ha, I say. You'll not get away so easily."
"We were just about to hang him," said one of Gidoin's lieutenants, Justin McRae. "Not set him free."
"Oh, surely you jest. Excuse me, sir, but hanging is the least of his worries now. Hanging would be pleasurable. Come, take him to my boat. He must be punished suitably — hanging will follow his being burned at the stake, which itself will come after his being drawn and quartered. The only question is when he will be shot."
Gidoin put his arm up and the two marines who had taken Jake's arms halted. "Do you have any proof that you are who you say you are?" "What sort of proof do you require?" "Some insignia of rank or paper." "A spy who carries proof that he is a spy? Let me ask you, sir — have you been at this business very long?" "It is difficult to believe that a Dutchman could be employed in His Majesty's service," said McRae. "Excuse me, but what is the name of the river we are floating in?" demanded van Clynne. The officer looked at him as if he were a simpleton. "The North River." "Is it not called the Hudson as well?" "What's your point?"
Van Clynne accented his dignity by puffing his belly- an awesome sight. "My point, sir, is that this Hudson fellow belonged to which country?" "He was an Englishman." "Precisely. In the service of which country?" "And what do we have here, an exchange program?" asked Gidoin.
"Well, sir, if that is the tone you're to take with me, I'll be off. Joseph," he said to Martin, "see to the prisoner for me. Find some coat for him; I wouldn't want him catching cold in this drizzle."
"Excuse me," said Gidoin, "but you won't be taking him anywhere until he's been hanged properly as a traitor and a spy. And you'd best provide yourself with some proof of your identification, or you'll suffer the same fate."
"Well, now, there's a complication," answered van Clynne, thoughtfully rubbing his cheek and placing his hand into his pocket. He retrieved a pass from Admiral Howe, another from his brother General Sir William Howe, and a long Dutch pipe. "Would anyone have a match?" he asked after handing over the papers.
One of the sailors fetched a light for him. The rain was not yet coming down hard enough to extinguish the flame, but the Dutchman was careful to shelter the bowl and take no chances. After a pair of puffs, he offered it to the captain but Gidoin declined.
"Now, as I understand it, you want me to take a dead man back to General Bacon for interrogation," said van Clynne, snatching his documents back. "Well now, I fear he would not be overly enthusiastic about that."
Gidoin frowned.
"Perhaps you know the general better than I," said van Clynne. "I will give him your regards."
The Dutchman's bold step toward the edge of the ship was arrested by Gidoin himself, taking hold of his arm. During all of this time, Jake had kept quietly to himself — not difficult to do, considering that he was bound and gagged and had a rope around his neck. His hopes of rescue had alternately soared and soured. Was this all van Clynne had planned, a simple bluff?
Fortunately, the rag in Jake's mouth was thick enough to choke his curses.
"Wait," said Gidoin, his hand on the Dutchman's coat. "Perhaps I'm being too hasty."
There was no need for van Clynne to conceal a smile at this late victory — the view of the pitching waves had quite vanquished any trace of optimism from his face. In fact, he was starting to feel a little woozy — Dutch courage could only travel so far.
"Are you all right?" the captain asked.
"Yes, yes," said van Clynne, sinking against the barrels.
The sailors recognized the problem and started smirking among themselves. Gidoin tapped his foot impatiently, wondering how England would ever conquer the damn colonies with men such as the fat Dutchman in its employ. Jake did nothing, though this was not precisely his wish. "I wonder," van Clynne asked, "would it be possible to get something to wet my thirst?" "Seaman — a cup of water," said the captain. "No, not water. Anything but water," answered van Clynne. "Not used to being on a ship, are you?" said McRae, glad that the Dutchman's weakness had been so easily discovered. "The sea is a dreadful place." "We were discussing who would have custody of this prisoner," said Gidoin. "You can have him," said van Clynne. "What?" "Take him, he's yours."
Jake's reaction could not be properly chronicled if we had eight hundred pages. Gidoin's was somewhat less severe, though the word "shocked" does not quite convey the half of it. But as he was about to question the Dutchman further, he was interrupted by miscellaneous shouts and whistles and piping and perhaps even an orchestra of drums welcoming a new man aboard ship — Major Dr. Harland Keen.