Tossed to the deck with no warning, the patriot managed just barely to stay conscious. The blast severed the halter rope, though its long strand remained attached to his neck. His arms and legs were still tightly bound, and he could not walk freely. The explosion had rocked the ship severely, and Jake found himself able to roll and crawl toward the fallen van Clynne and McRae. Spotting Keen's ruby knife in the smoke was not difficult, but pulling it from the wood — the doctor's throw had buried the sharp blade nearly to the hilt — took all his strength, and he worked it back and forth for what seemed like forever.
Fortunately, the crew members who were not wounded by the explosion immediately set to saving the ship, which listed severely to port. All manner of men ran back and forth around him. Smoke from two small fires filled the air, and the general din was rent by several wretches whose limbs had been severed by the blast. This was more than enough distraction for Jake, who finally succeeded in pulling the knife from the wood.
He had to twist to slice the rope around his hands, but eventually sawed himself free. As he pulled himself up, Jake felt a sharp tug on his neck and he fell backwards on the deck. Twisting around, he saw that McRae had grabbed the severed end of what was to have been his death rope and tied it around his waist.
The lieutenant held the rope with one hand. His other flashed a thick, heavy cutlass.
"The one consistency in everyone's story is that you are a damnable traitor and a rebel," said McRae, whose cocked hat had been knocked crossways by the explosion but was otherwise unharmed. "I shall take great pride in ending your life."
"And I yours," said Jake, managing to grab the rope as McRae tugged. He lurched forward even so, and was just able to force himself sideways, escaping the swing of the blade.
A naval cutlass is a heavy weapon created for hacking an opponent to bits. It is unmerciful in its blows, its weight multiplying the momentum several fold. But that advantage brings a problem to the man using it, for it lacks the finesse of a lighter sword.
McRae had used a cutlass to maim his share of opponents, but in his enthusiasm now found his slashes somewhat haphazard. Still tethered, Jake was able to retreat to a point where he could use a large, upended sea chest as a barrier between them. When McRae charged to the right, Jake slipped quickly to the left, and vice versa.
As the lieutenant took his charges, Jake worked more and more slack between his neck and the rope in his hand. This was naturally very dangerous, as it shortened the distance between the two men. But it also allowed him enough room to slip the thin but sharp blade of the Secret Department against the rope without McRae seeing. In a wink, the blade cut through.
Jake didn't let on. Instead, he waited while McRae collected himself for another lunge. As the British officer picked up his cutlass, Jake let go of the rope and dove to the right, falling below McRae's outstretched arm. The sword sailed down, slamming into the deck; in the next moment Jake was tumbling head over barefooted heels, kicking upward as he passed.
He aimed for McRae's face but missed. He hit the officer's hand instead, which was good enough — the smack sent the cutlass flying to the deck, and it slid away as the ship rolled.
McRae was too maddened to retreat. Instead, he reached to his belt for a knife — then fell forward, pulled off balance by van Clynne, who had grabbed his ankle from the deck nearby. Jake's knife quickly put an end to the English officer's career. "Over the side," the patriot shouted as he pulled his Dutch companion to his feet.
"Easy for you to say," grumbled van Clynne, who wobbled from obstruction to obstruction before reaching the rail. There, one look at the deep blue water — the very deep blue water — and its rolling waves was enough to give him pause for reflection.
The fire was now almost under control. While sailors were still rushing around, some of the marine guards had appeared on deck with their muskets armed. One fired in the general direction of van Clynne, which cured his contemplative mood. He lifted a foot tentatively — then felt himself flying toward the dark, hideous waves, propelled by a quick shove from Jake.
Chapter Thirty-eight
There are no good fuses to be found any more. The first business of Congress once peace is established ought to be the propagation of proper fuses. Imagine if the situation had been dire."
"I can't imagine it more dire," said Jake, working his long oar fiercely. He and Martin had hauled van Clynne aboard the whaleboat and were now rowing furiously up river, away from the Richmond. At any moment he expected the frigate to send a broadside their way, or launch boats in pursuit. Their comparatively empty boat rode high in the water, except at the stern where the Dutchman was stationed by the tiller.
"You were never in any danger," replied van Clynne. He guided the craft with one hand, using the other to clear the light rain from his face. As proper steering demanded he look at the water, the boat's course tended to wander. "We were ready to take you off at any moment. When Claus van Clynne and his men appear on a scene, you may rest easy."
"Turn the tiller to the right! Your right!" said Jake. "I will admit that things are always interesting when you are involved," he added, conscious that despite the thick bruise on his neck, the Dutchman had indeed saved his life. "For the moment, we'd better concentrate on making our escape."
"You are rowing wonderfully. The Richmond has been severely hampered by my charge, and is in no position to harry us further. I envision a long period in the repair shed for her. They may even take her out to sea and shoot her, as is done with a horse."
Van Clynne had no sooner made this prediction than the air was rent by a dozen or more cannon. Fortunately, the ship was listing severely and could not be maneuvered for a proper aim. Only one ball came close enough to send a spray of water near them. Jake and Martin nonetheless pushed their oars with renewed vigor. "How many troops did Old Put send to the shore with you?" Jake asked van Clynne. "Well, none, exactly." "None?"
Van Clynne's answer was drowned by the reverberation of a second cannonade. The gunners had compensated somewhat for their ship's handicaps, and the whaleboat took some water from the resulting waves.
"Has Putnam sent his entire army to watch the chain?" Jake asked.
"If the truth be told, I never reached the general," said van Clynne. "I was waylaid by that scoundrel Keen, who tortured me nearly to death."
"Did a girl named Rose meet you?"
"She did indeed, but I decided it would be most efficient if we divided our efforts, taking separate routes," said the Dutchman. "I sent her by the shortest route possible, while I meandered on a side road. I have no doubt that she reached the general, and that the entire army of the Highlands is presently on alert."
A fresh broadside whizzed through the air, and the three Americans found themselves in a cloud of steam and hot waves. When it cleared, Jake saw a cutter emerging from the far side of the Richmond, beginning its pursuit. The boat was manned by oarsmen and had a sail besides, and moved toward them with the speed and deadly purpose of a bloodthirsty shark.
"Throw your body against the tiller to steady it," Jake shouted at van Clynne. "Take us to the shore. It's our only chance."
"We only have to get around that bend," said van Clynne, pointing ahead briefly before closing his eyes to steady his stomach.
"We don't stand a chance on the water."
"We have a surprise waiting for the British bastards," said Martin. "General van Clynne is quite clever."
"General van Clynne?"
"Captain-general," expanded Martin, with only the slightest hint of impishness, "triple-cluster."