The Silver Bullet

Chapter Sixteen

Having witnessed firsthand certain defects in the Continental Army’s criminal justice system, Jake returned to his cell with a long list of recommendations for its improvement.

The prospects for implementing reform, however, did not appear particularly bright. While the sergeant kindly removed the gag covering his mouth when they arrived at the ell, his hands and legs remained shackled. The large door swung closed behind him and two guards took up positions outside it. His pockets had been emptied by the mob; there was neither weapon nor key in sight.

Jake told himself the trial had been a sham designed to intimidate him. But if so, why was there someone working in the courtyard outside the barred window, setting a beam over a small stage?

He was a good distance from panic, but he did allow himself to consider the irony of his situation. He wouldn’t be able to give a speech such as Nathan Hale had, when caught in New York? What could he say? I regret I have only one life to give, and it’s being taken by the wrong side?

“ Sergeant, who is the commanding officer of the fort? I must talk to him immediately. It’s urgent”

“ The sergeant’s not here, traitor,” hissed one of the guards.

“ Well, listen to me, who is in charge of the fort?” I have to talk to him about the enemy’s plans. I have to reach Schuyler.”

“ I’ll bet you’d like to talk strategy with him, you Tory scum,” said the sentry, who pounded the door with the butt of his musket. “Now shut up in there.”

A primed musket surely would have gone off if it had been slammed against the door so hard. That was a valuable piece of intelligence — they would not be able to fire if he made a break across the open courtyard.

Now all he had to do was shatter these agonizingly tight shackles, burst through the immensely thick walls, and made a desperate bolt for it.

“ Sergeant, tell the captain that I have valuable information for him about the disposition of the enemy forces.”

“ I’m not a sergeant, you Tory,” said the man, slamming the door again.

“ Get the sergeant, then. Get any officer. I have intelligence, damn it.”

“ I doubt he’d believe you.”

“ Listen,” said Jake, realizing what he would believe. “Tell him I want to make a full confession. Tell him I’ll give him a full rundown of the British Army’s dispositions.”

If he failed to find someone who knew him or would take him to Schuyler, he’d just signed his own death warrant — the captain would now be justified in having him hanged. But every hour in the goal increased the odds that Burgoyne’s invasion would succeed and Herstraw would reach Howe; desperate times require desperate action.

He could hear whisperings outside the door, and then footsteps away, Jake folded his arms and waited. The sergeant soon arrived and the door was opened.

“ The captain thought you would come around,” said the man, motioning with his hands for Jake to follow him from the cell. “Decided to make a clean breast of it, eh?”

“ When you’re caught, you’re caught,” said Jake. He took a step forward and was tripped by the chain, wrenching his ankle horribly in the fall.

His pain was so severe the sergeant ordered the leg manacle removed. When Jake was helped to his feet, he seemed barely able to stand, and had to lean on the sergeant for support. The guards, full of themselves, as if they had played a role in breaking the prisoner down, began whistling and walking ahead, their chests puffing with their prize.

As the sergeant stepped through the doorway into the courtyard, Jake dragged his injured leg heavily. The distance between the guards and their prisoner lengthened.

Two bare scrapes across the courtyard and Jake’s wandering eye caught sight of an unattended horse. In a flash, his ankle magically healed — he smashed the sergeant alongside the head with his elbow and leaped toward the animal, intending to ride him all the way to Albany if necessary, to find Schuyler and get him to rally the defenses against Burgoyne.

But escape was not to be so easily accomplished, for Jake found his path blocked unexpectedly by a figure looming from the darkness on horseback. A pistol was silhouetted against the moon.

“ Stop or I will shoot you, and even in the dark I doubt I will miss.”

“ Jake pulled up short, surprised not only by the shadow’s sudden appearance, but by the fact that the voice accompanying it came from a woman.

“ I must see General Schuyler,” he managed to say just before the guards caught up with him. A hard smash from behind knocked him to the ground.

“ Someone ran up with a lantern. Jake came to in a half-lit fog, barely able to make out the forms before him.

“ I must see Schuyler,” he repeated.

“ I think that can be arranged,” said the soft, feminine voice before him.

The words brought his eyes into focus. He was staring at the most beautiful woman in all of New York and perhaps the entire North American continent, certainly at that moment, and most absolutely in the view of Lieutenant Colonel Jake Stewart Gibbs: Betsy Schuyler, the general’s daughter, stood over him.

“ You’re goddamn lucky I decided to come north tonight. And goddamn lucky that my daughter accompanied me. If she hadn’t been bringing her horses to the barn, those men would have killed you for escaping. What put such a thought in your head?”

And so Schuyler, in the manner of all great generals, had shifted the situation around to turn the blame on the subordinate before him. Jake, in the manner of all great subordinates, took it stiffly, with barely a frown, waiting for Schuyler to finish before pointing out, with all due respect — but not a farthing more — that not only had the general placed him in the situation, but the general’s own officers had been ready to hang him.

“ Captain Andrews has already explained that was merely a ruse,” answered the general. “And besides, he is attached to Gage, not myself.”

Jake decided this was a much satisfaction as he was likely to get, and devoted himself to giving the general his full impressions of the British situation, along with the knowledge of Burgoyne’s intentions. Schuyler received the intelligence with the gravity it deserved, nodding appropriately and making sure his secretary took copious notes.

Jake’s skills as a draftsman were put to the test penciling out what he had seen of troops dispositions and fortification around St. Johns and Crown Point. He had an artistic bent, having briefly indulged in some drawing and painting lessons during his studies in England, and was himself capable of at least attempting a style similar to Watteau, the French master whose great works dated from the beginning of the century. Watteau’s handling of color and its nuances would be particularly apt here, producing an emotional effect that would rally his audience to repel the invaders.

But of course there was no time for such subtlety. Jake merely crayoned annotated diagrams showing the L of the breastworks around St. Johns with the relative location of the boats of the British flotilla. Still, there was a certain flair to the twists he gave the sails, and only a dull observer would miss the fact that the British flag was purposely placed upside down and at half mast.

Artistic grandeur was not needed to show Schuyler the great dangers he faced. Burgoyne’s forces were tremendous on their own, a full threat to Ticonderoga and Albany behind her. But have Howe come north and clearly the Revolution was lost, and not just in Schuyler’s home state. Control of the Hudson River would split the entire country in two, since there was no way of communicating north to south without crossing the river. With the sea blockade against Massachusetts growing in effectiveness, the great cause of Freedom would wither and die.

“ We have only a few weeks at most to strengthen the northern defenses and prevent disaster,” said Schuyler while he studied the map with Jake. “But even if I can hold off Burgoyne, Howe will strike me from behind. I can’t fight both armies. Albany will have to be abandoned.”

The general’s forecast, dire as it was, reflected the unfortunate strategic realities of his position. Even if Washington decided to leave Philadelphia vulnerable and undertook an all-out effort to engage Howe in the Hudson Highlands, he was unlikely to stop him.

“ We have to intercept the messenger,” said Jake.

“ Absolutely,” the general grunted. “There was a flash in his eyes. Undoubtedly he was thinking of the same thing that had just occurred to Jake.

“ Perhaps we shouldn’t stop him completely,” said the general. “If his message were merely changed and then delivered, it might serve us better. If no answer arrives, Howe may send north for one or simply wait. But if Burgoyne told him, ‘Fine, go where you want,’ we’d be much better off. He’d pack his troops off for somewhere else.”

“ Too bad we can’t send him back to England,” said Jake, well aware that freeing Howe from a campaign up the Hudson would mean other complications.

“ You have ten days to accomplish the mission — change the message or kill him if you can’t. After that I will have to prepare for a withdrawal from Albany.”

Jake nodded as the general rose from his desk and walked to the door, where he called to one of his aides. “Alert Captain Kalman’s company that they’ll be riding south in the morning. Kalman is one of my best men,” he told Jake. “His troops will be more than adequate escort.”

“ Begging your pardon, sir, but a company of soldiers will draw too much attention. I’m best off on my own.”

“ I’m confident of your abilities, Jake, but I’m reluctant to send you by yourself. It’s too dangerous.”

The general’s concern for his welfare — as if he were sending him into the stormy night without an overcoat — was touching. Their short interview had done much to reverse the impression Jake had received when he’d called on Schuyler with his father on business before the war. It was almost as if Schuyler’s experiences since then had ennobled him somehow.

Or maybe they were both just tired.

“ I merely have to get into his things while he’s sleeping. Sneaking into Burgoyne’s ball under Carleton’s nose was much more difficult.”

“ I wouldn’t have approved that, either.”

Jake smiled and shrugged. “If things go wrong, I can just shoot the bastard. I’ll be behind our own lines, after all. It shouldn’t be too hard enlisting help if I need it.”

Besides, Jake knew one portly patriot who would be only too happy to help — once certain facts were explained to him in a logical, if forceful, manner.

It took considerably more persuasion, but Schuyler finally gave his consent for him to proceed alone. Being a general, however, he could not do so with a mere nod of his head. A grand and windy speech was called for, lauding Jake’s sense of patriotism and duty, complimenting his bravery, inciting his courage. It was almost too much to bear.

“ Do this as a lover of Freedom,” Schuyler said as he hit his stride at the end. “Do this for your family and your country. You have the fate of our freedom in your hands.”

“ General, you will win the governor’s race this year in a hare’s trot with a speech such as that,” said Jake.

Jake was not the only agent busy that evening. The man who had tracked him from Canada was in fact lurking but a few hundred yards away in the shadows of the fort, contemplating his next move.

After killing Leal, Manley had paddled his canoe across the lake, where he found the road heading south. It took no great powers of deduction to realize Jake must have taken that path, nor was it very difficult for Manley to persuade the first traveler he came upon to give up his horse. The poor man thought the mere crown he offered in exchange much too cheap, but he gladly settled for less when Manley displayed his pistol. The traveler got down quickly, handed him the reins, and then made a dash for the woods.

He got three steps away before Manley’s bullets took him in the back.

Once mounted, the British secret agent pushed the horse down the trail. But when the road forked, he went nearly a mile down the wrong path before realizing his mistake. Manley lost time inquiring about the Bull’s Head; when he finally arrived he was too late to do anything but observe the throng escorting Jake to prison.

He followed the mob as it carried Jake to justice. While part of him admired the poetic justice inherent in their mistake, Manley felt cheated at losing such a formidable quarry and resolved to cheat the hangman of his prize. Disguised as a citizen from the nearby town, he entered the fort on a flimsy pretense and was headed in the direction of Jake’s jail cell when the American made his escape. The British major was thus privy to the discovery of Jake’s true identity. He left the fort almost in a state of relief.

As Herstraw had intimated, the owner of the Bull’s Head was a clandestine Tory. He did not understand the meaning of the ruby-hilted knife that Manley flicked into the table in front of him, but it certainly got his attention.

“ We will need someone to gather information from the fort on the prisoner they took away,” Manley said. “And then I need some men to help me ambush him.”

“ You’re breaking him out?”

Manley smiled. “Something like that.”

“ My brother’s daughter works as one of the cook’s servants.”

“ Put her to work, then. I have no doubt he’ll leave early in the morning; I want to know by what route.”

“ He’ll leave?”

Manley didn’t bother to enlighten the keeper. He considered all colonials, even Loyalists, little more than primitive simpletons.

“ Get me some Madeira,” he said. “And then some dinner. There’s much to be done tonight.”

The innkeeper didn’t like being summarily ordered about by anyone, even a disguised British officer. He had fought in the French and Indian War, and was still in reasonably good shape. The fellow opposite him, with his odd-featured face and paper-thin physique, might be exceedingly tall but could not have matched his own weight.

But even as the first syllable of protest emerged from the keeper’s mouth, he realized he had misjudged his guest. Manley’s arm, acting against the table as a fulcrum, clamped tight on his neck and pulled him forward, holding him out of his chair.

“ Killing rebels makes me thirsty,” said Manley. “Bring me a drink now, before your own allegiance comes into question.”

When he was released, the innkeeper ran for the pipe of Madeira he’d been saving for his daughter’s wedding.