The Silver Bullet

Chapter Fifteen

Jake came to in the back of a wagon, jostling against the side board like so many pounds of wheat. Trussed in heavy chain and rope, he felt like a prize pig put up for a holiday feast.

“ Who the hell is in charge here?” he shouted from the bottom of the wagon. When that brought up no response, Jake added a few more curses and increased the volume of his complaint.

A Hindu hymn would have had more effect. The wagon crashed merrily along, either by design or chance finding the largest ruts in the road. The shocks were amplified by Jake’s chains, and the coarse floorboards rubbed at the few parts of his body that were not covered by restraints.

It took several minutes, but he finally managed to leverage himself into an upright position against the side of the wagon. The scene would have been comical had he not been in the middle of it.

The entire countryside had joined in the capture of the supposed Tory spy. Closest to him was a ring of militia in the haphazard but universal dress of the American irregulars, their only sign of service a green sprig stuck in their caps. Each of these men clutched a rifle or musket, mostly in rude aim at his person.

Next around was a group of older men and boys. The few who didn’t carry rifles had weapons such as pitchforks, though some made do with axes and an older gentleman carried a large if rusty sword.

The next ring belonged to the women. There were fewer rifles among this group, but several pistols; wooden staves made up the majority of arms, and at least one broom could be seem. Finally came the children and the dogs of the village, yelling and yapping and barking, no doubt confused as to whether they were going to a picnic or a prison. All told, one hundred souls were giving Jake an escort fit for the king he was accused of working for.

Despite their large numbers, they were making exquisite progress; Wood Creek, a tributary of Lake Champlain that would take them to Fort Ticonderoga, already lay in view.

“ Good citizens,” said Jake, “your patriotism cheers me. But you are making a dreadful mistake. My name is Lieutenant Colonel Jake Gibbs, and I am on a mission for General Schuyler.

This drew titters from the crowd.

“ Good citizens, hear me!” Jake tried again, rallying his best speaking voice. “A British spy is getting away even while we amuse ourselves with this diversion.”

“ Damn traitor,” said one of the men, “we ought to tar and feather him, then take him to the halter.”

So much for a career as a politician.

“ Who’s in charge here?” Jake demanded.

“ You’d best keep your mouth shut,” said one of the militiamen. “Several of these folk have lost relatives in the war, and they would like nothing better than to take retribution. You’re lucky we’re talking you to the fort.”

Jake fumed, but there was little he could do. Surely his identity would be cleared up at Ticonderoga.

There was one slight difficulty he would have to overcome, however. Jake’s everyday coat had buttons pressed with the Masonic symbol used by members of the secret service to immediately identify one of their brethren; a high-ranking intelligence officer would recognize them immediately. But his coat was lying more than a hundred miles to the north, in Marie’s bedroom.

The symbol was impressed on one other item that ordinarily he carried with him at all times — his money belt.

It is inaccurate to say that Jake cursed van Clynne a hundred times as he was transported from the wagon to a small, flat-bottomed boat on the creek. More likely the oaths numbered in the millions, though one or two thousand were saved for the militia officer in charge of this procession, and perhaps one thousand found their way to General Schuyler, and his assistant Flanagan for having him march all the way to Canada and back in record time, only to let him be arrested by their own troops.

The commander of the guard who met the boat had to step back two full steps under the force of Jake’s tongue lashing.

“ I demand to be released. I am an officer in General Greene’s command and was in the middle of a vital mission for General Schuyler. Let me go or I’ll have you trussed and stood on your head for six months.”

Typical of the patriot army, the officer’s retreat was no sign of surrender. He didn’t even bother with an answer, much less a counterattack, turning instead and walking toward the guardhouse. Jake’s legs were tied in a way that made it difficult for him to stand, let alone walk; he was pushed from the boat and fell flat on his face. Before he could even attempt to roll to his feet, he felt himself lifted and bodily carried to a jail cell.

The hours he spent in solitary confinement worked wonders for Jake’s temper. Before being locked in, he had been merely livid, ferociously upset and greatly insulted at being mistaken for Tory scum. Now his wrath had truly continental dimensions, erupting in volcanic waves that would have impressed even Achilles, whose own well-nursed grudge had destroyed the Trojan’s hero Hector and launched Homer on the way to epic stardom.

Still, a man with a profession such as Jake’s often finds himself in situations where great self-control is called for. He develops, therefore, a veritable arsenal of temper-saving devices and tricks, all designed to cool the hot vapors of passion and let reason prevail. Mental diversions, exercises, complete flights of fancy — Jake employed them all, and was in reasonable control when he was finally led, chained at hands and feet, to the building where he was to be examined. In fact, he found himself nearly philosophical.

“ You’ve been most businesslike,” he told the sergeant as he was led to the interrogation chamber. “I won’t hold this against you when I’m released.”

The door slamming behind them stifled the laughter of the guards. Jake found himself facing an officer in a worn blue uniform.

Scribe, change the word “examined” above to “tried.” As in court-martialed. As in, penalty — death by hanging if guilty.”

And what other verdict is there?

“ Of what am I accused?”

“ You’re a spy, plain and simple,” said the officer in a tired voice. The room was windowless and dark, despite the efforts of a number of candles on the desk. “How do you plead?”

“ Plead?” This isn’t a court. This isn’t justice. This is what we’re fighting against!”

Jake’s comment was answered by a sharp blow from behind, delivered by a guard at a nod from the officer.

“ The prisoner will answer in turn, only the question which the court directs.”

“ I demand to see General Schuyler.”

Another blow, this one a bit harder to the top of the shoulder.

“ I am in charge here,” said the officer.

“ You’re not the commander of the fort,” said Jake. “Where’s the commander?”

Jake swirled and ducked to the side as the private aimed another blow.”

“ I’m warning you,” said Jake. “General Washington’s regulations specifically forbid you hitting a prisoner.”

The officer waved at the guard, who took a step back toward the wall. “Obviously, they are issuing rules of army conduct to all Tory spies,” he said in a weary voice.

“ I am Lieutenant Colonel Jake Gibbs of the secret service. Assigned to General Greene’s staff, on temporary duty to General Schuyler. I request that you contact the general immediately.”

“ Which one?”

“ General Greene, actually. At this moment I wish I’d never heard of Schuyler.”

“ I see,” said the officer, making a notation on a piece of paper before him. “Sure you don’t want to try for Washington?”

“ Excuse me, but whom do I have the pleasure of addressing,” asked Jake. His contempt was unconcealed.

“ Captain Horace P. Andrews, General Gage’s staff. I’m empowered to try all spies.”

“ Begging your pardon, but first of all, as I understand it, if there’s going to be a trial, it should be a standard court-martial proceeding. That would require — “

“ I have ten minutes for you. Do you want to fill it all with protests, or will you plead for mercy?”

“ What possible evidence do you have against me?”

The captain flipped through the pile of papers and pulled out a piece of foolscap filled with writing in a tight, cramped hand. With some difficulty because of the lighting, he began reading it in a loud monotone, uninfluenced by Jake’s groans.

“ ‘ I, the honorable Claus van Clynne, Esquire, businessman, hearty patriot, member of the New York Militia Auxiliary Advisory Force, sworn enemy of the British Parliament and hater of all things English, do hereby solemnly swear and warrant that the information which I am about to give is the absolute truth as I know it, and that I am witness to the following particulars without prior prejudice and with no personal gain or offering.

“ ‘ To wit, in the first part, that the party who goes by the name of “Jake Gibbs” lately apprehended at the Bull’s Head Tavern by the local militia, which was alerted by my own self while I smartly snuck away on another pretense, did attempt to enlist and hire me to take him north part the legally constituted and patriotic armies of the state of New York and the Congress of these several provinces.

“ ‘ Said Mr. Gibbs did also threaten me bodily and physically during the course of our contact, and on one occasion fired four bullets in my direction, which, due to my dexterous efforts and the Grace of God, missed. Said Mr. Gibbs made numerous other shows of threat and strength, the effect of which were to put me in a general mood of fear and concern for my own safety.

“ ‘ Notwithstanding this and at great personal risk to myself, but in the true spirit of patriotism, I did endeavor to lead said individual Mr. Gibbs to a place where he could be apprehended by duly authorized militia or Continental Army units or, failing that, where I myself, at great danger to my person, might overcome and control him unaided.

“ ‘ Said Mr. Gibbs being continually on guard and always alert and several times stronger than I, plus having the convenience of a multi-barreled weapon, the likes of which have scarcely been seen in such environs, if at all, my efforts to capture him were for naught.

“ ‘ Through evil stratagem, he eluded my grasp, heading straight for the British lines and the succor of his traitorous companions.

“ ‘ Finding myself already drawn deep into Canadian territory, and having originally been destined there within to conduct lawful and legal business as granted by the general of this department, the good and patriotic Philip Schuyler of Fort Orange, a fine gentleman who honors the memory of his Dutch ancestors, I continued upon my way, making arrangements in connection with various and sundry businesses, all legal and without prejudice to the government of the glorious province of New Amsterdam, free and sovereign by the grace of God and the efforts of man.

“ ‘ Having completed this business, I returned south, intent on informing certain military acquaintances of mine of this matter. AT that point I had not the full knowledge of the perfidy of this fellow, who, not content with being a coward and deserting his own native cause, instead returned with the intent of doing it far greater harm as a spy and saboteur, going so far as to sound out the loyalty of the first group of persons he threw in with, obviously with the intent of recruiting them as a legion for the British.

“ ‘ Fortune put us back together, Providence intending that I serve as but a vessel for the State in apprehension. I alerted the local militia at the first opportunity and the arrest was made with dispatch.

“ ‘ I commend you good sirs on your patriotism and remain, yours sincerely in Liberty, Claus van Clynne.”

“ ‘ Postscript — he extorted a pound sterling, English currency, at gunpoint from me, and I should appreciate recompense, over and above whatever token reward is customary in such cases.”

The captain put down the letter and looked at the prisoner with as much sympathy as the snake would have elicited from Adam after the Fall.

At the very beginning of the epistle, Jake’s anger had flashed, but as it went on, he actually grew amused at the distortion of events. Not only was van Clynne’s pen as prolix as his tongue, he had quite effectively made himself the hero of the tale by shifting a few minor details around. Jake wondered what he would have done with the entire story had he known it — no doubt the portly Dutchman would have arrived at Ticonderoga with King George himself in chains.

The humor of the situation was lost on the captain. Being ignorant of Jake’s perspective, he believed van Clynne’s account, with some slight allowances for exaggeration and his habit of referring to things by the old Dutch names.

“ By returning to our lines, you have as good as admitted that you are a spy,” said the officer, “and the punishment for that is hanging.”

“ I am a spy,” said Jake. “For General Schuyler.”

“ You have no papers and no identification. I have the sworn testimony of a good American citizen against you.”

“ Now, does that letter sound believable?”

“ The testimony is from a roving member of the Committee of Correspondence.” The captain nodded at the guards. “Take him back to the cell.”

“ Wait a minute. I demand to see General Schuyler.”

“ He’ll see you on the scaffold,” said the officer as Jake was pulled from the room. “After you’re cut down.”

“ And another thing,” managed Jake before his mouth was clamped shut by one of the guards. “I only borrowed a shilling.”