Jake freed O’Connor by rolling the unconscious van Clynne off him, but then hastily signaled to the farmer not to revive his friend. The passage across the East River would be considerably easier if the good squire was left in his present dormant state. Besides, the Dutchman had earned a good night’s snooze.
Jake found himself somewhat pressed, between his bruises and bandages, to lift the large, snoring squire into the craft he found waiting for him at the river bank. But he was assisted on this score by several local Sons of Liberty, to whom he was much obliged. He was thankful, also, for their plan of depositing Lewis’s body in the ruins of the city house destroyed by an explosion. It was to be discovered amid the charred remains of the other “prisoners” — the generals would hopefully believe that he perished in the unfortunate fire. Other contingencies would be taken to otherwise assure Howe that his messenger and his message had been authentic, including false reports of where Jake and van Clynne had spent the night.
Even if Howe came to doubt the message was real, his famous inclination toward hesitation would at least gain the Continental Army more time to prepare a defense. It was not beyond the realm of possibility to imagine Sire William staying put in New York forever. He was a fine general once he was gotten to the battlefield; he was an excellent man for making plans as well. But the two parts of him did not fit so well together; he was forever worrying about preserving his strength, keeping England’s manhood alive, and indeed, may have been a bit soft on the rebels besides. All he had said to van Clynne, after all, had been said in earnest.
The reader familiar with the events of our great war so far will realize that nothing remains in stasis forever. But Howe’s next action lies beyond the small scope we have set ourselves here.
Jake, too, would inevitably find himself in a new adventure. His profession demanded it, and he contemplated what shape it might take as he and the unconscious van Clynne were rowed across the river, where a pair of fresh horses awaited their arrival. The wound in his shoulder had been cleaned and no longer hurt. His knee had been wrapped; though stiff, he could manage a half run. All things considered, the agent was in reasonable shape for the journey back to Schuyler.
The general would undoubtedly brag that he never actually considered abandoning Albany — and would turn and silently thank God that Jake had managed to return before the plans were put into action.
As the boat reached the shore, Jake shook van Clynne to wake him. The Dutchman continued to slumber. Finally, loath to leave him behind, but unable to wait any longer, Jake ordered the squire refreshed with a buck of river water.
“ What happened,” demanded van Clynne. “How did we get on the damned ocean again?”
“ I grew tired of your snores,” said Jake. “Come on, if you’re coming. We have many miles to cover tonight. I want to cross to American lines before dawn.”
“ I’ll have you know, sir, that I was not snoring,” said van Clynne indignantly as he disembarked from the boat. “A Dutchman is constitutionally unable to snore. It is an impossibility.”
“ Just as you’re unable to complain.”
“ Just so, just so.”
Van Clynne’s snores were to become a source of some annoyance in the days ahead, leading Jake to try several stratagems before succeeding in putting an end to them. The remedy he used involved a certain herb much valued by the Indians and found along the way — but perhaps the reader will find it more fully described in the next book.