The Golden Flask (55 page)

The thick woods and rough terrain made it impossi
ble to proceed as a line, despite the English officers’
efforts. Bayonets drawn, but still occasionally stopping
to fire, the redcoats continued down the hill.

The young lieutenant let the British vanguard, per
haps six men in all, pass him before he opened fire. He chose his first victim well, smashing the skull of a British lieutenant with both bullets from his double-packed musket. The shot from his pistol was borne of despera
tion, but no less accurate. He caught the company ser
geant in the chest as the man aimed a shot in revenge.
With great war whoops and hosannas, Daltoons gave
the general impression that a full squad of men were
launching a surprise counterattack.

The redcoats who had advanced down the hillside
now had to retreat and deal with this new problem in
their flank, or risk being cut off. The main company,
meanwhile, immediately sought cover, having seen two
of their leaders cut down by the troop of sharpshooters
in the wood.

The feint relieved the pressure on his men and would give Jake and the others in the house a chance to escape. But Daltoons had suddenly made himself the acute object of redcoat desire. He dove over the
large rock wall that marked the former edge of Bauer's
property just as a fresh volley of musket balls punc
tuated the woods around him.

The lieutenant still had two small pistols in his belt,
both loaded, assuming the charges had not been dis
lodged by his rough travel. Without bothering to check,
he took one in his hand and began making his way
along the wall toward the river as quickly as possible,
half-crouching, half-running.

The woods and brambles, to say nothing of the
smoke from their weapons, obscured the redcoats' vision and allowed Daltoons to gain a good lead before
they realized where he was. Gradually, the Englishmen
figured out that the attack at their side was merely a distraction. Endeavoring to overcome its effects, they re
doubled their assault, though handicapped by the loss of their lieutenant and sergeant.

As Daltoons reached the back garden of the mansion, they were testing the defenses at the perimeter on the other side of the house. Not hearing any gunfire, he leapt over the wall and began racing for the lawn overlooking the river. In truth, he thought the American side of the operation had by now concluded, and feared he would reach the river too late to join the boats. He had ceased worrying about being shot; indeed, he had ceased worrying about anything, focusing entirely on the river.

As he reached the path that led down to the water’s edge, the lieutenant became aware of two distinctly different objects in his periphery: the figure of a redcoat sharpshooter taking aim at the woodside ten yards from the mansion's front door, and a considerably more demure, willowy figure, walking as if in a daze from behind the brick wall out onto the lawn.

He recognized Alison, full in the aim of the redcoated demon and his gun.

Chapter Forty-seven

Wherein, bravery proves stronger than love, and vice versa.

T
en yards might just
as well have been ten miles, as far as the accuracy of the small pistol in Daltoon’s hand was concerned. But the young lieutenant had no time to worry about that; indeed, he had no time to worry at all.

"Death to all redcoats!" he screamed, charging the
sharpshooter. In the same motion he fired his pistol.

The bullet sailed well wide of its mark, but its effect
was precisely what Daltoons wished. The Briton turned
and fired not at Alison but at the blur attacking him.

"Mark!" shouted Alison as Daltoons fell to the earth, the side of his chest punctured by the wound. The spell that had taken hold of her vanished as she ran to the man who had just saved her life.

"I'm all right," he gasped. "The gun, the gun in my
belt."

Alison looked up and saw the redcoat who had cut
down Daltoons advancing with his bayonet. She
grabbed the pistol and with a steady hand pulled back
the lock at its side to fire.

Nothing happened. Whether the charge was knocked out by Daltoons's efforts or fouled by his
blood, the effect was the same. Alison and the lieuten
ant were defenseless.

It took the redcoat a moment to recover his breath
from the sudden fright of being faced down by a pistol. "So, rebel, you thought you would kill me," he said,
gripping his rifle so he could take a good plunge with the bayonet.

Retreat was cut off by the wall behind her, but in any
event, Alison would not have left Daltoons. She threw
down the gun and put her hands defiantly to her hips as she rose. "You're awful damn talky for a private," she said.

"I will show you the difference between talk and ac
tion, you damn rebel," said the Briton, preparing to lunge. "You will repent your tart tongue."

A shot rang out as the man started forward. The
bullet took his head and snapped it sideways in a gro
tesque spiral toward death.

"Her tongue is her best feature by far, I think," said
Jake Gibbs, vaulting over the wall. The rifle in his hand
was still smoking.

* * *

Jake and company managed to make their boats well
ahead of the British patrol, which was delayed by its
need to search and secure the mansion. The ferryman
hired by van Clynne now proved his patriotism, getting
not only his vessel but the others started into the water
as the Americans dove into the river. The man was
soon humming a healthy tune, leading the tiny armada
around a crag which cut off their pursuers' aim.

Halfway to Jersey, the patriots paused to take stock. Daltoons had lost several of his men, and the young
lieutenant lamented not merely their passing but the fact that their bodies had been left unburied.

"You're lucky you're not dead yourself," said Jake.
"Let me see your chest there."

"It's not even a scratch," protested the lieutenant.

"It needs to be examined," said Alison, pulling aside
his coat to do so.

There was not a large amount of blood. A bullet had wedged itself at the side of Daltoons's ribs; though
doubtlessly painful, it did not threaten his life.

"It can be plucked out with a knife," said Alison. "I have performed the operation before. All we require is a bit of fire."

"And a good strong dose of whiskey," advised Jake. "You will be back in good health after a little rest. And
perhaps some nursing. I sense you have a volunteer."
He was not surprised to notice that both the lieutenant
and Alison blushed. "Though I believe she is supposed
to be elsewhere on Manhattan at the moment."

"The girl and I have reached an agreement concern
ing her disposition," announced van Clynne. "There is a certain woman named Hulter on Long Island, who has need of assistance on her farm. Apparently you have already made her acquaintance."

"I have indeed. But when did she volunteer to take on a girl?"

"Tut, tut, my good man, she is not taking on a girl, but rather a daughter. And perhaps a son-in-law as well. These things are well valued by the Dutch."

Jake rolled his eyes at the Dutchman's typically bela
bored speech. He knew better than to ask van Clynne
for an explanation of how he knew Mrs. Hulter. But he
sensed that the good woman would indeed accept Ali
son.

"Long Island would be a good place for a wounded
soldier to recover," said Alison hopefully.

"It would indeed," answered Daltoons.

"I think Culper would approve," said Jake. "It seems
a satisfactory arrangement for all parties."

"It is one I championed from the beginning," said van Clynne.

Chapter Forty-eight

Wherein, the past is fondly, if questionably, recalled as our tale ventures towards its end.

S
everal hours later and
some miles north on the Jersey shore, two tired but well-cheered travelers paused to let their horses drink from a stream.

"And so, it would appear that I have quite saved the
day once more."

"You saved the day?" Jake's face twisted as he got
down from his borrowed mare. Van Clynne had been
uncharacteristically silent for nearly three minutes
now, so he might have expected some such outburst as
they paused. Still, it did not pay to allow any claim by
the Dutchman to go unchallenged. "How, pray tell, did
you manage that?"

"Through my usual pluck," said the squire. "Really, I
would have thought by now you would be fully conver
sant with my methods."

"I will grant that you played a role in our escape,"
said Jake, "but frankly, I think you take far too much
credit. As usual."

"Tut, tut, my good man, there is enough glory to go
around. Though I would note that my intelligence proved correct; Philadelphia is Howe's target."

"Assuming he doesn't change his mind."

"Come now, the wig-maker would be the first to
know. Nonetheless, your methods arrived at the proper solution eventually. I daresay that you ought not be
over-criticized."

"My thanks for the compliment."

Jake stretched his legs, trying to fool his various pains into thinking they were temporary. In truth, he
knew he had almost been too clever on this mission; all
his plans had nearly come to naught. Nonetheless, he
could not think of another way he might have tricked out the information. Howe's damnable golden flask had proven to contain a most difficult riddle.

"I shall make sure to mention your efforts to His
Most Excellent Excellency General Washington when
we meet," said van Clynne. "I shall reinforce your offi
cial report; a natural enhancement is needed for the
dry tidings you render. Really, did your studies not in
clude a proper recognition of the rhetorical arts?"

"When
you
meet General Washington?"

"Surely you are taking me with you to General
Washington. Granted, my face - is nicked, but that was in the line of duty."

"I'm not sure I will introduce you at all."