Jim DeFelice - The Golden Flask

"Another problem," said the commander-in-chief. "We haven't had a message out of New York City for more than a week."

"Nothing?"

"I fear our men have been captured or worse. This is the longest I've gone without a message. I've even sent two men in for word. They haven't returned."

The general turned his attention briefly to the daphne at his feet. The beautiful plant and its berries contained a deadly poison, easily extracted.

"You want me to go to the city and find out if this captured message is genuine."

Washington nodded. "We have sentinels on the coast looking for Howe's ships. Our best information is that they wait just over the horizon. But I can't afford to sit still until Sir William decides he's had enough of his mistress Mrs. Loring and goes on."

"If I were to guess," said Jake, "it would be Philadelphia. Boston is not a logical attack."

"Agreed. But if I were attacking Philadelphia with his army, I would simply march across southern Jersey. He could try the Hudson, to join up with Burgoyne after this news of Ticonderoga. After all our efforts — after all your efforts particularly — it would be a great blow. Meanwhile, the South is wide open to him, arid it would cause us considerable difficulty if he were to attack there. But Boston?"

"It is Howe we're speaking of," said Jake lightly. "Anything is possible."

Washington laughed. "It would be an imaginative stroke, though we can't rule it out on those grounds alone. The despair if we lost the city after regaining it would be tremendous, and we couldn't hope he would neglect the defenses a second time."

The general had a certain mood that came over him when he contemplated a strategic situation. His head tilted down slightly, and his eyes seemed to focus on something inside his mind. Meanwhile, his arms deposited themselves behind his back.

Jake, walking at his side, studied the supposed message from Howe. There seemed no doubt that he had written it-but in truth or as a deception?

"If I am to protect Boston, we must march by the middle of next week," said Washington finally. "It is the last possible moment, and I would be depending on the local troops to hold Howe, if he lands, until I could arrive and counterattack. It is a desperate strategy, but it is the best I can do until his destination is found. At least from here I can go in whatever way is necessary."

Jake nodded. The consequences of losing any major city would be great, but losing Boston a second time might crush the Revolution completely and would certainly end all hope of foreign aid. Jake knew the commander-in-chief would never say that, however; he would never bring himself to even hint that the war might ultimately be lost.

The spy slipped the letter back inside the flask and handed it to his commander.

"I'll leave for New York immediately," said Jake. He had no idea, as yet, how he might find out what Howe was up to, but clearly there was no time to lose worrying up a plan.

"If our friends in the city are still alive," said the general, "they may already know the answer."

Jake nodded, realizing that the general was implying that he feared the worst. "It will be an easy trip then, in and out."

"If not, your imagination will be put to good use in creating a solution."

He felt Washington's strength as the general’s strong arm patted him on his back. The Virginian came off stiffly in certain formal settings, but easily relaxed among the small coterie of men who knew him well. He could be a warm and doting uncle, as Jake well knew. And once he took a shine to you, mountains could erode to anthills before his faith wavered.

"Four days is all I have, Jake, and even that is cutting the hare's whisker close. If I don't hear from you and the British fleet is still unsighted, I must march for Boston." Washington began striding back towards his aides. "Get some new clothes. Hamilton will give you letters of credit. You'll have need of a fresh horse as well."

Jake thought of mentioning his friend van Clynne and his petitions, but realized this was not the time for it. He was already trotting ahead, looking for his horse. "I will be back as quickly as possible, sir. And we will have a few rounds of throwing shot."

"I won't stand you or the rest of my family an advantage this time," the general called out. He always referred to his staff members as family, and indeed he treated them as such. "I have heard you learned much from the natives during your recent visit with them.”

While Hamilton led him south of Suffern's Tavern to a small village to see to a disguise, Jake worked his brain around a plan to enter New York.

The spy had last trod the city streets a month and a half before. His coming and going had created such a stir in the Westchester environs that he felt it would not be wise to enter from that direction again. Likewise, taking the river south, which would be the quickest route, was too dangerous. Jake had almost been hanged on the deck of the

HMS Richmond, which Washington's men said was patrolling off Dobbs Ferry; its master bore him a serious grudge and would not be easily fooled by any disguise. And the men on at least one other ship — the galley

HMS Dependence — would like to see him displayed high on their yardarm, or perhaps launched in pieces from the massive cannon they carried at their bow. Prudence dictated that his best course was by land south through New Jersey; there were any of fifty places where he might sneak into the river, take or rent a boat, and steal across to the city.

A few papers forged in Benjamin Franklin's son's name would come in handy if he ran into problems. Though a stout patriot himself, Franklin's son William was royal governor of New Jersey. He had been turned out the previous year and arrested, but his signature still impressed British authorities and Tories. It was also readily available to the Americans, and Washington's staff often amused themselves by duplicating it.

As they came to the village, Hamilton bade his friend farewell.

"I assume we will see you in a few days," said the aide. "And we'll be singing your praises again."

"Have some strong ale ready," suggested Jake.

"With pleasure."

Jake's first stop was an inn, where he had a quick breakfast — for such it was, even though the clock was past midday — of apple pie and fresh pheasant. The fowl was well prepared and left him in good spirits as he walked down the street to a weaver named Brian Daley, reported by Hamilton to be an especially hot friend of the Cause. The scouting proved accurate, though a bit more information might have prevented the misunderstanding that followed Jake's mentioning the colonel by name.

"Colonel Hamilton sent you, did he?" asked the man, setting aside the bolt he was working and rising from his loom.

Jake nodded in the affirmative, turned to take note of a fine piece of cloth, and suddenly found himself threatened by a sharp and rather nasty poker, its business end dusted with hot ashes.

"Stay away from my daughter, do you hear?" said the man. "All you macaronis in your fancy suits — if you attempt to sweet-talk her the way that West Indies bastard did, I'll have you skinned alive."

Jake managed to nudge the pointer from his face and delicately assured the man that his interest was in clothes, not daughters.

"It will help our cause a great deal," the spy added. "And you will be paid properly by General Washington's men, as these letters show."

The warrant allowing funds to be drawn — initialed by General Washington himself — helped clear up matters, and the weaver took him into the back room, where material was piled in haphazard fashion.