“Aye, and I hope to heaven we’re not soon seeing General Howe heaved in sight with armed sloops and gunboats. The Americans have none and are no match for the Royal Navy.”
Rhys withheld a groan, though Bohannon didn’t. He hadn’t any doubt Howe had in view a strike against the Highlands and the forts there, like Burgoyne. Their prime goal was control of the entire Hudson River.
“Take care lest ye be caught between the two—Burgoyne by land and Howe by sea.” The ferryman stuffed more tobacco in his cheek with grimy fingers. “The loss of the Highlands will be a sore loss indeed.”
They disembarked at Verplanck’s Point, only to be met by militiamen more intent on the renegades than the fortifications they were building. Bohannon spoke with them while Rhys oversaw the second ferry’s landing. Once all the riflemen and prisoners were across, they set out again toward the place of military justice, a former trading post now the command center for the Hudson Valley.
Five barracks and two redoubts were soon in their sights atop a hill overlooking the bay, along with a great quantity of rebel stores. One dwelling lodged American officers, and a humble tavern supplied food and drink. Parched and hungry himself, Rhys knew his riflemen needed a reprieve. But first, the prisoners.
General Putnam met them near the guardhouse, his bulk considerable, his weathered face a stark red beneath his remaining white hair. A respected officer from the French and Indian War, he wasn’t one to mince words. “Good to see you, Harlow, even if your company is lacking.” He gave an order for his second-in-commandto oversee the prisoners, then turned back to Rhys. “Come inside and we’ll discuss matters.”
Rhys’s plan to return to Fort Montgomery by nightfall was discarded as he followed the general into headquarters with its sweeping territorial view.
Noting his admiration, Putnam said, “I’m always alert for British sails. We’re constantly on guard, awaiting intelligence from every direction.”
“As are we at the twin forts.” Rhys stood by the window, the water a blinding blue in the afternoon sun. “I’ve heard two American frigates are being built for these waterways.”
“Indeed. Congress has approved both the USSMontgomeryand the USSCongress. I pray they aren’t scuttled to avoid capture. There are also two galleys,SharkandLady Washington. But I digress.” He poured them both a drink. “My heartiest congratulations on apprehending and transporting these cutthroats. I understand they’ve recently stolen and corralled a considerable number of horses near Ramapo Pass, which you’ve returned to their rightful owners.”
“Aye. I’m glad to finally rid the Highlands of them.” Rhys took the glass he offered. “A word of warning. Smith has a knack for escaping and helping others do the same. He nearly fled Montgomery.”
“They’ll be tried immediately by a general court-martial according to the articles of war, given they belong to this state and owe allegiance to it.” Putnam moved to the window, his lined face grave. “Washington agrees that the speedy execution of criminals is absolutely necessary to the preservation of the army.”
“Agreed.” Rhys took a long drink. “Edmond Palmer comes to mind most recently.”
“Yet another officer in the enemy’s service, lurking within our lines. He’s since been tried, condemned, and executed as a spy here at headquarters.” Putnam looked at him, eyes narrowing. “You don’t suspect anyone at the twin forts.”
“We’re always wary. British deserters happen by regularly, but there’s little of substance or suspicion so far.”
“Good to hear. We cannot afford a breach. Be especially vigilant.” He smiled, the tenseness suspended. “You and your men need a hearty meal at the tavern before your return. I won’t delay you any longer.”
forty
If this be treason, make the most of it.
Patrick Henry
Mae poured tea in her quarters, the chipped cups reminding her of the lovely porcelain china back in Chatham’s cupboards. She tried not to make comparisons, but as the days unspooled along the Hudson with all their sameness and smallness, the crudities of the fort were increasingly felt. She seemed caught between one life and the next, the old of Chatham and the not yet of the Shenandoah.
Seated by an open window where rain smeared the pane, Coralie leaned nearer her cup and inhaled. “What on earth is this?”
“Independence tea—sassafras leaves, mint, bee balm, red clover, and chamomile flowers.” Mae sat down and pushed a wayward strand of hair beneath her cap. “Lucy showed me how to blend it.”
“Lucy again?” Coralie made a face. “I’ve seen several officers wearing the new uniform coats you two have been making. ’Tis a wonder you have any time for blending tea.”
“We’ve run short of buttons again, but the coats are quite dashing, don’t you agree? Indigo is such a handsome color.” Fitting Rhys out for his had been one of the little thrills of her married life. “General Harlow looks splendid.”
“Far better than those rustic hunting shirts he and his riflemen usually wear, though I suppose their garments keep them safe in the woods.”
“Far more so than scarlet. I daresay the British are ruing their red as it makes them such targets.”
“I’d not thought of that till this war.” Coralie stirred sugar into her tea, her sunburned features drawn in a frown. “Speaking of red, being outdoors all day, even wearing a hat, spoils my complexion. Autumn should be cooler, according to some of the militia from this area.”
“You’re making quite a few soldierly friends,” Mae said, adding sugar to her own cup. “Is there a favorite?”
Coralie looked pleased. “Well, Captain Sinclair plays a fine game of cribbage ... Private Jenkins is well-read ... Major McTavish is as dashing as his name ... and Captain Etienne Lefevre from Fort Clinton is très beau.”
“No favorite, then.”
