Chapter 39
thirty-nine
Happiness depends more upon the internal frame of a person’s own mind—than on the externals in the world.
George Washington
At daybreak, Rhys and a company of riflemen set out with Claudius Smith and three of his fellow renegades.
Smith wore leg irons, the rest bound with rope.
The journey took Rhys farther from Fort Montgomery than he wanted, Mae uppermost in his mind every step.
He was beginning to rue being away from her.
If she became ill or needed him or lost the baby . . .
They halted briefly midmorning to dole out water and jerked meat.
Used to traveling on foot thirty miles or more a day with the army, farther on horseback, Rhys chafed at the delay.
The surly prisoners walked surrounded by riflemen both afoot and astride horses as the sun baked the stony path hard as granite.
No wind stirred, turning the march suffocating beneath the humid trees. Even the birdsong seemed muted.
Smith, their foremost prisoner, glared at his captors and cursed his irons.
Rhys paid him no attention except to note the powder burns beneath his right eye and his unkempt beard.
He’d murdered several men—all Patriots—since his rampaging began and deserved hanging, but punishment needed to be quick lest he escape like he’d done before.
“What do you think Ol’ Put will do to Smith?” Bohannon asked Rhys, refilling his canteen at a creek.
“General Putnam has little patience for renegades,” Rhys replied as he checked his rifle. “I doubt Smith and his cronies will live to see the sunrise.”
They finally reached King’s Ferry. Heavily guarded by the Americans, it was a strategic point where Continental Army troops, supplies, and communication between New England and the southern colonies—now the thirteen states—continually crossed.
Signs of their passage were everywhere. Several thousand men couldn’t move through the wilderness without scarring the land.
Trees had been felled to widen the way, underbrush trampled, streams diverted, and makeshift bridges built to ease their passage.
The smell of freshly cut timber hung in the humid air.
Rhys surveyed the ferries and flatboats and oarsmen that had hauled an entire army with artillery and horses and wagons over water. The distance from the landing at Stony Point to the landing at Verplanck’s Point was about half a mile wide.
“What did General Clinton say about Verplanck’s Point?” Bohannon asked, tilting his cocked hat further forward.
“He wants a report on the fortifications there.” Rhys trained his spyglass on the eastern shore. “Entrenching tools have been sent from West Point, but I see little from this side in the way of defense.”
They dismounted and led their horses onto the waiting ferry as the incoming tide licked the transport’s edges. Rhys glanced back at the remainder of the riflemen who waited with the prisoners for the next crossing.
“How goes it upriver at the twin forts?” the ferryman asked. “Any sign of Burgoyne and his lobsterbacks?”
Rhys faced the wind. “In the words of General Washington, the enemy keeps us in a state of constant perplexity and conjecture with their extreme inactivity and delay.”
“Crivvens!” The ferryman spat overboard. “Washington certainly can’t be accused of dithering, moving south then ordering Lord Stirling’s division on toward Peekskill.”
“You’ve been busy,” Bohannon jested.
“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-command to 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 USS Montgomery and the USS Congress. I pray they aren’t scuttled to avoid capture.
There are also two galleys, Shark and Lady 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.”