New York - The Novel

at everybody. That night he went out again, but soon returned.
    “There’s a damn fog,” he growled. “Can’t see a thing.”

    The hammering on the door came at midnight. It woke the whole house. Abigail rose from her bed hastily and hurried down, to find her father with a primed pistol in his hand and Hudson at the door. At a nod from Master, Hudson opened it.
    And Charlie White walked in. He glanced at the pistol.
    “Evening, John. Need your keys.”
    “What keys, Charlie?”
    “To your damn boats. Broke into your warehouse easy enough, but you’ve got so many padlocks, it’s wastin’ time.”
    “What do you want with my boats, Charlie?”
    “We’re gettin’ the boys back from Brooklyn. Hurry up, will you?”
    “Dear God,” cried Master. “I’m coming.”
    He was back an hour later. Abigail was waiting for him.
    “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he told her excitedly. “They’ve got a whole fleet of boats. Barges, canoes, anything that’ll float. They’re trying to ferry the whole army across during the night.”
    “Will it work?”
    “As long as the British don’t realize what’s going on. Thank God for the fog.”
    “And James?”
    “No sign of him yet. I want you to wake up Hudson and Ruth, and start preparing hot broth, stew, whatever you can. The men I saw coming off the boats are in terrible shape.”
    “We’re to feed Patriots?” she said in astonishment.
    He shrugged. “They’re soaked to the skin, poor devils. I’m going back now.”
    She did as he asked, and was in the kitchen with Hudson and his wife an hour later when her father entered again. This time he was grinning like a boy.
    “James is back—he’ll be coming here shortly. I told him to bring his men. Have we got stew and broth?”
    “Soon, Father. How many men is he bringing?”
    “About two hundred. Is that a problem?”
    The two women looked at each other.
    “Of course not,” said Abigail.

    As the men crowded into the house, James took Abigail and his father aside, and gave them a brief account of what had happened.
    “We hadn’t properly secured our left flank. The Long Island Loyalists saw it and told the British. A force of British and Long Island men came round by Jamaica Pass during the night and attacked our rear in the morning. Then the whole line rolled up. We must have lost twelve hundred men—that’s killed, not counting the wounded. It was a disaster. If Howe had followed up and attacked us on Brooklyn Heights, then it would all be over. As it is …” He gave a despairing gesture. “We live to fight another day. Perhaps.”
    Judging by the dispirited looks and haggard faces of his men, the remains of Washington’s army was not in much condition to fight.
    The house became an impromptu camp for the rest of that day. In the yards, on fences and clothes lines, or laid on the ground, sodden tents and uniforms were spread out to dry, so that when the sun finally broke through steam rose all around the house. Hudson placed a big tub by the front gate, which Abigail repeatedly refilled with broth, to be served to any soldiers that passed.
    Around noon, as Master himself was ladling out broth to some passing men, Washington rode by. His face was tired and drawn, but looked with surprise at the Loyalist merchant with his ladle.
    Without a word, Washington raised a finger to his hat, and rode on.

    But in the days that followed, things only got worse.
    “Three-quarters of the Connecticut militia—that’s six thousand men—have upped sticks and left,” James reported. “Nobody thinks we can hold New York. Except maybe Washington. Who knows?”
    If the British had the upper hand tactically, their strategy remained the same. They wanted to parlay. On September 11, John Adams, Rutledge and Ben Franklin himself arrived at Staten Island to talk with the Howes.
    “The British offered to pardon everybody if we’d just drop the Declaration of Independence,” James said. “The delegation had to tell them no.”
    His father said nothing. “Though it’d make a damn sight more sense to say yes, in my opinion,” he confided later to Abigail.
    The next day the Patriot leaders had a war council.
    “Washington was completely outvoted,” James told them. “We can’t hold the city. But there is another way of denying New York to the British.”
    “What’s that?” asked his father.
    “Burn it down.”
    “Destroy New York? No sane man would do that.”
    “John Jay wanted to.”