New York - The Novel

May, she’d received from that lady an amused smile.
    “Ain’t nothin’ lackin’ in that young man, Miss Abigail, you can be sure.”
    But as summer approached, everyone knew that the British would make their move. Although the colonies, from Boston and New Hampshire in the North down to the plantation states of the South, were nominally under Patriot control, the only organized Patriot army was still the ill-trained and much depleted force commanded by George Washington, down in New Jersey, barring the road to Philadelphia.
    In June, General Howe had made a sortie toward Washington, and Grey Albion and his fellow officers had been gone for a while. Though he believed, like his fresh young officers, that his regular troops would destroy the Patriots in open battle, Howe had learned at Bunker Hill that, with good cover, the Patriot sharpshooters could inflict terrible damage. When he couldn’t get the battle he wanted, therefore, he was back in New York by the end of the month. So the question now was, what would he do next?
    It was just the previous day that Abigail’s father had been asked to supper with Howe. On a whim, he had taken her too.
    She’d found it strange to be sitting so close to the general. The only other guests were Mrs. Loring and a couple of other officers. Knowingwhat she knew, each time the general turned his big fleshy face and protruding eyes toward her, Abigail could not help imagining that she was gazing into the face of King George III himself.
    The meal was simple, but enjoyable. Howe was in a friendly mood, and she could see that he liked her father, but it was also clear that the general had something he wished to discuss.
    “Tell me, Master,” he said after a while, “have you any knowledge of the terrain up the Hudson?” When her father said he had, Howe continued. “You’ve never met General Burgoyne, I think. Gentleman Johnnie, they call him. A dashing fellow. Gambling man. Writes plays in his spare time.” The general sniffed. This last, Abigail could see, was no compliment.
    “I heard that he did well up in Canada, but that he’s headstrong,” her father said frankly.
    “All sail and no ballast, though I grant he’s brave and daring. He has the ear of the ministry, though, especially Lord George Germain, and as you know he now means to come down the Hudson Valley from Canada, take Albany, hold Ticonderoga and the other forts, and thus cut Washington off from the whole north-east. Daring plan. Wants to make a great name for himself. Thinks it will be easy.”
    “How will he travel?”
    “I’m not sure. Perhaps along the forest trails.”
    “He’ll find it tough going. Trails can be blocked. He’s a sitting duck for sharpshooters.”
    “Germain suggests I go up to join him, then we’d come down together. But he doesn’t insist upon it.” Howe glanced meaningfully at Abigail. “I know you are loyal, Master, but this must be in confidence.” He paused.
    Her father turned to her. “Abby, you must promise me now, upon your love for me as your father, that you will never repeat any word that passes in this room tonight, to a living soul. May I have your promise?”
    “Yes, Father, I promise.”
    “Good.” Howe gave a brief nod, and continued. “In the coming days, the ships here will be loaded. Any spy will be able to see that. But they won’t know where we are going. We might be going upriver to Burgoyne, or down the coast to the South, where the Loyalists may rise to help us. Or, I could sail round into the Chesapeake Bay and up toward Philadelphia.”
    “Where Congress is.”
    “Precisely. If we took their great base from them, cut Washington off from the South, and trapped him between New York and Philadelphia, then I think his position would be desperate. There would still be a large garrison here in New York. When Burgoyne arrives, it’ll be even stronger. Then Washington would have to fight in the open between two proper armies. With luck it wouldn’t come to that, and he’d have the sense to give up.” He stared at John Master. “My own staff are divided. You know the terrain—do you think it could be done?”
    “Yes,” Master said slowly, “I think it could.”
    They talked of other things after that, but Abigail could see that her father was deeply thoughtful. As they parted from Howe that night, Master turned to him. He sighed. “I think your plan would work, General,” he said sadly, “but tell me this: how would I get a