New York - The Novel

decided to pull out and return to New York. It wasn’t only the troops. Several thousand Loyalists had to ship out too. “Poor devils,” Master remarked to Abigail. “The British ask for Loyalist support, but then they can’t protect them.”
    As the main British force returned by land, Washington shadowed them. News came that there had been an engagement at Monmouth—a Patriot force under Lee and Lafayette had attacked the British rearguard under Cornwallis, with considerable success, and might have done more damage if Lee had not pulled back. But the British had eventually returned safely to New York, and young Albion with them.
    So once again, Congress was back in Philadelphia, and New York, under General Clinton now, remained a British base, but with huge territories, from White Plains above the city, to the tracts of New Jersey across the Hudson, dominated by the Patriots. In July, Washington moved up the Hudson Valley to the great lookout fortress of West Point, fifty miles upriver. An affectionate letter came from James, delivered through Susan in Dutchess County, to let the family know that he was safe at West Point, and to ask his father to attend to some small matters for him. But he gave them no other news.
    Soon after that, as if to confirm how the military situation had changed, Admiral d’Estaing arrived with a powerful French fleet at the entrance to the harbor. For a while he stayed there, blocking off the ocean. Then British naval reinforcements arrived and he moved, for the time being, to safe anchorage up the coast at Newport, Rhode Island. But the message was clear. The French were in the war, and the British no longer controlled the sea either.
    Two other vexations depressed John Master. In August, another fire broke out in the city and destroyed a pair of houses he was renting out. More worrying was a threat to his land in Dutchess County.
    It was a curiosity of New York that year: the city was now ruled by the British General Clinton, while the great New York hinterland, under Patriot control, had a Patriot governor of the same name—though certainly no relation. And Patriot Governor Clinton was eager to confiscate the lands of any and all known Loyalists in his territory. “Since we manage it, we’ve given out that we own the land,” Susan told him. But it seemed to Master that it would only be a matter of time before the Patriot governor took his land away.

    At the end of August, an unexpected visitor came to the house: Captain Rivers. But the news he brought was bleak. He was giving up.
    “South Carolina has been in Patriot hands for two years now, but in North Carolina, many Loyalists like myself have held on. Since spring, however, life’s become impossible. My wife and children have already left for England. And there’s nothing I can do except surrender my plantation into your hands, in the hope that you can recover your debt one day.”
    “The slaves?”
    “The main value lies there, of course. I’ve transferred them to the estateof a friend, who’s in a safer area. But how long he’ll be able to stay I don’t know.” He gave Master a detailed inventory of the slaves. “Many are skilled, and therefore valuable. If you can find a buyer for them, they’re yours to sell.”
    “You can’t hold out a little longer?” Master asked. “Relief may be at hand.”
    For with Philadelphia abandoned, the latest British talk was of a big strike against the South. General Clinton had already announced he was sending an expedition to seize one of the French Caribbean islands, and another to Georgia, where the Patriot garrisons were small, and the Loyalists many. But Rivers shook his head.
    “Diversions, Master. We can split our forces as many ways as we like, and run around in the huge wilderness of America, but in my opinion, we’ll never tame it. Not now.”
    At dinner that evening the conversation was frank. They were all old friends—John Master and Abigail, Rivers and Grey Albion. At one point, Rivers turned to Master and asked: “I once asked if you’d think of retiring to England. You weren’t interested then, I think. But might you consider it now?”
    “My father will gladly serve you, sir,” Albion chipped in, “if you care to send funds to England for safe keeping. He already holds balances of yours.”
    “Let’s not think of that yet,” Master replied. But it was significant to him that both Rivers and young Albion should be suggesting such an