The Once and Future Spy (20 page)

Here’s where Nate figures out what the lobsters are hatching and devises a scheme to thwart them:

N
ATE AND MOLLY DOUBLED BACK
toward Brookland, taking their sweet time so as not to arrive before the Tories guarding the roadblocks had been relieved
by the afternoon shift. They left the buck cart behind a shed near the waterfront and the mare in a fenced-in field, tipped
a teenage boy to keep an eye on
both and crowded onto the flat ferry to New York City, arriving as the sun was setting behind the Jersey ridges. A silken
breeze blew in from the Narrows, ruffling curtains in open windows. The wide city streets were filled with mounds of uncollected
garbage that crawled with rats as large as rabbits. Several children with homemade bows and arrows stalked the rats, but they
scurried away into the garbage before the hunters could get a shot at them. The barricades that the colonials had thrown up
on the approaches to the river had been demolished by the lobsters and piled in heaps against the sides of buildings. Nate
spotted a Rooms to Let sign on a sprawling clapboard house a block up from the ferry landing and knocked on the door. He started
to turn away when the landlady, fixing her shrewd eyes on him, announced that there was only one room and one bed available,
but turned back when he felt Molly’s elbow jabbing into his spine. He paid for the room and scrawled an invented name on the
ledger in the hallway, caught Molly’s eyebrows arched suggestively and hastily added “and wife” after his signature. Nate
hefted his wooden kit onto his shoulder and he and Molly followed the landlady up two flights to a small back room with a
window with leaded panes looking out on a vegetable garden. There was a high narrow bed against one wall, a ceramic basin
under a hand pump against the other wall. For decoration there was a broken banjo clock and a line portrait of George III
that had been torn from a magazine and framed.

“The candles,” the landlady announced, nodding toward the two tapers in pewter holders on the table, “are extra. You can settle
up when you leave.”

As soon as the landlady had departed Molly turned on Nate. “How can you be sure?” she demanded, picking up the argument where
it had been left off.

“There are two things we know about the lobster General Howe,” Nate insisted. “He’s an expert on amphibious operations—he’s
already proven that twice, once in shifting fifteen thousand troops to Graves End to attack Long Island, the second time in
the landing at Kipp’s Cove to attack Manhattan.”

“Just because—” Molly started to say, but Nate plunged on.

“The second thing we know about Howe is that he was badly shaken by the losses the lobsters suffered assaulting Breed’s Hill.
He shies from frontal assaults against fixed positions the way a horse
shies from a stone fence. He showed this when he forced our boys on Long Island to retreat behind the Brookland Heights fortifications,
and then failed to assault the heights, giving General Washington time to slip his entire force across the river to Manhattan.”

“I still don’t see—”

“Let me finish my reasoning. Howe has installed his forces on Manhattan facing the colonials on the Haarlem Heights. The way
I see it, he has two choices. He can launch a frontal attack on the heights and risk running into the kind of fire he faced
at Breed’s Hill, risk suffering the same kind of losses—and don’t forget, when Howe loses a man, killed or wounded, he has
to look to England for a replacement. Or he can mount another amphibious operation—ferry a mess of soldiers past the Hell
Gate rapids, land them at Frog’s Neck and set up a blocking line between Frog’s Neck and King’s Bridge. With the British warships
patrolling the East River and the North River, and lobsters in front and behind, Washington would be trapped on the Haarlem
Heights. Morale, already low, would deteriorate even more. Desertions would increase. Food supplies would dwindle. Congress
would blame Washington, Washington would blame Congress. If Howe were patient enough there is every chance the Colonial army
would wither on the vine without a shot being fired. The rebellion would be over.”

Molly walked to the window and stared out at the weather cocks on the roofs opposite. “I am obliged to admit your reasoning
is persuasive,” she finally said.

“I am obliged to agree,” Nate said gloomily. “At least it explains the presence of the hundred and eleven longboats, and the
five thousand five hundred fifty lobsters, hidden in the Newtown Creek. If Howe was only going to ferry them across to Manhattan
to reinforce his bridgehead at Kipp’s Cove, he could accomplish that from the Brookland ferry landing.”

Molly turned to face Nate. Her smile was a hedge against tears. “If you are right everything is lost.”

“Perhaps not,” he said thoughtfully. And he outlined for her the scheme that he had been concocting: What if he were to compose
a report, in Latin, giving details of Howe’s dispositions, and most especially a description of what he had seen at the Newtown
Creek? What if he were to draw the conclusion, supported by snatches of overheard conversation, that the lobsters planned
to land a force at
Frog’s Neck with the intention of cutting off Washington in Manhattan? What if he were to append a notation to the report
saying it was a duplicate, that the original had already been dispatched to Washington? Molly could write out in her hand
a second letter purporting to come from A. Hamilton. Let them come, it could say. Breed’s Hill will look like a picnic in
comparison. Or words to that effect. A. Hamilton could hint in his letter that Washington had already taken precautions against
Howe’s forces—had hidden cannon on the Two Brothers to rake the lobster longboats as they passed Hell Gate, had fortified
Frog’s Neck and every likely landing place within twenty miles. Nate could hide the rough notes from his notebook, along with
these two documents, between the inner and outer soles of his shoes, and allow himself to be captured. The papers would fall
into Howe’s hands. The British would be convinced that Washington was aware of their plans and was waiting for them, and would
call off the amphibious operation. Washington would have time to reinforce the army on the Haarlem Heights, train recruits,
organize an orderly retreat through Westchester. Howe would lose by not winning; Washington would win by not losing.

Molly shivered. “They’d hang you as a spy.”

“There is as much chance of my being exchanged as hanged,” Nate insisted. “In either eventuality, it is the custom to let
prisoners send letters back. Your friend Captain Hamilton fixed up some coded phrases for me to use. If I saw that Howe had
fallen for my story, I could signal Washington by employing one of the codes in a letter.”

In the fading light Nate caught the expression of horror on Molly’s face. “Put yourself in my place and say honestly whether
you would not act as I propose to act,” he pleaded.

“It is too high a price to pay,” Molly declared passionately.

“Where I come from they have another saying,” Nate told her. “What we obtain too cheaply we esteem too lightly.”

Molly saw there would be no talking him out of his scheme. Perhaps she could discourage him by picking on details. “How do
you propose to get yourself captured?” she demanded. “By walking up to the first lobster you see and turning yourself in?
They will smell a rat.”

“I’ve thought of that,” Nate said. “I have a cousin from Portsmouth, one Samuel by name, a through and through Tory, who holds
the post as Deputy Commissary of Prisoners here in New York. He
knows me for a rebel and an officer in the Continental Army. If he caught sight of me he would surely turn me in.”

Molly breathed a sigh of relief. “There must be ten or fifteen thousand souls in New York. It could take weeks before you
discovered your cousin’s whereabouts. By then, if your reasoning is correct, the lobsters will be manning the line between
Frog’s Neck and King’s Bridge and the rebellion will be all but over.”

Nate looked preoccupied. “Hamilton gave me the name of someone in New York to turn to in an emergency. He ought to be able
to find my cousin Samuel for me.”

Here, now, is Molly contributing to the rebellion:

M
OLLY WATCHED FROM THE SHADOWS
of an alleyway across the street as Nate strode up to number 22 Wall Street and boldly knocked on the front door. A flickering
light appeared in a window, the door opened and Nate disappeared inside. He emerged twenty minutes later. Checking to be sure
there were no patrols in sight, he crossed to the alley, took Molly by the arm and started back toward the rooming house.
After a while Molly asked, “Now will you deign to tell me who you saw in there?”

“A Jew broker named Haym Salomon.”

Molly seemed surprised. “I have never yet met a Jew. What is he like?”

“He seems civil enough. He read my letter of introduction and agreed to help me. By good fortune he is personally acquainted
with my cousin’s superior in the Commissary of Prisoners, a man named Loring. Salomon said if I returned at sunrise he’d tell
me where I could find cousin Samuel.”

“Oh,” Molly said. She had been praying Nate would run into a dead end.

Back in their room Nate lit the two candles and set out paper, ink and a quill on the table. Molly’s lower lip trembled. Tears
threatened to overpower a sad smile as she observed him from the window. He was really going through with it.

Nate’s quill scratched across the paper as he wrote out, in Latin: “
Exemplum litterarum missarum ad ducem Washington
.” “That should turn the trick,” he said. “ ‘Copy of original report sent to Washington.’ “ He looked up and collected his
thoughts and continued writing, in Latin: “Howe preparing amphibious operation designed land large body at Frog’s Neck and
trap you on Manhattan Island. I personally saw 111 longboats hidden in the New Town Creek along with large number of troops
and provisions.”

Putting the paper aside to let the ink dry, Nate prepared another sheet. “It’s you who will write out this one,” he told Molly,
and seating her in his place, pacing behind her, peeking occasionally over her shoulder, he spelled out the Latin words as
she wrote them: “For the eyes of Captain Hale,” he began. “Hmmm. What would Captain Hamilton say in such a letter? Something
about my report being extremely valuable. And a hint that Washington had fortified the Two Brothers and Frog’s Neck.” Concentrating
on his Latin, Nate started dictating.

When Molly had finished and the ink was dry Nate carefully folded both letters, along with two pages of his raw notes, between
the soles of his shoes. “All that’s left,” he said, “is to organize things so that the letters fall into Howe’s hands.”

Taking a deep breath, Molly announced in a hoarse whisper, “If you are absolutely set on going through with this mad scheme
of yours, I propose that we marry ourselves.”

Nate’s eyes widened. “Marry ourselves? Are such things done?”

“The world,” Molly reminded him, “
is
upside down.” She smiled at his discomfort. “You are clearly a virgin,” she added. “The least I can do is make sure you don’t
die one. Consider it my contribution to our common cause. But before I can bed you we must exchange vows.”

Nate, insulted, said, “What makes you so sure I am a virgin?”

Molly limped over to him and put a hand on one of his shoulders. “The way you looked at me through the window when I was at
my toilet makes me think it.”

“You saw me looking and did nothing?”

“You must understand: Before I was ambushed by grief I grew accustomed to living the life of a married woman… there are things
you miss when fate deprives you of a husband.” She added
anxiously, “Contrary to what is generally supposed, women have appetites too.”

Nate reached impulsively for her hand. “The moment I saw you I knew I would have liked to love you. What vows would you have
us say to each other?”

“I would have us pledge to govern our house, in the unlikely event the Lord ever gives us one, according to God’s word.”

“I pledge it,” Nate declared eagerly.

“I too pledge it. I would have us renounce all pride, ostentation and vanity in apparel and behavior. I would have us promise
to give honest attention to friendly rebuke and admonition.”

“I pledge it.”

“I too pledge it. Finally I would have you pledge to love and honor me. And I would pledge in return to obey you in so far
as obeyance does not trespass on principles dearly held.”

“I do pledge it and with all my heart,” Nate said urgently.

“I too pledge it with all my heart,” Molly whispered.

She studied his face and said, “If the spirit moves you, you may kiss me now.”

Still holding her hand, he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers.

Molly turned away so he wouldn’t see the tears brimming in her eyes. She crossed the room and removed the framed line drawing
of George III and set it down facing the wall. Then she blew out both candles.

Nate said with panic in his voice, “I must have light.”

Molly lighted one of the candles and placed it on the floor next to the ceramic basin. Shadows danced on the walls. Nate said
something about how he loved shadows, about how you needed light to have them. Molly worked the hand pump until she had half
filled the basin with water. That done, she began to remove her clothing-first came her pointed pumps, then her sand-colored
thigh-length stockings. She undid the tiny buttons down the front of her dress and slipped out of it. She reached down and
grabbed the hem of her shift and straightening, drew it over her head. Bare-chested, wearing only homespun knickers, she looked
across at Nate, standing in the middle of the small room, his mouth agape, his head angled as he stared at her shadow dancing
on the wall and on the ceiling.

“I have never before seen anything so beautiful—”

“It is unnecessary, even undesirable, to speak at moments such as this.”

She turned away from him and undid the ribboned waistband of her knickers, and let them fall to the floor and kicked them
away. Then she stepped into the ceramic tub and, bending to wet a sponge, she began to wash herself. Her voice drifted back
over her bare shoulder. “You may undress now, Nathan, and turn down the bed.”