Free New York - The Novel by Edward Rutherfurd Page B

them. It was coming fast and he could see every detail of the vessel now: a big, clinker-built longboat, with a covered section in the middle from which the mast rose. Eight men were rowing four pairs of oars. It was high in the water, so it could not be carrying any cargo. Why should this empty vessel be in such a hurry? There was a figure standing in the stern, but he couldn’t see what sort of man it was.
    The vessel pulled closer. It was only a few lengths behind them, then a length. Now it was level. Curious, he looked across at the figure in the stern.
    To find himself staring into a face he knew only too well. A face which, some instinct told him, he did not wish to encounter. And the man was staring straight back at him.
    Stuyvesant.
    He quickly looked away, but it was too late.
    “Dirk van Dyck.” The harsh voice came ringing over the water.
    “Good day, Governor,” he called back. What else could he say?
    “Hurry, man! Why aren’t you hurrying?” Stuyvesant was level with him now. Then, without waiting for a reply, Stuyvesant turned to van Dyck’s oarsmen. “Row faster,” he shouted. “Pull.” And the oarsmen, recognizing the fearsome governor, obeyed at once and sent the boat hurtling through the water. “That’s it,” he yelled. “Well done. Keep up with me. We’ll go down together, Dirk van Dyck.”
    “But why?” called van Dyck. The governor had already gone a little past him, but his men were managing to keep up the same pace now, so that the two of them could continue their shouted conversation downstream.
    “You don’t know? The English are in Manhattan harbor. The whole fleet.”
    So the English fleet had come after all. He’d heard nothing, but that wasn’t surprising. The people at New Amsterdam would have sent a swift rider up to Fort Orange to tell the governor, who was now racing downriver with the benefit of the tide. No doubt word would spread among the Indians soon, but it would take some time.
    Clearly the English had lied. He thought of the young fellow from Boston. Had Tom known they were coming? He must have. That’s why he’d hesitated when asked about the English fleet.
    “What are we going to do?” van Dyck shouted downstream to Stuyvesant.
    “Fight, van Dyck. Fight. We’ll need every man.”
    The governor’s face was set hard as flint. Standing tall and erect on his peg leg, he had never looked more indomitable. You had to admire the man. But if the whole English fleet had come down from Boston, it would be a powerful force. The ships would be carrying cannon. Despite all Stuyvesant’s recent efforts, van Dyck couldn’t imagine the shore defenses of New Amsterdam holding up for long. If Stuyvesant meant to fight, it would be a bloody and unrewarding business.
    As though in tune with his thoughts, a cloud crossed the sun and the high stone palisades above them suddenly turned to a sullen gray that seemed grim and threatening.
    Whatever Stuyvesant might be saying, another thought quickly occurred to van Dyck. If I can see the danger of this course, he realized, so can every other merchant in the place. Would the men of New Amsterdamsupport their governor against the English? Probably not, if the English came in force. Was his family in danger? Unlikely. Would the English want to blow the place to bits and make enemies of the Dutch merchants? He didn’t think so. The English wanted a rich port, not an angry ruin. They had every incentive to offer generous terms. It was politics and religion, in van Dyck’s private view, that made men dangerous. Trade made them wise. Despite Stuyvesant, he guessed, there would be a deal.
    So did he want to blow into Manhattan with Stuyvesant, like an avenging angel?
    He looked at the river ahead. Another hour at this rate and they’d be at the northern tip of Manhattan. He glanced at his oarsmen. Would they be able to keep up this pace? Probably not. And so much the better. If he could discreetly fall behind, then he should be