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By Root 1339 0

But quickly the ships would reverse course and return to the harbor. Another small fleet would then raise sails and disappear eastward past Gravesend Bay. Soon, those ships would return as well, only to sail southward past Staten Island. Washington’s spies began to reach him with conflicting reports of British intentions. Some claimed that Howe was forming an armada to invade somewhere to the south, the Delaware River perhaps, some insisting that the British were planning another direct assault on the Jersey shore. Since every armada had eventually returned to its anchorage in the harbor, Washington realized that Howe was either maddeningly indecisive about his own intentions or was simply playing a game with him. Washington cautioned Greene and the others to stay vigilant, that despite all the apparent nonsense of the navy’s movements, eventually Howe’s true intentions would be revealed.

Greene carried his breakfast with him, a hard biscuit stuffed with a small piece of dried meat. He worked the stiff leg in a careful rhythm, climbing the tall hill as he had done for days, his aide following with the field glasses. It was already hot, the air smothering him in dampness, his shirt cold with sweat. He reached the one tall rock, leaned against it for a moment, his breathing slower, tried to ignore the pain in his stiff leg. He grabbed a tuft of brush above him, pulled himself up through a crag on the rock, his good leg now holding him. He lifted himself to the top of the lookout, could finally see the harbor clearly, and the mouth of the Hudson. There was a reflection, motion, one small frigate coming down out of the river, a patrol perhaps, Howe’s futile effort at keeping the river free of the nighttime traffic. The aide was beside him now, handed him the glasses, and Greene scanned across to the city, patches of black still evident.

“They have not yet cleaned up the remnants of the fire, Mr. Hovey. They will not make the effort until they believe it is truly their city.”

The man beside him stood at silent attention, something Greene was used to now, the young lieutenant always formal, few words. He knew Hovey was always watching him closely, there to help if Greene stumbled, if the leg suddenly gave way. He appreciated the young man’s attentiveness, appreciated more that Hovey would never speak of it.

Greene lowered the glasses, thought of the Tories, so many loyalists from the countryside scampering into New York for sanctuary. It is so much like Boston, stuffed full like herring in a barrel with British sympathizers who have nowhere else to go. Is there not something to be learned from that? If this was still their country, why would the Tories have such a need to flee? If we are but a rabble, the dregs of your empire, why have you not subdued us?

There was a voice behind him, from below the rock, “Sir! General Washington approaches.”

He moved to the edge of the rock, saw Washington dismount his horse, the big man now climbing the slope of the hill, trailed by the ever-present Tilghman. There was another aide as well, and Greene was pleased to see the young Hamilton, the artillery captain so impressing Washington that the commander had named him to his staff. It was more than just a reward for good service. Despite Joseph Reed’s valuable assistance at Princeton, Reed could not avoid the stain of his betrayal, the indiscreet correspondences with Charles Lee. Washington had accepted Reed’s resignation, and the young lawyer was gone, had returned to his home in Philadelphia. His replacement had to be a man of letters, someone who could turn the proper phrase. That man was Alexander Hamilton.

Washington moved up close to the tall rock now, said, “I am not a young man, Mr. Greene. May I have a word with you without scaling these heights?”

Greene stepped down to the crag in the rock.

“Certainly, sir. Allow me a moment.”

Hovey was quickly in front, moved down the rock before him. Greene slid down, guiding the stiff leg through the gap in the rock, and he landed with both feet on the solid ground, hid the pain, pulled