While for those on board the Snake the impact had seemed like the end of the world, for Vermont’s passengers, billeted below deck, the sloop’s sinking could well have passed almost without notice due to the steamboat’s greater size and method of propulsion and speed. Put bluntly, so quickly had the traumatic event occurred that the shock and sound of the collision had been obscured by the noise and vibrations created by the Vermont’s engine and massive paddle blades.

By the time the more observant passengers had questioned why the vessel appeared to have stopped, Hawkwood and Lawrence had been lifted from the water and bundled below. It was only as dawn reasserted itself, when people had begun to stir, that word of the collision had surfaced. Quade must have learned of it when he left his cabin – a privilege of rank – and overheard crew members talking.

“You’re wondering how I knew it was you?” Quade said, as if reading Hawkwood’s mind. “Captain Winans apprised me of the events surrounding the collision. I was most intrigued to learn that the men we’d taken aboard were army couriers delivering dispatches to General Dearborn. As the names Matthews and Douglas were unfamiliar to me, naturally I enquired as to their descriptions.”

“Naturally,” Hawkwood said.

Quade’s lips formed a bloodless gash. “You can imagine my surprise.”

Hawkwood wondered if it was his imagination or whether he really could detect the faint whiff of alcohol on Quade’s breath. He’d picked it up just after he’d sat down, when Quade had leaned in close. It would help to explain why the major might have missed all the excitement. Maybe he’d been at the rye the night before and had been sleeping it off. As if anger and humiliation weren’t enough; throw in inebriation and you had a recipe for aggression right there.

“Small world,” Hawkwood murmured.

Quade smiled again.

“Ain’t it just?”

11

Based on what they could see from Vermont’s rail – a collection of unprepossessing dwellings fanning out from the steamboat landing – Plattsburg had little to recommend it. Indeed, it was hardly worth coming on deck for, save of course, that Hawkwood and Lawrence had no choice in the matter.

In the absence of a purpose-built brig, Quade had confined them to a windowless storage locker for the remainder of their passage, with two armed troopers posted outside the door in case they’d harboured delusions of escape. The fire room lay on the other side of the bulkhead and the heat and noise generated by the furnace had been unrelenting. The sound of the steamboat’s paddles being thrown into reverse – the signal that they were finally about to dock – couldn’t have come soon enough.