Sir John sighed. “Hooper and Archer were friends of long standing, as were their wives. It was natural Hooper would choose them to look after the boy. I recall him telling me that Elizabeth Archer had lost a child – a boy – and that she and her husband would look after his son as though he were their own. It was always his intention to return at a later date and take him back to Canada, which is even more heart-breaking when you consider the reason we’re here now.”

The colonel looked off towards where the children were playing and then he turned to Wyatt. “I’d deem it a personal favour, Lieutenant, if you’d make sure the boy is placed with someone suitable, a good family who’ll take him under their wing for the journey north.”

“I’ll see to it, Colonel.”

“Good man.” Sir John looked over Wyatt’s shoulder at Tewanias, who hadn’t moved a muscle during the entire exchange. “Skennenko:wa ken, Tewanias?”

The Mohawk straightened. “Skennenko:wa, Owassighsishon.”

Sir John smiled at McDonell’s bemused expression. “Don’t look so perplexed, Captain. Merely a greeting between old friends.”

“Owassighsishon?” McDonell said. “I’m not familiar—”

“It’s the name they have for me; it means He-who-made-the-house-to-tremble. Don’t ask me which house as I’ve no damned idea.”

McDonell was given no chance to respond for at that moment the colonel’s attention was diverted once more, this time by the approach of another lieutenant in the uniform of a Royal Yorker. After acknowledging Wyatt’s presence with a nod, he saluted briskly and announced, “We’ve retrieved the barrels, Colonel.”

A smile lit up the colonel’s face. “Have you? Splendid! Thank you, Lieutenant. I’ll be with you directly.” He turned to Wyatt. “You’ll see to the boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Wyatt said.

Barrels? he thought. Movement over by the doorway to the mansion made him turn and watch as four Royal Yorkers in dirt-stained uniforms and an equally dishevelled Negro civilian emerged from the house, carrying between them two large wooden casks.

Wine? Wyatt frowned. It seemed unlikely.

“Well done, William!” Sir John clapped the Negro on the back, sending puffs of dirt into the air.

Intrigued, Wyatt hovered as the barrels were deposited on the ground. A bayonet was produced and a lid was levered off. It looked at first glance as if the cask was full of old sacking.

Odd, Wyatt thought, until the top layer was removed.

Wyatt had never seen a pirate’s treasure trove unearthed but he suspected it probably wouldn’t look much different to the sight that met his eyes. The barrel was stuffed to the gunnels with what was clearly a fortune in silver plate. Salvers, decanters, tankards, punch bowls, coffee jugs, gravy boats, condiment shakers, even serving spoons; all individually wrapped. He stared as each object was divested of its Hessian cocoon and placed reverentially on the ground.