Within a matter of days, surgeons were treating soldiers who had succumbed to dysentery. The disease soon raged. Life in the camp was increasingly unpleasant. Suffocating heat was relieved only by violent storms. There was such a heavy fall of dew and mist each morning that it soaked the blankets on which the soldiers slept. Carving a way through the forest at the hottest time of year seemed to many to be an act of utter madness, a Herculean labor that would hold them up for weeks.
Yet the man who had set it in motion was bubbling with optimism. General Burgoyne gave every appearance of enjoying his enforced stay at Skenesborough. His accommodation was comfortable, his champagne and claret in good supply, and his mistress extremely compliant. Dining every day with his officers and gambling every night with the chosen few, he felt able to make the best of the situation. Summoned by the general one morning, Skoyles found him as cheerful as ever. They met in the room where the coffin of Colonel Skene's mother remained defiantly above ground.
"You were quite wrong to advocate Lake George," said Burgoyne.
"Was I, General?"
"I received a letter from General Phillips today. They're having an infernal time, trying to haul the gunboats, bateaux, and artillery over the portage from Ticonderoga. Soldiers and prisoners are working all hours."
"Our men fare no better in the forest," Skoyles argued. "If they go forward a mile a day, they feel it's an achievement. It's cost lives already, General, and not only because there are sharpshooters on the prowl. We had two more deaths from fever yesterday."
"Regrettable but unavoidable."
"Traveling by water would have been healthier."
"I'm a soldier, Captain, not a physician. My concern is to reach a destination of my choice at whatever cost. It's a poor commander who turns nursemaid to the lower ranks."
"Perhaps so," said Skoyles, "but we can ill afford to lose men."
Burgoyne nodded. "I agree with you there," he conceded. "We had to leave a garrison at Crown Point and another at Ticonderoga. When I wrote to Governor Carleton to send reinforcements, he replied that his orders did not give him the latitude to do so. Upon my conscience!" he exclaimed, stamping a foot. "Had he let us pursue the rebels last summer, we'd have wiped out this so-called revolution by now. At the very moment when we could have struck hard, we were ordered to abandon the campaign and return to Canada."
Skoyles said nothing. Fond as he was of Burgoyne, he was not blind to the general's love of political intrigue. Skoyles was convinced that Burgoyne had used the failure of the British invasion the previous year as a means of discrediting Sir Guy Carleton in London. It was the main reason why Gentleman Johnny had replaced his former commander. Skoyles found Burgoyne a more likable and approachable man but he felt that Carleton had been badly treated by politicians who viewed the situation from a distance that was bound to distort it. Military honor—Skoyles had long ago discovered—was a matter of perception rather than actuality.
"I have some more work for you and my telescope," said Burgoyne.
"What are my orders, sir?"
"To make your way to Fort Anne, take note of its defenses, then move on to take a closer look at Fort Edward. If my reports are correct, General Schuyler is still there."
"Why do you need to send me?" Skoyles asked. "We already have scouting parties moving south."
"Yes," said Burgoyne, frowning. "Indians who wantonly disobey my instructions. They'd sooner loot a farm or take scalps from harmless civilians than gather intelligence. They're beginning to be more trouble than they're worth."
"I couldn't speak more highly of the men at Bitter Creek, sir."
"They seem to have been the exception to the rule. You did well there, Captain. And I've not forgotten the vital information you gave us about Mount Defiance. That's why I've selected you for this task."
"Do I travel alone?"
"That's up to you."
"If he's available, I'd like to take Redsnake. I trust him."
"Make what arrangements you will. Of course," he went on with a sly grin, "it does mean that we'll miss the pleasure of your company at the card table for a while but that might enable someone else to win."
"Much as I love cards," said Skoyles, "I prefer action in the field."
"Spoken like a true soldier!"
"When do I leave?"
"As soon as I can find my telescope," said Burgoyne. "Try to bring it back without any dents in it this time."
He searched among the piles of papers on the table until the instrument came to light. Burgoyne took a handkerchief from his sleeve to polish it slightly before he handed it over.
"Thank you, sir," said Skoyles. A thought nudged him. "Might I ask if there's any word of Miss Rainham? I've not seen her since we returned from Bitter Creek a few days ago. How is she, General?"
"Damnably grateful to you, Captain."
"The lady went through a terrible ordeal."
"That can be laid partly at my door," Burgoyne confessed. "I shouldn't have encouraged her to visit her uncle like that. Colonel Skene led me to believe that there was no risk involved. It seems that things have changed for the worse since he was last living in this area."
"You've spoken to Miss Rainham?"
"Yes, yes. She and Major Featherstone dined with me yesterday. Brave young lady. Held up well. You'd never have guessed that she'd endured such suffering. Not surprising to me, of course," he said. "Good breeding. Elizabeth is the daughter of Richard Rainham—an exemplary soldier. Resilience is a family trait."
Skoyles fished gently for information. "There's a rumor that we might have a wedding when we reach Albany," he said, artlessly. "Is that true, General?"
"You'll have to ask Harry Featherstone about that. It's his idea, and who can blame him? His bride-to-be has come all this way to be with him, and he's unable to do more than escort her to dinner. Harry's always been a red-blooded fellow," said Burgoyne, admiringly. "Understandable that he'd like to spend the night with his wife."
"But we're still in the middle of a campaign."
"By the time we reach Albany, it should effectively be over."
"Only if Brigadier St. Leger meets us there."
"Oh, I've no worries on that score," said the other blithely. "Barry St. Leger will do exactly what's expected of him. When he's reduced the forts in his path, he'll sail on down the Hudson River to join us at Albany with the forces we expect from New York City."
"Has General Howe dispatched an army yet, sir?"
"Probably."
"Have you had no confirmation of the fact?"
"I expect it every day, Captain. As you know, letters have difficulty getting through enemy territory. That's why more than one messenger is sent. General Howe will not let us down, I assure you," said Burgoyne with confidence. "Word will reach us at any moment."
The messenger had reached Albany before he was stopped by a patrol from the Continental Army. He tried to bluff his way past them in vain. The lieutenant in charge of the patrol ordered the man to dismount so that he could be searched. Fearing that he would be caught with vital intelligence on him, the messenger slipped something into his mouth. The lieutenant's suspicions were aroused. From the saddlebag of his horse, he took out a bottle that he kept for such occasions.
"Hold him tight and give him some of this," he said. "We'll get the truth out of one end of him or another."
Grabbed by two men, the prisoner was forced to drink the strong emetic. It soon had an effect. He began to retch violently and spewed the contents of his stomach on the ground. The men released him to search the vomit but the messenger moved quicker than they did. Retrieving the object that he had swallowed earlier, he popped it back in his mouth and tried to make a run for it. He was caught immediately.
"Give him a larger dose this time," the lieutenant ordered.
The man struggled hard and three soldiers had to hold him on the ground while a fourth poured the liquid down his throat. It was not long before the prisoner went into convulsions. He
puked uncontrollably. The lieutenant seized the tiny silver bullet that had been regurgitated. When he had cleaned it off, he realized that it was hollow. Inside it, he found a piece of paper that contained the most startling news.
"General Howe is sailing to Philadelphia!" he announced. "He's not bringing his army to Albany, after all. Burgoyne is on his own."
They hanged the messenger by way of celebration.
CHAPTER TEN
Before setting off on his scouting trip, Captain Jamie Skoyles removed all trace of the British army. In place of his uniform, he wore the hunting shirt that had been so badly scuffed during his roll down Mount Hope, with some buckskin breeches and a round hat to replace the one lost at Ticonderoga. Though he took a musket, he left the bayonet behind, preferring instead to carry a hunting knife and a pistol. Burgoyne's telescope was in his pocket along with a map of the area. Using his local knowledge, Colonel Skene had advised him on the best route to take.
Skoyles was fortunate. Though the different tribes had dispatched men on foraging expeditions, several of the Mohawks were still at their camp. Redsnake was among them. He had a smattering of English and of French, so Skoyles was able to make himself understood by using a mixture of both languages. What the Indian could not do was to hold a conversation with him. That suited Skoyles. The last thing he wanted was a garrulous companion.
He put his trust in Redsnake because the Indian had shown his mettle at Bitter Creek, saving Private Marcus Wolverton from the ambush, then guiding the detachment sent out from Skenesborough. In the course of his second visit to the farm, Redsnake had acquired no fewer than five new scalps to add to his tally. The Indian seemed to have a respect for Skoyles that boded well. Unlike so many of his tribe, he would take orders. Had he allowed other Mohawks to go with him, Skoyles might have had more trouble controlling them.
Bay horses were taken because they blended more easily with the leafy surroundings. For the early part of the journey, they followed the road that had been hacked through the forest and on which a large and dispirited labor force was still working. Once they left it, they came up against the network of obstacles created by the American rebels. Skoyles hoped to pick his way past them one at a time, but Redsnake shook his head vigorously. He indicated with gestures that they should make a wide detour, adding miles to the journey but sparing them the frustration of trying to get horses over fallen trees or across swamps and streams that had been inconveniently deprived of their bridges.
Redsnake gave the impression of knowing exactly where he was going. He was a tall, thin, wiry man in his twenties with an inscrutable expression on his face. Apart from a breechcloth and couple of necklaces made up of animals' teeth, he wore only feathers and war paint. His eyes were sharp, his movements lithe, his instincts sound. He was armed with a tomahawk and a hunting knife. Skoyles had seen how proficient he was with both weapons.
Their speed varied. They were limited to a trot in the thicker parts of the forest but managed a steady canter at other times. Remaining alert for danger, Skoyles nevertheless let his mind dwell on Elizabeth Rainham. While she had preserved her virtue at Bitter Creek, she had lost her innocence about the nature of warfare; it had been a devastating experience for her. Skoyles wondered if it would make her think again about marrying a soldier and having to cope with the fears and anxieties of an army wife. At all events, he hoped that Elizabeth would not be persuaded to wed Harry Featherstone in Albany. It would seal her fate irretrievably. Since their momentary embrace at the farm, Skoyles did not simply envy the major. He desired Elizabeth for himself. And the more he thought about her, the more intense his desire became.
Bitter Creek had been an all too appropriate name for the farm. It had brought Elizabeth nothing but bitterness. She had ridden there with the anticipatory delight of seeing her uncle and cousins again after so many years. Instead, she discovered that the entire family had been hanged and the house looted. Only the timely arrival of redcoats from Skenesborough saved her from being raped. Skoyles regretted that the place held such disturbing memories for her. When he had first set eyes on Bitter Creek, it had struck him as exactly the sort of farm he had always wanted. To live in such a property with a wife and family beside him was his idea of perfection.
"Tired?" asked Redsnake, interrupting his reverie.
"No," said Skoyles.
"We rest?"
"Keep riding. There's no need to stop."
Their route was by no means wooded all the way. Steep cliffs and craggy mountains slowed them down, though they were rewarded with fine views when they clambered to a summit. Skoyles soon brought the telescope into play. Fascinated by the instrument, Redsnake insisted on being given it each time, mouth agape as he moved it from eye to eye. When it was returned to Skoyles's pocket, the Indian always watched covetously.
After looping eastward, they swung back toward Fort Anne, picking up a serpentine track that took them into dense forest. Redsnake was the first to notice the faint stink wafting in their direction. He called a halt and held his nose. Dismounting swiftly, they tethered their horses and went forward on foot. Skoyles soon picked up the stench as well and guessed its origin. During an earlier skirmish with a party of Mohawks, the rebels had suffered many casualties near a breastwork a mile from the fort. The garrison was too frightened of the Indians to venture out to bury their dead. Corpses lay strewn haphazardly on the battlefield, scalped, mutilated, or preyed upon by wild animals, all of them giving off the unmistakable reek of decay.
As they skirted the battlefield, Skoyles and his companion had to cover their mouths and noses with the palm of a hand. They pressed on until Fort Anne came into sight, keeping low to avoid being spotted by any sentries on the ramparts. Their stealth was unnecessary. When he trained the telescope on the fort, Skoyles saw that they were no sentries on duty at all. The entire garrison was streaming out of the gates. Smoke began to rise. Abandoning the fort, the rebels were set on destroying it.
Redsnake was impatient, nudging Skoyles to remind him to pass over the telescope. The Indian was forced to wait. Peering through the instrument, Skoyles had just seen someone he recognized, coming out of the gates on a horse. It was Ezekiel Proudfoot, looking fit and well. Skoyles smiled, pleased that the man was still alive, even if in the enemy ranks. Unfortunately, his former friend was the last person he was allowed to see. Skoyles suddenly felt a sharp blow on the back of his head, and he lapsed into unconsciousness.
"Do you know where Captain Skoyles is?" asked Elizabeth Rainham.
"On his way to Fort Anne."
She was dismayed. "Fort Anne? Is he involved in an attack?"
"No, Miss Rainham," said Tom Caffrey jocularly. "Jamie Skoyles is a brave man but even he wouldn't consider an attack when there are only two of them. He's on a scouting expedition."
"Oh, I see."
"Is there any message I can give him?"
It had taken Elizabeth a few days to recover from the events at Bitter Creek and to realize just how much she owed to Jamie Skoyles. Since her return to Skenesborough, she had been monopolized by Harry Featherstone and therefore unable to make contact with Skoyles. She felt guilty that she had not been able to express her gratitude properly and, with Nan Wyatt beside her, had come in search of him. Caffrey had met the two women outside Skoyles's tent.
"You might give him this," said Elizabeth, handing over a letter. "I was going to leave it in the captain's tent."
"I'll make sure that he gets it."
"When do you expect him back, Sergeant?"
"Impossible to say."
"I'll hope to catch him another time."
"Jamie will be delighted to hear that, Miss Rainham," said Caffrey, beaming. "May I ask how you're feeling now?"
"Much better, thank you."
"What happened at Bitter Creek was very upsetting for you."
"It taught me an important lesson," said Elizabeth seriously. "It was very naïve of me to treat a military campaign as if it were a pleasant excursion. I
know better now."
"Stay in the camp where it's safe, ma'am," cautioned Nan.
"Oh, I will."
"Leave the soldiering to trained soldiers. I'd never have dared to ride off the way that you did." She turned to Caffrey. "I daresay that Polly takes the same view as me."
"She does," he agreed. "Polly knows how treacherous our enemies can be. She wouldn't venture outside the camp."
Elizabeth felt a twinge of remorse at the mention of Polly Bragg. She had been told to ensure that Nan Wyatt spurned the other woman in future but she had deliberately refrained from doing so. For one thing, she did not like being given orders, even if they came from Harry Featherstone. But the main reason she had disobeyed him was that the friendship between Nan and Polly was indirectly valuable to her. While the latter was primed to pick up any gossip about Elizabeth, her maid always brought back snippets of information about Jamie Skoyles. And Elizabeth had started to take an obsessive interest in him.
"Thank you, Sergeant Caffrey," she said. "We'll not detain you."
"No," Nan added. "I know that you and the other surgeons are always busy. Polly tells me that you're on duty twenty-four hours a day."
"It feels much longer than that somehow," he said.
"You must have so many thankful patients."
"They thank me best by staying alive."
"Do you ever get time to sleep?" asked Elizabeth.
"Sleep?" He laughed drily. "That's not part of my army rations, I'm afraid. I wish it was."
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