Saratoga

by David Garland

  "You knew Captain Skoyles when he was in the ranks, I believe?"

  "That's correct, Miss Rainham," he said cheerily. "He began as a private, just like the rest of us. Except that Jamie Skoyles was never quite like the rest of us. I could see from the start that he was destined for higher things."

  "Why?"

  "He's a natural leader. It was only a question of time before he was promoted. Gentleman Johnny has great faith in him," he stressed. "That's why Jamie was chosen to go to Fort Anne. There's nobody quite like him. Jamie Skoyles is the sort of man who never lets you down."

  The first thing that Skoyles did when he regained consciousness was to put a worried hand to his head. He was relieved to find that his hat was still on and that he had not been scalped. In fact, the hat had prevented any wound being opened, but the back of his head was nevertheless throbbing violently. Skoyles knew at once why he had been struck by Redsnake's tomahawk. The Indian had stolen the telescope that he prized so highly. Skoyles guessed that the two horses would have disappeared by now as well. Redsnake had betrayed him, one more Indian who would desert the army and make off with his booty.

  Skoyles took it as a compliment that he had not been killed when at his mercy. Nor had he been left defenseless. Redsnake had taken his hunting knife but left him with his musket, pistol, powder, and ammunition. They were small consolation to Skoyles. He had lost his horse, his guide, and his telescope. In doing so, he had lost the means to go on, to track the rebels all the way to Fort Edward. He would never catch up with the departing army on foot. All that he could do was to try to find his way back to Skenesborough.

  When he got to the place where the horses had been tethered, he had confirmation that Redsnake had taken both of them. Skoyles began to retrace his steps, looking for some of the landmarks he had noticed on the journey there. Childhood experience came to his aid. During the years he spent in Cumberland, he had loved to explore the fells, often traveling several miles from home. Skoyles frequently got lost. With a combination of instinct and tenacity, however, he had always contrived to find his way safely back somehow. That early training had stood him in good stead on many occasions. It would not let him down now.

  Skoyles did not linger. Breaking into a trot, he maintained it for a couple of miles, following the hoofprints whenever they were visible. He had no hope of overhauling Redsnake. The Indian would be hopelessly out of his reach. Skoyles loped on. It was the unremitting ache at the back of his head that made him eventually stop. He paused beside a stream, drinking some water and washing his face to refresh himself.

  Setting off again, he reviewed the situation. Skoyles was not looking forward to his return. The report he would have to deliver to General Burgoyne would be embarrassing. Gentleman Johnny would be outraged at the loss of his beloved telescope. It was one of his many expensive accessories, and it also had sentimental value for him. All that Skoyles had learned on his trip was that Fort Anne had been vacated at speed by a nervous enemy. The intelligence would not atone for the loss of two horses, an Indian scout, and a telescope. He feared that he would lose Burgoyne's confidence and be ridiculed by Harry Featherstone. Worst of all, news of his failure on the mission would be immediately passed on by the gloating major to Elizabeth Rainham. That thought made his head pound even more.

  It all helped to make him feel annoyed with himself for placing his trust in Redsnake. The temptation to steal the telescope and the horses had been too much for the Indian. Skoyles lengthened his stride, pushing himself harder by way of a punishment. His head still hurt but he lived with the pain. He had covered a few miles when he heard what sounded like a muffled shot. It put him on his guard at once. After checking that his musket was still loaded, he moved on slowly, much more circumspect now.

  The noise seemed to have come from his right. The neighing of horses and the startled cry of birds had followed the shot before dying away. His ears could pick up no other sound. Bent double, Skoyles crept on through the undergrowth. The trees then began to thin out and he caught sight of two horses about thirty yards away, tied to some bushes. Though he could not be certain from that distance, Skoyles thought that he recognized the animals as the ones that he and Redsnake had ridden. When he got closer, there was no doubt in his mind. They were the same horses. He had caught up with the Indian, after all.

  Skoyles was puzzled. Whoever had fired the shot, it could not have been Redsnake, because he had no gun. Yet there was no sign of anyone else or of another horse. Edging forward, he caught sight of something that was protruding from behind a bush. It was a pair of bare feet and he knew instantly that they belonged to the Mohawk. Someone, apparently, had shot him. Skoyles wanted to make sure that he was dead. But he got no closer to the fallen man.

  "That's far enough, mister," said a stern voice directly behind him. "Unless you want to join that Indian, throw down your musket."

  "Who are you?" asked Skoyles.

  "I won't ask twice."

  There was enough menace and authority in the voice to convince Skoyles that he had to obey. Dropping his weapon to the ground, he put up both hands and turned slowly round to face a stocky individual of middle height who was holding a hunting rifle on him. The man was in his early thirties and there was an air of prosperity about him. He was well dressed and wore a broad-brimmed hat that he touched politely.

  "My name is Isaac Harman," he said. "Who might you be?"

  "Jamie Skoyles."

  "And what is Jamie Skoyles doing in this godforsaken place?"

  "I might ask the same of you, Mr. Harman."

  "Not while I'm holding this rifle."

  "Why didn't you shoot me in the back?"

  "Because I wanted to find out who you were. Besides, I like to give a man an even chance. Take that Mohawk, for instance. I shot him right between the eyes."

  "How do you know he's a Mohawk?"

  "I've come across most of the Indian tribes hereabouts."

  "Does that mean you live nearby?"

  "I ask the questions, Mr. Skoyles," said the other, taking a few steps toward him. "Now, what are you doing here?"

  "Looking for him," replied Skoyles, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "His name is Redsnake. He knocked me unconscious and stole my horse."

  "You're lying. If he had the chance, he'd have scalped you."

  "Search him. He took my telescope as well."

  The man patted his pocket. "I have it here, Mr. Skoyles," he said, watching his prisoner carefully. "Such a strange object to find on a dead Indian. I reckon it's about time you told me exactly who you are."

  "A hunter."

  "Not a very good one, by the look of it. There's no game on either of the horses."

  "I was just starting out," said Skoyles.

  "Do you shoot or trap?"

  "Both."

  "Why do you need to carry such a valuable telescope?"

  "It was given to me by a friend."

  Isaac Harman did not believe him. Since the other man had the weapon, Skoyles had to humor him while waiting for the opportunity to strike. Inside his belt under the hunting shirt was the loaded pistol. It would only take a second to bring it out. Harman came within reach of him and studied him with interest.

  "You're no hunter, Mr. Skoyles," he decided. "Leastways, you're not here to hunt game. I get the feeling you were after human quarry. Am I right, sir?" Skoyles shook his head. "How come you know the Indian's name?"

  "I thought he was a friend of mine."

  "Then you know little about the Mohawks. Their name comes from the Algonquian word meaning 'man-eater.' Yes, that fellow you called a friend was a cannibal. His tribe has been known to roast their enemies alive and carve themselves a tasty portion as they do so." He gave a wry smile. "You're lucky. It's not just a scalp you lose if you cross a Mohawk."

  "Why did you shoot him?"

  "He came at me with his tomahawk."

  "What were you doing here in the first place?"

  "Ah-ah," Harman reminded him. "
I ask the questions, remember?"

  "Could I at least have my telescope back?"

  "I've no proof that it actually belongs to you, Mr Skoyles."

  "How else would I know that Redsnake had taken it?"

  "He might have stolen it from its rightful owner."

  "That's me," Skoyles insisted. "Look, the name of the maker is inscribed on it. I can tell you what it is."

  "Very well," the other conceded. "We'll put that to the test."

  It was the mistake for which Skoyles had been waiting. Harman tucked the butt of the rifle under one arm and kept his finger on the trigger. He then used his other hand to take the telescope from his pocket. At the very moment when Harman glanced down at the instrument, Skoyles made his move, diving forward to grab the barrel of the rifle and knocking the other man off his feet. The rifle went off, discharging its ball harmlessly into the air. Before Harman could recover, he found a pistol pressed hard against his temple.

  "My name is Captain Jamie Skoyles of the 24th Foot," said Skoyles. "Consider yourself a prisoner of the British army."

  Isaac Harman began to laugh uncontrollably.

  Major Harry Featherstone arrived early at the house that evening so that he could have a private word with Burgoyne before they settled down at the card table with the others. The general was sympathetic.

  "I can see your dilemma, Harry," he said. "Why wait at least a year to marry Elizabeth in a cathedral when our chaplain can perform the office in Albany? I'm sure that we could find a presentable church."

  "That's what I told Elizabeth."

  "Why is she against the notion?"

  "Because it wouldn't meet with her parents' approval."

  "Undeniably," said Burgoyne. "Richard Rainham is a stickler for the proprieties. He'll want to see his daughter married in Canterbury with the cream of the county in attendance. However, there are times in one's life when one has to flout parental wishes. I certainly did," he remembered with a chuckle. "Charlotte's father thought me such a highly unsuitable husband that he forbade his daughter to have anything to do with me. An elopement was the only course open to us."

  "That's not the situation here," said Featherstone. "Elizabeth's parents are more than ready to accept me into the family."

  "On their terms."

  "Yes, General."

  "Then perhaps you should effect a compromise."

  "In what way?"

  "Marry the lady in Albany and have a service of blessing in Canterbury Cathedral when you get back. In a sense, you'll then have two weddings, with all objections answered."

  "Elizabeth may not see it that way."

  "Tell her you love her so much that you want to marry her twice."

  "Once is all that I crave, General," said Featherstone.

  Burgoyne heard the edge of desperation in his voice. Featherstone was in a very awkward position. During the invasion from Canada the previous year, he had done exactly what many single officers did and acquired a series of mistresses with whom to while away the long summer nights. Burgoyne did not blame him for that, nor did he think it reprehensible behavior for a man engaged to be married. It was an accepted feature of army life. The presence of Elizabeth Rainham ruled out the option of a mistress, and Featherstone was finding that romantic love was a poor substitute for the delights of the flesh. Close to the woman he wanted, he was unable even to touch her. It was aggravating. He and Elizabeth could only consummate their love as husband and wife.

  "By the time we reach Albany," Burgoyne observed, "Elizabeth will be twenty-one. That gives her certain rights of decision."

  "She refuses to exercise them, General."

  "Why?"

  "I wish that I knew," Featherstone confided. "When I first raised the idea of marriage, Elizabeth was almost as excited as I was. Then we had that debacle at Bitter Creek. Since then, I fear, she's become a different person. She'll not even discuss the possibility."

  "Give her time, Harry," Burgoyne advised. "What she saw at Bitter Creek was enough to disconcert anyone. Elizabeth is bound to brood on the death of her uncle and cousins. Give her time. She'll come round."

  There was a tap and the door and it opened to admit two visitors. Expecting the other card players, Burgoyne was surprised to see Jamie Skoyles entering with a stranger.

  "Excuse the interruption, General," said Skoyles, "but this will brook no delay. Allow me to introduce Lieutenant Isaac Harman. He's brought word from General Howe in New York."

  "At last!" cried Burgoyne, shaking Harman's hand. "You're most welcome, Lieutenant. We were beginning to think that Sir William had forgotten us. You're the first messenger to get through."

  "The others must have been intercepted, General," said Harman, removing his hat. "I thought at one point that my own embassy would fail, but Captain Skoyles turned out to be friend rather than foe. I've never felt so relieved in all my born days." He pointed to Skoyles. "You have a remarkable man here. The captain disarmed me when I was holding a rifle on him."

  "That's the kind of thing Skoyles is inclined to do," said Burgoyne with a grin. "Isn't it, Harry?"

  "Yes, sir," muttered Featherstone.

  "You have the dispatch, Lieutenant?"

  "Yes," replied Harman, taking it from inside his coat to hand it over, "but you won't be able to read it easily, I'm afraid. It's in code, General."

  "In that case, I'll have to decipher it. Excuse us, gentlemen," he said, opening the door to the adjoining room. "Lieutenant Harman and I will be back in a short while."

  Jamie Skoyles was left alone with Harry Featherstone. There was an uneasy silence that lasted for well over a minute. Skoyles tried to break it with a polite inquiry.

  "May I ask how Miss Rainham is?" he said.

  "Miss Rainham is well," replied the other stiffly.

  "Has she recovered from the horrors witnessed at Bitter Creek?"

  "She will do so in time. Not that it concerns you, of course. What happens to Miss Rainham is something that you'll never know. I've spiked your guns, Captain."

  "My guns?"

  "Yes," said Featherstone with a sneer. "From now on, you'll not be able to pump her maid for information. I've stopped the woman from speaking to Sergeant Caffrey's whore."

  Skoyles bristled. "Polly Bragg is no whore, Major."

  "She is in my eyes."

  "When it comes to whores," said Skoyles pointedly, "I bow to your superior knowledge of the breed. But I'll not have you insulting Mrs. Bragg by attaching that name to her. She deserves respect."

  "Not from me. She's been operating as your spy."

  "That's not true."

  "You told her to befriend Nan Wyatt."

  "I did nothing of the kind, Major," Skoyles retorted, "and I resent the suggestion that I did. Polly Bragg takes no orders from me."

  "Sergeant Caffrey does and he can instruct his whore."

  "Stop calling her that!"

  Featherstone was defiant. "I'll call that trull whatever I wish."

  "Not in my hearing," Skoyles warned.

  He squared up to the Major with his eyes blazing. Featherstone glared back at him but he did not take up the challenge. The tension between them was close to breaking point when Burgoyne came back into the room with Harman. The general concealed his disappointment well. His voice was almost cheerful.

  "At least we know where we stand now," he announced. "It seems that General Howe has elected to sail for Philadelphia instead of coming to meet us at Albany." He snapped his fingers. "No matter for that. We can manage without him, and we still have Brigadier St. Leger to reinforce us. All is well, gentleman," he said, airily. "It has turned out to our advantage. We have just been granted an opportunity to steal all of the glory for ourselves."

  The number of people in the field hospital increased every day. Private Marcus Wolverton was confined there until he was sufficiently well to return to his duties. The wound in his arm was still heavily bandaged and giving him continuous twinges. His thigh would also take time to heal. To
take his mind off the discomfort, and to stave off boredom, he played cards that evening with Private Andrew McKillop, a chubby Scotsman who remained resolutely cheerful even though he had had a leg amputated as a result of the action at Bitter Creek. McKillop was propped up on a mattress outside his tent, seemingly oblivious to the pain he must be suffering. Wolverton could not understand how the man kept his spirits up.

  "In your position," he admitted, "I'd be cursing high heaven."

  "What's the point, Wolvie?" asked McKillop, shuffling the cards. "I'm not stupid enough to think that God will listen to anything I have to say. He washed his hands of me years ago."

  "God has time for even the worst sinners."

  "Including the one-legged variety?"

  "He has a special place in His heart for them, Andy."

  McKillop laughed. "I know you're trying to reassure me," he said, dealing the cards, "but there's no need. I'm not resentful. I may've lost a limb but I still have the rest of my body. I also have an occupation I enjoy, friends I love, and a commander I admire. What more do I need?"

  "Life will be somewhat different from now on."

  "I know that, Wolvie. I won't be able to march in battle with you, maybe, but I can still stay in the regiment. Sergeant Caffrey says there are lots of things I can do, especially when I'm fitted with my wooden leg. I can't wait for that to happen."

  "You're an example to us all, Andy."

  "Someone has to be or you'd have nobody to look up to."

  "What about me?" said Daniel Lukins, coming over to them. "I tries to set 'im a good example. I does my very best to keep 'im on the straight and narrow. Wolvie looks upon me as 'is moral guardian."

  Wolverton picked up his cards. "I look upon you as nothing but a common thief, Dan Lukins," he said, arranging the cards in order. "You've stolen my watch three times already."

  "A man has to keep his hand in," said McKillop.

  "Yes," Lukins added. "Besides, it weren't your watch in the first place, Wolvie. You filched it off that rebel officer at 'Ubbardton."

  Wolverton sniffed. "Finders, keepers."

  "That's what I said when I found it in your pocket."