Valley Forge

by David Garland

  "Nobody in his right mind would do something like that."

  "He would not be denied," said Proudfoot, who had vivid memories of Arnold's inspirational bravery in combat. "He disobeyed orders and helped to win the day for us."

  "That allowed General Gates to take all the credit."

  "Yes, a man who stayed in his tent throughout and let others do the fighting for him. He should have seen the example our commander set at Trenton."

  "How true!"

  "General Washington led from the front where his soldiers could see and follow him." Proudfoot was emphatic. "He is by far the better soldier and unquestionably the finer man."

  "You've no need to convince me, Mr. Allen."

  "Nobody else is fit to take command."

  "I agree," said Clark, "but ambition can warp minds. It's produced the last thing that General Washington needs."

  "And what's that?"

  "Enemies within."

  "George Washington is damnably deficient," he asserted. "His brain is too slow, his judgment too unreliable, and his experience of commanding an army is negligible."

  "Yet he is held in such high regard by his men," said Skoyles.

  "Not by me, Captain. When I tried to save this province, he left me without guides, cavalry, money, medicines, or support. Some of my men had no shoes and stockings to wear."

  "Was he aware of your plight, General?"

  "Of course. I sent him letters every day. But he dithered as usual, and because of that, I was captured."

  "You blame him for your arrest, then?"

  "Of course. Responsibility lies entirely at his door."

  It was not what Jamie Skoyles had been told, but he did not disagree with his fellow prisoner. His task was to befriend the man and probe him for information when he was off guard. To that end, Skoyles had been given a complete history of Major General Charles Lee, late of the Continental Army. Born in Ireland and raised in England, Lee was the grandson of a baronet. When he entered the army as an ensign in the 44th Regiment, his own father had been in command, and they had shared in the vicious suppression of the Jacobite rebellion in 1745. Lee had been no more than a callow youth of thirteen at the time.

  He was now in his midforties, a tall, lean, ugly man with a nose so large and bony that it earned him some unflattering nicknames. He was not one to hide his light under a bushel.

  "I have ten times the experience of Washington," he boasted. "I fought in all the campaigns that led up to the conquest of Canada. I won laurels in Portugal. I was appointed major general in the Polish army and saw action in the Russian war against the Turks. I'm a soldier, Captain. Hell's teeth—it's in my blood."

  "What brought you to America again?"

  "King George."

  "You returned with the British army?"

  "No, my friend," said Lee, eyes igniting with resentment. "The king had vowed to offer me a commission when I returned to Europe. In his wisdom, however, His Majesty did not do so."

  "Is that why you left England?"

  "Indeed it was—so that King George would never have the chance of breaking a promise to me again."

  A suite of rooms in City Hall, New York, was serving as a temporary prison. Jamie Skoyles had been locked up with Lee in very comfortable surroundings. As their most important captive, the general was being treated with respect. The fact that fifty men guarded him showed how determined the British were to hold on to the man. Lee was shrewd, watchful, and highly intelligent. It had taken Skoyles over an hour to convince him that he, too, was a prisoner of the British army. The general searched for more detail.

  "You say that you were in the 24th Foot."

  "That is so, sir."

  "Under the command of Major Acland."

  "No," replied Skoyles, knowing that he was being tested, "under Brigadier General Fraser. Major Acland belonged to the 20th Foot and commanded a grenadier battalion." He gave a nostalgic smile. "I was fortunate enough to play cards with both of them on several occasions."

  "I heard that Simon Fraser was killed at Bemis Heights."

  "Shot from his horse by a marksman."

  "We could do with more sharpshooters like him."

  "He was one of Daniel Morgan's riflemen."

  "How did you feel when the battle was over?"

  "Relieved that the better side had won," said Skoyles, "but keen not to show it. My orders were to remain with the British army to gather what intelligence I could from Gentleman Johnny."

  "He's a slippery customer."

  "He's also very fond of gambling. That's where I picked up all my information—at the card table. It was clear from the start that he had no real commitment to the terms of the convention. He talked of a secret letter from General Howe at one point," Skoyles continued. "I'm quite sure that it contained instructions to divert the transports that were supposed to take the men back to England. General Howe wanted them in New York, and I have it on good authority that the British would not have released a single prisoner in exchange."

  "On good authority?"

  "Major Walter Doel. He questioned me when I came to New York."

  "Yes, I've met the major. A tall, thin man with a mustache."

  "No, sir. He's fat and clean-shaven."

  "And far too stupid to interrogate prisoners. I tied him in knots."

  "He could not make up his mind about me," Skoyles explained. "I invented a fanciful story about how I'd escaped from Cambridge, and he seemed to believe me at first. But he wanted to confirm certain details about me by writing to General Burgoyne."

  "So they're keeping you under lock and key?"

  "Until they are satisfied that I'm telling the truth. I'm being sent to Philadelphia. They think that General Howe will be interested in what I can tell him about the situation with the Convention army."

  "Only if he accepts that you're loyal to the British army."

  "Quite," said Skoyles. "If he does not, I'll be hanged as a spy."

  "You seem extraordinarily untroubled by that possibility," said Lee, struck by his calmness. "Have you no fear of the rope?"

  "None—because they'll never get me to Philadelphia."

  "Are you so confident of escape?"

  "I've done it many times before."

  Skoyles had been so prompt and confiding that Charles Lee was slowly won over. He believed that Skoyles was working for the rebel cause and that he had been assisted in his flight from Cambridge by guards who knew where his true allegiance lay. Skoyles had not dared to mention that Elizabeth Rainham, Tom Caffrey, and Polly Bragg had been with him at the time.

  Lee rose from his chair and walked restlessly around the room. In an old shirt and torn breeches, he looked very slovenly. Skoyles noticed that he had not shaved properly that morning. Lee suddenly winced as if he were in pain, then he turned angrily on his companion.

  "I don't deserve to be here!" he exclaimed with passion. "Congress should be doing everything in their power to get me exchanged."

  "The Continental Army has nobody of your rank in captivity."

  "Nobody of my rank or tactical genius."

  "That goes without saying, General."

  "The British wanted to shoot me as a deserter, but even they could not bend the law sufficiently. I resigned my commission before I came to America so I did not desert." He put out his chest. "I simply found a worthier cause for which to fight."

  "And you've done so with immense success," said Skoyles honestly. "Your reputation on the battlefield is second to none, sir. No wonder the British are so pleased to capture you. Your grasp of strategy is unparalleled."

  "Do you know what John Adams said when he first met me?"

  "No, sir."

  "That he had never expected to find a man who had read more military history than he. More of everything," he said, gesturing toward a pile of books on the table. "They have at least had the good grace to let me have my library." He picked up a book. "Have you read Rousseau?"

  "Not in the original French," said
Skoyles.

  "But you are familiar with his ideas?"

  "I've heard much about the Social Contract. I find its notions very appealing. Democracy has so many advantages. It treats everyone as an equal and not mere subjects of a higher power."

  "Precisely," said Lee, standing over him like a teacher with a pupil. "For a start, it does away with the immoral institution of kingship. There is no place for monarchy in the ideal society that Jean-Jacques Rousseau envisages. Such a society could never exist in England."

  "It's too mired in prejudice, General."

  "Prejudice, corruption, folly, and injustice!" yelled the other with a show of anger. "God's blood! I'd not care if the whole bloody island sank into the sea and took that stinking, brown turd of a king with it. Yes, and those feckless, prattling, lying politicians can drown as well—two-faced, frigging rogues, that they are!"

  He ranted on for several minutes. Skoyles heard him out. He had been warned that Lee was inclined to lose his temper on occasion and resort to obscenity. It was odd to hear such bad language coming from the mouth of a man who could read French and whose little library included texts in Greek and Latin. When he had finished his tirade, Lee collapsed into a chair and glared sullenly around the room. Skoyles waited a long time before initiating conversation.

  "How have you been treated here, General?" he asked.

  "What?" snapped the other, jerked out of his reverie.

  "The British seem to have given you some privileges at least."

  "But not the ones I requested, Captain. My dogs, for instance."

  "Dogs?"

  "Splendid animals," said Lee ardently, "and capable of a loyalty that no human being can match. You can trust dogs. They do not break their promises." He became sentimental. "I travel with a whole pack of them, Captain Skoyles. They are my family. When I first came to America, I bought a Pomeranian as big as a bear, but they will not even let me see him. One little dog is all that I am permitted—Caesar."

  "What else do you miss?" asked Skoyles.

  "Giuseppe."

  "Another of your dogs?"

  "No, man. Giuseppe Minghini is my servant."

  "Oh, I see."

  "A person like me needs someone to look after him, but Giuseppe's time with me is restricted. It's humiliating to do things for myself."

  "You fare much better than our rank and file, sir."

  "And so I should. Damnation—I'm a major general!"

  "Conditions in New York are deplorable," said Skoyles with genuine sympathy. "Major Doel bragged about it. He was proud of the way they maltreat their prisoners. He told me of four hundred men crowded into a French church so small that they cannot all lie down at the same time. Since they were refused firewood, they burned the pews and doors to keep warm. And they eat their pork raw."

  "I am allowed decent meals," said Lee, grudgingly.

  "That's not the case in the prison ships."

  "You've no need to tell me that, Captain. When we exchanged prisoners with the British, the poor wretches they released from the hulks were walking skeletons. Instead of getting soldiers, we got hundreds of miserable invalids, unfit for service of any kind."

  "At least they survived their ordeal," said Skoyles. "Many of their fellows died in chains of starvation or disease. They were supposed to be given wholesome meals to keep them alive, but the food never reached them and they were given scraps."

  "Do you know who was responsible for that?"

  "Yes, sir—the commissar of prisoners."

  "A certain Joshua Loring," said Lee with contempt. "While our men waste away from hunger, that monster pockets the money that should have bought them provisions. And when thousands of them die," he went on, waving an angry fist, "Mr. Loring has the gall to invoice the army for the food he pretends to supply to men who are no longer alive. He's nothing but a vulture, pecking at the bones of dead men who lie in their own excrement."

  "Everyone knows how Joshua Loring secured the appointment."

  "Between the thighs of his pretty wife."

  "General Howe felt the need for companionship."

  "So he condemns thousands of our soldiers to a hideous death."

  "I doubt if he saw it quite like that."

  "Yet it's exactly what has happened, Captain Skoyles."

  "I regret it as much as you, sir."

  "I've written to Howe to complain about the inhuman treatment of our prisoners of war," said Lee scornfully. "He's never had the time to fashion a reply. He's too busy fucking Mrs. Loring and making that egregious husband of hers rich. That's the British commander in chief for you, Captain—a cuntstruck buffoon in gold braid epaulets!"

  With the orchestra playing a reel, General William Howe swept into the room that evening with Mrs. Loring on his arm, and collected a battery of obsequious smiles, polite nods, and mild applause. His fellow officers saw nothing unusual or outlandish in the sight of a married man in the company of someone else's wife when he was three thousand miles away from home. Howe was by no means the only soldier in the room who was enjoying an adulterous liaison with a gorgeous young woman.

  Tory citizens of Philadelphia took a more critical view of Howe's behavior, but they hid their feelings behind fixed expressions of approval. In expelling the revolutionary government, the British army had restored loyalty to the Crown as a guiding precept and lifted the gloom that had pervaded the city when it had been under the control of Congress. The Tories felt that Philadelphia had been handed back to them, and they were deeply grateful for that.

  The room was full, the reel lively, and the floor filled with whirling dancers. Betsey Loring watched them with envy from beside a pillar.

  "We must join in the next dance," she insisted.

  "We will," said Howe, patting her gloved hand. "We will, we will,"

  "I came here to be seen."

  "There's not a man in the room who can take his eyes off you."

  It was true. Mrs. Loring was wearing a dress of pink taffeta with a low-cut bodice, side hoops under the skirt, and echelle trimming that consisted of tiny bows. She wore dainty, high-heeled shoes on her feet, and her hair was piled high on her head in an oval shape and kept in place with wire frames. The whole effect was quite dazzling.

  "You are truly the belle of the ball," he whispered in her ear.

  "As befits a general's lady."

  "I have always had an eye for beauty."

  "I am grateful to be its beneficiary," she said.

  "You can show me the extent of your gratitude later."

  They exchanged a conspiratorial smile. The reel was coming to an end and Betsey was keen to take her turn on the floor. The general, however, had just seen someone enter the room. He excused himself and went across to speak to Lieutenant Hugh Orde, a gaunt young man in his early twenties. Howe took him aside.

  "Well?" he asked.

  "There's no sign of him, General."

  "There must be."

  "We've searched everywhere," said Orde, "but in vain. The problem is that we don't really know what Ezekiel Proudfoot looks like, so we are hunting for a ghost. It may be that he's not even in Philadelphia."

  "Oh, he's here," Howe insisted. "I feel it."

  "He might be at Valley Forge with General Washington."

  "The printing press is in the city, and that's where Proudfoot will be. Find one and we find the other."

  "Both are proving confoundedly elusive, sir."

  "Then double the number of men you have—treble it, if need be."

  "It's not simply a question of numbers," said Orde reasonably. "If the fellow is in the city, he can keep on the move. When he has so many hiding places at his disposal, a brigade could not flush him out. The same goes for that press, General. That, too, can be shifted when they see us approach."

  "Proudfoot must be caught somehow," said Howe petulantly.

  "Then perhaps I might make a suggestion."

  "Go on."

  "This man is not here by accident," Orde explained. "He w
as sent here for a purpose by General Washington. If we want to know where we can find Ezekiel Proudfoot in Philadelphia, we must go to Valley Forge to ask about his whereabouts. Washington will know exactly where he is."

  "He's hardly likely to tell us, Lieutenant, is he?"

  "He'd confide in those closest to him."

  "How does that help us?"

  "It doesn't at the moment," Orde confessed. "But it might if we could get someone inside the camp who could win Washington's trust. If we chose the right person, he could, in time, learn the precise location of the printing press and of Proudfoot's lodging. A clever spy could save us weeks of futile searches, General."

  Howe ruminated. "You are right," he said. "We need such a man."

  "Choosing him will be a difficult exercise," cautioned Orde.

  "I don't care how difficult it is—find him!"

  A day in the company of Charles Lee was fatiguing. He was so fond of discussing ideas and so ready to criticize his fellow officers that he talked for hours on end. It was not until late at night that Jamie Skoyles was finally able to get to bed. He and his fellow prisoner were conducted to an upstairs room that was completely bare except for the two mattresses on the floor. Four guards were posted outside the door, and when he looked through the window, Skoyles saw that four sentries were on duty below. The British were determined not to let their prize catch escape.

  "Good night, sir," said Skoyles, lying on his mattress and pulling the blankets over him. "I'll see you in the morning."

  "Yes," replied Lee sardonically. "I'm not going anywhere."

  They lay side by side in the dark. Lee soon drifted asleep, but Skoyles was plagued by thoughts of Tom Caffrey and Polly Bragg. He had no idea what had happened to them since their premature departure from a Massachusetts farmhouse. Had they been recaptured? Were they, in fact, still alive? Their fate troubled him for a long time. It was only when his thoughts turned to Elizabeth Rainham that he was soothed. Still in New York, she was safe and sound, taken in by a major and his wife, and able to recuperate after the hardships of their escape. Fond thoughts of Elizabeth gradually helped to lull Skoyles to sleep.

  He was soon trapped in a nightmare, reliving the horrors of being caught in a storm at sea and having the additional problem of being the only person in the fishing boat this time. It was completely out of control. As a colossal wave hit the vessel, it was tossed high into the sky and Skoyles was thrown headfirst into the turbulent sea. As he came to the surface, he looked upward and saw his boat spinning down toward him through the air. Striking him hard, it pinned him down like a ton weight and made it impossible for him to breathe.