"It's already started to mutilate our soldiers. Only yesterday, there were two men whose feet had to be amputated because they had turned black with frostbite. They start the New Year on crutches. However," Washington continued, trying to inject a note of optimism, "we'll come through the winter somehow, and we'll not be dormant."
"No," said Proudfoot, "I'll pepper the British with cartoons until they are sick of me, and there'll be lots of other ways to harass them."
"We must peck away at them all the time," said Lafayette.
"No opportunity will be missed to do that, Marquis," vowed Washington. "British skirmishers will be sent out tomorrow, and we will give them a warm reception."
"Do you know when and where they'll be?" asked Proudfoot.
"We have a good idea, Ezekiel."
"How on earth do you get such intelligence?"
"From the indefatigable Major Clark."
"But where does he get it from?"
Washington smiled. "We have an impeccable source," he said.
When, in his coded letter, he gave the Continental Army advance warning of the attack, Captain Jamie Skoyles did not realize that he would be asked to lead the skirmishers. His experience fitted him for the work, and his knowledge of the terrain around Valley Forge made him the ideal choice. It was an assignment that he could not refuse. The object of the exercise was simply to strike, draw blood, then pull out. No territory would be secured. All that Skoyles and his men needed to do was to remind the enemy that the British army would not let them rest. It would put the rebels back on the defensive.
After spending the night at Germantown, the skirmishers set out before dawn in crisp, dry weather. A relatively small, compact, handpicked group of men, they were expert marksman, able to cover ground quickly on foot and adapt to unexpected situations. Skoyles had taken the trouble to learn as many of their names as possible and to win their confidence. His escape from the Convention army had already given him some kudos in the eyes of the men, and the decisive leadership that he showed from the outset further enhanced his standing. As they marched northwest in the direction of Valley Forge, the skirmishers were happy to be under his command.
All that the coded letter had revealed was the approximate time and place of the attack. Skoyles had deliberately misled the rebels. Though he gave some idea of the size of the skirmishing party, he made no mention of a second, larger force that came up behind it in support. Once they had struck, the intention was for the skirmishers to flee in the hope of pulling rebel soldiers behind them toward a concealed line of reinforcements. The pursuing men could then be picked off at will.
The assault was on one of the forward posts, some miles southeast of Valley Forge. Its isolation made it a potential weak spot. When they got within reach of their target, Skoyles gave the order for his men to fan out and use the cover of the woods. As an officer, he carried a sword and a pistol. The skirmishers all had Brown Bess muskets primed for action. It was still morning when they caught a first glimpse of the enemy.
To survey the post, Skoyles used a telescope, running it along the redoubt and estimating how many men might be behind it. Several pickets were already visible, patrolling a line that stretched out for hundreds of yards. Still hidden by the trees, the skirmishing party was well within range of its target. Skoyles's pistol would be no use at that distance but the muskets could be deadly. Putting the telescope away, he waved a hand to the nearest man and the first shot was fired, dropping one of the pickets beside the redoubt. The rest of the skirmishers immediately fired a volley, downing four more men and wounding others.
Skoyles had expected some return fire from the rebels, followed by some reloading before they charged toward the woods. By that time, the skirmishers would already have reloaded their own weapons, and they had been instructed to unleash a second volley before breaking cover and running back toward their reinforcements. Events, however, did not unfold as planned. Stung by their reverse in the Brandywine Valley, the rebels were not going to be caught out a second time. A much larger body of men than anticipated surged out from behind the redoubt and sprinted toward the attackers. At the same time, a detachment of light horse emerged from behind a hill to the far left.
Even with their support line, the skirmishers were outnumbered. Though they had reloaded swiftly, they were not shooting at stationary targets now. The men running toward them were spread out wide and zigzagged their way across the grass to make it more difficult for the redcoats. When the second volley came, the rebels dived flat on the ground, then leapt straight up again and continued their run. They had the advantage now. Their muskets were still loaded, and their cavalry was galloping up to join the fray.
Skoyles took a split second to make his decision.
"Pull back!" he yelled.
The skirmishers turned and fled. Sword in one hand and pistol in the other, Skoyles went with them. A first hail of bullets was discharged behind them. Most of them bounced off trees or went far too high, but one skirmisher was wounded in the shoulder. A second man tumbled to the ground with a musket ball in his thigh. He was picked up by two of the others and hauled along behind them. When they reached open ground, they had the best part of a hundred yards to go before they could find cover, and link up with their reinforcements.
It was here that the cavalry attacked. Skirting the wood, they came in from the flank and kicked their horses on. Some of the skirmishers stopped to reload and fire at the oncoming horde; unsaddling two men and bringing one horse crashing to the ground. All that they could do from that point was to use their muskets to parry the slashing swords of the light horse. Skoyles was in the thick of it, shooting one rider between the eyes, then ducking under a flashing blade before thrusting with his own sword at the rider.
The victim yelled in agony. As the man held his wounded stomach and pitched sideways onto the ground, Skoyles tossed away his pistol and grabbed the reins of the horse so that he could mount it. At least, he could fight on equal terms now, wielding his sword with manic fury and riding to the aid of any of his men he saw in jeopardy. The second line of skirmishers had emerged from cover, but they held their fire, afraid that they might hit their own men in the confusion. Having reloaded their weapons, the rebels who had pursued them through the woods waited for the chance to discharge another volley at the fleeing redcoats.
Skoyles kept on the move. All too aware that officers were singled out as targets, he swung his horse in a series of sharp turns as he hacked away with his sword. It was only when he saw that most of the skirmishers had reached cover again that he felt able to retreat himself. His reinforcements, meanwhile, shot for the first time and toppled seven men from their saddles. They then had to contend with sporadic gunfire from the rebels on foot. On a command from Skoyles, they fled back into the woodland.
There was no more pursuit. The light horse wheeled away and the soldiers from the redoubt melted back into the trees. After waiting until he was certain that it was safe, Skoyles instructed his men to collect the wounded and count the dead. Of the skirmishers in the front line, over half had been killed or injured. The rebels had trounced them. It was a salutary lesson for Skoyles. George Washington and his men could no longer be duped. The coded letter had been sent to entrap the rebels, but it was the redcoats who were caught in a snare. Skoyles felt that he had to take much of the blame for their failure.
As they trudged back to Germantown, he could sense that his men blamed him as well. Confident of success with only limited casualties in their own ranks, the skirmishers were instead limping away with their wounded. The dead had been left behind them. When he returned to Philadelphia, Skoyles would have uncomfortable letters to write to their families back in England. He had surrendered the stolen horse so that it could carry two of the wounded men, but they gave him no thanks. Their brooding silence was like an accusation.
When they entered Germantown, they were tired and dispirited. As they plodded down the main street, Skoyles happened to glance up at th
e window of a tavern. A face appeared and, for an instant, his eyes met those of someone whom he thought he knew. Then the man vanished from the window. Refusing to believe what he had just seen, Skoyles decided that his mind was playing tricks on him.
It could not possibly have been Ezekiel Proudfoot.
They had known each other only ten days, yet Lucy Tillman felt able to confide something very personal to her new friend. Elizabeth Rainham was delighted for her.
"That's wonderful news!" she said. "When is the baby due?"
"Not until June."
"You and your husband must be thrilled."
"We are," said Lucy, "but we haven't told anyone else yet. You're the first person to know, Elizabeth—apart from the doctor, that is."
"I feel honored."
"I know that I can count on you to keep our little secret."
"I won't tell a soul, Lucy."
"What about Captain Skoyles?"
"That's up to you."
"I'm sure that he can be trusted."
"Then I'll pass on the good news," said Elizabeth. "But, in your condition, you shouldn't be doing anything as energetic as showing me around the town."
"I must have some exercise. Besides, I enjoy being your guide."
"You certainly know your way around Philadelphia."
They were sitting together in the bedchamber that Elizabeth had been given, a small, snug room at the back of the house with just enough space for a bed, a cupboard, a little table, and two chairs. On the table was the novel that Elizabeth had bought from Pearsall Hughes. In the cupboard, with her clothing, were the other items that she had bought during their shopping expedition. Her accommodation could never hope to compete with the two large rooms she occupied back home in England, but it was a vast improvement on living under canvas during a long campaign, or being held in captivity with the Convention army. Elizabeth was now warm, safe, and among friends.
"Well," said Lucy, feeling that their relationship had moved on to a new level, "now that I've shared my secret with you, I think that it's your turn, don't you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I'm still waiting to hear why your betrothal came to an end."
"Oh, it's not a very interesting story," said Elizabeth uneasily.
"Everything about you is interesting. It took me all my time to find one man who proposed marriage to me—you've already found two."
"I'm not looking for a third, I assure you."
"Let's just talk about the first one, shall we?"
Elizabeth was reluctant. "If you wish."
"This is strictly between us. Nobody else will ever know." She sat forward on her chair. "Did you love him?"
"I thought so at the time, Lucy."
"And was he dashing?"
"Yes," said Elizabeth. "Harry was the epitome of a dashing soldier. When I first met him, I thought that he would make a perfect husband."
"Love at first sight, then."
"Far from it. That would have been quite unseemly. I was far too young even to think about such things. Major Featherstone was engaged to marry my sister, Cora, you see. He hardly noticed me. When he came to the house, he only had eyes for Cora. They seemed so right for each other. Wedding plans were quite advanced by the time she became sick."
"Oh dear! Don't tell me that your sister died."
"After a long, lingering illness," Elizabeth recalled sadly. "When she realized that she could never marry him, she wanted me to do so in her stead. 'Love him for me, Elizabeth,' she said. I found that very easy to do. Then, in time, when the shock of Cora's death began to wear off, Harry started to take an interest in me."
"Where did he propose?"
"On horseback."
"Horseback!" Lucy shrieked. "That's not very romantic."
"It felt like it at the time. We'd been out riding on Chartham Downs that afternoon. When we got back, he leaned over to take my hand and asked me to marry him."
"I made Roderick go down on one knee."
"Harry Featherstone was not that kind of man. Anyway," Elizabeth went on, eager to bring her tale to an end, "he sailed for America and I followed him in due course. It was only when I saw him here that I had an insight into his real character."
"Was he so beastly?"
"He did things that were quite unforgivable, Lucy."
"Such as?"
"For a start, he paid two men to assault Jamie."
"Why?"
"Harry had grown to hate him," said Elizabeth. "Luckily, Jamie was warned about the plan, and he was able to fight off his attackers. From that moment on, Harry was his implacable enemy. He did all he could to malign Jamie. During the battle at Bemis Heights, he even tried to . . ." Eyes filling with tears, she choked back the words. "What he did was nothing short of evil. And it did not end there, Lucy. After the battle, Harry got drunk and . . . tried to molest me."
Lucy was appalled. "I can see why you turned against him."
"It was a nightmare." She conjured up a brave smile. "So let's think about happier events, shall we? I can't tell you how pleased I am. But you must get plenty of rest," she insisted, wagging a finger. "I'll take it upon myself to see that you don't overtax yourself."
"I'm not an invalid, Elizabeth. I'm with child, that's all."
"You can't take any chances."
"Stop sounding like the doctor."
"He knows best, Lucy."
"Who is carrying this baby—him or me?" She gave a brittle laugh. "It's the main reason we're not announcing anything at this stage. The moment we do that, everyone will urge me to take to my bed."
"I can't imagine you ever doing that. You're far too lively."
"I'm young and strong and at the right age for childbirth."
"Do you want a boy or a girl?"
"We'll love the child, whatever it is. Though, in his heart, I think that Roderick would like it to be a boy—someone to carry on the Tillman tradition. Roderick comes from a long line of soldiers."
"Jamie's father was a country doctor in Cumberland."
"Hardly a typical military background," Lucy opined. "By the way, where is he today? The gallant Captain Skoyles usually calls on you every afternoon."
"He's involved in a raid somewhere," said Elizabeth. "Jamie wouldn't tell me the details until afterward. I'll see him later on."
"Then you'll be able to hear about his latest triumph."
General Howe was irritated when he was called away from the supper table, and annoyed when he learned the reason. The report that Skoyles delivered to the commander in chief was not an inspiring one.
Howe goggled. "You lost half your men?"
"Killed or wounded, sir."
"How many of them did you account for?"
"A rather smaller number," Skoyles admitted. "They had the whip hand over us, sir. We were lucky to get away with our second line almost intact. They'll not be so easily tricked from now on."
"Nor will I, Captain. My trust in you may have been misplaced."
"I did what any officer would have done in my place, sir. I cut my losses and withdrew. They harried us vigorously. With respect," said Skoyles, meeting his glare boldly, "I could not have foreseen the size of their response."
They were in Howe's office at headquarters. Hands behind his back, the general paced restlessly up and down, trying to absorb the bad tidings. The successful foraging expedition in the Brandywine Valley had been given an additional luster by the complete rout of the rebels. Some of the sheen had been taken off the event by the failure of Skoyles and his men. It did not help Howe's digestion.
"A setback like this will give them confidence," he said ruefully.
"It was only a very minor reverse, sir."
"They beat us, Captain. I take that very seriously."
"So do I," said Skoyles, "especially as my own life was at risk. I am sure that General Washington will be pleased to have got the better of us for once, but it will hardly prompt him to order a full attack. The time to do that would have been in
December, when our forces were more scattered than they are now."
"That's true. He was a fool not to lead an assault on the city."
"It was concern for his men rather than folly, sir. His soldiers are, for the most part, young recruits with no real experience of warfare. They still bear the scars of the battles at Brandywine and Germantown. I think he was wise to avoid another major engagement."
"I'd question that wisdom," said Howe, adjusting his wig. "He's made so many mistakes, the wonder of it is that he's still in command."
"That's another problem that dogs him," Skoyles pointed out. "He's worshiped by his soldiers, yet sniped at by envious colleagues and their political allies. Major Clark told me all about the Conway Cabal. How can you command an army properly when so many people are waiting to stab you in the back?"
"Soldiering would be so much easier without politicians."
"They'd argue that politics would be so much easier if there were no soldiers telling them what to do."
Howe gave a hollow laugh. "Fair comment, Skoyles." He put a hand to his brow. "I'll be so glad to get away from all this. Some years ago, in a moment of honesty, I said that I'd never fight against Americans because I respected them too much. I meant it as well," he said. "But when the opportunity came, I was too much of a soldier to follow my inclinations. And I could not resist the lure of glory—not that there's been enough of that, alas."
"We'll be sorry to see you leave, General."
"I'll be here till the spring at least. Knowing the speed at which the colonial secretary moves, I do not expect a successor to be appointed before April, if then. I do not envy him his task."
"The Continental Army will have had time to recover."
"Meanwhile, their much-vaunted commander will be laughing at us over today's little farce."
"That's a very unfair description, sir," Skoyles returned.
"Is it?"
"Our men fought bravely and I'd like you to understand that."
"I do, Captain Skoyles. But, as we both know, bravery is not always enough, is it? Ah, well," he said with a sigh, "we must let General Washington have his brief moment of triumph. There'll be precious few of those for him this winter."
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