Authors: David Garland
"Even when someone is waiting for you in bed?"
Burgoyne chuckled. "The lady will not be neglected."
A privileged outsider, Skoyles always enjoyed his evenings at the card table. He was not only accepted by the others—apart from Harry Featherstone—he was able to join in the table talk, ranging, as it did, from inconsequential gossip to serious discussion of military strategy with occasional lapses into drunken obscenity. When it came to appetite and capacity for wine, port, and brandy, Skoyles could match anyone there, but he was careful to restrict himself that evening. Featherstone, by contrast, was in no mood to hold back, drinking hard and shooting him sly glances from time to time. They were studiously ignored.
Unlike the others, Skoyles was not a man of personal wealth with money to throw carelessly away on the turn of a card. What allowed him to compete with them was the fact that he had built up some substantial winnings over the years, much of it coming from some of the very people at his elbow now. In his experience, nothing revealed the true character of a man as comprehensively as a game of cards. It stripped away the outer covering and revealed the essence of a person.
General John Burgoyne was a born gambler—bold, impetuous, unwilling to accept defeat. Whenever he lost, he tried to double the stakes. There was a sophisticated recklessness about him. Nobody would have guessed that his father, ruined by gambling, had died in prison after being been hounded there by his creditors. Simon Fraser was more cautious, the dashing soldier of the
battlefield turned into a watchful and calculating player. William Phillips was the most ebullient man there, laughing uproariously when he won and using the ripest language when he did not. Having made a career out of amassing wealth, Philip Skene was not ready to part with any of it lightly, playing with a high seriousness and taking little part in the conversation so that he could devote all his attention to the cards.
Skoyles had played with Harry Featherstone enough times to know that gambling brought out the worst in him. Drinking far too much at too fast a rate, the major was an erratic player whose attention frequently wandered for a fatal second or two. His language could be as coarse as that of William Phillips. During games of whist, Skoyles had learned to read his face and guess what cards Featherstone was holding.
The six of them had been playing for half an hour before talk turned once more to the campaign. Burgoyne emptied another glass of claret and sat back with contentment.
"This is how a war should be conducted," he said. "A short, sharp victory followed by a decent interval during which we can celebrate our success in the appropriate way."
"I still believe that we should have barked at their heels when we had them on the run," Phillips opined. "The rebels will have time to lick their wounds and call upon their militias to reinforce them."
"I agree with General Burgoyne," said Featherstone. "We have the finest army in the world and they know it. That's why they scampered off like frightened rabbits. We can destroy them, as and when we choose."
"I have more respect for them than that, Major," said Skoyles.
"So do I," Fraser added. "They gave us a fright at Hubbardton."
"We won the battle," Burgoyne contended. "That's what matters."
"Had we chased them harder," said Phillips, emitting a snort of disgust when he turned over a card, "we might have finished them off properly and brought this damnable war to an end."
"We need time for all of our supplies to be brought up, William. In any case, too rapid a pursuit would be unwise. Colonel John Hill discovered that when he headed for Fort Anne with too few men. They were lucky not to be routed. The rebels will not get away," said Burgoyne calmly. "We'll hunt every last one of them down when we've built a road through the forest. That, alas, may take some time."
"I can vouch for that, General," said Skoyles, recalling the search for Ezekiel Proudfoot. "There are obstacles almost every step of the way, and we'll have to construct dozens of bridges. I'm not convinced that the overland route is the one to take."
"Nobody sought your opinion, Captain," said Featherstone.
Burgoyne was tolerant. "We're all friends here, Harry," he pointed out. "Everyone is entitled to speak. Never let it be said that I was deaf to sensible advice."
"What Skoyles is about to advocate is not sensible."
"How do you know until we've heard it?" He smiled invitingly at Skoyles. "Well, Captain?"
Skoyles was well informed. "Our baggage train is too large," he said, "and we have a desperate shortage of horses and oxen to pull it. We have one hundred and eighty carts, each carrying eight hundred pounds of stores. Then there are a dozen heavy guns to drag with tons of shot and powder. If we travel overland, we move at a snail's pace and stretch our supply line to the limit. Water is our best ally," he urged. "We should sail down Lake George, as the bulk of our artillery will do. I know that we'd have to transport the boats across the portage at Ticonderoga and overland from Fort George to the Hudson River, but I still believe it would be the better route."
"An absurd suggestion," snapped Featherstone.
"Not at all," Fraser countered. "It has much to commend it. Jamie is only saying what many others think."
"Well, it's not what
I
think," Skene ventured, keeping his beady eyes on the next card that was turned over. "We should hack our way through the forest to Fort Edward and gather new recruits and fresh horses as we do so. I've no qualms about provisions. We'll gather all we need from the hundreds of loyalists hereabouts."
"It could take us weeks to reach the fort," said Skoyles, "and we'd lay ourselves open to attack from sharpshooters hidden in the trees. Those swamps are very unhealthy—we'd lose several men to disease. Water is a much safer way to travel."
Fraser nodded. "It's an argument that's worth considering."
"Only to be discarded, sir," said Featherstone. "To reach Lake George, we'd have to return to Ticonderoga and that would be seen by the army as a retrograde step."
"Quite so, Harry," said Burgoyne, bringing the discussion to an end on a peremptory note. "An army marches on confidence and we'd only weaken it by withdrawing from Skenesborough now. We press on, gentlemen," he decreed, raising a magisterial finger. "You all heard my proclamation: We never retreat. And a return to Ticonderoga would be perceived by our friends and enemies alike as a retreat." He turned over a card and laughed. "Ah, I appear to have won yet again!"
Philip Skene was the first to quit the table. Having held his own for most of the evening, he began to lose money and elected to cut his losses. Simon Fraser was the next to leave, pleading fatigue and wishing to be up early on the morrow. The four still at the table played whist for an hour or so until Burgoyne remembered that Mrs. Lucinda Mallard was awaiting him. Since it had been a profitable evening for the general, it seemed like an excellent time to bring the proceedings to a close. Skoyles was ready to do so even though he had won only a small amount.
The real losers had been William Phillips and Harry Featherstone. While the two of them remained behind to exchange profanities and console themselves with brandy, Skoyles slipped away into the night. Featherstone could not resist a smirk at his departure. Skoyles walked back through the camp, ready for an ambush and looking forward to some physical exercise. He got within yards of his tent before the attack came. Two burly figures suddenly charged up behind him out of the gloom and tried to grab him. Skoyles was ready for them. He swung round to face his attackers, catching the first man by his coat and hurling him to the ground.
Sergeant Tom Caffrey appeared out of nowhere to take on the fallen man, delivering a blow to his ear that sent him rolling over onto his back, then diving on top of him to pummel away with both fists. Skoyles, meanwhile, was grappling with the second assailant, a giant of a man who was intent on earning his reward by overpowering his victim with his superior strength. Pulling Skoyles toward him, he got in a couple of telling blows to his ribs. Skoyles winced and replied with a flurry of punches to the face that the huge Canadian took without flinching. When Skoyles dislodged a tooth, the man simply laughed and spat it out. The giant lunged forward to clasp his opponent in a bear hug, tightening his grip slowly to squeeze all the energy out of him.
Skoyles tried in vain to break his hold. Having knocked his own adversary unconscious, Caffrey jumped to his feet and came to the aid of his friend, but his help was not needed. Unable to break free, Skoyles put his head back then brought his forehead down sharply against the bridge of the man's nose, splitting it open and making him stagger backward. With a grunt of pain, the man steadied himself, wiped away the blood that was cascading down from his nostrils, then swung a massive leg in an attempt to kick Skoyles in the groin.
Had he made contact, the fight would have been over, but Skoyles had been in too many brawls to be caught unawares. Moving swiftly aside, he grabbed the man's foot and pulled it with all his might so that the Canadian fell to the ground with a dull thud, landing on some sharp stones that opened up a deep gash in his skull. Skoyles did not spare him. Twisting the man's ankle until he produced a yell of agony, he bent down to haul him up into a sitting position so that he could catch him on the chin with a thunderous uppercut. This time, the man did flinch. He flopped to the ground and stayed there.
Tom Caffrey had a serious complaint to make.
"You should have left that big bugger for me," he said.
Although he had lost a sizable amount of money at the card table, Harry Featherstone left the house in high spirits. His request to escort Elizabeth Rainham to see her uncle had been granted, he had drunk some excellent wine and brandy in the company of his commanding officer, and—most pleasing of all—a person against whom he had a grudge would by now have been beaten to a pulp by hired Canadian axmen. He had cause for satisfaction. As he rolled unsteadily along, he was grinning broadly.
Once inside his tent, however, his bonhomie vanished in a flash. By the light of the candle, he saw two men sprawled on the ground, each stained with blood and groaning in pain. Featherstone was incensed. Instead of handing out a severe beating to someone else, they had been the victims of assault themselves. Skoyles had obviously escaped his punishment. In leaving the wounded men in the major's tent, he was signaling that he knew exactly who their paymaster was.
"You idiots!" cried Featherstone, kicking one of them.
"You never told us there'd be
two
of them, Major," the man bleated. "Just give us our money and we'll get out of here."
"Yes," said the giant axman, holding his broken nose. "We deserve something for what we suffered out there tonight. We want our reward."
"Oh, you do, do you?" asked Featherstone. "Then you'll get it!"
Seizing a riding crop, he began to whip them unmercifully, driving them out of his tent like a pair of miscreant dogs. Featherstone's wrath knew no bounds. Jamie Skoyles had turned the tables on him, and the major took out his anger on the Canadians.
The next day brought in many more recruits, loyalists who had been sufficiently heartened by the success of the British army to declare their allegiance and who were brave enough to risk any reprisals against their families or their properties by the rebels. As he watched them stream in, Skoyles was not persuaded that all were genuine Tories. Some would be informers, sent by the enemy to get exact details of the strength of the army and liable to disappear when their work was done. Skoyles took particular note of those he felt were worth watching.
Some of the newcomers had unwelcome tales to tell of atrocities committed by the Indians. Ignoring the orders they had specifically been given by General Burgoyne, many of them had run riot. One report told of two white women being raped and of the Negro who had tried to protect them being scalped and left for dead. Another report claimed that Indian scouts had stolen drink and money from a house and killed a guard dog. A third story concerned the murder of a boy who had been herding his pigs in the forest. His scalp, too, hung from someone's belt.
Lieutenant Charles Westbourne was outraged by what he heard.
"They're nothing but unprincipled savages," he protested. "General Burgoyne should take them to task."
"He's done that repeatedly," said Skoyles, "but threats have no effect. The mistake lay in bringing them with us in the first place."
"I was appalled by their conduct at Ticonderoga, Captain. While we moved on, they stayed behind to plunder and drink—and you know the terrible effect that alcohol has on them. They behave like wild animals."
"General Burgoyne visited their camp this morning to remonstrate with them. I accompanied him, Lieutenant. What shocked us was the number of
scalps hanging up to dry in the sun. Many of them probably came from innocent people who've taken no part in the hostilities."
The two men were standing between a row of tents in the middle of the camp. They moved aside to let a column of soldiers march past under the eye of their drill sergeant. Westbourne was unsettled.
"The Indians are supposed to scare the enemy," he said, "but they put the fear of death in me. What will they do next? Discipline is a concept that's entirely foreign to them. As for their appearance," he went on with a hint of a blush, "it beggars description. One of their chiefs is completely naked, except for a dead bird that covers his manhood. It's disgraceful, Captain. Imagine how distressing it would be if any of the ladies were to catch sight of him."
Skoyles laughed. "With respect, Lieutenant," he said, "I suspect that most of the women traveling with us are well accustomed by now to the sight of a naked man. They're more likely to be amused than upset. Nobody who trails after an army can retain her innocence indefinitely."
"That's certainly true of the camp followers," Westbourne agreed, "but I was thinking of people like Baroness Riedesel, Lady Harriet Acland, and Miss Elizabeth Rainham. They shouldn't be subjected to such a disagreeable spectacle. To be honest, I was rather troubled when I saw Major Featherstone set off at dawn."