Saratoga (21 page)

"No," said Skoyles.

"You must, sir."

Polly Bragg eased him back down. "You're in no state to move," she said, solicitously. "Just try to rest."

"But I
have
to get back."

"Why?" asked Skoyles.

"Because I left poor Dan Lukins there," said Wolverton with evident affection,
"and I feel guilty for having deserted him. I've simply got to find out what happened to him."

There were eight of them still alive. The other two in the group had died from their wounds in the night. Locked in a shed that had no window, the soldiers were bound hand and foot. Every so often, the guard who was posted outside the door opened it and shone a lantern in to make sure that they were still securely tied up. All of the prisoners had suffered cuts and bruises during the ambush. One of them had a musket ball embedded in his calf, another man had broken three fingers. The shed was dark, filthy, and uncomfortable, reeking with a compound of foul smells. Rats darted to and fro. All that the men could do was to lie there in a trough of self-pity.

Propped up against a wall, Harry Featherstone brooded on the calamitous turn of events. He was angry with himself for leading his men into an ambush and for being unable to fight his way out of it. He was also furious with his captors for incarcerating a man of his rank with common soldiers, forcing him to listen to their inane babble. It was a deliberate affront to his dignity. But his overriding concern was for Elizabeth Rainham, unhurt by her fall from the horse but now in the hands of a cruel and vindictive enemy. Featherstone chided himself for agreeing so readily to take her to Bitter Creek.

While the soldiers had been herded into the rat-infested shed, Elizabeth had been taken into the house to face unknown horrors. The major feared for her virtue. The American rebels who had captured them were part of the rear guard of the Continental Army that had been routed at Hubbardton. They had already killed David Lansdale and looted his house. It was unlikely that they would show any mercy to his niece. Patriots had little sympathy for anyone suspected of being a Tory. The lucky ones were only severely beaten. Hanging was a more likely fate, followed by the rape of their womenfolk and the destruction of their property. David Lansdale had been one more victim.

Featherstone was fuming with impotent rage. Elizabeth was in the house with a group of violent men and there was nothing that he could do about it. He took no consolation from the fact that he had heard no screams from her during the night.

Daniel Lukins had heard something else in the dark hours.

"I wonder what 'appened to Wolvie," he said sorrowfully. "I'd 'ate to think they left 'im out there with the others to feed them wolves. They never stopped 'owling, did they? Wolvie, eaten by wolves—it's not right."

"Be quiet, man," Featherstone ordered.

"But 'e was my friend, sir."

"Then mourn him in silence."

"What's goin' to 'appen to us, Major?" asked Lukins.

"I wish I knew."

"It's alright for you, sir. I mean, you're an officer. You're important. They'll exchange you for one of our prisoners." He peered at the others in the gloom. "What about the rest of us?"

"Yes," said another voice. "What about us, sir?"

"We'll just have to hope for the best," replied Featherstone.

"As long as it's not left to that sergeant with the scar across his face," said Lukins with a shiver. "An 'eartless devil, 'e was. I 'eard 'im say 'e'd like to put us in 'ere and set fire to the place. If I ever gets out alive," he vowed, "then that sergeant's goin' to 'ave a lot more scars across 'is ugly face—or Dan Lukins is a liar."

"Hold your tongue," Featherstone demanded. "It's bad enough to be locked up in here without having to listen to your stupid remarks."

Lukins was cowed into silence and nobody else dared to speak. The tension in the shed was almost tangible. The soldiers remembered only too well what had happened to Private Roger Higgs, flogged on the orders of Major Featherstone. Even in captivity, they were afraid to disobey the officer. After another hour, however, the pangs of hunger were too much for the little Cockney to bear and he had to speak out.

"Aren't they goin' to feed us, Major?" he wailed. "I can stand anythin' but bein' starved to death—that'd be against every article of war. I'll write to that turd, George Washington, to complain, so I will."

His absurd boast provoked some half-hearted laughter, but Harry Featherstone did not join in. All that he could think about was the fate of Elizabeth Rainham.

Back at Skenesborough, swift action was taken. Brigadier Fraser not only agreed that Skoyles should lead a detachment to Bitter Creek, he insisted on
getting General Burgoyne out of bed to hear details of what had happened. As a result, Skoyles was given the loan of his commander's telescope once again. The news that Elizabeth Rainham was caught in the ambush upset Burgoyne. As a friend of the family, he felt that he was—to some extent—
in loco parentis
. The thought that Elizabeth might be dead, badly wounded, or, at the very least, taken prisoner by the rebels made him curse his decision to allow her to travel to Bitter Creek.

Redsnake needed no persuasion to act as their scout. It emerged that the Indian who had been killed in the ambush was his brother, and he was eager to wreak revenge on his behalf. Four other Mohawks joined the detachment of fifty men, all of them mounted to ensure speed. As they left the camp, they were waved off by General Burgoyne himself, wishing them well and still praying for the safe return of Elizabeth Rainham. With the Indians leading the way on their ponies, the detachment followed a track that seemed to meander aimlessly through the forest. Jamie Skoyles rode beside Lieutenant Charles Westbourne.

"We were wrong to condemn all the Indians," said Skoyles. "Because of Redsnake's prompt action, one of our men was saved and the alarm was raised."

"I know, Captain," returned the other, watching the Indians ride bareback in front of him. "I just do wish they'd wear something more than a string of beads and a few feathers."

"This is no time for maiden modesty, Lieutenant."

"You'd think they'd want to protect their bodies."

"They prefer freedom of movement."

"So I see."

Sergeant Tom Caffrey brought his horse alongside them. Knowing that there would be wounded men when they reached their destination, he had his instruments and bandages in his knapsack.

"How long will it take us, Jamie?" he asked.

"Hours yet."

"Do you think that they'll still be at the farm?"

"There's only one way to find out, Tom," said Skoyles. "I can't believe they'd kill the entire detachment and move on. My guess is that they'll take prisoners and steal their guns and ammunition. The sight of captured redcoats is a powerful symbol for them."

"What about Miss Rainham?"

Westbourne gulped. "I shudder to think what might befall her."

"Let's just hope that the lady is still alive," said Skoyles.

"And unmolested."

"What puzzles me," said Caffrey, "is how they walked into the ambush in the first place. They were experienced soldiers with two scouts to help them, yet they were taken completely by surprise."

"They simply weren't expecting rebels in that part of the country," Westbourne explained. "Colonel Skene assured them that they'd be safe."

"I think I've worked out what must have happened," Skoyles decided, turning it over in his mind. "From what Wolverton told us—and from what I could get out of Redsnake through an interpreter—there's a hill that overlooks the approach to Bitter Creek. The rebels must have had pickets up there. When they spotted Major Featherstone and his men coming, they had ample time to set up the ambush."

"What if the pickets are still there?" said Caffrey.

"Then they've chosen the wrong day to be on duty."

They pressed on hard, breaking into a canter whenever possible and only stopping to water the horses once during the journey. Urged on by Skoyles, they were soon back in the saddle, exposed to the beat of the hot sun that glinted off their bayonets and sent trickles of sweat down their faces. When they got their first distant glimpse of the hill near Bitter Creek, Skoyles called them to a halt and ordered them to conceal themselves among the trees. He and the Indians went forward on foot, remaining under cover all the way.

Half a mile from the hill, he used the telescope to scan the summit. As he had expected, two sentries had been posted there to keep the approach road under surveillance. Skoyles was gratified. It meant that the rebels had not yet left Bitter Creek. He gave the telescope to Redsnake and showed him how to use it. The Indian was amazed at what he thought were its magical powers. Fascinated by the instrument, each of the Mohawks had to take his turn with it, sharing their excitement as they did so. Skoyles reclaimed the telescope and sent them off. They knew what to do.

It was a long wait. At first, Skoyles thought that they might have lost their way or been caught in a trap somewhere. Though he scanned the undergrowth on the slope ahead, he could see absolutely no sight of the Indians. They had vanished as if they had never existed. He began to worry, fearing
that, in his eagerness, Redsnake had given himself away, but the anxiety proved groundless. When he trained the telescope on the top of the hill yet again, he saw the pickets being felled by shattering blows from tomahawks. Two scalps were soon waved triumphantly in the air. It was the signal for Skoyles to run back to his men. They mounted up at once. Caffrey rode beside his friend.

"They're still there, then," he said. "That's good news, Jamie."

"We don't know what state they're in yet."

Caffrey tapped his knapsack. "I've come well prepared."

Skoyles thought of Elizabeth Rainham. Physical wounds might be dressed, broken bones could be mended. But there were wounds to the mind that would never heal, deep, agonizing, and ever open, vile memories that could stalk a woman for the rest of her life. Skoyles hoped that Elizabeth had been spared such permanent injuries.

Night had been a prolonged torment for her. Elizabeth Rainham had been locked in the main bedroom of the house, the place where her Uncle David and Aunt Edith had spent almost ten happy years until her aunt had died of pneumonia. Lansdale's death had been more violent. Because he and his sons had refused to join the militia and fight against the British army, David Lansdale was hanged in his barn with Elizabeth's three cousins dangling beside him. On hearing the news of their execution, Elizabeth realized how barbaric her captors could be and she feared for her own life. When that was spared, she thought that she was being kept alive for their sport.

Several of the men had come to ogle her, flushed with drink and roused by her beauty. Their language had disgusted her and the lechery in their eyes had been terrifying, but she had not as yet been mauled. On the orders of their leader—a young lieutenant with the faint hint of a gentleman about him—the rebel soldiers had stayed their hands with great reluctance. It was only a matter of time, Elizabeth felt, before one of them would disobey the command and she would be unable to defend herself. There was no chance of escape. A guard was stationed outside the door and another in the courtyard. Even if she could have climbed through the window and dropped to the ground, she would have been quickly apprehended.

In any case, she did not wish to provoke them. The lieutenant had been
kind enough to tell her that Harry Featherstone was still alive and being held with the other men, but that was all she knew. Confined to the bedroom, Elizabeth could do nothing but reflect on the seriousness of her predicament. She spent most of the night on her feet, afraid to lie on the bed in case she fell asleep and made herself even more vulnerable. On one wall was a portrait of her Uncle David. On another, the lovely face and warm smile of her Aunt Edith had been caught perfectly by the artist. Anything of real value had been stolen, but the room was still filled with touching mementos of its former occupants. Every time Elizabeth looked at one of them, she felt a knife through her heart.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the landing outside alerted her. A key was turned in the lock and the door swung open. Elizabeth backed away immediately. The man who entered was tall, rangy, and hirsute and had a livid scar across his face, as if he had been sliced open by a sword. He wore the blue uniform of the Continental Army and a sergeant's sash.

He was carrying a cup of water and a hunk of bread. He held them out to her with a lascivious grin that made his scar even more repulsive. Elizabeth fought to maintain her composure.

"I brought food and drink for you, ma'am," he said, eyes roving her body. "Just so as you don't think that we got no manners. Here—come and take it from me."

"Just put them down, please," she said, primly.

"As you wish, ma'am." He set the cup and the bread down on the little table under the window then he leered at her. "Don't I get a kiss for attending to your needs?"

"No," she replied crisply.

"No? Now that's real unfriendly of you, ma'am. I heard tell you English folk was so obliging." He used a foot to kick the door shut. "All I'm asking for is one little kiss."

"Go away!"

"Begging your pardon but there's something you don't seem to have noticed. I'm the man in charge," he said, patting his chest, "and you're the prisoner. I reckon that gives me certain rights, don't it?"

"If you don't leave me alone, I'll report you to the lieutenant."

He cackled merrily. "You'll need a mighty loud voice to do that, ma'am,
seeing as how Lieutenant Muncie has just ridden over to the village two miles away. I'm in control here now. I make the decisions and you're one of them."

As he took a step forward, she reached out to grab an empty water jug that stood on the dressing table beside her. Elizabeth brandished it the air. The man cackled again.

"Hey, you got some spirit in you, ma'am," he said approvingly. "I like that. I think I'll make it
two
kisses now—one for the bread and one for the water."