Authors: David Garland
"I won't touch either."
"You must have something, ma'am."
"No, thank you."
"Please yourself."
He shrugged his shoulders and turned away. Elizabeth dared to relax. She even put the water jug back inside its china basin. He was on her at once, swinging round to grab her by both wrists then pinning her against a wall so that he could take a first guzzling kiss that muffled her cry of disgust. When she struggled to get free, he flung her on the bed and looked down at her with a wild grin. Before he could move, however, he heard the crackle of flames and the frantic neighing of horses.
Leaving her where she lay, he rushed to the window and looked out. The stables were on fire and horses could be heard kicking madly against their stalls. Men were running out of the house to investigate. The sergeant rushed to the door and flung it open.
"Don't you go away, ma'am," he warned. "I'll be back."
He went out quickly and the guard locked the door behind him. Elizabeth was trembling with fear. The man's intentions were brutally clear. As soon as the lieutenant had left the farm, she had lost what little protection she had. A water jug would not keep the sergeant at bay. He could take his pleasure at will. The taste of his lips had made her stomach heave. When she got up from the bed, she sipped water from the cup to rinse her mouth, then spat it into the basin.
Voices were now raised in the courtyard, and she looked out to see frenzied horses being led out of the blazing stables. Smoke swirled everywhere. The sergeant stood in the middle of it all, waving his arms and barking orders. This was the man who would come to violate her, strong, uncompromising, and brutal. She could still smell the stink of his breath. Elizabeth could not
believe her eyes when something hurtled through the air to strike the sergeant on the back of his skull and knock him to the ground, where he was trampled by a dozen flashing hooves. Other tomahawks seemed to come out of thin air to kill their targets. The next thing she heard was a series of gunshots from invisible men. The roar of the fire became deafening.
Elizabeth jumped back from the window, fearful that she might be hit by a stray musket ball and confused by the sheer pandemonium in the courtyard. If the stables were on fire, the inferno would eventually spread to the house and she would be burned alive. The thought sent another tremor through her. Dashing to the door, she tried to open it but it held fast. She began to scream for help. Footsteps thundered up the stairs and she heard the sound of a fierce struggle on the landing. Something then hit the floor outside with a resounding thud that made the boards shake under her feet.
The key was turned in the lock. Elizabeth backed away in panic, her head aching, her eyes misting over, her heart pounding like a drum. Outside the window, more gunfire was heard above the crackle of the fire. Horses were neighing, men were yelling. Elizabeth was certain that her own death was at hand. When the door opened, she put both hands to her face, afraid even to look. But the torture was at last over.
"Miss Rainham," said a familiar voice. "Are you hurt?"
Elizabeth lowered her hands, saw with amazement the figure of Captain Jamie Skoyles standing in the doorway, and, tears of relief streaming down her face, ran impulsively across the room to fling herself into his arms.
It took hours until the work was done. When the British prisoners were released, they saw the courtyard filled with dozens of redcoats, bringing pails of water from the river to put out the fire. Major Harry Featherstone immediately took command, but it was Jamie Skoyles who instructed the men in what they had to do, leaving his superior to comfort Elizabeth Rainham in the house and to issue a string of apologies for taking her to such a dangerous place. Of the rebel soldiers, only ten remained alive and they were put to work at once, digging graves for the men they had hanged in the barn, then burying the half-eaten remains of the British soldiers killed in the earlier ambush.
Two more redcoats were brought out of the shed where they had died overnight and given a decent burial. With muskets held on them, the rebels
were forced to put heavy rocks on the graves so that the bodies could not be dug up again by ravenous wolves. Only when all the British casualties had been buried did Skoyles allow the American soldiers the chance to see to their own dead. It was a gesture that they had not extended to the enemy on the previous day.
Daniel Lukins was delighted to hear that his friend was still alive.
"We owe all this to Wolvie?" he said, smacking his hands together. "Whoever thought 'e'd turn out to be an 'ero—that long-legged fool who's always spoutin' poetry and suchlike at me? Good old Wolvie! I'm sorry that I stole 'is watch now."
"I'm not," said Skoyles. "If he hadn't fought with you, I'd never have known about a plot to assault me. Thank you, Lukins. Your warning was very timely."
"This makes us even, then, Captain."
"Even?"
"I saved you then and you saved me now."
Skoyles grinned. "I can't pretend that rescuing you was my main preoccupation when we set out from Skenesborough," he admitted, "but I'm pleased to see that you survived. Wolverton was worried that you might have been killed in the ambush."
"Not me, sir. I'm too small a target for the buggers."
"There may be something in that." He watched two men shoveling earth on to the last grave. "We're just about finished here now. I'd better go and call Major Featherstone."
"One moment, sir," said Lukins in a confidential whisper. "When they took the lady into the 'ouse, did they strip 'er naked and—"
"No," said Skoyles firmly. "Nothing untoward occurred, so I want no crude speculation among the men. I leave it to you to pass the word around. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Captain."
Skoyles walked back toward the house. His plan to create a diversion by setting fire to the stables had worked perfectly. The rescue had been a complete success, with minimal casualties on his side. No horses had been injured. They were rounded up to be taken back to camp. Tom Caffrey had been able to tend both the British wounded and those rebels injured in the attack. Sheer weight of numbers had made the outcome inevitable. Skoyles
could take great satisfaction from it all, but the most memorable event for him was the embrace with Elizabeth Rainham. She had expressed more than simple gratitude for her rescue. During that fleeting moment in the bedroom, she had leapt over the boundaries of convention to reveal an affection that took them both unawares.
Sad to yield command to Major Featherstone, he was quick to see the advantage in doing so. It diverted Elizabeth Rainham. Featherstone had kept her in the house to hear what had happened to her and to give an account of his own imprisonment. Skoyles was glad that she had witnessed none of the gruesome events outside. Elizabeth had been spared the sight of the Indians taking their legitimate scalps, of her uncle and cousins being cut down from the rafters in the barn, and of the burial detail putting British dead beneath the ground.
Time alone with her in the house seemed to have a salutary effect on Harry Featherstone. When Skoyles went in to summon them, the major even stumbled through a subdued speech of thanks. But the gratitude shining in Elizabeth's eyes was the only reward that Skoyles wanted. A close friendship had been established.
"We're ready to leave now, Major," he said.
"What about this Lieutenant Muncie?" asked Featherstone. "According to Elizabeth, the fellow went off to the village earlier on."
"I sent a dozen men after him, sir, but he was no longer there. We must have frightened him off. He'll run back to the main army, wherever that may be."
"We'll find it," said Featherstone grimly. "Find it and destroy it."
"Yes, sir."
"You lead the way back to the camp, Skoyles."
"If you wish, sir."
"Miss Rainham and I will ride at the rear. I don't want her disturbed by the sight of those damned Mohawks flaunting their scalps."
"The Indians were crucial to the rescue plan, Major."
"I find that a matter of regret."
"Harry!" Elizabeth chided him. "They've earned our thanks."
"I'll make sure that I pass it on to them, Miss Rainham," said Skoyles. He lowered his voice. "The burial detail has finished its work now. Before we leave, I thought that you might care to pay your respects at the graves of your kinsfolk."
"Thank you, Captain." Tears threatened. "I'd like to do that."
"Take as much time as you wish, Miss Rainham."
"I will."
"I'll stay beside you," said Featherstone.
Skoyles gave each of them a nod, then left. Elizabeth bit her lip and tried not to cry, wondering if she could go through the ordeal of visiting the graves of her beloved relations. Later, there would be the additional trial of writing a letter to her parents, describing what had happened at Bitter Creek. War had taken on a frightening immediacy for her. Seeing her distress, Harry Featherstone reached out to enfold her gently in his arms. She was grateful for his support, but she took no real pleasure from the embrace. Over his shoulder, she was watching Jamie Skoyles walk away from the house.
Daniel Lukins was so pleased to be reunited with Marcus Wolverton again that he volunteered to cut the other man's hair without payment. Since he still retained something of the actor's vanity, Wolverton was ready to accept the offer. A man of unusual talents, the Cockney was a skilled barber who earned a regular income from his fellow soldiers. In view of the continual enmity between them, Wolverton had never let Lukins cut his hair before, and he had certainly never allowed the man near him with a razor, preferring instead to cultivate a mustache that he trimmed regularly. Since most soldiers were unshaven for days on end, the well-groomed Marcus Wolverton stood out from the common herd. In the past, Lukins had always mocked him for that.
With his customer perched on a stool outside their tent, the little barber snipped away with his scissors. He had a confession to make.
"Something strange 'appened back there in Bitter Creek," he said.
"Oh?"
"I missed you, Wolvie. I thought you was dead."
"I thought the same about you, Dan," the other revealed, "and it made me rather sad. I began to regret all the quarrels we'd had in the past. They seem so pointless now."
"They were," said the other. "Why did you start them?"
Wolverton stiffened. "You were the one who always did that!"
"Sit still or I'll cut your ear off by mistake."
"Then stop telling lies."
"Me? Tellin' lies? I'm the only truthful man in this 'ole regiment."
"That's the biggest lie of all, Dan Lukins." The barber laughed. "Now stop baiting me and get on with your job. I'm still waiting to hear what happened at Bitter Creek after I left."
"Then wait no more, Wolvie. I'll tell all."
Without any preamble, Lukins gave a long, colorful, rambling account of events at Bitter Creek, portraying himself as an unsung hero and insisting that it was he who had kept up the spirits of the prisoners when they were locked in the shed at the farm. So carried away did he become with his narrative that he even claimed to have assisted Jamie Skoyles in the rescue of Elizabeth Rainham.
"First time in my life I saved a woman's maiden'ead," he said with a snigger. "It was a peculiar feelin', Wolvie. In the past, I've always 'elped them to get rid of it. That lady owes me 'er thanks."
"You and Captain Skoyles."
"Well, yes, 'e did sort of assist me."
"He'd assist you with a boot up your backside if he heard you making ridiculous claims like that," said Wolverton. "I spoke to Sergeant Caffrey this morning. He told me that Miss Rainham was rescued from the house while you and the others were still bound hand and foot."
Lukins was indignant. "Who're you goin' to believe—'im or me?"
"You, Dan, of course," said the other, trying to mollify him, "as long as you have those scissors in your hand, anyway. The important thing is that you came back in one piece."
"I feels sorry for 'er. Miss Rain'am, that is."
"Why?"
"Marryin' someone like Major Featherstone. The man's a monster. Spent the night with 'im, I did. 'E treated us like dirt. I wouldn't want 'im as my 'usband, Wolvie, I know that. There!" he said, stepping back. "I've finished. Best 'aircut you ever 'ad. See for yourself."
He handed Wolverton a small mirror and the latter examined himself for some time, twisting his head to see it from all angles. Tom Caffrey strolled across to the two men.
"How's my patient this morning?" he asked.
"Wolvie's like a new man, sir," Lukins boasted.
"You've done an excellent job, Dan," said Wolverton, returning the mirror. "Are you sure that I can't pay you for the haircut?"
"I wouldn't take a penny from you."
Caffrey was impressed. "I'm glad to see that you two have settled your differences at last," he said. "It's one good thing to come out of that ambush."
"It is, Sergeant," said Wolverton. "I realized just how much I needed Dan—even if he does drive me to distraction sometimes."
"Me?" said Lukins, bending over him. "I'd never upset
you
, Wolvie. You're my best friend, I swears it. You keeps me sane in this mad'ouse they calls an army." He began to walk away. "Any time you wants a free 'aircut, you just give Dan Lukins a call."
"Take him up on the offer," Caffrey advised with a grin. "The only other free haircut you'd get here is from one of the Indians. How's that arm of yours today?"
"Still throbbing with pain, Sergeant."
"You were lucky that the musket ball didn't shatter a bone."
"I'm more relieved that Dan Lukins is still alive," said Wolverton. "More than half of us who went to Bitter Creek with the major were killed. Dan could so easily have been one of them. I felt such a thrill when I saw him again this morning, that I almost gave him this." He felt in his pocket for something then let out a cry of rage. "He's done it again!" he yelled. "The little devil has stolen my watch!"
Expelled from Skenesborough, the American rebels had been thorough. An army of axmen had worked tirelessly in the forest to make the overland route to Fort Edward completely impassable. Trees had been felled, branches arranged into forbidding lattice works, bridges destroyed, rocks used to block the tracks through the forest. The fort was only twenty-three miles away, but every foot of road would first have to be reclaimed. At one point, a two-mile causeway needed to be constructed across a swamp. British engineers and artificers labored in punitive conditions, supported by Canadian axmen. July rains pelted them and blazing sunshine toasted them. Fresh swarms of insects surged up out of the swamps to get into their noses, mouths, eyes, ears, and clothing. Those who toiled in the humid forest in their woolen
uniforms were irresistible targets of blackflies, mosquitoes, deerflies, horseflies, gnats, ants, ticks, and chiggers. Snakes proved particularly unfriendly.