Authors: David Garland
"If it were left to me," said Phillips, "I'd tie the buggers to the end of a cannon and fire the bloody thing myself! They deserve to have their balls cut off and strung out on a washing line."
It was Skoyles who translated for Riedesel this time, softening the artilleryman's outburst into polite German. Burgoyne unrolled a rough map of the area and marked their present position with a cross.
"We must move forward tomorrow," he announced. "Skoyles?"
"I think that we might camp near this spot, General," said the other, indicating a point on the map. "I noticed it when I made for the rebel camp. It's called Sword's Farm. We'd have the river at our back."
"So be it," Burgoyne decided. "What better place to unsheathe the sword of justice than at Sword's Farm? Thank you, Captain. Your advice has been invaluable." He jabbed a finger at the map. "The decision is made—Sword's Farm it is."
Elizabeth Rainham was fretful. Unable to stay in her tent, she wandered restlessly among the camp followers early that morning with Nan Wyatt at her elbow. Elizabeth seemed impervious to the mist and deaf to the sounds of hectic
activity from the main camp. The thought that Jamie Skoyles might have been killed had lit a fire of anxiety inside her head, and she could not douse the flames. What intensified her apprehension was the fact that she still had no idea where Skoyles had gone or what his orders had been. Adding to her pain was the memory of the look on Harry Featherstone's face when he told her that Skoyles must be presumed dead. The major had been almost triumphant. Any affection that Elizabeth still felt for him had been removed forever.
"Try to put it out of your mind, ma'am," Nan advised her softly.
"I wish that I could."
"Worrying about the captain will not bring him back. We should return to our tent. It sounds to me as if we'll soon be on the move."
"On the move?" Elizabeth was confused. "Where are we going?
"I daresay that we'll soon be told."
"Perhaps I should try to speak to General Burgoyne again."
"No, ma'am," said Nan. "If the troops are pushing forward, he'll be far too busy to speak to you."
"But I
must
know what happened to Captain Skoyles."
"It will become clear in time."
"You think he's dead, don't you?" said Elizabeth, rounding on her. "You agree with Major Featherstone. He won't be coming back."
"All I know is that Captain Skoyles is missing," the other said soothingly, taking her arm. "He's been into enemy territory on his own before now and he's always survived. Have more faith in him, ma'am. He'd hate you to suffer in this way on his behalf. Be hopeful."
"How, Nan? I've given up all hope."
"Well, I haven't—and I have enough for both of us."
"If I lose Captain Skoyles," Elizabeth murmured to herself as she confronted the prospect, "then I lose everything."
Confirmation soon reached them that the army was pulling out. There was a flurry of activity all around them and a heady buzz of speculation about where they were going. Drums could be heard beating in the main camp. Elizabeth agreed reluctantly to go back to her tent, resigned to the fact that some terrible fate had befallen Skoyles. At the very moment when they had been drawn closely together, he had been snatched away. She was so convinced he had been taken from her that she did not at first believe Polly Bragg when the woman came rushing up to them through the crowd.
"Captain Skoyles is back, ma'am," said Polly breathlessly.
"Back?" asked Elizabeth. "Are you sure?"
"Quite sure."
"Is he alive?"
"Very much alive, according to Tom."
"There!" said Nan. "I told you that he'd not let you down, ma'am."
"Captain Skoyles is
here?
" said Elizabeth, slowly taking it in.
"Yes, ma'am," said Polly. "He wanted you to know that he's safe."
"Thank you, Mrs. Bragg. That's wonderful news."
Elizabeth let out a cry of joy, then collapsed into Nan's arms.
It was a bad day for a battle. After camping near Sword's Farm, the British army awoke on Friday, September 19, to be greeted by cold, rain, and low-lying fog so dense that it made any kind of reconnaissance quite impossible. General Burgoyne had to wait for hours until the sun began to disperse the fog. He was then able to dispatch his forces. The order of march consisted of three divisions. Captain Jamie Skoyles was part of the elite right wing that set off under the command of Brigadier Fraser. General Riedesel led the left wing along the river road, accompanied by Major General Philips. Burgoyne remained with the column that moved forward in the center.
Most of the field in front of them was heavily wooded but, on the right, there was an open area around a clutch of cabins known as Freeman's Farm. This was the target for Fraser and the right wing, a force that comprised grenadier and light infantry battalions, and the 24th Foot, with two German regiments under Colonel Breymann in support. The remaining Indians, Canadians, and loyalists were in front or on the flanks. The mood was positive. In spite of all their setbacks, the troops were inspired by the leadership of Burgoyne, whose popularity was as high as ever. There was no fear of a repetition of Bennington. A famous British commander was now in charge.
The terrain slowed them down and soon split up the columns in a way that made communication between them well nigh impossible. First to reach the Great Ravine, the right wing was forced to travel farther west to find a place where it could cross the stream. Skoyles estimated that they were now almost two miles from the center column. They followed a circuitous route along
high ground so that they could cover the march of the main army, and drive in any enemy troops they encountered.
In a battle that began almost by accident, it was the main army that met the first resistance. Unknown to them, Daniel Morgan's riflemen had taken up their positions behind a rail fence, in a log cabin, and behind trees or high in their branches. When the skirmish line appeared, the backcountry marksmen fired with such devastating effect that the redcoats fell in droves. Roused by this initial success, Morgan's men pursued the fleeing soldiers hard without realizing that they were actually heading toward the main British force. When they came under concerted attack themselves, the riflemen scattered at once. Fearing that his beloved corps would be destroyed, Daniel Morgan ordered them to withdraw to the woods by using his high-pitched turkey call.
Burgoyne, meanwhile, moved his men on to Freeman's Farm, and battle really commenced. Fresh American units came up in support of the riflemen, pinning the British down. The contrast between the two armies was stark. While the redcoats stayed in traditional shoulder to shoulder formation and fired ear-splitting volleys time and again, the rebels preferred to fight from cover, retreating when charged, then pushing forward once again when they regained the initiative. Burgoyne was outraged that they aimed specifically at his officers, sending man after man with braid epaulets crashing to the ground. To a commander who had been reared on European rules of engagement, it was an abomination.
Burgoyne himself was everywhere, scorning danger as he rode up and down the lines of his infantry to exhort his men to greater efforts. Wherever the fighting was fiercest, he charged off to rally his troops, brandishing his sword. His voice was lost in the cacophony of musket fire, cannon fire, and the agonized cries of dying men. Wounded horses added to the uproar and confusion, threshing about on the ground or staggering a few paces before collapsing once again. So furious and unrelenting was the battle that it was difficult to determine with whom the advantage lay. Freeman's Farm was a scene of utter chaos.
General Gates took no direct part in it all, preferring to direct operations from his tent at Bemis Heights and keep the bulk of his men in reserve behind the fortifications. It was General Benedict Arnold who led the army on the
battlefield and who acted as their talisman. Now in his midthirties, Arnold was a dark-haired, dark-skinned man of medium height with a restless energy and an iron determination. He looked upon Horatio Gates as an untried commander, a military theorist who had never smelled gunpowder before, and whose decisions were therefore questionable. When Gates heard of the enemy's approach, and refused to sanction an attack, it was Arnold who dispatched Daniel Morgan and his rifle corps with Brigadier Enoch Poor's men in support.
Ezekiel Proudfoot went with them, carrying his satchel but having no weapon apart from a walking stick he had cut himself. When the fighting started, he broke away from the rebel soldiers to climb a tree that would give him at least a partial view of the engagement. As at the battle of Bennington, so much was happening simultaneously that he did not know where to look or what to sketch first. The first soldier who was portrayed on his paper, however, was Benedict Arnold, leading his men from the front and showing a fearlessness that verged on lunacy. A veteran of many battles, Arnold was as ubiquitous as Burgoyne, spurring his horse to places where the battle was at its most ferocious and using his sword to slash at any of the enemy within reach.
Thousands of men were embroiled in a death grapple across a wide panorama. From high in the tree, Proudfoot could only pick out a very few individuals, but he was bound to wonder whether Jamie Skoyles was somewhere near Freeman's Farm. He was certain that his friend had escaped the rebel camp and had no feelings of guilt about helping him. Now, however, they were on opposite sides again. Proudfoot hoped that, when he came to sketch the carnage in the aftermath of battle, he would not find Skoyles among the countless dead who would litter the field. A cannon boomed in the distance, and the whole tree shook violently as it was hit. Proudfoot clung on tight. He was not going to be robbed of his privileged view of history.
Ordered to hold the ridge on the right, Simon Fraser's men saw little action but witnessed a great deal of it and were eager to be involved. Their chance eventually came when reinforcements streamed up from Bemis Heights on the left flank of the rebel combatants. Fraser sent a detachment under Major Harry Featherstone to head them off. When they intercepted the enemy and
were put under pressure, Captain Jamie Skoyles was ordered to lead a second detachment of the 24th Foot. He responded with characteristic zeal, issuing his commands as he took his men down from the ridge.
Featherstone's detachment was grateful for the support, though the major wished that anyone but Skoyles had brought it. Recrimination was momentary. Both men were too immersed in the battle to think about their personal animosity. Making sure that they were clearly visible to the troops, they kept on the move on their horses, using their swords to convey signals and interrupting the volley firing with an occasional bayonet charge. Though they lost several men, the others maintained their discipline, stepping over the fallen as they pushed the rebels back.
Freeman's Farm was the major cauldron of the battle, sizzling away for hour upon hour until muscles became tired, ammunition began to run out, and the sheer scale of the casualties on his side began to alarm even Burgoyne. While his numbers were finite, the Americans were able to feed more and more men as required. One British regiment, the 62nd Foot, had lost over three-quarters of its men. Burgoyne sent an urgent summons to General Riedesel on the left flank. It was time to bring the Germans into play.
Hindered by having to rebuild bridges along the way, the Germans had been last to reach the line of battle and were unsure of what to do. When attacked, they had resisted stoutly, and Phillips had introduced his artillery, powerful weapons against an army that used no cannon at all. On receipt of the summons from Burgoyne, Riedesel swung right toward Freeman's Farm with five hundred men and some artillery pieces, arriving in time to find the British main army severely pressed. The Germans dressed ranks and joined in the battle, supported by cannon fire that raked the enemy flank with grapeshot.
It was a crucial intervention. Supported on both flanks, Burgoyne was able to hold out until fading light and complete exhaustion ended the hostilities for the day. It was a stalemate. The rebels withdrew to Bemis Heights, and the smoke of battle finally cleared. When a rough count was taken, it was found that the British and Germans had lost, in all, almost six hundred men, twice as many as the Americans. But since they held the field, Gentleman Johnny was determined to claim a famous victory. Lifting his sword into the darkening sky, his voice rang out like a clarion call.
"We've beaten them!" he cried joyously. "The day is ours!"
Night was filled with noise. The cannon might be silent, but their roar had been replaced by the howling of wolves and the groans of the wounded, who still lay on the battlefield. Sergeant Tom Caffrey was one of the many surgeons who went out to scour the area with stretcher bearers, looking for men they could save and those they had to bury. Of those who were still alive, the majority would be dead by morning from their wounds, but they were nevertheless carried back to the field hospital that had been set up. It was disheartening work.
"I thought that the day was ours," Caffrey observed cynically. "If that's the case, why do we have so many more dead bodies than the enemy?"
"A good question," said Skoyles.
"I've lost count of the number of officers who've been killed."
"That was deliberate, Tom. Anybody wearing epaulets became a prime target." He fingered his sleeve. "I've got a few more holes in my uniform as a result."
"You should have stayed in the ranks, Jamie."
"The Americans took their toll of those as well."
Skoyles had joined the search because he wanted to find some of his own men who had been shot in the woodland where they had fought. Like others who accompanied the medical teams, he carried a musket, conscious that rebels would be hunting their own casualties as well and taking the opportunity to relieve fallen redcoats of their weapons at the same time. Occasional shots were exchanged in the dark. The battle was still not over.