Saratoga (40 page)

Caffrey examined another wounded man, gave him a few cheery words of comfort as he bandaged his wound, then helped him onto a stretcher to be borne away. He looked wistfully after him.

"Lieutenant Osborne will be dead within an hour," he said.

"Was there nothing you could do, Tom?"

"You saw his arm. It was virtually shot away. He's lost so much blood that the wonder of it is that he's still alive now. What gives a man the willpower to hold on like that?"

"I don't know," said Skoyles, "but I admire his courage."

"If only that were enough!"

They were in woodland now, moving warily among the trees in search of survivors from the 24th Foot. One corpse they found was eerily lifelike, seated
on a log with his back against the trunk of an oak, looking for all the world as if he was simply resting. Caffrey identified six different bullet wounds in his chest. A second man was discovered with a yawning gap where his nose had been, a third with his intestines spilled out in front of him. A private, found alive, was examined by Caffrey and dispatched to the hospital. Skoyles was attracted by faint moans deeper in the wood.

"I think I know that voice," he said, quickening his steps. "It sounds like Charlie Westbourne."

"Then let's find him."

"Once we engaged the enemy, I lost sight of him."

They followed the pitiful lament and eventually tracked him down. Lieutenant Westbourne had been sensible. Shot in the thigh and unable to walk, he had dragged himself into the shelter of a bush and stemmed the bleeding by taking off his jacket so that he could use his shirt as a bandage. His sword had been employed to make a tourniquet, twisting the bandage tight around his limb. Westbourne was thrilled to see familiar faces conjured out of the gloom.

"Thank you, thank you," he said, effusively. "I prayed that somebody would come."

"You've done my work for me, sir," noted Caffrey, inspecting the wound. "All we need to do is to get you back and I'll take that bullet out of your leg. I wish that everyone had your instinct for survival."

"I was shot in the first charge. I felt as if I'd been amputated."

"With luck, we can save the leg."

"And a fine officer with it," added Skoyles.

"What was the outcome, Captain?" asked Westbourne. "All that I could do was to lie here and listen to the battle. It seemed to go on forever." He smiled hopefully. "Did we win?"

"According to General Burgoyne, we did."

"What's your assessment?"

"At best, an honorable draw," said Skoyles, "with this worrying addendum. We committed our whole army. General Gates kept a large part of his men back, yet the troops who fought still held their ground. That will encourage them."

"And they'll have other militias coming in all the time," said Caffrey. "As
our numbers dwindle, theirs will swell. This is not what I'd describe as a resounding victory."

"But we held the field?" said Westbourne.

"Yes, Lieutenant—and all the corpses that cover it. Let's get you a stretcher," he went on. "I'm afraid you'll face something of an ordeal when we get back to the hospital."

"The bullet must come out, Sergeant. I can bear the pain."

"I'm not talking about your wound, sir. You're going to undergo an experience you've never had before, so brace yourself now."

"Why?"

"When I've finished with you," teased Caffrey, "I'm going to pass you on to one of the nurses. You'll be in the tender hands of a woman at last, Lieutenant. Can you endure
that
pain?"

After a long time apart from his brother, Ezekiel Proudfoot was overjoyed to see him again. Reuben had joined the rebel camp with one of the Massachusetts regiments in the Continental Army. Though the soldier was bigger and more powerful and had a darker complexion than Ezekiel, there was a strong family likeness between them. In the wake of the battle of Freeman's Farm, they found a moment to catch up on each other's news. Reuben was interested to see his brother's sketches of the battle and frustrated that he had not been directly involved in it.

"General Gates should have given us the chance to take them on," he said, handing the sketches back to Proudfoot. "By all accounts, we had the British on the defensive."

"No doubt about that, Reuben."

"Had we sent in more men, we could've destroyed them."

"That was Benedict Arnold's claim," said Proudfoot, "but I'm afraid that General Gates disagreed with him. In fact, he's accusing Arnold of insubordination because he dispatched troops without permission."

"The British army was coming at us. That's permission enough."

"You and Arnold are obviously of the same mind."

"We are," said the other. "I regard Arnold as a real hero. He should have been given command of the Northern Department. Time and again, he's
proved himself in battle. When did General Gates ever take part in a serious engagement?"

"This morning, Reuben."

"What do you mean?"

"He had a violent quarrel with General Arnold, who is not a man to mind his language. Some of the insults they fired at each other could be clearly heard by all of us close to the tent. General Gates may not have earned a reputation on the battlefield," said Proudfoot, "but he'll not shirk a fight with his staff officers. He was bristling with anger."

"What did he say?"

"That he was taking Daniel Morgan's men under his own direct command, and that he might have no further use for Arnold."

Reuben was flabbergasted. "No further use for him?" he cried. "He's the best soldier we have. It's madness to get rid of him. Everyone who fought in the battle says that Arnold was a magnificent leader."

"He was." Proudfoot held up his sketch of Benedict Arnold. "That's why I tried to capture him on paper."

"Yes, it's a good likeness," said Reuben admiringly. "You've caught him in action, which is where he wants to be."

"Arnold will fight all day for our cause. He makes me proud to be an American. With a leader like that, we've someone to rival Burgoyne."

"Envy is at work here, Ezekiel. I think that Gates wants to rob a better man of his share of the glory."

"Too true. From what I hear, Arnold is barely mentioned in the account of the battle that Gates sent to Congress. It's almost as if he never took part in the engagement."

"That's plain dishonest."

"Everyone who was there knows that."

"Battles are won by generals who lead their men in the field, not by those who hide in their tents like Gates." Reuben bunched his fists. "We have the numbers. We have the advantage. Why doesn't our commander let Arnold take us out there to finish them off?"

"Because we're desperately short of ammunition."

"I'd fight with my bare hands, if need be."

"Not against those bayonets, Reuben. Even you wouldn't be that rash. No," said Proudfoot, "what happened at Freeman's Farm depleted our supply
of ammunition badly. The quartermaster has sent an urgent message to General Schuyler in Albany, telling him of our plight."

"Schuyler!" snorted the other. "What use is he?"

"We need someone to help us out."

Reuben Proudfoot was impatient. Having joined the army in search of action, he hated to be deprived of it by what he saw as the perverse decisions of his commander. With the burly physique of a farmer, and the skill of a true marksman, he was a good soldier, spurred on by high ideals to do what he could to drive the British out of America. Uncertain motives had brought many young men into the army. Reuben was not one of them. He was a republican with a missionary ardor.

"Do you remember Jamie?" his brother asked.

"Who?"

"Jamie Skoyles. He stayed with us at the farm all those years ago."

"Yes, I remember him," said Reuben. "The last I heard, he was a sergeant in one of the British regiments."

"It's Captain Jamie Skoyles of the 24th Foot now."

"You mean, that he's
here
, fighting against us?"

"Yes, Reuben. When I was taken prisoner, he did me a favor."

"I hope he expects none from me in exchange."

"No, that debt has already been settled."

"I liked Jamie when he was with us, and I know that he became a close friend of yours, but that makes no difference to me," warned Reuben. "If he's a redcoat, he's an enemy that has to be destroyed. I'm sorry, Ezekiel. Don't expect me to show him any mercy."

"It's very unlikely that you'll meet on the battlefield."

"I hope that we do. All that I'll see is another target for my rifle. A captain, is he?" he said with a grim smile. "Then I'll take even greater pleasure in killing Jamie Skoyles."

The field hospital consisted of a row of tents and a deserted barn that had been taken over by the British surgeons. So many soldiers had been wounded in battle that there was not room under cover for all of them. Some were left out in the open, propped against trees or sleeping on a blanket on the ground. Jamie Skoyles made the rounds of his own men, pleased that there were relatively
few of them since the 24th Foot was not heavily involved in the battle. With the bullet removed from his thigh, Lieutenant Charles Westbourne was among those who would recover. Days after the engagement, he lay on a bed of straw in a corner of the barn.

"How are you feeling now, Lieutenant?" asked Skoyles.

"Rather fraudulent, if truth be told."

"Fraudulent?"

"Yes," said Westbourne, looking around. "Compared to most people here, I got off lightly. Sergeant Caffrey had to carry out several amputations to keep people alive, and some have got wounds that will take months to heal. Last night," he added with a shiver, "the burial detail never stopped. Among others, they took away the man lying beside me. He'd been shot in the throat and died in great pain."

"Like so many others," Skoyles observed sadly. "Instant death is not a blessing that everyone enjoys on a battlefield. Still," he went on, trying to sound more positive, "I rejoice in your good fortune. Tom Caffrey tells me that you'll make a full recovery in time."

"I want to be ready for the next battle, Captain."

"There's no hope of that."

"Why? Is General Burgoyne intending to strike again soon?"

"Left to him, we'd have attacked on the day after the battle," said Skoyles, "but, luckily, his senior officers objected to such reckless action, and the news from General Clinton resolved the issue."

"What news is that?"

"Good tidings at last, Lieutenant. Reinforcements have finally arrived in New York City, enabling Clinton to lead a foray up the Hudson in our favor."

"Then we are saved!"

"Not necessarily," said Skoyles, introducing a note of caution. "They have a long way to come and will need to reduce some forts on the way, but the threat of an attack from Clinton will scare the enemy. That will definitely help us. The word from New York City also helps to take away the unpleasant taste of other news that's just come in."

"Oh?"

"It seems that the American militia attacked the portage between Lake Champlain and Lake George. Under the command of General Lincoln, they
captured the men we left there, released the rebel prisoners being held, and burned all our sloops and bateaux."

Westbourne was shocked. "All our vessels?" he gasped.

"Our supply line to Canada went up in flames."

"Pray God that Sir Henry Clinton comes soon!"

"There's no way back for us." Skoyles saw that Polly Bragg was approaching them. "Ah, here's your nurse. I'll bid you farewell."

"No, no," said Westbourne, "don't leave me alone with her."

"She's only coming to change the dressing on your leg. I think it's high time that you overcame your fear of women, don't you? They've done splendid work for us here, in the worst possible conditions."

Skoyles greeted Polly Bragg and handed the patient over to her. Westbourne tried to detain him so that he would not be alone with a woman, but Skoyles was more interested in speaking to another of the nurses. Elizabeth Rainham was outside the barn, holding a canteen of water to the lips of a wounded man with bandaging around his eyes. She looked tired and harried. Her hair was tousled. Skoyles waved to her and she came across to him, taking care not to tread on any of the supine bodies on the ground. Skoyles noticed that the edge of her skirt was besmirched with mud. When she got close to him, he could see the perspiration on her brow.

"You should take a rest," he advised her.

"I'm needed here, Captain."

"You've been on duty for hours."

"I'll do anything I can to help," she said, "and so will Nan. It would be cruel and selfish of us to remain in our tent while there's so much suffering that could be allayed here. We've seen what Mrs. Bragg and the other women have been able to do for the casualties. Nan and I were anxious to lend them our support."

"It's much appreciated, Miss Rainham."

Talking to her in public imposed a formality on Skoyles that felt artificial now that they had become so close. He drew her aside into the shade of a tree so that they had a small measure of privacy. She gave him a weary smile of thanks.

"I'll wager that you never expected to be doing anything like this when you set sail from England," he said, desperate to touch her but afraid to do so. "I hope that it's not too much of a shock for you."

"I was terrified at first," she admitted. "I was given the impression that I'd spend the whole campaign involved in nothing more than pleasant social occasions." She displayed her reddened palms. "Instead of which, I end up with blood on my hands."

"Has it frightened you away from army life?"

"Not if I can be near you, Jamie."

"Thank you," he said, hearing the deep affection in her voice. "It would almost be worth getting wounded so that you could tend me."

"No, no!" she pleaded. "Don't say that."

"It was a joke, Elizabeth."

"The very thought of it upsets me," she said. "It's only by the grace of God that you were not killed or wounded at Bennington or in the battle here. Look at these poor men," she went on, glancing at the field hospital. "Some of them have hideous injuries. The man I was giving water to just now was blinded in the battle. Others have lost arms, legs, or part of their faces. Their lives will never be the same again."