Authors: David Garland
"Would you simply let them wither on the vine?"
"No, sir. I'd consider an early withdrawal."
"Withdrawal?" said Featherstone with disgust. "That's sheer cowardice, Captain."
"It's common sense," said Fraser, "and it's what I advocated myself. Among others, I was backed by General Riedesel."
"The Germans are always the first to retreat."
"That's unjust, Harry."
"And ungrateful of you," Skoyles added. "The Germans saved us at Hubbardton and again at Freeman's Farm. They deserve more than a sneer from you, Major."
"The Brunswickers and the Hessians share the same faults," said Featherstone. "They're too slow, too methodical, and, as a rule, too late."
"Would you rather fight without them?"
"If they could be replaced by British soldiers."
"That's a luxury none of our commanders can hope for, Harry," said Fraser. "With an insufficient army, we are forced to hire foreign mercenaries. I'm happy to have them with us."
"So am I, sir," said Skoyles.
"Well, I'm not," said Featherstone. "I mean, they don't even have the decency to learn our language."
Skoyles smiled. "Have you had the decency to learn
theirs
, sir?"
"Of course not! It's a barbarous tongue."
"This is no time to quarrel about that, Harry," said Fraser briskly. "Now
that I've acquainted you with the general's orders, keep them to yourselves. We must not alarm the men. As Jamie pointed out, there's always the danger that tomorrow's venture may lead to a battle."
"I hope and pray that it does!" Featherstone exclaimed.
"Then you must also hope and pray that you come through it unscathed. We know that the rebels have a huge advantage in numbers. We also know that they have a tribe of Iroquois on their side. That means that they'll be a much tougher proposition than they were last time."
"We have our artillery, sir," noted Skoyles, "with Major Phillips to deploy it. That could tilt the balance in our favor."
"Quite so, Jamie. But, whatever happens, there are bound to be losses. Tonight is the time to write letters to your families and loved ones," he suggested, "in case you are in no position to do so tomorrow." He looked at Featherstone. "Take leave of Miss Rainham while you may, Harry. There's no use pretending that we'll all come back alive."
A strange look came into the major's eye. He glanced at Skoyles.
"No, sir," he said quietly. "We must confront the truth. Some of us are doomed to perish on the battlefield."
Polly Bragg delivered the letter and Nan Wyatt passed it on to her mistress. Elizabeth Rainham read it with a mixture of concern and excitement, dismayed to learn that Skoyles was part of a force that would leave camp on the morrow, yet elated at the thought he would pay her a farewell visit that night. Unfortunately for her, he was not the only one. Conscious that he might be taking part in another fierce engagement, Harry Featherstone sought to use that fact to his advantage. He called on Elizabeth in her tent and tried to play on her sympathy.
"We're being deployed tomorrow," he told her.
"Another battle?" she said, pretending to be surprised.
"More than likely. This may be the last time we meet."
"Don't say that, Harry!"
"The possibility has to be faced. You saw how many casualties we had the last time we fought them. I may join their ranks tomorrow."
"I hope not."
"Do you mean that, Elizabeth?"
"Of course, I do."
"Then you still care enough about me?"
Elizabeth was in a quandary. Anxious to get rid of him before Skoyles came, she could not do that by telling him the truth. It would lead to a protracted argument and send Featherstone off in search of his rival. On the other hand, if she expressed an affection that she did not really feel, she would be misleading him.
"I asked you a question," he said.
"I know."
"Do you still care?"
"I care for anyone who's about to fight in a battle," she said.
"That's not what I want to hear, Elizabeth. Don't you realize what I'm telling you? The enemy has a huge advantage in numbers. If we do take them on, you may never see me again."
"I'll pray that that's not the case."
"I was hoping for more than prayer."
"You have my full sympathy, Harry."
"There are better ways of expressing sympathy," he said, reaching out to stroke her hair. "Let's put our differences behind us, shall we? I know that I've let you down in some ways and I'm profoundly sorry about that, but I feel that none of that matters now. Let's forget it."
"If you wish."
"Try to remember what brought us together in the first place. To me, you were never just a replacement for Cora. You were so much more than that. You were your own woman and I loved you for it." He took her by the shoulders. "Be mine again, Elizabeth. Just for tonight—be mine again."
"No, Harry."
"Even though I may be killed tomorrow? Please—let me stay. We may not have that wedding in Albany, or even in Canterbury Cathedral, but we can spend just one night as man and wife, can't we?" He pulled her close. "I
want
you, Elizabeth. I've earned you, surely."
"No," she said, breaking away. "You can't ask that of me."
"Isn't it why you came all this way from England?"
"I came to be with the man I love, Harry, not to be tricked into bed like this. It's wrong of you to ask," she chided. "I expected better of you."
He needed time to compose himself and to change his approach. Seeing that he blundered, Featherstone tried to make amends.
"I apologize," he said. "It was foolish of me to think that I could snatch a few hours of pleasure before I go off tomorrow. It was unfair to you, Elizabeth, and I hope that you'll forgive me."
"I will if you leave me alone, Harry."
"Just tell me that you still care—then I'll go."
He took her by the hand and looked deep into her eyes. Elizabeth felt threatened. She did not want to lie but it was the only way to get rid of him. She even conjured up a smile.
"Yes, Harry. I still care."
He kissed her hand, gave her a token bow, then left the tent. She felt so dizzy that she had to sit on the edge of the camp bed. It was a long time since she and Featherstone had been alone together and the rift between them had widened. After his conduct that night, it had widened even more. Elizabeth cared for him enough to hope that he would come through any battle unscathed but she feared having to face him again.
With a deliberate effort, she cleared her mind of Harry Featherstone and thought only of the person who had replaced him in her affections. While she waited for him to come, Elizabeth whiled away the time reflecting on the changes that he had wrought in her life. Having left England in order to be with one man, she could only envisage her future with someone else now. Captain Jamie Skoyles had none of the prospects or social advantages enjoyed by Harry Featherstone, but that did not matter. In every way, Skoyles was the better man—more honest, more honorable, more interesting, more reliable, and much more able to make her feel like a real woman. While Featherstone was more acceptable to her parents, she knew that she had made the right choice.
Long before he arrived, Elizabeth had reached her decision. Given the fact that Skoyles might be involved in hostilities on the following day, it was tempting Providence to make too many plans for a future together. He was hers, here and now. She had to seize her opportunity. It was a huge and dangerous step to take. Elizabeth would be flouting convention and doing something that she had been taught to regard as anathema. She would also be committing an act of betrayal against the man to whom she was betrothed and whom she had sworn to love forever.
Notwithstanding all that, she was still ready to follow her heart. In circumstances like the present ones, her upbringing counted for nothing. Rules
of behavior during a war were instinctive rather than imposed. Elizabeth was ready to brave disapproval and surrender to her emotions. When Skoyles finally arrived, she ran to his arms.
"You got my letter?" he asked.
"Yes, Jamie. It upset me very much."
"Why?"
"Because you may be fighting another battle."
"Not until tomorrow, Elizabeth. In fact—"
"Don't say anything else," she said, putting a hand to his lips. "We may only have tonight. Let's not waste a moment of it."
She clung to him for a moment with an element of desperation. Then she stepped back, looked lovingly up at him, and began to unhook her dress. Jamie Skoyles smiled and stared in wonder at her. Elizabeth Rainham was his at last. She was no longer beyond his reach. He felt an upsurge of love that swept aside all other considerations.
Maria Quinn was not even a faint memory.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A
re you sure, Ezekiel?" he asked, grabbing his brother anxiously by the arm. "Is that what General Gates said?"
"Word for word. I was in his tent, Reuben."
"He's forbidden Benedict Arnold to join in any battle?"
"I'm afraid so," said Proudfoot.
"Then he's lost all my respect. What's wrong with Gates?" said Reuben, upset at the confirmation of his worst fears. "Has he never heard of Arnold's trek to Canada? How he built a navy to take on the British on Lake Champlain? Has he forgotten who raised the siege at Fort Stanwix?" He released Proudfoot's arm. "And don't remind me that it was renamed after General Schuyler," he went on, angrily, "because he's another useless commander who should be taken out and shot."
"You're being unfair to Schuyler. It was he who persuaded the Iroquois to join us. More importantly," Proudfoot continued, "the general responded to Gates's urgent call for more ammunition by sending out men to strip the lead from the windows of Albany, so that it could be melted down and poured into bullet molds. He deserves thanks."
"Perhaps," said the other grudgingly.
"You might even learn to use the name of Fort Schuyler."
"That's too much to ask of me, Ezekiel. I'll not forgive him or Granny Gates for letting General Arnold down. Don't they recognize genius when they see it?"
The brothers were strolling near the edge of the camp at Bemis Heights. It was the morning of October 7, 1777, and Reuben Proudfoot was even more irritated by what he assumed was the unwillingness of General Gates to meet the enemy in battle again. Ezekiel Proudfoot took a more rounded view of affairs.
Having met both Gates and Benedict Arnold—and having committed both of their portraits to paper—he had his own opinions of the two men.
"Arnold's genius is plain for all to see," said Proudfoot. "The problem is that he's only too aware of it himself. It makes him arrogant."
"He's entitled to be arrogant."
"Not in the presence of his commander."
"You are surely not taking Gates's side here?" Reuben challenged him.
"I take no side at all. I'm simply saying that Benedict Arnold can sometimes be his own worst enemy."
"Horseshit!"
"He is, Reuben. He's wild and undisciplined."
"That's what makes him such a great leader."
"Even great leaders must learn to obey orders."
"What orders?" cried Reuben. "All we've done since we got here is to sit on our hands. Gates hasn't even allowed us to go out on patrol. How can we fight for liberty if we're penned up here on Bemis Heights?"
Proudfoot had no answer. He loved his brother but had never shared his pugnacity. Even as a boy, Reuben had enjoyed a fight for its own sake and he hated to be kept away from any action. Conquest of the British army did not just mean a military victory to him. It would herald a Republic of the United States of America, and Reuben was more than ready to lay down his life in that cause.
Drums began to beat in the distance. Reuben identified the sound.
"That's a call to arms from our advance guard!"
"Are you sure?"
"I should be, Ezekiel," he said, embracing his brother. "I've been waiting to hear it for weeks now. The British are coming. Granny Gates will have to let us fight now."
Serious doubts about the reconnaissance expedition had afflicted Jamie Skoyles beforehand. When the men set out late that morning, his doubts had hardened into fears. Skoyles was worried by the size of the force that General Burgoyne led out of the camp. If the sole aim was to reconnoiter enemy positions, a hundred men would suffice and draw far less attention to themselves. As it was, the fifteen hundred soldiers were supplemented by Canadians, Indians,
and loyalists, taking the total to over two thousand, and making it impossible for them to move with any stealth. Apart from the creaking of the ammunition wagons and the sounds of the heavy guns being hauled over the crisp, dry leaves in the woodland, there was the steady beating of drums to alert the enemy.
Taking so many men away also weakened the defenses at the camp, and that also disturbed Skoyles, because it left the remaining soldiers vulnerable to enemy attack. Burgoyne's decision to move forward was a colossal gamble, but Skoyles—a seasoned gambler himself—felt that it was doomed from the start. On a personal level, the expedition robbed him of any chance to revel in his memories of a blessed night spent in the arms of Elizabeth Rainham. There was an added poignancy Elizabeth's twenty-first birthday fell on October 7, and he would not be there to help her celebrate it. Instead, he would be following the orders of a man whose judgment he—and many others—considered to be ruinously defective.
Gentleman Johnny was untroubled by any doubts. Leading an army of British and German professional soldiers, he felt capable of taking on any opposition. Yet the men who had cheered him before they departed from the camp were not fresh troops. They were tired, hungry, and exasperated. Regular attacks from rebel skirmishers at night meant that they were deprived of sleep, and their meager rations were barely enough to sustain them. They were no longer the well-drilled army that had left Canada on a wave of optimism, but a ragged collection of individuals who had difficulty in dressing their lines.
As at the battle of Freeman's Farm, the British army was divided into three elements. Brigadier Simon Fraser occupied the right with the 24th Foot, supported by the light infantry under the Earl of Balcarres. General Riedesel was situated in the center with some of Colonel Breymann's grenadiers and four artillery pieces. Major Acland and the British grenadiers marched on the left flank, with heavy artillery in support. The three columns advanced beyond the two British redoubts that had been constructed. When they emerged from woodland into a wheat field, they were spread out over a wide area.