Saratoga (45 page)

News that Jamie Skoyles was alive and uninjured brought the most intense relief to Elizabeth Rainham. It was the best possible birthday present for her. Like everyone else in the camp, she was appalled to hear of the fate of the British army, and of the loss of almost a half of the men whom General Burgoyne had led out that morning. Elizabeth was also saddened to learn that some of the officers whom she had come to know during her time with the army—Major John Dyke Acland, Sir Francis Clerke, Captain John Money, Major Griffith Williams, and Captain Thomas Blomfield—had all been wounded and taken prisoner. Brigadier General Simon Fraser was on his deathbed, and that troubled her most of all. The grim tidings, however, were tempered by the news about Jamie Skoyles.

Elizabeth knew that he would come to her eventually. There would be lots of things for him to do first, but she was prepared to wait. Seated on the camp bed, and by the light of half a dozen candles, she read from a book of poems that she had carried with her from England. The familiar words brought her pleasure, but she could not savor their magic to the full. Her mind was too preoccupied.

It was almost midnight before she heard the scrunch of footsteps outside her tent. Putting her book aside, Elizabeth stood up excitedly and adjusted her hair. When the tall, uniformed figure came into the tent, she rushed forward to put her arms around him, withdrawing at once when she realized that it was Harry Featherstone.

"Expecting someone else, were you?" he said accusingly.

"No, no," she lied. "Of course not."

"Then why did you pull away from me?"

"You shouldn't be here, Harry. I want to go to bed."

"Is that why you have you all these candles blazing?"

Featherstone had obviously been drinking. To fend off the misery of defeat—and of his failure to kill Jamie Skoyles—he had reached for a bottle of brandy. It had dulled his grief but sharpened his desire. As he gazed at Elizabeth in her night attire, he was aroused even more. She looked so beautiful and enticing. His eye then fell on her left hand. He moved toward her.

"Where's the ring I gave you?" he demanded.

"I always take it off at night."

"You swore to me that it would never leave your finger. When we exchanged rings at our betrothal, you gave me your solemn word that you'd wear mine forever."

"I'm not able to keep that promise, Harry."

"You must."

"No," she returned, "and you know the reason why."

"I'll not be thwarted, Elizabeth. There's too much at stake. You were mine when you set sail from England, and you'll
stay
mine."

"That's not possible."

"Yes, it is," he insisted, fumbling in his pocket. "It's your birthday and I have a present for you—something to show my love."

"Keep it, Harry."

"But I bought it for you."

"Keep it," she repeated, putting a hand on his wrist to prevent him from taking anything from his pocket. "Whatever it is, I don't want it. Everything between us is over. I'll never wear your ring again."

"Don't say that!" he snarled. "You're still betrothed to me."

"Not anymore. After what I've learned about you, I couldn't bear to be married to you—not even for Cora's sake. It's all over, Harry. Our betrothal is at an end." Elizabeth could not disguise the truth from him. "There's someone else in my life now."

"So that's why you rejected me last night."

"Yes, Harry."

"I have a rival. Now I wonder who that is," he said with a sneer. "Could it be the gallant Captain Skoyles? Have you fallen for his rather grisly charms? If you have, you're certainly not the only one, Elizabeth," he warned her. "You'll just the latest in a long line of conquests."

"I'd like you to leave."

"Or maybe the conquest has already taken place? Is
that
what's happened, Elizabeth? You refuse to let
me
come anywhere near you," he said resentfully, "but you let Skoyles put his grubby hands all over you."

"I want you to leave."

"No!"

"Please, Harry."

"I'll leave when I choose," he told her, pushing her toward the bed. "There's something that I want from you first, Elizabeth—something I've waited far too long to enjoy. And since you're ready to give it away free," he said, contemptuously, "then I'll take my share."

"Get out of here!" she cried.

"Afterward."

"Harry!"

"If I can't have you as a wife," he said, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders, "then I'll have you as a woman."

She tried to scream but he clapped a hand over her mouth. Forcing her down on the bed, Featherstone got on top of her and stifled her protest by kissing her full on the lips. The taste of brandy made her wince in disgust. His hands clutched at her breasts, his knee parted her thighs. No matter how hard she struggled, Elizabeth could not dislodge him. He was determined to take her by force. When she felt his sweaty palms on her naked body, she
went completely numb, too horrified at what was happening to offer even token resistance.

Featherstone gave a laugh of triumph and started to peel off his uniform. Before he had even removed his coat, however, he was seized from behind. Jamie Skoyles had rushed into the tent. Fury lent him extra power. When he saw what Featherstone was trying to do, he hauled him away from Elizabeth and flung the man to the ground. Sitting astride him, Skoyles hit him with an unrelenting series of punches that left him bruised, bleeding, and barely conscious. He then got both hands on the major's neck. If Elizabeth had not interceded, he would have strangled the man.

"Leave him, Jamie," she begged him. "That's enough, that's enough."

"He deserves to die for this," said Skoyles.

"Just get him out of here."

Taking the major by the throat, Skoyles pulled him upright. Blood was running from Featherstone's nose and from gashes above both eyes. Two of his teeth had been knocked out in the onslaught. Still badly dazed, he looked at Skoyles with a mixture of fear and hostility.

"If you come anywhere near Miss Rainham again," Skoyles warned, still holding him, "you'll answer to me. Is that clear?" The other man gave a grunt of defiance. Skoyles punched him hard in the stomach and made him double up with pain. "Is that clear, Major?"

Featherstone capitulated and gave a nod of assent. Opening the flap of the tent, Skoyles hurled him out into the darkness before turning to embrace Elizabeth. She was trembling from her ordeal and crying with gratitude. It was minutes before she was able to speak.

"It was terrifying," she confessed. "I'd never have believed that Harry could do such a thing. Whenever we met in England, he was always the perfect gentleman."

"The perfect gentleman tried to kill me on the battlefield."

"Never!"

"He did, Elizabeth. The major slashed at me with his sword when he thought I was off guard. He rode off before I could challenge him."

"That's dreadful!" she exclaimed. "You must report him."

"To whom? It would be my word against his, and who would believe the junior officer? No," he went on, "the only person who'd know that I was
telling the truth is Simon Fraser and he'll be dead by morning—God rest his soul!"

She was aghast. "You mean, Harry will get away with it?"

"Oh, I think he had his punishment in here just now," said Skoyles, kissing her on the forehead. "He realizes that you belong to me, and that's the worst punishment of all for the major. It's the thing he fears most—public humiliation."

"I was so worried that you might not come back to me, Jamie."

"Nobody was going to stop me."

"What will happen to us?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I can't believe that even General Burgoyne will be stupid enough to engage the enemy again. We suffered terrible losses in the field today. Our artillery is now in the hands of General Gates and his men. They could blow us to pieces."

"Will we have to surrender?"

"I see no other way out. When we had the chance to withdraw to safety, the General spurned it. As a result," he said, bitterly, "we lost half of our reconnaissance force and some of our best officers. I used to admire him in the past but not anymore. General Burgoyne has a lot to answer for, Elizabeth."

"He seemed so confident of victory."

"Sheer bravado. It cost hundreds of lives."

"Supposing he's forced to surrender," she said. "What then?"

Skoyles shrugged. "That's up to the rebels. My guess is that the soldiers will be taken prisoner and marched off somewhere so that we can take no further part in the war."

"What about the rest of us?"

"There'll be other arrangements."

Elizabeth was alarmed. "We'll be
separated?
"

"I'm afraid so," he said. "But you'll be treated kindly. General Gates is not a vindictive man. He, too, was an English gentleman once." He pulled her close and kissed her gently on the lips. "Whatever happens—wherever you go—I'll find you, Elizabeth."

"How?"

"I've no idea, to be honest. I just know that I will. As long as you stay in America, I'll track you down. This war won't go on forever."

"General Burgoyne thought that it would be over by Christmas."

"I never believed it would be that easy."

"He gambled everything on winning."

"There's a lot more fighting to come yet."

"And will you be involved in it, Jamie?"

"Of course," he said proudly. "I'm a soldier. Fighting is my profession. It's what I love. It's what I do best. I'm ready for the next battle, Elizabeth. I'm just relieved that I won't have to fight it under the command of General Burgoyne."

"And meanwhile?" she asked.

"Meanwhile," he said, mindful of his vow to be honest with her, "you need to know a little more about me, Elizabeth. We must talk."

Only the American officers were given the privilege of a single grave. The rank and file who had been killed in the battle were put into large pits that had been dug near Bemis Heights. Ezekiel Proudfoot watched as his brother's body was lowered into the mass grave. Even in death, there was a rebellious quality about him, a defiance that not even a redcoat officer's sword could cut out of his heart. Reuben lay between a man from a New Hampshire Regiment and another from the 11th Virginia Rifle Corps. They all belonged to the same regiment now.

When the chaplain had conducted the burial service, those present filed past the graves and tossed a handful of earth onto them. Proudfoot noticed that Lieutenant Colonel John Brooks, his brother's commander, was among them. He went over to him.

"Excuse me, Colonel," he said. "My name is Ezekiel Proudfoot. My brother, Reuben, was glad to serve under you, sir."

"Thank you, Mr. Proudfoot. Your brother did not let us down."

"Does anyone know how he was killed?"

"It was while we were trying to storm a redoubt."

"Was he killed by a redcoat?"

"No," said Brooks, "it was probably by a German grenadier."

Proudfoot was satisfied. Somehow the information made his brother's death easier to bear. Collecting a handful of earth, he dropped it over Reuben's upturned face, then walked sadly away.

"Unconditional surrender!" Burgoyne exploded, throwing the letter aside. "Horatio Gates must have taken leave of his senses. While I still have red blood in my veins, I'll surrender to nobody."

"Least of all to a vile toad like Gates," said William Phillips.

"It would go against the grain."

Jamie Skoyles gave a rough translation for the benefit of General Riedesel. The British army had withdrawn to Saratoga and the four men were in the house that had once belonged to General Schuyler. Burgoyne was far too impatient to speak in French to Riedesel and requested Skoyles's aid as an interpreter. The captain was glad to be present at such an important discussion. When the German commander made a comment, Skoyles translated it for the others.

"The general feels that the retreat was handled badly," he said. "He believes that we should have pushed on while he covered our rear."

"How could we push on when the men were falling asleep on their feet?" asked Burgoyne. "We all needed to rest."

"Yes," Phillips added. "The troops were so exhausted when we got here that they didn't even have the strength to cut wood and light fires. They just dropped to the ground in the pouring rain and lay there. I've never seen such a bedraggled army."

"If we'd struggled on," Skoyles resumed, "then we would have got clear of Saratoga before the rebels cut off our escape route. That's what worries General Riedesel."

"He is not in command of this army," said Burgoyne peremptorily. "Nor is he even my deputy. Remind him of that, Skoyles."

When he translated the words into German, Skoyles's tone was much more emollient. He received a nod of thanks from Riedesel. By rights, Skoyles knew, the man should have been second in command because it was a position that no artillery officer could hold. Distrusting the German, and wanting his friend to act as his deputy, Burgoyne had gotten round army rules by appointing William Phillips in second place as an emergency measure.

"What will Gates do next, General?" said Phillips.

"Make another crucial mistake, I expect," replied Burgoyne. "He's made
two already. He should have chased us from the battlefield when he had the chance, and he should never have sent that absurd demand for unconditional surrender. The man is unfit to command."

"Nevertheless, he does hold all the cards."

"Only until Clinton gets here."

"We can hardly rely on that," said Phillips. "The last report put him at Fort Montgomery. That's well over a hundred miles away."

General Riedesel whispered something to Skoyles.

"What's he muttering now, Captain?" said Burgoyne tetchily.

Skoyles translated. "The general wishes to know if you've reached a decision, sir."

"Of course, I've reached a decision. I refuse the terms point-blank."

"And the alternative?"

"We play for time. Tell that to the general," Burgoyne advised him, "then you can take that lugubrious countenance of his out of here. No further discussion is needed."