Authors: David Garland
"I stand by what I said."
"Even though the men were vicious savages?"
"I've seen people die of smallpox," said Skoyles. "Lots of them. I'd not wish that kind of death on anyone. It's hideous."
"War is war," Burgoyne announced seriously. "When faced with atrocities, we sometimes have to resort to extreme measures. It may be regrettable, but our hand is forced." He smiled at Skoyles. "I'm pleased that, after his
brush with General Amherst, one audacious young soldier learned the importance of abiding by the decisions of his superiors."
"I did, sir," Skoyles admitted.
"Jamie's point is still valid," Fraser reminded them. "We have to keep the Indians on a tight rein. They're far too unpredictable. That's why he's volunteered to go to Ticonderoga on his own."
"Is that wise?" asked Burgoyne. "You'd be taking a big risk."
"I don't think so, General," said Skoyles. "Now that the horses have arrived, I can move much faster. Mr. McIntosh has kindly offered to act as my guide. I can carry out the reconnaissance that I'd hoped to complete yesterday. "
"You'll find that everything I told you is accurate," said McIntosh.
"There are some things that you didn't tell us."
Burgoyne hesitated. "Are you happy about this, Simon?"
"Yes, sir," Fraser replied, confidently. "Jamie is very experienced in this kind of work. I have complete faith in him."
"For what it's worth," said McIntosh, "so do I."
"In that case," Burgoyne decided, "the pair of you can get on your way. Oh, one moment," he added before the two men could move. "You might find this useful, Skoyles." He searched in a bag and extracted a small telescope. "Be sure to bring it back to me, mind. It has great sentimental value. It was a present from General Amherst." He held it out. "And it's not infected with any disease, I promise you."
"Thank you, sir," said Skoyles.
Taking the telescope, he led the way out and headed for his tent. McIntosh went off to get the horses so that Skoyles could change out of his uniform. Before he reached his tent, however, Skoyles was waylaid by Major Harry Featherstone.
"I hear that your scouting trip was a failure," he remarked.
"We were ambushed in the woods," said Skoyles.
"One man against four of you? Pretty good odds, I'd say."
"Not when the man is concealed in the undergrowth with a Kentucky rifle. It's much more accurate than our muskets. Besides, he paid with his life."
"With his life, his balls, and his American prick," said Featherstone, laughing harshly. "Serves him right in my view. The mistake you made was to
cut the bastard down. He was an enemy soldier. I'd have left him dangling there as a warning to others."
"Enemy or not," asserted Skoyles, "I believe that a dead man should be treated with some respect—not mutilated for sport. Instead of warning others, a dangling corpse would only have incited more rebels to fight against us."
"All the more of them for us to kill!"
"There'll be no shortage of targets for us to aim at, Major. When I get back from Ticonderoga, I'll bring details of the garrison. General Burgoyne is sending me there on my own this time."
Featherstone was incensed. "I've been passed over
again?
"
"Don't take it personally, Major."
"But it's an insult to me."
"Only if you choose to take it as such."
"How else am I to take it, man?" the other demanded. "I'm ideally suited for this work, and the opportunity has been denied me because you managed to curry favor with Gentleman Johnny."
"I resent that, sir," said Skoyles, squaring his shoulders. "The one thing that I'll not be accused of is using flattery to achieve my ends. I must ask you to take that back."
Harry Featherstone glared at him for a second, then regained his composure. Emitting a brittle laugh, he patted Skoyles on the arm.
"I take it back at once, Jamie," he said smoothly. "Banish the words from your memory. You wouldn't know what flattery was. The reason you were selected is that you are considered the better man and I must live with that judgment."
"Thank you, sir."
"Good fortune go with you!"
Featherstone's smile did not reach his eyes.
Taking part in a military campaign was not at all as Elizabeth Rainham had envisaged it. Though there had been no action yet, she was finding the experience tedious and uncomfortable. Outbursts of torrential rain had hindered their progress, followed by days of muggy heat that made her itch and perspire. Dinner was the only pleasant occasion of the day, taken, more often than not, with General Burgoyne and his senior officers, and involving some
heavy drinking on the part of the men. There was a mood of gaiety that struck Elizabeth as strangely out of step with a major military undertaking.
Only two other women usually joined her at table. One of them was Friederika von Riedesel, wife of the German commander, a short, slim woman with an elfin beauty that was quite luminous. Elizabeth admired her bravery in traveling with her three young daughters into what would soon be hostile territory. Neither Friederika nor her husband spoke any English, but Elizabeth knew enough French to communicate with both of them. She was surprised to learn that their marriage had been arranged, when it was patent that it was a true love match.
The presence of the other woman at the table was more puzzling to Elizabeth at first. She could not understand why Lucinda Mallard, the wife of a lowly commissary officer, was given the privilege of dining with the general. It took time for the truth to emerge, for she had always known John Burgoyne as a respectable and trusted family friend. When she realized that he had taken another man's wife as his mistress, she was deeply shocked, all the more so because the general behaved as if there were nothing untoward in such an arrangement. Elizabeth was confused. General Riedesel and his wife were a perfect example of a happy marriage. Burgoyne and Lucinda Mallard represented a very different side of army life.
She was still disturbed by it all as she wandered through the camp in search of her maid. Nan was talking to another woman when Elizabeth approached, and she immediately broke off the conversation to come across to her mistress.
"Who was that?" asked Elizabeth.
"Oh, that was Polly Bragg," Nan replied, cheerfully. "She's such a pleasant woman. I could talk to her for hours."
"Could you?"
"Yes, she's been with the 24th Foot for a year now. Polly knows everybody, ma'am. She was telling me about Captain Skoyles."
"Indeed?"
Elizabeth's interest was immediately aroused. Even though she had not seen him since they met in Montreal, she was still curious about him. Nan Wyatt knew her well enough to sense that curiosity. Plump, amiable, and rosy-cheeked, Nan was a bustling woman in her forties, with an effervescence of someone half her age and a readiness to meet any challenge without a whisper
of protest. During the worst days of their horrendous Atlantic crossing, Nan had been a great support to Elizabeth and was more like a second mother than a maid.
"Why is Polly Bragg traveling with us?" Elizabeth wondered.
"For the same reason as you—she wishes to be with her man."
"Is her husband in Major Featherstone's regiment?"
"He's in the regiment," said Nan, "but he's not her husband. Not yet, anyway, but Polly hopes that he will be one day." She saw the slight blush in Elizabeth's cheeks and gave a tolerant smile. "It's not the sort of thing that would be allowed in Canterbury, ma'am, but it obviously works. Polly is able to help him."
"Who?"
"Her man—Sergeant Tom Caffrey. He's an assistant surgeon. Polly acts as a nurse. She's seen the most gruesome sights in battle. Some of her tales made my stomach turn, yet she takes it all in her stride. It was Polly who tended Private Higgs."
"Private Higgs?"
"The man who was flogged for being drunk on duty," said Nan. "I'm surprised that Major Featherstone didn't tell you about it, ma'am."
"Why should he?"
"Because he was the person who caught the man and ordered his punishment. Sixty lashes, apparently." Elizabeth blanched. "Polly says that there was hardly any skin left on his back when they finished. She and Sergeant Caffrey nursed him through it."
"Very commendable of her," said Elizabeth, keen to get off the subject of the flogging. "But you mentioned Captain Skoyles."
"Did you know that he went on a dangerous scouting expedition?"
"No, I didn't."
"It was yesterday, ma'am. It turns out that Sergeant Caffrey is a particular friend of Captain Skoyles. That's how Polly got to hear of it."
"What happened, Nan?"
The maid needed no more encouragement. Taking a deep breath, she launched into her narrative, recalling as much as she could of what Polly Bragg had told her and introducing a few dramatic flourishes of her own. Elizabeth listened with growing concern, fearing for Skoyles's safety until she was assured that he had returned to Crown Point. One thing perplexed her.
"Major Featherstone told me that
he
was likely to lead a scouting expedition to Fort Ticonderoga," she recalled.
"Captain Skoyles was chosen before him, ma'am."
"Oh, I see."
"He has a reputation for this kind of work."
"He obviously brought some decency to bear on a disgusting situation. I know that they're supposed to be on our side, but what those Indians did to their prisoner was barbaric. It was almost inhuman."
"That's why he didn't want them with him today," said Nan.
"Who?"
"Captain Skoyles, of course. He told Sergeant Caffrey that he was hoping to go to Ticonderoga on his own."
"On his own?" Elizabeth was alarmed.
"Don't fret about it, ma'am," said Nan, squeezing her arm. "Polly told me that the captain is very resourceful. He's well able to look after himself."
The journey to Ticonderoga was slow. Jamie Skoyles's real problem was to stop his loquacious companion from talking too much and thereby distracting him. He wanted to remain alert to any potential dangers. On the other hand, he was very grateful for McIntosh's help in finding a way on horseback through the thick woodland. Skoyles was wearing his hunting shirt and a pair of buckskin breeches again, enabling him to blend into his surroundings. Tucked away in his saddlebag was the telescope entrusted to him by General Burgoyne.
"I doubt that there'll be many pickets out," McIntosh decided. "If I were General St. Clair, I'd have every last man behind the walls of the fort or in one of the redoubts. He must know that the army is coming."
"What manner of man is he?"
"A veteran soldier. He fought at Louisburg and Quebec—just like you and me, Captain. St. Clair was in the 60th Foot."
"The Royal American Regiment," noted Skoyles.
"Times have changed. He'll have no truck with King George now."
"What about you, Mr. McIntosh?"
"Oh, I've no quarrel with His Majesty," said the other, easily, "but, then again, I don't condemn the patriots. They have good reason to fight. This is one war that I'd prefer to keep out of, that's all."
"You're bound to lean toward one side."
"Then that side is the British, which I why I was ready to help you. At the same time, I consider myself an American now. It's a beautiful country, Captain. I intend to spend the rest of my life here."
"I may well do the same," Skoyles confessed. "The war won't last forever. I've been saving up money to buy myself some land. Who knows? When the fighting eventually stops, I might meet up with Ezekiel again."
"You're assuming that the British army will win."
"We must win, Mr. McIntosh. If we don't crush this rebellion now, it will grow and grow. We simply won't let that happen. We fought hard to build an empire, and we won't let any part of it crumble away."
A distant shot brought the dialogue to an end. Skoyles had his musket at the ready in a split second, but it was not needed. When a second shot was heard minutes later, it was much farther away.
"Someone's out hunting," said McIntosh. "Plenty of wolves, foxes, and wildcats about. Raccoons, too. I prefer hares and wild turkey," he went on, patting his saddlebags. "Easier to catch and nicer to eat. The reason you found me hunting so far from home yesterday is that I like to have plenty of space. The woods near my house are usually crawling with men from the fort in search of a decent meal for once."
Skoyles soon came up against another denizen of the forest. As he guided his horse past a clump of trees, it suddenly shied as a rattlesnake raised its head and shook its seven rattles until they produced an eerie sound. McIntosh had difficulty controlling his own mount, but Skoyles was out of the saddle at once, tethering his horse to a branch before unslinging his musket. He took aim, fired, and sent the snake's head bursting in all directions, its lifeless body collapsing in the brush, its menacing rattles silenced forever. Both men took time to calm their horses down.
McIntosh was impressed. "You certainly know how to shoot."
"The brigadier insists on regular practice," said Skoyles, reloading his weapon with meticulous care. "Shooting practice and bayonet practice."
"Damn rattlers are everywhere—and blacksnakes. I killed one last week that was all of seven feet long."
"I just hope that the shot didn't give us away."
"We're still a long way from the fort."
Nevertheless, they waited and listened carefully for some time before they
were certain that nobody was in the vicinity. Skoyles remounted his horse and they pressed on. When they were a couple of miles short of Ticonderoga, they parted company. Living nearby, McIntosh was known in the garrison, and Skoyles did not want to imperil him in any way. If he were caught with a British spy, no amount of protestation would save the Scotsman's life.
Skoyles was also motivated by self-preservation. Though he had no reason to expect betrayal, he acted as if it were at least a possibility. McIntosh had only to warn the pickets and they would come searching for Skoyles. The latter therefore set off in one direction before doubling back as soon as his companion was out of sight. Staying close to the river, Skoyles moved furtively in the direction of the fort. It was over twenty years since he had seen Ticonderoga and, on that occasion, he had been coming from the opposite direction, but he remembered it well and had a sketch map drawn by McIntosh to guide him.