Authors: David Garland
Valley Forge
Valley Forge
by David Garland
VALLEY FORGE by David Garland
First eBook Edition
Copyright © 2006 by David Garland
eBook Edition, License Notes
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Originally published by St. Martin’s Press
CHAPTER ONE
Cambridge, Massachusetts, November 1777
S
koyles was angry. Within days of arrival, he had reached his decision. He simply refused to remain a prisoner of war. When he first confided in his friend, however, all that he got in response was wide-eyed disbelief.
"Escape?" cried Caffrey.
"Yes, Tom."
"Why?"
"Because it's our duty as British soldiers."
"Our duty is to abide by the terms of the convention negotiated by General Burgoyne, and I'm happy to do that. We may have been defeated but we weren't humiliated by an unconditional surrender."
"All surrenders are humiliating," said Skoyles.
"Think of the concessions."
"They're meaningless."
"Not to me," said Tom Caffrey firmly. "As soon as transports arrive, we can wave goodbye to America and sail home to the safety of our own country. I call that good fortune."
"I call it shameful."
"Don't you
want
to go back to England?"
"No, Tom," Skoyles asserted. "This is my home now."
They were standing outside one of the barracks on Prospect Hill where the British soldiers were quartered. Captain Jamie Skoyles and Sergeant Tom Caffrey of the 24th Foot were part of the bedraggled and dispirited army that had trudged two hundred miles from Saratoga to Cambridge with their tails between their legs. As they struggled through the Green Mountains, enduring biting winds and frequent rain, they had had ample time to reflect on the disgrace
of being part of an elite force that had invaded from Canada, only to be humbled on the battlefield by a makeshift army of American rebels. Skoyles felt that disgrace more keenly than most. It rankled.
"I joined the army to fight," he insisted.
"There'll be other battles, Jamie."
"Not if we get shipped back to England. Under the terms of the convention, we're forbidden to take part in this conflict anymore."
"I can live with that."
"Well, I'll not do so."
Caffrey gave a shrug. "You have no choice."
"Yes, I do. I can get out of here."
"Easier said than done."
"I'll manage. The question is, will you come with me?"
Tom Caffrey heaved a sigh. A sturdy man in his forties, he had a broken nose, set in a craggy face, that gave him a kind of raffish charm. Caffrey was the son of a Devon butcher, but he had somehow ended up as a surgeon's mate in the British army. The hideous sights and nameless tragedies that he encountered had, miraculously, not deprived him of his natural affability. He and Skoyles had been friends for several years, but that friendship had never been put under threat before. It was different now. Loyalty was at stake.
Caffrey licked his lips before speaking.
"I'm not sure that I can, Jamie," he said at length.
"Why not?"
"We've been through hell in this campaign. We need a rest."
"How can you rest when you're being held prisoner?"
"We're not exactly under lock and key."
"That's beside the point, Tom."
"No, it isn't," Caffrey argued. "Instead of rotting in chains, we have some freedom of movement. As an officer, you could have even more license. You could have had parole and found accommodations in the town. Officers are even allowed to wear sidearms. Why on earth did you volunteer to stay with us?"
"I prefer it here," said Skoyles bluntly.
"Well, we're very pleased to have you."
Caffrey was speaking on behalf of the rank and file. Three officers per regiment
were assigned to stay in the barracks with the men, and Jamie Skoyles was the only one who did so willingly. Having risen from the ranks himself, he never felt entirely comfortable among his fellow officers, some of whom still treated him as a plebeian who had wandered mistakenly among patricians. Skoyles was ready to share the privations of his men and they appreciated him for that. They knew that the tall, lean, rock-hard, fearless soldier, now in his thirties, had earned his promotion on merit. Most officers bought their commissions. Skoyles had won his by conspicuous gallantry in the field.
"Will you turn your back on us now?" asked Caffrey.
"I hate being held against my will."
"Jamie—"
"And don't tell me that it could be worse," said Skoyles vehemently. "Look at the barracks they've given us—they're nothing but henhouses. They're cold, dirty, and they stink to high heaven. Most of the officers fare no better. Seven or eight of them are crammed into tiny rooms. General Burgoyne himself is stuck in a filthy tavern and forced to share a bed with General Phillips."
Caffrey laughed. "Gentleman Johnny won't like that. General Phillips is a poor substitute for Mrs. Mallard. What man would want to sleep with an artillery officer instead of a mistress?"
"Forget her. Lucinda Mallard belongs in the past. The point is that conditions here are unbearable. Everyone is suffering. What happened to the promise to treat us with honor?"
"Take that up with our captors."
"General Burgoyne has already done so—to no avail. When they can't even find decent accommodations for our commander, what hope is there for the rest of us? Remember where we are, Tom," said Skoyles with a sweeping gesture of his arm. "This is the very heart of the rebellion. The people here detest us, and with good cause. They know how much damage British soldiers did here. They'll never forget that the Charleston peninsula was set ablaze. No wonder they're not rushing forward to offer us hospitality."
"Count your blessings, Jamie."
"I didn't know that I had any."
"Well, I do," said Caffrey soulfully, "and I'm grateful for them. We're still alive, whereas several hundred of those who marched with us are not. We came through with only a few scratches—I lost count of the number of arms and legs
that I had to amputate after a battle. We've soldiers who were blinded, crippled, or disfigured, young men hideously changed from the way God made them. You and I escaped any real injury, Jamie. If that's not a blessing, then what is?"
"Peace of mind."
"You won't find that in the army."
"I would if we'd been on the winning side."
"But we're not. We lost."
"That's why I have to escape from here, Tom. Come with me."
Caffrey fell silent. Torn between competing demands, he did not know which one to choose. After all that they had been through together, parting from Skoyles seemed like an act of betrayal, and that preyed on the sergeant's conscience. At the same time, he was weary of battle, and the prospect of returning home was a very seductive one, especially as another person was involved. Caffrey agonized for some time before committing himself.
"It's Polly," he admitted.
"What about her?"
"I promised to marry her when we got back to England."
"You could still do that," Skoyles reasoned. "The wedding will just have to come later rather than sooner."
"Polly is expecting to sail home when the transports arrive."
Polly Bragg was the wife of a British corporal who had died in action the previous year. She had become not merely Caffrey's lover; she was his nurse, his cook, his washerwoman, and his trusted friend. Adversity had brought them even closer together. He could not imagine a life without her. After staying at his side through the horrors of war, Polly deserved to be taken far away from danger.
"I'm sorry, Jamie," said Caffrey, biting his lip. "I stay here."
"Trapped in these foul barracks, eating dreadful food?"
"It's only a for a limited time."
"Escape with me," Skoyles urged.
Caffrey shook his head. "I'd have to leave Polly here," he said, "and I could never do that. It would be so unfair."
"Then bring her."
"What?"
"Bring her," Skoyles repeated. "I intend to bring Elizabeth."
Elizabeth Rainham pulled her shawl around her to keep out the cold. Glad to escape the discomfort of the house where they were staying, she was enjoying a morning stroll through the woods with Friederike von Riedesel. During her time in America, all of Elizabeth's expectations had been dashed to pieces. She had braved the voyage in order to be with the man to whom she was betrothed, Major Harry Featherstone of the 24th Foot. However, his behavior toward her had been so intolerable that she had broken off the engagement, provoking him into an assault on her. But for the timely intervention of Jamie Skoyles, someone she had once loved would have raped her. The memory of the incident could still make her blood run cold.
"Let's turn back," Friederike suggested.
"As you wish."
"I miss the children."
"Where did your maids take them?"
"To feed the ducks at the farm."
"At least, they get some amusement here," said Elizabeth, turning around. "I do admire your daughters. All three of them look so small and fragile, yet they seem full of life. You must be very proud of them."
Friederike smiled sweetly. "We are, Miss Rainham. We are."
Elizabeth was deeply grateful to her. In the wake of the shocking and unanticipated defeat of the British army, Friederike had taken the attractive young Englishwoman under her wing. On the journey to Cambridge, she had allowed Elizabeth to travel in her little carriage, and when she was billeted in a house in the country, Friederike even invited her to share their mean lodging. Cooped up in a noisome attic, they slept on beds of straw while the servants made do with the floor.
It was a far cry from the privileged life to which Friederike, a German baroness, was accustomed. Her husband was Major General Frederick von Riedesel, commander of the regiments from Hesse-Hanau and Brunswick that were part of the British force. Unlike him—another reason for Elizabeth's gratitude—the delicate baroness with a porcelain beauty spoke good English.
"I forgot to ask after General Burgoyne," said Friederike.
"He is not well, I fear."
"Is he sick?"
"It's not a physical illness," Elizabeth explained. "When I saw him yesterday, he was morose and distracted—so different from the General Burgoyne I know. Our defeat has played on his mind."
"It is the same with my husband. His pride was wounded."
"It's more than a case of wounded pride with our commander. He was always so forceful and decisive before. Now, his spirits are very low. His attention wanders. I don't think that he heard half of what I said."
"Did you complain about the way we are being kept?"
"I did," said Elizabeth, "and he was very sympathetic. The general is disgusted with the accommodations we've all been given, and by the terrible shortage of food and firewood. He's written a strong letter of protest to General Gates, and is even prepared to advance money of his own so that the army is properly housed and fed."
"General Burgoyne is a kind man."
"And generous to a fault. Because my father served with him, he's been a friend of our family for years. Wherever he's held command, the troops revere him. It pains me to see him so hurt and dejected."
"Have you told him about Major Featherstone?" Friederike inquired.
A long pause. "No, I haven't."
"Perhaps the major has confessed to General Burgoyne."
"He'd be too ashamed to do that," said Elizabeth briskly. "Harry would never admit that he's lost me."
"But he has."
"Oh, yes—for good!"
"You sound very certain about that."
"I am, believe me."
Getting to know Friederike von Riedesel had given her a female friend in whom she could confide, and Elizabeth had told her much of what had happened to her since joining the British force in Montreal. Her maid, Nan, was also aware of the various setbacks, and her support could be taken for granted. What the diminutive baroness could offer was the compassion and understanding of a married woman. As an outsider, Friederike's sympathy carried more weight. Elizabeth was very fond of her but she also envied her. Though she had entered into an arranged marriage with a man who was years
older, the baroness was patently happy. When she and her husband were together, they were so delighted in each other's company that it was clearly a love match. Elizabeth's own love match with Major Featherstone had proved to be a mirage.
