Valley Forge (26 page)

"Philadelphia," said Skoyles. "I'm a friend." He bent down to retrieve the fallen musket and held it out to him. "Go on—take it."

The old man took the weapon, an ancient rifle with a long barrel, and looked at it as if seeing it for the first time. Skoyles was relieved that his companion made no attempt to shoot him. Daring to believe that he might now be safe, Skoyles was soon deprived of that illusion. The butt of a musket struck him hard in the small of his back and he sprawled on the ground, rolling over to see other weapons pointing at him. The old man found Skoyles's rifle leaning against the tree.

"This is a Brown Bess musket," he announced, spitting on the ground. "It's what the redcoats carry. He's from the enemy."

"Then he's another British spy," said one of the other men.

"No," Skoyles asserted, trying to get up.

"Stay there," ordered the third man, kicking him down. "Let's shoot the bastard and have done with it."

"Me, first!" said the old man, lifting his rifle. "I've always wanted to kill me a lousy redcoat."

Skoyles was trapped. Three muskets were trained on him and he had no means of defense. All that he could do was to cover his face with an arm and wait for the noise of gunfire. Miraculously, it never came. Running feet approached at speed and a new voice was heard.

"Don't shoot him!" cried Private Novus Kane.

"Stand back," the old man told him. "He's a spy."

"For the British," said another man. "He deserves to die."

"No!" Kane insisted.

He jumped between them and their victim, protecting Skoyles by holding out both arms. The other pickets were annoyed.

"Out of the way, Novus!" howled the old man. "Then that pesky varmint can get what's coming to him."

"But I
know
him, Jed. I've met him before."

"What are ye talking about?"

"I recognize this man," said Kane, offering a hand to help Skoyles up from the ground. "I took him to General Washington. He's on our side. He taught me how to load a musket properly."

"Are ye sure of this?"

"I swear it. Let him go."

Reluctantly, the others lowered their weapons. Skoyles gave his young savior a smile of thanks and patted him familiarly on the back.

"When you've got the time," he promised, "I'll teach you how to shoot that musket properly as well."

Betsey Loring was delighted with the Christmas present that General Howe had given her. It was an expensive gold necklace that he had had specially made for her, and she put it on at once, preening in front of a mirror and twisting from side to side so that she could view the necklace from different angles. They were in the bedroom that they had shared since the occupation of Philadelphia. Before going down to the dining room for Christmas dinner with senior officers, Howe had bestowed his gift.

"It's wonderful!" she said. "It's just what I wanted, William."

Howe kissed her cheek. "You deserve it, Betsey."

"I can't wait to show it off."

"It's something by which you can remember me when I leave."

She flicked a wrist. "Oh, I don't even want to think about that now. It's months before you have to go, and I intend to make the most of every single second."

"I think we're both agreed on that."

It was a few days since the fiasco at the theater, and they had both recovered
their composure. Howe's hat had been knocked off in the surge for the exit, and one of Mrs. Loring's shoes had been lost in the melee, but they had put those petty humiliations to the back of their minds on Christmas Day. The general had received a welcome present of his own.

"More good news," he told her, holding up a letter delivered to him earlier. "Some battalions moved further down the Chester road to cover the wagons below Darby Creek. They were harried by rebels but sustained no losses. The Light Horse killed three, wounded two, and captured five. That's ten more rebels put out of action."

"When
will
they realize that they are beaten?" she asked.

"Not during my time here, alas."

"But you have a professional army; they are raw recruits."

"The rascals hold out well," Howe admitted. "I have to give them credit for that. And some of those untrained farm boys helped to defeat Burgoyne at Saratoga. They can fight, Betsey."

"Yet you will win."

"Ultimately."

"And when will that be?"

"Let's forget this war for one day, shall we?" he suggested, offering his arm. "It's a time when we should count our blessings—and I regard you as one of mine."

"Thank you," she said, looping her arm in his.

"We make such a handsome couple."

"I think so, William. Not everyone agrees, however. I know that we caused a lot of adverse comment, particularly in New York City."

"Pah! Whoever listens to adverse comment?"

"Some of it was very hurtful."

"People can be so small-minded," he said with a gesture of dismissal. "Ignore them. Puritans are their own worst enemy. Because they try to suppress normal human passions, they resent those of us who enjoy them. The Declaration of Independence talks about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, yet most of the damn fools have no idea what true happiness is."

"I like to think that you've found it with me," she said.

"Time and again, Betsey."

"I just wish that some people were less censorious."

"Jealousy, my dear, pure jealousy."

"There was no jealousy in that drawing I was sent," she recalled. "That was a case of simple malice. And I heard a rumor that there was a scurrilous drawing about us in that rebel newspaper. Is it true?"

"Yes," he said through clenched teeth, "but it's not something I care to be reminded about—least of all, on Christmas Day. If they can't beat us with bullets, the rebels will use any other weapon at their disposal, as we know to our cost."

"Why can't you stop them, William?"

"I will, in due course."

"I loathe it when people snigger at us."

"It's all that our enemies are able to do."

"That cartoon of you and your brother was hateful."

"Someone will pay dearly for that," he vowed, moving her to the door. "Our problem is that the rebels have many friends inside the city. But we have our spies as well."

"I'm sure that you do."

"In fact, one of them is paying a visit to Valley Forge this very day. I'll be most interested to see what he finds out."

Captain Jamie Skoyles was disappointed. Instead of being taken to see the commander in chief, he was handed over to Major John Clark. They met in the drafty log cabin that was Clark's home for the winter.

"I hear that you have volunteered to help us, Captain Skoyles," he said, assessing his visitor with a prolonged stare. "Is that not so?"

"It was the case until today, Major."

"Has something occurred to change your mind?"

"Indeed, it has," said Skoyles. "Before I could even explain who I was, your pickets tried to kill me. I think they should be taught the difference between friends and enemies."

"Everyone is regarded as an enemy until his loyalty is proven."

"Does that mean you have to shoot holes in them before you even find out who they really are?"

"No," said Clark. "But pickets are warned to show caution."

"There's not much caution in a musket ball, Major."

"Those men on duty this morning were overzealous. They'll be duly reprimanded. On the other hand, their conduct is understandable. Skirmishers
attacked some of our pickets yesterday. Four of our men were killed and two wounded. Had we been forewarned, of course," he went on pointedly, "lives would have been saved."

"I can't advise you about every soldier who's sent out on duty. That sort of information does not reach me. So many regiments are involved," said Skoyles reasonably, "and each has different orders to follow. I do not have access to them all."

"Then what do you have access to, Captain?"

"Privileged intelligence."

"Such as?"

"A large foraging expedition will leave the city in two days, sir. It will be going to the southern end of Brandywine Valley."

"This news is stale."

Skoyles was checked. "You already
know?
"

"We have eyes and ears in Philadelphia."

"Clearly."

"We know all about the debacle at the theater as well."

"Yes," said Skoyles with amusement, "I gather that you enlisted some squirrels into your ranks. It was a cunning jest. I spoke to some of the officers who were there, and they said it was like bedlam. I'd like to meet the man who thought up that prank."

"There's no need for you to do so."

"It must have been someone in the city."

"But all it achieved was an evening's discomfort for General Howe and his fellow playgoers. We need to strike a more telling blow than that." He stepped forward to look Skoyles in the eye. "How can you help us to do that?"

Skoyles could see that he was not yet accepted. Having made an impression on Washington, he had not convinced him of his sincerity and had now been referred to Clark for a more thorough examination. It was obvious that the major would not be easily won over.

"Well?" said Clark.

"Your estimate of our troop numbers is awry, sir."

"Too low?"

"Too high," said Skoyles briskly. "General Washington spoke of ten thousand men. There are rather less than that. The British may have won the battles
of Brandywine and Germantown but they sustained heavy losses—something in the region of twelve hundred were killed."

"That's almost as many casualties as we suffered."

"And there were hundreds of men wounded and not fit for duty."

Skoyles had deliberately exaggerated the number of British dead, almost doubling the exact figure. He was interested to learn the scale of American losses during the battle of Brandywine, in sheer size, even bigger and bloodier than the two in which he had fought at Saratoga.

"What are General Howe's plans?" asked Clark.

"To strengthen his defenses and sit tight, Major. He'll send out foraging parties and skirmishers, but he has no inclination to do anything more than that. He's bored with the war and he's grown lazy."

"How close have you been to him?"

"Very close," replied Skoyles. "General Washington will surely have told you my story. General Clinton sent me to Philadelphia because he thought I might be of use there."

"In what capacity?"

"Whatever role General Howe chooses for me."

"Has he given you an assignment yet?"

"He made me prepare a full report of events at Saratoga, and a detailed account of what happened to the Convention army. It will come as no surprise to you that he intended to divert the transports that were sent to take the men back to England. He desperately wanted those soldiers for himself."

"We suspected as much."

"I heard it from his own lips. And there was something else."

"Go on."

"If he acquired Burgoyne's army," explained Skoyles, "then he was bound, by the terms of the convention, to release an equivalent number of your prisoners in exchange. General Howe did not even consider it."

"So much for British honor!"

"The conditions in which your prisoners of war are held are indescribable. Disease and starvation are rife. Cruel punishments are inflicted for minor offences. The provost marshal at the prison on the Common in New York City glories in his brutality."

"We know, Captain," said Clark. "General Washington protested so
vehemently that the British agreed to an inspection. Elias Boudinot was sent as a special envoy. What he found beggared belief. Animals are cared for better than our prisoners of war."

"Did he visit the prison ships?"

"No, he was barred from them."

"With good reason, sir," said Skoyles with frank disapproval. "By repute, they are even more hellish."

"Elias Boudinot saw enough to disgust him. Out of the goodness of his heart, he advanced almost $27,000 of his own money to buy bread, beef, shirts, suits, and blankets for the prisoners." Clark pulled a face. "How much of that will actually reach the prisoners is another matter."

"Was he able to meet Joshua Loring?"

"The commissary of prisons accompanied him on the inspection. We are told that, afterward, he reported to General Howe that everything was satisfactory."

"Satisfactory for Mr. Loring no doubt! He's making a fortune."

"And we all know how he secured the post as commissar," said Clark with asperity. "But we digress, Captain. I've still to hear about this privileged information you mention."

"Then here it is, Major."

Skoyles had been well prepared. All the details that General Howe had given him were rattled off, most of them quite correct and easily verifiable, a few of them artfully misleading. Clark was astonished at how much his visitor had learned in such a short time. Yet he was still not entirely persuaded of Skoyles's trustworthiness.

"You have obviously been close to Howe."

"That fortunate situation is set to continue," Skoyles told him.

"If you are such an intimate of his," said Clark, "the wonder is that he did not invite you to share Christmas dinner with him."

"The same could be said of you and General Washington. You obviously have a position of great significance in his army."

"We have little time for any celebration, Captain. While your commander is feasting with Mrs. Loring, ours is holding a council with his generals to determine the future direction of this war. For soldiers like us, Christmas does not really exist."

"It's the same for me," said Skoyles. "Had I been invited to General Howe's
table, I would have declined. I thrive on action—even if it's confined to ducking the bullets of your pickets."

"That will not happen again," said Clark.

"Will I be given the appropriate passwords?"

"No, Captain."

"How can I get here with safety, then?"

"We will save you the trouble of coming anywhere near Valley Forge. When you have fresh information, you can pass it on by letter. I'll give you instructions in how to use a code."