Saratoga (28 page)

There was an additional source of discomfort for her. Elizabeth was at the other end of the table from Jamie Skoyles, too far away to catch anything but a few words of what he was saying. It was the first time for over a week that she had been in the same room as Harry Featherstone and Skoyles, and it caused her profound gloom. Trapped beside one man and forced to behave in the way expected of her, she was longing to be with the other. Her emotions were in turmoil. Whatever she told Featherstone, she knew that her friendship with Jamie Skoyles was the cardinal reason why she had determined not to get married in haste. It would put her hopelessly beyond the reach of the one person who had aroused real passion in her.

Included among the dinner guests were General Riedesel and his wife, with Major and Lady Acland, two couples who seemed to be the paradigms of happy marriage. Their palpable contentment only made Elizabeth feel more discontented. She admired them without wanting to emulate them, convinced, in any case, that life with Harry Featherstone would never be give her the deep satisfaction that she saw in the faces of the two married women. Elizabeth wanted something else now.

General Burgoyne abruptly shifted attention to her.

"Have you named the day yet, Elizabeth?" he inquired roguishly.

"I'm sure that I don't know what you mean, General," she said.

"Come, come now. There's no call for secrecy here. We all know that you're going to marry Major Featherstone, splendid fellow that he is. The only question to be decided is whether you do it sooner or later."

Elizabeth was firm. "Later," she said.

"I thought that Albany was mentioned as a likely venue."

"It was, General," Featherstone agreed over the murmur of interest that the announcement had ignited. "And it has not been ruled out, I assure you. My own view is that it would be the perfect time and place for the ceremony. Elizabeth and I are still discussing the possibilities."

She was about to contradict him when they heard distant gunfire. The
women were startled, but the men paid no heed to the noise. Burgoyne sipped some claret before offering an explanation.

"A firing squad," he said, calmly. "I'll have no thieves in the ranks. When we have limited provisions, we have to watch them carefully. If a man disobeys my orders and steals food, he must expect no quarter. Don't let it spoil the meal for you, ladies," he urged, indicating the dishes on the table. "Eat as much of this wondrous repast as you wish." He switched his gaze back to Elizabeth. "Were you on the point of saying something, my dear?"

"I think that Miss Rainham made her feelings clear," said Skoyles, sensing that she was in need of rescue. "It's a matter that she and the major are entitled to discuss in private without anyone else prying into their affairs. What I wanted to ask you, General," he continued, turning to Burgoyne, "was whether any news had come from Brigadier St. Leger?"

"Not yet, Captain."

"By my reckoning, he should have reached Oswego by now."

"I'm sure that he has. The brigadier has probably left Lake Ontario behind and is now transporting his craft over the portage to the Mohawk River. Ladies and gentlemen," he said, raising his glass. "I give you a toast to a gallant officer—Brigadier Barry St. Leger!"

"Brigadier St. Leger!" they echoed.

Burgoyne was exhilarated. "It does my heart good to have such fine men at my command," he announced. "All things proceed to a happy conclusion. In a day or so, we'll be able to march to Fort Edward. In a week or so, we may have word of the brigadier's success. Our men are primed for action, their spirits are high, their mind on victory. And there's another unexpected bonus to report," he said, gratefully. "The Indians are at long last starting to behave themselves."

Everyone who met Jane McCrea remarked on her hair. Long, red, silken, and luxuriant, it almost touched the ground when it was unfurled. Jane was a tall, well-formed, attractive woman in her early twenties, who lived with her elder brother in the area near Fort Edward. While her brother became a colonel in the New York militia, she remained a staunch Tory and refused to move to the safety of Albany with him. Instead, Jane stayed at the cabin of the elderly Mrs.
McNeil, a talkative widow of formidable size. Both of them had good reason to welcome the approaching British army. Jane McCrea was engaged to David Jones, a young officer who was part of the American Volunteer Corps that traveled with the invading force. Mrs. McNeil was the cousin of no less a person than Brigadier General Simon Fraser.

The two women were eating a meal at the cabin when a wild-eyed Negro came banging on their door. They recognized him as one of the slaves from a nearby farm. Exhausted from running so far, he barely had the breath to get out his warning.

"The Indians have killed and scalped everyone at our farm," he cried, gesticulating madly. "Leave now while you still have a chance."

The slave did not wait to see what their response would be. Forcing himself into a run once more, he headed for the cover of the nearest trees. The women were thrown into a panic, not knowing whether to flee or stay. Mrs. McNeil kept a musket in the cabin, but it would not ward off an attack by marauding Indians. She started to close the shutters on the windows. Jane was agitated, having heard gruesome tales of what Indians did to their victims. Both hands went instinctively to her hair.

Mrs. McNeil was at the rear window when she saw them coming. All that she and her guest could do was to hide. Grabbing the food off the table, she told Jane to open the trapdoor to the cellar. If the women hid down there, the Indians might think that the cabin was unoccupied. Jane heaved on the trapdoor and stood aside for the old woman to go first. Vital seconds were lost as Mrs. McNeil tried her best to maneuver her substantial bulk through the entrance to the cellar. She had to force her ample bosom past the rough timber.

Before Jane could follow her, the door burst open and two Ottawa Indians burst in, tomahawk in one hand and knife in the other. Vivid war paint was smeared over their faces. Fresh scalps hung from their belts. Blood had dripped onto their naked thighs.

When they saw the women, they let out a whoop of triumph.

By the time the news reached him, General Burgoyne had brought his army to the blackened ruins of Fort Anne. He was in his tent when Simon Fraser reported the outrage to him.

"Miss McCrea was
killed?
" said Burgoyne in alarm.

"Killed, scalped, mutilated, then covered in leaves and rolled naked into a hollow."

"What about your cousin? Was Mrs. McNeil murdered as well?"

"No," said Fraser. "Since they had no horse for her, they stripped her naked and made her follow on foot. My cousin was in a dreadful condition when she reached our advance camp. Unfortunately, she's a rather heavily built lady, and none of the women with us had clothing large enough to fit her. For the sake of modesty, I had to lend her my greatcoat."

"I'll need to speak to your cousin, Simon."

"I suggest that you wait for her to calm down first, sir."

"Why?"

"She has a tongue that could strip the bark off trees when she's been provoked, and she's still in a ferocious mood. In any case," Fraser went on, "my cousin didn't actually witness Jane McCrea's murder. She had lagged far behind by then."

"How did the atrocity first come to light?"

"The young lady's hair was uncommonly long and beautiful, it seems. Her scalp was seen dangling from the belt of an Indian by David Jones, the loyalist officer Miss McCrea was engaged to marry. They had to restrain him from attacking the Indian on the spot."

"I can well imagine his feelings," said Burgoyne. "These are grim tidings. I've no doubt that our enemy will make full use of them."

"The killer must be punished immediately."

"He will be, Simon. Order the Ottawa tribe to assemble."

"I've already done so, sir. I spoke to their leader."

"That slippery Frenchman, La Corne St. Luc."

"He claims to have some measure of control over them."

"Not enough, patently. Well," Burgoyne decided, "it's time we taught them something about British justice. We can't allow innocent civilians to be butchered in this way." He shook his head in disgust. "This is truly appalling, Simon. I'd rather put my commission in the fire than have the government suppose that I condone such unheard-of barbarities. How misled I've been! I thought that the Indians would be our secret weapon—but they're turning out to be a nightmare."

Along with other officers, Captain Jamie Skoyles and Lieutenant Charles Westbourne were included in the party to visit the Ottawa camp. That was not unusual. Whenever he spoke to the Indians, the British commander felt it important to put on a show, arriving on horseback with a large delegation and behaving with due ceremony. The Indians were recent arrivals, having made the long journey from Canada to catch up with the army at Skenesborough. Stone-faced and watchful, they stood around in small groups as Burgoyne led his men into the camp.

"Is it true what people say about them?" asked Westbourne, riding beside Skoyles. "Are these the most vicious of the Indians?"

"None of the tribes is famed for civilized behavior, Lieutenant."

"Major Featherstone reckons that these are the worst."

"They've never been friends of ours," said Skoyles. "That much I know for a fact. Twenty years ago, when they fought against us on the side of the French, they were responsible for the terrible massacre at Fort William Henry. They slaughtered our wounded, violated and killed the women, then turned on the children without mercy. The man who led them that day is still their leader."

"Chevalier La Corne St. Luc. What sort of man is he?"

"Judge for yourself, Lieutenant. Here he comes."

The commander of the Ottawas was a tall, thin, swarthy Frenchman in his sixties with long gray hair and a face that had been stamped by time with a complex series of scars and wrinkles. Wearing a colorful robe and a feathered headdress, he nevertheless stood out from the braves around him by virtue of his color, manner, and bearing. La Corne St. Luc gave General Burgoyne a cautious welcome in his heavy accent.

"We know why you have come," he said, arms folded.

"Then let's not waste any words on it," the general declared. "A hideous crime was committed. Deliver up the malefactor, and we'll take the fellow straight off to hang him."

"I'm not able to do that, General."

"Why not?"

"Because the man is innocent of the murder."

"You
dare
to say that," Burgoyne retorted, "when he has the audacity to flaunt the young lady's scalp? Who on earth is this fiend?"

"His name is Wyandot Panther."

"Hand him over at once for execution."

"You would be punishing the wrong man, General," said the other coolly. "Wyandot swears that the lady was shot by rebels near Fort Edward. She died of her wounds."

"That's an arrant lie and he'll hang for it."

"No, General. Look around you." He indicated the whole of the camp with a dramatic sweep of his arm. "What you see are loyal friends. We journeyed for weeks to reach you, and we are ready to fight for the British. But if you try to hang one of my men," he threatened, "the rest of them will desert you on the spot and ravage the countryside all the way back to Canada."

Burgoyne was adamant. "I'd rather lose every Indian in this army than connive at their enormities."

The other man smiled. "You are too soft-hearted, General."

"I'm a soldier in the British army and I abide by its rules."

"They mean nothing at all to the Ottawas. You have your way of fighting a war. We have ours. Together we can conquer the enemy."

"Not if you let your men loose on defenseless women."

"They will restrain themselves in future. You have my word."

"What I want is the surrender of Wyandot Panther."

"Take him and you lose the entire tribe."

Burgoyne began to waver. Watching it all from nearby, Skoyles was dismayed at the way that they were being balked. The murder of Jane McCrea was an act of brutality that simply could not go unpunished. If clemency were shown, it would be seen by everyone as clear evidence of the general's inability to stop the excesses of the Indians. Even someone betrothed to a loyalist officer was not safe from the savages who traveled with the British army. Skoyles had protested against the use of Indians from the start. They were incorrigible. When he had made the mistake of trusting one of them—Redsnake—he had been betrayed. As he saw Burgoyne dismounting from his horse, Skoyles fumed in silence.

"What's happening, Captain?" asked Westbourne.

"They're going into the chief's teepee to discuss terms."

"No terms are required, surely? General Burgoyne has given his order. All they have to do is to hand over the killer and we can leave."

"Their commander has suggested a compromise."

"Compromise?"

"We spare the life of the Indian and, in return, the chief gives us another litany of promises that he has no intention of keeping." He gazed around the blank faces of the watching Ottawas. "The general is being tricked," he decided. "No matter what concessions you make to these people, they're going to desert us sooner or later."

"Do you think so?"

"It's inevitable."

"That would rob us of so much fighting power—and we've had enough desertions as it is."

"Prepare yourself for more, Lieutenant."

"Why?"

"Because we're moving closer to a battle all the time," said Skoyles. "That's when our soldiers' loyalty is really put to the test—under fire."

"How can anyone desert a man like General Burgoyne?" said Westbourne in bewilderment. "He is an inspiration to us all."

Skoyles chose his words with care. "He's a fine soldier and the most decent commander I've ever served under. The general has earned the immense popularity that he enjoys. However," he went on, "I doubt very much if the terms he is about to accept from the Indians will inspire anyone. We came to arrest a murderer and we'll leave empty-handed."

"Not if strict promises are extracted from La Corne St. Luc."