Valley Forge (11 page)

"It's a convenient disguise."

"Mr. Gilby is one of us," said Miranda.

"I gathered that."

"By the way," Hughes snapped suddenly, "what's
your
name?"

"Reece Allen," Proudfoot replied.

"And where have you come from, Mr. Allen?"

"Massachusetts."

"Your business in this city?"

"I'll looking to buy a small farm nearby. It will give me an excuse to travel in the area, you see," he told them. "I was reared on a farm. I know how to talk to countrymen."

"You've invented your story—that's good."

"When do I begin on the newspaper?"

"Tomorrow," said Hughes. "I'll take you to the place where we moved the press. You'll be able to work there."

"Do you have a copy of
The Pennsylvania Patriot?
"

"Not on the premises. It would be too dangerous to keep one here. British patrols are inclined to search houses that arouse their suspicion. In case that
should happen here, we have nothing that could be seen as evidence of our true convictions. Needless to say," he continued, "you'd not be advised to leave a copy in your room at the Black Horse."

"The King George," Proudfoot corrected him.

"I refuse to call it that, Mr. Allen. Among friends, anyway."

An hour in conversation with his hosts passed very pleasantly, then it was time for Proudfoot to leave. He had a last question to raise.

"How will you get copies of the
Patriot
to Valley Forge?"

"We have our couriers," said Hughes.

"General Washington wishes to see every issue."

"Then he shall—and so will all his officers."

"Only the officers?" said Proudfoot. "What about the men?"

"Many of them are illiterate, Mr. Allen. That's why your work is so important. You can speak to them in pictures. As for the officers," he went on, "they can read the
Patriot
to their men. That way, it reaches a much wider audience."

"I suppose it does."

"A sobering thought, is it not?" said Hughes, looking over the top of his spectacles. "When we win this war, the credit will not just go to educated officers who marshal their men in battle. It should also go to legions of courageous farm boys, who serve in the ranks but who can neither read nor write."

"They'll appreciate the prints of Ezekiel Proudfoot," said Miranda.

The visitor smiled. "I think that you mean Reece Allen."

They were in luck. None of them thought so when they were forced to spend the night on the fishing boat, huddled up together under a tarpaulin in wet clothing. Even the rough barracks on Prospect Hill were preferable to sleeping under the stars. Cabal Mears had tried to take them ashore, but he was hampered by the darkness, and when the bottom of the boat was scraped by a submerged rock, he decided that it was safer to drop anchor and bide his time. Snow continued to fall, but the wind had died down, and a tot of rum all round helped to keep out the cold. When dawn lifted the veil on a new day, they saw that they enjoyed some good fortune. Covered in a mantle of crisp, white snow was a long curve of coastline. Cabal Mears recognized it at once.

"Cape Cod Bay," said Mears. "This is what the Pilgrim Fathers first saw. We came further than I dared hope."

"Thanks to you, Cabal," Skoyles noted.

"You and the sergeant did your share of the work."

"Every time I eat a fish," Caffrey promised, "I'll think of people like Cabal Mears. You certainly earn your living the hard way."

"It's better than being shot at on a battlefield."

"I disagree. You can dodge musket balls. There's no escape from a storm." He looked up. "At least, it's stopped snowing."

"It's going to be a fine, dry day," said Mears, scanning the sky.

"Then we won't waste a minute of it," Skoyles announced. "Put us ashore and I'll pay you for your troubles. I expected you to be back home in your own bed last night, Cabal."

"So did my wife."

"Will she fret?"

"I doubt it," said the other easily. "We've been married a long time, so she's used to this kind of thing. Nancy knows that I'll get back to Cambridge sooner or later. Somehow, I always do."

"Did you tell her that you'd have passengers aboard?"

"No, Captain. Now, that
would
have worried her." He began to haul up the anchor. "You need to get ashore and find somewhere to dry off."

"Where would you suggest?"

"Barnstable."

"That's too far away," Caffrey argued. "Barnstaple is in Devon."

"I know, Tom," Polly added. "I was born there."

"When the Pilgrim Fathers came here," said Mears, yanking the rope, "they brought English names with them. Barnstaple changed to Barnstable, but it was so called after the town you mention. You'll find Truro, Chatham, Yarmouth, Sandwich, Rochester, and others here."

"We'll settle for Barnstable," said Skoyles, "however it's spelled."

Mears took command. The sail was hoisted to catch what little wind there was, and the fisherman took the tiller. Skoyles and Caffrey reached for the oars. Inspired by the sight of land and pleased with the relative calmness of the sea, they rowed with enthusiasm toward the distant harbor.

"We did it, Jamie," said Caffrey, grinning. "We escaped."

"There's a long way to go yet, Tom."

"Yes, but nothing could be as bad as being caught in that storm."

"Don't tempt Providence," warned Skoyles.

"What do you mean?"

"There could be worse to come."

The Indian name for the little port had been Cummaquid, but the settlers thought Barnstable more appropriate. A few isolated cabins had been built at first, and it was not until 1639 that the plantation had grown to a size where it could be officially recognized as a town. Barnstable had been founded by the Reverend Joseph Hull, minister and dairy farmer, drawn to the area by its salthay pastures. Covered in snow, some of the original timber houses were still there alongside later buildings. The Congregational church occupied a prime position.

It was still early, but people were already at work. As the bedraggled newcomers walked up the main street, they collected a lot of curious stares. Led by Skoyles, they trooped into the first tavern they found and were delighted to see a roaring fire in the grate. When they stood around it, steam began to rise from their wet clothing. The owner came bustling in, a stout, rosy-cheeked widow in her forties, wearing a plain dress with a white pinafore over it. Seeing the disheveled state they were in, she was immediately sympathetic.

"Oh dear!" she clucked. "Where have you been to get like that?"

"We were caught in a storm out at sea," said Skoyles.

"Poor things!"

"We were sailing to Dartmouth to visit friends but we were blown off course. After spending the night on board, we were put ashore here."

"You're a long way from Dartmouth, sir," she told him.

"No matter. We feel safer reaching it by land."

Skoyles had concealed their true destination from her. They were, in fact, making for Newport, Rhode Island, occupied by the British the previous year because, unlike New York, its harbor would not freeze over in the depths of winter. It was thus a much-needed all-weather naval base. Once they reached British territory, they could disclose their true identity and proceed on to New York to make contact with General Clinton. Fortunately, the woman accepted Skoyles's explanation without question. Her concern was for the two ladies.

"Leave the gentlemen here," she suggested. "Come with me and I'll take you somewhere even warmer. You can clean up a little and change into some
dry clothes. And while you're doing that," she went on with a broad smile, "I'll make some breakfast for all four of you."

"Wonderful!" said Caffrey. "Thank you kindly."

"You toast yourself in front of that fire, sir."

"I will."

"Follow me, ladies."

She escorted Elizabeth and Polly into the adjoining room as if she had just decided to adopt them. The cordial welcome did much to help the men forget the exigencies of the voyage on the fishing boat. All that worried them now was how to reach their destination. Tom Caffrey held both hands out to the fire.

"It's a pity that Cabal Mears couldn't take us all the way, Jamie."

"He only agreed to get us well clear of Boston," said Skoyles. "To be honest, I never thought we'd sail this far with him."

"Do we have to walk from now on?"

"Unless we can find some other means, Tom."

"Which route do we take?"

Skoyles patted his pocket. "I've a rough map of the area that we can look at when we've thawed out. Otherwise, we take advice as we go. There'll be other taverns along the way. We just have to hope that everyone we meet believes our story."

"And if they don't?"

"Then we may have to leave certain places very rapidly," said Skoyles, turning around so that his back could feel the heat of the fire. "If anyone realizes that we've escaped from the Convention army, there could be serious trouble. And there'll be other dangers to contend with as well, remember."

"Wolves, bears, Indian tribes?"

"Put it this way, Tom, I think we'll be grateful that we're both armed. Before we set out, we must make sure that our powder is dry. And if anything should happen to separate us," he stressed, "make your way to Newport. We'll meet up again there."

Caffrey was dismayed. "Nothing is going to part us, surely?"

"You never know."

When the ladies rejoined them, they had had time to dry off and brush their tousled hair. After the night on the boat, they still looked weary, but they were much happier now.

"We've been talking to Hattie," said Elizabeth, glancing over her shoulder. "That's her name—Hattie Crocker. She's been running this tavern since her husband died, it seems. Anyway, she told us that the quickest way to get to Dartmouth is to go southwest to Falmouth and sail across from there."

"Not more time afloat!" groaned Caffrey.

"No," said Skoyles. "We'll stay on dry land. We'll head northwest and work our way around Buzzards Bay."

"Buzzards Bay—I don't like the sound of that!"

"After that, we follow the coast south until we reach Dartmouth."

Caffrey sighed. "If only it was the
real
Dartmouth."

"Yes," agreed Polly, "I'd give anything to be back home in Devon."

"You'll get there one day," said Skoyles.

"What about you? Aren't you dying to get back to England?"

He glanced at Elizabeth. "We have other plans, Polly."

Before Skoyles could enlarge on what those plans were, the door opened and Hattie Crocker came in, bearing a large wooden tray. On it were four bowls of hot broth and some hunks of bread.

"I thought you deserved something warm inside you," she said brightly, putting the tray down on a table. "Eat as much as you wish. There's plenty more in the kitchen. Here it is. Sit yourselves down and enjoy your breakfast."

They needed no more invitation.

An hour later, refreshed and restored, Skoyles searched the town until he found the one horse that was for sale. It was a bay mare, past her best years, but well able to carry the two women and the luggage. Skoyles also bought a sack of fodder. When they left Barnstable, they followed the track that took them in the direction of Buzzards Bay, some thirty miles or so away. With both women mounted and the men striding out purposefully, they were able to make good progress. The journey was uneventful at first, but Skoyles and Caffrey nevertheless preferred to carry their muskets. They were still in enemy territory.

Shortly after noon, they stopped beside a stream to rest the horse and eat some of the food they had brought with them. Polly Bragg took the opportunity to slip behind some bushes to answer a call of nature. Tom Caffrey went off to give the horse some of the hay. For the first time since they had made their escape bid, Skoyles and Elizabeth were alone.

"Why did you want me to carry most of the money?" she asked.

"Because you'll look after it."

"You could do that equally well, Jamie."

"No," he said. "If we are captured, I'll be searched and the money taken. A woman is less likely to be searched as thoroughly. Nobody will know just how much you have hidden away beneath your skirt."

"And how much is it?"

"You'll have to ask Major Featherstone."

Elizabeth grimaced. "I'd never do that!"

"Most of it came from him."

"He can afford to lose it. Harry comes from a wealthy family."

"He never let me forget that, Elizabeth."

"It's strange," she observed. "When I sailed from England, I was so determined to travel with him during a campaign, yet I can't even bear to think about him now. Harry belongs to another existence altogether."

"Are you happy with your new life?"

"Very happy. What about you?"

He kissed her. "There's no need to ask," he said. "Though I'll feel happier still when we get to Newport and see British uniforms again."

"How far will we go today?"

"As far as we can, Elizabeth."

The others rejoined them and they pressed on. Autumn had denuded some of the trees of their leaves and robbed the countryside of much of its color, but there was still a rustic beauty about the terrain. By midafternoon, they reached a village and bought fresh supplies. The others were content to linger, but Skoyles insisted that they move on. When they were well clear of the village, he explained why.

"I had a feeling that it was not safe to stay," he said.

"Why not?" asked Caffrey.

"Two women astride one horse, two men with muskets. We must present an odd sight, Tom. People were suspicious."

"They seemed friendly enough."

"They asked too many questions."

"At least, they told us where the next village is."

"Yes," said Skoyles, "but will we be allowed to reach it?"

At that moment, a shot rang out ahead of them. The horse shied and
Skoyles had to grab the bridle. Elizabeth and Polly were almost thrown to the ground. Disturbed by the report, a flock of geese took to the air and flew past them.