Valley Forge (18 page)

"Thank you."

"I'm grateful that you have such an understanding husband."

"Joshua will always do what's best for me."

"Sensible man."

They tucked into their breakfast with relish. Betsey Loring was a pretty young woman with a vivacity that had attracted him the moment they first met in Boston. The husband was a wine merchant with loyalist sympathies, and Howe had secured the favors of his wife with the lure of higher profits for Joshua Loring. Once the corrupt bargain had been struck, the general took the couple with him to New York, where he appointed the husband as his commissary of prisons, a post that carried a high salary and gave its holder endless opportunities for graft.

Mrs. Loring picked at her food and shot him another smile.

"I never knew that military life could be so pleasurable."

"It's not all blood and thunder on the battlefield," he said, dabbing at his lips with a napkin. "There'll be a long cessation from hostilities during winter. Even the dauntless General Washington is not so rash as to mount an attack at this time of year—unless he means to pelt us with snowballs, that is." She tittered happily. "We can devote ourselves to the gaming table and the bedchamber."

"Do not forget the dancing. Another ball is being held soon."

"Then we will be the first on the floor, Betsey."

"I will hold you to that," she said, sitting back as a servant arrived to clear the plates. "Your brother must be very jealous of you."

"Jealous?"

"Yes. While the admiral is cooped up on a ship, you have the freedom of a city where you are treated like a conquering hero. Some people have fled, it's
true," she said, "but Philadelphia always had more Tories in it than rebels. With the British army here, they have been able to show their true colors."

"That gratifies me more than I can say," he told her. "But do not trouble yourself on my brother's account. The navy is well able to indulge itself when it chooses to do so. Within his reach, Richard has all the luxuries that I have." He raised his cup to her. "With one significant exception, of course."

She giggled at the compliment. "Do you think that your brother would take to me?"

"He'll not get the opportunity, my dear."

"Why, are you afraid that he'd steal me away from you?"

"Oh, no," replied Howe with a laugh. "Richard is the finest seamen in the world, but his talents are strictly confined to naval matters. Let me put it this way. I am considered by some to be reticent and inarticulate. Yet compared to my brother, I am the very soul of eloquence."

"Then I've clearly chosen the better of the two."

"Indubitably."

There was a tap on the door and a manservant entered with a newspaper. He handed the copy of
The Pennsylvania Patriot
to Howe, then left the room. Wiping the moisture from around his lips, the general saw the title of the newspaper and got ready to sneer. Rebel publications always aroused his disdain. This issue, however, was different. In a prominent position on the first page was a large cartoon in which he and Betsey Loring were featured. After looking at it with horror, he tore the paper to shreds and threw it on the floor in a fit of anger.

"Whoever's upset you?" she asked in consternation.

"His name is Proudfoot," he growled. "Ezekiel Proudfoot."

Days later, at his headquarters in Valley Forge, George Washington was still diverted by the cartoon. He congratulated Proudfoot, and they speculated at length on how it would have been received by its intended target. Major Clark then arrived at the little house, anxious to meet the silversmith for the first time and eager to add his own words of praise. After introductions had been made, the three of them sat down for a discussion.

"What brings you to Valley Forge?" Clark asked.

"Discretion," Proudfoot replied.

"Exchanging the city for the bleak countryside is hardly discreet."

"I felt it safer to get out of Philadelphia until General Howe's ire died down a little. Troops were scouring every street and alleyway for me. Besides, I had intelligence to pass on to General Washington and was keen to see what progress you had made here."

"Very little, alas."

"Not so, Major," said Washington. "The outer fortifications improve with each day, and the redoubts give us additional protection. What is taking more time than I anticipated is the building of the cabins."

"There's no shortage of wood," Proudfoot observed.

"We lack sufficient means to cut it down and shape it, Ezekiel."

"What about food supplies?"

"The men have eaten no meat since we've been at Valley Forge."

"It's a scandal," said Clark fervently. "We have no succor here. The Commissary and Quartermaster Departments are in total disarray. We are desperate, Mr. Proudfoot. Christmas Day will soon be here and they will have nothing to eat but fire cake. A mixture of flour and water, baked before an open fire, will hardly keep body and soul together."

"We are short of fodder for the horses as well," Washington added solemnly, "but there are even greater worries than that. Twenty officers have already resigned, and, in spite of threats of execution, desertions mount daily. The demand for furloughs is never ending. If I granted them all, we'd lose a thousand men or more." He picked up the copy of the
Patriot
. "That's why your cartoon was so welcome, Ezekiel. It gave us a rare smile."

"Indeed, it did," said Clark. "Your work may not have the force of a cannon, Mr. Proudfoot, but its echo will last a deal longer."

"I'll ensure that the copies we were sent are passed out among the officers. They need something to cheer them."

"There'll be many more cartoons like that," Proudfoot promised.

"Good," said Washington. "Keep at it, Ezekiel. By the way," he went on, leaning back in his chair, "how did you find Pearsall Hughes?"

"Exactly as you described him, General."

"Intelligent, fearless, committed to independence?"

"And as prickly as a hedgehog."

"That's the fellow," Clark agreed with a smile. "But he's a godsend to us.
Not only does he edit the
Patriot
, he picks up so much useful gossip from British officers who patronize his bookshop."

"But it is merely gossip," Washington cautioned, "and, therefore, not altogether reliable. I mean this as no criticism of you, Major, because your sources in Philadelphia have given us invaluable information, but what we really need is someone within General Howe's circle."

"That's more difficult to contrive, General."

"Is there nobody who can be bought for money?"

"I've not found the ideal person as yet," Clark confessed. "That's why all of our intelligence comes second-hand."

"Keep looking," Washington advised. "The right man in the right place would be invaluable."

"And what did you do then, Captain Skoyles?" he asked. "Once you had reached Dartmouth under cover of darkness."

"We stole a boat from the harbor."

"A musket, a horse, a boat—you are an accomplished thief, sir."

"I prefer to see it as a case of serendipity, Major. I've always been adept at picking up a good thing when I found it. When we were on foot with four riders on our tail, the only way that we could possibly escape was by sea."

Captain Jamie Skoyles and Elizabeth Rainham had finally reached the headquarters of the British army in New York via the naval base at Newport, Rhode Island. They had been welcomed at both places and, for the first time in days, enjoyed the comforts of good food and warm beds. Major Walter Doel was now interviewing Skoyles on his own in a dining room that was used as an office. They sat either side of a long oak table. The major was a fleshy man with a round face, dimpled cheeks, and a habit of closing one eye when he asked a question. Even though he was senior in rank to Skoyles, he was all of six years younger. He was fascinated to hear about the escape from Cambridge and the subsequent adventures along the way, marveling at the sheer effort that was involved.

Skoyles's account was lucid but concise, omitting many details in the interests of speed. He did not describe the bitterly cold hours spent with Elizabeth on the roof of a tavern, or their hazardous descent in the dark down the
side of the building. Nor did he dwell on the long time spent rowing the stolen boat in the choppy waters of the Atlantic before they were eventually picked up by a British frigate and taken to Rhode Island. The trials and tribulations of the past week had not weakened Skoyles's readiness to fight. While most officers in his position would want a rest, all that he craved was further action.

"General Clinton has something in mind for you," said Doel.

"Really?"

"Yes, Captain. He was very impressed with the report you gave us on the conditions our soldiers endure in Cambridge. It was commendably thorough and confirmed all our fears. Congress means to tear up the convention treaty as if it never existed."

"Unhappily, that's true," said Skoyles.

"Our hopes are dashed. General Howe sent transports to Boston on the understanding that, instead of taking the men to England, they would bring them here, where they are sorely needed."

"Did he intend to release an equivalent number of rebel prisoners?"

"That's immaterial."

"I disagree, Major. It was the third article of the convention."

"So?"

"There was a specific mention of an exchange of prisoners."

"We're extremely careful whom we release from custody."

"But it's a question of honor, sir."

"Honor goes by the board in certain circumstances," said Doel glibly. "We'd have felt no obligation to set thousands of those damned rebels free so that they could do their best to kill us again."

"Custom demands it."

"Then custom would have been flouted on this occasion."

Skoyles looked at him with growing distaste. Major Doel was an able man, but he was irredeemably complacent and he showed an utter contempt for the enemy. Like the majority of officers, Doel had bought his commission, and that immediately set him apart from Skoyles, who had worked his way up from the ranks on merit. There was a social gulf between them that could never be closed. With his smugness and his air of well-bred arrogance, the man was beginning to remind Skoyles uncomfortably of Major Harry Featherstone.

"You've come to us too late, Captain," said Doel.

"Too late?"

"Yes, you've missed all the fun. When we drove the rebels out of the city, General Howe declared his policy in four words:
Toujours de la gaité
. We had such merrymaking," he went on with a braying laugh. "We had plays, concerts, and dances. Do you know what the trouble is with these benighted revolutionaries?"

"They refuse to give in."

"No, Captain. They don't know how to enjoy themselves. New York was full of long faces and narrow minds. We taught them the meaning of recreation. That's why you should have been here in the summer."

Skoyles was curt. "I was too busy fighting the enemy, sir."

"We had horse racing at Long Island, billiards at the King's Head Tavern, cricket at Bowling Green, swimming parties, of course, and even some golf. Do you play golf, Captain?" He wrinkled his nose slightly. "No, I suppose that you don't. It's a wonderful game."

"What about now, Major Doel?"

"Oh, we still have lots of ways to amuse ourselves."

"I was thinking of more serious matters, sir," said Skoyles. "I did not go to all the trouble of escaping simply to sit in the playhouse every evening. I'm hungry for a new assignment."

"Your enthusiasm is a tonic for us all, Captain," said Doel, getting to his feet. "And nobody could hear the tale of your escape without realizing what a brave and resourceful officer you are."

"Then use me, sir."

"We intend to."

"Give me work that will test me."

"General Clinton has already done so."

Skoyles was pleased. "Indeed?" he said. "Where must I go?"

"To prison."

Ezekiel Proudfoot was astonished at the ease with which Major Clark got into the city. They traveled from Valley Forge together and passed the forward posts that had been set up by Washington to control the roads into Philadelphia.
Once they got near the city, however, Clark led his companion down a track that looped around the British patrols and allowed them to enter from the south without ever once being properly challenged. Having shed his uniform, Clark was dressed in the sober apparel of a Quaker.

"It's only one of many disguises that I use," he explained.

"How often do you come to Philadelphia, Major?"

"As often as I can. There's nothing much that I can do at Valley Forge beyond shivering in the cold and railing at the patent shortcomings of Congress. Here, at least, I can gather intelligence from my agents. I'm pleased to call you one of them, Mr. Proudfoot."

"Allen," corrected the other.

"Of course. You, too, have a disguise—Reece Allen."

"I hope that it will be effective enough."

"Where will you stay?"

"At the King George Tavern."

"I'll meet you there this evening to share a drink."

"Yes, Major."

"Uh-uh," the other warned. "Now it is your turn to slip up. Do not give me away so easily. There are no soldiers in the Society of Friends. I am simply John Clark here."

"Then you will feel at home among your fellow Quakers," said Proudfoot, as a group of people in the familiar plain garb went past. "It must distress you beyond measure to see this fine city occupied. Henry Gilby never ceases to moan about it."

"Given the chance, Pontius Pilate would moan about anything. Does he still wash his hands in the air?"

"Constantly." They laughed together. "According to him, the British have turned Philadelphia into a sewer of depravity."

"There's a grain of truth in that," said the other, "but it's not a fair reflection of what has happened. There's strong loyalist support in the city, Mr. Allen. What upset me was the welcome that the British army was given when they moved in. Suddenly, there is life and levity here. The Quakers may take a dim view of it all, but speak to the daughters of any Tory and you'll hear a different tale."