Valley Forge (9 page)

"I see."

"
The Pennsylvania Patriot
is our flag. We know best how to fly it."

Proudfoot remembered what he had been told earlier about Pearsall Hughes, and he realized how accurate an assessment of him it had been. Evidently, he would brook neither criticism nor interference. The bookseller was very much his own man.

Crossing the bay was a real trial for those unaccustomed to sailing, but it was far worse when they reached the open sea. The swell increased, the wind freshened, and the temperature seemed to fall. They also had to contend with
swirling undercurrents. Jamie Skoyles sat with a soothing arm around Elizabeth Rainham's shoulders and, in spite of her apparent discomfort, she smiled bravely. Polly Bragg was also troubled by the random agitation of the boat, but she made no complaint either. What irritated Tom Caffrey was the way Cabal Mears remained at the helm, calmly smoking his pipe and giving every indication that he was actually enjoying their voyage.

"I'm glad I'm not a fisherman," said Caffrey.

"But it's a perfect day for sailing," Mears responded.

"Perfect!"

"Clear sky, calm sea, strong wind."

"We're being blown all over the place."

"No, Tom," Skoyles explained, much more at ease than the others. "Cabal is tacking to make best use of the wind. Trust him."

"I have no choice," Caffrey moaned. The boat dipped, then rose as another wave hit them. "Nobody told me that it would be like this."

"Would you rather be back in those squalid barracks?"

"No, Jamie."

"Then stop protesting. It's the same for all of us."

"True."

"Be grateful to Cabal. He's helping us to escape."

Caffrey was too jangled to be able to express any gratitude, but he had the grace to apologize for his outburst. He tried to put his own anxieties aside and devote himself to cheering up Polly Bragg. Veering one way, then the other, the boat continued south. The most likely place for it to be intercepted had been in the bay. With that behind them, they felt marginally safer. Elizabeth tossed an admiring glance at the fisherman.

"It's so brave of him to do this for us, Jamie," she said. "Did you have to pay him a lot to persuade him?"

"I haven't paid him anything yet," Skoyles replied.

"Oh?"

"Cabal insisted on getting us away from Cambridge first."

"How honorable of him!"

"The same can't be said of Otis Tapper. He wanted all his money
before
he provided the horses. I only gave him half of the agreed amount in advance—or I'd never have seen him again."

"As it was," she recalled, "he was dead before we even got there. They'd hanged him on the spot. We not only lost the chance to escape but you forfeited all that money as well."

"There was plenty more where that came from."

"Was there?"

"Yes," he said with a confiding smile. "General Burgoyne has been kind enough to invite me to the card table, and I rarely lose."

"What he said to me in Montreal was true, then."

"Yes, Elizabeth."

"It was at that ball, the first time I met you. He warned me never to play cards with Captain Skoyles because he had the luck of the devil."

He squeezed her hand. "Lucky at cards, and lucky in love."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Of course. Don't you?"

"Well, yes," she said uncertainly, "though I'm not sure that being tossed around in this boat is exactly my idea of good fortune."

"We escaped, Elizabeth. Most of the others are still there."

"I know."

"They're doomed to remain in captivity until the war ends."

"And then what?"

"They'll have to be set free."

"I'm not talking about them, Jamie. I was thinking of us. When the war is finally over, what will happen?"

"We'll get married and settle down here."

"In America?"

"Where else?" he said. "I told you from the very start that this is where I intend to stay. That's why I've taken every opportunity I've had for gambling. The card table has earned me the money I'll need to buy a decent amount of land. I couldn't do that on a captain's pay." He sensed her reluctance to agree with him. "When we first discussed it, you seemed happy enough with the idea."

"I couldn't be happier with the idea of marrying you, Jamie, but I do have qualms about staying in this country. Think of all the blood that's been shed. We'd be living among enemies."

"Memories fade in time."

"They would never accept us."

"They would if we showed them that we were determined to become one of them," he maintained. "If we were ready to live as Americans."

"I'm still too British to conceive of that."

"This country will grow on you."

"Frankly," she admitted, "it's starting to repel me."

"That's because it holds too many uncomfortable memories for you at the moment. Wait until you get to know America better, Elizabeth." He gave her a teasing look. "Would you rather go back home to England to marry Major Featherstone?"

"Heaven forbid!"

"He could offer you a wedding in Canterbury Cathedral."

"That's meaningless to me."

"Is it?"

"Yes, Jamie. I never want to set eyes on him again."

"Don't be too harsh on him," he said. "But for him, we'd never have met. You didn't sail all the way to Canada in order to meet that notorious cardsharp, Captain Jamie Skoyles. We have the major to thank for making that possible."

"I never saw it that way."

"Perhaps you should, Elizabeth. I loathe the man as much as you do, but I'm not blind to his finer qualities. He's a true philanthropist."

"Philanthropist?"

"Yes," he said with a smile. "My plans for the future cost money. And the person who put most of it in my pocket was none other than that selfsame Major Harry Featherstone. Every time I won at cards, he lost—heavily, as a rule. It was he who paid for the hire of Cabal's boat," he went on. "I wonder what he'll say when he finds out that he made our escape possible."

"Gone!" Harry Featherstone was astounded. "What do you mean—gone?"

"Miss Rainham is no longer here, sir."

"Then where on earth is she?"

"I don't know."

"You must have some idea, woman."

"All that I can tell you is this," said Nan Wyatt, feigning ignorance, "when I woke up this morning, Miss Rainham was nowhere to be seen. I searched the
whole house, and the fields nearby, but there was no sign of her. I'm as puzzled as you, Major Featherstone."

"Did your mistress leave no note?"

"Not a line, sir."

"Damnation!"

Harry Featherstone slapped his thigh hard out of sheer frustration. They were outside the house where Elizabeth Rainham had been staying with Friederike von Riedesel and her children. Having gone to the trouble of scavenging a supply of food, the major was mortified to hear that Elizabeth was no longer there. He had hoped to ingratiate himself with her. Instead of that, he was left in the lurch with the bag of provisions he had carried all the way there.

"Tell me the truth," he said, fixing Nan with a stare. "Miss Rainham would go nowhere without her maid."

"She did this time. It's very upsetting."

"Don't lie to me or you'll live to regret it."

"Why should I lie?" asked Nan. "I worry about her. I've looked after Miss Rainham for many years, yet she leaves me without a word of explanation. I'm fretful, Major. I want to know that she's safe."

Nan Wyatt was on the verge of tears. Though she had been warned of her mistress's departure, she was very skeptical about her chances of escape and, as a result, was patently anxious. Unsure whether or not he could trust her, Featherstone saw no point in badgering the maid. He had just remembered the other visitor whom Elizabeth had seen on the previous day, and he spat the name out.

"Captain Skoyles!"

"What about him, sir?"

"How often has he been out here?"

"Once or twice."

"What brought him here yesterday?"

"Who knows, Major? I did not speak to him."

"Skoyles is behind this," he concluded, lip curling in disgust. "That's where Miss Rainham must be—she's run away with that rogue! Captain Skoyles has led her astray." He spun on his heel and marched away. "Damn the man! I'll make him pay for this."

The first sign of trouble was when the sun disappeared. Having dazzled their eyes until midafternoon, it suddenly vanished behind a cloud. The wind picked up and had a much harsher bite to it. The sky began to darken. Cabal Mears had been hugging the shore to get a measure of protection from the elements, but he could foresee danger.

"There's a squall coming," he warned.

"How bad will it be?" asked Skoyles.

"Bad enough. We need to run for cover."

"Where can we hide out here?"

"There are some islands around the next headland," said Mears. "I've anchored there before when the weather turned against me. Been there for days on end sometimes."

Caffrey was curious. "Where did you sleep?"

"Here on the boat."

"You must have been soaked to the skin."

"I hid under the tarpaulin. The sea is a capricious master," he went on resignedly. "You have to obey its rules."

"What must we do now, Cabal?" said Skoyles.

"Sit tight and be ready to get wet. Oh, and one more thing."

"What's that?"

"Pray," Mears suggested. "Pray that we're not swept out to sea."

CHAPTER FIVE

D
uring his childhood in England, Jamie Skoyles had run before a storm on more than one occasion, but he had been sailing on a placid lake at the time. The worst he had feared was a soaking from the rain. Far greater dangers threatened now. The wind was much louder, stronger, and more variable than anything he had experienced in his native Cumberland. It seemed to change direction every other minute, pounding their bodies with random brutality, deafening their ears and tossing the vessel hither and thither. In the space of twenty minutes, the Atlantic Ocean had become a heaving cauldron that rocked the boat violently and flung ice-cold water into their faces.

"Tie everything down!" yelled Skoyles, anxious to save their precious cargo. "Help me, Tom!"

"We need to tie ourselves down," cried Caffrey in alarm.

"Pile it all together!"

Shifting his feet to maintain his balance, Skoyles put the four bundles together with the two muskets. Caffrey passed him a rope and he lashed the items together to one of the seats. Elizabeth Rainham and Polly Bragg were clinging to the side of the boat as it rolled and pitched. They had never anticipated such upheaval. Feeling sick, both women withdrew deeper into their hoods. The sky grew blacker, the sea wilder, and the wind more punitive. The noise was earsplitting. Instead of helping them, the flapping canvas now became a liability.

"Take over here, Captain!" Cabal Mears bellowed.

"Right," said Skoyles.

"I need to lower the sail before the mast cracks."

"Leave go—I've got it."

Skoyles grasped the tiller and needed all his strength to hold it against the surging waves. To his horror, they were being carried farther away from land, helpless against the force of wind and water. Planting his feet wide apart, Mears tried to lower the sail, hardly able to control it as the boat plunged madly on. The canvas appeared to have a life of its own, billowing crazily and trying to break free of its mast. As the fisherman struggled manfully with the halyard, the rain began to fall, hard, cold, and biting, making it even trickier for him to keep his footing. Frightened that they might be knocked into the sea, Caffrey and the two women held each other more tightly. When he finally got the sail down, Mears lashed the canvas firmly before going back to the stern.

"Let me take over," he said.

"She's a real handful," Skoyles warned, releasing the tiller. "It feels as if the rudder is about to snap any moment."

"We've been through much worse than this, Captain."

"What can we do to help?"

"The ladies might feel safer if they were tied to the mast."

"And then?"

"I'll need you and the sergeant to pull on the oars again," said Mears. "Otherwise, we're completely at the mercy of the storm. It could carry us anywhere, and we need to make for those islands."

"What islands?" said Skoyles, blinded by the downpour.

"They're not too far away, Captain. At least, I hope not."

As if to confound his prediction, the wind howled angrily, the rain drenched them to the bone, and the biggest wave yet lifted the boat up, then hurled it down into a long, deep, dark, seething valley of water.

"This will be your room, sir," Henry Gilby explained, opening the door for him. "If you find it agreeable, that is."

"I'm sure I will," said Proudfoot. "Your tavern was recommended."

"That's always good to hear. Go inside."

"Thank you."

He stepped into a room that was small, square, sparsely furnished, but impeccably clean. The landlord followed him in. Since darkness was starting to fall, there was even a candle burning in its sconce to shed some additional light. The bed looked serviceable and would be very welcome after the
malodorous straw mattress on which he had been sleeping at Whitemarsh. A jug of water and a basin stood ready. A cracked chamber pot poked out from beneath the bed. After appraising the room, Proudfoot put his luggage on the little table beneath the window. He looked through the glass and had a clear view of the River Delaware. He turned back to the landlord.

"This will do admirably, Mr. Gilby," he decided.

"Thank you, sir."

"You'll need some rent in advance, you said."

"If that's not too much trouble for you, Mr. Allen."

"Not at all."

"And if our charges meet with your approval."

"It's a very fair price," said Proudfoot, taking out some coins to pay him. "You know, I was much mistaken. I thought that Philadelphia was the Quaker City. I never expected to see so many taverns here."

"Oh, lots of other people have moved in since the days of William Penn, sir. We now have churches and chapels of every kind." Gilby gave a quiet smile. "Fortunately, the Society of Friends no longer rules the roost here. Unlike them, other Christians enjoy a good tipple. The same, of course, can be said of the British soldiers."