It was Danforth’s misfortune to be the first to arrive with news of the debacle on the river. With both schooners occupied in recovery operations, Danforth and a handful of men had set out on foot to find Burgoyne. They’d had to elude rebel patrols and could trust no one they found. Since they had no real idea where Burgoyne’s army was, they’d had to backtrack to find its trail and then chase it westward. It had been an exhausting effort and Danforth had an overpowering urge to go to sleep. He wondered if he could possibly do it while standing at attention. Danforth had given Burgoyne both a written and an oral report.
“Is any attempt being made to raise some of the guns, the supplies?”
“Sir, General Arnold is using the schooners to try and do exactly that, but I don’t think he’ll succeed. They’re just too small to lift something as heavy and inert as nine-pound cannon out of the deep mud of the river.”
Burgoyne shook his head angrily, “Assuming, of course, that they can even find the damned things in the muck.” He sighed and tried to calm himself. “Stand at ease and relax, Danforth, I hardly think this farce is your fault and nobody here will blame you for it when they have Arnold as a far more convenient target. After all, he was in command, not you. According to Arnold, the fault lies with the late and unlamented Captain Rudyard who was drunk on duty and allowed the rebels to sneak up on him. Is that correct?”
Burgoyne saw a flicker of hesitation on Danforth’s. “Was this Rudyard creature drunk?”
“He was, sir,” Danforth said miserably. The man was dead. Why heap scorn upon him? Still, Burgoyne was totally blaming Arnold and Rudyard for the debacle which boded well for Danforth’s personal future. Perhaps he would come out of this with his reputation unblemished.
Burgoyne sighed. “And he was your friend, was he not? Of course he was. And don’t worry about your reputation. You were an aide, a representative from me, and had no authority over the expedition. Arnold approved of Rudyard’s plans for the defense of the fleet, did he not? Of course he did. That makes Arnold culpable because he was the man in charge. He can try to shift blame, but it won’t work and Arnold knows it. Command and responsibility are often lonely, and the loss of the cannon is all Arnold’s fault. Except, of course, for the unpleasant fact that I was responsible for putting Arnold in charge in the first place. Tell me, Danforth, despite the small size of our ships, is there any hope at all of recovering anything?”
“Sir, even if Arnold does locate and dredge up some of the cannon, the carriages have likely been destroyed and the gunpowder is soaked and gone. Carriages can be built in time, and I’m sure you have some powder, but where will we get sufficient cannonballs? They would have to be cast and that is simply not possible with the tools and metal we have at hand. Again, we may recover a few cannonballs, but not very many. Like the cannon, they’ve doubtless sunk deep into the muck.”
Burgoyne rubbed his chin. “You are correct. Some powder is all we have. Our reserve supplies were on those damned boats. As for balls,” he mused, “I suppose we might do without solid shot by using stones and such, but the range and accuracy of the weapons would be greatly diminished. And, yes, we could manufacture something out of local wood to function as sledges instead of proper carriages, but, lord, how far we have fallen.”
There was silence while the general contemplated the disaster. He shook his head and smiled slightly. “Thank you for your report, Captain Danforth, and be thankful we don’t behead messengers anymore. Your friend Fitzroy is standing outside the tent and trying to eavesdrop. Tell him to get you fed and bathed and rested.”
* * *
Will Drake went looking for Sarah. He was told that she and a group of women were in the swamp and working on the system of dams and ditches that kept water funneling through to keep the area wet, boggy, and unattractive to people like Burgoyne who preferred to fight on solid ground.
As Will walked through the woods his feet sank to well above his ankles in what was little more than thick mud and he wondered just how much of the wetness was due to nature and how much was aided by the work of the men and women from Fort Washington. When he almost fell into a deeper pool, he used a long thin tree limb to probe the water and found that there were places where it would come up over his waist. He grinned. If the rest of the swamp was like this, Burgoyne would avoid it like the plague.
After a while he heard the sound of voices and moved cautiously in that direction. In a moment he came upon a group of women using wooden shovels to shore up the sides of a ditch through which water was flowing. He quickly realized that he shouldn’t be where he was. The women were all wearing long skirts, but had hiked them up and tucked the hems in their belts; thus exposing their legs and thighs which gleamed whitely except where they were covered with black goo from the swamp. Obviously they thought they were working in private as they were unconcerned about their partial nudity that would have been unthinkable in other circumstances. One of them might have been Sarah, but he turned quickly and began to walk away before anyone could accuse him of staring.
He’d just about decided to wait for her to return to her quarters when he heard someone behind him.
“Ah, there you are, the rogue who was spying on us.”
Will turned and grinned sheepishly. Sarah was filthy and sweaty and staring at him, her expression stern and set with anger. She’d let her skirt fall down to its normal length, although her feet were bare.
“I didn’t mean to spy. I’d come looking for you to talk to you.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that? You’d better be thankful that none of the others who saw you skulking in the woods knew who you were.”
He was about to say he hadn’t been skulking when he saw the twinkle growing in her eyes. “And you were the most beautiful of all the mud maidens,” he said and she laughed.
“I’ll bet you say that to all the women you find crawling around in a swamp.”
He took her hand. “As a matter of fact, I do. Aren’t your friends going to miss you?”
“No. We were just about finished our task and I pleaded that I had to get back to Doctor Franklin, which, by the way, is somewhat true. He needs his nap and I’m going to make sure he gets one. He gets involved in a project and sometimes refuses to quit, which results in his becoming exhausted. We need him alive and alert.”
“I’m glad no one else recognized me,” Will said and Sarah hooted.
“And you’re the brave soldier who’s fought the Indians and the Redcoats? Afraid of the sight of women’s muddy legs, are you? Or did you think women don’t have legs? And, if we don’t, how in God’s name do we walk?”
“You’re right. Thank God for women’s legs.”
“Now, brave soldier, why had you come looking for me?”
“To give you the good news,” he said, thankful for the change of topic. “Arnold’s fleet’s been destroyed and this has caused Burgoyne to make another halt so the supplies he’d expected to get from the ships can be replaced from the depots he’s so carefully built up behind him.”
She clapped her hands in delight. “Wonderful, but it’s obviously not a mortal blow to him. However, we’ll all take any kind of victory, even small ones, won’t we?”
As they walked back to her room at Franklin’s office he told her of the grievous price Glover’s regiment had paid for the victory and the loss of Glover himself. It sobered both of them.
Still, by the time he and Sarah had checked on Dr. Franklin and confirmed that he was sound asleep, and then gotten to her room, they realized that the good news far outweighed the bad. “Get a bucket of water,” she ordered and he complied.