Jack Absolute (29 page)

He bent to the earth, ignoring his feet –
when had they become that colour? –
and tried to rediscover the deer track he’d lost in his musings. When he did, he clicked his tongue at Doughty, and they
started forward again; he’d long given up needing to lead him. They were moving again towards that strange crackling. And
as they hit a slope and began to climb, suddenly he could see five paces ahead, then ten. There was breeze in his face, the
mists fraying in it, dissolving. And the crackling that had been puzzling before
was suddenly much louder and now came as clear as his vision.

‘Muskets, and lots of them,’ he said, gripping the thick mane, swinging himself up. ‘Pray God we are not too late.’

‘Zounds! Absolute? What the devil’s become of you?’

Lieutenant-Colonel Carleton, Burgoyne’s adjutant, stood in the centre of the commander’s tent, aghast at the apparition before
him. To his left, Burgoyne’s full-length mirror showed Jack to himself. He had to own he was not looking his best. The old
squaw’s blouse was barely clinging to his tattooed chest, the holed breech cloth scarcely preserving his modesty. Given a
beard that was now over two weeks old and untrained, and skin that had barely a square inch unscratched or unbitten … Jack
could see why his superior officer might be somewhat appalled.

But he could not concern himself now with fashion. ‘The General, sir. I must speak to him at once.’

Carleton came forward, carrying a camp chair. He set it down and Jack, after a moment’s hesitation, slumped into it. ‘You
have returned from Clinton? What message does he send?’

‘You’ll pardon me, sir; for the General’s ears only. Where is he?’

‘Where do you think?’ Carleton gestured to the west. ‘There!’

Jack did not need to turn his head. The sound of musketry had grown to a distant but distinct roar, like surf pounding on
a Cornish beach; cannon added a staccato bass note to the song. Bugles brayed. Very faintly now, Jack could even hear voices.
Shouts and screams.

‘An American attack?’

‘Ours. Though it’s only meant to be a reconnaissance in force to test the Rebel left. And a chance for us to reap some
grain that’s growing there. But by the sounds of it we have stirred up the viper in his den.’

Jack winced at the reference, then sighed. ‘I must go to him.’

He tried to rise. Carleton’s hand on his shoulder held him effortlessly down. ‘Not looking like that, me lad. You’ll get yourself
shot, arrested or, at the very least, laughed at. Can’t have a staff officer looking so disgraceful. Where’s your uniform?’

Jack passed a hand across his eyes. ‘Um, I … I believe the General was holding it for me.’

‘Really?’ Carleton crossed to the armoire that stood beside the mirror, threw open its door. A dozen beautifully tailored
coats hung there from a rail. ‘What regiment are you?’

‘Regiment?’ He was, of course, a captain in the Queen’s Light Dragoons. But since that regiment was not serving in this campaign,
and it was entirely proper for an officer to hold dual commissions in horse and foot, Burgoyne had had him appointed to …
to …

‘The 24
^th
Foot, sir?’

‘Excellent! Simon Fraser’s own and down there now in the thick of it.’ Carleton delved among the clothes. ‘Yes, here it is.’

He pulled the red coat from its hanger, laid it out on the table. A shirt came from a drawer, which also disgorged a bearskin
hat, a stock, belt, pair of breeches, stockings, waistcoat, sash, steel gorget …

‘Sir, I feel time is pressing—’

‘Time can pause, sirrah!’ Carleton glared at him. ‘We may be beaten this day – but we will not be under-dressed!’ He turned
back to the armoire. ‘I know you have a reputation of being something of an eccentric planet, Absolute but … ah!’ He emerged
from further rooting. ‘These must be yours. Yes, J.A. God alone knows how you get the General to cart this
stuff around for you.’ He plonked two shining shoes on the table, with the black gaiters that would be buttoned to the knee.
‘Braithwaite,’ he yelled at the tent flap. Burgoyne’s batman appeared before the cry had faded from the canvas walls. ‘Fetch
me some hot water, soap, and a razor. And some food.’

The servant barely glanced at the prone Absolute before nodding and retiring.

The Colonel reached into a knapsack, producing a dusty bottle. ‘Been saving this. Armanac! The very thing.’ He swiftly poured
two glasses and thrust one across at Jack. ‘For King and Country, eh?’ As Jack tried to stand for the toast, he waved him
back down, and drained his glass. ‘Yes, that’s the stuff. Now, man, do you have a horse?’

‘My horse is outside, sir. But he’s exhausted.’

Carleton threw back the tent flap, allowing Braithwaite to bustle in under his arm and march to the table, setting stew and
biscuit there before Jack. Jack did not hold back, just tipped the bowl, swallowing straight down the thin soup and bits of
what he presumed to be meat that floated in it. The biscuit disappeared in three bites.

Carleton was staring out. ‘But that’s … that’s … Doughty! Best horse on the campaign. Lost fifty guineas to the Earl of Balcarras
at Ticonderoga jumping against my Nimrod. He’s down there too, of course, young Sandy.’ He turned back. ‘Looks fine to me.
Carry you across three counties, what? See he’s saddled, Braithwaite. I’ll do that.’

He crossed to the table, took the brush from the servant, dipped it in the steaming water, stropped it vigorously across the
cake of soap.

‘Now, my good man,’ he said, smiling down, ‘all off or leave you your sideburns?’

It was remarkable what a shave, a clean uniform, a bowl
of hot food and a tot or two of fine liquor could do for a fellow. Barely thirty minutes after Jack had entered the Commander’s
tent in the guise of a scarecrow, he re-emerged as a smart, if somewhat skinny, officer, though all they’d been able to do
with his tangled, thick hair was bind it in a bow. Yet Braithwaite had found time not only to feed and saddle Doughty, he
had given him a quick groom as well. The horse snickered as Jack approached and danced sideways across the grass.

Mounting, Jack cried, ‘To the guns!’ and Doughty snorted, reared, and cantered off. Jack had no real need to control him;
the horse knew the sounds of battle as well as he. There was a soft path that led from the tent in the forest clearing and
emerged soon into the open, joining a larger one there. Immediately they were passing companies of both Redcoats and blue-clad
Germans, all staring nervously down the valley towards the great bank of gunsmoke that was obscuring everything there, from
which only the driven waves of regimental volleys, the sharp explosions of individual rifles, the heavy bark of cannon, the
shriek of bugles, and, more faintly, of men could be observed. Carleton had told him that, to make up a fully fit force, detachments
had been taken from each of the regiments and formed into impromptu units. So it was these men’s comrades that were struggling
in that smoky hell, their colours that flew over that field.

Jack galloped past Freeman’s Farm, which he had run through two weeks before to gain the British lines. Just beyond it, on
a slight rise, stood a new, well-fortified structure made up of earth and thick tree trunks – Balcarras’s Redoubt, Carleton
had named it. And beside it, as the Colonel had predicted, telescope pointing down a path that cut through the wood ahead,
was General Burgoyne.

Jack reined in just behind him, dismounted, and handed his reins to a groom who already held those of the staff
horses. Captain Money shook his hand quickly then turned to his commanding officer.

‘General?’

‘Can’t see a damn thing. Smoke and trees as ever. Does Fraser hold the Barber Wheatfield or no?’ Burgoyne lowered his scope,
but still squinted ahead. ‘Yes, Money?’ he called over his shoulder.

‘New arrival, sir.’

Burgoyne looked back and instantly smiled. ‘Why, Jack Absolute! A little late, eh? Nearly missed your entrance.’

‘A few problems, sir. Unavoidable, I am afraid.’

‘Oh, I am sure.’

A burst of shouting caused all to turn to see a man dashing towards them from the forest to their left, along the front of
the redoubt. He tripped and fell, then stood immediately to attention before them. He wore the markings of a grenadier, the
button of the 62
^nd
, the crimson sash of a sergeant. That he was away from his company indicated that something was very wrong.

‘Beggin’ your leave, sir,’ he said, his Welsh accent thick, ‘but Major Ackland fears he cannot hold the wood. We are pressed
hard, sir.’

‘Major Ackland would not send such a message if it were not true,’ Burgoyne said, ‘and if his Grenadiers fail, our right flank
will fold. Go back, man, and tell him he has my permission to withdraw to the redoubt.’

The sergeant saluted, turned and ran. ‘Francis?’ Burgoyne called, and an exquisitely tailored young officer stepped forward.
‘Be so good as to convey to Generals Fraser and Riedesel that they should retire on us in good order, at their earliest convenience.’

‘Sir!’ A salute was snapped up, returned, and the man mounted and was away.

‘Now, Captain Absolute,’ Burgoyne turned back to him,
‘what news do you bring me? Does General Clinton march to us or no?’

Jack glanced at the staff officers, who stared back at him, their expressions intent. ‘Perhaps, sir, I should convey the news
in private.’

He saw Burgoyne’s urbanity waver a little at that – for he had to realize that private news would be bad. But his voice was
still light when he said, ‘They must all know soon enough and base their actions on your report. For if you and I were killed
…’ He waved his hand. ‘So – does Clinton come?’

Jack knew that the news, bad as it was, must be conveyed without honeying. ‘He moves, sir, upon the Highland forts,’ he continued
over the gasps of relief, ‘but with just three thousand men.’

Even Burgoyne’s composure cracked at that.
‘Three?
Three thousand, you say? By God, that may be enough to take the forts but not to hold them and march to us here.’ He looked
around at the exhausted, grim faces before him; all eyes avoided his now. So he looked up for a moment into the clouds as
if to seek there for a better omen, then sighed, looked back. ‘Well, gentlemen, it appears we have been left to our own resources.’
Snapping his telescope up, he turned back to the field. The noise, that had seemed to slacken for the duration of Jack’s report,
returned now five-fold. ‘“I have set my life upon a cast and I will stand the hazard of the die,”’ Burgoyne declaimed above
it. ‘What’s that?
Henry the Fifth?
Agincourt?’

Captain Money coughed, spoke.
‘Richard the Third
, I think, sir. Bosworth.’

‘Surely not? Damn, I would hate to be quoting the vanquished. A bottle of Bucellas on it, shall we say? Your savage, Jack,
would be able to tell us. He’s around, by the way, somewhere. I kept him, as you requested.’ Burgoyne waved his hand towards
the British right, as Jack’s heart gave
a little jump. Then the General turned the scope again to the path ahead. ‘Good God. Is that Francis?’

All looked. Indeed, the body of the messenger, Sir Francis Clarke, was being carried by four men back towards them, among
the scores of wounded, desperate soldiers coming down the path and from the woods.

Silence held them for a moment as they studied the body for any sign of life. But when he was laid out nearby, all could see
the ragged chest, ripped open by at least three rifle balls.

‘Poor lad,’ Burgoyne murmured. ‘The Countess will never forgive me.’ He turned to his officers. ‘We do not know if he delivered
his message. And we need to. Does Fraser rally? I would not order another and yet … would anyone go?’

Those designated messengers must already have been sent. The staff officers who remained all lowered their eyes, avoiding
Burgoyne’s. Until they reached Jack, who held his gaze and nodded. ‘Since I have missed most of the fighting, sir … and Fraser’s
24
^th
is, technically, my regiment … I should be the one to go to them.’

There was a long pause. Burgoyne looked as though he would not have it so, then turned to gaze out once more over the field
before speaking. ‘I should not doubt but Simon is somewhat short of officers by now. Help him to rally them, Captain, and
to bring him and his men back here. Perhaps we can break the Rebel on this redoubt and yet win this hazard.’

‘General.’ With a swift salute, Jack once more mounted Doughty. There was another route than the one Clarke had taken to his
death, a path that led around rather than through the wood. Less clogged with retreating soldiers, it would bring him quicker
to the fray. Pausing only to check the two pistols in their saddle holsters – Carleton had lent
him a matched pair from the French foundry of St Etienne, one of the finest in the world – and that his sabre was unhindered
in its scabbard, Jack mounted.

Doughty, as usual, responded to the merest touch of heels. They cantered along the edge of the wood. The trees and a slight
dip seemed to absorb most of the noise, if not the smell, of battle. To his right, he could see a second redoubt, Breymann’s,
garrisoned by that German officer and detachments of his men. Between the redoubts were two fortified cabins and, even in
a swift glance, Jack could see that the men who held them wore a variety of uniforms or none at all. Canadians and Mohawks.
He suddenly knew that Até would be there among them. He would see him soon, he hoped. If he survived what lay ahead.

Then he rounded the wood and all thought of reunion was swept away in sound and smoke.

‘Fire!’ yelled an officer immediately in front of him, and the company of Redcoats, two ranks of twenty, discharged as one
man. Their targets stood less than fifty yards away, some blue-coated, some in the fur and buck-skin of Daniel Morgan’s riflemen,
yet others in varying shades of grey or brown or green. There was a huge mob of them and while some fell to the volley, others
leaped up from the ground where they’d thrown themselves and immediately returned fire. It was not a volley but it was perhaps
more accurate. The officer sank down clutching a shoulder, three men fell. But their bodies were swiftly dragged to the rear,
the ranks redressed at the bellows of an NCO. At his command, muskets were reloaded, presented. Another volley crashed out.
It may have been somewhat more ragged this time but it checked the gathering to their front. The Rebels seemed to split into
two groups and seek to run either side of the tight body of men.