Tail Gait

October 7, 1777

Bemis Heights, near Saratoga, New York

Lieutenant Charles West slipped through the heavy woods with a handful of his men, all selected marksmen, part of Captain Alexander Fraser’s 34th Regiment. Below, other soldiers of Fraser’s 34th Regiment could be heard firing at the Continental forces. Any hope of the brave British lieutenant’s piercing the American rebels’ line was fading. The barrage was intense. Wearing green coats helped to conceal West’s Rangers, but the enemy knew the territory and had learned a great deal about fighting in such terrain from the Mohawks. The Continentals also carried rifles made in Kentucky or Pennsylvania, far more accurate than the British-issued musket, Brown Bess.

Senses razor-sharp, the nineteen-year-old lieutenant hoped to push forward, verify the flank of the rebel army, and report back to Captain Fraser. With only twenty men and his dog, Piglet, he searched for the back of that enemy flank. If only he could find it, then surely some of them would survive and return to their commander with that vital information.

Lieutenant Charles West, intrepid, and his men stealthily moved forward. At the young man’s heels trod his alert herding dog, a tough little fellow favored by the Welsh. While not Welsh, West hailed from the borderland with Scotland, had played as a child on Hadrian’s Wall. He’d learned to prize the ability of corgis.

Piglet was named for the king. With senses far superior to his master’s, he was accustomed to rifle fire and the boom of cannons. Stopping for a moment, he lifted his head and inhaled. A low growl and raised hackles alerted the dog’s beloved master. Charles halted. Looking down at Piglet bristling, he held up his hand for a halt. The twenty men under West’s command did as ordered but for Angus MacKenzie, twenty yards ahead.

A shot rang out directly in front of Angus, then a second to his left. The sturdy Scot dropped.

“If you want to live, stop,” a deep voice called from the woods while Angus struggled for breath. “Throw down your muskets.”

West looked around. A shot was fired over his head, then another and another. He put down his musket and hurried to Angus’s side. The men in West’s far rear carefully withdrew and were soon out of sight. Four other British soldiers remained with the lieutenant.

“MacKenzie, hang on, man.” Charles knelt to lift the older man’s grizzled head so gently the wounded man smiled.

Piglet came over to lick Angus’s face.

“Piglet, no,” Charles softly said as nearby a rebel rifleman rose from the brush and moved toward him and his men.

“I’ll carry you to wherever they take us,” West assured poor Angus.

Angus tried to smile through clenched teeth as he finally was able to mutter, “No time.”

Lieutenant West laid Angus gently down as Piglet whined a bit. Angus was gone. The officer in charge of the rebels, a young man close to Charles West in age, took note of the care his counterpart evidenced toward a simple soldier.

“Lieutenant,” the dark fellow said. “You and your men are my prisoners.”

“Charles West.” He inclined his head slightly.

The handsome young fellow prayed no one would be foolish. The four men close to Lieutenant West laid down their arms. The marksmen had done all that was asked of them.

With a flick of his hand, Captain John Schuyler sent some of his men to search for the other fleeing Brits. Six stayed behind with the captain.

Captain Schuyler strode up to Charles. Glancing down at the handsome flintlock pistol shoved into the lieutenant’s breeches, Schuyler plucked it out.

“A beauty.” Tall like Charles, Schuyler looked him right in the eye.

“A parting gift from my father.”

Stuffing the captured sidearm behind his belt, Captain Schuyler smiled broadly. “The fortunes of war.”

Oddly enough, the two strapping fellows were mirror images of each other, even as Schuyler’s black hair and brown eyes were in contrast to West’s blue eyes and blonde hair.

Knowing he could not possibly keep a sidearm as a prisoner, West was stung by the loss of his one prized paternal gift. However, West had more important worries.

“I shall assume,” Charles said, “that there is no time to bury MacKenzie?”

“I’m afraid not,” Captain Schuyler replied. He heard intensified gunfire below, as well as a bugle call abruptly silenced. “But you may retrieve from the body any such keepsake to send to his family.”

“Thank you, Sir. Most kind.” Charles again knelt down. Removing a letter from the inside of the dead man’s green coat, he also took a worn wedding band off Angus’s left hand. Feeling through his pockets, West pulled out a few coins, which he handed to Captain Schuyler.

The darker officer gave them back. “No, no, send what you can to his wife,” he said, for he noticed the wedding ring. “From the prison camp, you’ll be able to send letters, receive same and funds.” Observing West’s quizzical expression, Schuyler said, “We aren’t savages, man.”

West stood up, Piglet intently studying his master’s face. “What you are, Captain, are damned good soldiers.”

Grins appeared on the rebel faces. These cocky Brits thought they’d roll right over them, or, even worse, they thought most colonists would stick with the Crown. Hearing the battle raging below, the Americans liked the acknowledgment.

Captain Schuyler and his men surrounded his small harvest of captives. “Jacob, each one of you men take a musket.” Jacob and the others did as ordered.

The long march to an uncertain future began.

As an officer, Captain Schuyler walked with his British counterpart. He was intent on showing these people the rebellious colonists were civilized and understood the rules of war. Looking down at the corgi, he asked. “What is his rank?”

Despite himself, West smiled. “Private Piglet, Captain, eager to do my bidding.”

Voice low, slightly conspiratorial, Captain Schuyler replied, “Ah, now there’s a good soldier.”

Piglet, pleased, trotted along. Cannon fire could be heard at a distance, mostly from the rebels’ side. The British struggled to haul their big guns over the uneven ground. The little fellow was not afraid. He had liked Angus, would remember him in his fashion, for the older man would occasionally share a biscuit with him, speak to him in his accent, a soothing sound.

Piglet knew war as well as any canine, and he would protect Charles to the death. Through searing heat, driving rain, biting sleet, and heavy snows, Piglet didn’t care, as long as he was with his young man, a battle-hardened young man with a heart of gold. Even this terrible war couldn’t kill that, and Piglet knew it. But then dogs know the things about humans that humans work to conceal from other humans.

On that day, October 7, 1777, Fate tossed together three lives. Lieutenant Charles West, Captain John Schuyler, and Piglet, three lives that would be entwined until their own deaths years later. What the American Captain Schuyler knew that neither Lieutenant West nor Piglet could imagine was that an old order was dying and a new country was being born.