Appletons’
Town and Country
Library
No. 216
THE SUN OF SARATOGA
A ROMANCE OF BURGOYNE’S SURRENDER
THE SUN
OF SARATOGA
A Romance of Burgoyne’s Surrender
BY
JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER
[Illustration: Logo]
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1897
COPYRIGHT, 1897,
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--ON WATCH 1
II.--A LIGHT IN THE WINDOW 16
III.--A SHOT FROM THE WINDOW 29
IV.--OUT OF THE HOUSE 49
V.--MY SUPERIOR OFFICER 62
VI.--BELT’S GHOST 77
VII.--IN BURGOYNE’S CAMP 91
VIII.--A NIGHT UNDER FIRE 108
IX.--MY GUIDE 118
X.--THE SUN OF SARATOGA 132
XI.--THE NIGHT AFTER 143
XII.--WE RIDE SOUTHWARD 155
XIII.--WE MEET THE FLEET 169
XIV.--THE PURSUIT OF CHUDLEIGH 186
XV.--THE TAKING OF CHUDLEIGH 199
XVI.--THE RETURN WITH CHUDLEIGH 219
XVII.--MY THANKS 232
XVIII.--THE BATTLE OF THE GUNS 246
XIX.--THE MAN FROM CLINTON 259
XX.--NOT A DROP TO DRINK 274
XXI.--THE MESSENGER 295
XXII.--CAPITULATIONS 310
THE SUN OF SARATOGA.
CHAPTER I.
ON WATCH.
“You will watch this hollow and the hill yonder,” said the general,
“and see that not a soul passes either to the north or to the south.
Don’t forget that the fate of all the colonies may depend upon your
vigilance.”
Then he left me.
I felt much discomfort. I submit that it is not cheering to have the
fate of thirteen large colonies and some two or three million people,
men, women, and children, depend upon one’s own humble self. I like
importance, but not when it brings such an excess of care.
I looked to Sergeant Whitestone for cheer.
“We are not the only men on watch to cut off their messengers,” he
said. “We have our bit of ground here to guard, and others have
theirs.”
Then he sat down on the turf and smoked his pipe with provoking calm,
as if the troubles of other people were sufficient to take our own
away. I decided to stop thinking about failure and address myself to my
task. Leaving the sergeant and the four men who constituted my small
army, I took a look about me. The hollow was but a few hundred yards
across, sparse-set with trees and bushes. It should not be difficult to
guard it by day, but by night it would be a different matter. On the
hill I could see the walls and roof of the Van Auken house. That, too,
fell within my territory, and for reasons sufficient to me I was sorry
of it.
I walked part of the way up the hillside, spying out the ground and
seeing what places for concealment there might be. I did not mean to be
lax in my duty in any particular. I appreciated its full import. The
great idea that we might take Burgoyne and his whole army was spreading
among us, and it was vital that no news of his plight should reach
Clinton and the other British down below us.
I came back to Sergeant Whitestone, who was still sitting on the
ground, puffing out much smoke, and looking very content.
“I don’t think we need fear any attempt to get through until night,” he
said. “The dark is the time for messengers who don’t want to be seen.”
I agreed with him, and found a position of comfort upon the grass.
“There’s our weak point,” said the sergeant, waving his hand toward the
Van Auken house.
I was sorry to hear him say so, especially as I had formed the same
opinion.
“But there’s nobody up there except women,” I said.
“The very reason,” replied the sergeant.
I occupied myself for a little while tossing pebbles at a tree. Then I
disposed my men at suitable distances along our line, and concluded to
go up to the house, which going, in good truth, was part of my duty.
I was near the top of the hill when I saw Kate Van Auken coming to meet
me.
“Good morning, Dick,” she said.
“Good morning, Mistress Catherine,” I replied.
It had been my habit to call her Kate when we were children together,
but I could not quite manage it now.
“You are set as a guard upon us?” she said.
“To protect you from harm,” I replied with my most gallant air.
“Your manners are improving,” she said in what I thought rather a
disdainful tone.
“I must search the house,” I continued.
“You call that protecting us?” she said with the same touch of sarcasm.
“Nevertheless it must be done,” I said, speaking in my most positive
manner.
She led the way without further demur. Now I had every confidence in
Kate Van Auken. I considered her as good a patriot as myself, though
all her family were Tory. It did not seem to me to be at all likely
that any spy or messenger of the British had reached the concealment of
the house, but it was my duty to be sure.
“Perhaps you would not care to talk to my mother?” she asked.
“No!” I replied in such haste that she laughed.
I knew Madame Van Auken was one of the most fanatic Tories in New York
colony, and I had no mind to face her. It is curious how women are more
hard-set than men in these matters. But in my search of the house I
was compelled to pass through the room where she sat, most haughty and
severe. Kate explained what I was about. She never spoke to me, though
she had known me since I was a baby, but remained rigid in her armchair
and glowered at me as if I were a most wretched villain. I confess that
I felt very uncomfortable, and was glad when we passed on to another
room.
As I had expected, I found nothing suspicious in the house.
“I hope you are satisfied?” said Miss Van Auken when I left.
“For the present,” I replied, bowing.
I rejoined Sergeant Whitestone in the hollow. He was still puffing at
his pipe, and I do not think he had changed his position by the breadth
of a hair. I told him I had found nothing at the house, and asked what
he thought of the case.
“We may look for work to-night, I think,” he replied very gravely.
“It’s most likely that the British will try to send somebody through
at this point. All the Van Aukens, except the women, are with Burgoyne,
and as they know the ground around here best they’ll go to Burgoyne and
have him send the men this way.”
That was my thought too. Whitestone is a man of sound judgment. I sent
two of our lads toward the house, with instructions to watch it, front
and rear. It was my intent to visit them there later.
Then I joined Whitestone in a friendly pipe and found much consolation
in the good tobacco. Kate’s manner had nettled me the least bit, but
I reflected that perhaps she was justified, as so many of her people
were with Burgoyne, and, moreover, she was betrothed to Chudleigh, an
Englishman. Chudleigh, an officer with Tryon in New York before the
war, had come down from Canada with Burgoyne. So far as I knew he had
passed safely through the last battle.
I had naught in particular against Chudleigh, but it seemed to me that
he might find a wife in his own country.
The day was slow. I would rather have been with the army, where there
was bustle and the hope of great things, but Whitestone, a pack of
lazy bones, grunted with content. He stretched his long body on the
ground and stared up at the sky through half-closed eyes. A mellow sun
shone back at him.
Toward noon I sent one of the men to the house with a request for some
small supply of provision, if they could spare it. We had food, a
little, but we wanted more. Perhaps I ought to have gone myself, but I
had my reasons. The man came back with two roast chickens.
“The old lady gave me a blessing,” he said with a sour face, “and said
she’d die before she’d feed rebels against the best king that ever
lived; but the girl gave me these when I came out the back way.”
We ate our dinner, and then I changed the sentinels at the house.
Whitestone relapsed into his apparent lethargy, but I knew that the
man, despite his seeming, was all vigilance and caution.
We looked for no happenings before dark, but it was yet a good four
hours to set of sun when we heard a noise in the south and saw some
dust rising far down the hollow.
Sergeant Whitestone rose quickly to his feet, smothered the fire in
his pipe, and put his beloved companion in an inside pocket of his
waistcoat.
“A party coming,” I said.
“Yes, and a lot of ’em, too, I think,” he replied, “or they wouldn’t
raise so much dust.”
One of the men ran down from the hill where the view was better, and
announced that a large body of soldiers was approaching. I called all
the others and we stood to our arms, though we were convinced that the
men marching were our own. Either the British would come with a great
army or not at all.
The approaching troops, two hundred at least, appeared down the valley.
The dust encased them like armor, and one can not tell what a soldier
is by the dirt on his uniform. Whitestone took one long and critical
look and then unbuttoned his coat and drew out his pipe.
“What are they?” I asked.
“Virginians,” he replied. “I know their stride. I’ve served with ’em.
Each step they take is exactly two inches longer than ours. They got it
hunting ’possums at night.”
They were in loose order like men who have marched far, but their faces
were eager, and they were well armed. We halted them, as our duty bade
us, and asked who they were.
“Re-enforcements for the Northern army,” said the captain at their
head. He showed us an order from our great commander-in-chief himself.
“Where is Burgoyne?” he asked as soon as I had finished the letter. “Is
he still coming south?”
“He is but a few miles beyond you,” I replied, “and he will come no
farther south. There has been a great battle and we held him fast.”
They gave a cheer, and some threw up their hats. To understand our
feelings one must remember that we had been very near the edge of the
ice, and more than once thought we would go over.
All their weariness gone, these long-legged Southerners shouldered
their rifles and marched on to join the great belt of strong arms and
stout hearts that was forming around the doomed Burgoyne and his army.
As they passed, Sergeant Whitestone took his pipe out of his mouth and
said:
“Good boys!”
Which was short, but which was much for him.
I watched their dusty backs as they tramped up the valley.
“You seem to admire them,” said some one over my shoulder.
“It is they and their fellows who will take Burgoyne, Mistress
Catherine,” I replied.
“They can’t stand before the British bayonet,” she said.
“Sorry to dispute the word of so fair a lady,” I replied, meaning to be
gallant, “but I was at the last battle.”
She laughed, as if she did not think much of my words. She said no
more, but watched the marching Virginians. I thought I saw a little
glow as of pride come in her face. They curved around a hill and passed
out of sight.
“Good-by!” said Mistress Kate. “That’s all I wanted to see here.”
She went back to the house and we resumed our tedious watch. Whitestone
had full warrant for his seeming apathy. After the passage of the
Virginians there was naught to stir us in the slightest. Though born
and bred a countryman, I have never seen anything more quiet and
peaceful than that afternoon, although two large armies lay but a short
distance away, resting from one bloody battle and waiting for another.
No one moved at the house. Everybody seemed to be asleep there. Some
birds chattered undisturbed in the trees. The air had the crisp touch
of early autumn, and faint tokens of changing hues were appearing
already in the foliage. I felt a sleepy languor like that which early
spring puts into the blood. In order to shake it off I began a thorough
search of the country thereabouts. I pushed my way through the bushes,
and tramped both to the north and to the south as far as I dared
go from my post. Then I visited the guards who adjoined my little
detachment on either side. They had to report only the same calm that
prevailed at our part of the line. I went back to Sergeant Whitestone.
“Better take it easy,” advised he. “When there’s nothing to do, do it,
and then be fresh to do it when there’s something to do.”
I took his advice, which seemed good, and again made myself comfortable
on the ground, waiting for the coming of the night. It was still
an hour to set of sun when we saw a mounted officer coming from the
north where our army lay. We seemed to be his destination, as he rode
straight toward us. I recognized Captain Martyn at once. I did not like
this man. I had no particular reason for it, though I have found often
that the lack of reason for doing a thing is the very strongest reason
why we do it. I knew little about Captain Martyn. He had joined the
Northern army before I arrived, and they said he had done good service,
especially in the way of procuring information about the enemy.
Whitestone and I sat together on the grass. The other men were on guard
at various points. Captain Martyn came on at a good pace until he
reached us, when he pulled up his horse with a smart jerk.
“Your watch is over,” he said to me without preliminary. “You are to
withdraw with your men at once.”
I was taken much aback, as any one else in my place would have been
also. I had received instructions to keep faithful guard over that
portion of the line for the long period of twenty-four hours--that is,
until the next morning.
“But this must be a mistake,” I protested. “There is nobody to relieve
us. Surely the general can not mean to leave the line broken at this
point.”
“If you have taken the direction of the campaign, perhaps you had best
notify our generals that they are superseded,” he said in a tone most
ironical.
He aroused my stubbornness, of which some people say I have too much,
and I refused to retire until he showed me a written order to that
effect from the proper officer. Not abating his ironical manner one
whit, he held it toward me in an indifferent way, as much as to say,
“You can read it or not, just as you choose; it does not matter to me.”
It was addressed to me, and notified me briefly to withdraw at once
with my men and rejoin my company, stationed not less than ten miles
away. Everything, signature included, was most proper, and naught was
left for me to do but to obey. The change was no affair of mine.
“Does that put your mind at rest?” asked Martyn.
“No, it does not,” I replied, “but it takes responsibility from me.”
Sergeant Whitestone called the men, and as we marched over the hill
Martyn turned his horse and galloped back toward the army. When he had
passed out of sight behind the trees I ordered the men to stop.
“Whitestone,” said I to the sergeant, who, as I have said before, was a
man of most acute judgment, “do you like this?”
“Small liking have I for it,” he replied. “It is the most unmilitary
proceeding I ever knew. It may be that our relief is coming, but it
should have arrived before we left.”
I took out the order again, and after scanning it with care passed it
to Whitestone.
Neither of us could see anything wrong with it. But the sergeant’s
manner confirmed me in a resolution I had taken before I put the
question to him.
“Sergeant,” I said, “every man in our army knows of what great import
it is that no messenger from the British should get through our lines.
We are leaving unguarded a place wide enough for a whole company to
pass. I think I’ll go back there and resume guard. Will you go with
me?”
He assented with most cheerful alacrity, and when I put the question
to the others, stating that I left them to do as they pleased, all
joined me. For what they believed to be the good of the cause they were
willing to take the risks of disobedience, and I was proud of them.
I looked about me from the crest of the hill, but Martyn was out of
sight. We returned to the valley and I posted my men in the same
positions as before, my forebodings that it would be a night of action
increased by this event.