THE NIGHT AFTER.
But a dull murmur arose from the two camps, victor and vanquished. Both
seemed to sleep for the morrow. I had done so much guard duty of late
that I looked for such assignment as a matter of course, and this night
was no exception. With Whitestone and some soldiers I was to guard one
of the little passes between the hills. We were merely an alarm corps;
we could not stop a passage, but there were enough behind us whom we
could arouse for the purpose. The British might retreat farther into
the interior, but the river and its banks must be closed to them.
We stood in the dark, but we could see the wavering lights of either
camp. The murmur as it came to us was very low. The two armies rested
as if they were sunk in a lethargy after their strenuous efforts of the
day. I did not regret my watch. I did not care to sleep. The fever of
the fight yet lingering in my blood, I was not so old to battle that I
could lie down and find slumber as soon as the fighting ended.
“Mr. Shelby,” said Whitestone, “is there any rule or regulation against
a pipe to-night?”
“I know of none, Whitestone,” I said.
He was satisfied, and lighted his pipe, which increased his
satisfaction. I strolled about a little, watching the lights and
meditating upon the events of the day. The camps stood higher than I,
and they looked like huge black clouds shot through here and there
with bits of flame. I believed Whitestone’s assurance that Burgoyne
would retreat on the morrow; but I wondered what he would attempt after
that. Clinton’s arrival might save him, but it seemed to me that the
possibility of such an event was fast lessening. In this fashion I
passed an hour or two; then it occurred to me to approach the British
camp a little more closely and see what movements there might be on the
outskirts, if any. Telling Whitestone of my intent, I advanced some
forty or fifty yards. From that point, though still beyond rifle shot,
I could see figures in the British camp when they passed between me and
the firelight.
There was one light larger than the others--near the center of the camp
it seemed to be--and figures passed and repassed in front of it like a
procession. Presently I noticed that these shapes passed in fours, and
they were carrying something. It seemed a curious thing, and I watched
it a little; then I understood what they were doing: they were burying
the dead.
I could easily have crept nearer and fired some bullets into the
British camp, but I had no such intent. That was the business
of others, and even then I could hear the far-away shots of the
sharpshooters.
The sights of this stricken camp interested me. The ground was
favorable for concealment, and I crept nearer. Lying among some weeds I
could obtain a good view. The figures before indistinct and shapeless
now took form and outline. I could tell which were officers and which
were soldiers.
Some men were digging in the hillside. They soon ceased, and four
others lifted a body from the grass and put it in the grave. A woman
came forward and read from a little book. My heart thrilled when I
recognized the straight figure and earnest face of Kate Van Auken. Yet
there was no need for me to be surprised at the sight of her. It was
like her to give help on such a night.
I could not hear the words, but I knew they were a prayer, and I bowed
my head. When she finished the prayer and they began to throw in the
earth, she walked away and I lost sight of her; but I guessed that she
went on to other and similar duties. I turned about to retreat, and
stumbled over a body.
A feeble voice bade me be more careful, and not run over a gentleman
who was not bothering me but attending to his own business. A
British officer, very pale and weak--I could see that even in the
obscurity--sat up and looked reproachfully at me.
“Aren’t you rebels satisfied with beating us?” he asked in a faint
voice scarce above a whisper. “Do you want to trample on us too?”
“I beg your pardon,” I said. “I did not see you.”
“If any harm was done, your apology has removed it,” he replied most
politely.
I looked at him with interest. His voice was not the only weak thing
about him. He seemed unable to sit up, but was in a half-reclining
position, with his shoulder propped against a stone. He was young.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, sympathizing much.
“I’m in the most embarrassing position of my life,” he replied, with
a faint attempt at a laugh. “One of your confounded rebel bullets has
gone through both my thighs. I don’t think it has struck any bone, but
I have lost so much blood that I can neither walk, nor can I cry out
loud enough for my people to come and rescue me, nor for your people to
come and capture me. I think the bleeding has stopped. The blood seems
to have clogged itself up.”
I was bound to admit that he had truly described his position as
embarrassing.
“What would you do if you were in my place?” he asked.
I didn’t know, and said so. Yet I had no mind to abandon him. The
positions reversed, I would have a very cruel opinion of him were he
to abandon me. He could not see my face, and he must have had some idea
that I was going to desert him.
“You won’t leave me, will you?” he asked anxiously.
His tone appealed to me, and I assured him very warmly that I would
either take him a prisoner into our camp or send him into his own. Then
I sat my head to the task, for either way it was a problem. I doubted
whether I could carry him to our camp, which was far off comparatively,
as he looked like a heavy Briton. I certainly could carry him to his
own camp, which was very near, but that would make it uncommonly
embarrassing for me. I explained the difficulty to him.
“That’s so,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t want you to get yourself
into trouble in order to get me out of it.”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Hume. Ensign William Hume,” he replied.
“You’re too young to die, Hume,” I said, “and I promise not to leave
you until you are in safety.”
“I’ll do the same for you,” he said, “if ever I find you lying on a
hillside with a bullet hole through both your thighs.”
I sat down on the grass beside him, and gave him something strong out
of a little flask that I carried in an inside pocket. He drank it with
eagerness and gratitude and grew cheerful.
I thought a few moments, and my idea came to me, as good ideas
sometimes do. As he could neither walk nor shout, it behooved me to do
both for him. Telling him my plan, of which he approved most heartily,
as he ought to have done, I lifted him in my arms and walked toward the
British camp. He was a heavy load and my breath grew hard.
We were almost within reach of the firelight, and yet we were not
noticed by any of the British, who, I suppose, were absorbed in their
preparations. We came to a newly cut tree, intended probably for use in
the British fortifications. I put Ensign Hume upon this tree with his
back supported against an upthrust bough.
“Now, don’t forget, when they come,” I said. “to tell them you managed
to crawl to this tree and shout for help. That will prevent any
pursuit of me.”
He promised, and shook hands with as strong a grip as he could, for he
was yet weak. Then I stepped back a few paces behind him, and shouted:
“Help, help, comrades! Help! help!”
Figures advanced from the firelight, and I glided away without noise.
From my covert in the darkness I could see them lift Hume from the tree
and carry him into his own camp. Then I went farther away, feeling glad.
It was my intent to rejoin Whitestone and the soldiers, and in truth I
went back part of the way, but the British camp had a great attraction
for me. I was curious to see, as far as I could, what might be going
on in its outskirts. I also encouraged myself with the thought that I
might acquire information of value.
Thus gazing about with no certain purpose, I saw a figure coming toward
me. One of our sharpshooters or spies returning from explorations, was
my first thought. But this thought quickly yielded to another, in which
wonderment was mingled to a marked extent. That figure was familiar. I
had seen that swing, that manner, before.
My wonderment increased, and I decided to observe closely. I stepped
farther aside that I might not be seen, of which, however, there was
but small chance, so long as I sought concealment.
The figure veered a little from me, choosing a course where the night
lay thickest. I was unable to make up my mind about it. Once I had
taken another figure that looked like it for Albert, and once I had
taken it for Albert’s sister, and each time I had been wrong. Now I had
my choice, and also the results of experience, and remained perplexed.
I resolved to follow. There might be mischief afoot. Albert was quite
capable of it, if Albert’s sister was not. The figure proceeded toward
our post, where I had left Whitestone in command for the time being. I
fell in behind, preserving a convenient distance between us.
Ahead of us I saw a spark of fire, tiny but distinct. I knew very well
that it was the light of Whitestone’s pipe. I expected the figure
that I was following to turn aside, but it did not. Instead, after
a moment’s pause, as if for examination, it went straight on toward
the spark of light. I continued to follow. Whitestone was alone. The
soldiers were not visible. I suppose they were farther back.
The gallant sergeant raised his rifle at sight of the approaching
figure, but dropped it when he perceived that nothing hostile was
intended.
“Good evening, Miss Van Auken,” he said most politely. “Have you come
to surrender?”
“No,” replied Kate, “but to make inquiries, sergeant, if you would be
so kind as to answer them.”
“If it’s not against my duty,” replied Whitestone, with no abatement of
his courtesy.
“I wanted to know if all my friends had escaped unhurt from the
battle,” she said. “I was going to ask about you first, sergeant, but I
see that it is not necessary.”
“What others?” said the sergeant.
“Well, there’s Mr. Shelby,” she said. “Albert said he saw him in that
fearful charge, the tumult of which frightened us so much.”
“Oh, Mr. Shelby’s all right, ma’am,” replied the sergeant. “The fact
is, he’s in command of this very post, and he’s scouting about here
somewhere now. Any others, ma’am, you wish to ask about?”
“I don’t recall any just now,” she said, “and I suppose I ought to go
back, or you might be compelled to arrest me as a spy, or something of
that kind.”
The sergeant made another deep bow. Whitestone always thought he had
fine manners. Kate began her return. She did not see me, for I had
stepped aside. But I was very glad that I had seen her. I watched her
until she re-entered the British camp.
When I rejoined Whitestone he assured me that nothing whatever had
happened in my absence, and, besides the men of our immediate command,
he had not seen a soul of either army. I did not dispute his word, for
I was satisfied.
All night long the bustle continued in Burgoyne’s camp, and there was
no doubt of its meaning. Burgoyne would retreat on the morrow, in a
desperate attempt to gain time, hoping always that Clinton would come.
The next day this certainty was fulfilled. The British army drew off,
and we followed in overwhelming force, content, so our generals seemed,
to wait for the prize without shedding blood in another pitched battle.