WE MEET THE FLEET.
The night soon came and was very dark. We were compelled to stop for
rest and for food, which we found at a farmer’s house. But we were
satisfied with our day’s work. We had started, and with the appearance
of fact too, the report that Burgoyne had beaten us in pitched battle.
We knew the report would be carried far and wide, and Clinton would
think haste was not needed. Let me repeat that to win a battle is not
to win a campaign, and I hold no general’s commission either.
In the morning we met a few countrymen in a state of much fright.
“Clinton is coming!” was all that we could get from them. We thought
it more than likely that Clinton was coming in truth, since all the
reports said he and his ships ought to be very near now.
“The river is the place to look,” said Whitestone.
We turned our horses that way, and in a few minutes stood upon its high
banks.
“See,” said Whitestone, pointing a long arm and an outstretched finger.
I saw, and I saw, moreover, that our search was ended. Far down the
river was the British fleet, a line of white specks upon the silver
bosom of the water. We could scarce trace hull or sail or mast, but
ships they were without mistake, and British ships they must be, since
we had none. It was not a pleasant sight for us, but it would have
rejoiced the heart of Burgoyne had he been there to see.
We knew that Clinton must have several thousand men either on board
the fleet or not far below, and we knew also that with such a strong
force nothing could prevent his speedy arrival at Albany if he chose to
hasten. I knew not what to do. Ought we to go back at once to our army
with the news of what we had seen, or ought we to stay and find out
more? On one side was time saved, and on the other better information.
I put it to Whitestone, but he was as uncertain as I.
Meanwhile the fleet grew under the horizon of the river. We could trace
masts and spars, and see the sails as they filled out with the wind.
The little black figures on the decks were men.
A quarter of a mile or more below us we saw a rocky projection into
the river. I proposed to Whitestone that we ride at least that far and
decide afterward on further action.
We rode rapidly, but before we were halfway to the place we met men
running--frightened men at that. Their condition of mind showed plainly
on their faces. They wore militia uniforms, and we knew them to be
some of our citizen soldiery, who are sometimes a very speedy lot,
not being trained to the military business. We tried to stop them and
find out why they were running and whence they came; but all we could
get out of them was, “The British are coming, with a hundred ships and
forty thousand men!” At last, half by persuasion and half by force,
we induced one man to halt; he explained that he had been sent with
the others to man a battery of four guns on the point. When they saw
the British fleet coming, some of the raw militia had taken fright and
fled, carrying the others with them.
“But the ships may not be here for an hour,” I protested.
“So much the better,” he said, “for it gives us the more time.”
We released him, and he followed his flying comrades. Whitestone and I
looked ruefully after them, but I suggested that we continue our ride
to the point. Even with the ships abreast us in the river, it would be
easy for us to ride away and escape the British. We rode as rapidly as
the ground would allow, and soon reached the point and the deserted
battery.
I could have sworn with vexation at the flight of our militia. It was
a pretty battery, well planted, four trim eighteen pounders, plenty of
powder, shot neatly piled, and a flag still flying from a tall pole.
Whoever selected the place for the battery knew his business--which
does not always happen in the military life. I looked again in the
direction of the fleeing militia, but the back of the last man had
disappeared.
“What a pity!” I said regretfully to Whitestone. “At least they might
have trimmed the rigging a little for those British ships down yonder.”
“I don’t understand one thing,” said Whitestone.
“What is it?” I asked.
He took his pipe from his mouth and tapped the bowl of it significantly
with the index finger of his left hand.
“I can smoke that pipe, can’t I?” he asked.
“I should think so!”
“So could you if you had a chance, couldn’t you?”
“Certainly.”
“Those men who ran away could fire a cannon; so could----”
“Do you mean it, Whitestone?” I asked, the blood flying to my head at
the thought.
“Mean it? I should think I did,” he replied. “I used to be in the
artillery, and I can handle a cannon pretty well. So can you, I think.
Here are the cannon, there’s ammunition a-plenty, and over us flies the
brand-new flag. What more do you want?”
He replaced his pipe in his mouth, sat down on the breech of a gun, and
gave himself up to content. I looked at him in admiration. I approve of
so many of Whitestone’s ideas, and I liked few better than this. I was
young.
“Good enough, Whitestone,” I said. “I, as commander, indorse the
suggestion of my chief assistant.”
We took our horses out of the range of the guns on the ships and
fastened them securely, as we were thinking of our future needs. Then
we came back to our battery. Evidently the original defenders had
desired the battery to appear very formidable, for in addition to their
real guns they had planted eight Quaker guns, which, seen from the
center of the river, would look very threatening, I had no doubt. The
four guns, genuine and true, were charged almost to the muzzle.
“I think they have seen us,” said Whitestone, pointing to the ships.
It was a strong fleet--frigates and sloops. It was plain that they had
seen us and had not been expecting us, for the ships were taking in
sail and hovering about in an uncertain way. Officers in gilt and gold
stood on their decks watching us through glasses.
“Keep down, Whitestone,” I said. “We must not give them any hint as to
the size of our force.”
“But I think we ought to give ’em a hint that we’re loaded for bear,”
said Whitestone. “What do you say to a shot at the nearest frigate, Mr.
Shelby. I think she is within long range.”
I approved, and Whitestone fired. In the stillness of a country morning
the report was frightfully distinct, and the echo doubling upon and
repeating itself seemed to travel both up and down the river. The
shot was well aimed. It smashed right into the frigate, and there was
confusion on her decks. I fired the second gun, and down came some
spars and rigging on the same ship. Whitestone rubbed his hands in
glee. I shouted to him to lie close, and obeyed my own command as
promptly as he. The frigate was about to return our salute.
She swung around and let us have a broadside, which did great damage to
the rocks and the shore. But Whitestone and I remained cozy and safe. A
large sloop came up closer than the frigate and fired a volley, which
sailed peacefully over our heads and made a prodigious disturbance
among the trees beyond us.
“Can you get at that third gun, Whitestone?”
“Nothing easier!”
“Then give that spiteful sloop a shot. Teach her it isn’t safe for a
sloop to come where a frigate can’t stay.”
Whitestone obeyed, and his shot was most glorious. The chunk of lead
struck the sloop between wind and water and must have gone right
through her, for presently she began to sheer off, the signs of
distress visible all over her, as if she were taking in water at the
rate of a thousand gallons a minute. I clapped Whitestone on the back
and shouted “Hurrah!”
But our lucky shot had stirred up the full wrath of the fleet. The
ships formed in line of battle and opened their batteries on us, firing
sometimes one after the other, and sometimes nearly all together. I
dare say the cliffs of the Hudson, in all their long existence, have
never received such another furious bombardment. Oh, it was a bad day
for the trees and the bushes and the rocks, which were beaten and
battered and cut and crushed by eighteen-pound shot and twelve-pound
shot and six-pound shot, and the Lord knows what, until the river
itself fell into a rage and began to lash its waters into a turmoil!
But Whitestone and I, with all this infernal uproar around us, lay
in our brave earthworks as snug and cozy as chipmunks, and laughed to
think that we were the cause of it all. I rolled over to Whitestone and
shouted in his ear:
“As soon as the eruption diminishes a little we will try a fourth shot
at them!”
He grinned, and both of us embraced the earth for some minutes longer.
Then the fire of the enemy began to abate. We took the first chance to
peep out at them, but the volume of smoke over the river was so great
and so dense that we could see the ships but indistinctly.
As for ourselves, we had suffered little. One of our guns was
dismounted, but it was a Quaker, and no harm was done. The fire dying,
the clouds of smoke began to float away and the ships were disclosed.
Whitestone and I, peeping over our earthworks, beheld a scene of great
animation and excitement. The British were working hard; there was no
doubt of it. The bustle on the decks was tremendous. Officers were
shouting to men and to each other; men were reloading cannon and making
every preparation to renew the bombardment when their officers might
order it. One frigate had come too near, and was grounded slightly in
shallowing water. Her crew were making gigantic efforts to get her off
before our terrible battery could blow her to pieces.
The captains were using their glasses to see what was left of us, and I
could guess their chagrin when they beheld us looking as formidable and
as whole as ever, barring the dismounted Quaker. Our escape from injury
was not so wonderful after all. We defenders were only two, and we made
a very small target; while if the battery had been crowded with men the
death rate would have been prodigious.
“There goes the frigate!” I cried. “They’ve got her off! Give her a
good-by as she goes, Whitestone!”
He was lying next to the fourth gun, and he instantly sent a shot
smashing into the vessel. But the shot was like a veritable torch to
a powder magazine, for the fleet attacked us again with every gun it
could bring to bear. The first bombardment seemed to have aroused
fresh spirit and energy for the second, and Whitestone and I, taking
no chances with peeps, thrust our fingers into our ears and our heads
into the ground.
But we could not keep out the heavy crash-crash of the volleys,
blending now and then into a continuous roar, which the river and
the horizon took up and repeated. King George must have had a pretty
powder-and-shot bill to pay for that day’s work.
The clouds of smoke gathered in a vast black canopy over river and
ships, shore and battery. Under and through it appeared now and then
the dark lines of spars and ropes, and always the blazing flash of
many great guns. If the stony shores of the Hudson did not suffer
most grievously, let it not be charged against the British, for they
displayed a spirit and energy, if not a marksmanship, worthy of their
reputation.
I rejoiced at the vigor of their fire. Its volume was so great, and
they must be working so hard, that they could not know the battery was
making no answer.
By and by the cannoneers waxed weary of loading and firing, and
the officers of giving orders. The crash of the great guns became
more infrequent. The flash of the powder bore less resemblance to
continuous lightning. The smoke began to drift away. Then the defenders
of the battery rose up in their courage and strength, reloaded their
guns, and opened fire on the fleet.
I love to think that the British were surprised most unpleasantly.
Their fire was waning, but ours was not, it seemed to them. The
mischievous little battery was still there, and they had neither
reduced it nor passed it. It was mirth to us to think how easily they
could pass us, and yet preferred to reduce us.
“By all that’s glorious,” exclaimed Whitestone, “they’re retreating!”
It was so. The ships were hauling off, whether to refit for another
attack or to consult for future action we did not know. We gave them a
few shots as they drew away, and presently they anchored out of range.
Boats were launched, and men in gold-laced caps and coats were rowed to
the largest frigate.
“The admiral has called a conference, I guess,” I said to Whitestone.
He nodded, and we inspected our battery to see how it had stood the
second bombardment. Two more Quaker guns were dismounted, but one
of them we were able to put again into fairly presentable condition.
That done, we took some refreshment from our knapsacks, and awaited
in calmness the next movement of our enemies. As it was, we flattered
ourselves that we had made a gallant fight.
We waited a half hour, and then a boat put out from the big frigate.
Besides the oarsmen, it contained a richly dressed officer and a white
flag. They came directly toward us.
“A flag of truce and a conference,” I said. “Shall we condescend,
Whitestone?”
“Oh, yes,” replied Whitestone. “We ought to hear what they have to say.”
“Then you remain in command of the battery,” I said, “and I will meet
the officer.”
I scrambled down the high cliff to the water’s edge and awaited the
boat, which I was determined should not come too near. When it came
within speaking distance, I hailed the officer and ordered him to stop.
“I am Captain Middleton,” he called, “and I am commissioned by our
commander to speak to your commander.”
“General Arnold saw you coming,” I said, “and sent me to meet you and
hear what you have to say.”
“General Arnold!” he exclaimed in surprise.
“Yes, General Arnold, the commander of our battery,” I replied.
I mentioned General Arnold because of his great reputation then as a
fighting general. And a fighting general he was, too; I will say it,
traitor though he afterward proved to be.
“I thought General Arnold was with Gates,” said the officer.
“Oh, they quarreled,” I replied airily, which was the truth, “and
General Arnold, being relieved of his command up there, has come down
here to fight this battery. You have seen for yourself that he knows
how to do it.”
“It is true,” he said, “your fire was very warm.”
He looked up at the battery, but I would not let him come within fifty
feet of the shore, and he could see nothing save the earthworks and
some of the gun muzzles.
“It can be made warmer,” I said confidently, not boastingly.
“I have come to summon you to surrender,” he said. “We will offer you
good terms.”
“Surrender!” I laughed in scorn. “Why, my dear captain, you have made
no impression upon us yet, while we have scarred your ships a bit.”
“That is a fact,” he said. “You have handled your eighteen-pounders
well.”
“Twenty-four pounders,” I corrected.
“I did not know they were so heavy,” he said. “That accounts for the
strength of your fire.”
He seemed pleased at the discovery. It made an excuse for his side.
“No doubt General Arnold can do something with a battery of twelve
twenty-four pounders,” he began.
“Eighteen twenty-four pounders,” I corrected. “You can not see all the
muzzles.”
He looked very thoughtful. I knew that he was impressed by the
exceeding strength of our battery.
“But about the proposition to surrender,” he began.
“I will not take such an offer to General Arnold,” I exclaimed
indignantly. “In fact, I have my instructions from him. He’ll sink
every ship you have, or be blown to pieces himself.”
Captain Middleton, after this emphatic declaration, which I am sure I
made in a most convincing manner, seemed to think further talk would be
a waste, and gave the word to his oarsmen to pull back to his ship.
“Good day,” he said very courteously.
“Good day,” said I with equal courtesy. Then I climbed back up
the cliff and re-enforced the garrison. I watched Middleton as he
approached the flagship. He mounted to the deck and the officers
crowded around him. In a half hour the ships bore up again, formed
line of battle, and opened upon us a third terrific bombardment, which
we endured with the same calmness and success. When they grew tired
we gave them a few shots, which did some execution, and then, to our
infinite delight, they slipped their cables and fell back down the
river.
“When they find out what we really are they’ll come again to-morrow and
blow us to splinters,” said Whitestone.
“Yes, but we’ll be far away from here then,” said I, “and we may have
held them back a day at least. Why, man, even an hour is worth much to
our army up yonder!”
We were in a state of supreme satisfaction, also in a state of hurry.
There was nothing more for us to do in the south, and it was our
business to hasten northward with the news we had. I rejoiced greatly.
I hoped that Clinton would continue to fiddle his time away below
Albany, impressed by the risks he was taking, thanks to our brave
battery.
We found our horses nearly dead from fright, but a few kicks restored
life, and we rode northward in all haste. At Albany we changed horses,
evaded questions, and resumed our ride. In the night we reached our
own camp, and as soon as we had reported sought the rest we needed so
badly, and, I think, deserved so well.