“Well, Morton, our days of inglorious idleness are ended,” exclaimed
Col. Vanderberg. “I return from headquarters with orders for an
immediate advance.”
“Thank heavens!” ejaculated Morton.
“What! Do you rejoice at an attack on your country? Come, my good
friend, I see your judgment is overcoming your feelings, and you are
going to cast in your lot with us--the latest convert from monarchism
to republicanism.”
“No, no: you need not banter me. What I rejoice at is the ending of
a policy of inaction that has kept you, my friend, and your humble
prisoner alike in wearisome suspense.”
“It is ended: the die is cast, whatever the result may be. After dinner
squads of men begin to chop out a road from Smith’s, and tomorrow Izard
comes with reinforcements and under him we bear the banner of the
United States into Canada.”
“And what do you propose doing with me when you advance?” asked Morton.
“Hum! To leave you behind means your being returned to Four Corners,
with a chance of meeting the fate you twice escaped. It is against
all military rule, but you must go with us. I will not risk you in the
hands of these legal Sons of Mars--Spooner et al.”
“Thank you, Colonel; again you have placed me under an obligation I can
never repay.”
“I hope not,” answered the Colonel with a smile, “I’d rather not be His
Majesty’s prisoner even with Lieutenant Morton as my custodian.”
“No, never; I wish to pay my debt of gratitude in no such way.”
“Say no more, Morton, on that score. The happiest days I have spent
this summer have been since I made your acquaintance. If I did you a
good turn, I have had compensation. And now to work: there comes a
waggon creaking under its load of chopping axes.”
The conversation took place at an outpost of Hampton’s army, close
upon the frontier, styled Douglas camp in official documents but known
familiarly among the soldiers as Fort Hickory, from the character of
the trees that prevailed at this spot. Colonel Vanderberg, instead of
placing Morton in custody as he half anticipated, when he dismounted
after his ride from Four Corners, took him into the house where he
was quartered, and told him in few words he was again on parole and
his guest. Without farther allusion to the humiliating and perilous
position from which he had snatched him, Col. Vanderberg made him
his friend and associate and each passing day strengthened the bond
between them. Each had experiences of interest to the other. The
Colonel had tales of peril on the Pennsylvania and Ohio frontiers in
protecting the settlements from Indian attacks, and Morton, in return,
gratified his curiosity as to the organization and character of the
British army and English life and habits.
The following morning they had breakfast by candle-light, and on going
out, found the camp in a flurry of preparation, troopers ready to
mount, engineers with their tools over their shoulders, and a large
squad of brawny fellows in flannel shirts with axe in hand, drafted
from the various corps and hired from among the surrounding farmers to
clear a road to the Chateaugay. All was life, bustle, and confusion.
Jumping on horseback, the Colonel speedily got each man into his place,
and by the time this was effected, the drum-taps, by which they kept
step, of Izard’s column were heard, and that officer gave the word to
advance. Preceded by a squad of scouts and sharp-shooters to cover
them, the engineers and axemen moved on, then a body of infantry,
followed by the troopers, a few commissariat wagons bringing up the
rear. The Colonel and Morton were with the troopers. As the long and
picturesque cavalcade scrambled over the brow of a hill, the sun had
gained the ascendency, and the frost that had whitened everything now
sparkled on every stem and leaf as it melted in the sunbeams. The
atmosphere was clear and crisp, and the very odor that rose from the
fallen leaves added to its exhilarating quality. When the summit of the
ascent was reached, the declivity was abrupt enough to afford a lookout
over the tree-tops, and Canada lay outstretched a vast plain at their
feet. Far in the distance, could be seen a gleaming line, like a rapier
flung across a brown cloak. It was the St Lawrence. The Colonel drew
his horse to one side of the road, to permit the troops to pass, while
he scanned the inspiring scene.
“All looks peaceful,” he said to Morton, “no sign that under the cover
of these woods an enemy awaits us.”
“It is a grand view of a noble country,” replied Morton, “and you may
rely on it, there are men awaiting you who will shed the last drop of
their blood in its defence.”
The Colonel, drawing his bridle, joined in the march and the glimpse
of Canada was lost under overhanging vistas of trees. “Do you know,
Morton,” he said, “it seems strange to me that our armies should meet
resistance from the Canadians. We speak the same language; we are of
the same stock. Why should they fight to the death against uniting with
us as equal partners in a free government?”
“You forget, Colonel, that speech and origin are not the strongest
elements in national sentiment. You meet a woman with a big man
supporting her and bearing himself as if he were proud of her, and
you wonder at it, and say the man could find plenty whose faces are
pleasanter to look upon and which indicate more intelligence. The man
will admit all that, but he tells you the woman is his mother, and to
him she is better and more beautiful than all the women in the world
beside. In the same way, the British government may be inferior in
some points to your new Republic, may have made mistakes in the past,
and might be better in some regards, but then she is the mother of the
Canadians, and they will not desert her for bouncing Miss Columbia.”
“That won’t do, Morton; you forget that the British government was
once, as you term it, our mother also.”
“I did not forget that, and I hope I will not offend you, Colonel, by
saying that for that very cause the Canadians dislike Americans. You
turned upon your mother, you strove to compass her humiliation; the
very base of your patriotic feeling is hatred of her.”
“That is putting it strong, Morton.”
“I think not; the preamble of your declaration of independence is a
tirade of gratuitous charges against Great Britain.”
“Then you think Canada will never unite with the Republic?”
“I certainly think so, and those who live to see it, will find two
great English-speaking communities on this continent, with this radical
difference between them, that one reviles and seeks to injure the
mother-land from which they sprung and the other succors and honors
her.”
A commotion in front stopped the conversation and two scouts were seen
dragging an old man between them towards the Colonel.
“What’s this?” he asked sharply.
“We have taken a prisoner!” cried one of the men in an exulting voice.
“The divil take you,” interrupted the old man with contentious manner.
“Yees had no business wid me.”
“We found him hiding behind some brush watching our men. He is a spy,”
said the scout.
“Behind some brush! An’ whose brush was it? Me own, bedad.”
“You had no business there.”
“No business to be on my own farrum! Bad scran to ye, if I had yees in
Wixford I’d get the constable to arrist every man o’ yees for trispass.”
“Come, hold your tongue,” said a scout roughly.
“Hould yer own whisht. Ye havn’t mended yer manners since I saw yer
backs at Brandywine.”
Col. Vanderberg smiled as he said to the scouts, “I am afraid you
have been too hasty. We are now in Canada and must not molest its
inhabitants. The old man is a non-combatant, and, as he declares, was
on his own farm when taken.”
“If you had seen him kick and scratch and wriggle when we put hands
upon him, you wouldn’t say he was a non-combatant, Colonel. He swore
at the United States and said he kept one of our flags for his
pocket-handkerchief.”
“Tut, tut,” exclaimed the Colonel, “we have not come to fight old men;
let him go.”
“Ye’d betther,” remarked the old man with a grin, “or I’ll make ye
sorry.”
“Now, what could you do?” asked the Colonel with an amused smile.
The old man sidled up beside the bridle of the Colonel’s horse, and in
a tone of mock solemnity, while his eyes sparkled with fun, whispered,
“I’d put the curse of Cramwell an ye.”
“Say, friend,” said Morton, “there is something about you that tells me
you are an old soldier. Were you ever in the army?”
“Yis, but not in yer riffraff that ye’s call an army.”
“You are mistaken in me,” replied Morton, and drawing aside his cloak
showed the scarlet coat of the British service.
“An’ how did ye fall in wid dem rebels? A prisoner are ye, God save
us! You’ll be Leftenant Morton that was to be hanged, as I heard tell.
Well, well, since ye wern’t born to be hanged, it is drownded ye may
be. Av coorse I was in the army an’ got me discharge an’ a grant of
land from King George, an’ may the divil catch a hould o’ dem that
don’t wish him well.”
“Are all your neighbors of the same mind?” asked the Colonel.
“They are that same. Come wid me to my shanty an’ while I sind for ’im,
you will have an illigant dinner of praties an’ milk. There is not wan
on the frontier that does not say with Capt. Barron, God bless the King
an’ canfound his inimies.”
“Thank you,” answered the Colonel, “but I have other fish to fry today.
Tell me this, old man, What difference would it make to you and your
neighbors that you should eat your potatoes and milk under the Stars
and Stripes instead of the Union Jack?”
“Sure, that’s aisy answered. The differ between atin’ in an inimy’s
house an’ aitin’ in yer awn.”
“Come, Morton, we lose time. Good-bye, old man,” and putting spurs
to his horse the Colonel galloped to regain his place in the column,
followed by Morton.
By noon the scouts had reached the Chateaugay, which they forded
without hesitation and advancing on a shanty that stood on the bank,
surprised its inmates, a party of Canadian volunteers on outpost
duty, while taking an afternoon nap. This capture was of advantage to
the Americans, for it delayed by several hours intelligence of their
invasion being received at the British headquarters. Shortly afterwards
Col. Vanderberg arrived, who, without halting for refreshment,
accompanied Gen. Izard down the river some distance, examining the
country. On returning, men were set to work to prepare a camp for the
main army, which he knew was on the march. A thorough soldier, well
trained in bush fighting, the Colonel made his arrangements with an
acumen and decision that increased Morton’s regard for him. Before
sunset a line of scouts was established across the valley, a strongly
fortified post established, tents pitched, and a messenger sent with a
despatch to Hampton informing him all was ready. Not until then, did
the Colonel divest himself of his long-boots and draw up beside the
log-fire of the shanty of one Spears to discuss the fare his servant
had provided.