UNFURLING THE FLAG.
After traveling a mile or two the young scouts came to a break in the
forest, where the big trees gave place to low bushes covered with wild
berries.
“Here is our breakfast,” Late said, helping himself to the sweet,
delicious fruit. Joe followed his example, and not until their keen
appetites were somewhat appeased did the boys resume their journey.
“I don’t s’pose blueberries are very lastin’,” Joe muttered as they went
on, “but they are better than nothin’.”
“They’ll last until we get somethin’ more substantial,” his companion
replied, as he turned sharply into a rough cart path.
“Where does this lead to?” Joe asked.
“I don’t know any more than you do,” was the answer; “but it will bring
us to a settlement of some kind, where we can get help.”
“What if the owner is a Tory?”
“Then we’ll be Tories,” was the decisive response. “We need food, arms,
and clothes, an’ some friend or foe must furnish them.”
Latham was evidently fast approaching a desperate mood.
Before many moments they arrived at a cultivated field, and saw below
them a valley of considerable size, in which were a large house, barns,
cabins, and other outbuildings.
“Quite a place,” Late exclaimed as he and his comrade halted.
“Yes, an’ whoever lives there ought’er be able to furnish us with
everything we need. But how are we goin’ to find out whether the people
are for the colonies or the king?”
“By those chaps there,” was the reply, and the speaker pointed to two
small boys, who, with baskets on their arms, had just clambered over a
wall farther down the hillside. “They are goin’ berryin’. Draw back so
they can’t see you till they get here. We don’t want to scare them to
death.”
The young scouts drew back from the brink of the slope until hidden from
view of the approaching lads, and waited. Five minutes later the
youngsters came in sight, but were so busy wrangling over some matter as
not to take heed of the half-clad strangers until almost upon them. Then
their first inclination was to run away; but under the assurance of Late
that they would in no way be harmed, the children drew nearer, staring
with wondering eyes at the sorry objects they beheld.
“Who lives down there?” Joe asked.
“Father,” the elder of the boys replied.
“Yes, but what is his name?”
“Hiram Le Geyt.”
The scouts looked at each other in dismay an instant; then Late asked:
“Have you a brother Ira?”
“Yes, but he’s serving the king,” the younger lad said proudly.
“Is your father at home?”
“No,” the other boy replied, evidently eager to impart information as
well as his brother; “he has gone to Oswego to see Colonel St. Leger.
He’s going to show him the way down here so he can lick the rebels.”
“I understand,” the tall scout said grimly. “Who is at home?”
“Ma and Grandmother, Lucy, Jane, Hiram, and me,” the lad explained.
“And Grandpa,” added the younger boy quickly.
“Yea, and Grandpa,” was the prompt assent. “I forgot him, he’s away so
much.”
It would have been well for the questioner if he had asked more about
“grandpa,” but another matter seemed more important just then.
“I wonder if we could get some old clothes down there?” he asked.
“And something to eat?” Joe added, perhaps because he thought that was
fully as important.
“I reckon so,” both boys replied. “Ma’s awful good to the poor.”
The scouts laughed. “That fits us,” Joe cried, and they started down the
slope almost on the run. They arrived at the big barn first, and entered
it to find a negro at work. He stared at them a moment in amazement, and
then asked gruffly:
“Who be ye? What ye doin’ here?”
“We were comin’ up the river last night, an’ our boat capsized,” Late
explained. “Can’t you go to the house an’ get us some clothes an’ food?
Tell Mistress Le Geyt we know Ira, who is with General Burgoyne.”
After a little persuasion the servant went off with their message. He
was absent some time, but finally appeared with his arms full of old
clothing.
“Missus says ye are to get inter these, an’ then come to the house,” he
said. “She wants to talk with ye.”
The boys put on the garments, finding that they fitted fairly well, and
then, conducted by the negro, went to the dwelling. Showing them into
the living room, the colored man said curtly:
“Sit down. Missus will be here soon.”
Five minutes later a woman of about forty years entered, and with a
smile said:
“Caesar tells me you are friends of my eldest son Ira, who is with
General Burgoyne. May I ask your names?”
Her visitors told her in turn. “Latham Wentworth and Joseph Fisher,” she
repeated. “I don’t recall the names; that is, I don’t recollect that Ira
ever spoke of you. How long have you known my son?”
“Only a few weeks,” Late answered. “We met him first up at Lake
Champlain, while he was waitin’ for the army to arrive.”
“We work under him,” Joe added. Then a bright thought came to his mind.
“He carries an iron cross that can be taken apart, so he can hide his
papers in it,” he continued. “He shows it to the Indians, an’ they let
him come an go ’mong them.”
“I know now that you are indeed his friends,” she cried joyously, “for I
gave him that cross myself. It is an heirloom in our family. But how do
you happen to be here? Cæsar said you were capsized on the river.”
“We would not tell every one, good Mistress Le Geyt,” Late said in a low
but significant tone, “but we do not mind tellin’ you that we are sent
up country on a special mission.”
She nodded her head in a way that indicated she understood him, and
said:
“Please come with me.”
She led them out into a great hall, where on a rack of deer horns were
several rifles and fowling-pieces. Seeing that her visitors noticed the
arms, she said as they passed:
“We have quite an arsenal. It is because all our men folks are fond of
gunning; my husband, Ira, grandpa, and even the younger boys have their
own favorite weapons.”
Coming to the great staircase, they ascended and entered a large
chamber, where, spread out on the bed, were two costly hunting suits,
and beside it two pairs of hunting boots, scarcely worn.
“I must apologize for sending those old garments out to you,” she said.
“They might do for strangers, but not for friends of my boy’s. Those on
the bed are much more suitable, and by the time you have put them on,
breakfast will be ready,” and she left them to themselves.
“We shan’t know ourselves,” Joe cried as he began to put on the finer
garments.
“No, an’ it’s all due to that happy thought of yours regarding the iron
cross. What do you s’pose she’d say if she knew our Ira wasn’t her Ira?”
“Hush!” his comrade cautioned. “Some one is goin’ down the hall, an’
might hear you. But I do feel a little ’shamed to impose on so fine a
woman as Mistress Le Geyt seems to be.”
“I don’t know ’bout that,” was the low reply. “One enemy robs us;
another makes it good. Sort of evens up things, it ’pears to me. Though
I confess I wish it was Master Le Geyt we were imposin’ on, instead of
his wife.”
A bell now rang loudly at the foot of the stairs, and, taking it for the
signal to come to breakfast, the young scouts hastened down to the lower
hall where they found their hostess waiting. She led them into a large
dining-room, saying:
“Sit down, and Matilda will wait on you. I shall have to ask you to
excuse me for a while, as I have some household duties that must be
attended to.”
After thus speaking she left the apartment by another door, and in
another moment a negress came in to attend to their needs.
Fried chicken, vegetables, bread, pie, cheese, and coffee were furnished
them in abundance by the waitress, who seemed delighted at their
enormous appetites.
“Ye makes me think of Master Ira,” she declared. “He’s always mighty
hungry when he’s been on a long tramp.”
At length they could eat no more, and arose to leave the table, when the
hall door was suddenly thrown open, and David Daggett strode in,
followed by four stout negroes.
“Seize those rebels,” he said to the men. “Stand still, you young
devils,” he cried to the surprised lads, “or I’ll fire,” and he leveled
a pistol at each.
In another minute they were surrounded, dragged from the room into the
hall, carried bodily up the stairway, and thrust into a back chamber,
whose windows were covered with heavy shutters securely fastened on the
outside. Then the door was closed and locked.
“I have you at last,” an exulting voice called from without. “You may
fool Sarah, but you cannot fool David.”
In the gloom the prisoners gazed into each other’s faces for some time
before either uttered a word. Then Joe exclaimed:
“I never heard of a thing like this afore, Late! Here you an’ me have
put ourselves right into that old man’s hands. I reckon he’s the grandpa
those boys told about.”
“I reckon he is,” his comrade replied. “Do you s’pose they’ll take these
clothes from us?”
“I hope not. I never had such a good suit before.”
The day passed; night came, as the prisoners could tell by peering
through the cracks in the window shutters.
“Will they starve us?” Joe asked. “I’m as hungry as when we first came
here.”
“So’m I,” Late replied. “I wonder if there’s any way out.”
He went from window to window, examining carefully and trying the
shutters in turn. Neither alone, nor with Joe’s help could he move them.
“We are here to stay,” he said in a despondent tone.
But he was mistaken. About midnight a key was thrust into the lock, the
bolt turned back, and the door opened. There stood the negro they had
seen at the barn in the morning, with a candle in his hand.
“Come,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
They followed him down the stairs and into the dining-room, where they
found an abundance of food on the table.
“Eat,” he said grimly.
Without a word they obeyed, and when their hunger was appeased, he led
them back to the hall in front of the rack of arms.
“Take two,” he directed. Each lad took a rifle, with horn and pouch, and
followed him again, this time through the front door into the yard.
Leading them around to the barn, he showed them two horses, saddled and
bridled.
“They’re yourn,” he announced. “Go down that lane to the road. Turn to
the left, and you’ll be at Little Falls ’fore mornin’. Here’s a note
from Missus.”
He thrust the paper into Late’s hand. Then the lads mounted and rode
slowly away. A half-mile beyond the house they came to the road of which
the negro had spoken. Turning into this they galloped along as rapidly
as the rough way and darkness would permit. At dawn the tiny settlement
was in sight. Pausing to rest the panting steeds, they opened and read
Mistress Le Geyt’s letter.
“My dear guests,” it began, “I regret greatly that my father, David
Daggett, imprisoned you. He is not quite himself, and insists that you
are rebels. No persuasion of mine can convince him you are Ira’s
friends. He declares he saw you come from the lines of the enemy, and
followed you all the way up the river. I suspect your misfortunes were
due to him, and, as far as possible, make restitution. Cæsar will fix
your room so that it will look as if you made your own escape. Tell
Ira, when you see him, that I did all I could in your behalf, for his
sake. Your friend,
“Sarah Le Geyt.”
“Look here, Late,” Joe exclaimed after they had read the note, “these
horses are goin’ back to that woman! The clothes an’ guns I’m willin’ to
keep in the place of those that crazy old David burned; but I won’t take
anything more.”
“I reckon that’s the proper figure,” his companion said after a little
thought. “We can send them back from the settlement. It’s less than
forty miles to the fort, an’ by hard walkin’ we can fetch there ’fore
midnight. Can’t you write a note tellin’ her why we send the horses
back?”
“I’m not much at writin’,” Joe replied; “but I can fix up somethin’.
Guess we can get what’s needed on ahead here.”
The young scouts were more fortunate than they had expected. At the
falls they met a man who wanted to go down the river to his home, a few
miles below Hiram Le Geyt’s. He readily consented to take the animals
back, and deliver their letter to the mistress. Therefore Joe, with some
suggestions from Late, wrote:
“Good Mistress Le Geyt: We are rebels, so we send back your horses. We
keep the other things ’cause your father destroyed ours. We can’t tell
you how we came to know ’bout Ira. Thank you for all you did for us.
We’ll be kind to the next Tory we meet, for your sake. Good-by.
“Late and Joe.”
“I feel better,” the latter said, when the man, who was taking back the
horses, had disappeared. “It don’t seem as though we’d imposed on that
woman quite so much.”
“I was wonderin’ if she’d have been so kind to us had she known we were
rebels,” his comrade said. “Howsomever, we’ve ben purty square with her,
seein’ she’s a Tory.”
A few moments later they set out for the fort, striking off through the
forest, as their custom had been, instead of following the regular
trail, a fact which saved them from another encounter with David
Daggett, for he, with a half-dozen servants at his heels, had come in
hot pursuit.
But they, ignorant of all this, tramped steadily along mile after mile,
stopping but once for a brief rest, and about nine o’clock that night
delivered their message to the commander of the fort, Captain Abraham
Swartwout.
He rubbed his hands gleefully when they told of reinforcements on the
way.
“I can hold out until they get here, even if St. Leger sweeps down on me
with his whole force,” he declared. “I don’t like that Indian business,
though. It means burning and butchering all the way from Oswego here.
Some one ought to go up along the road, warning the settlers, and
telling them to come in here with their families for protection.”
“We will go,” the young scouts said in the same breath. “General
Schuyler told us to remain as long as we could be of any service to
you.”
“Well, rest to-night and to-morrow,” the captain replied, “for you need
it. Monday morning I’ll send you out for the double purpose of warning
the settlers, and watching the movements of the red-coats. I’ll arrange
a set of signals by which you can let me know what is going on outside,
without coming into the fort. You’ll run less risk of being discovered
and shot down;” then he called an orderly who took them first to the
mess room, where they were given supper, and then to the barracks. In an
hour both were sleeping soundly.
The following day the young scouts “did nothin’ but sleep and eat,” as
Late expressed it, but immediately after breakfast on Monday they went
to the commander’s quarters. He received them kindly and led the way to
one of the bastions. From there he pointed out a tall tree on a hill
opposite, asking:
“Do you see that big pine?”
“Yes, sir,” the lads replied.
“It is across the river, and likely to be beyond the lines of the enemy
when they are besieging the garrison. Here are four strips of cloth,
red, black, white, and green, each of which will have a different
meaning when tied in the top of that tree. The white will be taken that
reinforcements are close at hand; the red, that they have been
discovered and are about to be attacked; the green, that they need help;
the black, that they have been defeated. The red and white will tell me
that the Indians are deserting the British; the red and green, that the
British are about to be attacked in the rear; the red and black, that
they have been defeated; while the white and green will signify that
they are advancing on the fort; and the white and black that they are
preparing to give up the siege.”
The boys repeated these instructions until they had them fixed in mind,
and then Joe said:
“You can’t see these colors in the night, captain. We might want to
signal then.”
“These are only for the day; we will have another arrangement for the
night,” he replied. “Can either of you hoot like an owl?”
“Yes; both of us,” Late replied.
“Then one hoot takes the place of the white, two of the red, three of
the green, and four of the black. From that you can make up your
combinations,” the officer explained. “These cries are to be given from
the tree, and the man stationed on this bastion will be prepared to
report them promptly to me.”
“Very well, sir, we’ll do our best to keep you posted on all outside
movements,” Late promised, “an’ should anything occur that you ought’er
know, which can’t be reported by signals, we’ll bring it in to you at
the risk of our lives.”
“Let it be something very important, then,” Captain Swartwout replied
with a smile, after which he led the young scouts to the great gate of
the fort, where he bade them Godspeed.
During several days they were busy among the settlements for many miles
around. In some cases their warnings were promptly heeded, and the
people fled to the fort in time to escape the Indians, who in a few days
were scouring the entire region in search of victims. Others delayed too
long, and fell a prey to the merciless foe. Before arriving at Oswego,
the young scouts themselves were compelled to turn back before the
advance guard of the enemy.
By exercising great caution, however, they kept just out of reach, and
yet near enough to make out the movements of the enemy.
One night, as they stealthily avoided a small party of Indians that had
made camp on the banks of Wood Creek, the young scouts became aware that
some one else was engaged in the same work as themselves. Eager to learn
who he was, they followed his trail for some distance through the brush.
At length the man emerged into an open space, where the moonlight fell
upon him, and with suppressed exclamations of surprise both lads
recognized their old enemy, David Daggett.
“I wonder what he is doin’ here?” Joe whispered in his comrade’s ear.
“We’ll find out,” Late replied in the same cautious manner.
Therefore when Daggett moved on, they kept as close to his heels as was
possible with safety to themselves. Having passed the Indian camp, he
walked rapidly, with the air of one who knows where he is going.
“He’s bound for the British army,” Late said, speaking scarcely above
his breath. “Probably he has a message of some kind. I wish we could
find out what it is.”
Fortune soon favored them, and in a way they little expected. A
half-mile farther on the old man was hailed by a picket. To the call,
“Who goes there?” he answered, “A friend,” and received the customary
direction: “Advance, friend, and give the countersign.”
This Master Daggett could not do, and for some time he parleyed with the
guard, trying to persuade the man to allow him to pass.
“I’m a loyal subject of the king,” he cried, “and have come with
important news for your commander. Let me go on!”
But the sentinel was firm. Then the Tory grew angry.
“I’ll show,” he screamed, “that you have no right to stop me. Your own
commander will come to let me in,” and he drew from his pocket a small
silver bugle. Putting this to his lips, he sounded a few sharp, shrill
notes. Twice he repeated the call, and then, restoring the instrument to
his pocket, calmly folded his arms and waited.
A moment later the captain of the guard, followed by a squad of
soldiers, came running down to the post where, finding the sentinel with
his gun trained on an old man who stood a few rods distant with folded
arms, he demanded:
“What does this mean? Who blew those bugle notes?”
Before the picket could speak Master Daggett answered:
“I did,” he said. “It is a call to your commander. Step one side,
please, and wait. He’ll be here in a moment.”
“More likely it was a call to the enemy,” the officer cried angrily.
“Here, boys, seize that fellow and bring him into camp.”
“That command will cost you your commission, young man,” the old Tory
said sternly. “And, soldiers, unless you want to go to the guard-house,
you’d better keep your hands off.”
“Seize him, boys; we’ll find a way to put a stop to his nonsense,” the
officer cried, running forward at the head of his men; but before he
could touch the old man, a stern voice in the rear cried:
“Let that man alone, and go back to your stations!”
They knew the voice and obeyed, leaving the triumphant Tory face to face
with their commander and a second man in the dress of a civilian.
“Hello, colonel! Hello, Hiram!” was Master Daggett’s salutation. “I
thought those bugle notes would fetch you.”
“Why did you call, father?” the man in plain clothes asked.
“Because yonder numskull wouldn’t let me in,” was the angry reply, “and
now I won’t go in for anybody. If you want to hear my news, you’ll have
to get it here.”
“The picket was only obeying orders,” Hiram Le Geyt said in a soothing
tone. “Come up to the colonel’s tent. You can give us your tidings
there.”
“I won’t! I won’t!” screamed the old man, jumping up and down. “Let
General Herkimer come with his eight hundred men and reinforce the
garrison, if he wants to. Let him camp at Oriskany, where he can be
surprised before morning and defeated, for all of me. I would have given
you the chance of your life, but you are all fools, fools, fools! Not
one of you knows enough to strike a good blow for the king. I’ll leave
you alone, and let the rebels walk right by you.”
He had now worked himself into such a passion that he pulled his hair,
tore his whiskers, and stamped upon the ground in a fury.
It was Colonel St. Leger who pacified him. He laid his hand on the old
man’s arm, saying:
“It is men like you, Master Daggett, that I need. You must advise me,
yes, lead my troops to the place where I can destroy that Yankee force.
Come with me, and we will arrange for the forced march which will be
necessary if we are to reach Oriskany before sunrise.”
The soothing words, the gentle touch, calmed the raging man, and soon he
followed the officer and his son-in-law into the lines.
As the three disappeared the young scouts arose from their hiding-place,
and crept off down the creek. For three miles they moved in silence, and
then, coming to a place where the trail emerged into another, both
paused.
“Go and signal the fort,” Late said to his comrade in a whisper. “I will
warn General Herkimer,” and he hastened along the trail leading
southeasterly.
Joe gained the great pine, and, climbing into its branches, gave the
hoots which told the listening sentinel that the approaching
reinforcements were to be attacked. Then he slipped to the ground,
intending to follow his comrade to Oriskany, when he was seized by two
Indians. A desperate struggle followed, but at length the lad succeeded
in breaking away from his captors, and ran toward the fort.
The report of a rifle rang out, and the fugitive spun around like a top
until he fell to the ground. The lad regained his feet in an instant,
however, and sped on, but his right arm hung limply by his side.
“I must get into the fort,” he thought as he ran into the river.
Crossing it, he hurried on, and ten minutes later was pounding at the
great gate. The guard heard him, and called the officer of the night,
when he was taken in and put under the surgeon’s care.
No one warned General Herkimer of the foe, and at sunrise he was on the
move anxious to traverse the six miles which separated him from the
waiting garrison. While passing through a dense wood he was suddenly
attacked by a heavy force of the enemy, who poured in a terrific fire
from both sides, cutting down his men like swaths of grass. A terrible
hand-to-hand fight ensued. General Herkimer seemed to be everywhere,
gallantly directing his men. At length he fell, mortally wounded.
“Here, boys,” he called to two men near him, “pick me up, and place me
against yonder tree.”
They did so, and then, taking his pipe from his pocket, the brave
commander filled and lighted it. Puffing slowly away, he directed his
men in a struggle which, owing to the superior numbers of the enemy,
seemed hopeless. But unexpected help was at hand. After Captain
Swartwout heard from the lips of the wounded scout the full particulars
of the proposed attack he said:
“St. Leger will not come here until after that battle. I may as well
have a hand in it,” and, therefore, leading an hundred picked men, he
hurried toward Oriskany. Falling upon the rear of the red-coats just as
they were about to claim a victory, he put them to flight.
Before they could realize the weakness of the reinforcements and rally
again, he, with the wounded hero and the remnant of his gallant force,
beat a safe retreat to the garrison.
That evening he sat beside the cot of Joe Fisher, telling him of the
events of the day.
“Then Late did not find the general,” the lad said sadly. “I wonder what
happened to him?”
“I fear he fell into the hands of the British,” the captain replied.
“Were they badly whipped?” asked the lad.
“Not so but that they have been able to surround the fort,” the officer
replied. “We are hemmed in at last.”
“Then there will be a battle here?” the boy continued.
“It looks like it.”
“You must have a banner, captain!” exclaimed Joe, sitting up.
“What do you mean?” the officer asked.
Eagerly the scout told him of the Act of Congress, and, describing the
appearance of the miniature flag he had seen, he continued:
“Can’t we have one made, Captain Swartwout, to float from the highest
bastion?”
“We will,” the commander replied. “I have a tailor in the fort. He shall
make it to-night under your directions, and we’ll unfurl it at sunrise.”
A few moments later the tailor was at work. Sheets were cut for the
white stripes, bits of scarlet cloth joined to form the red, and the
blue ground for the stars was made from a cloak belonging to the
captain. At sunrise, amid the cheers of the men and a salute of thirteen
cannon, it was swung to the breeze from the highest staff.
Colonel St. Leger saw and gazed in wonder at it for some time. Then he
sent for a prisoner whom some of his Indians had captured the previous
day.
“What does that mean?” he demanded.
The captive, a lad of perhaps eighteen years, looked at the floating
banner and replied with a grin:
“That? Why, it’s the new flag of a new nation!”
With a great oath the enraged officer cried:
“It is the first and the last time it will ever confront a British army,
for I shall carry it away with me.”