CLIPPING THE RIGHT WING.
The young prisoner in the British camp, as the reader may have surmised,
was Latham Wentworth. How he came to be there is easily explained.
After parting with Joe at the junction of the trails, he traveled with
the same caution as when coming down Wood Creek, lest he might happen
upon straggling Indians. After a time, however, he believed there was no
longer any danger of falling in with the savages, and carelessly
advanced regardless of noise. Then, from the top of a small hill, he saw
the glimmer of fires in the Continental camp and, increasing his speed,
took the most direct line through the woods.
A small party of Indians, however, separated from the main force earlier
in the day, had wandered so far east of the garrison as to be attracted
by the same camp-fires.
Unconscious of danger, Late continued on his course until, before he had
heard anything to cause alarm, five savages leaped upon him. One seized
his rifle; two threw him to the ground; a fourth clapped his hands over
the captive’s mouth to prevent an outcry, while the remaining Indian
proceeded to tie the lad’s hands behind him. Then they picked him up and
hurried through the woods for some distance. Finding, however, they were
not followed they soon put the prisoner on his feet, and, compelling him
to keep pace with themselves, carried him to their encampment. Thrusting
him into a wigwam they placed a guard over him and the young scout was
left alone until morning.
On the following day, when the Indian encampment was changed to the
vicinity of Fort Stanwix, Late was taken along as a matter of course,
and, later, brought with other prisoners to Colonel St. Leger for his
personal inspection.
By the side of the colonel stood David Daggett and Hiram Le Geyt, and
immediately the old Tory saw Late he gave vent to a cry of delight.
“We’ve got you at last!” he shouted. “We’ve got you at last!” and then
to the commander and his son-in-law he told how he had followed the
prisoner and his comrade on their journey from the Hudson to the fort.
The attempt to kill them, the overturning of the boat at the falls,
driving the half-clad boys into the woods, the destruction of their
property, their visit to the farm, and his further pursuit, were all
rapidly related. Then he continued:
“The young devils have more lives than a cat. I couldn’t kill them. But
now that you have this one, why not string him up to the nearest tree?”
“I could hardly do that,” the colonel replied. “He is not a spy.”
“Yes, he is,” Master Daggett shouted. “He was caught because of hanging
around your encampment trying to spy out what was being done.”
“He may be a scout, or courier, but hardly a spy,” the officer
persisted.
“But is his entering my house, deceiving my wife, and running off with
my property, to pass unnoticed?” interrupted Hiram Le Geyt. “The very
clothes he wears belong to me!”
Colonel St. Leger was silent for a moment, and then said:
“I cannot condemn and hang him, according to military rules; but I might
turn him over to the Indians. They would make short work of him.”
“That is it. Let them kill the fellow at the stake!” cried the old Tory
in glee. “I’ll go and watch the flames as they curl around him. Ah! it
will be a great sight to see him sizzle and burn.”
“He deserves the fate,” the younger Tory said angrily. “Let the savages
have him, I say.”
The British commander, naturally more humane than his Tory friends,
appeared to be shocked by the cruel proposal. He hesitated to give an
order which would send the lad to the stake; but finally said:
“Let him go with the other prisoners now. I will decide later what is to
be done with him.”
On the next morning when the young scout, unmindful of the terrible fate
which might be his, declared that the banner floating over the fort was
the flag of a new nation, the officer in his wrath sent for the men who
had made the capture, and turned the lad over to them.
“He is your prisoner. Do what you please with him,” he said.
Therefore back to the Indian encampment Late was taken, and a day or two
after a council was summoned to decide his fate. The terrible slaughter
of the savages during the battle of Oriskany, and the fact that the
captive had been found in the vicinity of that place, may have had
something to do with the sentence imposed. He was condemned to the
stake.
Just before sunset, surrounded by a score of braves, he was taken across
the river and tied to a small tree, whose branches had been trimmed away
for that purpose. Around him the fagots were piled, and the death dance
was begun.
Pale, but unflinching, the heroic lad watched the grotesque dancing, at
the ending of which he knew the flames would be kindled. It was not the
form of death he would have chosen, but, after all, it would soon be
over, and what difference did it make? He had long since given his life
to the Cause, and if this was the method by which the sacrifice was to
be made, he would die like a man.
The dance was at an end, and two of the savages, taking brands from a
fire which had been kindled near-by, came toward the helpless boy. In
another instant they would have kindled the wood about him; but at the
critical moment a great shout was raised, and some one, darting out from
the thicket, dashed across the little clearing to push aside both braves
with one sweep of his strong arms.
Late had hardly more than understood that the newcomer was his friend,
Ira Le Geyt, when the latter, holding aloft his iron cross, poured forth
in the native tongue a torrent of words which held fixed the attention
of the Indian band. When the speech was ended, each savage brandished
his weapons, as he hurried across the river toward the camp with loud
yells, leaving the two lads alone.
Drawing his knife, Ira cut the cords that bound the young scout to the
tree, saying as he did so:
“I was just in time, Late.”
“That you were,” was the emphatic reply. “But how came you here?”
“It is too long a story to repeat now. I will tell you later, and you
can explain how you happened to be in this fix. But now I must go to the
British camp.”
“No, no,” his companion cried. “You mustn’t go there!”
“Why not?”
“Because Hiram Le Geyt and his father-in-law, David Daggett, are there.”
“Whew! I came pretty near getting into a bad scrape!” Ira exclaimed.
“Well, suppose we go into the forest, where we shall be less likely to
be disturbed.”
Soon they were sitting under the great pine, which Captain Swartwout had
pointed out as a signal station, and Late told his story, concluding by
saying:
“Where Joe is now I don’t know.”
“He must have sent word to the commander about the attack on General
Herkimer,” Ira said half to himself.
“How do you know? Have you heard anything about the battle?” Late asked
eagerly.
“Yes, I met two or three of the soldiers who had been separated from the
main body during the fight. Because you failed to see the general, he
knew nothing about the ambush, and walked directly into it. A hand to
hand fight followed, and the general himself was wounded; but with his
back against a tree, he lighted his pipe, and, puffing away, directed
his men in what seemed a hopeless struggle. Then came reinforcements,
the men who told me did not know where from, that attacked the British
forces in the rear, driving them back. It was then that the soldiers I
saw became separated from their companions, and all they could guess
was, that our army, having dispersed the red-coats, went on to the
Fort.”
“The reinforcements must have come from there,” Late declared, “and it
shows that Joe gave the warning. We’ll know about it later. But now tell
me how you happen to be here.”
“I’ll go back to the time you left me,” Ira said, and related all the
incidents already known to the reader, down to the defeat of Colonel
Baum at Bennington.
“When I got back to Fort Edward, I found General Burgoyne in an ugly
frame of mind. Baum’s defeat deprived him of the stores he so sadly
needed. No word had come from Clinton, and nothing had been heard from
St. Leger. In his desperation he decided to send me up here to hurry the
colonel down the valley. He is afraid to attack our forces at Bemis
Heights until he receives reinforcements. Of course I got word to
General Schuyler before beginning the journey, and he suggested a plan
which, judging from the flight of those Indians, will prove a success.”
“What did you say to them?” Late interrupted. “I never saw redskins run
as they did after your speech.”
“I told them,” his friend replied, “that Colonel Arnold was coming with
a large force, and would capture them all if they did not run away. The
cross was proof to them that my message was true. Before to-morrow
morning the entire Indian force will hear the news, and vanish like fog
before the rising sun. In two days St. Leger will have only his regulars
to confront our men.”
“And we’ll whip him as the patriots whipped Baum at Bennington,” Late
cried with a laugh.
“My only regret is that I cannot go to the colonel with the message I
had,” Ira said.
“What was it?”
“I was to tell him of Baum’s defeat, Clinton’s failure to meet
Burgoyne’s demands, and the latter’s critical condition before an
overwhelming force,” was the answer. “I hoped to discourage him so he
would go back into Canada.”
Late remained silent a few moments as though thinking the matter over.
Then he asked:
“Can’t you make up a report from General Burgoyne, bringin’ in all those
things, an’ advisin’ him to give up his campaign?”
“I can make up the report readily enough,” his companion admitted. “The
difficult thing is to send it in such a way that he will believe it
comes from his chief.”
“Give it to one of the Indians,” was the quick suggestion; “he can make
any explanation you have a mind to give him.”
Ira laughed. “What is that old saying?” he asked. “‘Two heads are better
than one’? I believe we can make the scheme work. It is getting too dark
to write the message to-night; but I will prepare it early in the
morning.”
They went back a little farther into the woods, built a temporary shack,
and, after partaking of some food Ira had with him, took turns in
sleeping and watching until dawn.
After breakfast young Le Geyt took from his pack the necessary writing
materials, and, “as General Burgoyne’s secretary,” so he said in sport,
wrote a letter to Colonel St. Leger, telling of the misfortunes which
his commander had experienced, setting forth the direful condition he
was in, and urging the colonel to come to his assistance; but adding,
“If, however, you find it impossible to do so within a few days, then,
to save yourself and men from capture, you had better abandon the
campaign and return to Quebec, for I hear the rebels are sending a large
force against you.”
This he read to his companion, who said:
“That’ll fix him. Once he gets them idees into his head, he’ll run away
faster than the redskins did.”
“I’ll go on to the Indian camp and find some one to carry this to
headquarters. Will you be here when I get back?”
“Somewhere in call,” Late replied. “But, say, how near is Colonel Arnold
and his men? Perhaps I ought to signal Captain Swartwout that they are
comin’.”
“I passed them near Little Falls, and, of course, traveled faster than
they can. To-morrow will be ample time to give warning of their
approach.”
“All right; but give me those lines an’ hooks I saw in your pack, an’
I’ll have some fish cookin’ when you come back.”
“I’ll leave my outfit here, and then you may help yourself to anything
that is needed.”
It was several hours before he returned to find that Late had kept his
promise, for half a dozen fine fish were ready to serve. As they were
eating them Ira related his experiences.
“Before I got to the Indian encampment, I saw a young brave slowly
crawling toward it. Watching him, I soon understood that he had been
wounded and was trying to get back to his friends, therefore I quickened
my steps to overtake him. Upon first seeing me he was alarmed; but when
I showed my cross and spoke in his own tongue, he dismissed all fears
and told me his story.
“He was in the battle at Oriskany and got a bullet in his body which for
a time rendered him unconscious. When he came to himself the fighting
was over, and, fearing he might be found and made captive, he crept into
a thicket near a small brook, staying there until his wound was
partially healed. Since then he had been endeavoring to get back to the
camp. I did not leave him until he was safe with his own people, for he
proved to be a chief of high rank. But the exertion had been too much
for him, and before his friends could do anything, he died.
“I saw my chance at once for getting the letter I carried into the hands
of the colonel. Watching for a favorable moment, I concealed it on the
person of the dead chief, and waited for it to be discovered. Within
half an hour it was brought to me with the question:
“‘What is it? Who is it for?‘
“Pretending to be surprised at the finding, I explained that it was a
message of some kind, and was intended for Colonel St Leger.
“‘It should be carried to him at once,’ I declared.
“Immediately a brother of the dead man hurried off to headquarters with
it. Fearing there might be an investigation into the circumstances
attending the discovery of the letter, I hurriedly visited the other
tribes in the encampment, learning that many of the savages had already
left for their villages, and that others were preparing to go. My
announcement to the Indian squad last night was clearly beginning to
bear fruit; but I added a little more seed as I went from band to band.
“Once I had gone the rounds, I left the encampment and sought the
shelter of the forest. Choosing a spot where I could watch the Indians,
I remained several hours, noting with no little pleasure that every few
minutes a squad of savages went away. More than two hundred must have
left while I sat there.”
“Didn’t the red-coats make any effort to stop them?” Late asked.
“Judging by the way the British officers were continually coming and
going, I should say they did,” was the answer; “and once I saw a
delegation of chiefs marching to Colonel St. Leger’s headquarters,
probably for a council with him. But the yeast is working, and he cannot
prevent the stampede which has already begun.”
“He’ll wonder where that redskin got the message,” young Wentworth said
with a chuckle of satisfaction.
“Yes, and who the white man was that came and went so suddenly. But I
can stand the mystery if he can,” was the laughing reply.
Next morning the Indian encampment was so nearly deserted that Ira
advised that the fact be signaled the fort. Climbing the great pine,
Late took from the lining of his coat the strips of cloth which had been
given him, and in a few moments the red and white colors were waving
gently in the light breeze.
Joe Fisher, who was now able to walk about, although his arm was still
in a sling, chanced to be on the bastion. Gazing carelessly toward the
big tree, as he had done many times before without discovering anything,
and without really expecting to see anything unusual this time, he was
astonished at beholding the bits of cloth waving in the air. Then he ran
down the wall, and across the parade to the captain’s quarters. Bursting
unceremoniously into the officer’s presence, he exclaimed:
“Captain, Late is alive, and has escaped from the red-coats!”
“How do you know?” the commander asked eagerly.
“Because there are signals on the tree. It is the red and the white,
which means that the Indians are deserting.”
“So it does,” admitted the captain. “I’ll go and see for myself.”
Man and boy soon stood on the bastion looking across the river, and
while they gazed the red cloth was drawn in, and the white left alone to
toss in the gentle wind.
“Reinforcements are comin’!” shouted Joe in his excitement.
“Reinforcements are comin’!”
His words rang through the garrison, and in an instant came back in
answer a mighty cheer.
“The signals are changing again, captain,” the lad cried. “See! Late has
put the black beside the white. It means that the red-coats are makin’
ready to run away!”
“In that case we’ll give them something to run from,” Captain Swartwout
declared, and immediately issued orders for all his force, save fifty
men, to prepare for a sally.
But before the little army could be made ready, Colonel St. Leger was on
the move. Rendered uneasy by the desertion of his allies, alarmed by the
tidings contained in the letter which had reached him so mysteriously,
he lost hope when a Tory came into camp with the report:
“Old Schuyler and his whole army are only a few miles away.”
The Britisher gave orders to raise the siege. The cheers of the soldiers
in the Yankee fort quickened his movements, and when the so-called
rebels rushed out from the great gate, he and his regulars were on the
run.
Reasoning that the small force in the garrison would not dare to make a
sally unless reinforcements were close at hand, St. Leger did not even
stop to skirmish with his pursuers; but hastened toward Oswego at a pace
which soon forced the daring patriots to abandon the chase. When Colonel
Arnold and his twelve hundred men arrived a few hours later, there was
no foe to fight.
But some time before the gallant colonel appeared, Ira Le Geyt, Late
Wentworth, and Joe Fisher were comparing notes and telling their
experiences under the walls of the fort. When the latter heard of the
victory at Bennington, he exclaimed:
“Well, if General Burgoyne’s left wing was clipped at Bennington, he has
lost his entire right wing here at Fort Stanwix.”