THE OLD HUT.
When Colonel St. Leger abandoned the siege at Fort Stanwix, he left
behind him two very angry men. One was old David Daggett, and the other
Hiram Le Geyt. The former, cherishing his hatred for Latham Wentworth,
had tried to keep informed of his fate; but the Indians who held him
captive were, for some reason, very reticent about what they were going
to do with the lad. So it happened the old Tory did not learn that the
young scout had been condemned to the stake, until the afternoon of the
proposed torture. He hurried toward the scene; but gained the bank of
the river just in time to meet the band of yelling Indians in full
flight.
Unable to speak their language, he could make out but little regarding
the reason for flight; but turned and followed them to their encampment.
There he met a brave who could speak a little English, and succeeded in
learning that a white man, with an iron cross, had suddenly appeared,
telling the Indians that there was no time for their cruel sport,
because a great army of Yankees were near at hand.
“It was Ira!” he cried, and retraced his steps to the stream, expecting
to meet his grandson on the way. Disappointed in this, he crossed the
river to the scene of the death dance. There was the tree that had been
used as a stake, the scattered wood, the severed cords, but no prisoner.
“I know who it was,” he muttered, after carefully examining the
clearing. “It was that other young devil, Joe Fisher. He not only in
some way learned about Ira’s cross; but has got one in imitation of it,
and just fooled those redskins to rescue the prisoner.”
In his rage he hurried back to Colonel St. Leger’s tent with the tale.
“A skilful trick,” was the only comment of that officer, who, now that
his anger had cooled, was secretly glad the young scout had been saved
from a terrible death.
“But you ought to send out men to find and make certain both are burned
at the stake,” Master Daggett growled.
“Look here, my friend,” the colonel replied, becoming tired of the
constant interference of his guest, “why don’t you search for them? When
you have located the lads, I’ll give you as many men as may be needed to
capture them.”
“A capital suggestion, colonel,” the half-crazy man cried. “I’ll do it.
Good luck to you, as well as to myself,” and he hurried away to the tent
he shared with his son-in-law.
Hiram Le Geyt was within, and listened eagerly to the story his
father-in-law poured forth while making ready for the tramp. He took the
same view of Late Wentworth’s rescue that the older Tory had; but it
suggested to him two possibilities which had not entered the former’s
mind. Had something happened to his son, and the talisman fallen into
rebel hands? The question awakened his fears, and he decided to visit
Burgoyne’s camp at the first opportunity. Then again, might not the
announcement of an approaching army of rebels so fill the Indians with
alarm, that they would desert Colonel St. Leger, leaving him with a
force too small to cope with the Yankees?
Like his son Ira, he was familiar with the language of the savages, and,
leaving his father-in-law to follow out his own whims, he hastened to
the encampment of the dusky allies. He found that the tidings of a
coming army had already spread among the savages like wild-fire, and
although none had yet started for their villages, there was an
uneasiness among the entire company which betokened grave disaster.
Doing what he could to allay the fears among the braves, he learned some
facts which greatly mystified him. The description which the warriors
gave of the person who had so suddenly come among them, did not accord
with the ideas he had formed of young Fisher’s appearance, while what
the Indians had to say about the man who had given them the friendly
warning, did tally well with the likeness of his own son. Could it be
that his father-in-law had made a mistake? If so, why had Ira set the
captive free? Where had he gone? Was the report of a great force, coming
to the rescue of the fort correct? Perplexed by the many questions which
were crowding into his mind, he turned abruptly on his heel and went
back to the British camp to talk the matter over with Colonel St. Leger.
He found the officer so little disturbed by the strange occurrence that
he was angered.
“If it was a Yankee trick to scare away that squad of savages and save
the youngster,” the colonel remarked, “it has been a success, and we can
afford to laugh because it was so cleverly done. If it was indeed your
son, he will in due time present himself here. Meantime we can afford to
await his coming, for I put no faith in the belief that the Indians will
run away.”
Colonel St. Leger changed his mind, however, the next day, for he had
barely eaten breakfast before a messenger arrived announcing that during
the night two bands of his allies, numbering over a hundred, had left
the camp.
“That’s bad!” he muttered; “but I’ll send an officer to bring them back,
and a little later will call the head men into consultation. Surely
there cannot be very much alarm come from an idle rumor.”
An hour later he received another shock. A young brave appeared bringing
a sealed note, addressed to himself. Tearing it open he read the few
lines, noted the signature of General Burgoyne, with which he was
familiar, and then demanded of the waiting Indian where he had got the
missive. As best he could in broken English, the savage told the story.
It was not plain to the officer, and he sent for Hiram Le Geyt to act as
interpreter. Then the facts came out.
A chief, wounded at Oriskany, had, assisted by a white stranger with an
iron cross, crawled into the encampment, but soon died from exposure and
suffering. While preparing him for burial the message had been found on
his body. When shown to the white man he knew nothing about it; but,
after looking it over, said it was for the British commander, therefore
he, the messenger, had brought it. The explanation involved so much of
mystery that the colonel asked:
“Is this white man still in the encampment?”
“He was when I left it,” was the reply.
“Bring him here,” was the command, and it was a stupid mistake on the
part of the officer. Had he sent an orderly, the latter would doubtless
have found and brought in the strange visitor. As it was, the warrior,
when he found Ira, was easily persuaded that the lad could go to the
commander alone, and he did not do so.
Meanwhile the colonel and his friend discussed the genuineness of the
message. The former, perhaps because its contents gave him a chance to
withdraw gracefully from an unpleasant situation, was firm in the belief
that his chief had sent the letter. Hiram Le Geyt felt positive the note
was a skilful forgery, designed by the rebels to frighten the officer
into an abandonment of the siege.
“It is absurd to think the general would send you such a message except
through the regular channel, an accredited courier,” the Tory declared.
“He may have done so,” the officer retorted.
“Then where is he? Why don’t he appear?” demanded Master Le Geyt.
“Because he is dead, injured, or captured,” replied the colonel calmly.
“Finding he could not deliver it himself, he gave it to the wounded
chief, who crawled miles, sacrificed his life, in fact, that he might
place it in my hands.”
“A pretty theory, but one no sane man would accept,” the Tory cried
angrily.
“What is your belief?” asked Colonel St. Leger, growing cool as his
companion grew angry.
“That the white man who helped the redskin into his camp hid the letter
on the dead body, a much more sensible view than your own,” sneered the
Tory.
“We shall soon know who is right. It cannot be long now before the
fellow is here.”
They waited an hour, and then an orderly was sent to the encampment to
learn the reason for the long delay. He returned with the word that the
white stranger could not be found, and that the Indians were rapidly
deserting.
During the entire day efforts were made to hold the Indians; but with
only partial success. After nightfall the red-men departed in such
numbers that barely an hundred were left at dawn. Then came the Tory
with his startling news that General Schuyler’s entire army was close at
hand, and Colonel St. Leger gave orders to abandon the siege.
In vain Hiram Le Geyt and David Daggett, who had now returned, argued.
“I am obeying the orders of my superior,” Colonel St. Leger declared
stiffly.
“But they are false,” both Tories cried in a rage.
“You must permit me to be my own judge,” was the withering reply.
Cheers from the Yankee fort interrupted the conversation, and when the
sally was made, the angry Tories were themselves forced to flee. But, as
soon as possible, they left the retreating army, and turned their faces
toward home.
Compelled to make a long detour because of Colonel Arnold’s forces, they
could not decide as to the number of soldiers, and were not certain but
that the entire army of the north was advancing to strengthen the fort.
For the first time they also were compelled to acknowledge that there
might be some truth in the message which had so mysteriously come into
the hands of the British colonel.
Once at home, Hiram Le Geyt discussed with his wife the incidents
connected with the use of the iron cross by the white lad, and while she
agreed with him that Joe Fisher and the stranger were probably one and
the same, yet she was fearful that it betokened some misfortune to her
son. She urged him to visit Burgoyne’s headquarters immediately, and,
therefore, on the morning following his arrival at the farm, he and his
father-in-law embarked in a canoe to journey down the river.
Soon after Colonel Arnold arrived at Fort Stanwix, the three young
scouts set out on their return to the Hudson. They traveled on foot,
taking the nearest way through the valley. Arriving at Little Falls,
they spent the night at the house of a well-known patriot, and early
next morning resumed their tramp. As they passed the lane leading to the
Le Geyt farm, Late asked Ira if he was going to stop and see his
“mother.”
“I’m afraid she wouldn’t be glad to see me,” he replied with a smile.
“I wonder if Hiram and David have come home yet?” Joe added, “or if they
are still with St Leger?”
“I shan’t run any risk to find out,” Ira declared. “You waste words,
lads, for dear as the old place is to me, I am not going to stop there
now.”
They all laughed and went on, little dreaming that at about the same
time the men of whom they had been speaking were setting off down the
Mohawk. Toward evening the coming of a severe thunder storm forced them
to seek a shelter of some kind.
“There is an old hut not far away,” Ira said. “I spent a night there on
my way to the fort. It is in fairly good repair, and will give us decent
refuge from the storm.”
While speaking he had turned into the woods, and was followed by the
other lads. A short walk brought them to the cabin, and just in time,
for hardly were they inside when the rain began to fall.
It was not a terrific storm, and soon resolved into a steady down-pour
of rain, which caused the young travelers to be thankful for so good a
shelter. They ate supper from the contents of their packs, and swept a
corner of the room, intending to make their beds on the hard floor.
Before lying down, however, Late made ready to close the door against
any chance intruders; but he stepped back quickly, exclaiming in a low
tone:
“David Daggett and some other men are comin’! Hark! don’t you hear their
voices?”
His comrades listened a moment, and Ira said:
“Quick! we must get into the loft!”
The next instant he had climbed up the rude pole to the floor above. Joe
followed, while Late delayed only long enough to throw up their guns and
traps, after which he also ascended. Pulling the pole up after him, he
covered the opening with a sort of trapdoor, and none too soon, for in
another minute the old Tory entered the cabin accompanied by three men.
“Feel in your pocket, Hiram, and see if your flint and steel are handy,”
Master Daggett said. “If there’s any wood here, we’ll build a fire to
dry our clothes.”
“Don’t bother, Master Le Geyt,” a strange voice replied. “I have mine
handy, and am sure there is enough stuff for a little blaze. Or there
was the last time I looked in here.”
Then the boys saw through the crevices of the floor the glare of a tiny
flame.
“We have it,” the same man added, “and here is the wood. Soon there’ll
be fire enough to dry us within as well as without,” and he laughed at
his own attempt to be witty.
“How fortunate we were to meet you, Captain Brant,” Hiram Le Geyt now
said; “but for you we shouldn’t have known of this shelter. But who is
your companion? You have not introduced him to us.”
“I haven’t had the time. When our canoes crashed into each other and
sank, it was all we could do to look out for ourselves, and while
running for the cabin there was no chance for introductions. But I am
now glad to present him to you. Hiram Le Geyt, this is Alexander
Turnbull; Master Daggett, Master Turnbull.”
While the men below were acknowledging the introduction and greeting
each other heartily, the lads above strove to get a view of the famous
Mohawk chieftain, and the no less famous British spy, who had so many
times escaped capture.
The blazing fire below gave them a full view of both men. Brant, a
stalwart Indian in civilized dress, and speaking English fluently;[5]
Turnbull, a little man, almost womanly in appearance, and yet known to
be brave with a facility for assuming disguises which so far had never
been detected.
The boys would have been glad to talk with each other just then, but
prudence forced them to remain silent, and, therefore, gave their
undivided attention to the conversation which followed.
“Are you from below, captain?” Hiram Le Geyt asked, as he was wringing
the rain from his garments that he might spread them in front of the
fire.
“Yes,” the Indian answered. “I was not pleased with St. Leger’s
movements at Oriskany, and went down to meet Burgoyne.”
“With what result?” the Tory asked eagerly.
“He sustains me; gives me a colonel’s commission, and hereafter I am to
have a voice in all campaigns where I and my men serve as allies.”
“It won’t help you any,” the Tory said bitterly.
“Why not?”
“Because St. Leger is already on his way back to Quebec,” was Master Le
Geyt’s reply, and he rapidly detailed the events which had led to the
Colonel’s flight.
“Did you see your son?”
“No.”
“He was up there.”
“How do you know?”
“Burgoyne told me he had sent him.”
The younger Tory was silent for a minute or two, and then he asked:
“Father, what do you make of that?”
“I can hardly believe it,” the old man gasped. “Why didn’t he make
himself known?”
“I don’t know,” Brandt answered bluntly, “unless it was a freak, such as
you have sometimes shown.”
Instead of being offended, the old Tory laughed.
“Hiram would hate to admit the boy was anything like me,” he said.
“Well,” the captain went on, “Burgoyne speaks in the highest terms of
the lad’s services, of his loyalty, his fidelity, and ability. When he
returned from Bennington, where the general sent him to spy out the
land, he brought with him a list of all the stores, and of every farm in
the vicinity where cattle and horses could be found. I saw it myself,
and told the general if he had given Ira command of the forces, instead
of Baum, he’d have brought everything back with him.”
“What did Baum do?”
“Allowed his force to be crushed, or nearly so. With St. Leger’s retreat
Burgoyne will feel that he is left alone.”
“Where is he now?”
“Across the Hudson making ready to advance on the rebels who are
entrenched at Bemis Heights. Now that the colonel has retreated I shall
get together my men and go to his help.”
“What is the outlook?”
Brant was silent for some time, as if thinking the situation over, then
said frankly: “I cannot tell. Now that the rebels have a new commander,
I believe Burgoyne has fair chance of success.”
“A new rebel commander?” cried David Daggett. “What has become of old
Schuyler?”
“He has been removed, and a man named Gates,[6] from New England, put in
his place.”
“Removed for what?” interrupted Hiram Le Geyt.
The Indian laughed. “It is a long story. Master Turnbull will tell it.”
To say that the three scouts in the loft were amazed at this revelation,
is a mild statement. Even in the darkness they gazed at each other with
an intensity which could be felt if not seen. Then, with ears strained
to catch every word, they listened to the tale of the spy.
“It has been my latest work,” Turnbull began, “and one I am proud of. We
may as well admit what we all know, that Schuyler is the ablest man the
rebels could have chosen for this northern campaign. Too able, as many
of us who were watching the movements of both armies, soon discovered,
and we decided he must be removed if Burgoyne was to win.
“I was sent into New England, as a good patriot of course, to stir up a
feeling against him, and raise a clamor for his removal. I claimed that
by allowing St. Clair to abandon Ticonderoga, and by evacuating Fort
Edward, he had left an open gate for the enemy to pour into the East. I
said nothing about his fortifying Bemis Heights, nor of the skilful way
in which he had maneuvered to delay his opponent until the latter’s
stores were exhausted. I dwelt only on what seemed to be grievous
mistakes. And I succeeded, the clamor was raised, and now the mighty is
fallen. Schuyler is down and out.”
The four men discussed the matter for some time, and all were agreed
that the work of Master Turnbull meant much for the king’s cause. Then
they stretched themselves on the floor and slept.
The boys in the loft followed their example, making as little noise as
might be when they laid down on the rough planks. The heavy rain on the
roof did much to drown the creaking of the timbers and the heavy
breathing of the sleepers.
They were awakened by the singing of David Daggett. There was not a
musical note in the old man’s voice; but he believed there was, and,
arising just as the sun was breaking through the clouds, he threw open
the door and screamed:
“When I was young, I served the king.
I thought it was the proper thing.
When I was old and my hair was gray,
On the king’s side I did stay.”
He was soon silenced. Captain Brant, and Master Turnbull, as well as his
own son-in-law, were aroused and striving to shut off the old Tory’s
clamor by the threat:
“If you don’t stop, we’ll duck you in the Mohawk.”
This commotion enabled the lads to make a change of position without
betraying their presence, and then they waited until the occupants of
the lower room had eaten and departed.
Just before leaving the younger Tory said to the older:
“Father, if Ira went up to Fort Stanwix, he will stop at the farm when
he returns. Likely he is there now, so we may as well go back. I hope,
since they are on their way up the river, that Captain Brant and Master
Turnbull will go with us, to be our guests for as long a time as
possible.”
“That’s right, Hiram,” the old man replied, and with such understanding
the four friends of the king left the hut, striking off through the
thicket toward the road that led to Master Le Geyt’s home.
Two minutes later the three scouts had descended from their hiding-place
and were making preparations for breakfast. While working they talked.
“It’s lucky for you, Ira,” Late began, “that those Tories decided to go
home.”
“Yes,” was the brief reply.
“I wish we had been outside the hut when those fellers came,” Joe said
half to himself.
“Why?” asked young Wentworth.
“We might have captured the whole gang,” the former explained. “It would
have been a great haul.”
“I should have been glad to put my hands on that spy,” Ira said grimly.
He had hardly more than spoken when the door was flung open, and Master
Turnbull stood before them.