THE CHANCE MEETING.
On the following morning the British retreated to their old camping
ground, and thus each army occupied precisely the same position it did
prior to the battle, but with the difference that one was disheartened,
and the other was encouraged.
“It is clear we have Burgoyne in our power,” Colonel Arnold said to a
group of fellow officers, as he watched the movements of the red-coats.
For a brief time there was no response, and then Colonel Morgan replied
in a low tone:
“He would be, if Schuyler was our commander. When I remember that
General Gates did not appear on the field at any time yesterday, it
makes my blood boil.”
“It appears as if some one else is expected to do the work, while he
reaps the reward,” another said.
“He won’t reap the reward of my labors long, if he don’t get a move on,”
Colonel Arnold retorted with a frown. “I shall resign my commission
rather than serve under such an officer.”
The conversation was interrupted by the appearance of General Schuyler,
without uniform, however, suggestive of the fact that he was there
without rank or command. He greeted each member of the group with a
hearty shake of the hand, and asked:
“Which of you dare beard the lion in his den?”
“I do,” Colonel Arnold replied promptly.
“Suppose we all join,” the general continued, “it seems to me a wise
move. If we are agreed, Colonel Arnold as our spokesman may suggest the
plan to our commander.”
The officers looked meaningly at each other, and some shook their heads
as if to say, “We don’t understand how you can remain here and do all
you can to bring about a victory, when the entire credit of it will go
to another.”
If the ex-commander observed the looks and head-shakes, he gave no heed,
but added:
“As you all know, the enemy is in a condition which grows worse every
day. Counting his sick and wounded, there are nearly a thousand in the
hospital; many are deserting the ranks; provisions are becoming
exhausted; a few miles in their rear is an impassable wilderness, and we
proved yesterday that he cannot advance. Let us then send troops in
sufficient number to prevent foraging on the west, and to cut off
connection with his base of supplies on the east. Then, in a few days,
he must either fight or surrender.”
“The eye doesn’t need be more than half open to see that,” Colonel
Morgan replied.
“Since the general need not endanger his own head by issuing such an
order, I may be able to secure the permission,” Colonel Arnold said in a
tone of contempt, and he walked rapidly toward the headquarters of the
commander-in-chief.
How he presented the matter is not known; but an hour or two later it
was rumored about the encampment that he had been removed from command
of his regiment, for attempting to coerce a superior officer. When this
rumor crystallized into fact, the entire army was threatened with
insubordination. Only the most strenuous efforts of the division and
brigade commanders, ably assisted by Schuyler, their former
commander-in-chief, prevented open rebellion.
“This is terrible,” Lieutenant Schuyler said to his three scouts a
little later in the day. “To have our army demoralized in the face of
the enemy, is a good deal like throwing the victory away after it is in
our hands.”
“But, thanks to the efforts of the other officers, the worst seems to be
over,” Late replied.
“For the present, yes,” Philip admitted; “but the lightest breeze may
fan into a flame the smoldering fire, and who can tell what General
Gates will do next?”
“General Lincoln an’ General Poor have gone to his quarters for a
consultation,” Dan announced. “I’m hopin’ something may come from that.”
“So’m I,” Joe added.
Their hopes were gratified. An order was issued before nightfall for
skirmishing parties to be sent out on all sides of the enemy. Within the
hour the work was begun, and from that time the British were so hemmed
in that it was nearly impossible for any one to enter or leave their
lines without falling into the hands of the patriots.
One day Lieutenant Schuyler, at the head of a squad of men which
included Dan Cushing, Latham Wentworth, and Joe Fisher, was scouring the
woods to the westward of the English encampment. He soon found that his
chief work was not to capture soldiers seeking to enter the camp, but
those who were leaving it. Before noon so many deserters had fallen into
his hands that it required more than half his force to guard the
prisoners.
“If the other skirmishers are picking up as many fugitives as we,” the
lieutenant said when the latest captures had been sent within the
American lines, “Burgoyne’s whole army will be in our hands before the
month is out.”
“Here come some more,” Dan, who was on the right of the squad, said in a
low tone. Then, suddenly, he ran to the side of his leader. “There are a
half dozen Tories,” he added, “an’, will you believe it, one is old
David Daggett, while another, I reckon, is his grandson, Ira Le Geyt!”
The young lieutenant followed Dan to the other end of the line, where he
could better see the approaching men. “You are right,” he said a moment
later. “David and Ira are both there, and it is well worth our tramp out
here to capture them.”
He divided his followers into two parties, directing one to creep
cautiously through the forest to the rear of the royalists, while the
other, with himself at its head, moved back to a place where the thicket
offered a place of concealment.
Unaware of the ambush, the Tories advanced, discussing loudly the
reasons which led them to return home.
“When I found that the regular troops were put on short rations to
furnish the rest of us with something to eat, I thought I’d better go
home,” one man said.
“I believed it was time Ira and I went up to the farm to get food for
the others,” David Daggett added. “I tell the boy we’ve got enough there
to feed a hundred men for a week, and that’s something.”
“How will you get it down here?” another asked.
“Ira’s long head has found a way,” the grandfather explained. “If you
fellows want to join us in the venture, come on. All of us, working
together, ought to bring stores enough to supply a regiment for quite a
while.”
“I suppose the general will see we are given good prices for all we take
in,” a third man remarked.
Then David Daggett grew furious. Whirling around he shook his fist in
the face of the speaker, crying:
“Curses on your mean, stingy soul, John Tarbox! The man who at such a
time as this is not ready to give up all he has for the king, ought to
be kicked into the rebel camp, and I’d like to be the one to do it!”
Whether the men would have come to blows is uncertain, for at that
moment, the young lieutenant sprang out from the thicket and seized
Master Daggett by the shoulders. At the same instant Late and Joe
clutched Ira Le Geyt, while the remainder of the squad gave their
attention to the other Tories. A brief struggle ensued, but when the
second party of Continentals closed in upon the royalists, they yielded
to the inevitable by surrendering.
Owing to the surprise and excitement incident to the moment, David
Daggett did not at first recognize the leader of the skirmishers. When
he did, however, he gave way to the harshest epithets and the bitterest
invectives he could think of, ending by crying:
“You young devil, that is what I think of you!”
“Your opinion of me is so much better than mine of you, that it is
unnecessary for me to say a single word,” the young officer replied
calmly, ordering his men to fall in with their prisoners.
“What are you going to do with me?” Ira Le Geyt demanded. “Since you can
no longer personate me at General Burgoyne’s headquarters, I should be
allowed to go home, where my father, wounded by you or some of your men,
lies dangerously ill.”
“We must prevent that long head of yours from devising some means of
getting stores into the British camp,” Joe replied. “You ought to be
grateful to us for saving you from so strenuous a task.”
The young Tory frowned, and relapsed into silence. But not so with the
older one. His wrath had now given place to curiosity, and he asked:
“How did you escape from that building after I set it on fire?”
“Perhaps I got out before,” Philip answered with a smile. Then, to learn
whether the soldier he and his comrades had bound and left in his bed
was yet alive, he asked, “Didn’t the guard tell you how I got away?”
“He didn’t know anything,” the old man replied angrily. “Some men who
went up there found him bound and gagged, so brought him down. But when
it was possible for him to talk, he had nothing to tell. Never knew who
tied him, or when it happened. He was certain, though, that the door was
fastened on the outside, and it puzzled him to know how you got at him,
unless some one lent a hand.”
“I had good friends,” Philip replied, glancing with a smile at Dan and
Late, who were behind him.
The old prisoner failed to see the glance.
“They say the devil helps his own,” he retorted, “and he must have been
the one who helped you.”
Again Philip looked over his shoulder at his friends, and laughed
outright, while Joe, who was near enough to hear what old David had
said, remarked:
“Rather rough on you lads, ain’t he?”
At the sound of his voice the old Tory turned and, seeing both Late and
Joe, cried:
“You here, too, you young devils? It seems to be a good day for the
breed.” Then he sang:
“Devils on ahead!
Devils in the rear!
If the devils were all dead,
You rebels wouldn’t be here!”
Some of the soldiers laughed, others showed signs of anger, and the
lieutenant said warningly:
“If you keep that up long, Uncle David, my men will serve you as your
friends threatened to do at the old hut.” The song came to a sudden
close.
A half-hour later the prisoners were in the Continental camp, confined
with an hundred others who had been brought in that day. Then Philip and
his friends went to the mess-room for supper. While they were eating an
orderly came in, and, touching the lieutenant on the shoulder, said:
“General Gates wishes to see you at seven o’clock.”
The lad looked at his watch.
“I will go immediately,” he answered.
On entering the quarters of the commander-in-chief he was surprised to
find his father there. General Gates’s first words, however, explained
why the former commander was with him.
“Lieutenant Schuyler,” he said, “I sent for your father to consult with
him about a matter which gives me considerable anxiety. Ever since I
learned that the courier, Preston, whom I ignorantly set at liberty, had
papers for General Clinton in New York, I have been fearful lest that
officer should send a force up the river to the aid of General Burgoyne,
and attack us in the rear.
“I regard your father as altogether too sanguine when he declares it
impossible for Clinton to force his way up the river. It may be so, I
hope it is so; but that I may be certain there is no danger of such a
happening, I have decided to send a trustworthy messenger down the
Hudson to learn the exact condition of affairs there. Your father
suggested yourself as one who could perform the task to my satisfaction.
In my judgment you are rather young for such a trust; but there is some
truth in your father’s declaration that, ‘boys can sometimes pass
unnoticed where older messengers would excite suspicion.’ Therefore I
have decided to try you. Take as many friends as you think advisable;
tell my quartermaster to furnish you with horses and whatever else may
be needed, and get away to-night if possible. Go only far enough to make
certain we are safe from a rear attack for at least two weeks, and then
return with your report. Within that time we hope to overcome the enemy
in front of us.”
“I can be at Albany before daylight,” the lad said, and with a bow to
the commander and a whispered “good-by” to his father, he left the room,
but General Schuyler followed him.
“You will stop at our home, Phil?” the father said when they were out of
the building.
“Yes, for a few minutes.”
“Then assure your mother that my removal from command was due to no
fault of mine; that I hold enmity toward no one, and shall remain here
to do my full duty to our country.”
“I can tell her that, and also give her proof that you were removed
through the scheming of the enemy,” the boy answered, and then, as they
walked along, he told his father that of which Alexander Turnbull, the
spy, had boasted.
General Schuyler listened with the deepest interest, and when Philip had
concluded, exclaimed reverently:
“I thank the good Lord that He permitted you to overhear those
statements, my son. I did not dream that the Tories of this region were
back of the movement to oust me. No greater compliment could have been
paid, and I can now bear the seeming disgrace with more fortitude. In
time the world will know the truth, of that I am confident.”
“So am I,” the younger officer replied, laying his hand in his father’s
“and I can only hope to imitate the unselfish devotion to the Cause
which you, sir, are showing in an experience when many men would falter
in, if not wholly abandon, their efforts.”
Before nine o’clock Philip, accompanied by his three friends, all well
mounted and well armed, rode rapidly toward Albany. Two hours before
sunrise they had arrived at the town, and at one of the finest estates
on its outskirts drew rein. Phil, dismounting, pounded heavily on the
lodge gate with the stock of his rifle. Soon a voice cried:
“Who’s there?”
“Get up, Bill, and let us in,” the young officer replied.
“Ho! ’Tis you, Master Phil,” came the reply. “I’ll be there in a
minute.”
Then the bolts were shot back, the gate was thrown open, and the four
lads entered.
“We’ll go right to the barn with you, Bill, and turn in there for a few
hours,” the leader of the little party said. “I don’t care to disturb
mother until her usual hour for rising.”
“As you say, Master Phil,” the old servant replied, and in a few minutes
he had taken their horses, while the weary riders, throwing some
blankets on the soft hay, stretched themselves upon them and went to
sleep. They were aroused by a girlish voice calling:
“Phil! Brother Phil, where are you? Bill said you had come home.”
“Here I am, Susan,” Philip answered, and, rising, he went to the door of
the barn where he met his sister, who was a few years younger than
himself. After greeting her affectionately, he said: “I have three lads
with me. Will you tell mother? Then we’ll join you at the house.”
“Let me meet your friends first,” she said, waiting for them to come
forward. After they were presented, she remarked pleasantly:
“I’ve heard of you all through my father’s letters, and you will find a
warm welcome here.” Then she ran on ahead to announce their coming.
In a few minutes they were in the presence of Mistress Schuyler, who
received her son as only a fond mother can, and extended to the other
lads a most cordial greeting. A hearty meal was served a little later,
and then the daughter entertained the other boys while Phil and his
mother had a half-hour together, during which he delivered his father’s
message. With a heroism that matched her husband’s she sent back the
reply:
“Tell him we may be wronged, our best motives misunderstood, our most
earnest efforts unappreciated, but nothing can really disgrace us so
long as we are true to our duty.”
Changing horses at the stables, the four scouts continued their journey.
Down the west bank of the river they hastened, stopping occasionally at
the houses of well-known patriots, but hearing nothing of any
reinforcements for Burgoyne. Two days later they were at West Point,
closeted with its commander. When they had made known the purpose of
their long journey, he said:
“Return to your commander-in-chief with the assurance that he has
nothing to fear from any force General Clinton can send up the Hudson.
He has attempted that move already, and after capturing Fort Clinton and
Fort Montgomery, was compelled to turn back. Burgoyne has no hope of
succor from this quarter.”
Their mission accomplished, the young messengers, after a night’s rest,
set out on their return. Ten miles above the fort they halted in a
beautiful spot to allow their panting horses a breathing-time. The heavy
trees in their autumn foliage screened the travelers from any one on the
river, unless very near at hand, therefore it happened that a canoe,
sweeping around the bend a little below, was seen by them before its
single occupant became aware of their whereabouts.
While Late and Joe led the horses back farther among the foliage lest
they attract attention, the other two scouts concealed themselves behind
a large rock to watch the approaching voyager. At length Dan Cushing’s
keen eyes recognized him, and he whispered in greatest excitement:
“It is the courier, George Preston!”