THE BITTER AND THE SWEET.
“Yes, it is the courier sure enough,” Philip said, “and he is probably
going to Burgoyne’s camp with a message from General Clinton. If we
could capture him, we might find out what Sir Henry proposes to do.”
“We wouldn’t unless we had better luck than when we caught him the time
before,” Dan replied grimly.
The lieutenant laughed. “You are right; but we’ll hope for better luck
this time.”
“How are you goin’ to get him?” Dan asked a moment later. “It don’t look
as if he was comin’ ashore right away.”
“Probably not for several hours,” Philip replied. “I suspect he passed
the night at the house of Beverly Robinson, near West Point, for he had
that Tory’s name on his list. Likely he is intending to take his dinner
with Isaac Neale, another Tory living five or six miles above us. We’ll
follow and see; if I’m correct, we’ll plan to seize him there.”
Master Preston was now opposite the lads, and paddled swiftly by,
unconscious of his danger. They waited until he had disappeared around a
bend in the river, and then went in search of their companions. Then it
was they arranged for Late and Joe to stay well in the rear with the
horses, while they kept the courier in sight.
Now and then a curve in the shore-line forced them to mount their horses
in order to keep pace with the voyager; but when they were come within a
half-mile of Isaac Neale’s house, the steeds were hidden in the woods
while all four scouts went up the trail on foot.
Snugly hidden behind one of the Tory’s barns, they watched Master
Preston as he came ashore and went up to the house.
“It lacks an hour of noon,” Philip said, looking at his watch, “and the
men are doubtless at their work. It is a good time to capture the
courier, and we’ll set about it at once.”
He gazed intently at the house. It was a two-story building, standing
bare and alone.
“I wish there were two more of us,” he added; “but we must do the best
we can. Joe is to take a station where he can watch the south and east
sides. Late is to stand guard over the north and west ends. Dan and I
will enter the house. Now!” and he led the way at full speed.
By the time Philip and his comrade were at the door, the other lads were
at their stations. The lieutenant and Dan entered without ceremony, to
find the courier in the act of ascending the stairs. Recognizing them
instantly, he ran swiftly, the scouts at his heels, into the nearest
chamber, the door of which he quickly closed and fastened.
Philip and Dan threw themselves upon the barrier, forcing an entrance
just in time to see Master Preston go out of the window. Dan ran back,
down the stairs and out of the main door; but Phil followed the
fugitive, intending to leap after him. But that act was unnecessary, for
Master Preston was already in the clutches of Late and Joe.
Philip noted that the man had been injured by the jump, and had lost not
only his hat, but the hair from his head.
“He wore a wig!” Philip cried in surprise. “There is where he hid his
letters,” and he hastened downstairs to where the prisoner lay.
“You have me this time,” the courier exclaimed as he caught sight of
Phil.
“And your papers,” the latter replied, picking up the wig to find a
pocket on the inside where was a small, thin, sealed package.
“That is what I meant,” Master Preston said with a groan. “Now you know
where I concealed the messages when you captured me before.”
“Where are you injured?” the young officer asked, stooping beside his
captive.
“He broke his leg when he jumped,” Late answered.
“When I struck the ground, you mean,” the courier added with a faint
attempt at a smile. “But for that I should have escaped.”
“Not much,” Joe interrupted, “for I had my rifle trained on you, an’ in
another minute would have fired.”
“Shall we carry him into the house?” Dan asked.
The women of the family had already gathered near, some crying
hysterically, others looking on with pale and frightened faces. The
eldest, Mistress Neale as her words proved, said somewhat timidly:
“Yes, take him into the house, good sirs, and I’ll send one of the girls
for her father, who is in the field. He will know just what to do.”
“Much as I regret it,” the leader of the squad replied gently, “I am
forced to ask you to delay sending for Master Neale.” Then to Joe, he
said, “Bring up the horses,” and to Late, “Keep guard here.”
Philip and Dan lifted the injured courier, carrying him up to the
chamber, where he was laid on the bed.
“I trust, Master Preston, that you will not be overlong in recovering,”
he said as he turned to leave the unfortunate fellow.
“A few weeks here will pass more pleasantly than months, perhaps, in the
dungeon of a fort,” Preston replied. “You are kind to leave me with my
friends.”
Before gaining the outer door, the boys heard him say to Mistress Neale,
who was striving to relieve his suffering:
“There goes the smartest Yankee I have fallen in with since I came to
this country. Burgoyne will be whipped, and it is largely due to him.”
“Who is he?” she asked.
“The son of General Schuyler,” was the answer.
The words could be heard in the yard, where the daughters of Mistress
Neale were still waiting. The eldest, a fair girl of sixteen or
seventeen years, turned and gazed at the young officer, who was mounting
his horse, with a look of admiration, and as he rode away said to her
younger sister:
“I don’t care if he is a rebel, he is handsomer than any British officer
I ever saw.”
Joe, who was nearer her than either of his comrades, heard the
confession, and it was a long time before he ceased teasing his chief
about the “Tory sweetheart.”
Four or five miles up the trail Philip opened the letter he had taken
from the wig of the courier. It read:
“New York, October, 1777.
“To General John Burgoyne,
“Commanding His Majesty’s Army in Northern New York,
“Honored Sir:—Your message, and also that of Lord Germain, reached me
two weeks since by the hand of Master George Preston. He had been
apprehended and held by the rebels for months, yet succeeded in
keeping and at length delivering to me the messages entrusted to his
care, an unusual exploit, for which he deserves the highest
commendation. On receipt of them I immediately undertook to comply
with your request and with the order of the war secretary, but, after
reaching and capturing the forts known as Clinton and Montgomery a few
miles up the river, I was compelled to abandon the enterprise. I
regret greatly, therefore, to inform you there is no hope of my
forcing the passage of the Hudson this season. I would suggest that
you entrench yourself in some suitable place where you can maintain a
defense during the winter, and doubtless in the spring I shall be able
to come to your aid.
“I remain your obedient servant,
“Henry Clinton,
“Commanding His Majesty’s Army in Southern New York.”
Handing the missive to his companions in turn, Philip said:
“It would have done no great harm if we had not captured Preston.”
“It looks to me as though it would have discouraged Burgoyne a little
more,” Dan added.
“I guess he is blue enough now,” Late suggested.
“He is if matters have worked after the style they were goin’ when we
came away,” Joe added.
“Still, this letter confirms our report, and is from a source that
cannot be doubted,” Philip said cheerily. “General Gates need no longer
fear a foe in his rear.”
“An’ will have no excuse for not advancing,” Dan Cushing declared.
The lads finished their journey without other incident, and on the
evening of October sixth arrived at Bemis Heights. In a few minutes
later the commander-in-chief had heard their report and received the
letter from Sir Henry Clinton. The latter interested him greatly, and he
insisted on hearing a full account of how it came into his scout’s
hands.
“Your father was right, lieutenant,” he said graciously when the story
had been told. “I could not have sent one better fitted for the mission
than yourself. With no enemy to attack us in our rear, we can give our
undivided attention to those in front. I will soon issue an order for an
attack.”
But on the following morning such a step was unnecessary. At an early
hour, prompted by a threatened famine, General Burgoyne directed that a
foraging force, numbering fifteen hundred, break through the western
line of skirmishers and scour the surrounding country in search of food.
This movement was immediately detected by the Continentals, and,
mistaking it for the beginning of a general attack on the part of the
red-coats, they prepared for battle.
Leaving the breastworks they dashed down the hill upon the enemy’s
front. It was an attack which the British could not withstand, and they
gave way before it. Rallying, however, a little later, they drove the
assailants back.
To and fro they struggled, sometimes the British, sometimes the patriots
having the best of the contest. So evenly balanced were the contending
forces that the same cannon changed hands five times. Finally the
patriots succeeded in holding the piece, and their colonel leaping upon
it cried:
“I now dedicate this to the American cause.” Then he ordered it wheeled
around, and, having been loaded with British ammunition, it was
discharged again and again into the ranks of its former owners, becoming
an important factor in driving them from the field.
At the same time an extraordinary flank movement was being executed.
General Fraser, with the finest corps of the English army, fell upon the
left of the Continentals. Colonel Morgan’s riflemen drove the attacking
party back, and they in their turn charged impetuously upon the British
right. During the entire day there was no hotter fighting than that
which centered at this point.
Upon the heights stood an interested spectator. It was Colonel Arnold,
who, though deprived of his command, had not yet left the encampment. As
he watched the progress of the battle he could no longer restrain
himself. Mounting his horse, he rode at breakneck speed toward the left
field. General Gates immediately ordered one of his staff officers to
follow and recall the daring officer. But the aide could not overtake
him. Into the thickest of the fight, and on to the head of his regiment,
the impetuous colonel rode. His men recognized and received him with
cheers; then, rallying, they followed him in a charge before which the
red-coats wavered like grain before a tempest.
Colonel Morgan had already discovered that General Fraser was the
inspiration of the British forces, and, selecting some of his best
marksmen, he directed them to make the intrepid commander their special
target. Soon Fraser’s horse was shot under him; but he refused to retire
from the field. Mounting a fresh steed he again placed himself at the
head of his men, and a few moments later fell, mortally wounded.
This turned the tide of the battle. Though General Burgoyne in person
tried to rally his men, his efforts were vain. Driven from their
entrenchments by Arnold’s troops, they became demoralized and, after
firing a single volley, turned and fled.
In this last charge a bullet shattered Colonel Arnold’s thigh, and he
fell from his horse just as Major Armstrong, who had been sent to recall
him from the field, reached his side. He obeyed the order; but four men
carried him, and he left behind a shattered foe, and a victorious army.
Night fell, and the patriots remained in possession of the field. The
British fled, intending to cross the Hudson and return to Fort Edward.
Their loss was about seven hundred, while that of the Americans was but
one hundred and fifty.
General Gates, who had remained in the camp all day, then made a move
which is to his credit. Discovering, notwithstanding the heavy fog which
had set in, the attempt of Burgoyne to recross the river, he sent out a
force to prevent his escape. All the next day there was heavy
skirmishing, and then the harassed Britisher, leaving his baggage and
wounded, set out on a night march for Saratoga. On the ninth he encamped
on the heights north of the Fishkill. The patriots pursued, and on the
tenth arrived at the heights between Saratoga church and the river.
Then the fleeing general lost hope. His position was exposed to attack
on all sides; the roads to the north were impassable, and the woods
swarming with patriots. He had bread sufficient only for three days, and
no water. Surrender seemed inevitable.
On the thirteenth he called together his officers for council. While
they were deliberating grape-shot from the guns of the pursuers swept
across the table around which they were seated. Possibly it hastened
their decision. It was agreed to treat with the American commander for
honorable surrender.
It required three days for the two commanders to agree upon terms, but
on the sixteenth they were finally arranged, and on the seventeenth
articles were signed permitting the British to march out with the honors
of war, while on their part they surrendered artillery, arms, and
ammunition, agreeing not to re-enter the king’s service during the war.
General Burgoyne on that afternoon, in the presence of the two armies,
handed his sword to General Gates, who promptly returned it. Then the
entire British army, numbering nearly six thousand, filed off toward
Boston, from which port they were to embark for England.
The four young scouts watched the long line of prisoners as they filed
away, and Dan asked:
“What do you s’pose the king will say when he sees them come marchin’
home?”
“That the bottom has fallen out of his plans,” Philip replied with a
laugh.
“’Twon’t be so with our men,” Late added. “The news will put new fight
in ’em, an’ they’ll lick every red-coat that comes their way.”
“An’ the rest of the world will think we mean business,” Joe added
gleefully.
“I am confident it will secure for us the help of France, which means
that we shall gain what we are fighting for—our national independence,”
a voice behind them said.
Turning, the boys saw General Schuyler, who added: “In time to come, I
believe, it will generally be acknowledged that this battle of Saratoga
was one of the decisive battles of the world, and you, my lads, may be
proud because in it you have borne an honorable and important part.”
“Hurrah!” they all shouted, filled with enthusiasm at the thought.
Two weeks later General Schuyler and his son stood in the presence of
General Washington. During an hour they had been with him discussing the
details of the northern campaign, and now had arisen to depart. Taking
the father by the hand the brave commander-in-chief of the American
forces said:
“Never forget, sir, that at no time have I lost confidence in you, and I
shall not rest until I have secured your full vindication at the hands
of Congress.”
Then turning to the son he added:
“The part you have played in this notable victory has proved, my lad,
that you are the worthy son of a worthy sire. In my report to the
Congressional committee I shall recommend that you be given a captain’s
commission.”
“And what for my three comrades?” the young scout asked eagerly. “I
assure you they never once failed me, and two of them risked their lives
to save me from death. The other would have been with them in that
undertaking had not his duty called him elsewhere. If need be, give me
nothing, but bestow on them some evidence that you appreciate their
faithful work.”
“I leave it for their captain to make them warrant officers in his own
command,” was the smiling reply.
“They shall have, then, the highest places I can give them,” Phil said
stoutly, “and I can safely promise that you will hear good tidings from
them.”
A promise which was made good under General Lincoln when he took command
of the army in the south.
THE END.
Footnotes
[1]Major General Philip Schuyler, at this time commander of the army of
the north, with headquarters at Fort Edwards, N. Y.
[2]Major General Arthur St. Clair, at this time commander of Fort
Ticonderoga.
[3]Also called Mount Independence and Mount Defiance.
[4]Afterwards called Fort Schuyler. It was situated near the present
city of Rome, N. Y.
[5]Joseph Brant, a Mohawk chief, who had been educated in England. His
Indian name was Thayendanegea.
[6]Major-general Horatio Gates, he came from New England to succeed
General Schuyler, but his estate was in Virginia.
[7]A little later Captain Brant with three hundred of his warriors swept
through Mohawk valley committing some of the greatest atrocities of
the war.
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