_With Rogers on the Frontier_
[Illustration: "I AM SETH ALLEN FROM MASSACHUSETTS."]
_WITH ROGERS
ON THE FRONTIER_
_A Story of 1756_
_BY_
J. Macdonald Oxley, B.A.
Author of "L'Hasa at Last," "On the World's Roof,"
"Bert Lloyd's Boyhood," Etc., Etc.
_With Four Illustrations by F.J. DEVITT_
[Illustration]
TORONTO
THE COPP CLARK CO.,
LIMITED.
COPYRIGHT, 1902
A. WESSELS COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. ENGLISH AGAINST FRENCH, 7
II. A PERILOUS RIDE, 16
III. BULLETS AND BAYONETS, 25
IV. THE DEFEAT OF DIESKAU, 36
V. OFF ON A SCOUT, 45
VI. ONE OF ROGERS' RANGERS, 56
VII. REUBEN GETS INTO THE RANGERS ALSO, 67
VIII. OFF TO CROWN POINT, 76
IX. DOING DAMAGE TO THE ENEMY, 86
X. TO BOSTON TOWN, 95
XI. SETH RECEIVES PROMOTION, 106
XII. FROM PERIL TO PERIL, 117
XIII. SCOUTING IN WHALEBOATS, 127
XIV. THE FIGHT IN THE FOREST, 137
XV. FORT WILLIAM HENRY IN DANGER, 147
XVI. THE FOILING OF THE FRENCH, 158
XVII. THE SIEGE OF FORT WILLIAM HENRY, 168
XVIII. THE MASSACRE OF THE ENGLISH, 179
XIX. AN ADVENTURE IN NEW YORK, 189
XX. SCOUTING IN A NEW FIELD, 199
XXI. AN EASY TRIUMPH, 211
XXII. AT CLOSE GRIPS WITH DEATH, 222
XXIII. OUT OF CAPTIVITY INTO ACTION AGAIN, 232
XXIV. THE GLORIOUS VICTORY, 242
WITH ROGERS ON THE FRONTIER
CHAPTER I
ENGLISH AGAINST FRENCH
The great conflict between England and France for supremacy upon the
North American continent was drawing near its final stage. It had been
waged for more than a century with varying fortunes, and over a vast
extent of territory. The sea-girt province of Acadia in the extreme
east, and the rich valley of the Ohio in the far west had alike been
the scene of bloody encounters, and now the combatants were coming
to close grips in that picturesque and beautiful portion of New York
State where the twin lakes Champlain and George lay embosomed amid
forest-clad hills.
The possession of these lakes was divided between the two rivals,
the French being masters of Lake Champlain, and the English of Lake
George, and their crystal waters were again and again reddened with the
life blood of the antagonists and their Indian allies as they fought
fiercely for the prize of sole possession that the way between Canada
and the colonies might be completely closed to whichever power was
vanquished.
In the spring of the year 1755 the New England colonies combined to
undertake the capture of Crown Point, the French stronghold on Lake
Champlain, which for the past quarter of a century had been a veritable
hornet's nest. To Governor Shirley of Massachusetts was due the credit
of inspiring the undertaking, and his province was foremost in voting
men and money toward its accomplishment, Connecticut, New Hampshire,
Rhode Island, and finally New York followed suit, and the result was a
little army of several thousand men, whose appearance would have filled
a European commander with scorn.
For they were none of them soldiers, but simply farmers and farmers'
sons who had gallantly volunteered for the campaign, leaving their
scattered dingy homes in the midst of rough fields of corn and pumpkins
to shoulder the guns they all knew so well how to use, and when the
fighting was over, if so be that they escaped the bullet and tomahawk,
to return to their ploughing and sowing as though they had merely been
out on a hunting trip.
Only one corps boasted a uniform, blue faced with red. The others were
content with their ordinary clothes, and the most of them brought
their own guns. They had no bayonets, but carried hatchets in their
belts instead, and at their sides were slung powder-horns on which they
had carved quaint devices with the points of their pocket knives.
Their whole appearance was neither martial nor picturesque, and gave
them no excuse for pride, but they were brave, brawny fellows, clear of
head, quick of eye, swift of foot, and sure of hand, and incomparably
better adapted for the irregular warfare of the time than the highly
disciplined soldiery of either England or France. They knew the forests
as the city-bred man knows the streets, and by day or night could
traverse their fastnesses without fear of losing their way or falling
into the hands of the enemy.
They were of all ages and sizes so to speak, from boys in their teens
to gray-haired grandfathers, and from dwarfs to giants, but they all
could give a good account of themselves in a fight either at long or
close range.
The commander of this curious army was no less remarkable than his men,
for he had never seen service, and knew nothing of war. An Irishman by
birth, William Johnson had held an extensive domain on the banks of
the Mohawk River for a score of years, and grown powerful and rich by
trading with the Indians of the Five Nations who found him far more
honest and reliable than his Dutch rivals in the business, and over
whom he came to acquire so profound an influence that the Government
made him Indian Superintendent, an appointment that was hailed with joy
throughout the Iroquois Confederacy.
He had taken to himself a Mohawk squaw for wife, and lived in almost
baronial style in a fortified house which was a stronghold against his
foes and a centre of lavish hospitality to friends and visitors whether
white or red.
Governor Shirley had chosen him for the responsible post of commander
because by so doing he prevented any jealousy among the New England
colonies, gratified the important province of New York, and secured the
co-operation of the Five Nations, a threefold advantage that could be
secured in no other way.
The gathering place was at Albany, and here in the month of July were
assembled several thousand provincials ready for the fray. Hither also
came a swarm of Johnson's Mohawks, warriors, squaws, and children.
They made things very lively. They adorned the General's face with
war-paint, and he joined them in the war dance, and then with his sword
cut the first slice from the ox that had been roasted whole for their
entertainment.
"I shall be glad," remarked a New England surgeon surveying the
somewhat riotous goings-on with a touch of complacent contempt, "if
they fight as eagerly as they ate their ox, and drank their wine."
Among the spectators of these rude festivities stood a youth whose
otherwise pleasing countenance was so clouded that one seeing it could
hardly fail to wonder what troubled him thus deeply.
Although still in his teens he had reached the stature of a man, and
his well-knit figure gave evidence of no common share of strength and
activity. He was dressed in a suit of tanned buckskin that became him
particularly well, and with his double-barrelled smoothbore, carved
powder-horn, keen-edged tomahawk, and long-bladed hunting knife was
fully equipped to meet the foe.
The son of a pioneer settler upon the northern border of Massachusetts,
Seth Allen had already drunk to its depths the cup of sorrow, for
at one fell swoop the dusky allies of the French had rendered him a
homeless orphan. With his own eyes he had beheld his parents tomahawked
and scalped, the farmhouse burned, and the stock slaughtered while he
had been carried off for torture in the Indian camp.
Escaping by a happy chance he made his way back to New England, and at
once volunteered for active service against the French. Henceforward
he had but one purpose in life--to serve his country in the field, and
in view of what he had suffered it is easy to understand with what
impatience he awaited the advance of the English against Crown Point,
and how he chafed at the delay which seemed to him inexcusable.
Now above all things this expedition needed to act promptly, and
yet preparations went on with exasperating slowness. The troops and
supplies were contributed by five different legislatures, and they each
wanted their own way about something. Indeed at one time there was a
regular deadlock because they could not agree as to their respective
quotas of artillery and stores.
"The expedition goes on very much as a snail runs," grumbled Surgeon
Williams. "It seems we may possibly see Crown Point this time twelve
months."
Seth Allen, burning with eagerness to forget in the excitement of
action the horrors which haunted his memory, could not understand why
there should be all this useless dawdling, and one day ventured to
address a group of men whom he knew to be among the leaders.
"Can you tell me, good sirs," he said, doffing his cap respectfully,
"how much longer we are to be here doing nothing?"
In the little party were Colonel Titcomb and Seth Pomeroy of
Massachusetts, who had both fought so well at Louisbourg, the sturdy
Israel Putnam of Connecticut, and brave John Stark of New Hampshire,
and they all turned to look at the speaker while a suspicion of a smile
curved the corners of their lips.
"Your question is not easy to answer, young man." It was Colonel
Titcomb who spoke. "We would fain have some definite knowledge upon
that matter ourselves. But may I inquire your name, and how you came
here? You seem to have scarce sufficient years for such hard fighting
as must fall to our lot if our purpose be effected."
A ruddy glow showed through the tan of the youth's cheeks, and he
lowered both head and voice as he replied:
"My name is Seth Allen, and I come from Massachusetts. My father and
mother were killed by the Indians who are in league with the French,
and our home was burned. I am here because I have no other desire than
to fight against those who have broken my heart."
There was a strange simplicity in the words. They came from the heart
of the speaker, and they went straight to the hearts of his hearers.
The veteran warriors looked at each other, and then at the youth with
eyes full of intelligent sympathy, and Colonel Pomeroy, stepping
forward, laid his hand gently upon the youth's shoulder, saying:
"We have heard of your sad story. No one has better reason to be here
than you, and we can well understand how hard you find this waiting.
But patience is a soldierly virtue, and you must have your share of it.
There will be plenty of fighting in due time."
The blush deepened upon Seth's countenance at the implied reproof, and,
murmuring his excuses for having thus interrupted their conference, he
moved away.
"That boy bears a heavy heart," said Colonel Titcomb, "and I should not
like to be either the first Frenchman or Indian that he meets, for he
has a long account to settle with our hated foes."
Patience in no small degree certainly was required by the provincials
who had gathered together for active service, not to waste time in
aimless dallying, and their anxiety to be up and doing was increased
when the four Mohawk scouts which Johnson had sent to Canada returned
with the startling intelligence that the French were fully informed of
the English designs, and that eight thousand men were being sent to the
defence of Crown Point.
Upon this a council of war was held whereat it was decided to send to
the several provinces for reinforcements, and at the same time to begin
the movement northward lest the volunteers, wearied of inaction, should
lose heart in the enterprise.
Accordingly the main body, accompanied by a train of Dutch wagons,
marched slowly over the stumps and roots of a newly made road, and
presently reached the borders of the most beautiful lake which Johnson
loyally called Lake George in honor of the King of England.
Here camp was made on a piece of rough ground by the water's edge, the
men pitching their tents among the stumps of the lately felled trees.
With a clear water-way to their destination, and hundreds of bateaux
hauled overland from Fort Lyman (afterward called Fort Edward), ready
to transport them thither, the men's spirits rose, for they naturally
thought they would soon be led against the enemy, but in this they were
again disappointed.
Johnson sent out scouts in different directions, but otherwise did
nothing, and Seth Allen, at last unable to endure the continued
inaction any longer, begged so earnestly of his captain to be allowed
to go out scouting, that when an Indian brought word that he had found
the trail of a body of men moving toward Fort Lyman, and Johnson called
for a volunteer to carry a letter of warning to Colonel Blanchard, the
commander of the fort, the captain at once sent for Seth, and telling
him what was wanted said:
"Now, young man, there's the chance you have been fretting for."
"And I'm ready to take it," responded Seth promptly.