The battle was over at Plattsburg town, though it had not been fought;
for the spirit of MacDonough was on land and water, and it was felt
by the British general, as well as the Yankee riflemen, as soon as the
Union Jack had been hauled from the mast of the Confiance.
Now Sir George Prevost had to face a momentous decision: He could
force the passage of the Saranac and march on to Albany, but his
communications would be cut, and he must rely on a hostile country for
supplies. Every day drew fresh bands of riflemen from the hills. Before
he could get to Albany their number might exceed his, and then what?
Unless Great Britain could send a new army or a fleet to support him, he
must meet the fate of Burgoyne. Prevost proposed to take no such chances
and the night of the 11th eight hours after MacDonough's victory, he
gave the order “Retire to Canada.”
To hide the move as long as possible, no change was made till after
sundown; no hint was given to the beleaguered town; they must have no
opportunity to reap the enormous advantages, moral and material, of
harrying a retreating foe. They must arise in the morning to find the
enemy safely over the border. The plan was perfect, and would have been
literally carried out, had not he had to deal with a foe as clever as
himself.
How eagerly Rolf took in the scene on Chazy Road; how much it meant! how
he longed to fly at his fastest famous speed with the stirring news. In
two hours and a half he could surely let his leader know. And he gazed
with a sort of superior pride at the martial pomp and bravery of the
invaders driven forth.
Near the last was a gallant array of gentlemen in gorgeous uniforms
of scarlet and gold; how warlike they looked, how splendid beside the
ill-clad riflemen of Vermont and the rude hunters of the Adirondacks.
How much more beautiful is an iron sword with jewels, than a sword of
plain gray steel.
Dame Hubbell stood in her door as they went by. Each and all saluted
politely; her guard was ordered to join his regiment. The lady waved
her sun-bonnet in response to their courteous good-bye, and could not
refrain from calling out:
“How about my prophecy, Sir George, and those purses?”
Rolf could not see his hostess, but he heard her voice, and he saw the
astonishing effect:
The British general reined in his horse. “A gentleman's word is his
bond, madam,” he said. “Let every officer now throw his purse at the
lady's feet,” and he set the example. A dozen rattling thuds were heard
and a dozen officers saluting, purseless, rode away.
A round thousand dollars in gold the lady gathered on her porch that
morning, and to this day her grand-kin tell the tale.