On the afternoon of the 9th of May, 1775, Job and Nathan laid their guns
in the canoe and stood beside her ready to set her afloat in the brown
water, whose ripples softly lapped the drift of dried sedges along the
shore. Job looked anxiously about, and once more, as he had several
times previously done, he whistled a loud shrill note through his
fingers.
"Where on airth is that dog? He mistrusted somethin' was up and run off.
He'd ortu be tied up, but we can't wait any longer, an' he'll hafter run
loose. Wal, le's be off."
Lifting the canoe, they set her afloat, stepped lightly on board, and,
kneeling in the bottom, sent her flying down the creek. They skirted the
lake almost beneath the spreading branches of the maples, now already
dappled with the tender green of budding leaves. A little back from the
naked, western shore, with its crumbling ruins of the old French water
battery, uprose the gray battlements and barracks of Ticonderoga, and
the blazoned cross of England floating lazily in the breeze.
"I've follered it for many a day," said Job sadly, "an' I never thought
to go agin it. But I b'lieve I'm right," and he turned his face
resolutely forward.
The turmoil and horror of war seemed far removed from the serene sky,
the rippled water kissing the quiet shores, and the pervading sense of
the earth's renewing life, enforced by bursting buds and opening flowers
and songs of birds. Even the grim fortress seemed but a memento of
conflict long since ended forever.
Sweeping into the broad mouth of the creek, they joined the motley crowd
already gathered there. The assemblage was composed of all who were
capable of bearing arms, from gray-headed veterans of the last war, to
the striplings who had not yet been mustered on a training field. Job
received hearty greetings from more than one old comrade whom he had not
seen since they ranged this region, then an unreclaimed wilderness,
under the leadership of the brave and wary Robert Rogers, and he was
soon in reminiscences of scouts and ambuscades, while Nathan watched and
noted everything, a most interested spectator of what was passing so
unobtrusively into history.
Presently there was a stir and gathering together of the detached groups
and an expectant hush. Then he saw towering among them, in cocked hat
and military garb of blue and buff, the stalwart figure of Ethan Allen.
"Fall in, men," said the deep-toned voice of Allen, and the groups
formed in line as best they could among the trees.
As they moved forward to take their places Nathan noticed an unfamiliar
form skulking among the tree trunks near him--a swarthy little man
wearing a tasseled, woolen cap and gray coat unlike the Yankee garb. It
flashed across his mind that this was the Canadian employed by his
stepfather, and he tried to keep watch of his movements. But there was
much else to engage him, and just then he felt a touch on his leg, and,
turning, saw Gabriel's sorrowful face looking wistfully up to his own.
"Down, Gabe," he said in a low tone, and the hound crouched behind. Just
then Ethan Allen, having passed slowly down the line, accosting one and
another, broke the silence:
"Friends of the Grants, we are already enough for this business in hand,
but there are more to come. There will be boats enough to cross us all
in good time. Keep quiet. Cook your rations and eat your supper.
To-morrow we'll eat our breakfast in Ticonderoga, or know the reason
why."
As Nathan's entranced gaze was for a moment withdrawn from the beloved
commander, he caught a glimpse of the little unknown man stealing away
among the shadows. Being more accustomed to the rigid discipline of the
garrison than to the free and easy customs of volunteers, he did not
dare to leave the ranks till many of his comrades had straggled away.
Then he sought Job and told him his suspicions.
"I thought Newton was goin' to tend to them critters. Newton," he called
to his neighbor, "didn't you put a guard over Toombs and his man?"
"Toombs is safe in care of a good man, but his Canuck couldn't be found.
I guess he's too stupid to do any mischief, anyway."
"Well, he's ben a sneakin' round here an' now he's gone, an' there's no
tellin' where. Where's Toombs's boat?"
"Here," and Newton pointed to the landing, where it lay among many
others.
"Gabe's round here somewheres," said Nathan inadvertently.
"Jest the one I was a wishin' for," said the old man, aroused from his
troubled pondering. "He can help when nob'dy else can." He then sent one
of his shrill whistles into the woods, and then another, with such good
effect that Gabriel presently appeared, loping easily along. "Good
fellow, good fellow. Now, Newton, we'll ketch that skunk. Here, here,
old boy," and he hurried swiftly away with the hound at heel.
Arrived at the house they found Toombs unconfined, but under the
vigilant guard of a lynx-eyed Green Mountain Boy. When Job inquired for
the Canadian, he detected a gleam of triumph in the glowering eyes of
the surly, half-defiant prisoner.
"The fox has slipped," said Job; "but never mind. If he can fool Gabe
he's a smart 'un. Ruth, where's somethin' that 'ere Canuck has wore?"
Ruth, who stood near her idle spinning wheel, half dazed at the unwonted
commotion and afraid of she knew not what, pointed covertly to a much
worn pair of moccasins hanging near the fireplace to dry.
"Hisn? There couldn't be nothin' better. See here, Gabe."
The hound snuffed eagerly at the soiled footgear, slowly wagging his
tail, and then looked inquiringly at his master.
"Sarch him out, boy. Sarch him out," Job encouraged him, pointing along
the ground.
The hound circled about the yard a little, and then, finding the trail,
followed it silently and steadily down to the creek to where the men
were mustered. There, on the much trodden ground, it baffled him for a
while. Resorting to his usual tactics, he made widening circles and
again found the trail and went off upon it in a steady, untiring pace
southward in the direction of Ticonderoga.
"I knowed it," said Job to himself, "and I'll bet ye there'll be a
Canuck treed afore sundown." Guided by the deep, mellow baying of the
hound, he set off, with his gun at atrail, in rapid pursuit.
The agile little Canadian had at least an hour's start, and made such
brisk use of it that he was on the shore opposite the Fort when he was
overtaken by the hound, who at once set furiously upon him. Being
unarmed, he was forced to scramble up a tree, from which, when he had
recovered his breath, he began lustily to hail the Fort, and at
intervals to curse the hound. His shouts, and Gabriel's insistent
deep-mouthed bayings, could scarcely fail to attract the attention of
the garrison, and Job, pushing forward at his best pace, presently
appeared upon the scene.
"Hello de Forrt," the Canuck was shouting. "Hey! Hello de Forrt! Sacre
chien! Go home, Ah tol' you! Hello, Carillon. Tac-con-derrrque! All de
Bastonais was comin' for took you, Ah tol' you! Sacre chien! Stop off
you nowse so Ah can heard me spik."
"Shut yer head an' come down out o' that mighty quick," Job commanded in
a low voice.
"Me no onstan' Angleesh," and again the voice rang out over across the
water: "Hello de Forrt!"
Peering through the overhanging branches, Job saw a group of red-coated
soldiers gathered on the other shore, and presently saw a boat putting
out from it.
"Looka here," said he sternly, as he cocked his piece and aimed upward;
"I don't want tu be obleeged tu hurt you, but stop yer hollerin' an'
come right down."
"Me no onstan', Ah tol' you! Hello--." The lusty hail was cut short by
the report of the long smooth-bore. The Canadian's cap went spinning
from his head, and he came scrambling down in a haste that threatened to
leave half his clothes behind.
"Ah comin'! Ah comin'! Don't shot some more!" he cried in a voice
trembling with fright.
Job arrested his descent till his gun was reloaded; then, when his
captive slid to the ground, he quickly tied his hands behind with a
fathom of cord, one end of which he held. Then he removed the woolen
sash from the Canadian's waist and bound it about his mouth.
A glance upon the lake showed the boat half-way across, and approaching
as fast as two pairs of oars could impel it. Job hurried his man into an
evergreen thicket some twenty yards away, and, leaving him tied to a
tree in charge of the hound, he stealthily returned to ascertain if
possible whether the nature of the alarm had been comprehended by the
soldiers. The boat drew rapidly toward the place where he lay concealed,
and, at a little distance, the occupants lay upon their oars while they
held consultation, so near that he could hear every word of it.
"Well, boys," said the sergeant in command, "whathiver it was, Hi don't
hear nothink more of it. But Hi'll 'ail the shore. 'Ello there,
whathiver is the row?" An answer was silently awaited till the echoes
died away.
"Ah't was some o' thim Yankee divils huntin' just," said one of the
soldiers, "and that's all about it. Divil a word could I make out but
the dog yowlin' an' a man phillalooin', an' thin the shot. They kilt
whativer they was at an' thin wint away."
"Hi believe you're right, Murphy, an' we'll no bother to go ashore, but
just pull back and report to the captain," and off went the boat to the
western shore.
With a sigh of relief Job sped back to his prisoner, to whom he motioned
the homeward way, and set forth with him in front at a break-neck pace,
which was occasionally quickened by a punch of the gun muzzle in the
rear, and so was the captive driven to the camp.
Ticonderoga's evening gun had long since boomed its vesper thunder, and
the shadows of evening were thickening into night in the forest, when
Job emerged from them into the glare of the camp fire with his hound and
prisoner, and received the warm commendations of Allen and his
associates for his promptly and skilfully performed exploit.
"I don't claim no credit for't. It was all Gabe's doin's, an' if I'd
left him tied up to hum as I laid out to, our cake would all 'a' ben
dough."
"Here, Newton, here's your man. Put him under guard with that Tory,
Toombs," said Allen.
A tall man of noble, commanding presence, but of a quiet, modest mien,
stooped to caress the hound. "Why," he said, "it's one of Sunderland's
dogs, that haven't their equal in New England."
"You've got an eye for houn' dogs, Capt'n Warner. He sartain is one o'
them dogs an'll foller anything he's told to, though 't ain't no gre't
trick to track a Canuck more'n an Injin. They're both strong-scented
critters."