THE MOUNTAIN QUEEN’S WARNING.
The rain poured steadily down in torrents, and the heavens were all one
unvarying mass of leaden clouds. The outlines of the Green Mountains
were wrapped in driving fleeces of gray mist, and the chilly north-east
wind drove the rain aslant, splashing up the pools that collected in
every hollow.
Adrian Schuyler, at the head of a small party of horsemen, was slowly
riding along on his recovered charger, through the fields near the
little town of Bennington. He was wrapped in his long cloak, and
the rain dripped from his tall hussar-cap in a continued spout. His
followers were awkward, countryfied Green-Mountain Boys, but their
peculiar leathern costume told that they were all hunters, and not
agriculturists, by profession. Hunters they were, and first-class
shots, keen at detecting trails, and model scouts.
They rode on behind their leader, in single file, watching every little
patch of wood that might hide an enemy. Two men rode on each flank at
easy rifle-shot distance, beating up the brushwood, and leaving nothing
unsearched.
Their numbers and actions sufficiently told that they composed a
reconnoitering party, under command of the ex-hussar. It was a
noticeable fact in the history of the Revolutionary war, that those
officers who had served in European armies were treated with great
distinction whenever they could be induced to accept commands, and that
their career in American armies was generally very creditable, with the
exception of those coming from the English service. The latter, as in
the cases of Lee and Gates, were almost uniformly unfortunate, while
those provincials, such as Washington, Putnam, Stark, and Schuyler,
who had learned war in the French and Indian struggle, under English
tuition, were as uniformly good leaders. All which facts tend to prove
that the English system of war is inferior to that pursued, in Germany
especially, on the European continent; as also that American intellect
is able to attain a good result, even in a bad school.
Adrian Schuyler was a model light cavalry officer, and conducted his
party with due caution. A rifle-shot ahead, was the best scout of the
party, and every now and then, silent signals were exchanged between
the advance and the main body, that communicated some intelligence.
Presently the scout in front halted, and crouched on his horse’s neck.
Instantly, at a low word from Adrian, his party stopped, and the
officer rode slowly up to the side of his advanced vidette, to see what
was the matter.
“Thar they be, Cap,” said the scout, in a low tone, pointing to his
left front, “they’re gone into camp, as slick as molasses, and their
Dutch sentry ain’t got no eyes, I guess, for he’s a-blinkin’ this way,
jest like an owl on a fine day, and hain’t seen me.”
Schuyler, sheltering himself behind the other, and bowing his head, so
as to hide his tall cap, slipped off his horse and leveled a telescope
over the croup of the scout’s steady animal. A bluish line of smoke,
clearly visible against the cold gray background of mist and rain,
pointed out the position of the camp of Baum and his Hessians, detached
from the army of Burgoyne, to seize the stores at Bennington.
They lay in a square, compact mass, in a bend of the little rivulet,
called the Wollonsac, which covered their position. A green grove, at
the borders of the stream, furnished them with some shelter from the
rain, for otherwise they were compelled to trust to huts of straw.
A brown line of fresh earth, covering the whole front of their
position, showed that their commander was a cautious man, who knew the
value of intrenchments.
“There they are, sure enough, Kerr,” said Schuyler, as he shut up his
glass; “but I don’t see any Indians.”
“I’d admire to see the reptyles,” said Kerr, spitefully, “sneaking
round when _our_ boys are here, Cap. No, no, thur ain’t one of ’em left
near us, since the Mountain Devil’s up and arter ’em.”
“The Mountain Devil! Who’s that?” asked Adrian, surprised. It was the
first time he had heard allusions from others to the singular being
that had effected his own release from his late captors.
“Wal, Cap, that’s hard to say,” responded the scout. “Some say he’s
a real devil, some say he’s only a feller that’s got a spite against
the Injins. All I know is, that he’s been round lately, and skeered
every one on ’em out of the country. Folks say he’s b’en dodgin’ round
Burgoyne’s men, playin’ the same games, and that thur leavin’ for hum.”
“Has he been seen near our quarters?” asked the hussar.
“Nary time, Cap. He may be a devil, but if so, he’s a mighty friendly
one fur our side. He don’t only kill Injins and Tories, and leaves our
folks alone. We hain’t so much as seen him, though prisoners tells
mighty tough stories about him, how he’s got horns and huffs, and sends
fire out of his mouth, and sich like.”
Schuyler did not tell the scout of his own experience. He was too much
puzzled at the nature of the apparition.
He remained watching the camp of the English dragoons in silence,
feeling certain that his presence was unseen by the army, then turning,
he led his horse away out of sight.
He was about to lead his party round to reconnoiter from another
quarter, when one of the flanking scouts was seen to go off, at a
gallop, to the right, into the woods, as if in chase of something. A
moment later, a black horse, which the hussar recognized as the one he
had turned loose to go back to the Haunted Mountain, dashed out of the
woods, bearing a lady on his back, and came galloping up, pursued by
the scout.
Schuyler waved his hand to the latter to halt, for he recognized the
figure of the lady. Then, up galloped the unknown fair one who called
herself Diana, and checked her horse with fearless grace in front of
the party.
Diana was more beautiful, if possible, in the habiliments of
civilization, than she had been in her woodland guise. She was dressed
in a black riding-habit of velvet, laced across the breast in strange
imitation of a skeleton, in silver, and wore a little black hussar-cap,
with a skull and cross-bones in white on the front, the very costume
afterward used by the “Black Brunswickers” of Waterloo renown. She was
dripping with rain.
Without the slightest hesitation, she addressed Schuyler, earnestly.
“Sir,” she said, “you are in danger, and you know it not. A party of
savages, led by the Tory spy, Colonel Butler, are already between you
and your own forces, to cut you off. Retire, while there is time. I am
sent to warn you. They are now in yonder wood.”
As she spoke, she pointed to a piece of woods in their rear, and
wheeled her horse as if to flee. Adrian Schuyler impulsively caught at
the bridle.
“Tell me, at least,” he entreated, “that you will not run into danger
on our account. We are soldiers, you a woman.”
“No time for talking,” she answered, sharply. “Look yonder.”
He looked, and the edge of the wood was full of Indians.