The night was bright with the moonlight, and we soon saw the blaze of
the British camp-fires again. We rode slowly towards them, and at last
stopped at a distance of several hundred yards.
"They should have a picket near here," said Wildfoot, "and I fancy it is
over yonder in the shadow."
He pointed towards a clump of trees on our right, and Marcel, whose eyes
were wonderfully keen, announced that he saw there the color of
uniforms.
"Six men are in the group," said Wildfoot, a moment later, "and they
appear to be resting, which is wrong. No British picket should be taking
its ease in a campaign like this. We will furnish them some excuses for
being on watch."
He gave word to two of his men, who lifted their rifles and fired
towards the group under the trees. I heard the bullets cutting through
the leaves in the few minutes of intense silence that followed. Then a
great clamor arose, the noise of many voices, a drum beating, and
scattered shots returning our fire. We saw soldiers leap up in the camp
and run to arms.
We were far enough away to be hidden from the sight of our enemies, and
we rode swiftly on, leaving the clamor behind us. It was a huge camp,
spreading out for miles, and partly surrounded by woods, which always
make easy the approach of a concealed foe. Yet there was not enough open
space in the vicinity for the whole British army, and their commanders
were not to blame.
Wildfoot still led the way, appearing to know the country thoroughly. He
divided our little force, presently, into three troops, naming a place
at which we were to reunite some hours later. He placed trusted leaders
over the first two troops, and took the third himself, Marcel and I
being included in it. We rode through the deep woods, the twigs whipping
our faces, but always ahead of us was the large dark figure of Wildfoot,
horse and man passing on silently, like a ghostly centaur.
In a half-hour we stirred up another picket, which saw us in the
moonlight and fired their bullets so close to our heads that I felt
anxious. But they were only four men, and we soon sent them running back
to their army. Then an entire company came out to beat up the woods for
us, but we were gone again, flitting on to new mischief. Wildfoot was an
expert at this business. Anybody could see it at a glance. He knew when
to do a thing, and when not to do it, which comes very near to being
supreme wisdom. He knew whether to attack or to wait, whether to ride on
or to stay, and the entire British right flank was soon in an uproar,
their musketeers returning the fire of an enemy whom they could not
see, and cavalry galloping through the forests after the foe whom they
could not overtake. While Wildfoot led us often into danger, he always
led us out again, and we continued our circle of the British camp, all
our horsemen unharmed.
"Isn't this glorious?" said Wildfoot to me presently. "Such nights as
these a man remembers long."
I gazed at him in wonder, but there was no sign of affectation in his
voice or eye. I knew that there was none in his heart either. But I
looked at my torn clothing, felt my bruised face, where the twigs had
struck like switches, stretched my muscles, sore from so much riding,
and replied,--
"If I were the British commander, Captain Wildfoot, and I could catch
you, I would hang you to the top of the tallest tree in this forest."
"I admit that it is somewhat annoying," he replied, smiling broadly at
what impressed him as a great compliment; "but, as I told you, we must
not let the enemy dwell in peace. If we can disturb his sleep, impair
his digestion, and upset his nerves, he won't be enthusiastic when he
goes into real battle."
A half-hour later we were dashing through the woods pursued by a
formidable company, entirely too large for us to oppose, but again we
were unharmed. In truth, the darkness--for the moon had faded
somewhat--was our protector. The enemy could not see to hit us with the
musket-bullets, and presently we gathered together again in the friendly
shadows, with the hostile troop left far behind.
"I wish I knew where General Clinton himself lies," said Wildfoot, who
was ambitious. "I should like to send a bullet through his tent, not to
hurt him, but merely to let him know that we are here."
His face was full of longing, but there was no way for us to discover or
approach General Clinton's tent, and I feared that his desire must go
unfulfilled. Nevertheless, his zest and energy did not decrease, and he
seemed bent upon completing the circuit of the British army with his
irritating methods. I was worn to the bone, but in spite of it I caught
some of Wildfoot's militant enthusiasm, and aided him to the utmost.
Clouds obscured the moon again, and the added darkness helped us. After
midnight we found a company camped on a hill-side on the fringe of the
army, but a little farther from the main body than usual. The tethered
horses grazed on the grass near by, and I was willing to swear that I
knew several of them.
"Yes," said Wildfoot, at whom I looked questioningly, "that's the
company with which you rode the night you and Miss Desmond brought us
the warning. I have no doubt that your friend Belfort, who was exchanged
for you, and other friends of yours, too, are there. We will rouse them
up a bit."
He signalled to his men, and a half-dozen bullets clipped the grass
among the tents. The return fire came in an instant, and it was much
fiercer than we had expected. The musket-balls whistled around us, and
two men and a horse were grazed. We sent back a second volley, and the
British, rushing to their horses, galloped after us, at least a hundred
strong. Away we crashed through the woods, expecting to shake them off
in a few minutes, as we had rid ourselves of the others, but they
managed to keep us in sight and hung on to the chase.
"We must discourage such enthusiasm," said Wildfoot, and he gave orders
to our men, who had reloaded their rifles, to fire again, cautioning
them to take good aim. Two troopers fell to our volley, and others
seemed to be hurt. The pursuit slackened for a few minutes, but was
resumed to the accompaniment of scattering rifle-shots that urged us to
renewed speed. Three of our men were wounded, though slightly, and the
affair was growing decidedly warm.
But the darkness of night and our knowledge of the country gave us a
vast advantage, which we used to good purpose. Wildfoot ordered us to
curve farther away from the British camp, and in five minutes we entered
the deeper forest. Marcel and I were thankful now that Wildfoot had made
us take the horses. All the men were specially well mounted, in truth,
on horses trained for such work, and our pursuers began to diminish in
number, the slower ones dropping off. They decreased rapidly from a
hundred to fifty, and then to twenty-five, and then to less. But a small
group clung persistently to us until at last Wildfoot laid a restraining
hand on the rein of his horse, and said: "Not more than seven or eight
men are following us now. We must show them that they are rash."
We stopped and raised our rifles, all except Marcel and I, who had none,
pistols taking their place. Our pursuers were too eager and too hot
with the chase to notice instantly that we were no longer fleeing, and
dashed at us like knights riding down an antagonist at a tournament. The
man at their head was Belfort,--I saw him plainly,--who never lacked
bravery and zeal, however unlikable he may have been otherwise. I had
spared his life once, and I would not fire at him now, but of course I
was not responsible for what the others might do.
Our weapons flashed, and two of the pursuing horsemen fell. One horse
also went down. The unhurt, warned by this terrible volley that they had
come too far, whirled about and fled--all except two.
The two who did not flee were a wounded man who had fallen from his
saddle and the one whose horse had been killed. Both wore the uniform of
officers.
The dismounted man might have darted among the trees and eluded us
easily, but he did not run. Instead he raised up his wounded companion,
who began to limp away. I saw that the latter was Belfort, but I judged
that he was not badly hurt, the blood on his coat indicating that the
bullet had struck him in the shoulder. The moonlight fell on the face of
the man who led him, and we saw that it was not a man at all, merely a
fair-haired English boy of seventeen or eighteen years. He put his arm
under Belfort's shoulder, and the two walked towards one of the horses
that stood near with empty saddle.
"Surrender!" shouted Wildfoot.
The boy turned towards us, and his face showed defiance. Then he shook
his fist, and walked on with his comrade towards his horse.
We held the lives of both at our mercy, and the boy probably knew it,
but he never flinched. We might fire or we might not; but he did not
intend to desert a comrade or surrender. One of our men raised his
rifle, but Wildfoot struck it down.
"There is some English mother whom we can spare!" he said.
So we sat there on our horses until the boy helped Belfort into the
saddle, and climbed up behind him. Then he looked at us intently for a
moment, and raised his hand. I thought he was going to shake his fist in
our faces again; but the hand went to his head, and he gave us a
military salute. Then, with his wounded comrade, he rode away towards
the British army.
"A fine spirit and fine manners," said Wildfoot.
We, too, rode off in the forest, and I was very glad that the ranger had
spared the boy. He had given me my life once, but then he knew that I
was not an Englishman.
There was no cessation of the work for hours, and we continued our
circuit, stirring up alarm after alarm, Wildfoot, sleepless and
untiring, at our head. At last when day was bright, and our three bands
had reunited, he looked at the rising sun and said, with a deep sigh of
regret:--
"I'm afraid we'll have to quit and go back to General Washington's
camp."
"Don't you think that we've had rather an active night?" I asked.
"It's been a fair average night," he replied.
Such was the man.
When the sun was well risen, we were riding into camp.