CHAPTER I.

THE CAMP IN THE WOODS.

The sunset had brought to a close the hottest day of the season (June, 1777). With the fading of the light a cool breeze came in from Lake Champlain, sweeping across the big promontory, near the foot of which a single tent was pitched. As the wind rustled in the tree tops above the canvas shelter, its occupants arose from the rude beds of fir boughs, and sought the outer air. This act revealed their number and character—three lads, not far from eighteen years of age, whose rugged faces, brawny muscles and rude clothing suggested, as was the fact, that they had been bred to a frontier life.

“I say, Dan,” the tallest of the group remarked as he yawned and stretched himself to his full height, “ain’t it ’bout time that feller we are waitin’ for hove in sight?”

“He’s got an hour longer, Late,” the boy answered, “an’ may show up in that time. General Schuyler,[1] when he tole me to find you an’ Joe an’ come up here, said: ‘Pitch your tent on that big point to the left of the Narrows, an’ wait three days for the feller I’ve sent to watch Burgoyne’s fleet that’s comin’ down to attack Fort Ticonderoga. He’ll jine ye by that time, an’ tell ye what to do.’ That’s plain ’nough even for your thick head to understand, an’ as we ain’t been here three days till it’s pitch dark, I say thar’s an hour for him yet.”

“It’s queer the general didn’t tell you who it was,” commented the third lad, who had been spoken of as “Joe.” “I wonder you didn’t ask him.”

“You’ve said that six or seven times already,” Dan retorted somewhat sharply, “an’ I’ve told ye as often that it wasn’t my style. I always leave it for the general to tell me what he thinks I orter know, an’ leave unsaid what he’d rather keep to himself. Whosomever this feller is, he’ll be likely to explain, an’ I can wait without worryin’ over it.”

“That’s ’cause your habit for askin’ questions wasn’t ever fully developed,” Late broke in with a chuckle. “But we shan’t have to wait long ’fore we at least see the feller, for, if I’m not mistook, thar he comes now down the lake,” and he pointed to a dark object which was approaching.

“He’s in a canoe, an’ a youngster like ourselves,” Dan added a moment later.

“I don’t know how you make that out,” Late cried. “I can only see that it’s a boat of some kind.”

“That’s ’cause your eyesight was never fully developed,” Dan retorted with a grin. “I can see him well enough. But since he’s a-comin’ we better get to hustlin’ an’ have supper ready. If he’s traveled far he’ll be hungry, an’ we may make a good impression by showin’ we are liberal providers. I’ll start the fire, an’ Joe can get the water, while you, Late, bring up those fish we caught this mornin’.”

For the next half hour the campers were too busy with their preparations to give more than an occasional glance up the lake at the approaching boat. But what they saw confirmed Dan’s words. The newcomer was a lad of about their own age, and was able to handle a canoe with the grace and skill of an Indian.

At length, however, the potatoes were baked, the fish broiled, and the corn-cakes done to a turn. Then Late spoke:

“We are ready, an’ he’s nearly here. Let’s go down to the shore to meet him.”

His comrades followed him without a word. Clambering down the steep bank to the water’s edge, they waited in silence the arrival of the voyager. He could see them standing there, and, though several rods away, paused in his paddling long enough to raise one hand and wave it above his head. They returned the salutation; but refrained from the cheer all longed to give. They were not sure of being alone in the forest, and, with that caution which comes to all accustomed to a frontier life, made no noise that might attract the attention of an enemy.

Two minutes later the canoe touched the beach, and its occupant leaped out. For an instant he stood there, running a keen eye over the three lads whom he knew would be his associates in the hazardous work of reporting the movements of a hostile army. They, in their turn, gazed critically at the one who was for a time to be their leader.

He saw three youths, rough, uncultured, and yet as stout of heart as the great trees among which they had lived, as keen as the steel of the knives that graced their belts. They, on their part, beheld a lad a trifle older than themselves, taller by an inch than Late, and as stalwart in frame as he, yet a lad whose studious face suggested the school; whose air of refinement seemed more in keeping with the town than the woods; and whose every movement told of one accustomed to command.

The brightening of his and their faces told that he and they had alike been pleased with what they saw; then, before the stranger could speak, the waiting lads picked up the canoe, and started toward the camp with it. The newcomer added his own strength to the burden, and almost noiselessly they ascended the promontory, dropping the boat aside the tent.

“I am here at last,” the unknown lad now said in a low and pleasant voice. “Have you waited long for me?”

“Three days, lackin’ a few minutes,” Dan replied, acting as spokesman for the party.

“Then you were here at the earliest moment suggested by the general,” the first speaker said heartily. “I like that. It shows that he has given me assistants who can be relied upon for promptness. The silence in which you met me proves that you can be discreet. The supper you have ready bespeaks your hospitality. They are all traits I appreciate—especially the last, after my pull of thirty miles. Let us eat and get acquainted.”

Sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree near the fire, which now was no more than a bed of coals, he began to eat with that relish which long exercise in the open air always imparts.

At once the entire party was engaged in the same agreeable task. As they ate their conversation was, during a time, of little importance; but when the keen hunger of the leader had been somewhat appeased, he paused long enough between mouthfuls to say:

“I have your names, comrades; but which is which I do not yet know. I wonder if I can pick you out,” and again he ran his keen eye quickly from one to the other. Late laughed.

“My knife ’gainst yours that you can’t tell who I am on the first guess,” he said.

“It would hardly be a fair wager,” was the reply, “for my knife is worth more than yours. But I’ll venture a guess without a bet. You are Latham Wentworth.”

“You’ve seen me somewhere ’fore now,” the crestfallen youth cried when the laughter of his companions had subsided.

“No; but you gave yourself away when you made the bet. I have been told that you are always ready to wager anything you possess, from the shoes on your feet to the cap on your head.”

“I reckon that’s so,” he admitted, joining in the laugh at his expense.

“What is it the good book says ’bout ‘their works do follow them’?” asked Dan at this point. “I guess that is true of the livin’ as well as the dead, Late.”

“A remark that proves you are Daniel Cushing,” was the comment of the newcomer. “You see I am nearly as well acquainted with you, as with Wentworth.”

“It looks as if the general, or somebody, had sized us up ’bout right to you,” young Cushing said curtly.

“There’s no chance for me to hide it, so I’ll admit I’m Joseph Fisher, at your service,” that young man cried laughingly. “I’m quick to say it, too, for fear you’ll show up some of my failin’s. But you haven’t told us your own name, an’ the general didn’t, either. I think we orter know that.”

“If you had put your last sentences first, your confession of your identity would hardly have been necessary,” was the significant answer.

“Your demand is a fair one,” the lad replied, “and though it was my first thought to withhold my real name, you shall know it, but you must never call me by it, nor use it between yourselves when I am absent. It is not, in fact, to be spoken aloud. You will understand later why I make this strange request.”

With these words he drew from the bosom of his hunting-shirt an iron cross, which evidently was attached to a chain about his neck. Taking hold of the top above the horizontal bar, he gave it a vigorous twist. It came off, showing that the lower portion was hollow, and contained a tiny paper. This he took out, and passed to Daniel Cushing, who sat nearest him.

“Read, and then pass it on,” he directed.

The parchment was so small, that only a few words could have been written on it. These Dan slowly spelled out, and then exclaimed:

“I understand, sir. It shall be as you say, an’ you’ll find that Dan Cushing never yet broke his word.”

He handed the paper to Late, who, after a little effort, mastered its contents, and then cried:

“I never dreamed of such a thing, sir. You are right. ’Twon’t do to whisper the name even to each other, lest the woods hear us. But ’twill be a pleasure to serve under you, sir.”

Joe now had his opportunity to peruse the writing, and, being a better reader than his companions, quickly gathered the meaning of the brief lines. Running over to the leader, he seized his hand and shook it vigorously.

“I deem it an honor to serve under you,” he declared, “an’ you’ll find I can keep a secret, if I am always eager to solve one. But what are we to call you?”

“For the present I am to be known to you, as I shall be to the British, as Ira Le Geyt,” was the smiling reply.

“The Tory!”

“The spy!”

“The renegade!”

These three exclamations escaped the lips of the hearers in sheer amazement.

“Tory, spy, and renegade,” was the quiet reply. “Do you fear that I can’t play the part?”

“Not that, sir,” Dan answered hastily. “It’s the danger you run. ’Spose some one happens into the camp who knows the real Ira, or what if he happened to show up? You’d be in a tight place.”

“General Schuyler has the real Ira where he can’t make any trouble,” was the reply, “and I have the young Tory’s entire outfit in yonder canoe—rifle, clothes, commission as a scout in Burgoyne’s army, and, as you have seen, his iron cross, the token by which he was to come and go among the Indians. Some say that in form and feature we are not unlike. I hope, therefore, to pass myself off for him. Of course there is a risk, but I am willing to take that for the sake of the Cause.”

The last declaration was made modestly, almost reverently, and a few moments of silence followed. Then the lad went on:

“This reveals my plan, and shows why I need you. As a trusted scout at the British headquarters, I hope to learn enough about the commander’s movements to keep our officers between here and Fort Stanwix fully posted. But some other must carry the news. That is to be your work. At regular appointed places just outside the British lines, one or more of you will always be in waiting. To you I will come with everything our men should know. I hope, too, we may be able to delay, if not thwart altogether, many of the red-coats’ plans.”

“Will they soon be here?” Joe asked.

“Some time to-morrow,” Ira (as we shall now call him) replied. “I have kept just ahead of the fleet since it started down the St. Lawrence. At noon it was becalmed thirty miles up the lake. But a breeze sprang up, as you know, at sundown, and it must be under way again. The British will come slowly; but by daylight we ought to see the first vessels from this headland.”

“I don’t s’pose you know how many there are?” questioned Dan.

“Vessels? yes,” was the answer. “There are sixty-one in all, frigates, schooners, sloops, and transports. But the number of the troops I have not yet got at clearly enough to make a report. That will be our task as they land. We’ll stay here to-night, and early in the morning move camp to the place I have chosen as our rendezvous while the enemy is in this locality. Then we will return here, or to some other place where we can watch the landing.”

For some time longer they discussed the exciting situation, and then sought their rude beds within the tent.

Nothing disturbed their slumbers during the night hours; but with the first light of the morning all were astir. Ira had been the first to awake, and, rising, he hurried away to the edge of the promontory and looked up the lake. The next instant he wheeled about, and went back to the camp rapidly.

“Quick!” he cried in a low tone. “The fleet is not over five miles away, and we must be on the move. It won’t do to stop here even long enough to get breakfast.”

His companions needed no other warning. Springing up they aided in emptying the canoe of its contents, after which the light craft was carried some distance into the forest, and hidden in a dense thicket. Returning to the camp they speedily took down the tent, packed it and all their belongings into four bundles, and, shouldering these, hastened off toward the west under the guidance of their chief.

With the directness of one who knew where he was going, he led them to a narrow ravine a mile away. Entering this, he descended to a small brook, which with a noisy murmur ran through it. Along the bank he traveled until the ground was so wet and soft that walking became difficult. It was clear they were now on the edge of a great swamp. Beneath a huge maple he paused.

“Mark this tree,” he said in a low voice to his followers, “and for two reasons: We must here enter the stream in order to reach the place where we shall make our camp. See, between those two limbs is a small cavity. Every day after I enter the British lines one of you must come here and look into the hole. When it is impossible for me to visit you at the rendezvous, I shall put my messages in there.”

While speaking he had pulled off his boots. His companions removed theirs, and in single file they began the descent of the brook. Denser and denser grew the underbrush, until with great difficulty they forced their way between the branches which overhung the tiny stream. For a quarter of a mile they struggled through the tangle, and then it abruptly ended at the edge of a small pond, near the middle of which was a tiny island. Here Ira spoke again:

“Do you see that big hemlock on the island nearly opposite us?” and as the lads nodded assent, he went on, “Keep a straight line for that, and you’ll find the water shallow enough for wading.”

He continued the journey, and a minute later all had gained the island, where they found the ground firm and dry, while the trees were large and far enough apart to let in the bright sunshine. A carpet of thick grass added to the beauty of the spot, while a sparkling spring gurgled at the foot of a great bowlder.

“This is fine!” exclaimed Joe, dropping the pack from his shoulders. “How did you find it?”

“No one would think of looking for us here,” Late said contentedly, “an’ that trail down the brook hides every trace of our steps. A dog couldn’t follow us.”

“Wood an’ water right at hand, an’ fish in the pond,” added Dan with a quick glance around him. “Sure ye didn’t make it to order, Ira?”

The lad leader laughed.

“I fancy some people would say I found it by chance. I prefer, however, to believe that I was led to it, and to a dozen other places between here and the Hudson fully as good, by the same kind Providence that is watching over our Cause, and will eventually give us the victory.”

“’Twon’t hurt us to think so,” young Cushing replied cheerily.

Then the little party fell to making camp. In a short time the tent was pitched, beds of fir made, and breakfast cooked. Quickly breaking their fast, they began the return to the lake.

In a half hour they reached it, to find the advance vessels of the British fleet at anchor in the large bay just above the promontory where they had first camped. Two boats, loaded with soldiers, soon came ashore.

From their hiding-place the lads watched these men, only to learn that their object was to select and arrange a camping ground. Hardly was their task finished when the work of landing the men was begun.

Soon it was proceeding so rapidly, and at so many different places, that the young scouts were obliged to divide forces in order to count the troops. Four stations were, therefore, selected, covering the entire bay, and from these the lads kept account of the constantly increasing numbers.

It was not until late on the afternoon of the second day that they were able to come together again to compare notes. Then a little mental reckoning enabled Ira to say:

“We are now ready for my first report. I shall never send written messages to our officers unless I am forced to do so. There will then be nothing to fall into the enemy’s hands should you be captured. Late, you are to go to Fort Ticonderoga, and say to General St. Clair[2] that General Burgoyne has landed and is now encamped near the great promontory at the foot of the lake. He has with him eight thousand British and Hessian troops, four hundred Indians, and forty cannon. Should he give you any message for me, put it in the big maple. Dan, go to Fort Edward and deliver precisely the same message to General Schuyler. Both of you are to return to our island camp as soon as possible. Joe will be there when you arrive. I shall stay there to-night, and early in the morning will enter the British camp.”