CHAPTER X.

CLIPPING THE RIGHT WING.

The young prisoner in the British camp, as the reader may have surmised, was Latham Wentworth. How he came to be there is easily explained.

After parting with Joe at the junction of the trails, he traveled with the same caution as when coming down Wood Creek, lest he might happen upon straggling Indians. After a time, however, he believed there was no longer any danger of falling in with the savages, and carelessly advanced regardless of noise. Then, from the top of a small hill, he saw the glimmer of fires in the Continental camp and, increasing his speed, took the most direct line through the woods.

A small party of Indians, however, separated from the main force earlier in the day, had wandered so far east of the garrison as to be attracted by the same camp-fires.

Unconscious of danger, Late continued on his course until, before he had heard anything to cause alarm, five savages leaped upon him. One seized his rifle; two threw him to the ground; a fourth clapped his hands over the captive’s mouth to prevent an outcry, while the remaining Indian proceeded to tie the lad’s hands behind him. Then they picked him up and hurried through the woods for some distance. Finding, however, they were not followed they soon put the prisoner on his feet, and, compelling him to keep pace with themselves, carried him to their encampment. Thrusting him into a wigwam they placed a guard over him and the young scout was left alone until morning.

On the following day, when the Indian encampment was changed to the vicinity of Fort Stanwix, Late was taken along as a matter of course, and, later, brought with other prisoners to Colonel St. Leger for his personal inspection.

By the side of the colonel stood David Daggett and Hiram Le Geyt, and immediately the old Tory saw Late he gave vent to a cry of delight.

“We’ve got you at last!” he shouted. “We’ve got you at last!” and then to the commander and his son-in-law he told how he had followed the prisoner and his comrade on their journey from the Hudson to the fort. The attempt to kill them, the overturning of the boat at the falls, driving the half-clad boys into the woods, the destruction of their property, their visit to the farm, and his further pursuit, were all rapidly related. Then he continued:

“The young devils have more lives than a cat. I couldn’t kill them. But now that you have this one, why not string him up to the nearest tree?”

“I could hardly do that,” the colonel replied. “He is not a spy.”

“Yes, he is,” Master Daggett shouted. “He was caught because of hanging around your encampment trying to spy out what was being done.”

“He may be a scout, or courier, but hardly a spy,” the officer persisted.

“But is his entering my house, deceiving my wife, and running off with my property, to pass unnoticed?” interrupted Hiram Le Geyt. “The very clothes he wears belong to me!”

Colonel St. Leger was silent for a moment, and then said:

“I cannot condemn and hang him, according to military rules; but I might turn him over to the Indians. They would make short work of him.”

“That is it. Let them kill the fellow at the stake!” cried the old Tory in glee. “I’ll go and watch the flames as they curl around him. Ah! it will be a great sight to see him sizzle and burn.”

“He deserves the fate,” the younger Tory said angrily. “Let the savages have him, I say.”

The British commander, naturally more humane than his Tory friends, appeared to be shocked by the cruel proposal. He hesitated to give an order which would send the lad to the stake; but finally said:

“Let him go with the other prisoners now. I will decide later what is to be done with him.”

On the next morning when the young scout, unmindful of the terrible fate which might be his, declared that the banner floating over the fort was the flag of a new nation, the officer in his wrath sent for the men who had made the capture, and turned the lad over to them.

“He is your prisoner. Do what you please with him,” he said.

Therefore back to the Indian encampment Late was taken, and a day or two after a council was summoned to decide his fate. The terrible slaughter of the savages during the battle of Oriskany, and the fact that the captive had been found in the vicinity of that place, may have had something to do with the sentence imposed. He was condemned to the stake.

Just before sunset, surrounded by a score of braves, he was taken across the river and tied to a small tree, whose branches had been trimmed away for that purpose. Around him the fagots were piled, and the death dance was begun.

Pale, but unflinching, the heroic lad watched the grotesque dancing, at the ending of which he knew the flames would be kindled. It was not the form of death he would have chosen, but, after all, it would soon be over, and what difference did it make? He had long since given his life to the Cause, and if this was the method by which the sacrifice was to be made, he would die like a man.

The dance was at an end, and two of the savages, taking brands from a fire which had been kindled near-by, came toward the helpless boy. In another instant they would have kindled the wood about him; but at the critical moment a great shout was raised, and some one, darting out from the thicket, dashed across the little clearing to push aside both braves with one sweep of his strong arms.

Late had hardly more than understood that the newcomer was his friend, Ira Le Geyt, when the latter, holding aloft his iron cross, poured forth in the native tongue a torrent of words which held fixed the attention of the Indian band. When the speech was ended, each savage brandished his weapons, as he hurried across the river toward the camp with loud yells, leaving the two lads alone.

Drawing his knife, Ira cut the cords that bound the young scout to the tree, saying as he did so:

“I was just in time, Late.”

“That you were,” was the emphatic reply. “But how came you here?”

“It is too long a story to repeat now. I will tell you later, and you can explain how you happened to be in this fix. But now I must go to the British camp.”

“No, no,” his companion cried. “You mustn’t go there!”

“Why not?”

“Because Hiram Le Geyt and his father-in-law, David Daggett, are there.”

“Whew! I came pretty near getting into a bad scrape!” Ira exclaimed. “Well, suppose we go into the forest, where we shall be less likely to be disturbed.”

Soon they were sitting under the great pine, which Captain Swartwout had pointed out as a signal station, and Late told his story, concluding by saying:

“Where Joe is now I don’t know.”

“He must have sent word to the commander about the attack on General Herkimer,” Ira said half to himself.

“How do you know? Have you heard anything about the battle?” Late asked eagerly.

“Yes, I met two or three of the soldiers who had been separated from the main body during the fight. Because you failed to see the general, he knew nothing about the ambush, and walked directly into it. A hand to hand fight followed, and the general himself was wounded; but with his back against a tree, he lighted his pipe, and, puffing away, directed his men in what seemed a hopeless struggle. Then came reinforcements, the men who told me did not know where from, that attacked the British forces in the rear, driving them back. It was then that the soldiers I saw became separated from their companions, and all they could guess was, that our army, having dispersed the red-coats, went on to the Fort.”

“The reinforcements must have come from there,” Late declared, “and it shows that Joe gave the warning. We’ll know about it later. But now tell me how you happen to be here.”

“I’ll go back to the time you left me,” Ira said, and related all the incidents already known to the reader, down to the defeat of Colonel Baum at Bennington.

“When I got back to Fort Edward, I found General Burgoyne in an ugly frame of mind. Baum’s defeat deprived him of the stores he so sadly needed. No word had come from Clinton, and nothing had been heard from St. Leger. In his desperation he decided to send me up here to hurry the colonel down the valley. He is afraid to attack our forces at Bemis Heights until he receives reinforcements. Of course I got word to General Schuyler before beginning the journey, and he suggested a plan which, judging from the flight of those Indians, will prove a success.”

“What did you say to them?” Late interrupted. “I never saw redskins run as they did after your speech.”

“I told them,” his friend replied, “that Colonel Arnold was coming with a large force, and would capture them all if they did not run away. The cross was proof to them that my message was true. Before to-morrow morning the entire Indian force will hear the news, and vanish like fog before the rising sun. In two days St. Leger will have only his regulars to confront our men.”

“And we’ll whip him as the patriots whipped Baum at Bennington,” Late cried with a laugh.

“My only regret is that I cannot go to the colonel with the message I had,” Ira said.

“What was it?”

“I was to tell him of Baum’s defeat, Clinton’s failure to meet Burgoyne’s demands, and the latter’s critical condition before an overwhelming force,” was the answer. “I hoped to discourage him so he would go back into Canada.”

Late remained silent a few moments as though thinking the matter over. Then he asked:

“Can’t you make up a report from General Burgoyne, bringin’ in all those things, an’ advisin’ him to give up his campaign?”

“I can make up the report readily enough,” his companion admitted. “The difficult thing is to send it in such a way that he will believe it comes from his chief.”

“Give it to one of the Indians,” was the quick suggestion; “he can make any explanation you have a mind to give him.”

Ira laughed. “What is that old saying?” he asked. “‘Two heads are better than one’? I believe we can make the scheme work. It is getting too dark to write the message to-night; but I will prepare it early in the morning.”

They went back a little farther into the woods, built a temporary shack, and, after partaking of some food Ira had with him, took turns in sleeping and watching until dawn.

After breakfast young Le Geyt took from his pack the necessary writing materials, and, “as General Burgoyne’s secretary,” so he said in sport, wrote a letter to Colonel St. Leger, telling of the misfortunes which his commander had experienced, setting forth the direful condition he was in, and urging the colonel to come to his assistance; but adding, “If, however, you find it impossible to do so within a few days, then, to save yourself and men from capture, you had better abandon the campaign and return to Quebec, for I hear the rebels are sending a large force against you.”

This he read to his companion, who said:

“That’ll fix him. Once he gets them idees into his head, he’ll run away faster than the redskins did.”

“I’ll go on to the Indian camp and find some one to carry this to headquarters. Will you be here when I get back?”

“Somewhere in call,” Late replied. “But, say, how near is Colonel Arnold and his men? Perhaps I ought to signal Captain Swartwout that they are comin’.”

“I passed them near Little Falls, and, of course, traveled faster than they can. To-morrow will be ample time to give warning of their approach.”

“All right; but give me those lines an’ hooks I saw in your pack, an’ I’ll have some fish cookin’ when you come back.”

“I’ll leave my outfit here, and then you may help yourself to anything that is needed.”

It was several hours before he returned to find that Late had kept his promise, for half a dozen fine fish were ready to serve. As they were eating them Ira related his experiences.

“Before I got to the Indian encampment, I saw a young brave slowly crawling toward it. Watching him, I soon understood that he had been wounded and was trying to get back to his friends, therefore I quickened my steps to overtake him. Upon first seeing me he was alarmed; but when I showed my cross and spoke in his own tongue, he dismissed all fears and told me his story.

“He was in the battle at Oriskany and got a bullet in his body which for a time rendered him unconscious. When he came to himself the fighting was over, and, fearing he might be found and made captive, he crept into a thicket near a small brook, staying there until his wound was partially healed. Since then he had been endeavoring to get back to the camp. I did not leave him until he was safe with his own people, for he proved to be a chief of high rank. But the exertion had been too much for him, and before his friends could do anything, he died.

“I saw my chance at once for getting the letter I carried into the hands of the colonel. Watching for a favorable moment, I concealed it on the person of the dead chief, and waited for it to be discovered. Within half an hour it was brought to me with the question:

“‘What is it? Who is it for?‘

“Pretending to be surprised at the finding, I explained that it was a message of some kind, and was intended for Colonel St Leger.

“‘It should be carried to him at once,’ I declared.

“Immediately a brother of the dead man hurried off to headquarters with it. Fearing there might be an investigation into the circumstances attending the discovery of the letter, I hurriedly visited the other tribes in the encampment, learning that many of the savages had already left for their villages, and that others were preparing to go. My announcement to the Indian squad last night was clearly beginning to bear fruit; but I added a little more seed as I went from band to band.

“Once I had gone the rounds, I left the encampment and sought the shelter of the forest. Choosing a spot where I could watch the Indians, I remained several hours, noting with no little pleasure that every few minutes a squad of savages went away. More than two hundred must have left while I sat there.”

“Didn’t the red-coats make any effort to stop them?” Late asked.

“Judging by the way the British officers were continually coming and going, I should say they did,” was the answer; “and once I saw a delegation of chiefs marching to Colonel St. Leger’s headquarters, probably for a council with him. But the yeast is working, and he cannot prevent the stampede which has already begun.”

“He’ll wonder where that redskin got the message,” young Wentworth said with a chuckle of satisfaction.

“Yes, and who the white man was that came and went so suddenly. But I can stand the mystery if he can,” was the laughing reply.

Next morning the Indian encampment was so nearly deserted that Ira advised that the fact be signaled the fort. Climbing the great pine, Late took from the lining of his coat the strips of cloth which had been given him, and in a few moments the red and white colors were waving gently in the light breeze.

Joe Fisher, who was now able to walk about, although his arm was still in a sling, chanced to be on the bastion. Gazing carelessly toward the big tree, as he had done many times before without discovering anything, and without really expecting to see anything unusual this time, he was astonished at beholding the bits of cloth waving in the air. Then he ran down the wall, and across the parade to the captain’s quarters. Bursting unceremoniously into the officer’s presence, he exclaimed:

“Captain, Late is alive, and has escaped from the red-coats!”

“How do you know?” the commander asked eagerly.

“Because there are signals on the tree. It is the red and the white, which means that the Indians are deserting.”

“So it does,” admitted the captain. “I’ll go and see for myself.”

Man and boy soon stood on the bastion looking across the river, and while they gazed the red cloth was drawn in, and the white left alone to toss in the gentle wind.

“Reinforcements are comin’!” shouted Joe in his excitement. “Reinforcements are comin’!”

His words rang through the garrison, and in an instant came back in answer a mighty cheer.

“The signals are changing again, captain,” the lad cried. “See! Late has put the black beside the white. It means that the red-coats are makin’ ready to run away!”

“In that case we’ll give them something to run from,” Captain Swartwout declared, and immediately issued orders for all his force, save fifty men, to prepare for a sally.

But before the little army could be made ready, Colonel St. Leger was on the move. Rendered uneasy by the desertion of his allies, alarmed by the tidings contained in the letter which had reached him so mysteriously, he lost hope when a Tory came into camp with the report:

“Old Schuyler and his whole army are only a few miles away.”

The Britisher gave orders to raise the siege. The cheers of the soldiers in the Yankee fort quickened his movements, and when the so-called rebels rushed out from the great gate, he and his regulars were on the run.

Reasoning that the small force in the garrison would not dare to make a sally unless reinforcements were close at hand, St. Leger did not even stop to skirmish with his pursuers; but hastened toward Oswego at a pace which soon forced the daring patriots to abandon the chase. When Colonel Arnold and his twelve hundred men arrived a few hours later, there was no foe to fight.

But some time before the gallant colonel appeared, Ira Le Geyt, Late Wentworth, and Joe Fisher were comparing notes and telling their experiences under the walls of the fort. When the latter heard of the victory at Bennington, he exclaimed:

“Well, if General Burgoyne’s left wing was clipped at Bennington, he has lost his entire right wing here at Fort Stanwix.”