CHAPTER XI.

THE OLD HUT.

When Colonel St. Leger abandoned the siege at Fort Stanwix, he left behind him two very angry men. One was old David Daggett, and the other Hiram Le Geyt. The former, cherishing his hatred for Latham Wentworth, had tried to keep informed of his fate; but the Indians who held him captive were, for some reason, very reticent about what they were going to do with the lad. So it happened the old Tory did not learn that the young scout had been condemned to the stake, until the afternoon of the proposed torture. He hurried toward the scene; but gained the bank of the river just in time to meet the band of yelling Indians in full flight.

Unable to speak their language, he could make out but little regarding the reason for flight; but turned and followed them to their encampment. There he met a brave who could speak a little English, and succeeded in learning that a white man, with an iron cross, had suddenly appeared, telling the Indians that there was no time for their cruel sport, because a great army of Yankees were near at hand.

“It was Ira!” he cried, and retraced his steps to the stream, expecting to meet his grandson on the way. Disappointed in this, he crossed the river to the scene of the death dance. There was the tree that had been used as a stake, the scattered wood, the severed cords, but no prisoner.

“I know who it was,” he muttered, after carefully examining the clearing. “It was that other young devil, Joe Fisher. He not only in some way learned about Ira’s cross; but has got one in imitation of it, and just fooled those redskins to rescue the prisoner.”

In his rage he hurried back to Colonel St. Leger’s tent with the tale.

“A skilful trick,” was the only comment of that officer, who, now that his anger had cooled, was secretly glad the young scout had been saved from a terrible death.

“But you ought to send out men to find and make certain both are burned at the stake,” Master Daggett growled.

“Look here, my friend,” the colonel replied, becoming tired of the constant interference of his guest, “why don’t you search for them? When you have located the lads, I’ll give you as many men as may be needed to capture them.”

“A capital suggestion, colonel,” the half-crazy man cried. “I’ll do it. Good luck to you, as well as to myself,” and he hurried away to the tent he shared with his son-in-law.

Hiram Le Geyt was within, and listened eagerly to the story his father-in-law poured forth while making ready for the tramp. He took the same view of Late Wentworth’s rescue that the older Tory had; but it suggested to him two possibilities which had not entered the former’s mind. Had something happened to his son, and the talisman fallen into rebel hands? The question awakened his fears, and he decided to visit Burgoyne’s camp at the first opportunity. Then again, might not the announcement of an approaching army of rebels so fill the Indians with alarm, that they would desert Colonel St. Leger, leaving him with a force too small to cope with the Yankees?

Like his son Ira, he was familiar with the language of the savages, and, leaving his father-in-law to follow out his own whims, he hastened to the encampment of the dusky allies. He found that the tidings of a coming army had already spread among the savages like wild-fire, and although none had yet started for their villages, there was an uneasiness among the entire company which betokened grave disaster.

Doing what he could to allay the fears among the braves, he learned some facts which greatly mystified him. The description which the warriors gave of the person who had so suddenly come among them, did not accord with the ideas he had formed of young Fisher’s appearance, while what the Indians had to say about the man who had given them the friendly warning, did tally well with the likeness of his own son. Could it be that his father-in-law had made a mistake? If so, why had Ira set the captive free? Where had he gone? Was the report of a great force, coming to the rescue of the fort correct? Perplexed by the many questions which were crowding into his mind, he turned abruptly on his heel and went back to the British camp to talk the matter over with Colonel St. Leger. He found the officer so little disturbed by the strange occurrence that he was angered.

“If it was a Yankee trick to scare away that squad of savages and save the youngster,” the colonel remarked, “it has been a success, and we can afford to laugh because it was so cleverly done. If it was indeed your son, he will in due time present himself here. Meantime we can afford to await his coming, for I put no faith in the belief that the Indians will run away.”

Colonel St. Leger changed his mind, however, the next day, for he had barely eaten breakfast before a messenger arrived announcing that during the night two bands of his allies, numbering over a hundred, had left the camp.

“That’s bad!” he muttered; “but I’ll send an officer to bring them back, and a little later will call the head men into consultation. Surely there cannot be very much alarm come from an idle rumor.”

An hour later he received another shock. A young brave appeared bringing a sealed note, addressed to himself. Tearing it open he read the few lines, noted the signature of General Burgoyne, with which he was familiar, and then demanded of the waiting Indian where he had got the missive. As best he could in broken English, the savage told the story. It was not plain to the officer, and he sent for Hiram Le Geyt to act as interpreter. Then the facts came out.

A chief, wounded at Oriskany, had, assisted by a white stranger with an iron cross, crawled into the encampment, but soon died from exposure and suffering. While preparing him for burial the message had been found on his body. When shown to the white man he knew nothing about it; but, after looking it over, said it was for the British commander, therefore he, the messenger, had brought it. The explanation involved so much of mystery that the colonel asked:

“Is this white man still in the encampment?”

“He was when I left it,” was the reply.

“Bring him here,” was the command, and it was a stupid mistake on the part of the officer. Had he sent an orderly, the latter would doubtless have found and brought in the strange visitor. As it was, the warrior, when he found Ira, was easily persuaded that the lad could go to the commander alone, and he did not do so.

Meanwhile the colonel and his friend discussed the genuineness of the message. The former, perhaps because its contents gave him a chance to withdraw gracefully from an unpleasant situation, was firm in the belief that his chief had sent the letter. Hiram Le Geyt felt positive the note was a skilful forgery, designed by the rebels to frighten the officer into an abandonment of the siege.

“It is absurd to think the general would send you such a message except through the regular channel, an accredited courier,” the Tory declared.

“He may have done so,” the officer retorted.

“Then where is he? Why don’t he appear?” demanded Master Le Geyt.

“Because he is dead, injured, or captured,” replied the colonel calmly. “Finding he could not deliver it himself, he gave it to the wounded chief, who crawled miles, sacrificed his life, in fact, that he might place it in my hands.”

“A pretty theory, but one no sane man would accept,” the Tory cried angrily.

“What is your belief?” asked Colonel St. Leger, growing cool as his companion grew angry.

“That the white man who helped the redskin into his camp hid the letter on the dead body, a much more sensible view than your own,” sneered the Tory.

“We shall soon know who is right. It cannot be long now before the fellow is here.”

They waited an hour, and then an orderly was sent to the encampment to learn the reason for the long delay. He returned with the word that the white stranger could not be found, and that the Indians were rapidly deserting.

During the entire day efforts were made to hold the Indians; but with only partial success. After nightfall the red-men departed in such numbers that barely an hundred were left at dawn. Then came the Tory with his startling news that General Schuyler’s entire army was close at hand, and Colonel St. Leger gave orders to abandon the siege.

In vain Hiram Le Geyt and David Daggett, who had now returned, argued.

“I am obeying the orders of my superior,” Colonel St. Leger declared stiffly.

“But they are false,” both Tories cried in a rage.

“You must permit me to be my own judge,” was the withering reply.

Cheers from the Yankee fort interrupted the conversation, and when the sally was made, the angry Tories were themselves forced to flee. But, as soon as possible, they left the retreating army, and turned their faces toward home.

Compelled to make a long detour because of Colonel Arnold’s forces, they could not decide as to the number of soldiers, and were not certain but that the entire army of the north was advancing to strengthen the fort. For the first time they also were compelled to acknowledge that there might be some truth in the message which had so mysteriously come into the hands of the British colonel.

Once at home, Hiram Le Geyt discussed with his wife the incidents connected with the use of the iron cross by the white lad, and while she agreed with him that Joe Fisher and the stranger were probably one and the same, yet she was fearful that it betokened some misfortune to her son. She urged him to visit Burgoyne’s headquarters immediately, and, therefore, on the morning following his arrival at the farm, he and his father-in-law embarked in a canoe to journey down the river.

Soon after Colonel Arnold arrived at Fort Stanwix, the three young scouts set out on their return to the Hudson. They traveled on foot, taking the nearest way through the valley. Arriving at Little Falls, they spent the night at the house of a well-known patriot, and early next morning resumed their tramp. As they passed the lane leading to the Le Geyt farm, Late asked Ira if he was going to stop and see his “mother.”

“I’m afraid she wouldn’t be glad to see me,” he replied with a smile.

“I wonder if Hiram and David have come home yet?” Joe added, “or if they are still with St Leger?”

“I shan’t run any risk to find out,” Ira declared. “You waste words, lads, for dear as the old place is to me, I am not going to stop there now.”

They all laughed and went on, little dreaming that at about the same time the men of whom they had been speaking were setting off down the Mohawk. Toward evening the coming of a severe thunder storm forced them to seek a shelter of some kind.

“There is an old hut not far away,” Ira said. “I spent a night there on my way to the fort. It is in fairly good repair, and will give us decent refuge from the storm.”

While speaking he had turned into the woods, and was followed by the other lads. A short walk brought them to the cabin, and just in time, for hardly were they inside when the rain began to fall.

It was not a terrific storm, and soon resolved into a steady down-pour of rain, which caused the young travelers to be thankful for so good a shelter. They ate supper from the contents of their packs, and swept a corner of the room, intending to make their beds on the hard floor.

Before lying down, however, Late made ready to close the door against any chance intruders; but he stepped back quickly, exclaiming in a low tone:

“David Daggett and some other men are comin’! Hark! don’t you hear their voices?”

His comrades listened a moment, and Ira said:

“Quick! we must get into the loft!”

The next instant he had climbed up the rude pole to the floor above. Joe followed, while Late delayed only long enough to throw up their guns and traps, after which he also ascended. Pulling the pole up after him, he covered the opening with a sort of trapdoor, and none too soon, for in another minute the old Tory entered the cabin accompanied by three men.

“Feel in your pocket, Hiram, and see if your flint and steel are handy,” Master Daggett said. “If there’s any wood here, we’ll build a fire to dry our clothes.”

“Don’t bother, Master Le Geyt,” a strange voice replied. “I have mine handy, and am sure there is enough stuff for a little blaze. Or there was the last time I looked in here.”

Then the boys saw through the crevices of the floor the glare of a tiny flame.

“We have it,” the same man added, “and here is the wood. Soon there’ll be fire enough to dry us within as well as without,” and he laughed at his own attempt to be witty.

“How fortunate we were to meet you, Captain Brant,” Hiram Le Geyt now said; “but for you we shouldn’t have known of this shelter. But who is your companion? You have not introduced him to us.”

“I haven’t had the time. When our canoes crashed into each other and sank, it was all we could do to look out for ourselves, and while running for the cabin there was no chance for introductions. But I am now glad to present him to you. Hiram Le Geyt, this is Alexander Turnbull; Master Daggett, Master Turnbull.”

While the men below were acknowledging the introduction and greeting each other heartily, the lads above strove to get a view of the famous Mohawk chieftain, and the no less famous British spy, who had so many times escaped capture.

The blazing fire below gave them a full view of both men. Brant, a stalwart Indian in civilized dress, and speaking English fluently;[5] Turnbull, a little man, almost womanly in appearance, and yet known to be brave with a facility for assuming disguises which so far had never been detected.

The boys would have been glad to talk with each other just then, but prudence forced them to remain silent, and, therefore, gave their undivided attention to the conversation which followed.

“Are you from below, captain?” Hiram Le Geyt asked, as he was wringing the rain from his garments that he might spread them in front of the fire.

“Yes,” the Indian answered. “I was not pleased with St. Leger’s movements at Oriskany, and went down to meet Burgoyne.”

“With what result?” the Tory asked eagerly.

“He sustains me; gives me a colonel’s commission, and hereafter I am to have a voice in all campaigns where I and my men serve as allies.”

“It won’t help you any,” the Tory said bitterly.

“Why not?”

“Because St. Leger is already on his way back to Quebec,” was Master Le Geyt’s reply, and he rapidly detailed the events which had led to the Colonel’s flight.

“Did you see your son?”

“No.”

“He was up there.”

“How do you know?”

“Burgoyne told me he had sent him.”

The younger Tory was silent for a minute or two, and then he asked:

“Father, what do you make of that?”

“I can hardly believe it,” the old man gasped. “Why didn’t he make himself known?”

“I don’t know,” Brandt answered bluntly, “unless it was a freak, such as you have sometimes shown.”

Instead of being offended, the old Tory laughed.

“Hiram would hate to admit the boy was anything like me,” he said.

“Well,” the captain went on, “Burgoyne speaks in the highest terms of the lad’s services, of his loyalty, his fidelity, and ability. When he returned from Bennington, where the general sent him to spy out the land, he brought with him a list of all the stores, and of every farm in the vicinity where cattle and horses could be found. I saw it myself, and told the general if he had given Ira command of the forces, instead of Baum, he’d have brought everything back with him.”

“What did Baum do?”

“Allowed his force to be crushed, or nearly so. With St. Leger’s retreat Burgoyne will feel that he is left alone.”

“Where is he now?”

“Across the Hudson making ready to advance on the rebels who are entrenched at Bemis Heights. Now that the colonel has retreated I shall get together my men and go to his help.”

“What is the outlook?”

Brant was silent for some time, as if thinking the situation over, then said frankly: “I cannot tell. Now that the rebels have a new commander, I believe Burgoyne has fair chance of success.”

“A new rebel commander?” cried David Daggett. “What has become of old Schuyler?”

“He has been removed, and a man named Gates,[6] from New England, put in his place.”

“Removed for what?” interrupted Hiram Le Geyt.

The Indian laughed. “It is a long story. Master Turnbull will tell it.”

To say that the three scouts in the loft were amazed at this revelation, is a mild statement. Even in the darkness they gazed at each other with an intensity which could be felt if not seen. Then, with ears strained to catch every word, they listened to the tale of the spy.

“It has been my latest work,” Turnbull began, “and one I am proud of. We may as well admit what we all know, that Schuyler is the ablest man the rebels could have chosen for this northern campaign. Too able, as many of us who were watching the movements of both armies, soon discovered, and we decided he must be removed if Burgoyne was to win.

“I was sent into New England, as a good patriot of course, to stir up a feeling against him, and raise a clamor for his removal. I claimed that by allowing St. Clair to abandon Ticonderoga, and by evacuating Fort Edward, he had left an open gate for the enemy to pour into the East. I said nothing about his fortifying Bemis Heights, nor of the skilful way in which he had maneuvered to delay his opponent until the latter’s stores were exhausted. I dwelt only on what seemed to be grievous mistakes. And I succeeded, the clamor was raised, and now the mighty is fallen. Schuyler is down and out.”

The four men discussed the matter for some time, and all were agreed that the work of Master Turnbull meant much for the king’s cause. Then they stretched themselves on the floor and slept.

The boys in the loft followed their example, making as little noise as might be when they laid down on the rough planks. The heavy rain on the roof did much to drown the creaking of the timbers and the heavy breathing of the sleepers.

They were awakened by the singing of David Daggett. There was not a musical note in the old man’s voice; but he believed there was, and, arising just as the sun was breaking through the clouds, he threw open the door and screamed:

“When I was young, I served the king. I thought it was the proper thing. When I was old and my hair was gray, On the king’s side I did stay.”

He was soon silenced. Captain Brant, and Master Turnbull, as well as his own son-in-law, were aroused and striving to shut off the old Tory’s clamor by the threat:

“If you don’t stop, we’ll duck you in the Mohawk.”

This commotion enabled the lads to make a change of position without betraying their presence, and then they waited until the occupants of the lower room had eaten and departed.

Just before leaving the younger Tory said to the older:

“Father, if Ira went up to Fort Stanwix, he will stop at the farm when he returns. Likely he is there now, so we may as well go back. I hope, since they are on their way up the river, that Captain Brant and Master Turnbull will go with us, to be our guests for as long a time as possible.”

“That’s right, Hiram,” the old man replied, and with such understanding the four friends of the king left the hut, striking off through the thicket toward the road that led to Master Le Geyt’s home.

Two minutes later the three scouts had descended from their hiding-place and were making preparations for breakfast. While working they talked.

“It’s lucky for you, Ira,” Late began, “that those Tories decided to go home.”

“Yes,” was the brief reply.

“I wish we had been outside the hut when those fellers came,” Joe said half to himself.

“Why?” asked young Wentworth.

“We might have captured the whole gang,” the former explained. “It would have been a great haul.”

“I should have been glad to put my hands on that spy,” Ira said grimly.

He had hardly more than spoken when the door was flung open, and Master Turnbull stood before them.