CHAPTER XV.

THE CHANCE MEETING.

On the following morning the British retreated to their old camping ground, and thus each army occupied precisely the same position it did prior to the battle, but with the difference that one was disheartened, and the other was encouraged.

“It is clear we have Burgoyne in our power,” Colonel Arnold said to a group of fellow officers, as he watched the movements of the red-coats.

For a brief time there was no response, and then Colonel Morgan replied in a low tone:

“He would be, if Schuyler was our commander. When I remember that General Gates did not appear on the field at any time yesterday, it makes my blood boil.”

“It appears as if some one else is expected to do the work, while he reaps the reward,” another said.

“He won’t reap the reward of my labors long, if he don’t get a move on,” Colonel Arnold retorted with a frown. “I shall resign my commission rather than serve under such an officer.”

The conversation was interrupted by the appearance of General Schuyler, without uniform, however, suggestive of the fact that he was there without rank or command. He greeted each member of the group with a hearty shake of the hand, and asked:

“Which of you dare beard the lion in his den?”

“I do,” Colonel Arnold replied promptly.

“Suppose we all join,” the general continued, “it seems to me a wise move. If we are agreed, Colonel Arnold as our spokesman may suggest the plan to our commander.”

The officers looked meaningly at each other, and some shook their heads as if to say, “We don’t understand how you can remain here and do all you can to bring about a victory, when the entire credit of it will go to another.”

If the ex-commander observed the looks and head-shakes, he gave no heed, but added:

“As you all know, the enemy is in a condition which grows worse every day. Counting his sick and wounded, there are nearly a thousand in the hospital; many are deserting the ranks; provisions are becoming exhausted; a few miles in their rear is an impassable wilderness, and we proved yesterday that he cannot advance. Let us then send troops in sufficient number to prevent foraging on the west, and to cut off connection with his base of supplies on the east. Then, in a few days, he must either fight or surrender.”

“The eye doesn’t need be more than half open to see that,” Colonel Morgan replied.

“Since the general need not endanger his own head by issuing such an order, I may be able to secure the permission,” Colonel Arnold said in a tone of contempt, and he walked rapidly toward the headquarters of the commander-in-chief.

How he presented the matter is not known; but an hour or two later it was rumored about the encampment that he had been removed from command of his regiment, for attempting to coerce a superior officer. When this rumor crystallized into fact, the entire army was threatened with insubordination. Only the most strenuous efforts of the division and brigade commanders, ably assisted by Schuyler, their former commander-in-chief, prevented open rebellion.

“This is terrible,” Lieutenant Schuyler said to his three scouts a little later in the day. “To have our army demoralized in the face of the enemy, is a good deal like throwing the victory away after it is in our hands.”

“But, thanks to the efforts of the other officers, the worst seems to be over,” Late replied.

“For the present, yes,” Philip admitted; “but the lightest breeze may fan into a flame the smoldering fire, and who can tell what General Gates will do next?”

“General Lincoln an’ General Poor have gone to his quarters for a consultation,” Dan announced. “I’m hopin’ something may come from that.”

“So’m I,” Joe added.

Their hopes were gratified. An order was issued before nightfall for skirmishing parties to be sent out on all sides of the enemy. Within the hour the work was begun, and from that time the British were so hemmed in that it was nearly impossible for any one to enter or leave their lines without falling into the hands of the patriots.

One day Lieutenant Schuyler, at the head of a squad of men which included Dan Cushing, Latham Wentworth, and Joe Fisher, was scouring the woods to the westward of the English encampment. He soon found that his chief work was not to capture soldiers seeking to enter the camp, but those who were leaving it. Before noon so many deserters had fallen into his hands that it required more than half his force to guard the prisoners.

“If the other skirmishers are picking up as many fugitives as we,” the lieutenant said when the latest captures had been sent within the American lines, “Burgoyne’s whole army will be in our hands before the month is out.”

“Here come some more,” Dan, who was on the right of the squad, said in a low tone. Then, suddenly, he ran to the side of his leader. “There are a half dozen Tories,” he added, “an’, will you believe it, one is old David Daggett, while another, I reckon, is his grandson, Ira Le Geyt!”

The young lieutenant followed Dan to the other end of the line, where he could better see the approaching men. “You are right,” he said a moment later. “David and Ira are both there, and it is well worth our tramp out here to capture them.”

He divided his followers into two parties, directing one to creep cautiously through the forest to the rear of the royalists, while the other, with himself at its head, moved back to a place where the thicket offered a place of concealment.

Unaware of the ambush, the Tories advanced, discussing loudly the reasons which led them to return home.

“When I found that the regular troops were put on short rations to furnish the rest of us with something to eat, I thought I’d better go home,” one man said.

“I believed it was time Ira and I went up to the farm to get food for the others,” David Daggett added. “I tell the boy we’ve got enough there to feed a hundred men for a week, and that’s something.”

“How will you get it down here?” another asked.

“Ira’s long head has found a way,” the grandfather explained. “If you fellows want to join us in the venture, come on. All of us, working together, ought to bring stores enough to supply a regiment for quite a while.”

“I suppose the general will see we are given good prices for all we take in,” a third man remarked.

Then David Daggett grew furious. Whirling around he shook his fist in the face of the speaker, crying:

“Curses on your mean, stingy soul, John Tarbox! The man who at such a time as this is not ready to give up all he has for the king, ought to be kicked into the rebel camp, and I’d like to be the one to do it!”

Whether the men would have come to blows is uncertain, for at that moment, the young lieutenant sprang out from the thicket and seized Master Daggett by the shoulders. At the same instant Late and Joe clutched Ira Le Geyt, while the remainder of the squad gave their attention to the other Tories. A brief struggle ensued, but when the second party of Continentals closed in upon the royalists, they yielded to the inevitable by surrendering.

Owing to the surprise and excitement incident to the moment, David Daggett did not at first recognize the leader of the skirmishers. When he did, however, he gave way to the harshest epithets and the bitterest invectives he could think of, ending by crying:

“You young devil, that is what I think of you!”

“Your opinion of me is so much better than mine of you, that it is unnecessary for me to say a single word,” the young officer replied calmly, ordering his men to fall in with their prisoners.

“What are you going to do with me?” Ira Le Geyt demanded. “Since you can no longer personate me at General Burgoyne’s headquarters, I should be allowed to go home, where my father, wounded by you or some of your men, lies dangerously ill.”

“We must prevent that long head of yours from devising some means of getting stores into the British camp,” Joe replied. “You ought to be grateful to us for saving you from so strenuous a task.”

The young Tory frowned, and relapsed into silence. But not so with the older one. His wrath had now given place to curiosity, and he asked:

“How did you escape from that building after I set it on fire?”

“Perhaps I got out before,” Philip answered with a smile. Then, to learn whether the soldier he and his comrades had bound and left in his bed was yet alive, he asked, “Didn’t the guard tell you how I got away?”

“He didn’t know anything,” the old man replied angrily. “Some men who went up there found him bound and gagged, so brought him down. But when it was possible for him to talk, he had nothing to tell. Never knew who tied him, or when it happened. He was certain, though, that the door was fastened on the outside, and it puzzled him to know how you got at him, unless some one lent a hand.”

“I had good friends,” Philip replied, glancing with a smile at Dan and Late, who were behind him.

The old prisoner failed to see the glance.

“They say the devil helps his own,” he retorted, “and he must have been the one who helped you.”

Again Philip looked over his shoulder at his friends, and laughed outright, while Joe, who was near enough to hear what old David had said, remarked:

“Rather rough on you lads, ain’t he?”

At the sound of his voice the old Tory turned and, seeing both Late and Joe, cried:

“You here, too, you young devils? It seems to be a good day for the breed.” Then he sang:

“Devils on ahead! Devils in the rear! If the devils were all dead, You rebels wouldn’t be here!”

Some of the soldiers laughed, others showed signs of anger, and the lieutenant said warningly:

“If you keep that up long, Uncle David, my men will serve you as your friends threatened to do at the old hut.” The song came to a sudden close.

A half-hour later the prisoners were in the Continental camp, confined with an hundred others who had been brought in that day. Then Philip and his friends went to the mess-room for supper. While they were eating an orderly came in, and, touching the lieutenant on the shoulder, said:

“General Gates wishes to see you at seven o’clock.”

The lad looked at his watch.

“I will go immediately,” he answered.

On entering the quarters of the commander-in-chief he was surprised to find his father there. General Gates’s first words, however, explained why the former commander was with him.

“Lieutenant Schuyler,” he said, “I sent for your father to consult with him about a matter which gives me considerable anxiety. Ever since I learned that the courier, Preston, whom I ignorantly set at liberty, had papers for General Clinton in New York, I have been fearful lest that officer should send a force up the river to the aid of General Burgoyne, and attack us in the rear.

“I regard your father as altogether too sanguine when he declares it impossible for Clinton to force his way up the river. It may be so, I hope it is so; but that I may be certain there is no danger of such a happening, I have decided to send a trustworthy messenger down the Hudson to learn the exact condition of affairs there. Your father suggested yourself as one who could perform the task to my satisfaction. In my judgment you are rather young for such a trust; but there is some truth in your father’s declaration that, ‘boys can sometimes pass unnoticed where older messengers would excite suspicion.’ Therefore I have decided to try you. Take as many friends as you think advisable; tell my quartermaster to furnish you with horses and whatever else may be needed, and get away to-night if possible. Go only far enough to make certain we are safe from a rear attack for at least two weeks, and then return with your report. Within that time we hope to overcome the enemy in front of us.”

“I can be at Albany before daylight,” the lad said, and with a bow to the commander and a whispered “good-by” to his father, he left the room, but General Schuyler followed him.

“You will stop at our home, Phil?” the father said when they were out of the building.

“Yes, for a few minutes.”

“Then assure your mother that my removal from command was due to no fault of mine; that I hold enmity toward no one, and shall remain here to do my full duty to our country.”

“I can tell her that, and also give her proof that you were removed through the scheming of the enemy,” the boy answered, and then, as they walked along, he told his father that of which Alexander Turnbull, the spy, had boasted.

General Schuyler listened with the deepest interest, and when Philip had concluded, exclaimed reverently:

“I thank the good Lord that He permitted you to overhear those statements, my son. I did not dream that the Tories of this region were back of the movement to oust me. No greater compliment could have been paid, and I can now bear the seeming disgrace with more fortitude. In time the world will know the truth, of that I am confident.”

“So am I,” the younger officer replied, laying his hand in his father’s “and I can only hope to imitate the unselfish devotion to the Cause which you, sir, are showing in an experience when many men would falter in, if not wholly abandon, their efforts.”

Before nine o’clock Philip, accompanied by his three friends, all well mounted and well armed, rode rapidly toward Albany. Two hours before sunrise they had arrived at the town, and at one of the finest estates on its outskirts drew rein. Phil, dismounting, pounded heavily on the lodge gate with the stock of his rifle. Soon a voice cried:

“Who’s there?”

“Get up, Bill, and let us in,” the young officer replied.

“Ho! ’Tis you, Master Phil,” came the reply. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Then the bolts were shot back, the gate was thrown open, and the four lads entered.

“We’ll go right to the barn with you, Bill, and turn in there for a few hours,” the leader of the little party said. “I don’t care to disturb mother until her usual hour for rising.”

“As you say, Master Phil,” the old servant replied, and in a few minutes he had taken their horses, while the weary riders, throwing some blankets on the soft hay, stretched themselves upon them and went to sleep. They were aroused by a girlish voice calling:

“Phil! Brother Phil, where are you? Bill said you had come home.”

“Here I am, Susan,” Philip answered, and, rising, he went to the door of the barn where he met his sister, who was a few years younger than himself. After greeting her affectionately, he said: “I have three lads with me. Will you tell mother? Then we’ll join you at the house.”

“Let me meet your friends first,” she said, waiting for them to come forward. After they were presented, she remarked pleasantly:

“I’ve heard of you all through my father’s letters, and you will find a warm welcome here.” Then she ran on ahead to announce their coming.

In a few minutes they were in the presence of Mistress Schuyler, who received her son as only a fond mother can, and extended to the other lads a most cordial greeting. A hearty meal was served a little later, and then the daughter entertained the other boys while Phil and his mother had a half-hour together, during which he delivered his father’s message. With a heroism that matched her husband’s she sent back the reply:

“Tell him we may be wronged, our best motives misunderstood, our most earnest efforts unappreciated, but nothing can really disgrace us so long as we are true to our duty.”

Changing horses at the stables, the four scouts continued their journey. Down the west bank of the river they hastened, stopping occasionally at the houses of well-known patriots, but hearing nothing of any reinforcements for Burgoyne. Two days later they were at West Point, closeted with its commander. When they had made known the purpose of their long journey, he said:

“Return to your commander-in-chief with the assurance that he has nothing to fear from any force General Clinton can send up the Hudson. He has attempted that move already, and after capturing Fort Clinton and Fort Montgomery, was compelled to turn back. Burgoyne has no hope of succor from this quarter.”

Their mission accomplished, the young messengers, after a night’s rest, set out on their return. Ten miles above the fort they halted in a beautiful spot to allow their panting horses a breathing-time. The heavy trees in their autumn foliage screened the travelers from any one on the river, unless very near at hand, therefore it happened that a canoe, sweeping around the bend a little below, was seen by them before its single occupant became aware of their whereabouts.

While Late and Joe led the horses back farther among the foliage lest they attract attention, the other two scouts concealed themselves behind a large rock to watch the approaching voyager. At length Dan Cushing’s keen eyes recognized him, and he whispered in greatest excitement:

“It is the courier, George Preston!”