CHAPTER XVI.

THE BITTER AND THE SWEET.

“Yes, it is the courier sure enough,” Philip said, “and he is probably going to Burgoyne’s camp with a message from General Clinton. If we could capture him, we might find out what Sir Henry proposes to do.”

“We wouldn’t unless we had better luck than when we caught him the time before,” Dan replied grimly.

The lieutenant laughed. “You are right; but we’ll hope for better luck this time.”

“How are you goin’ to get him?” Dan asked a moment later. “It don’t look as if he was comin’ ashore right away.”

“Probably not for several hours,” Philip replied. “I suspect he passed the night at the house of Beverly Robinson, near West Point, for he had that Tory’s name on his list. Likely he is intending to take his dinner with Isaac Neale, another Tory living five or six miles above us. We’ll follow and see; if I’m correct, we’ll plan to seize him there.”

Master Preston was now opposite the lads, and paddled swiftly by, unconscious of his danger. They waited until he had disappeared around a bend in the river, and then went in search of their companions. Then it was they arranged for Late and Joe to stay well in the rear with the horses, while they kept the courier in sight.

Now and then a curve in the shore-line forced them to mount their horses in order to keep pace with the voyager; but when they were come within a half-mile of Isaac Neale’s house, the steeds were hidden in the woods while all four scouts went up the trail on foot.

Snugly hidden behind one of the Tory’s barns, they watched Master Preston as he came ashore and went up to the house.

“It lacks an hour of noon,” Philip said, looking at his watch, “and the men are doubtless at their work. It is a good time to capture the courier, and we’ll set about it at once.”

He gazed intently at the house. It was a two-story building, standing bare and alone.

“I wish there were two more of us,” he added; “but we must do the best we can. Joe is to take a station where he can watch the south and east sides. Late is to stand guard over the north and west ends. Dan and I will enter the house. Now!” and he led the way at full speed.

By the time Philip and his comrade were at the door, the other lads were at their stations. The lieutenant and Dan entered without ceremony, to find the courier in the act of ascending the stairs. Recognizing them instantly, he ran swiftly, the scouts at his heels, into the nearest chamber, the door of which he quickly closed and fastened.

Philip and Dan threw themselves upon the barrier, forcing an entrance just in time to see Master Preston go out of the window. Dan ran back, down the stairs and out of the main door; but Phil followed the fugitive, intending to leap after him. But that act was unnecessary, for Master Preston was already in the clutches of Late and Joe.

Philip noted that the man had been injured by the jump, and had lost not only his hat, but the hair from his head.

“He wore a wig!” Philip cried in surprise. “There is where he hid his letters,” and he hastened downstairs to where the prisoner lay.

“You have me this time,” the courier exclaimed as he caught sight of Phil.

“And your papers,” the latter replied, picking up the wig to find a pocket on the inside where was a small, thin, sealed package.

“That is what I meant,” Master Preston said with a groan. “Now you know where I concealed the messages when you captured me before.”

“Where are you injured?” the young officer asked, stooping beside his captive.

“He broke his leg when he jumped,” Late answered.

“When I struck the ground, you mean,” the courier added with a faint attempt at a smile. “But for that I should have escaped.”

“Not much,” Joe interrupted, “for I had my rifle trained on you, an’ in another minute would have fired.”

“Shall we carry him into the house?” Dan asked.

The women of the family had already gathered near, some crying hysterically, others looking on with pale and frightened faces. The eldest, Mistress Neale as her words proved, said somewhat timidly:

“Yes, take him into the house, good sirs, and I’ll send one of the girls for her father, who is in the field. He will know just what to do.”

“Much as I regret it,” the leader of the squad replied gently, “I am forced to ask you to delay sending for Master Neale.” Then to Joe, he said, “Bring up the horses,” and to Late, “Keep guard here.”

Philip and Dan lifted the injured courier, carrying him up to the chamber, where he was laid on the bed.

“I trust, Master Preston, that you will not be overlong in recovering,” he said as he turned to leave the unfortunate fellow.

“A few weeks here will pass more pleasantly than months, perhaps, in the dungeon of a fort,” Preston replied. “You are kind to leave me with my friends.”

Before gaining the outer door, the boys heard him say to Mistress Neale, who was striving to relieve his suffering:

“There goes the smartest Yankee I have fallen in with since I came to this country. Burgoyne will be whipped, and it is largely due to him.”

“Who is he?” she asked.

“The son of General Schuyler,” was the answer.

The words could be heard in the yard, where the daughters of Mistress Neale were still waiting. The eldest, a fair girl of sixteen or seventeen years, turned and gazed at the young officer, who was mounting his horse, with a look of admiration, and as he rode away said to her younger sister:

“I don’t care if he is a rebel, he is handsomer than any British officer I ever saw.”

Joe, who was nearer her than either of his comrades, heard the confession, and it was a long time before he ceased teasing his chief about the “Tory sweetheart.”

Four or five miles up the trail Philip opened the letter he had taken from the wig of the courier. It read:

“New York, October, 1777.

“To General John Burgoyne,

“Commanding His Majesty’s Army in Northern New York,

“Honored Sir:—Your message, and also that of Lord Germain, reached me two weeks since by the hand of Master George Preston. He had been apprehended and held by the rebels for months, yet succeeded in keeping and at length delivering to me the messages entrusted to his care, an unusual exploit, for which he deserves the highest commendation. On receipt of them I immediately undertook to comply with your request and with the order of the war secretary, but, after reaching and capturing the forts known as Clinton and Montgomery a few miles up the river, I was compelled to abandon the enterprise. I regret greatly, therefore, to inform you there is no hope of my forcing the passage of the Hudson this season. I would suggest that you entrench yourself in some suitable place where you can maintain a defense during the winter, and doubtless in the spring I shall be able to come to your aid.

“I remain your obedient servant,

“Henry Clinton,

“Commanding His Majesty’s Army in Southern New York.”

Handing the missive to his companions in turn, Philip said:

“It would have done no great harm if we had not captured Preston.”

“It looks to me as though it would have discouraged Burgoyne a little more,” Dan added.

“I guess he is blue enough now,” Late suggested.

“He is if matters have worked after the style they were goin’ when we came away,” Joe added.

“Still, this letter confirms our report, and is from a source that cannot be doubted,” Philip said cheerily. “General Gates need no longer fear a foe in his rear.”

“An’ will have no excuse for not advancing,” Dan Cushing declared.

The lads finished their journey without other incident, and on the evening of October sixth arrived at Bemis Heights. In a few minutes later the commander-in-chief had heard their report and received the letter from Sir Henry Clinton. The latter interested him greatly, and he insisted on hearing a full account of how it came into his scout’s hands.

“Your father was right, lieutenant,” he said graciously when the story had been told. “I could not have sent one better fitted for the mission than yourself. With no enemy to attack us in our rear, we can give our undivided attention to those in front. I will soon issue an order for an attack.”

But on the following morning such a step was unnecessary. At an early hour, prompted by a threatened famine, General Burgoyne directed that a foraging force, numbering fifteen hundred, break through the western line of skirmishers and scour the surrounding country in search of food. This movement was immediately detected by the Continentals, and, mistaking it for the beginning of a general attack on the part of the red-coats, they prepared for battle.

Leaving the breastworks they dashed down the hill upon the enemy’s front. It was an attack which the British could not withstand, and they gave way before it. Rallying, however, a little later, they drove the assailants back.

To and fro they struggled, sometimes the British, sometimes the patriots having the best of the contest. So evenly balanced were the contending forces that the same cannon changed hands five times. Finally the patriots succeeded in holding the piece, and their colonel leaping upon it cried:

“I now dedicate this to the American cause.” Then he ordered it wheeled around, and, having been loaded with British ammunition, it was discharged again and again into the ranks of its former owners, becoming an important factor in driving them from the field.

At the same time an extraordinary flank movement was being executed. General Fraser, with the finest corps of the English army, fell upon the left of the Continentals. Colonel Morgan’s riflemen drove the attacking party back, and they in their turn charged impetuously upon the British right. During the entire day there was no hotter fighting than that which centered at this point.

Upon the heights stood an interested spectator. It was Colonel Arnold, who, though deprived of his command, had not yet left the encampment. As he watched the progress of the battle he could no longer restrain himself. Mounting his horse, he rode at breakneck speed toward the left field. General Gates immediately ordered one of his staff officers to follow and recall the daring officer. But the aide could not overtake him. Into the thickest of the fight, and on to the head of his regiment, the impetuous colonel rode. His men recognized and received him with cheers; then, rallying, they followed him in a charge before which the red-coats wavered like grain before a tempest.

Colonel Morgan had already discovered that General Fraser was the inspiration of the British forces, and, selecting some of his best marksmen, he directed them to make the intrepid commander their special target. Soon Fraser’s horse was shot under him; but he refused to retire from the field. Mounting a fresh steed he again placed himself at the head of his men, and a few moments later fell, mortally wounded.

This turned the tide of the battle. Though General Burgoyne in person tried to rally his men, his efforts were vain. Driven from their entrenchments by Arnold’s troops, they became demoralized and, after firing a single volley, turned and fled.

In this last charge a bullet shattered Colonel Arnold’s thigh, and he fell from his horse just as Major Armstrong, who had been sent to recall him from the field, reached his side. He obeyed the order; but four men carried him, and he left behind a shattered foe, and a victorious army.

Night fell, and the patriots remained in possession of the field. The British fled, intending to cross the Hudson and return to Fort Edward. Their loss was about seven hundred, while that of the Americans was but one hundred and fifty.

General Gates, who had remained in the camp all day, then made a move which is to his credit. Discovering, notwithstanding the heavy fog which had set in, the attempt of Burgoyne to recross the river, he sent out a force to prevent his escape. All the next day there was heavy skirmishing, and then the harassed Britisher, leaving his baggage and wounded, set out on a night march for Saratoga. On the ninth he encamped on the heights north of the Fishkill. The patriots pursued, and on the tenth arrived at the heights between Saratoga church and the river.

Then the fleeing general lost hope. His position was exposed to attack on all sides; the roads to the north were impassable, and the woods swarming with patriots. He had bread sufficient only for three days, and no water. Surrender seemed inevitable.

On the thirteenth he called together his officers for council. While they were deliberating grape-shot from the guns of the pursuers swept across the table around which they were seated. Possibly it hastened their decision. It was agreed to treat with the American commander for honorable surrender.

It required three days for the two commanders to agree upon terms, but on the sixteenth they were finally arranged, and on the seventeenth articles were signed permitting the British to march out with the honors of war, while on their part they surrendered artillery, arms, and ammunition, agreeing not to re-enter the king’s service during the war.

General Burgoyne on that afternoon, in the presence of the two armies, handed his sword to General Gates, who promptly returned it. Then the entire British army, numbering nearly six thousand, filed off toward Boston, from which port they were to embark for England.

The four young scouts watched the long line of prisoners as they filed away, and Dan asked:

“What do you s’pose the king will say when he sees them come marchin’ home?”

“That the bottom has fallen out of his plans,” Philip replied with a laugh.

“’Twon’t be so with our men,” Late added. “The news will put new fight in ’em, an’ they’ll lick every red-coat that comes their way.”

“An’ the rest of the world will think we mean business,” Joe added gleefully.

“I am confident it will secure for us the help of France, which means that we shall gain what we are fighting for—our national independence,” a voice behind them said.

Turning, the boys saw General Schuyler, who added: “In time to come, I believe, it will generally be acknowledged that this battle of Saratoga was one of the decisive battles of the world, and you, my lads, may be proud because in it you have borne an honorable and important part.”

“Hurrah!” they all shouted, filled with enthusiasm at the thought.

Two weeks later General Schuyler and his son stood in the presence of General Washington. During an hour they had been with him discussing the details of the northern campaign, and now had arisen to depart. Taking the father by the hand the brave commander-in-chief of the American forces said:

“Never forget, sir, that at no time have I lost confidence in you, and I shall not rest until I have secured your full vindication at the hands of Congress.”

Then turning to the son he added:

“The part you have played in this notable victory has proved, my lad, that you are the worthy son of a worthy sire. In my report to the Congressional committee I shall recommend that you be given a captain’s commission.”

“And what for my three comrades?” the young scout asked eagerly. “I assure you they never once failed me, and two of them risked their lives to save me from death. The other would have been with them in that undertaking had not his duty called him elsewhere. If need be, give me nothing, but bestow on them some evidence that you appreciate their faithful work.”

“I leave it for their captain to make them warrant officers in his own command,” was the smiling reply.

“They shall have, then, the highest places I can give them,” Phil said stoutly, “and I can safely promise that you will hear good tidings from them.”

A promise which was made good under General Lincoln when he took command of the army in the south.

THE END.

Footnotes

[1]Major General Philip Schuyler, at this time commander of the army of the north, with headquarters at Fort Edwards, N. Y.

[2]Major General Arthur St. Clair, at this time commander of Fort Ticonderoga.

[3]Also called Mount Independence and Mount Defiance.

[4]Afterwards called Fort Schuyler. It was situated near the present city of Rome, N. Y.

[5]Joseph Brant, a Mohawk chief, who had been educated in England. His Indian name was Thayendanegea.

[6]Major-general Horatio Gates, he came from New England to succeed General Schuyler, but his estate was in Virginia.

[7]A little later Captain Brant with three hundred of his warriors swept through Mohawk valley committing some of the greatest atrocities of the war.

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