Rolf in the Woods Part 41

For five hours he paddled, and at star-peep he reached the dock at Burlington. The howl of a lost dog caught his ear; and when he traced the sound, there, on the outmost plank, with his nose to the skies, was the familiar form of Skook.u.m, wailing and sadly alone.

What a change he showed when Rolf landed; he barked, leaped, growled, tail-wagged, head-wagged, feet-wagged, body-wagged, wig-wagged and zigzagged for joy; he raced in circles, looking for a sacrificial hen, and finally uttered a long and conversational whine that doubtless was full of information for those who could get it out.

Rolf delivered his budget at once. It was good news, but not conclusive.

Everything depended now on MacDonough. In the morning all available troops should hurry to the defence of Plattsburg; not less than fifteen hundred men were ready to embark at daylight.

That night Rolf slept with Skook.u.m in the barracks. At daybreak, much to the latter's disgust, he was locked up in a cellar, and the troops embarked for the front.

It was a brisk north wind they had to face in crossing and pa.s.sing down the lake. There were many st.u.r.dy oarsmen at the sweeps, but they could not hope to reach their goal in less than five hours.

When they were half way over, they heard the cannon roar; the booming became incessant; without question, a great naval battle was on, for this north wind was what the British had been awaiting. The rowers bent to their task and added to the speed. Their brothers were hard pressed; they knew it, they must make haste. The long boats flew. In an hour they could see the masts, the sails, the smoke of the battle, but nothing gather of the portentous result. Albany and New York, as well as Plattsburg, were in the balance, and the oarsmen rowed and rowed and rowed.

The cannon roared louder and louder, though less continuously, as another hour pa.s.sed. Now they could see the vessels only four miles away. The jets of smoke were intermittent from the guns; masts went down. They could see it plainly. The rowers only set their lips and rowed and rowed and rowed.

Sir George had reckoned on but one obstacle in his march to Albany, an obstruction named MacDonough; but he now found there was another called Macomb.

It was obviously a waste of men to take Plattsburg by front a.s.sault, when he could easily force a pa.s.sage of the river higher up and take it on the rear; and it was equally clear that when his fleet arrived and crushed the American fleet, it would be a simple matter for the war vessels to blow the town to pieces, without risking a man.

Already a favouring wind had made it possible for Downie to leave Isle au Noix and sail down the lake with his gallant crew, under gallant canvas clouds.

Tried men and true in control of every s.h.i.+p, outnumbering MacDonough, outweighing him, outpointing him in everything but seamans.h.i.+p, they came on, sure of success.

Three chief moves were in MacDonough's strategy. He anch.o.r.ed to the northward of the bay, so that any fleet coming down the lake would have to beat up against the wind to reach him; so close to land that any fleet trying to flank him would come within range of the forts; and left only one apparent gap that a foe might try to use, a gap in front of which was a dangerous sunken reef. This was indeed a baited trap.

Finally he put out cables, kedges, anchors, and springs, so that with the capstan he could turn his vessels and bring either side to bear on the foe.

All was ready, that morning of September the 11th as the British fleet, ably handled, swung around the c.u.mberland Head.

The young commander of the Yankee fleet now kneeled bareheaded with his crew and prayed to the G.o.d of Battles as only those going into battle pray. The gallant foe came on, and who that knows him doubts that he, too, raised his heart in reverent prayer? The first broadside from the British broke open a chicken coop on the Saratoga from which a game-c.o.c.k flew, and, perching on a gun, flapped his wings and crowed; so all the seamen cheered at such a happy omen.

Then followed the fighting, with its bravery and its horrors--its brutish wickedness broke loose.

Early in the action, the British sloop, Finch, fell into MacDonough's trap and grounded on the reef.

The British commander was killed, with many of his officers. Still, the heavy fire of the guns would have given them the victory, but for MacDonough's foresight in providing for swinging his s.h.i.+ps. When one broadside was entirely out of action, he used his cables, kedges and springs, and brought the other batteries to bear.

It was one of the most desperate naval fights the world has ever seen.

Of the three hundred men on the British flags.h.i.+p not more than five, we are told, escaped uninjured; and at the close there was not left on any one of the eight vessels a mast that could carry sail, or a sail that could render service. In less than two hours and a half the fight was won, and the British fleet destroyed.

To the G.o.d of Battles each had committed his cause: and the G.o.d of Battles had spoken.

Far away to the southward in the boats were the Vermont troops with their general and Rolf in the foremost. Every sign of the fight they had watched as men whose country's fate is being tried.

It was a quarter after eleven when the thunder died away; and the Vermonters were headed on sh.o.r.e, for a hasty landing, if need be, when down from the peak of the British flag-s.h.i.+p went the Union Jack, and the Stars and Stripes was hauled to take its place.

"Thank G.o.d!" a soft, murmuring sigh ran through all the boats and many a bronzed and bearded cheek was wet with tears. Each man clasped hands with his neighbour; all were deeply moved, and even as an audience melted renders no applause, so none felt any wish to vent his deep emotion in a cheer.

Chapter 82. Scouting for Macomb

General Macomb knew that Sir George Prevost was a cautious and experienced commander. The loss of his fleet would certainly make a radical change in his plans, but what change? Would he make a flank move and dash on to Albany, or retreat to Canada, or entrench himself to await reinforcements at Plattsburg, or try to retrieve his laurels by an overwhelming a.s.sault on the town?

Whatever his plan, he would set about it quickly, and Macomb studied the enemy's camp with a keen, discerning eye, but nothing suggesting a change was visible when the sun sank in the rainy west.

It was vital that he know it at once when an important move was begun, and as soon as the night came down, a score of the swiftest scouts were called for. All were young men; most of them had been in McGla.s.sin's band. Rolf was conspicuous among them for his tall figure, but there was a Vermont boy named Seymour, who had the reputation of being the swiftest runner of them all.

They had two duties laid before them: first, to find whether Prevost's army was really retreating; second, what of the regiment he sent up the Saranac to perform the flank movement.

Each was given the country he knew best. Some went westerly, some followed up the river. Rolf, Seymour, and Fiske, another Vermonter, skimmed out of Plattsburg harbour in the dusk, rounded c.u.mberland Bend, and at nine o'clock landed at Point au Roche, at the north side of Treadwell's Bay.

Here they hid the canoe and agreeing to meet again at midnight, set off in three different westerly directions to strike the highway at different points. Seymour, as the fast racer, was given the northmost route; Rolf took the middle. Their signals were arranged--in the woods the barred-owl cry, by the water the loon; and they parted.

The woods seemed very solemn to Rolf that historic September night, as he strode along at speed, stopping now and again when he thought he heard some signal, and opened wide his mouth to relieve his ear-drums of the heart-beat or to still the rus.h.i.+ng of his breath.

In half an hour he reached the high-road. It was deserted. Then he heard a cry of the barred owl:

Wa--wah--wa--wah Wa--wah--wa--hooooo-aw.

He replied with the last line, and the answer came a repeat of the whole chant, showing that it might be owl, it might be man; but it was not the right man, for the final response should have been the hooooo-aw. Rolf never knew whence it came, but gave no further heed.

For a long time he sat in a dark corner, where he could watch the road.

There were sounds of stir in the direction of Plattsburg. Then later, and much nearer, a couple of shots were fired. He learned afterward that those shots were meant for one of his friends. At length there was a faint tump ta tump ta. He drew his knife, stuck it deep in the ground, then held the handle in his teeth. This acted like a magnifier, for now he heard it plainly enough--the sound of a horse at full gallop--but so far away that it was five minutes before he could clearly hear it while standing. As the sound neared, he heard the clank of arms, and when it pa.s.sed, Rolf knew that this was a mounted British officer. But why, and whither?

In order to learn the rider's route, Rolf followed at a trot for a mile.

This brought him to a hilltop, whither in the silent night, that fateful north wind carried still the sound

te--rump te--rump te--rump.

As it was nearly lost, Rolf used his knife again; that brought the rider back within a mile it seemed, and again the hoof beat faded, te--rump te--rump.

"Bound for Canada all right," Rolf chuckled to himself. But there was nothing to show whether this was a mere despatch rider, or an advance scout, or a call for reinforcements.

So again he had a long wait. About half-past ten a new and larger sound came from the south. The knife in the ground increased but did not explain it. The night was moonless, dark now, and it was safe to sit very near the road. In twenty minutes the sound was near at hand in five, a dark ma.s.s was pa.s.sing along the road. There is no mistaking the language of drivers. There is never any question about such and such a voice being that of an English officer. There can be no doubt about the clank of heavy wheels--a rich, tangy voice from some one in advance said: "Oui. Parbleu, tows ce que je sais, c'est par la." A body of about one hundred Britishers, two or three wagons, guns, and a Frenchman for guide. Rolf thought he knew that voice; yes, he was almost sure it was the voice of Francios la Colle.

This was important but far from conclusive. It was now eleven. He was due at the canoe by midnight. He made for the place as fast as he could go, which, on such a night, was slow, but guided by occasional glimpses of the stars he reached the lake, and pausing a furlong from the landing, he gave the rolling, quivering loon call:

Ho-o-o-o-ooo-o Ho-o-o-o-ooo-o. Hooo-ooo.

After ten seconds the answer came:

Ho-o-o-o-o-o-o-o Hoo-ooo.

And again after ten seconds Rolf's reply:

Hoo-ooo.

Both his friends were there; Fiske with a bullet-hole through his arm.

It seemed their duty to go back at once to headquarters with the meagre information and their wounded comrade. But Fiske made light of his trouble--it was a mere scratch--and reminded them that their orders were to make sure of the enemy's movements. Therefore, it was arranged that Seymour take back Fiske and what news they had, while Rolf went on to complete his scouting.