CHAPTER XI
FORT MONTGOMERY
When Robert Dorlon found himself in the lower road and with his face turned toward the north, he became exceedingly watchful, for the persistence of the band which had followed him to the house of Hannah Nott had convinced him that the men were determined to take him if such a thing was possible. The letter, which he still had in his possession, must be of great value he was convinced, and that fact also served to increase the caution with which he advanced.
Not a man could be seen, however; and, eager to place the letter in the hands of General Clinton, as well as to secure his own safety, he rode rapidly, for Nero now was apparently rested and as ready for the swift flight as was his young rider. The day was warm, and the sun, already past the meridian, was not hidden by any clouds. Occasionally the road came out into open places, and then again led through the depths of the sombre woods, where the songs of the birds and the sight of the chattering squirrels afforded some variety in the monotony of the swift and steady ride which Robert was taking.
As soon as he had proceeded a few miles beyond the region where he believed his greatest peril was to be met, he regained a measure of composure and his thoughts reverted to the stirring experiences through which he had passed that morning. He had not succeeded in entirely freeing his garments from the ashes in which he had been concealed, but the fact of his escape was so much more important than the discomfort, that he felt like shouting and singing in his enthusiasm. He laughed as he recalled the lowering countenance of Claudius Brown when the cowboy had fled from the house, but a silence followed when he thought of the peril of the two women who had been left in the lonely farmhouse. It was wrong, he said decidedly to himself, that they should be thus left unprotected. The sturdy boldness of Hannah and the more quiet strength of her mother were not unlike that which was displayed by many of the patriotic women of the period who had urged their husbands and brothers to go into the struggle for the freedom of the colonies, but none the less it was more than ought to be demanded, that they should be left with no one to protect them from the marauding bands of Tories or cowboys. Already the deeds of these outlaws were becoming so frequent that some concerted action was necessary against them, but the greater peril which now threatened the struggling colonies from the advance of John Burgoyne and the possible and expected movements of the redcoats up the lordly Hudson to join their comrades from the north, was of a nature to demand all the attention and energies of the little army of the patriots.
Robert was familiar with the action of the Congress early in the war, when it had been decided to fortify some of the places in the highlands and narrows of the Hudson, and was aware of the part which General Washington had taken in the oversight of the task. He himself had been within most of these little forts, and well knew the direction which he must follow in order to gain an entrance into Fort Montgomery, where he was hoping to find General George Clinton. The fort itself stood on a sharp precipice about a hundred feet above the waters of the river, and to the young soldier, on the occasion of his first visit, it had seemed to be too strong ever to be taken. His confidence, however, had been somewhat lessened by his increased experience, and now he was also well aware of the fears of the leaders that the militia with which the little forts in the region were manned might not be able to offer a very sturdy or prolonged resistance to a determined onslaught by the redcoats. He knew also of the current belief that, after the experience of the British at Bunker Hill, they would not attempt, even by the bayonet, as they had done there, to dislodge the Americans if they were intrenched in the heights above them; but the reverses of the preceding year, when the farmers and farmers' boys had fled from before the well-disciplined redcoats in the fight on Long Island, in New York, in Harlem, the bloody defeat at Fort Washington and the wild flight from Fort Lee, had not been forgotten. It was true that the skill and energy of Washington had turned apparent defeat into victory at Trenton and Princeton; but even the enthusiasm aroused by these events had in a measure been forgotten in the face of the perils that were threatening in the summer of 1777.
Across the Hudson, in its narrow channels near the fort he was seeking, he was aware that heavy chains and cables had been stretched, in the hope that a possible advance of the British fleet might be checked by them; but Robert also knew that the same measures had been employed before nearer New York, and that the British had really paid no more attention to them than if they had been made of paper. As a check to their progress, they had been complete failures.
It was currently reported that the real hope in Washington's mind of being able to prevent the British from going up the Hudson and joining the forces of Burgoyne lay mostly in his attempt to make the redcoats believe that he would fall upon New York if they should withdraw their soldiers. But the British generals were expecting large reinforcements to arrive soon, and in that event they would have a sufficient force under them to leave a part to guard the city and still have a large army to go up the Hudson to Albany or beyond. The need of quick action on the part of the troubled Americans was therefore imperative, and under the influence of the thought Robert Dorlon almost unconsciously increased the speed of the horse he was riding.
And yet in the midst of the anxiety of the young express there came again and again the thought of the young girl and her mother whom he had so recently left in their lonely farmhouse. The courage of the girl, her gray eyes that at times seemed almost to snap fire, her intrepid and apparently fearless manner, ind at the same time her gentleness and the tenderness with which she had cared for him, were uppermost in his mind. It was strange, he reflected, that he should be thinking so much more of what Hannah had done than of the part her mother had taken. Both were in peril, and as soon as he had delivered his letter into the hands of General Clinton and received his instructions from him, he would at once seek out Mr. Nott and his sons and inform them of the danger that threatened their home. If it should be impossible for the men to return, then at least they could make arrangements for the removal of the two women to some place where they would be safe from harm.
His meditations were interrupted as he glanced up and recognized that he was once more near Dirck's home. His first inclination was to stop and see the man, and perhaps follow out his original purpose of being ferried across the river, then proceed on that side until he should have gained a place opposite Fort Montgomery, and then be once more brought over the river. This plan had repeatedly been followed because of its supposed greater safety, for the prowling bands of redcoats and cowboys were more plentiful in the region between the forts and the city. A brief reflection, however, caused Robert to decide to abandon that project and to keep on in the way he was then going, not even stopping to see Dirck. On his return a brief stop might be made, and then he could both report his own success and learn from Dirck how it had fared with him.
Accordingly Robert kept steadily on his way, though he glanced keenly about him as he passed Dirck's humble home; but he was not able to discover any one about the place. As he proceeded, his fears of interception became less, for the prowling bands of cowboys or straggling outposts of the Tories or redcoats were not to be found so near the forts of the Americans.
It was near nightfall when at last Robert arrived at the place where he was to leave his horse and proceed on foot. He then hastily followed the path that led up to Fort Montgomery, and as soon as he had been admitted, sought out the quarters of General Clinton. To his delight he found that the general was within and alone, and in response to the word which he gave the guard he was speedily admitted, and at once made known his errand.
General Clinton listened quietly to his story of his seizure and the loss of the letter which had been intrusted to him, but the scowl which rested upon his face quickly departed when Robert held forth the letter which he himself had secured, and he said as he eagerly took it: "There will be nothing for you to do to-night. Report to me early in the morning, and doubtless then I shall be able to give you instructions as to what you are next to do."
Robert bowed and retired, relieved that his failure to bring the letter of the commander had been received with such apparent unconcern, though he was well assured that the substitute letter had been no slight aid to him; and then he decided at once to seek out Mr. Nott or his sons and repeat to them what had recently occurred at their home.
Near him he perceived a young soldier, apparently about his own age, and advancing toward him Robert said eagerly, "Can you tell me where I can find Mr. Nott?"
"Which Mr. Nott?" replied the young man sharply. "There are several here."
"I don't know which one, but he is the father of Hannah Nott."
"What do you know about Hannah?" demanded the man tartly.
As Robert gazed at him he could see that his face appeared to be strangely familiar. He must have seen or met him somewhere, he was convinced; but though he endeavored to recall some former meeting, he was unable to decide when or where it had occurred. He was somewhat chagrined, too, that he had mentioned Hannah's name, but it had escaped his lips almost before he was aware of it, in his eagerness to describe the man for whom he was searching. "I don't know that I am called upon to explain that," he replied, somewhat warmly. "And if you can direct me to this Mr. Nott I shall be under obligations to you."
"Who are you?"
"I'm not called upon to explain that either. I want to find Mr. Nott, but if you don't want to tell me I can find some one who will."
"My name is Nott," said the young soldier.
"It is? Are you one of his boys?"
"You are a brilliant man," laughed the other. "If my name is Nott, what did you suppose my father's name would be?"
His good humor was contagious, and Robert also laughed as he said, "I did n't know whether or not you were the son of the Mr. Nott I want to find."
"If I'm not the Nott you want, then you 'll not want this Nott. But if I am the Nott you want, then you 'll not have to look for any other Nott, at least not right away. Is not that so?"
"I think it is," replied Robert. "But how do I know you 're the right Nott? You may not be the Nott after all, and then I 'll wish I'd not spoken to this Nott."
"I'm Hannah Nott's twin brother anyway. My name's Joseph Nott."
"You are!" exclaimed Robert. Yes, he could understand it now, and his resemblance to his sister was certainly striking. Doubtless it was this very fact that had led him to believe that he must have seen the young man somewhere when he had first met him. "Then I 'll tell you what I have to say," he hastily added; and he related the story of the visit of Claudius Brown and his gang, and what occurred in the home where Hannah and her mother had been left.
Joseph Nott listened attentively, and as soon as Robert's story had been told he said, "You stay here. I 'll go and tell my father. I 'll be back in a few minutes."
The young man darted away, leaving Robert where he then was, and quickly disappeared from sight. Left to himself, Robert began to look about him at the men and the defenses of the little fort. The men he could see for the most part were evidently farmers and farmers' boys, members doubtless of the militia from which the defenders of the forts on the Hudson had been drawn by the order of Congress. They were a sturdy lot, but how much they would be able to do if they should be attacked by a force of the redcoats he was unable to decide. Of experience they had had but little, and it was already apparent that the discipline in the army of King George was an element of no small consequence in the struggle that was then going on. The defenses of the fort, too, were not impressive, and Robert's fears were not allayed by what he saw when he thought of the probable advance of the British army under Howe or Clinton.
The dusk was deepening now and he began to realize that he was exceedingly weary. The long ride had been supplemented by such adventures as never before he had met with, and now that he found himself in a place of comparative security, and a part of his journey accomplished, the natural reaction had come. There were misgivings in his mind, too, as he thought of his ride on the morrow, for he understood that he was to go on as far as Albany at least; but there still was one source of consolation, in that no perils were likely to be faced between Fort Montgomery and the town for which he was bound. Almost all the danger was in the region below the forts undoubtedly, and it would be some time, he assured himself, before he would return. Meanwhile he must not meet trouble more than half way, and he resolutely strove to banish from his mind the fears that beset him, due doubtless in large measure to his own weariness. A good rest would restore his hopefulness and courage, he tried to assure himself; but his meditations were interrupted by the approach of Joseph Nott, whom at first he had failed to recognize in the dim light. The bearing of the young soldier had entirely changed, and Robert at once became deeply interested in the report of his interview with his father.