CHAPTER XIX
IN THE AMERICAN CAMP
Robert and Joseph were too inexperienced to conceal their astonishment at the man's words. For a moment they gazed at him in silence, and then Robert hastily rising from his seat exclaimed, "Do you mean what you say? Were Josh and Russell really here?"
"Josh was here an' there was a man with him."
"And you think they were looking for us?"
"Accordin' t' th' description they gave of the men an' the horses they were after, I should say they were."
"How long have they been gone?" demanded Joseph.
"They left about a half an hour before ye came."
"Which way did they go?"
"They went on ahead. Now, boys," added the old man, with an abrupt change in his manner, "ye 've got t' look out right smart or they 'll get ye. Ye can stay here t'day an' I 'll hide ye so 't nobody on earth can find ye, an' probably by to-morrow it 'll be safe for ye to go on."
"We can't stay," replied Robert sharply. He was not without his suspicions of the man, though his eagerness to return to the American camp with his letter was the supreme desire in his heart at the time.
"I thought likely that was what ye'd say. I don't know 's it's the best thing, but it's nat'ral for boys like you. Now I 'll point out to ye a way ye can go without hitting the road for fifteen miles. Whether it 'll take ye out o' the way these men are followin' or not, I can't say. I'm a good friend t' th' Americans," he added. "I ought t' be, seein' as how I 've got two boys with General Clinton."
"What's their name?" demanded Joseph quickly.
"Brokaw."
"I know them. They 're good men, too. We'd better let this man show us the way," Joseph said to Robert. "It 'll be better for everybody."
As Robert quickly agreed, all three went out to the barn, and the old man mounted one of the horses while the young men leaped upon the backs of their own, and the little party at once departed. Near a brook that crossed the road their leader turned into the woods, and for nearly three hours led the way through an apparently pathless wood. Up the hills and through the heavily-wooded valleys they journeyed, seldom speaking and all the time keeping a careful lookout all about them.
At last they could once more see the road before them, and the old man leaping from his horse said to them, "Now I think ye 'll have no difficulty unless ye happen to run across Josh or some o' Claud Brown's men. I knew ye were bound for Morristown as soon as I set eyes on ye, an' I don't think ye 'll lose the way. Keep your eyes open for Josh."
"I did n't know the Thirteen came as far back as this," said Joseph.
"They go ev'rywhere. They have a place up here in the Ramapo Pass where they meet their friends, an' my advice to ye is not t' go that way. Can ye find yer way 'cross the country?"
"Yes," said Robert. "We can do that, I know. But if we happen to fall in with Josh or any of Claud Brown's gang"—
"Ye must n't fall in with 'em! That's what I'm tellin' ye not to do."
"But you say they 're up here, too," suggested Joseph.
"Yes. I'm tellin' ye they 're everywhere, 'most, clear up t' Morristown. They 're like a roarin' lion goin' about seekin' whom they may devour. Don't ye let 'em set eyes on ye, much less their hands."
"How are you going back to your home?" inquired Robert.
"Walk."
"It must be fifteen miles."
"So it is, but it won't be th' first time I 've done it. Now ye'd better start, an' for a while I would n't let the grass grow under my feet either."
The boys expressed their thanks for his aid and then swiftly resumed their journey. For a time their fears made them watchful, but when two hours had elapsed and not a sign of the presence of their enemies had been discovered, a measure of confidence returned, and they soon halted for their midday meal.
The journey was speedily resumed, and when they had gone on until they were again slowly climbing one of the numerous long hills, Robert said to his companion, "You never told me how it was that you happened to be in that hut last night, nor who the man was with you."
"Did n't I?" laughed Joseph. "That's too bad. Seems to me, though, that you never explained how it was that we caught you there either."
"You never asked me."
"Well, I 'll tell you. I won't ask you if you won't ask me. I'm under promise not to tell, though in a week or two I 'll let you know all about it."
"I'm agreed."
"You can't keep a secret, though."
Robert laughed and made no response. "I tell you you can't," added Joseph.
"Why? What do you know about it?"
"Hannah told me."
"Hannah?"
"Yes, my sister. You 've met her, I think."
"I don't see"—
"No, of course not. I hope we 'll come back together, and then I 'll tell you what I mean. We'd better put in our good work now."
Silence returned as the boys increased their speed. There were times when they met some of the country people, who stared blankly at them, but the riders gave no opportunity for questioning and speedily passed on.
On the third day they arrived safely in the camp they were seeking, and the letters they had brought were delivered into the hands of those for whom they were designed. It was a relief to Robert to learn that the British had abandoned the attempt to draw the Americans into battle near Brunswick and had returned to New York. Everything was uncertain as to their future movements, however. Rumors were current of Howe's plan to attack Boston, but the report would quickly be denied and another rumor would gain credence that he was about to move up the Hudson to meet the oncoming army of John Burgoyne.
Robert was somewhat chagrined to learn on the morning after his arrival that Joseph had been sent back to Fort Montgomery, but no word was given him as to his own duty. The horses they had succeeded in bringing had been received, but a fear was in the heart of the young soldier that his own failure to deliver to General Clinton the letter with which he had been intrusted had caused a loss of confidence in himself, and as the slow days passed on and still not a word was received, his fears, and his consequent chagrin, increased.
The reports, too, that came with the passing days caused the uncertainty and the alarm in the American army in New Jersey and on the Hudson to spread among the men, and Robert Dorlon shared fully in the prevailing uneasiness. Even his own feeling that somehow he was looked upon as one who had failed to deliver the letter which had been intrusted to him, though in his heart he knew that he had done well, was in a measure ignored in the prevailing excitement in the camp.
The reports came steadily of the advance of John Burgoyne's army, and of the apparent helplessness of the Americans to check it. From Cumberland Head to the falls of the River Bouquet, where it was reported that Burgoyne in person had welcomed the arrival of his Indian forces and had made an address that had greatly stirred his savage allies, the army had moved without hindrance. Rumors were current that the waters of Lake Champlain "swarmed" with the fleets that were transporting the redcoats and the red men. By the end of June the advancing forces had arrived at Crown Point and were in possession of the place, and then early in July came the most disheartening report of all—that the British had seized Fort Ticonderoga, and that the place had been abandoned by the Americans, without a single blow having been struck in its defense.
The rumors were conflicting, but there could be no doubt as to the truth of the fall of the fort, and that the troops were scattered, and were retreating before the host that with increasing confidence apparently was sweeping away all opposition on its onward march. At Skenesborough (Whitehall) Burgoyne next made his stand, and then it was soon reported that he had pushed on as far as Fort Anne, and by the first of August had penetrated as far as Fort Edward.
The complaints of the New England men against General Philip Schuyler, the failure of Congress to act and even to provide the necessary means of carrying on the war, the loud threats of Barry St. Leger as to what would befall the people of the Mohawk Valley if they failed to provide for his wants and to rally to the standard of King George, all found eager listeners in the little army under Washington, that was still striving to do its utmost for the cause of the contending colonies.
The desperate determination, however, to do their work did not fail them. Many of the New Jersey people, hopeless now of the success of Washington, were heeding the somewhat lurid "proclamations" which Howe caused to be scattered among the country districts. The groans of the American prisoners who were suffering in the improvised prisons in New York or on board the foul prison ships found a response in the hearts of the timid, who were eager to abandon the apparently hopeless task. Money was wanting, provisions were scarce, jealousy was rife among the leaders, and even the most devoted friends of the cause were clamoring for some decisive blow to be struck.
In the midst of all these perplexing and distressing problems, Washington found one that was even more trying than any of them, and that was to find out just what Howe intended to do, that is, if the British general did really know himself. In all probability Howe did not know just what he would do, until the summer was well-nigh gone. He was striving to mislead his foxy adversary, and not leave New York too poorly defended if the rebel leader should decide to attack there instead of going up the Hudson to the aid of the Northern army, and at the same time he was holding himself in readiness to go, or send aid, to John Burgoyne, in case his fellow officer required his assistance, which he still was unable to believe would be in the least necessary.
The ease with which Fort Ticonderoga had been taken, and the apparently futile efforts of the "rebels" to check the invasion, at last convinced Lord Howe that Burgoyne was abundantly able to look after his own interests, and that he himself would be free to adopt such measures for crushing the little rebel army near him as he might deem best. This very confidence, however, in all probability proved the undoing of Howe and Burgoyne. Had Howe gone up the Hudson and placed the ill-trained Continentals between his own forces and those of Burgoyne, there can be little doubt that they would have crushed the "rebels" in the north, and rent the colonies asunder as Burgoyne had planned to do. Confident, however, that Burgoyne required no aid from him, Lord Howe put to sea with a fleet of two hundred and twenty-eight ships, in which he had embarked an army of eighteen thousand men, and sailed to the south. At New York he left Sir Henry Clinton with seven thousand men to defend that place, and then he wrote a letter to John Burgoyne, in which he stated that he was about to sail for Boston and attack that town. This he intrusted to a messenger, who by design was captured by the Americans, and the message fell into the hands of Washington.
The American leader, the fox, as he was called by the British, was too keen to be deceived by the trick, and kept himself fully informed concerning the movements of his adversary. Accordingly he quickly recalled General Sullivan and General Sterling with their men to the west side of the Hudson, and with the greater part of his own army began to march toward Delaware Bay, whither it was reported that Howe had sailed. And yet it was difficult for Washington to believe that the present move of the British was anything more than one of the numerous tricks they had been trying to play upon him throughout the summer. Sullivan was to advance as far as Morristown and remain there, and every day Washington was expecting to receive word that the British had quickly returned to New York and were advancing with all haste up the Hudson. He could not persuade himself that Howe really was planning to abandon New York, give up all thought of going to the aid of Burgoyne, and make an attack upon Philadelphia, which, though it was the capital of the new nation, was not looked upon as valuable from a military point of view.
At last, however, he was convinced that the present advance of Howe was no trick, but that the British really were preparing for movements in the vicinity of Philadelphia, and accordingly he himself prepared to act.
At this critical moment Robert Dorlon discovered that he had not been forgotten or ignored as he had feared, and that he was once more to return to the region where he had had his former exciting experiences, which not for a moment had been forgotten in the prevailing excitement of the army.