CHAPTER XXVIII
THE ARMY IN THE NORTH
"She was there. She came just as they were pouring the feathers on me, and she laughed, too, the loudest of them all. I 'll have the law on her and on the parson's daughter, too. She was the ringleader and the worst one in the company."
"My opinion is that you will make a bad matter worse."
"I did n't ask you what your opinion was, did I?" demanded the young man angrily.
"I can't say that you did."
"What are you doing? You 're not going to leave me, are you?" Robert had approached his horse and apparently was preparing to mount and depart.
"My horse won't carry double. I 've scraped the tar off your face and you can see to do the rest of it yourself."
"Don't leave me! Don't leave me here alone!" pleaded the man.
"There are n't any girls here. You need not fear," called Robert mockingly as he rode swiftly away from the place. His sympathy for the unfortunate man was gone and he was disgusted that any one should have taken an opportunity, when the men doubtless had left their homes to engage in the struggle that was becoming narrower in its limits daily, and the girls and women had probably assembled to sew for the soldiers, to declare his distasteful opinions to the patriotic women. He had been treated as he justly deserved, and Robert assured himself that he had done more than could reasonably be expected of him. Perhaps at another time or under other circumstances the young express might have had more generous opinions, but the feeling then was high, and lawlessness was not looked upon as it ordinarily is in times of peace. But afterwards, when he again met Hannah Nott and inquired concerning the treatment of the unknown young man, he received no information, for Hannah refused to explain. Nor did he ever learn who the man was, for he soon disappeared from the region and never returned.
Without further delay Robert Dorlon rode swiftly from the place, nor did he once glance behind him at the unfortunate man, who remained standing beside the spring, or heed the calls which the man continued to send forth as long as Robert remained within sight.
Fort Montgomery was now not far distant, and Robert's thoughts were of his success in bringing the letter which had been intrusted to him. Even the exciting experiences through which he had been passing were in a measure forgotten, and he was thinking much more of what was still before him than of that through which he had safely passed. His perils became less as he drew nearer the fort, his confidence correspondingly increased, and his exultation was keen when at last he was admitted within the walls of Fort Montgomery and with his own hands delivered his precious letter to General Clinton himself.
On the following morning he was informed by the commander that he was to continue on his way to the army in the north, and with a new outfit of clothing and a pistol for his protection he started on his journey soon after he had received the word.
The unsolved problems that he had left behind him were not forgotten, but there was an added sense of security as he rode forward that was marvelously comforting. Between Fort Montgomery and the northern army, the Tories and the cowboys were less active than they were in the region below the fort, where the aid of the redcoats themselves was more easily secured. Robert soon discovered that his progress was not impeded, and on the third day he found himself in the midst of the army that was striving to block the advance of John Burgoyne.
Here he was to remain for several days, he soon learned, for important events were in the air, and though daily messengers were sent to the south, the commander requested the young express to remain until the word which he hoped to give might be secured, and then he might go back with a message that would cause the army in the vicinity of Philadelphia to share in the increasing confidence that was daily becoming more manifest among their fellows in the north.
And this air of growing confidence was certainly in evidence, as Robert Dorlon speedily perceived. Already the detachment of Hessians which Burgoyne had sent to Bennington to secure or destroy the stores there had met with an overwhelming defeat, and not the least of the causes of rejoicing was the discovery, which the British general had made, that apparently there were no Tories in the region to rally at his call and provide him with his much-needed provisions. The problem of supplies for his advancing army was already becoming a serious one for John Burgoyne. General Lincoln, with a resolute force of patriots, was stationed in the rear of the British, to cut off supplies from the north and to prevent any reinforcements breaking through to his aid. Before him was an army undisciplined but resolute, and daily becoming more determined. Not even the jealousies that were prevalent among its leaders or the pettiness of the little General Gates could entirely repress the feelings of the men, who were determined to do their utmost to drive back or at least hold back the invading army.
Another source of the growing confidence in the ranks of the little American army was due to the bravery of young Colonel Gansevoort up in the Mohawk Valley. He had, by the aid of Benedict Arnold and his men, beaten back the army of redcoats and Indians that had advanced from Oswego and planned to sweep on down the valley until they had arrived at Albany, where they had confidently believed that John Burgoyne's victorious army would join them, and together they would meet the force which Howe or Clinton would send up the Hudson to their aid. The result would be that the colonies would be cut asunder and the "rebellion" speedily be brought to an end.
Colonel Gansevoort had done his best in Fort Stanwix, which had been strengthened and renamed Fort Schuyler, but his force was insufficient to hold the place, his supplies were inadequate; and he had pitifully begged that men and supplies might be sent him from the army under Gates. General Schuyler had earnestly favored granting the request, and had been taunted in return by some of his fellow officers with a desire to weaken the army opposing John Burgoyne and so permit the British to win an easy victory. The taunt stung and hurt the noble man, but he was too much of a patriot to obtrude his own personal sufferings at such a crisis in his country's history, and so suffered in silence. However, Benedict Arnold and a little body of men as resolute as he at once started to the aid of the hard-pressed young colonel. Already the battle of Oriskany had been fought—one of the bloodiest of the Revolution. That sturdy old Dutchman, General Herkimer, had marched from Fort Dayton with a body of farmers and farmers' boys to aid Fort Stanwix, and had halted near where the city of Utica now stands until word might be received from the fort, to which he had already sent scouts with the promise of his coming; and he was expecting a force to come from the colonel to meet his own advancing troops, and then together they might enter the fort in safety. For he feared, and justly, as the event proved, the ability of his inexperienced followers to withstand an attack if they should be compelled to meet it alone.
Taunted by his over-confident men with cowardice, at last in anger he gave the word to advance; and at Oriskany his men marched into the trap which Brant had laid for them, and there the old general lost his life and many of his men fell. The Indians at last fled when they became alarmed by the rumored approach of a force from Fort Stanwix, but the promised aid to the young colonel did not fully materialize.
It was soon after this that Benedict Arnold with his men drew near, but, mindful of the catastrophe at Oriskany, he hesitated to proceed lest he, too, might be drawn into an ambush similar to that into which General Herkimer's men had fallen. About two miles from Fort Dayton there was living one of the most bitter and treacherous of all the Tories of the region. This man, Shoemaker by name, had assembled one evening at his house about fourteen of his fellow loyalists, who were trying to devise some means by which they might aid St. Leger, whose loud proclamations had failed to terrify Colonel Gansevoort or bring: much assistance from the friends of the king. Word of this gathering having come to the Americans, they sent a small band to seize the men who might be found in Shoemaker's house, and in the success that crowned their efforts they compelled all their prisoners to return with them to Fort Dayton.
Among these prisoners was a well-grown lad, Han Yost Schuyler, who had the reputation of being a half-wit, and had been granted much freedom in both armies. It had been discovered, however, that Han Yost was more a traitor than a fool, for he had been carrying word to St. Leger of the numbers and plans of the patriots. When it was found that Han Yost was among the prisoners secured, he, too, was tried with others by a "drumhead" court-martial which Arnold at once ordered, and with the others was condemned to die.
At once Han Yost's mother and brother made a great outcry. They came to the American leader, and with tears and entreaties besought that the half-wit might be spared. At the suggestion of Major Brooks, Arnold finally quietly arranged with the mother of the boy that Han Yost's brother should be retained and Han Yost be sent to spread the word among St. Leger's redcoats and Indians that a great force of patriots was advancing to the relief of Fort Stanwix. If Han Yost failed, then his brother was to suffer the penalty that had been determined upon for him. The proposal was eagerly accepted, and, with the scheme known only to a few of the American officers, Han Yost "escaped" from the guard- house, though his clothing was riddled with bullets in the attempt, and acting upon the stern command of Benedict Arnold at once started toward the British camps.
By this time Barry St. Leger had steadily drawn nearer the hardly beset little fort, and his lines were within a hundred and fifty yards of its walls. The defenders were as desperate and determined as ever, but even to the sturdy young colonel in command it seemed as if the end was at hand unless aid should speedily arrive from the south. He was aware that men were coming from the army of Gates, but the supreme question was, would they arrive before a final assault was made?
It was at this very time that Han Yost Schuyler, accompanied by two of the Oneida Indians,—the one tribe that had resisted Brant's appeals and remained friendly to the Americans,—was approaching the camp of St. Leger's Indian allies. As has been stated, Han Yost had been permitted freely to enter either camp, for he was looked upon as a half-wit, at least by the Americans, but his sudden appearance now at once aroused the interest of the red men. It chanced that their medicine men were at this very time consulting the Manitou as to what was best for his red-skinned children to do. Han Yost's unexpected appearance in their midst at once aroused their curiosity, and several of them gathered about him. Half-witted, Han Yost may have been, but he certainly put the half of his wits to good advantage. Thoroughly understanding Indian nature, he did not at once declare his purpose in coming, but began by certain mysterious signs to arouse their interest. And he succeeded. Then he began to explain that great numbers of American soldiers were advancing, and even then were near; and, as he pointed to the bullet holes in his coat, his words to the simple red men required no further confirmation. In response to their inquiries as to the numbers of their foes, he pointed up to the leaves on the trees, and his task was completed.
The rumor spread like wildfire among the warriors, and the friendly Oneida Indians who had accompanied Han Yost increased the confusion by their own startling words. They declared that the Americans had no desire to visit their vengeance upon their red brothers, but only upon St. Leger and his troops. If the warriors, however, should be found with St. Leger, there would be no doubt that they would be compelled to share his fate.
The alarm had speedily become consternation, and wildly the Indians began to flee. Barry St. Leger, almost in despair, did his utmost to calm them, but in vain. He threatened, he promised fire-water and fire-arms, he pleaded, he begged; but the flight was not stayed. Whenever the speed of the departing men appeared for the moment to slacken, Han Yost and the friendly Oneidas who followed the fleeing army would shout, "They 're coming! They 're coming!" and the swift pace would be instantly resumed.
Even the white men shared in the panic, and when at last a measure of order was restored the red men had deserted their allies, and Barry St. Leger and his followers sailed from Oswego and again passed over the beautiful St. Lawrence, and did not stop until they were once more in Montreal itself. Han Yost saved himself, Fort Stanwix, Colonel Gansevoort and his men, by the success of his ruse; and with the Mohawk Valley once more freed of its foes, Benedict Arnold with his brave and sturdy followers hastened back to rejoin the army which was threatening the invasion of John Burgoyne. Ticonderoga had fallen, the battle of Hubbardton had been lost, the American army had retreated and drawn their enemy on until now, when, if Howe's men from New York could be prevented from coming up the Hudson, there was beginning to be a strong hope that the invasion itself would prove to be most disastrous to those who had planned it. General Putnam had sent up reinforcements from the highlands of the Hudson; General Washington had sent Morgan with five hundred of his most skillful sharpshooters; and when Arnold returned it was to learn that the spirits of the soldiers were high and hope was daily becoming stronger. The incompetent dandy, General Gates, had taken the place of honest Philip Schuyler, but not even his pettiness could dampen the ardor of his men. His army was spread out along the western bank of the Hudson from Stillwater down to Half Moon, and Burgoyne's troops were on the eastern bank about thirty miles farther up than the Americans' lines, and extended from Fort Edward to Batten Kill.
All these things Robert Dorlon learned soon after his arrival, but his own personal experiences and what befell him were to be entirely outside the deeds of the heroic little army of patriots.