CHAPTER III
THE AMBUSH
The house of James Breckenridge was built at the foot of a slight ridgeof land running east and west, which ridge was heavily wooded. It wasonly a mile from the Twenty-Mile Line and therefore particularly open toattack by the New York authorities. Once before had an attempt been madeby the grasping land speculators of the sister colony to oust itsrightful owner, but at that time naught but a wordy controversy hadensued, whereas the present attack bade fair to be more serious.Breckenridge had sent his family to the settlement in expectation ofthis trouble, while he and his neighbors made ready to meet the sheriffand his army. Some of the Bennington men had arrived at the farm theevening before when news went forth that the invaders were only sevenmiles away, at Sancock. But the greater number of the defenders came, asdid 'Siah Bolderwood and young Enoch Harding, soon after sun-up.
This gathering of Grants men was a memorable one. Heretofore, theclashes with the Yorkers had been little more than skirmishes in whichhalf a dozen or a dozen men on both sides had taken part. Ethan Allen,Seth Warner, Remember Baker, and others of the more venturesome spirits,had seized some of the land-grabbers and their tools, and delivered upontheir bared backs more strokes of "the twigs of the wilderness," asAllen called the blue beech rods, than the unhappy Yorkers thus treatedwould forget in many a day.
Ethan Allen was not as long in the settlement as many of the other menabout him; but he was a born leader, and entering heart and soul intothe cause of the Grants was soon acknowledged the most fiery spiritamong the settlers. He was born in Litchfield, Conn., January 10, 1737,and probably came to the Hampshire Grants some time in '69. Although butthirty-four years old at this time he carried his point in mostarguments regarding the well-being of the settlers, and the GreenMountain boys, as his followers came to be called, fairly worshippedhim. He was singularly handsome, with ruddy face, a ready wit, bold,unpolished, brave and almost a giant in size, for though not so tall asSeth Warner he was a much heavier and broader man.
With this company of armed men, too, was Remember Baker and hisflint-lock musket, which seldom left his side waking or sleeping. Bakerwas the best shot on the northern border and performed feats ofmarksmanship with this musket that could scarce be equaled by any of ourfamous marksmen to-day with their improved weapons. Like the storiestold of Robin Hood and his cloth-yard shafts, Baker could split a wandwith a bullet and always filed the flint on his musket to a sharp point.
Other men there were in this early morning assembly destined to be heardfrom later in the affairs of the struggling community, but none sofilled young Enoch Harding's eye as did these two. Remember Baker livednot far from the Harding farm and Enoch often went there to visit youngRobert Baker, or had Robert to stay all night with him at his home. ButEnoch's closest boy friend was James Breckenridge's nephew, Lot, who wastwo years young Harding's senior and bore arms on this morning with theolder youths and men. At once when the two spied each other they foundopportunity to step aside and hold such confidences as boys are wont.Yet they were so excited by the prospect of the forthcoming battle withthe Yorkers that even Nuck's adventure with the catamount was lightlypassed over.
Meanwhile the settlers were divided into several bands, each captainedby an efficient officer who, as 'Siah Bolderwood expressed it, "hadsnuffed powder." Bolderwood himself was given command of the largernumber and arranged his men along the top of the ridge behind the house,where they would be concealed by the brush but could draw bead upon anyperson passing along the road or approaching the farmhouse. One hundredand twenty under a second leader were hidden beside the road whileeighteen and an officer were stationed inside the house itself.
These arrangements had scarce been made when a figure was descriedapproaching at top speed. It was a messenger to warn the settlers of thecoming of the enemy. "Run down to the house, Nuck," commanded 'Siah,"and get the news for me. Keep your heads down, lads! Let them Yorkerswhen they come, think there ain't nobody to home!"
Enoch crept through the brush and descended the slope, appearing beforethe house just as the runner reached it. Coming so suddenly from behindthe dwelling Enoch startled the newcomer, who sprang back and placed hishand on the hunting knife at his belt. Then, with a contemptuous grunt,the messenger passed Enoch by and lifted the latch-string which had beenleft hanging out. Enoch followed him into the Breckenridge house.
The runner was a tall Indian lad with a keen face and coal-black eyesand hair. Enoch knew him, for his people had camped for several yearsnear the Harding place. But Jonas Harding had had that contempt for thered race which characterized many of the pioneer people and was thefoundation for more than half the trouble between the whites and reds;and he had often expressed this contempt before young Crow Wing, who wasa chief's son although his tribe was scattered and decimated by disease.Crow Wing had hated Enoch's father for his taunts and unkind words, andnow that the elder Harding was dead the young Indian considered his soncast in the same mould and worthy of the same hatred which he had borneJonas. Naturally Enoch would have shared his parent's contempt for theIndians; but 'Siah Bolderwood, although he had camped, hunted and foughtwith Enoch's father for so many years, did not share the latter'sopinion of the Indian character, and from him Enoch had imbibed manyideas of late which changed his opinion of the red men. There was atime, however, when the white boy had ridiculed Crow Wing and the latterhad not forgotten.
Enoch watched him now with admiration. The young brave had run forseveral miles, having been sent out toward Sancock by one of thesettlers for whom he sometimes worked, but he breathed as easily asthough he had walked instead of run. When one of the men in theBreckenridge kitchen spoke to him he answered in a perfectly even voicewhich showed no tremor of fatigue.
"Him sheriff march now," he said. "Mebbe t'ink um t'ree mile off."
"Where did you leave them?" asked the man in command of the house. TheIndian youth told him. "And how many are there, Crow Wing?" askedanother.
"Many--many!" cried the Indian, his eyes flashing. He held up both handsand spread all his ten fingers rapidly seven times. "Seventy!" cried oneof the white men. "He means seven hundred," declared the leader. "Thatso, Crow Wing, eh?"
The Indian nodded. "Many white men--many guns," he said.
"It's not true," growled one man. "You can't believe anything an Injinsays. Where would the New York sheriff get seven hundred men?"
Crow Wing's eyes flashed and he drew himself up proudly. "Me no lie--mespeak true. Injin not two-tongue like white man!" he declared, withscorn, and turning his back on his traducer, stalked out of the house.
The settlers, however, paid little attention to his departure. Enochscuttled back to the ridge where 'Siah was waiting to hear the news.There he lay down beside Lot Breckenridge and the two boys talkedearnestly as the men about them smoked or chatted while waiting for thecoming of the Yorkers. Seven hundred seemed a great number to oppose.The odds would be more than two to one. Despite the ambush which hadbeen so carefully laid for them, the sheriff and his men might fight asdesperately as the settlers themselves.
"Tell ye what!" whispered Lot to Enoch, "I ain't fixin' to git shot.Marm didn't want Uncle Jim to let me come, but he said ev'ry gun'd countthis mornin', so she 'lowed I'd hafter. But she says if I git shotshe'll larrup me well."
Enoch chuckled. Although Lot was his senior he was more of a child thanyoung Harding. The experiences of the last few months had aged Enoch agood deal. "My mother won't whip me if I git shot; but I mustn't runinto danger, for she wouldn't know what to do without me," he said,proudly. "Bryce ain't much use yet, you know."
"Zuckers!" exclaimed Lot, "I wisht my marm was like yourn. I ain't gotno father neither; but Uncle Jim don't let me do nothin', an' marm'sallus wearin' out a beech twig on me."
"Guess you do somethin' for it," said Enoch, wisely.
"She'd do it jest th' same if I didn't," declared Lot, yet with perfectgood-nature, as though the Widow Breckenridge's vigorous applications ofthe beech wand was a
part of existence not to be escaped. "Gran'pap saysI might's well be hung for an ole sheep as a lamb, so in course I dosomethin' for it--mostly."
"If the Yorkers fight we'll hafter stay right here and shoot like themen," said Nuck, reflectively. "It'll be like the Injin fights my fatherand 'Siah were in. I s'pose we'll take trees, an' scatter out so't theYorkers can't git up around us here----"
"An' we'll raise the warwhoop an' shoot jest as fast as we kin!"exclaimed Lot, excitedly. "Crow Wing taught me the warwhoop last year.An' I know how to scalp, too."
"Oh, I wouldn't do that!" exclaimed Enoch, in horror.
"Umph! Yorkers ain't no better'n Injins, an' I'd scalp an Injin,"declared Lot, blood-thirstily.
"I wouldn't. My father never did that, an' he was in the war. He saidthat was why the Injins warn't no better'n brute-beasts, an' didn't haveno souls--'cause they scalped their enemies."
"Be still there, you youngsters!" growled 'Siah, coming down the line."If you want to be men, l'arn to keep yer tongues quiet. Voices carryfar on a day like this. What'd they say down ter the house, Nuck, 'boutthe signal?"
"When they want help, or want us to sail into 'em, they're goin' toraise a red flag through the chimbley," replied the boy.
"Wal, I'm hopin' they won't fight," said the ranger, squinting along theroad below the ridge.
"Oh, I wanter see a fight--zuckers, I do!" exclaimed Lot.
"Be still, you bloodthirsty young savage!" commanded 'Siah. "You wantershoot down men of your own color, do ye? Beech-sealin' an' duckin' isall right; but it's an awful thing to draw bead on another white man, asye'll l'arn some day."
"But you fought the Frenchmen with the Injins," declared Lot.
"Huh! Them's only half-bred. Frenchmen ain't no more'n savages," said'Siah, gloomily.
An hour passed--a long, long time to the excited boys. Then, far downthe winding road quite a piece of which they could observe from thesummit of the wooded ridge, was seen the sudden glint of sunlight onmetal. "They're coming!" the message went round and the settlers inambush crouched more closely behind their screens and even the hearts ofold Indian fighters beat faster at the nearing prospect of anengagement. James Breckenridge, Ethan Allen, and several others advancedslowly from the direction of the house to the bridge across which theYorkers must pass. Sheriff Ten Eyck spurred forward with his personalstaff to meet them. With him came the infamous John Munro who, as ajustice of the peace under commission from New York, was such a thorn inthe flesh of the settlers. The sheriff was a very pompous Dutchman whobelieved without question in the validity of New York's jurisdictionover the Grants, and who, despite his bombastic manner, was personallyno coward.
"Master Breckenridge," he said to the man whom he had come to evict fromhis home, "we have heard that you and your neighbors are armed to opposethe authority vested in me by His Most Gracious Majesty's colony of NewYork. If there be blood shed this day, it will be upon your head, for Ihere command you to leave this neighborhood and give over the possessionof this land to its rightful owners."
"I COMMAND YOU TO LEAVE THIS NEIGHBORHOOD"]
"I cannot do that, Master Sheriff," said Breckenridge, quietly. "As forblood being upon my head for this day's work, you can see that I amunarmed," and he spread his hands widely. "Besides, I have nothing to dowith this grant at the present time. The township of Bennington hastaken the farm upon its own hands, and it will oppose your entrance witharmed resistance. I have nothing to do with it."
"What is the township of Bennington?" demanded Ten Eyck. "This landbelongs to the colony of New York under the crown. There is no town ofBennington. What legal rights have a parcel of squatters to thisterritory?"
Then Allen spoke. "The gods of the valleys are not the gods of thehills, Sir Sheriff. You on the other side of the Twenty-Mile Line mayacknowledge the Governor of New York as your master; we on this side area free people. We have bought our lands from the government to whichthey were granted by the King, and you shall not drive us from them!"
The colloquy ended and the settlers went back toward the house. Afterthe main body of his army came up, and their numbers seemed quite asformidable as Crow Wing had reported, the sheriff pressed forward acrossthe bridge and approached the Breckenridge dwelling. Every settler haddisappeared by now and even those inside the house were still. Neitherthe sheriff nor his men suspected that quite three hundred guns wereturned upon them and that, at the first fire, the carnage would beterrible.
"Open in the name of the law!" exclaimed Ten Eyck, thundering at thestout oak door of the house. "I demand admittance and that all withincome peaceably forth. Open, or I shall break down the door!"
There was silence for a moment, and then a voice said clearly fromwithin: "Attempt it and you are a dead man!"
The reply angered the doughty sheriff. He was being flouted and themajesty of the law scorned. That was more than he could quietly bear."Come out and deliver up your arms in the name o' the King!" he cried."Ye rebels! I'll take the last of ye to Albany jail if ye do notsurrender!"
At this a chorus of derisive groans issued from behind the barred doorand shutters, and these sounds were echoed by other groans from the menin ambush, until the very forest itself seemed deriding the Yorkers. Theknowledge that he and his men had fallen into a trap did not balk thesheriff; his rage rose to white heat and calling for an axe he advancedto the attack. The moment was freighted with peril. If the Yorkersattacked the house a withering fire would spring from the guns in thebushes and on the ridge and blood would flow in plenty in thatheretofore peaceful vale of the northern forest.
With Ethan Allen at Ticonderoga Page 3