by John V. Lane
CHAPTER XXV
PUT TO THE TEST
"Likely lookin' men Dearborn's picked up," was Zeb's comment as MajorDearborn marched his recruits past. "Hi, Don. An' thar's his uncle.Glad he got through Bennington safe an' sound. Don was some worriedabout him. Man an' boy, ye can't beat 'em."
"His uncle is a fine looking man. Those men have bayonets. They oughtto be of service. But there's none like the Rangers, eh, Zeb?"
"Askin' such questions is waste o' breath."
"Well, I hope we'll soon have a chance to prove it."
"We've been sayin' the same thing for more'n two weeks. I reckoned wesure would get it two days ago when we occupied Bemis Heights. Hello!What's doin'?"
"Fall in!"
As though there were magic in the words, those travel-stained riflemensprang to their places with an eagerness never seen among regulartroops.
"The enemy is crossing the Hudson, an' we're to make 'em wish theyhadn't," was the message which ran along the lines. Many a man turnedto the next in line and said in matter of fact tone, "That meansfight."
"There they are," exclaimed Rodney, as they came in sight of the solidlines of the British army. Under Burgoyne were some of the finestsoldiers Europe could produce. They marched in compact lines, movinglike weighted machines under their heavy trappings which were gorgeousand imposing.
"They don't intend to leave any hole for us to wedge in," saidRodney.
Ah! There opens a way to get at that German regiment. Morgan sees itand the battle is on. It was, however, only a brief skirmish; a fewvolleys, a few human beings stretched on the ground dead and wounded,a few prisoners. France, across the water, waiting for somethingdecisive, before committing herself to the cause of America, will hearof it and of battles to come. But many more men than were with Morganthat day would be required to stop that British army. On they came andestablished their camp within two miles of that of the Americans.
Between these armies the land was rough and hilly, part of it coveredwith forests. Well out in front of the American army Morgan's corpswas stationed.
"If anything happens we're likely to be the first to know it," wasRodney's comment.
"That's what we're here for. We're the whiskers, the feelers o' thecat that's set to watch the mouse."
"A full grown rat, I'd say, by the size."
"Six to eight thousand, includin' Tories an' redskins, who won'tcount when the pinch comes. By the way the country folks are comin' inwith their rifles an' pitchforks we're in a fair way to snare thelot."
"Zeb, you certainly are the most hopeful man I ever knew. Anyhow, ifBurgoyne wants to eat his Christmas dinner in New York, he's got togive us a chance at him soon."
Evidently Burgoyne arrived at a like conclusion. On the morning ofSeptember nineteenth the pickets reported the British advancing.Morgan's corps was immediately ordered forward to engage the enemy anddelay his progress. The gallant Major Morris led one line and Morganthe other, and Morris encountered the enemy first, a picket detachmentof about three hundred men. The Rangers charged and drove them, andfollowed so impetuously on their heels as to run into the main body,and as a result of such recklessness they suffered severely. Morrisrode right into the midst of the British, but, wheeling his horse,escaped and rejoined his men, who were now badly scattered. DonaldLovell received a severe wound in his side. His uncle, marching by hisside, picked him up as though a child, and across his powerfulshoulders carried him back to a place of safety.
Morgan, hearing the firing, was hurrying on to support the other linewhen, finding it broken and scattered, he is said to have shed tearsin his chagrin at what he thought was due to carelessness and meantdefeat. Were the Rangers, the pride of the army, to be shattered intheir first encounter after all their boasting? It is not surprisingthat Morgan felt that his fondest hopes had been recklessly ruined.
But the Rangers had been trained for just such emergencies and, whentheir colonel blew the "turkey call" on the bone whistle which hecarried, and those piercing sounds were heard above the din of battle,his men rallied.
Quickly they formed into line, eager to regain what they had lost.Every man felt that his country and the honour of his corps were atstake, and he was ready to die if necessary. Already the afternoon washalf gone, but before night could stop the bloodshed many a man wouldpay the penalty of a soldier; some of those lithe, bronzed, hardyfellows, throbbing with health and vitality, would not see the sunrise over Bemis Heights on the morrow.
In the forest ahead a little clearing had been made for a small farm,and there the Rangers came upon the advance line of the enemy.
"Now we'll get it hot!" exclaimed Rodney under his breath, but amongthem all not a face paled nor a hand grasping a rifle trembled. On,directly at the British, the men ran like deer, except a few detailedto duty as sharpshooters, dodging behind stumps or climbing trees asagile as monkeys. On go the Rangers. Now the British fire into theline and some fall.
Why do they not return the fire? Ah! now their rifles leap to shoulderat close range and every shot tells! What ghastly gaps are left inthe British ranks, and the Rangers are still rushing on like demons,loading as they run! It is too much for those fighting machinesaccustomed to fight, as they march, with mathematical precision; theyturn and run. Back they go to the hill behind, where there arereinforcements waiting with cannon, the riflemen at their heels. Oh,the cruelty of it all, shooting, stabbing, yelling!
Now the British swarm upon the meagre lines of the Rangers and thelatter are forced back, literally by weight of numbers. And, as theyretreat, a British detachment is sent around to attack them on theflank. They press forward, expecting to crumple up Morgan's men liketall grain in the hand of the reaper! They will teach those rudefellows a lesson, that Americans can't stand before the trainedsoldiers of Europe.
"Here come the New Hampshire boys!"
Stalwart men they were, those men from New Hampshire, led by Cilleyand Scammel. Their training in military matters had been meagre,indeed, but they fight, and Morgan's men rally for another onslaught,and again another, for they will not stop until darkness stops them.Hurrah! now they have the cannon, but the retreating British wiselycarry the linstocks with them so the cannon may not be turned againstthem, and later they are able to recapture them.
Backward and forward, yells of triumph on one side and again on theother. Rodney and Zeb keep together. There is blood on the side ofyoung Allison's face, scratched by a bullet, as he would have said,had he known it. "On and at 'em." Down goes Zeb, his companions intheir onward rush leaping aside or over his prostrate body. Rodney sawhim fall, but what could he do? If they ever came back he would findhim. He doesn't forget, and, when they come staggering back throughthe smoke, with the British bayonets behind them, Zeb is carried tothe rear.
"You're lucky it's no worse, Zeb."
"That's what the feller said as lost both legs. If I can keep clear o'the scalpin' knife I'll fight agin, sure's yer born!"
"If I'm alive to do it I'll see that you are taken off the fieldto-night."
"I know ye will if the redcoats don't take the field away from ye. Ifthey do, the red devils will get more scalps than they can carry."
"They haven't got it yet. Here we go again," and, saying this, hejoined the mass of running men returning to the charge.
There was the same din, the same clouds of acrid powder smoke, whichnow is lifted by a breeze, showing the solid ranks awaiting them. AsRodney fires he is conscious that he has shot an Indian, an Indianwith blue eyes! What was an Indian doing in those serried ranks, whywasn't he skulking on the outskirts as Indians should? The enemyyield, and are driven back on to a rise of land in their rear, wherethey make a stand and again hurl back the riflemen.
As the Rangers retreat, Rodney sees the Indian lying on the groundlift his rifle to shoot. A Ranger knocks it aside, while another aimsa blow that would have brained the savage had not Rodney knocked itaside, for he had recognized Conrad!
"Help me to take him," he cried.
/> "Kill him an' leave him," cried another.
Rodney grasped Conrad by the shoulders and another rifleman, with agrowl at such folly, seized him by the heels. So it happened that hewas laid by the side of Zeb.
By this time the battle raged along the entire front. Americanreinforcements were coming up and greater reinforcements were beingsent to support the British, and Gates was back in his tent thinkingit all a small affair.
With nightfall the two armies lay back like panting wolves, exhausted,and, now that there was time, Rodney made sure that both Zeb andConrad had their wounds dressed.
"The Rangers won glory to-day and bore the brunt of the fighting. Itwas hot, though."
"I reckon you're correct, Rodney. I felt of it an' found it so," wasZeb's reply.
"It is reported about camp that Gates and Arnold have quarrelled, andArnold was so mad he resigned and Gates accepted it."
"That so!" Zeb whistled, and then made a wry face on account of thepain in his leg. "That leaves Arnold in a pickle. 'Taint the height o'military etiquette to resign under fire. I wish Arnold was incommand, though."
"You aren't the only one who wishes it. Well, I must find that Indianor he won't forgive me for shooting him."
"Too bad ye can't shoot straighter."
"That's unkind. When you know him you'll change your mind."
"Humph!"
Of what happened in the two weeks following this battle, history tellsbut little, for there was little that was decisive. Burgoyne waitedfor Clinton to come to his assistance. He did not come. Some of hismessages did not get through the lines to Burgoyne. The Americansgradually got control of vantage points between the British and theiravenue of retreat to Canada. But these were not dull days for theRangers. There was scouting and skirmishing in which they bore anactive part.
On the afternoon of October seventh Rodney brought in word that theBritish troops were moving, and Gates quickly ordered Morgan forwardto engage them. The latter, as was his custom, had obtained aknowledge of the country and he saw a better plan, which was to leadhis men around to a wooded hill on the enemy's flank and attack fromthere. This suggestion was approved.
"This will begin the end," remarked a fellow on Rodney's right.
"Unless Gates blunders," remarked another.
There before them lay a panorama which might well stir the blood, thefinest looking soldiers in the world forming on the plain below.
General Poor's men were advancing to engage the enemy in front. Now isthe moment for Morgan's men!
How they swept down on those British regulars, loading and shooting asthey charged, and every ball finding its mark!
The enemy's volleys were not those of marksmen and did comparativelylittle execution. Now Dearborn's men are charging with the bayonet,and sharpshooters are picking off the British officers. Human beingscould not stand under such an onslaught. The enemy's lines wavered,and then were swept off the field by the soldiers they had ridiculed.What will the King of France think when he hears of this?
Ah! there rides Frazer, gallant soldier, rallying the disheartenedBritish troops. Frazer is a host in himself. If he succeeds, he mayturn the tide of battle. What! he reels in his saddle and aides rideto his side and he leaves the field to die a few hours later. ThoseRangers back on the hill seldom miss the mark.
The enemy shield themselves behind their entrenchments, and theAmericans, flushed with victory, are charging them, and there goesArnold riding the field like a madman, though Gates has ordered him toremain in camp. It shall not be said he resigned through fear, if hedies for it. But this desperate charge could not succeed, and Morgan'smen turn back and Arnold is wounded in the same leg that was shotduring the attack on Quebec. The British admire bravery and Arnold'sportrait is to decorate shop windows in London for the curious to gapeat. Alas for Arnold that the bullet was not better aimed!
At last it is night. The Americans have not been able to deliver thefinishing stroke, but the British have learned that their fate is notto be a pleasant one, whatever happens.
These are but glimpses of that eventful struggle. The history of it isanother story and a thrilling one.
We may think of Rodney and Zeb exulting as the days passed and theysaw the American lines tighten about the hesitating enemy, hesitatingonly to be lost. Conrad, true to the manners of his adopted people,sat in stolid silence, seeing much and saying nothing, while his woundquickly healed. And there is Gates, so anxious for glory--he thinksnow that he may get Washington's place,--that he is willing to agreethat Burgoyne's soldiers may return to England if only they'll fightno more against America, and we may imagine the smile on the face ofthe English general. Nor is it difficult to imagine the dark red ofanger in Colonel Morgan's face when Gates seeks his support for theplace of commander-in-chief, and the "old wagoner" curtly tells himthat he will have no part in such a scheme, that he will fight underWashington or not fight at all.
Zeb was sufficiently recovered from his wound to be able to see theBritish troops march past on the day of the surrender, looking downthe ranks of Americans, some trim and soldierly, as were theContinentals, and others clad in homespun or the skins of the forest.And in the ranks filing past in dejection Rodney saw the sneering faceof Mogridge. The flower of the British aristocracy, sons of nobilityand members of Parliament, had been subalterns under Burgoyne.Mogridge, as ever, had followed in the wake of those having money sothat he might live as the leech lives.
"I have got a furlough, and as soon as this wound will let me I'mgoing to Boston to see the folks." And at the moment Zeb said this hewas carrying, in an inside pocket of his dirty hunting shirt, a letterfrom Melicite, the fair young French girl whose kindness to him andyoung Lovell in Quebec had won from him more than mere friendship.[3]
"And I'm going down into Connecticut to find the girl who sewed hername inside my coat," remarked a militia man standing by; for therewere girls who won husbands by this simple little device, stitchingtheir fate into the homespun coats they made for the soldiers.
Rodney turned away, feeling a bit lonely. He would find Conrad.
"Conrad, if I can get you freed will you promise me to live a friendto Americans and, on getting back to your people, will find Louis andbring him to my home in Charlottesville?"
For several minutes Conrad made no reply, and then he said: "Yah, Ivill." And so it came about that, when his wound was healed, he turnedhis face toward his chosen home in the forest.
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[3] See "Marching with Morgan."