 | The miser's heir, or, The young millionaire |  |
ELLEN WELLES;
OR,
THE SIEGE OF FORT STANWIX.
BY P. HAMILTON MYERS,
AUTHOR OF THE “MISER'S HEIR.”
1. CHAPTER I.
THE RIVALS.
There are few portions of our country more beautiful,
and none more rich with historic recollections, than the valley
of the Mohawk. Yet few, probably, of the throngs
who, steam-impelled, pass daily through this beautiful region,
yielding to its many scenes of enchantment the tribute
of admiration, pause to reflect upon the fearful and
momentous deeds of which it has been the scene, and which
are destined in after ages to render every inch of its soil
classic ground.
But not of thee, beautiful river, peacefully gliding
through the broad and verdant champagne, laving with thy
silvery waters the lips of the bending flowers upon thy margin,
or with gentle wrath foaming, glistening and leaping
amid the cataracts of Astorogan; nor yet of you, oh, towering
exist, the scenes and the occasions of innocent enjoyment,
is the historic muse about to speak. But of man, staining
your soil with blood, freighting your gales with groans, and
startling your frightened echoes with war's discordant notes,
and yet of man, too, thank Heaven, in holier and gentler
mood, and less at war with the beauty and harmony of
creation.
It was in the twilight of a calm July evening, just seventy
years ago, that two young men, lightly clad, and
each bearing a rifle, might have been seen loitering upon
the bank of the Mohawk, at a point near to what is now a
large and populous town. Although at first sight the casual
observer would have taken them for sportsmen in pursuit
of game, a little closer investigation would have convinced
him that such was not the case, but that their arms
were carried only as part of an habitual system of precaution
in those troublous times, when no man knew at what
moment he might stumble upon a deadly foe. Charles
Dudley and Enoch Waldon were citizens of one neighborhood,
and had been acquaintances from their boyhood.
They were not, however, and never had been, friends.
There was no approach to congeniality in their dispositions,
the first being frank and generous, while the other was characterized
by qualities in every respect the reverse of these
noble traits. They had now met by accident, and stopped
to exchange such few words of constrained civility as people
are wont to utter, who, while they entertain for each
other a secret dislike, are still willing to avoid an open
quarrel. But the deportment of Waldon was marked with
a sort of obsequiousness to his companion, which might have
indicated to one less suspicious than Dudley some sinister
design.
“Stirring times are these,” he said, glancing at his weapon,
one to look well to flint and flask.”
“It does, indeed,” replied Dudley. “I hope there have
been no new massacres committed.”
“I don't know exactly about the massacres,” said Waldon,
emphasizing the word; “Indians have their way of
fighting and we have ours. But there certainly was a
night attack made at Shell's Bush night before last, and
houses burnt, lives lost, and prisoners taken, as usual.”
“This is fearful intelligence, Mr. Waldon, and, what is
worse, we know not at what hour the bolt may fall upon us.
You will, of course, join the Life Guard which we are organizing?”
“I intend to join quite a different service, I assure you,”
said Waldon, “and one in which a little more honor and
profit can be gained than in guarding a few old women and
their spinning-wheels. Col. St. Leger is now on his approach
to Fort Stanwix, and under his banner I shall enlist
without delay. Nay, hear me,” he said, as the withering
scorn which had gathered on the face of his companion
indicated a scathing rebuke, “St. Leger will reduce Fort
Stanwix in three days. With the aid of the loyalists in
this county, the rebellion in this section is sure to be immediately
quelled, with little or no bloodshed. Intelligence
from the south and east is equally favorable to the royal
cause. If, therefore, you desire to serve your country effectually,
Dudley, be persuaded to go with me. The most
brilliant inducements are held out, and for you, in particular,
influential and brave, a commission would be certain—
I may say, indeed, that I am authorized to offer it by those
who have the full confidence of St. Leger.”
“Enough has been said,” replied Dudley, with dignity;
“let us part while our blood is cool. Go, join St. Leger
to devastate your native land, or join, if you prefer, the savage
you palliate. When we meet again, it will be as enemies.”
Thus saying, he turned to depart.
“Hold!” exclaimed the other, snatching his rifle, as if
he would enforce attention, “We are enemies now!”
Stung by resentment and maddened by the thought that
his plans had been prematurely and uselessly disclosed, his
eye now gleamed with undisguised rage. That still another
element entered into his wrath became evident by his words:
“We are enemies now,” he repeated, “and I have a warning
to bestow. You have had thoughts of Miss Welles.
She is mine, affianced and plighted by her father, who with
me is about to join the royal standard. See to it that my
rights are regarded. Any invasion of them in that quarter
will be visited by punishment summary and condign.”
He tapped his weapon significantly as he concluded.
Dudley's eyes flashed with anger.
“Do you dare to threaten me?” he said, laying hold of
his companion's rifle with a firm grasp—“Me, who know
you, Enoch Waldon, to be as cowardly as perfidious? If
you are affianced to Ellen Welles, it is because her pure
heart has never detected your baseness. But words between
us are useless. I leave, however, no armed foe in
my rear.” So saying, he wrested the weapon of the other
suddenly from his grasp, discharged its contents into the
air, and flinging it upon the ground, disappeared in the
forest.
Mortified and infuriated, Waldon gave utterance to some
impotent imprecations, and then, having recovered and reloaded
his gun, rapidly departed in an opposite direction.
2. CHAPTER II.
THE ALARM.
We are apt when dwelling in the sunshine of peace to
look upon the season of war as one of unmitigated horror.
We forget that man is powerless effectually to mar the fair
face of nature, or intercept the smiles of Heaven. We forget
that the fields still are verdant, the streams still sparkling,
the sunlit canopy by day and the starry firmament at
night, still beautiful and sublime, amidst all the puny tempests
of human strife. The mind, too, buoyant and elastic
with hope, and containing within itself the secret springs
of joy, bids defiance at times to every peril, and often
seems least desponding when dangers and trials are the
most numerous and severe. The twilight had gradually
disappeared, and the moon, riding high in the heavens,
was illuming the landscape as Dudley pursued his homeward
way. Hill, dale and stream, bathed in a flood of silvery
light, lay spread around him far as the eye could
reach, and for a while engrossed his undivided attention.
But sadder themes soon pressed upon his mind. The massacre
at Shell's Bush, of which Waldon had so unfeelingly
spoken, was one of many similar deeds which had already
been perpetrated in the valley of the Mohawk. They were
the work of savages, aided and instigated by some of the
lowest and vilest of the white inhabitants, who, having declared
in favor of the royal cause, made it a cover for the
perpetration of every enormity which either private revenge
or the most sordid cupidity could dictate. Although these
the darker nights, they were by no means confined to such
seasons; the full light of the moon, and the broad glare of
day, affording no protection to the peaceable inhabitants
when the war spirit of their savage foes was fully aroused.
On again viewing the sky, Dudley beheld a belt of dense
clouds skirting the western horizon, from which detached
fragments were occasionally ascending zenithward, threatening
ere long to obscure the whole firmament; and he
shuddered as he thought that perhaps some fearful tragedy
might be enacted upon that very night.
Nor were these apprehensions his only source of disquiet.
Other griefs of a private and more selfish nature also engaged
his attention. The claim made by Waldon to the
affections of Miss Welles, although little worthy of credit,
was not without its effect upon his mind. It had revealed
to him the state of his own feelings, of which he had before
scarcely been conscious, and at the same time had conjured
up phantoms of obstacles to his hopes, which, with all a
lover's variableness of feeling, at one moment seemed shadowy
and at the next insuperable. Ellen Welles was a
lady well calculated to inspire affection in such a heart as
Dudley's. The ordinary charms of youth and beauty were
enhanced in her person by a natural grace of manner and
an unalloyed sweetness of temper. If a judgment, just and
discriminating, was necessary to prevent such a character
from degenerating into insipidity, that gift also was Ellen's.
Her father was a military man, and had held a captain's
commission under Sir William Johnson, in the war of 1756.
He had purchased at the close of that contest a large estate
in Tryon county, which the advancing settlement of
the country had rendered highly valuable, and at the period
now spoken of was what, in more modern parlance,
would be termed a large landed proprietor.
It was no matter of surprise to Dudley that Captain
Welles should have again offered his services to the crown;
but he wondered much what provision he had made for the
security of Ellen, who was an only child, and who had long
before been deprived of her other parent. But had he
been so disposed, he might have solved his curiosity by a
direct appeal to the object of it; for Ellen Welles at that
moment stood before him. She was accompanied by a single
domestic, who bore a few articles of value in his hands;
and her deportment gave token of alarm and agitation.
Her answers to his hasty inquiries were exactly what he
had expected to hear. Her father was absent from home;
there were rumors of expected attacks from the Indians,
and she was hastening to place herself under the protection
of a neighboring family; for although Captain Welles was
well known to be loyal in his sentiments, his house was too
secluded and presented too many temptations to the plunderers
to be a safe abode for an unprotected female. That
Dudley at once became her escort, that he strove in every
way to soothe her alarm, although far from considering it
unfounded, and that he promised such protection as he
could give, were quite matters of course. On arriving at
the house which Ellen had selected for refuge, its inmates
were found to be in a state of alarm nearly equal to her
own. The intelligence of the expected attack had spread
like wildfire through the little community, where the merciless
character of these onslaughts was well understood.
The owner of the house, Mr. Lee, who was a well known
patriot, was, together with his sons, busily engaged in
making such hasty preparations for defence as the time allowed.
Doors and windows were barricaded, ammunition
prepared, and weapons put in order with all that bustling
activity which such an emergency might well be supposed
to create. The panic in the vicinity had become general,
were considered less defensible than Lee's, were soon seen
flocking to his little fort, with their arms and ammunition
and such of their more valuable effects as they could conveniently
transport. Lee's reputation as a bold and resolute
man contributed not a little to produce this result, although
it might be considered a very questionable prudence which
sought shelter under a roof rendered, by the very reputation
of its owner, so prominent an object of hostility. The
work of defence now went more rapidly forward. A breastwork
of logs was soon thrown up in front of the house, and
another opposite the postern door; and upon the roof of
the building, blankets, saturated with water, were spread
as a protection from that most formidable engine of Indian
warfare, the firebrand. Dudley having become convinced
of the reality of the danger, hastened to summon to Lee's
such other of the neighbors as did not choose rather to seek
the shelter of the forest, being conscious that their chief
hope of safety must consist in thus consolidating their
strength. He had no immediate relatives in the vicinity
to awaken his solicitude, and was able to act the more efficiently
for the whole. With many injunctions to regard
his personal safety, and one from a voice which he fondly
fancied to be Ellen's, he departed on his mission. He
found the neighborhood everywhere alarmed. Some were
secreting their effects, preparatory to flight; some were barricading
their premises, determined to die, if necessary, on
their own hearthstones; and others, in small bands, were
fleeing to the forests, bearing their children in their arms,
and upholding the tottering steps of the sick and the aged.
The scene was one to draw tears from the stoutest heart,
but the necessity for speedy action left little room for contemplation.
Dudley had a word of encouragement and
hope for all, and, although numbers gladly accepted his
to trust to the hiding places of the wilderness. He
was more successful, however, in gaining refugees than recruits.
Women and children would add but little to the
effective force of the garrison, and he was, therefore, not a
little delighted at the accession to his numbers of four or
five members of the half-organized band, bearing the imposing
title of the Life Guard. These were all young men,
well armed, and, by the presence and peril of those most
near and dear to them, furnished with the loftiest incentives
to action.
3. CHAPTER III.
THE ESCAPE.
The little company were soon assembled, and set out together
for their temporary fortress. The strictest silence
was enjoined, it being impossible to tell how near the enemy
might be, or where his advanced scouts would be met.
This precaution did not prove superfluous, for they were
yet a third of a mile distant from Lee's, when they received
convincing proof of their danger. The silence was suddenly
broken by a tremendous war-whoop; shouts and
shots echoed through the air, and soon the kindling light
of a deserted farm-house revealed the exulting foe, flitting
like fiends around the tenement from which they expected
soon to see their victims issue.
Appalled at this dreadful spectacle, the little party
paused and remained for a while breathless spectators of
the scene. The relative positions of the fugitives, the foe,
and the fort, (for as such we must designate the dwelling
of Lee,) were about as the extremities of an equal sided
triangle to each other. The latter could not be gained
without emerging from the woods and crossing a considerable
space of cleared land, which was an undertaking too
hazardous to be contemplated. Resuming their route,
therefore, with the greatest precaution, they obtained the
nearest position to Lee's that the cover of the forest would
permit, hoping thence to pass unperceived across the intervening
space, which had now become diminished to about
thirty rods. But at this moment the enemy, after an impotent
took up their march. With frantic gesticulations,
some bearing lighted firebrands, and others brandishing
their knives, they bent their course, as had been apprehended,
directly toward the fort. But perceiving some
signs of defence, they made a detour around the premises
in a course which threatened to bring them almost directly
to the concealed party.
To remain in the most perfect silence, was deemed safer
than any attempt at retreat before the quick eye and ear
of the savages. The available portion of Dudley's force,
consisting of seven armed men, obeying the whispered orders
of their leader, stood with presented arms, ready in
case of discovery to discharge a sudden volley upon the
enemy, and then, by virtue of the panic which such an assault
would create, either to cut their way through the foe
to the fort, or make a rapid retreat, as circumstances would
dictate. Dudley, by general consent, had been invested
with entire command. As the savages drew nearer, they
were perceived to be about sixty in number—including,
perhaps, ten or twelve whites, who, having adopted the
dress and habits of their confederates, may justly be considered
as entitled also to their appellation. With glistening
knives, with glaring brands, with exulting shouts, they
came nearer and nearer until their advance was scarcely a
dozen yards distant from the hidden encampment. Here
they suddenly paused and seemed to hold a consultation.
It was a moment of fearful suspense. Trembling children
cowered closer to their terrified parents, and with large
blue eyes upraised, faithfully obeyed the often repeated
signs of silence. The pause was but momentary; but at
the instant of renewing their march, one of the concealed
company unfortunately gave utterance to a slight ejaculation
of delight, which, catching the quick ear of the Indian
and assuming a listening attitude for a moment, he thus
communicated to his followers the nature of his suspicions.
A scout was immediately detached to examine the suspected
cover; but watchful eyes and active hands awaited his approach.
He directed his course at once to the encampment,
but with such rapid and incautious steps that, before
perceiving the ambush, he was at the side of Dudley, who
had advanced a step to meet him. The expressive “Huh!”
rose faintly to his lips as the firm grasp of the youth encircled
his throat, while the silent knife completed the task,
and the dying Indian was upheld, lest his fall should be
heard. The savages, after the delay of a minute or two,
hearing no alarm, slowly resumed their course, not doubting
that their emissary would soon overtake them. They
pursued their circuitous way about the house of Lee, evidently
calculating their safest plan of attack. Nothing can
be more cowardly than this mode of Indian warfare, in
which the assailants scarcely consider themselves victorious
unless they succeed without losing a single warrior. As
they approached the opposite side of the circle, the time
had evidently arrived when, if at all, the fugitives were to
emerge from their concealment, and make a rush for the
fort. To remain longer in the forest, which the Indian
scouts would soon be traversing in every direction, would
be imminently perilous, and with many a word of encouragement,
Dudley put his little company in motion. Rapidly
advancing, they had safely crossed nearly half the
intervening distance, when a sudden commotion in the
ranks of the foe showed that they were perceived. A shout
and a rush, with such speed as Indians only can accomplish,
followed the discovery. The fugitives, it will be remembered,
were now about fifteen rods from the house, and the
savages twice that distance in nearly the opposite direction.
were still obliged to avoid too close a proximity to the
house, and Dudley, halting with his little band of infantry,
held them in check until the women and children were out
of danger, and then, still facing the foe, with presented
arms, they retreated into the fort. Not a shot was fired.
4. CHAPTER IV.
THE RESCUE.
A piercing shriek, which met the ear of Dudley upon
his entrance, announced some new calamity. A little boy,
scarce two years old, had been lost in the confusion of the
flight, and its mother, borne along by her impetuous companions,
had been unable to make her vociferations understood,
until they reached the fort. Upbraiding herself,
upbraiding her friends, and vainly struggling to escape
from their grasp and fly back to the rescue, the frantic parent
rent every heart with her cries. The moonlight still
remaining unobscured, the infant, on examination, was distinctly
seen, about twelve rods distant, seated quietly upon
the grass, and playing with the flowers, unconscious of
danger. The discovery was made none too soon. An Indian,
prone upon the ground, now lying motionless like a
log, and now approaching the child with a slow and catlike
gait, was at the same instant discovered, while the
whole band at a safe distance were silently watching his
hazardous attempt. A dozen rifles were at once levelled
at the miscreant, when Dudley interposed—
“For shame!” he said, “will you let one worthless dog
draw your whole fire, and ensure the capture of the child,
while you are reloading? The game is Lee's by discovery.
Rogers will stand ready to fire next, if necessary; and if
both fail, leave the scoundrel to me.”
Uncle Lee, as he was familiarly called, smiled as he raised
his unerring gun, and its quick report was accompanied by
The Indian started from his recumbent position, and then
fell heavily backward.
“If he were a Christian now, one might suppose him
dead,” exclaimed Rogers, who had watched the effect of
Lee's shot with a look of chagrin; “but I have my doubts,
Captain,” he said, addressing Dudley, and raising his gun,
beseechingly, “that fall was a little too theatrical.”
“Don't you go to shooting dead men, Mr. Rogers,” exclaimed
Lee—“I tell you I've killed him.”
Dudley, whose suspicions from the first had been the
same as those of Rogers, made a signal to the latter to fire,
which he had no sooner done than the dead man rose to
his feet, with a screech that could not be misunderstood;
then sinking gradually to his knee, he fell shivering to the
ground, with indubitable signs of death.
Rogers smiled grimly as he retorted upon his companion—
“'Tisn't much to kill an Indian, Mr. Lee; it's the bringing
him to life again that shows the skill.”
If any doubt had been entertained of the fatality of the
last fire, the yell of wrath which arose from the Indians
and the volley which was discharged at the hapless infant
would have effectually dispelled them. But the distance
which the cowardly assailants were compelled to keep, and
the minuteness of the mark, fortunately rendered their fire
innocuous. It was evident, however, that the child in so
exposed a situation could not long escape.
“It is a shame,” exclaimed Dudley, “that a helpless
babe should perish and twelve strong men look idly on. I
myself will save him.”
Thus saying, he threw down his gun, that nothing might
retard his speed, and prepared to rush out. But the firm
grasp of Lee was on his shoulder.
“'Tis certain death,” said the old man; “you will be a
mark for thirty rifles.”
“And if it were thirty thousand, I would go,” retorted
Dudley, impetuously, and tearing himself away.
But at this moment a singular apparition entered the
room, which, whether or not it was anything more than a
huge tin Dutch oven, surmounted by an inverted pail of
the same material, was certainly nothing less. It required
a little investigation to perceive signs of a human being under
this extraordinary coat of mail, but in a moment more
a familiar voice proceeding from beneath the kettle proclaimed
a well-known slave of Lee's, by the name of Nando.
Merely announcing his object, the faithful negro darted out
of the house, and, presenting his shielded side to the enemy,
ran hastily toward the child. There was one moment of
fearful suspense, a yell, a volley, and a responsive shout
of derision from the slave. At the next, Nando bent over
the wondering child, thrust him hastily within his capacious
shield, and, rushing rapidly back, reached the house in
safety. The cordial greetings, the welcoming grasp, the
wet eyes, and the warm outpourings of a mother's gratitude
that here encountered him, astounded and bewildered the
heroic African, while the marred and battered utensil told
eloquently the tale of his danger and his daring.
5. CHAPTER V.
THE STRATAGEM FOILED.
The event most desirable for the savages, and for which
they had probably been waiting, now unfortunately occurred.
The heavy drifting clouds which had long blackened the
western horizon, began now to obscure the whole sky, and
a thick darkness soon settled upon the landscape. To fire
the building and compel its evacuation, and thus to capture
or massacre the whole party, while its defenders had no advantage
of shelter, and were impeded with the care of their
women and children, was the chivalrous feat which the besiegers
now contemplated.
The danger could not be concealed, and hope consisted
only in meeting it courageously. In a momentary interview
which Dudley obtained at this period with Miss Welles,
the latter communicated to him the dreadful suspicion that
one of the leaders of the enemy was Enoch Waldon, whom
she believed that she had recognized both by his figure and
gait. Although horrified at the supposition, there was also
a gleam of pleasure in the announcement; for whether
Waldon were so deeply guilty or not, the fact that he could
be obnoxious to such a suspicion of Ellen, precluded the
idea of her entertaining for him any partial feeling. Animated
by an increased hope, Dudley begged Ellen to consider
herself under his especial protection, and, with an
earnest and eloquent look, he added, not to believe herself
in danger while he continued to live. There was nothing
in the words, but there must have been something in the
of Ellen. Hurriedly thanking him, she turned away, and
Dudley, with a comparatively light heart, hastened to prepare
for further defence.
Placing two or three men at each of the several windows,
so as to command to some extent every side of the house,
he directed them to keep up a random fire, in hopes that
the besiegers would be intimidated from a near approach.
For a while this plan seemed to succeed, and no sound of
the foe being detected, the belief was entertained that they
were effectually repulsed. But the more wary were not
disposed to such ready hope. The silence was too deep
and ominous. Alarmed by the very quietude without,
Dudley, after ordering increased vigilance on every side,
announced his determination to ascend to the house-top,
and called upon three or four of his most resolute companions
to follow him. A small “sky-light” afforded means
for effecting this object, and with extreme silence and caution
Dudley ascended only until his head had fully emerged
into the open air. Pausing to reconnoitre the adjacent
fields, his eye was immediately arrested by what at first
seemed a few fire-flies flitting about the roof. With a sudden
and fearful suspicion he remained motionless, and made
a closer scrutiny. Feeling cautiously about him, he ascertained
that the wetted blankets had been removed, and the
conviction that the roof was already in possession of the
savages forced itself upon his mind. His position was
nearly at one extremity of the building, which was long
and narrow, with a single chimney at the opposite end.
Peering earnestly through the thick darkness, he at
length discovered part of the outline of several figures in a
stooping attitude. The sound of breath, as in the act of
blowing at embers, also reached his ear from several quarters,
and convinced him that the Indians were at that moment
for the moment almost yielded to the quick feeling of rage
which prompted him to rush headlong upon so diabolical a
foe; but restraining his wrath, he immediately drew back
and communicated to his astounded companions the nature
of his discovery. His resolution was immediately taken.
The sky-light, which was gained only by moveable steps,
would admit of only three persons standing within it; and
having stationed that number of his little garrison at the
foot of the steps with reserve guns, he called upon Lee and
Rogers to follow him, and once more ascended with the
same perfect silence as before. Rising until their shoulders
were above the roof, the three remained standing, motionless,
with presented arms. It was doubtless a hazardous
experiment for the besieged party to wait for the kindled
light of their own roof to reveal the persons of their
foes; but the importance of striking a signal blow, and one
that might deter the enemy from making any further attack,
overcame every other consideration. The dampened
state of the shingles rendered the process of ignition slow;
but at length a faint, blue flame made its appearance in
the vicinity of the chimney, where a number of small faggots
had been carefully inserted. Flickering with the
wind, now sinking, now rising, the unsteady blaze was
guarded from the air by both hands of a kneeling Indian,
whose fiendish features as he bent over the light could be
distinctly traced. Brighter and higher rose the blaze, and
soon began to reveal the other objects in its immediate vicinity,
while the place occupied by Dudley and his companions
remained in impenetrable obscurity. Brighter and
higher still, until the alarmed inmates beneath saw the fire
gleaming downward through the chinks of the unceiled
roof. But the time for action had arrived. Other faint
lights had sprung up, and the savages, to the number of
signals with his men, in order to select their several
victims, quietly gave the command to fire. The report
of the guns, and the death-screech of the Indians, was a
mingled and simultaneous sound. They each rolled rapidly
down the roof and fell heavily to the earth. But although
Dudley and his comrades instantly handed down their guns
and received others from below, only one of the enemy remained
visible when they were again prepared to fire.
Running rapidly along the apex of the building, he had already
gained hold of the rope, which, thrown lasso-like over
the chimney, had been the means of his ascent, and was
about to swing himself off, when he received the contents
of Dudley's gun. Still convulsively clutching the rope, he
was seen by the now growing light to totter for a moment
on the extreme end of the building, when Lee, more in pity
than in wrath, gave him another ball.
“'Twould have been a hard fall for a living man,” he
said, as the noise of the body striking the ground reached
his ear; “but a stack of feather beds wouldn't have been
any mercy to him now.”
“Don't be too sure,” replied Rogers, banteringly; “your
dead men have a remarkable faculty of coming to life again,
and I think I see the red devil now, scampering across the
field, with the rope in his hand!”
“And a piece of the chimeny, I suppose!” retorted Lee,
who understood his comrade's propensity to joke too well
to take offence.
But the triumph which produced this temporary elation
of spirits in these brave men was far from being complete.
The fire had gained a headway that demanded instant attention,
and whoever ventured within its light would doubtless
be a prominent mark for the outlying foe. No time,
however, was to be lost, and two brave fellows of the Life
the perilous enterprise. Bearing blankets, saturated as
before, they rushed hastily to the flames. The expected
volley was discharged, and, unhappily, as the groans of
the young men testified, not without effect. One, but
slightly injured, fled hastily back, while the other, convinced
of the mortal nature of his wounds, nobly resolved
that his life should prove no idle forfeit. Staunching the
life-blood with one hand, he dragged himself feebly from
blaze to blaze, until the last flickering light was extinguished,
and then, with the remnant of his failing strength,
crept slowly back to his companions. Drawn hastily, but
gently, within, the youth was deposited upon a couch, and
hasty preparations were made to examine and relieve his
wounds. But observing the changing expression of his
face, and obeying his significant gestures to desist, his comrades
crowded with tearful eyes around his bed.
“My sister?” faintly ejaculated the dying man, as he
slowly turned his eyes toward the door. A low wail was
heard without; the door opened, and the fainting maiden
was supported to his bedside. A placid smile stole like
sunlight over the features of the youth; his lips moved,
and the trembling girl bent lower and lower to hear. The
whispered words with which the parting soul went upwards,
were soft as sound could be; yet distinctly articulated, they
fell upon every ear, “We shall meet again!”
6. CHAPTER VI.
THE ESCORT TO THE FORT.
The effect on the besieged party of the melancholy occurrence
which has just been narrated was dispiriting in
the extreme. They could not but feel that the lot of their
comrade might soon be their own, and perhaps with circumstances
of aggravated suffering. But Dudley was not without
the strongest hopes that the severe repulse which the
enemy had now met with would induce them entirely to
withdraw, the more especially as they were not supposed
to know the fatal result of their last discharge of fire-arms.
The war-whoop with which they had accompanied that assault
gradually died away, and the most perfect silence
again prevailed without. Dudley continued to order occasional
shots from the window, but they elicited no response.
The utmost vigilance was used, and every possible preventive
measure employed, not omitting so serviceable an agent
against a scaling foe as boiling water, a department of defence
under the especial superintendence of Nando. But
these precautions fortunately proved superfluous, and the
night passed without further alarm. Baffled and mortified,
the savages had retired, bearing with them the bodies of
six of their fallen warriors, a loss which seemed to them of
almost inappreciable magnitude. Thus the gallant defence
of “Fort Lee the less,” as it was subsequently termed,
proved not only the security of its inmates, with one lamentable
exception, but, for the time at least, of the whole surrounding
settlement.
Mutual congratulations on their escape, and devotional
thanksgivings for so signal a protection of Providence, were
among the earliest employments of the little party on the
ensuing morning. But the panic which had spread through
the neighborhood did not readily subside. Some, indeed,
returned immediately to their homes, relying in part upon
their private means of defence, but chiefly confident, from
their knowledge of Indian character, that the enemy would
not soon renew an enterprise which had proved so disastrous.
A more vigilant police was organized, and a portion
of the citizens nightly acted as sentinels at all the prominent
posts of observation.
To Ellen Welles, the events which have been recorded
had been doubly terrifying for a cause which has as yet
been scarcely apparent. Waldon had in reality been a rejected
claimant for her hand. His pretensions had been
favored by her father, who, wrapped in his selfish and personal
schemes, was as far from appreciating the worth of
his daughter as he was from penetrating the villainous character
of her suitor. To his charge, during his temporary
absence from home, Captain Welles had especially confided
his household, enjoining Ellen, in case of danger, to appeal
at once to his protection. And more recently still, Waldon
had been the bearer of a message to Ellen from her
father, informing her that he was engaged in raising a
company of volunteers, with which he should immediately
proceed to join Col. St. Leger under the walls of Fort
Stanwix. He further informed her that he had made suitable
provision for her safety during the perilous times that
were like to ensue, and directed her to accept of Waldon's
escort to the place where he was then sojourning.
Dreading his designs in relation to her detested suitor,
yet fearing to disobey a parent who, though harsh, was her
only protector, she hesitated in most painful incertitude as
proceeded to hint that he was empowered to enforce the
commands of his principal, her terror knew no bounds.
If she had before doubted, she was now decided, and she
resolved to brave every other peril sooner than to trust herself
in the power of her suitor. But she did not make
known her resolution, and he, supposing her only to hesitate,
specified an hour on the next day when he would call
for her decision, and courteously withdrew. It was on that
evening that her flight to Lee's, impelled by a double fear,
had occurred. But Waldon had not, in reality, been a
participant in the affair of the preceding night, and Ellen's
suspicions on that point had doubtless been caused in part
by her extreme dread of falling into his hands. It will be
seen, therefore, that her alarm, although abated, was still
far from being dispelled, nor could she conceal her anxiety
from Dudley. To express her gratitude to her defender
with becoming warmth, and yet with maidenly reserve, was
no difficult task for a sensible and ingenuous girl; but it
was tremblingly, painfully, and by slow degrees alone, that
she was able to disclose, in answers to his earnest but respectful
inquiries, the other particulars of her unfortunate
position. Beautiful exceedingly did the timid girl appear
as she related her griefs, and Dudley longed for nothing so
much as to throw himself at her feet and offer her a lifelong
protection. But with quick discernment he appreciated
the unfitness of the occasion for any declaration of his
feelings. It should be, he thought, proudly, under other
circumstances, when he was better entitled to ask, and she
more free to refuse, that he would seek the hand and heart
of one so peerless and so pure. At present, it became his
duty rather to make provision for her safety, and on this
subject he hastened to speak. He knew that small volunteer
companies, in response to the earnest appeal of Col.
and had learned, on inquiry, that one of these, en
route for that military post, was hourly expected in the
neighborhood. He at once proposed to her to take advantage
of such an escort to fly to the fort, where she would
find numbers of her own sex, who had sought the same refuge,
and whence, if she should so desire, she could at any
moment be transferred to her father in the British camp.
She could be attended, he said, by her maid, and he himself,
if she would permit, would accompany her and fulfil
an intention that he had long entertained of seeking service
in the American army. The proposition was startling,
but Ellen did not hesitate. A favorite pony, which she
was accustomed to ride, afforded her a convenient mode of
travel, and means were readily found for the transportation
of her domestic and their necessary baggage. Happier
and prouder than a monarch, Dudley rode at the beauteous
Ellen's side, encouraging her by his confident and
cheerful mien, and building for himself many a gorgeous
air-castle, whose filmy foundations seemed firmer than the
rock. The same evening beheld the whole party, including
Rogers, who had enlisted as a private, safely within the
walls of the fort.
7. CHAPTER VII.
THE SIEGE OF FORT STANWIX.
It was but a few days subsequent to these events, that
Col. Gansevoort had the mortification to find his slightly
garrisoned fort invested by a force of seventeen hundred
men, composed of British regulars, loyalists and Indians.
His repeated calls for reinforcements from the regular
army had met, thus far, with nothing but promises, and unless
some effectual aid should arrive, there was every reason
to believe that in a few weeks at farthest he would be
compelled to capitulate. Col. St. Leger, Sir John Johnson,
and the renowned Indian chieftain, Brant, were among
his besiegers, names which were of themselves calculated
to inspire terror among his undisciplined troops. They
did not, however, deter the gallant General Herkimer from
making a noble effort for the relief of the garrison. By
earnest appeals to the patriotism of his fellow-citizens, that
gallant officer succeeded in raising an army of about eight
hundred men, among whom were many of the first citizens
of Tryon county. With these he hastened forward by
rapid marches, and pausing a few miles from the fort, despatched
couriers to notify the commandant of his approach.
The discharge of artillery from the works was to announce
the arrival of his messengers, and to be the signal for his
advance, at which time also Col. Gansevoort, by a sortie
from the fort, was expected to assist in making good the
entrance of his ally. Such was the well concocted scheme
of the sagacious and valiant Herkimer. But some accident
hours longer than was anticipated, his officers and men
became impatient of delay and demanded to be led forward.
Herkimer declined to advance until the anxiously expected
signal was heard, but galled by the importunities and
taunts of his officers, who did not hesitate openly to denounce
him as a coward, he gave the fatal order to march.
The ambuscade, the surprise, and the bloody battle which
ensued in the forests of Oriskany, are among the most memorable
events of history. On this field, the indomitable
courage of Herkimer, and the pusillanimity of his traducers
were both exemplified. The latter fled at almost the first
onset, while their leader, although severely wounded, continued
upon the field issuing his orders, and calmly smoking
his meerschaum, amidst the most sanguinary battle of
the Revolution. Although the result of this engagement
was one in which it is difficult to decide the question of
victory, yet the main object of the expedition was defeated.
No portion of Herkimer's forces reached the garrison, and
Col. Gansevoort remained in a more hopeless condition
than before. He had fulfilled all that was required on his
part. The sortie of Col. Willett, who gained and held possession
of Sir John Johnson's camp long enough to transfer
seven wagon loads of spoil, each thrice told, to the fort,
was a brilliant exploit, for which Congress voted him the
nation's thanks and a sword.
But there are some minor incidents connected with these
important events of which it is necessary to speak. Captain
Welles had effected his object of joining the loyalists
at Fort Stanwix, and it was there that he first learned from
Waldon of the flight of Ellen. Deeply incensed at her
conduct, and enraged beyond measure at Dudley, he immediately
applied to his commanding officer for permission to
despatch a flag to Colonel Gansevoort, requesting safe conduct
and it was only on the third morning after Ellen's arrival
at Fort Stanwix that she found herself thus summoned
to join her father. Had it not been for Waldon she would
not have hesitated a moment to yield obedience to the parental
authority, but her dread of her suitor had become so
great as to be quite insuperable. She returned a respectful
and dutiful answer, in which she dwelt at length upon
her recent perils and her present safety, adding that she
felt unable to bear any new excitement or alarm, and begging
to be allowed to remain in quiet in her present abode.
“If,” she ingeniously concluded, “if your forces are repulsed,
I shall certainly be safer here than in a travelling
camp; but if, as you so confidently predict, you will be in
possession of the fort within three days, you will then also
be in possession of your affectionate daughter Ellen.”
But although thus baffled for the time, Captain Welles,
as will be seen, was not disposed to intermit his efforts.
Dudley in the meantime had found no small favor in the
eyes of Col. Gansevoort, to whom, as indeed to the whole
garrison, the affairs of Fort Lee had become known. In
the famous attack of Col. Willett on the British camp, he
bore a conspicuous part, and received the highest encomiums
from that officer, and his reputation for coolness and
courage soon became such that whenever any deed of unusual
daring was contemplated, his name was among the
first to be mentioned in connection with it. He had received
a lieutenant's commission, with the promise of speedy
promotion, while his worthy and valiant comrade, Rogers,
had also been raised to the rank of a sergeant. But in the
mean time the prospects of the garrison grew daily more
gloomy; and Col. Willett and Dudley undertook the perilous
task of making their escape from the fort, travelling
thirty miles through the forest on foot, and making a final
each of them were well known and were highly popular.
They succeeded in reaching Fort Dayton, where to their
joyful surprise they learned that Generals Arnold and
Larned had already been despatched by General Schuyler
with the Massachusetts brigade and the first New York regiment
to the relief of the fort. Willett hastened to meet
Arnold at Albany and expedite his movements, but although
the latter soon arrived at Fort Dayton, countless
delays still occurred in the assembling of his forces, and
the danger grew daily more imminent. But Dudley, ever
active and vigilant, had not been idle during the absence
of Willett. Having learned of a secret meeting of the emissaries
of Sir John Johnson in the neighborhood, who were
inciting the disaffected to take up arms in the royal cause,
he quietly surrounded the place of meeting with a small
force, and in the midst of an eloquent harangue of one of
their leaders, entered the room and made the whole assembly
prisoners—of these several were immediately tried as
spies and sentenced to death. This circumstance afforded
the means for that memorable ruse of General Arnold, of
which the reader needs scarcely to be reminded. Among
the condemned was a half-witted fellow by the name of
Han Yost Schuyler, for whom at the foot of the gallows an
aged and widowed mother pleaded with all that earnest and
natural eloquence which affection only can inspire. Arnold
spared his life on condition that he would hasten to
the British camp, where he was well known as a loyalist,
and spread the tidings of his immediate approach with a
large force. A brother of the prisoner consented to be his
hostage, and was to suffer death in his stead if the other
failed of fulfilling his contract. Han Yost proved faithful,
and with the aid of a few friendly Indians, who assisted in
his plot, met with the most perfect success. The large
as no inducements of St. Leger could stay them, he was
compelled to raise the siege and retreat with his whole
force.
The exultation with which this welcome intelligence was
received at Fort Dayton, was felt by no one so much as by
Dudley, who with Col. Willett immediately hastened to rejoin
and congratulate their friends. But the happiness of
the former was destined to a sad and sudden reverse. Beguiled
by a counterfeited letter purporting to have come
from himself, as a prisoner, wounded and dying in the British
camp, Ellen had left the fort under the charge of an
emissary of Waldon, who had not hesitated to desecrate
the sacred character of a flag to so vile a purpose. This
afflicting news was rendered still more alarming by the additional
intelligence that Captain Welles was dangerously
ill from the effects of a wound received in the battle of
Oriskany. The privations incident to a travelling camp
would of course diminish the chances of his recovery, and
in the event of his death, Ellen would be left, remote from
her friends, to the tender mercies of Waldon, unshielded
even by the slight protection which such a parent would
have afforded.
Still another startling item of news, which was disclosed
to Dudley on his arrival, was that Rogers, his faithful
friend and ally in the affair at Lee's, had deserted to the
enemy; an event so incredible that when forced reluctantly
to believe its truth, he for a moment lost all faith in human
integrity. The deserter had been as remarkable for
his honesty and frankness as for sagacity, and his personal
attachment to Dudley was a matter of general observation.
There was no time, however, for reflecting on this secondary
calamity. To pursue the retreating army, to keep in
the neighborhood of Ellen, and watch the chances which
and prompt resolve. Among the few Indians in
the fort he found two only whom he was able to prevail
upon to accompany him. They were, however, brave and
sagacious, and as his hopes of success must depend less
upon force than skill, the small number of his confederates
was perhaps scarcelv a matter of regret.
8. CHAPTER VIII.
THE SPY.
When Ellen arrived in the British camp, her delight at
finding the story of her lover's captivity and wounds untrue,
scarcely left room either for indignation at the fraud
which had been practised upon her, or for alarm at her personal
peril. Her father's extreme illness also immediately
engrossed her attention, until the day before the flight of
the army, when it terminated in his death. When this
melancholy event had occurred and the retreat was about
to commence, she applied to Sir John Johnson for permission
to remain behind, and enforced her appeal with every
argument that fear or hope could dictate. But the artful
Waldon had anticipated this movement. Captain Welles,
entertaining the strongest prejudice both against Dudley
and the American cause, and still reposing a mistaken confidence
in Waldon, had been prevailed upon in his last
hours to constitute the latter the guardian of his child, and
had enjoined upon him to see her removed to some more
loyal district. He had also expressed a strong desire that,
at a fitting time, the guardian and ward might assume the
relationship of husband and wife. It was not surprising,
therefore, that the loyalist leader turned a deaf ear to the
entreaties of Ellen, as Sir John would scarcely have required
so good an excuse either for rewarding a friend or
punishing a political enemy. He did not even hesitate to
assert that he hoped, within a few weeks, to see the guardian's
power transformed into that marital authority which
be established. “That event,” he continued with a lofty
air, and in an unfeeling tone, “will effectually put an end
to any puerile attachments which you may fancy that you
have formed, and to those equally puerile but more pernicious
political sentiments which you seem to have imbibed.”
Convinced that all effort in this quarter was useless, she
next resolved to appeal to the generosity of Waldon himself.
But she little knew the nature of the man into whose
toils she had fallen. He openly exulted in the power which
he possessed over both the person and property of his unfortunate
ward.
Circumstances, he said, with cool sarcasm, required their
immediate departure for Oswego, at which place he hoped
for leisure and means to effect a change in her views. The
arguments which she undervalued in a lover would be more
potent, he thought, from the lips of a husband, in which
light he begged Miss Welles, from the inevitable necessity
of the case, to accustom herself to look upon him in future.
The nuptials indeed, he said, were already arranged; and
Sir John had himself promised to give away the bride.
“Miss Welles will not flatter herself,” he concluded, in a
severe tone, “that any contingency can prevent this result.
Contumacy might indeed prevent any public ceremony,
but would secure to her no further immunity.”
Astounded and maddened by these fearful threats, Ellen,
nearly in a state of unconsciousness, continued sitting in
the tent which had been allotted to her use, long after
Waldon's departure. When she revived she was startled
to perceive that she had another companion who bore the
appearance of a private soldier; but her alarm was quickly
changed to delight as she recognized in the intruder's face
the familiar and welcome countenance of Rogers.
Enjoining the strictest secrecy, the sergeant hastened to
business in the British camp was to attempt her rescue.
At the same time he assured her that there was no present
prospect of relief, and that all he should probably be enabled
to do would be to second such efforts as Dudley
would undoubtedly make in her behalf. He also reminded
her that not only his ability to aid her, but his life itself
depended upon her discretion. The interview was necessarily
brief, but it resulted in a partial renovation of Ellen's
spirits, and committing her cares and hopes to Him
who “hears the sighing of the needy,” she patiently awaited
the development of events.
Rogers had joined the army as a loyalist, and, not being
known as a deserter, no suspicion had attached to him.
Waldon knew nothing of his participation in the defence at
Lee's, or of his subsequent enlistment at the fort, and being
equally ignorant of his intimacy with Dudley, never
doubted his loyalty. He had, therefore, easily procured
an interview with Miss Welles, as an acquaintance and former
neighbor. The perfect secresy of his movements had
been prompted by his habitual caution, and by the great
danger of any rumors following him to the British camp,
which would result in his trial and conviction as a spy.
He cared little for the temporary odium of a deserter at
home, while he retained the confidence of Dudley, who he
believed would rightly conjecture his designs. How little
his confidence was misplaced will appear.
9. CHAPTER IX.
THE FRIENDS.
The retreating army returned as they had come, by the
way of Oneida Lake, and he who had watched the large
flotilla as it approached the western bounds of that beautiful
sheet of water on the evening of the second day after
the raising of the seige, might also have seen, like a speck
upon the wave, a single boat, fleetly following in the distance.
The position preserved by the solitary vessel was
such as to preclude observation from the fleet, unless it
might be that of an eye searching for just such an object.
It need scarcely be said that it was Dudley who thus
daringly followed the flying host. His first unworthy
doubts of Rogers had already yielded to almost a full conviction
that the latter was in the British camp only as his
friend and ally; and he indulged the faint hope of now
attracting his attention, and by some means establishing a
communication with him. When, therefore, the enemy
encamped at dark on the borders of the lake, he retained,
as before, a position in which he would be visible only to
a close observer. Long and anxiously did he remain,
watching the distant lights of the camp, and “hoping
against hope” for some signal that he was seen and recognized.
He knew well that any attempt personally to enter
the British lines, without the pass-word, would result in his
detection and in an ignominious death. Ruminating painfully
upon his prospects, he sat for two long hours gazing
towards the shore, during all which time his Indian companions,
But a simultaneous start from each now proved that they
had rather been holding a most vigilant watch. Obeying
their pantomimic instructions, Dudley listened long and
earnestly, until he thought that he heard the distant fall
of oars. A few minntes convinced him that he was not
mistaken; but although the sound grew momentarily more
distinct, it was impossible to tell from what direction it
proceeded. Nothing could be seen, and as the darkness
would prove an equal obstacle to his own position being
discovered, he resolved upon the hazardous experiment of
displaying a light. This was effected by means of a flint
and tinder, with which he was provided, and after a momentary
exhibition of the flame, it was immediately extinguished.
The quick and emphatic dash of oars which succeeded
met with a response in his fast beating heart;
nearer and nearer came the invisible vessel, nor paused
until apparently within a few rods of the other. A momentary
silence, and the low, cautious interchange of the
words “Dudley” and “Rogers” established the certainty
of the anxious hopes of each. In a moment more the
boats were side by side, and the cordial grasp and the faltering
and choked voice of welcome told the faithful deserter
that he was appreciated and understood. A few
minutes sufficed to put Dudley in possession of all the important
facts in relation to Ellen's situation, and it was no
small gratification to know that she was yet well, and free
from any harm save that of the most harrowing anxiety.
Long and earnestly did the two friends confer upon their
future movements, and their plan, when finally concocted,
was one that involved such imminent peril, that the concurrence
of their Indian confederates was considered a
matter of serious doubt. But they had mistaken the valor
of their companions, who, when the details were submitted
“good!”
It would have argued but little forethought on the part
of Dudley, if he had entered upon an expedition in which
skill must necessarily be his principal reliance, without
providing himself with some of the ordinary resources of
strategy. It is well known to the historical reader that
the allied army, in their hasty departure from the walls of
Fort Stanwix, left behind them, not only their artillery
and many of their tents, but a large portion of their stores
and camp equipage. It was an easy matter for Dudley to
procure apparel from these sources, both of the civilized
and savage soldier, which might serve as disguises, if necessary,
for himself and companions, nor had he neglected
so obvious an aid to his enterprise. To transform
the Indians by a change of dress, from the republican
Oneidas into the royal Mohawks, was no difficult operation,
and Lieut. Dudley, with equal celerity, was converted
into a private of Sir John Johnson's regiment of
American loyalists. Bound on an enterprise involving
momentous interests, and conscious that detection would be
followed by certain death, the minds of these brave men
rose with the emergency, and in one breast at least, that
of the generous and daring Dudley, the last and least of
the whole catalogue of emotions was that of personal fear.
All things being in readiness, the boats slowly and silently
approached the shore, taking a direction that would bring
them to land a few rods below the camp. As they drew
nigh, the sentinels could be distinctly seen, and the countersign
was carefully impressed upon the mind of each of
the party. It required no repetition in the ear of the
Indians, for the word was “Brant.”
10. CHAPTER X.
THE FLIGHT.
Reclining, not sleeping, in her guarded tent, the unfortunate
Ellen passed the slow watches of the night in an
agony of apprehension. Each hour diminished her hope,
and she knew that another day's flight would probably
place her beyond the reach of rescue, and render certain
the fearful doom with which she was threatened. She had
heard nothing of Dudley since the day of his departure for
Fort Dayton, and fears for his safety formed an additional
item in her distress. She had not even been able to communicate
with Rogers since the retreat commenced, although
the faithful sergeant had contrived to be allotted to
the same boat which conveyed her, and with two Indians,
and one of his fellow privates, constituted its full company.
The vessel which had been selected for Ellen was of a fanciful
construction, and had received from Waldon the name
of “the gondola.” It was much smaller than the batteau,
and was propelled by only two pairs of oars. Waldon
himself, fearful perhaps of his captive's reproaches, and
knowing the impossibility of her escape, had contented himself
with occupying the boat next preceding in the line.
The bustle and stir without at length announced to Ellen
the approach of day, and the note of preparation for departure
fell with dismal forebodings upon her ear. She
was immediately in readiness, and although there were yet
no signs of light, she pulled aside the canvass door of her
tent and looked out. She knew that she was closely
which at once forbade her egress. A second speaker,
in a voice still more gruff, approached the door, and uttering
some well dissembled words of reproof, contrived to
slip a paper into her hands and immediately withdrew.
By the faint light of a taper, Ellen, trembling with excitement,
perused the following words: “Make every possible
delay in leaving your tent and embarking. Minutes are
worth millions. Be watchful and discreet.” Uttering a
hearty ejaculation of thanksgiving for the indefinite hope
thus held out to her, she instantly burned the paper, and
hastily divesting herself of part of her apparel, retired to
bed. By feigning a sleep, sound and difficult to dispel,
when summoned to arise, by tardiness in dress and many
ingenious resources, she succeeded in faithfully obeying the
injunctions of her mysterious visitor.
The part to be performed by Dudley's party on obtaining
entrance into the camp was of the most difficult nature.
They were not only to man the boat which was designed
for Ellen in their assumed character, but it was necessary
in some way to get rid of three of its former crew. Lastly,
and almost equally important was the necessity of delaying
its departure, so that it might be in the rear of the
whole line. Success in all these preliminaries was essential
to attaining even the threshold of escape. Simultaneous
with the first movements in the camp, they proceeded
to take possession of the boat, and Rogers, having instructed
his disguised companions how to simulate as nearly
as possible the deportment of its former occupants, stepped
upon the shore to await their approach. In the mean time
the bustle and stir incident to the breaking up and departure
of the camp was rapidly increasing. Many of the
boats were already filled, but Waldon, who had charge of
that division of the flotilla, had not yet arrived. As the
Rogers hastened to meet them, and said:
“The light is breaking on the hills, and the deer are already
abroad. There will be gold for him who brings game
for the pale-faced maiden. Go quickly and meet us an
hour hence by yonder bluff.”
The Indians were ready armed, either for war or the
chase, and needed no second bidding to so agreeable a task.
Their ideas of discipline were too lax to admit of their questioning
the authority of Rogers, and readily signifying
their assent, they disappeared in the forest. For his fellow-soldier,
who soon arrived, the sergeant was prepared
with an equally ingenious device. “You complained yesterday,”
he said, “of illness and fatigue. Mr. Waldon
has sent us another oarsman, and you are to go in either
of the large batteaux.” The fellow, unsuspecting, gladly
turned away and joined a crowd who were filling up some
of the largest sized boats. Thus far events looked promising,
but it was not yet light, and the scrutiny of Waldon's
eye was still to be undergone. It was not until many
of the foremost boats had started, and the others were rapidly
forming in line, that he arrived upon the beach, accompanied
by the trembling Ellen. He had been detained
in waiting for her and appeared in great ill humor.
“I think I will take a seat in your boat this morning,
Mr. Rogers,” he said. “Our fair ally here exhibits unusual
alarm, and may need my personal attention.”
“The gondola draws much water,” the sergeant quickly
replied, “and rows heavily; but if you choose to take my
oar, I can go in one of the batteaux.”
“By no means,” said Waldon, laughing, “the day promises
to be too warm for that; but keep as near in position
as possible, and if any thing goes wrong, I shall be in easy
to embark.”
He handed Ellen to the boat and was about to depart,
but suddenly pointing to one of the Oneidas, exclaimed—
“How's this, sir? Have you changed your crew, or who
is this broad shouldered savage?” Instantly continuing
his inspection, before the sergeant could reply, he called
out: “A light! quick, bring a light—we have strange visitors
here.”
Rogers stood with one foot in the boat and one upon the
beach, and Waldon, standing upon the shore in a stooping
posture was peering into the vessel. A thrill of horror
shot through the company, and instant detection seemed
unavoidable. There was no time for reflection. Dealing
a silent but staggering blow upon the bended head of his
companion, the sergeant sprang into the boat, and seizing
an oar, whispered—“Pull now, for your lives.”
11. CHAPTER XI.
THE PURSUIT.
The movement had been so instantaneous, the noise was
so slight, and the blow upon Waldon so stunning, that
nearly a minute elapsed before any intelligible alarm was
given. Shouts and execrations were then heard from the
shore, with the dash of oars and all the signs of a quick
pursuit. Shots were also fired, but the arrowy flight of the
boat had already carried it too far into the obscurity that
yet rested upon the waters to admit of any distinct aim.
Faster and farther, under all the impulse that four strong
men, working for their lives, could give, the light gondola
sped, skimming the wave, like a swallow on the wing. But
with a speed scarcely inferior, three heavy batteaux, each
impelled by a dozen oarsmen, dashed forward in pursuit.
The noise of the oars unavoidably revealed the course of
the fugitives, and enabled the enemy to keep in their wake,
while the numbers of the latter allowing them to relieve
each other at the labor of rowing also gave them a decided
advantage. But as the chase was eastward and in a direction
opposite to the march of the army, Dudley conjectured
that the pursuers, who must have left the flotilla without
orders, would not dare to separate themselves far from the
main body. The result proved him to be partly correct.
The batteaux had proceeded but a few miles before they
were seen to draw together, and after a short conference,
and some change of parties, two of the vessels turned about,
and the third, with about a dozen men, continued the chase.
but one, who it need scarcely be said was Waldon.
The distance that now separated the vessels was about a
quarter of a mile, and the vigor with which the pursuers
laid to their oars evinced a determination that it should
soon be less. Their motion was indeed most alarmingly
accelerated, and the interval between the parties was rapidly
diminishing; but the execrated broad shoulders which
had once proved so disastrous, were now at least of essential
service. Perceiving the exigency, Wongah, for such
was the name of the elder Indian, coolly requested Dudley
to surrender his oar to him, and taking the forward pair,
he bent to his task like a Samson beneath the gates of
Gaza. The trembling bark seemed rather to fly than sail,
and the rearward oarsmen for a while were scarce able to
touch the water, so swiftly did it pass from their stroke.
All looked on in amazement, and expected momentarily to
see the giant's strength give out; but mile after mile was
overcome without the least abatement of speed. The very
vessel seemed instinct with vitality and impelled by fear,
while the spray fell like rain upon her prow, and the water
boiled, hissing in her wake. A glad smile of hope and encouragement
lit up every countenance, for the distance between
the vessels had already more than doubled, notwithstanding
the utmost efforts of the enemy. In vain did
Dudley implore Wongah to spare his strength, lest it might
fail altogether. The quiet smile, the calm equable breathing,
the uniform ponderous motion, told him that there was
as little to fear from fatigue in the huge and compact mass
of muscles before him, as if it had been some mighty mechanical
machine of levers, wheels and springs.
When Lieutenant Dudley had relinquished his oar to the
Indian, his change of position brought him for the first
time near to Ellen; but the absorbing excitement of the
chief in command, still prevented his disclosing himself.
His own tumultuous emotions, and the alternating fears
and hopes of Ellen may easily be imagined. She knew
nothing, it will be remembered, of the process by which her
rescue was to be attempted, and when she found herself
once more seated in the dreaded boat she gave up all for
lost. The subsequent events, occurring so unexpectedly,
were at first entirely inexplicable to her, and although she
soon perceived that brave hearts and strong hands were at
work for her delivery, she had still no suspicion of Dudley's
presence. But the temporary sense of relief now experienced
by all afforded an opportunity for the lieutenant
to make himself known. The light had fully dawned, and
as he seized an opportune moment, and turned with a smile
of triumph and affection to Ellen, a speechless surprise and
joy that knew no utterance pervaded her breast. Alas!
that there is no Daguerreotype for the heart!
But a sudden ejaculation from the younger Indian, who
was looking westward with an earnest gaze, now attracted
attention. Turning, he uttered a few words in his native
tongue to his companion, and the latter immediately suspended
his labors and gazed intently in the same direction.
“What do the Oneidas see, Mr. Rogers?” exclaimed
Dudley from the helm, with ill disguised alarm. Rogers
listened a moment to their guttural dialogue, and rising to
his feet, peered earnestly across the waters; then turning
to the lieutenant, he said in a low voice: “I see nothing
myself, but the Lynx says that there are two armed canoes
turning yonder point, and coming down with the speed of
wind.”
“Is Wongah frightened?” said Dudley, impetuously,
turning to the Indian, who was yet leaning upon his oars;
“does he think they can overtake us?”
“Wongah does not fear,” was the characteristic reply;
“but the hawk is swifter than the heron.”
This figurative allusion to the fleetness of the birchen
canoe was not misunderstood, and every eye was now anxiously
strained to catch a glimpse of this new object of
alarm. The Indian, meanwhile, had resumed his labors
with all his former force, and without the least change of
countenance. The canoes were too much in the shade of
the shore to be perceptible to unpractised eyes, but the
movements of the batteau soon furnished additional proof
of their approach. She turned suddenly about, and hastening
to meet her allies, was also soon nearly lost from
view in the shadows. What changes took place upon the
meeting of the boats could not be discerned, but the large
vessel did not return. The canoes, on the contrary, dancing
like corks upon the wave, were soon seen to emerge
from the obscurity, and flashing the sunlight from their
dripping oar blades, seemed like distant sea birds pluming
their wings for flight. They each contained seven men, of
whom, as before, all save one were Indians. It was useless
to disguise the alarm inspired by this new aspect of
affairs; for although the pursuers were nearly a mile behind,
it was apparent to all that their present speed would
soon bring them up with the gondola. The latter boat was
already tasked to her full capacity, but no human strength
could impart to such a vessel the impetus which two pairs
of well plied oars gave to the feathery canoe. A hasty consultation
was held, at which Rogers and the Lynx proposed
running for the shore, and trying to make good their escape
through the forests. Wongah opposed this as fatal,
but offered no substitute. He gave his opinion with stoical
calmness, when called upon, without at all suspending
his labors. Dudley spoke last.
“It is idle,” he said, “to think of escape through twenty
our track. But there is a small island which cannot be
many miles distant. Let us gain that, if we can, and once
under cover we can at least keep the fiends at bay until
dark, when some means of relief may possibly be found.”
To this proposition the Indians responded together, with
their sententious exclamation “good.”
“So it is good!” said Rogers, energetically, recovering,
despite the danger, a portion of his natural humor; “if the
red devils can land under our four rifles, they shall be welcome
to the scalp of Joe Rogers. Pull away, Mr. Lynx,
and three cheers for the skipper.”
Endeavoring thus to arouse his own failing spirits, and
those of his companions, the noble hearted sergeant resumed
his diligent labors at the oar. The refuge referred
to by Dudley was a small wooded islet, scarcely forty rods
in length, which had attracted his notice on the preceding
day. It became visible on rounding a small promontory,
but still at the distance of several miles. The pursuers
seemed immediately to comprehend the design of the fugitives,
and the trial became at once which party should first
gain the island. There was no way to increase the gondola's
speed, and all that remained was patiently to watch
the chances. Although the canoes were soon within rifle
shot, neither party seemed disposed to resort to fire-arms.
Waldon felt too sure of success to risk the life of Ellen unnecessarily,
and Dudley's company were all actively employed
in the management of their boat. For a third of
an hour the most perfect silence was preserved in the gondola,
while every nerve of the oarsmen seemed strained to
its utmost tension. The eyes of Ellen wandered incessantly
from boat to boat and forward to the island, measuring
the rapidly diminishing intervals between each, and
resting ocoasionally upon Dudley's countenance, as if they
the distance of half a mile from the island, the forward canoe
was running nearly abreast of the fugitives, about forty
rods distant, and making for the northern extremity of the
land. There seemed no longer any hope; but at this critical
moment a crackling noise was heard, and one of the oar
blades of the parallel boat was seen floating astern. The
speed of the canoe was sensibly diminished; Wongah's
ponderous blows fell with redoubled rapidity upon the
water; the gondola shot ahead, and in three minutes
touched the shore.
12. CHAPTER XII.
THE ISLAND.
Dudley's first movement was to place Ellen in a state of
safety, and than to find secure shelter for himself and his
companions, whence they could repel the advance of the
enemy. All this was but the work of an instant. The
crippled vessel had continued to advance with no slight
velocity, for she had still two effective oars; but her consort
had taken the lead, and for a while had threatened to
make at least a simultaneous landing with the gondola.
But when her crew had perceived this to be impracticable,
they hastened to retire beyond rifle shot, divining with
ready sagacity the designs of the other party. They were,
however, too late to avoid the effect of one leaden messenger
from the weapon of the active sergeant; a sharp yell
and a sudden commotion in the boat proclaiming its success.
Three more shots were instantly fired, but with no observable
result. It was far, however, from being the design of
the enemy to abandon the pursuit. They felt rather like
the sportsman, who, having cornered his game, deliberates
only upon the easiest means of despatching it. At a safe
distance the vessels came together for conference, which
resulted in one of them making a detour about the island,
and taking up a position opposite to the other extremity.
This movement made it necessary for Dudley to divide his
small force; yet so minute was the territory to be
defended, that the two divisions of the garrison were not
beyond each other's call. It was now fully expected that
opposite sides—a course which ordinary courage would
certainly have prompted; but they evidently designed
some less dangerous expedient. To and fro, like sharks
waiting for their prey, through the long, tedious hours of
the day, the canoes glided leisurely about, maintaining a
close watch upon every part of the coast. It was then,
doubtless, for the might that the attack was designed, and
it was with sad forebodings that the island prisoners
watched the sun beginning to decline from the meridian.
But they had not been idle. The moment they became
convinced that there was no immediate danger, a consultation
was again held to devise means of relief; for, as the
enemy were discernible from any part of the coast, and the
defenders could easily be summoned to the point of attack,
they were no longer confined to any one position. But
deliberation seemed of little avail. The calm and unclouded
sky foretold a still and starlight night, and one that would
render a secret embarkation and flight nearly impossible;
and although the same causes would make the landing of
the enemy somewhat hazardous, there could be no longer
any doubt that they had determined upon taking the risk.
There seemed, indeed, nothing to be done, excepting to
await the invasion and sell their lives as dearly as possible.
Although compelled to contemplate this fearful issue of all
his efforts, Dudley still strove to encourage Ellen with
hopes that he himself could no longer entertain. But new
events claimed attention. The younger Indian had long
been missing from the council, and, on search being made,
was found seated beside a pile of bark, which had been
freshly stripped from the birchen trees around him, while
a quantity of sea-weed, such as is used by the Indians for
thread or cord, was also collected at his side. It was with
no small alarm that Dudley and Rogers viewed these preparations,
desert them. The southern shore was but about two-thirds
of a mile distant, and a very small canoe might possibly
be constructed before night, capable of transporting one or
two persons across, before they could be overtaken from
the more remote starting points of the enemy. Dudley
hastened to interrogate the Indian as to his designs.
“The Lynx is not a rat,” was the quiet reply, “to be
beaten to death in a trap.”
“The Lynx is a coward to desert his friends,” rejoined
Dudley, angrily. “What does Wongah say?”
“Wongah will stay,” was the quick reply.
The lieutenant grasped the hand of the Indian with emotion,
and by that gesture, and by a grateful look alone,
expressed his thanks. Scorning to expostulate with the
other, he was about to turn contemptuously away, when the
low, soft voice of the youth was heard. Dudley turned to
listen, but the words were addressed to Wongah, and being
in the Oneida tongue, were too rapidly uttered to admit of
his comprehending the meaning. He saw, however, that a
smile of merriment was on the face of the young Indian,
and that his whole countenance was lit up with a look of
ingenuousness and fidelity that could not be mistaken.
Wongah slowly repeated the substance of the words to Dudley
in broken English, and the latter, with extended hands,
rushed to his young ally, and having begged pardon for his
late unworthy suspicions, sat down to assist him at his
task. Wongah also lent his aid, and the work went rapidly
forward. The Lynx, like many of his race, had a spice of
humor in his composition that no danger could wholly
suppress.
13. CHAPTER XIII
THE DECOY.
To construct a canoe of any considerable burthen or
capacity in so short a time, and under so many disadvantages,
was of course impossible. To make a frail machine
for the purpose of strategy, yet capable of attaining some
temporary speed, although a far easier undertaking, still
required no small amount of labor. The sun went down
before the task was finished, although every hand was employed
upon it, not excepting those of the gentle Ellen. If
falling tears could have cemented the bark, the work would
have been sooner done. The project which engrossed such
general attention will be best described, as yet, by the history
of its progress. When the boat was completed, even
to its rude but effective oars, the ignenuity of the Indians
was yet to be more fully displayed. Effigies of every
individual of the company, excepting the Lynx, was immediately
formed, and with a fidelity both astonishing and
ludicrous. The hats and upper garments of the men, and
the bonnet and shawl of Ellen, were of course made use of,
while the absent bodies were supplied by sticks and
branches of trees, artfully arranged. The slight and erect
form of Dudley, the graceful bust of Ellen, the short and
robust sergeant, and the broad-shouldered Wongah, with
his scant mantle, were all there, and with a celerity of
construction that seemed the work of magic. In this boat,
with these his imaginary companions, the Lynx was to
start for the southern shore, with a view to entice the
in this artifice, the remainder of the party were at once to
embark in the gondola, and hoped to obtain a sufficient
start before the ruse was discovered to effect their escape.
The Indian, when he gained the shore, if he succeeded in
doing so, would make the best of his way through the
wilderness to the fort.
Where the general hazard was so imminent, it was useless,
perhaps, to calculate degrees of danger; yet none
could refrain from feeling as if an extraordinary peril was
devolved upon the generous savage. The chance of his
being overtaken before he could reach the shore was so
great, that it seemed as if he was devoting himself to immediate
death for his associates. He manifested, however,
not the least fear, and made all his preparations with a
coolness that displayed the utmost presence of mind.
“The Mohawks will chase shadows,” he said, with a low
laugh; “their braves will shoot at blankets.”
Rogers, with well meant, but needless assiduity,
cautioned him as to his trail in the forest, if he was so fortunate
as to reach it, reminding him that a detachment of
the enemy might follow him there. The Indian smiled
scornfully as he replied—
“Let them track the swallows; the Lynx leaves no
trail.”
The night proved, as had been anticipated, still and
starlight; and when the last ray of twilight had disappeared,
the boat with its phantom crew was silently
launched, ready for departure, on the first movement of
the foe. The gondola, in the mean time, had been transported
across the island to the northeastern shore, and was
also in readiness. They had not long to wait. Recumbent
on the beach, his eyes brought nearly on a level with
the horizon, the Lynx himself was the first to detect the
he might make more certain of being discovered, he leapt
into his boat and pulled quickly from the shore. The
flight of the prisoners being anticipated, he was, of course,
almost instantly perceived. A long, shrill yell announced
the discovery from one boat to the other, and the race immediately
commenced. But although tremblingly anxious
for the fate of their companion, the remainder of the party
had but little time to watch the chase. The moment that
the changed position of the enemy seemed to render it safe,
they also embarked, and, taking at first a northerly direction
until they had obtained a considerable offing, they
changed their course and pulled rapidly down the lake.
The race was for life, and the exertion was proportionate.
Not a word was spoken. All felt conscious that in a very
short time the ruse would be discovered. The distance to
the eastern extremity of the lake was about eight miles, and
from that point to the fort about fifteen. Although this latter
course could be chiefly accomplished by means of the inlet,
the navigation of that stream was difficult, and would give
a vast advantage to the pursuers. A route through the
forest was therefore resolved upon, from some point near
the head of the lake, if they should succeed in safely
reaching that point.
About ten minutes had elapsed in silence, when a loud
and prolonged yell of many voices was heard from the direction
of the enemy. The oarsmen paused to listen, and
a momentary shudder pervaded every breast, as the probable
fate of their companion was contemplated.
“'Tis the scalp-halloo of the Mohawks,” said Rogers,
solemnly; “our friend is dead.”
All turned to Wongah for his opinion; but the Indian,
with one finger raised to enjoin silence, still remained listening.
At that moment the well known war-cry of the
waters, waking the slumbering echoes with the sound.
“The Lynx is safe!” said the old man, as he again bent
energetically to his task. A single shot was all the additional
noise that was heard, and they now knew that the
foe was in swift pursuit of themselves. The succeeding
hour, fleet winged as it may have been to some, was a long
age of suspense to the fugitives. Keeping close to the
land, they held their course with unabated speed, until at
length the converging shores announced that they were
near their intended place of debarkation. But hope
seemed only to tantalize and mock them; for at this moment
a fiendish shout from the enemy announced that they
were again discovered. The stout heart of Dudley, the
merry sergeant, and even the stoical Wongah, seemed now to
despair, while the terrified and exhausted Ellen fell senseless
in the boat. They did indeed hasten toward the land,
but it was with no well defined hope of either defence or
escape. Bloodhounds might possibly have been eluded,
but to avoid the pursuit of a dozen Mohawks through such
a wilderness was impossible. While Dudley and Rogers
lifted the lifeless form of Ellen from the vessel, another
wild yell reached their ears, and the enemy were distinctly
seen making for the shore, at a point about sixty rods below.
Still bearing their beauteous burden, the young men
hastened up the bank and rushed wildly and aimlessly
through the woods. But an unseen hand was guiding their
steps. The rattling of a bayonet, and the quick sharp call
of a sentinel announced, what the next moment's glance
confirmed, that they were within the lines of a military encampment.
Stunned by the sudden reaction of his feelings,
Dudley scarcely found words to announce his name
and rank; having done which, he demanded to be conducted
forthwith to the commander's tent. He knew that
for so great a delight as finding himself in the immediate
presence of Col. Willett, who was on his return from a pursuit
of St. Leger. It was yet early in the night, and the
officers had not retired to rest. Having hastily given information
of the approach of his pursuers, orders were immediately
issued for extinguishing the lights of the camp
and calling in the sentinels. Three detachments of fifty
men each were detailed to take up positions, with short intervals
between, stretching transversely from the shore.
The utmost silence was preserved, and Waldon and the
Mohawks rushed heedlessly into the trap. Their first notice
of danger was the command to fire, and simultaneous
with the sound, eight of the band, including their vindictive
and treacherous leader, lay stretched upon the ground.
The remainder, with one or two exceptions, were taken
prisoners.
On Dudley, the more agreeable task had devolved of
restoring Ellen to animation, and of witnessing the first
overpowering sense of delight which the knowledge of their
changed fortunes created. How amply his own perils and
privations were repaid, by the fruition of that affection
which only woman's heart can bestow, need scarcely
be said.
On the ensuing day, Col. Willett returned with his detachment
to the fort, where the Lynx had already safely
arrived. He related with much minuteness the cautious
approach of his pursuers to his deserted vessel upon the
shore, and their successful capture of its non-combatant
crew, concluding by asserting with grave irony that “the
Mohawks were great warriors.” Himself and the aged
Wongah, like most of the Oneidas, ever continued faithful
to the republican cause, and lived to receive many proofs
of the esteem and gratitude of Dudley and Ellen.
The tide of war, during the remaining period of the
Revolution, rolled chiefly in a direction remote from the
county of Tyron, but neither Dudley or Rogers were sufficiently
enamored of martial glory to follow its retiring
banners. Yet in those minor, but sanguinary struggles,
which long convulsed the beautiful valley of the Mohawk,
they continued among the most valiant defenders of their
native soil, receiving the rich meed of their country's approbation,
and the still richer reward of an approving conscience.
| The miser's heir, or, The young millionaire | |