True to the Old Flag: A Tale of the American War of Independence, G. A. Henty [classic novels for teens TXT] 📗

"but I don't know as it's much more risksome than stopping here. It don't seem to me that this army is like to get out of the trap into which their general has led 'em. Whatever he wanted to leave the lakes for is more nor I can tell. However, generaling aint my business, and I wouldn't change places with the old man to-day, not for a big sum of money. Now, chief, what do you say? How's this 'ere business to be carried out?"

The Seneca, with the five braves who had from the first accompanied them, were now the only Indians with the British army. The rest of the redskins, disgusted with the dilatory progress of the army and foreseeing inevitable disaster, had all betaken themselves to their homes. They were, moreover, angered at the severity with which the English general had endeavored to suppress their tendency to acts of cruelty on the defenseless settlers. The redskin has no idea of civilized warfare. His sole notion of fighting is to kill, burn, and destroy, and the prohibition of all irregular operations and of the infliction of unnecessary suffering was, in his eyes, an act of incomprehensible weakness. The Seneca chief remained with the army simply because his old comrade did so. He saw that there was little chance of plunder, but he and his braves had succeeded in fair fight in obtaining many scalps, and would, at least, be received with high honor on their return to their tribe.

A long discussion took place between the chief and Peter before they finally decided upon the best course to be pursued. They were ignorant of the country and of the disposition of the enemy's force, and could only decide to act upon general principles. They thought it probable that the Americans would be most thickly posted upon the line between the British army and the lakes, and their best chance of success would therefore be to make their way straight ahead for some distance, and then, when they had penetrated the American lines, to make a long d�tour round to the lakes.

Taking four days' provisions with them they started when nightfall had fairly set in. It was intensely dark, and in the shadows of the woods Harold was unable to see his hand before him. The Indians appeared to have a faculty of seeing in the dark, for they advanced without the slightest pause or hesitation and were soon in the open country. The greatest vigilance was now necessary. Everywhere they could hear the low hum which betokens the presence of many men gathered together. Sometimes a faint shout came to their ears, and for a long distance around the glow in the sky told of many fires. The party now advanced with the greatest caution, frequently halting while the Indians went on ahead to scout; and more than once they were obliged to alter their direction as they came upon bodies of men posted across their front. At last they passed through the line of sentinels, and, avoiding all the camps, gained the country in the Americans' rear.

They now struck off to the right, and by daybreak were far round beyond the American army, on their way to Ticonderoga. They had walked for fifteen hours when they halted, and it was not until late in the afternoon that they continued their journey. They presently struck the road which the army had cut in its advance, and keeping parallel with this through the forest they arrived the next morning at Fort Edward. A few hours' rest here and they continued their march to Ticonderoga. This place had been attacked by the Americans a few days previously, but the garrison had beaten off the assailants.

On the march they had seen many bodies of the enemy moving along the road, but their approach had in every case been detected in time to take refuge in the forest. On entering the fort Peter at once proceeded to General Powell's quarters and delivered the dispatch with which he had been intrusted. The general read it.

"No re-enforcements have arrived," the general said, "and the force here is barely sufficient to defend the place. It would be madness for me to set out on such a march with the handful of troops at my disposal."

He then questioned Peter concerning the exact position of the army, and the latter had no hesitation in saying that he thought the whole force would be compelled to lay down their arms unless some re-enforcements reached them from below.

This, however, was not to be. General Clinton captured Forts Montgomery and Clinton, the latter a very strong position, defended with great resolution by four hundred Americans. The Seventh and Twenty-sixth regiments and a company of grenadiers attacked on one side, the Sixty-third Regiment on the other. They had no cannon to cover their advance and had to cross ground swept by ten pieces of artillery. In no event during the war did the British fight with more resolution. Without firing a shot they pressed forward to the foot of the works, climbed over each other's shoulders on to the walls, and drove the enemy back. The latter discharged one last volley into the troops and then laid down their arms. Notwithstanding the slaughter effected by this wanton fire after all possibility of continuing a resistance was over, quarter was given and not one of the enemy was killed after the fort was taken. The British loss was 140 killed and wounded; 300 Americans were killed, wounded, or taken prisoners. The fleet attacked the American squadron on the river and entirely destroyed it. Beyond sending a flying squadron up the river to destroy the enemy's boats and stores of provisions, nothing further could be done to effect a diversion in favor of General Burgoyne.

Four days after Harold's arrival at Ticonderoga the news of the surrender of General Burgoyne reached the place. Upon the following day he suggested to Peter Lambton that they should visit the clearing of the ex-soldier Cameron and see whether their interference had saved him and his family. Upon arriving at the spot whence Harold had fired the shot which had brought discovery upon them, they saw a few charred stumps alone remaining of the snug house which had stood there. In front of it, upon the stump of a tree, Cameron himself was sitting in an attitude of utter depression.

They walked across the clearing to the spot, but although the sound of their footsteps must have reached his ear, the man did not look up until Harold touched him on the shoulder.

"What has happened?" he asked. "Who has done this ruin?"

The man still remained with his head bent down, as if he had not heard the question.

"We had hoped that you had escaped," Harold went on. "We were hidden in the wood when we saw those ruffians drive your wife and daughter out, and it was the shot from my rifle that killed their leader and brought them down on us; and a narrow escape we had of it; but we hoped that we had diverted them from their determination to kill you and your family."

Cameron looked up now.

"I thank ye, sir," he said. "I thank ye wi' a' my hairt for your interference on our behalf. I heerd how closely ye were beset that night and how ye escaped. They thought nae mair o' us, and when the royal army arrived the next day we were safe; but ye might as weel ha' let the matter gang on—better, indeed, for then I should be deed instead o' suffering. This wark," and he pointed toward the remains of the house, "is redskin deviltry. A fortnight sin' a band o' Indians fell upon us. I was awa'. They killed my wife and burned my house and ha' carried off my bairn."

"Who were they?" Harold asked.

"I dinna ken," Cameron replied; "but a neebor o' mine whose place they attacked, and whom they had scalped and left for deed, told me that they were a band o' the Iroquois who had come down from Lake Michigan and advanced wi' the British. He said that they, with the other redskins, desairted when their hopes o' plunder were disappointed, and that on their way back to their tribes they burned and ravaged every settlement they cam' across. My neebor was an old frontiersman; he had fought against the tribe and knew their war-cry. He deed the next day. He was mair lucky than I am."

"The tarnal ruffians!" Peter exclaimed; "the murdering varmints! And to think of 'em carrying off that purty little gal of yours! I suppose by this time they're at their old game of plundering and slaying on the frontier. It's naught to them which side they fight on; scalps and plunder is all they care for."

The unfortunate settler had sat down again on the log, the picture of a broken-hearted man. Harold drew Peter a short distance away.

"Look here. Peter," he said. "Now Burgoyne's army has surrendered and winter is close at hand, it is certain that there will be no further operations here, except perhaps that the Americans will recapture the place. What do you say to our undertaking an expedition on our own account to try and get back this poor fellow's daughter? I do not know whether the Seneca would join us, but we three—of course I count Jake—and the settler might do something. I have an old grudge against these Iroquois myself, as you have heard; and for aught I know they may long ere this have murdered my cousins."

"The Seneca will jine," Peter said, "willing enough. There's an old feud between his tribe and the Iroquois. He'll jine fast enough. But mind, youngster, this aint no child's play; it aint like fighting them American clodhoppers. We'll have to deal with men as sharp as ourselves, who can shoot as well, hear as well, see as well, who are in their own country, and who are a hundred to one against us. We've got hundreds and hundreds of miles to travel afore we gets near 'em. It's a big job; but if, when ye thinks it all over, you're ready to go, Peter Lambton aint the man to hold back. As you say, there's naught to do this winter, and we might as well be doing this as anything else."

The two men then went back to the settler.

"Cameron," Harold said, "it is of no use sitting here grieving. Why not be up in pursuit of those who carried off your daughter?"

The man sprang to his feet.

"In pursuit!" he cried fiercely; "in pursuit! Do ye think Donald Cameron wad be sitting here quietly if he kenned where to look for his daughter—where to find the murderers o' his wife? But what can I do? For three days after I cam' back and found what had happened I was just mad. I couldna think nor rest, nor do aught but throw mysel' on the ground and pray to God to tak' me. When at last I could think, it was too late. It wad hae mattered naething to me that they were a hundred to one. If I could ha' killed but one o' them I wad ha' died happy; but they were gone, and how could I follow them—how could I find them? Tell me where to look, mon—show me the way; and if it be to the ends o' the airth I will go after them."

"We will do more, than that," Harold said. "My friend and myself have still with us the seven men who were with us when we were here before. Five are Senecas, the other a faithful negro who would go through fire and water for me. There is little chance of our services being required during the winter with the British army. We, are interested in you and in the pretty child we saw here, and, if you will, we will accompany you in the search for her. Peter Lambton knows the country well, and if anyone could lead you to your child and rescue her from those who carried her off, he is the man."

"Truly!" gasped the Scotchman. "And will ye truly gang wi' me to find my bairn? May the guid God o' heaven bless you!" and the tears ran down his cheeks.

"Git your traps together at once, man," Peter said. "Let's go straight back to the fort; then I'll set the matter before the chief, who will, I warrant me, be glad enough to jine the expedition. It's too late to follow the track of the red varmints; our best plan will be to make straight for the St. Lawrence; to take a boat if we can git one; if not, two canoes; and to make up the river and along the Ontario. Then we must sell our boat, cross to Erie, and git fresh canoes and