CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER XI.

The rain poured steadily down in torrents, and the heavens were all one unvarying mass of leaden clouds. The outlines of the Green Mountains were wrapped in driving fleeces of gray mist, and the chilly north-east wind drove the rain aslant, splashing up the pools that collected in every hollow.

Adrian Schuyler, at the head of a small party of horsemen, was slowly riding along on his recovered charger, through the fields near the little town of Bennington. He was wrapped in his long cloak, and the rain dripped from his tall hussar-cap in a continued spout. His followers were awkward, countryfied Green-Mountain Boys, but their peculiar leathern costume told that they were all hunters, and not agriculturists, by profession. Hunters they were, and first-class shots, keen at detecting trails, and model scouts.

They rode on behind their leader, in single file, watching every little patch of wood that might hide an enemy. Two men rode on each flank at easy rifle-shot distance, beating up the brushwood, and leaving nothing unsearched.

Their numbers and actions sufficiently told that they composed a reconnoitering party, under command of the ex-hussar. It was a noticeable fact in the history of the Revolutionary war, that those officers who had served in European armies were treated with great distinction whenever they could be induced to accept commands, and that their career in American armies was generally very creditable, with the exception of those coming from the English service. The latter, as in the cases of Lee and Gates, were almost uniformly unfortunate, while those provincials, such as Washington, Putnam, Stark, and Schuyler, who had learned war in the French and Indian struggle, under English tuition, were as uniformly good leaders. All which facts tend to prove that the English system of war is inferior to that pursued, in Germany especially, on the European continent; as also that American intellect is able to attain a good result, even in a bad school.

Adrian Schuyler was a model light cavalry officer, and conducted his party with due caution. A rifle-shot ahead, was the best scout of the party, and every now and then, silent signals were exchanged between the advance and the main body, that communicated some intelligence. Presently the scout in front halted, and crouched on his horse’s neck. Instantly, at a low word from Adrian, his party stopped, and the officer rode slowly up to the side of his advanced vidette, to see what was the matter.

“Thar they be, Cap,” said the scout, in a low tone, pointing to his left front, “they’re gone into camp, as slick as molasses, and their Dutch sentry ain’t got no eyes, I guess, for he’s a-blinkin’ this way, jest like an owl on a fine day, and hain’t seen me.”

Schuyler, sheltering himself behind the other, and bowing his head, so as to hide his tall cap, slipped off his horse and leveled a telescope over the croup of the scout’s steady animal. A bluish line of smoke, clearly visible against the cold gray background of mist and rain, pointed out the position of the camp of Baum and his Hessians, detached from the army of Burgoyne, to seize the stores at Bennington.

They lay in a square, compact mass, in a bend of the little rivulet, called the Wollonsac, which covered their position. A green grove, at the borders of the stream, furnished them with some shelter from the rain, for otherwise they were compelled to trust to huts of straw.

A brown line of fresh earth, covering the whole front of their position, showed that their commander was a cautious man, who knew the value of intrenchments.

“There they are, sure enough, Kerr,” said Schuyler, as he shut up his glass; “but I don’t see any Indians.”

“I’d admire to see the reptyles,” said Kerr, spitefully, “sneaking round whenourboys are here, Cap. No, no, thur ain’t one of ’em left near us, since the Mountain Devil’s up and arter ’em.”

“The Mountain Devil! Who’s that?” asked Adrian, surprised. It was the first time he had heard allusions from others to the singular being that had effected his own release from his late captors.

“Wal, Cap, that’s hard to say,” responded the scout.“Some say he’s a real devil, some say he’s only a feller that’s got a spite against the Injins. All I know is, that he’s been round lately, and skeered every one on ’em out of the country. Folks say he’s b’en dodgin’ round Burgoyne’s men, playin’ the same games, and that thur leavin’ for hum.”

“Has he been seen near our quarters?” asked the hussar.

“Nary time, Cap. He may be a devil, but if so, he’s a mighty friendly one fur our side. He don’t only kill Injins and Tories, and leaves our folks alone. We hain’t so much as seen him, though prisoners tells mighty tough stories about him, how he’s got horns and huffs, and sends fire out of his mouth, and sich like.”

Schuyler did not tell the scout of his own experience. He was too much puzzled at the nature of the apparition.

He remained watching the camp of the English dragoons in silence, feeling certain that his presence was unseen by the army, then turning, he led his horse away out of sight.

He was about to lead his party round to reconnoiter from another quarter, when one of the flanking scouts was seen to go off, at a gallop, to the right, into the woods, as if in chase of something. A moment later, a black horse, which the hussar recognized as the one he had turned loose to go back to the Haunted Mountain, dashed out of the woods, bearing a lady on his back, and came galloping up, pursued by the scout.

Schuyler waved his hand to the latter to halt, for he recognized the figure of the lady. Then, up galloped the unknown fair one who called herself Diana, and checked her horse with fearless grace in front of the party.

Diana was more beautiful, if possible, in the habiliments of civilization, than she had been in her woodland guise. She was dressed in a black riding-habit of velvet, laced across the breast in strange imitation of a skeleton, in silver, and wore a little black hussar-cap, with a skull and cross-bones in white on the front, the very costume afterward used by the “Black Brunswickers” of Waterloo renown. She was dripping with rain.

Without the slightest hesitation, she addressed Schuyler, earnestly.

“Sir,” she said, “you are in danger, and you know it not.A party of savages, led by the Tory spy, Colonel Butler, are already between you and your own forces, to cut you off. Retire, while there is time. I am sent to warn you. They are now in yonder wood.”

As she spoke, she pointed to a piece of woods in their rear, and wheeled her horse as if to flee. Adrian Schuyler impulsively caught at the bridle.

“Tell me, at least,” he entreated, “that you will not run into danger on our account. We are soldiers, you a woman.”

“No time for talking,” she answered, sharply. “Look yonder.”

He looked, and the edge of the wood was full of Indians.

Back to IndexNext