Appletons’
Town and Country
Library
No. 216

THE SUN OF SARATOGA
A ROMANCE OF BURGOYNE’S SURRENDER

THE SUN
OF SARATOGA

A Romance of Burgoyne’s Surrender

BY

JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER

NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1897

Copyright, 1897,
By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.

CONTENTS.

THE SUN OF SARATOGA.

CHAPTER I. ON WATCH.

“You will watch this hollow and the hill yonder,” said the general, “and see that not a soul passes either to the north or to the south. Don’t forget that the fate of all the colonies may depend upon your vigilance.”

Then he left me.

I felt much discomfort. I submit that it is not cheering to have the fate of thirteen large colonies and some two or three million people, men, women, and children, depend upon one’s own humble self. I like importance, but not when it brings such an excess of care.

I looked to Sergeant Whitestone for cheer.

“We are not the only men on watch to cut off their messengers,” he said. “We have our bit of ground here to guard, and others have theirs.”

Then he sat down on the turf and smoked his pipe with provoking calm, as if the troubles of other people were sufficient to take our own away. I decided to stop thinking about failure and address myself to my task. Leaving the sergeant and the four men who constituted my small army, I took a look about me. The hollow was but a few hundred yards across, sparse-set with trees and bushes. It should not be difficult to guard it by day, but by night it would be a different matter. On the hill I could see the walls and roof of the Van Auken house. That, too, fell within my territory, and for reasons sufficient to me I was sorry of it.

I walked part of the way up the hillside, spying out the ground and seeing what places for concealment there might be. I did not mean to be lax in my duty in any particular. I appreciated its full import. The great idea that we might take Burgoyne and his whole army was spreading among us, and it was vital that no news of his plight should reach Clinton and the other British down below us.

I came back to Sergeant Whitestone, who was still sitting on the ground, puffing out much smoke, and looking very content.

“I don’t think we need fear any attempt to get through until night,” he said. “The dark is the time for messengers who don’t want to be seen.”

I agreed with him, and found a position of comfort upon the grass.

“There’s our weak point,” said the sergeant, waving his hand toward the Van Auken house.

I was sorry to hear him say so, especially as I had formed the same opinion.

“But there’s nobody up there except women,” I said.

“The very reason,” replied the sergeant.

I occupied myself for a little while tossing pebbles at a tree. Then I disposed my men at suitable distances along our line, and concluded to go up to the house, which going, in good truth, was part of my duty.

I was near the top of the hill when I saw Kate Van Auken coming to meet me.

“Good morning, Dick,” she said.

“Good morning, Mistress Catherine,” I replied.

It had been my habit to call her Kate when we were children together, but I could not quite manage it now.

“You are set as a guard upon us?” she said.

“To protect you from harm,” I replied with my most gallant air.

“Your manners are improving,” she said in what I thought rather a disdainful tone.

“I must search the house,” I continued.

“You call that protecting us?” she said with the same touch of sarcasm.

“Nevertheless it must be done,” I said, speaking in my most positive manner.

She led the way without further demur. Now I had every confidence in Kate Van Auken. I considered her as good a patriot as myself, though all her family were Tory. It did not seem to me to be at all likely that any spy or messenger of the British had reached the concealment of the house, but it was my duty to be sure.

“Perhaps you would not care to talk to my mother?” she asked.

“No!” I replied in such haste that she laughed.

I knew Madame Van Auken was one of the most fanatic Tories in New York colony, and I had no mind to face her. It is curious how women are more hard-set than men in these matters. But in my search of the house I was compelled to pass through the room where she sat, most haughty and severe. Kate explained what I was about. She never spoke to me, though she had known me since I was a baby, but remained rigid in her armchair and glowered at me as if I were a most wretched villain. I confess that I felt very uncomfortable, and was glad when we passed on to another room.

As I had expected, I found nothing suspicious in the house.

“I hope you are satisfied?” said Miss Van Auken when I left.

“For the present,” I replied, bowing.

I rejoined Sergeant Whitestone in the hollow. He was still puffing at his pipe, and I do not think he had changed his position by the breadth of a hair. I told him I had found nothing at the house, and asked what he thought of the case.

“We may look for work to-night, I think,” he replied very gravely. “It’s most likely that the British will try to send somebody through at this point. All the Van Aukens, except the women, are with Burgoyne, and as they know the ground around here best they’ll go to Burgoyne and have him send the men this way.”

That was my thought too. Whitestone is a man of sound judgment. I sent two of our lads toward the house, with instructions to watch it, front and rear. It was my intent to visit them there later.

Then I joined Whitestone in a friendly pipe and found much consolation in the good tobacco. Kate’s manner had nettled me the least bit, but I reflected that perhaps she was justified, as so many of her people were with Burgoyne, and, moreover, she was betrothed to Chudleigh, an Englishman. Chudleigh, an officer with Tryon in New York before the war, had come down from Canada with Burgoyne. So far as I knew he had passed safely through the last battle.

I had naught in particular against Chudleigh, but it seemed to me that he might find a wife in his own country.

The day was slow. I would rather have been with the army, where there was bustle and the hope of great things, but Whitestone, a pack of lazy bones, grunted with content. He stretched his long body on the ground and stared up at the sky through half-closed eyes. A mellow sun shone back at him.

Toward noon I sent one of the men to the house with a request for some small supply of provision, if they could spare it. We had food, a little, but we wanted more. Perhaps I ought to have gone myself, but I had my reasons. The man came back with two roast chickens.

“The old lady gave me a blessing,” he said with a sour face, “and said she’d die before she’d feed rebels against the best king that ever lived; but the girl gave me these when I came out the back way.”

We ate our dinner, and then I changed the sentinels at the house. Whitestone relapsed into his apparent lethargy, but I knew that the man, despite his seeming, was all vigilance and caution.

We looked for no happenings before dark, but it was yet a good four hours to set of sun when we heard a noise in the south and saw some dust rising far down the hollow.

Sergeant Whitestone rose quickly to his feet, smothered the fire in his pipe, and put his beloved companion in an inside pocket of his waistcoat.

“A party coming,” I said.

“Yes, and a lot of ’em, too, I think,” he replied, “or they wouldn’t raise so much dust.”

One of the men ran down from the hill where the view was better, and announced that a large body of soldiers was approaching. I called all the others and we stood to our arms, though we were convinced that the men marching were our own. Either the British would come with a great army or not at all.

The approaching troops, two hundred at least, appeared down the valley. The dust encased them like armor, and one can not tell what a soldier is by the dirt on his uniform. Whitestone took one long and critical look and then unbuttoned his coat and drew out his pipe.

“What are they?” I asked.

“Virginians,” he replied. “I know their stride. I’ve served with ’em. Each step they take is exactly two inches longer than ours. They got it hunting ’possums at night.”

They were in loose order like men who have marched far, but their faces were eager, and they were well armed. We halted them, as our duty bade us, and asked who they were.

“Re-enforcements for the Northern army,” said the captain at their head. He showed us an order from our great commander-in-chief himself.

“Where is Burgoyne?” he asked as soon as I had finished the letter. “Is he still coming south?”

“He is but a few miles beyond you,” I replied, “and he will come no farther south. There has been a great battle and we held him fast.”

They gave a cheer, and some threw up their hats. To understand our feelings one must remember that we had been very near the edge of the ice, and more than once thought we would go over.

All their weariness gone, these long-legged Southerners shouldered their rifles and marched on to join the great belt of strong arms and stout hearts that was forming around the doomed Burgoyne and his army. As they passed, Sergeant Whitestone took his pipe out of his mouth and said:

“Good boys!”

Which was short, but which was much for him.

I watched their dusty backs as they tramped up the valley.

“You seem to admire them,” said some one over my shoulder.

“It is they and their fellows who will take Burgoyne, Mistress Catherine,” I replied.

“They can’t stand before the British bayonet,” she said.

“Sorry to dispute the word of so fair a lady,” I replied, meaning to be gallant, “but I was at the last battle.”

She laughed, as if she did not think much of my words. She said no more, but watched the marching Virginians. I thought I saw a little glow as of pride come in her face. They curved around a hill and passed out of sight.

“Good-by!” said Mistress Kate. “That’s all I wanted to see here.”

She went back to the house and we resumed our tedious watch. Whitestone had full warrant for his seeming apathy. After the passage of the Virginians there was naught to stir us in the slightest. Though born and bred a countryman, I have never seen anything more quiet and peaceful than that afternoon, although two large armies lay but a short distance away, resting from one bloody battle and waiting for another.

No one moved at the house. Everybody seemed to be asleep there. Some birds chattered undisturbed in the trees. The air had the crisp touch of early autumn, and faint tokens of changing hues were appearing already in the foliage. I felt a sleepy languor like that which early spring puts into the blood. In order to shake it off I began a thorough search of the country thereabouts. I pushed my way through the bushes, and tramped both to the north and to the south as far as I dared go from my post. Then I visited the guards who adjoined my little detachment on either side. They had to report only the same calm that prevailed at our part of the line. I went back to Sergeant Whitestone.

“Better take it easy,” advised he. “When there’s nothing to do, do it, and then be fresh to do it when there’s something to do.”

I took his advice, which seemed good, and again made myself comfortable on the ground, waiting for the coming of the night. It was still an hour to set of sun when we saw a mounted officer coming from the north where our army lay. We seemed to be his destination, as he rode straight toward us. I recognized Captain Martyn at once. I did not like this man. I had no particular reason for it, though I have found often that the lack of reason for doing a thing is the very strongest reason why we do it. I knew little about Captain Martyn. He had joined the Northern army before I arrived, and they said he had done good service, especially in the way of procuring information about the enemy.

Whitestone and I sat together on the grass. The other men were on guard at various points. Captain Martyn came on at a good pace until he reached us, when he pulled up his horse with a smart jerk.

“Your watch is over,” he said to me without preliminary. “You are to withdraw with your men at once.”

I was taken much aback, as any one else in my place would have been also. I had received instructions to keep faithful guard over that portion of the line for the long period of twenty-four hours—that is, until the next morning.

“But this must be a mistake,” I protested. “There is nobody to relieve us. Surely the general can not mean to leave the line broken at this point.”

“If you have taken the direction of the campaign, perhaps you had best notify our generals that they are superseded,” he said in a tone most ironical.

He aroused my stubbornness, of which some people say I have too much, and I refused to retire until he showed me a written order to that effect from the proper officer. Not abating his ironical manner one whit, he held it toward me in an indifferent way, as much as to say, “You can read it or not, just as you choose; it does not matter to me.”

It was addressed to me, and notified me briefly to withdraw at once with my men and rejoin my company, stationed not less than ten miles away. Everything, signature included, was most proper, and naught was left for me to do but to obey. The change was no affair of mine.

“Does that put your mind at rest?” asked Martyn.

“No, it does not,” I replied, “but it takes responsibility from me.”

Sergeant Whitestone called the men, and as we marched over the hill Martyn turned his horse and galloped back toward the army. When he had passed out of sight behind the trees I ordered the men to stop.

“Whitestone,” said I to the sergeant, who, as I have said before, was a man of most acute judgment, “do you like this?”

“Small liking have I for it,” he replied. “It is the most unmilitary proceeding I ever knew. It may be that our relief is coming, but it should have arrived before we left.”

I took out the order again, and after scanning it with care passed it to Whitestone.

Neither of us could see anything wrong with it. But the sergeant’s manner confirmed me in a resolution I had taken before I put the question to him.

“Sergeant,” I said, “every man in our army knows of what great import it is that no messenger from the British should get through our lines. We are leaving unguarded a place wide enough for a whole company to pass. I think I’ll go back there and resume guard. Will you go with me?”

He assented with most cheerful alacrity, and when I put the question to the others, stating that I left them to do as they pleased, all joined me. For what they believed to be the good of the cause they were willing to take the risks of disobedience, and I was proud of them.

I looked about me from the crest of the hill, but Martyn was out of sight. We returned to the valley and I posted my men in the same positions as before, my forebodings that it would be a night of action increased by this event.

CHAPTER II. A LIGHT IN THE WINDOW.

Two of my men were stationed near the house, but I had so placed them that they could not be seen by any one inside. I had also concealed our return from possible watchers there. I had an idea, which I confided to Whitestone, and in which, with his usual sound sense, he agreed with me. He and I remained together in the valley and watched the night come.

The sun seemed to me to linger long at the edge of the far hills, but at last his red rim went out of sight, and the heavy darkness which precedes the moonlight fell upon the earth.

“If anything happens, it will happen soon,” said Whitestone.

That was obvious, because if Martyn meditated treachery, it would be important for him to carry it out before the unguarded point in the line was discovered. Officially it was unguarded, because we were supposed to have gone away and stayed away.

My suspicions were confirmed by the non-arrival of our relief. Whitestone still took his ease, stretched out on the ground in the valley. I knew he missed his pipe, but to light it would serve as a warning in the dark to any one. I visited the two men near the house and cautioned them to relax their watch in no particular.

The night was now well begun and I could see no great distance. As I turned away from the last man I chanced to look up at the house, whose shape was but a darker shadow in the darkness. At a narrow window high up, where the sloping eaves converged, I saw a light. Perhaps I would not have thought much of it, but the light was moved from side to side with what seemed to me to be regular and deliberate motion. It faced the north, where our army lay.

I walked twenty steps or so, still keeping the light in view. Its regular swinging motion from side to side did not cease, and I could not persuade myself that it was not intended as a signal to some one. The discovery caused in me a certain faintness at the heart, for until this night I had thought Kate Van Auken, despite mother, brother, and all else, was a true friend to our cause through all.

I own I was in great perplexity. At first I was tempted to enter the house, smash the light, and denounce her in my most eloquent language. But I quickly saw the idea was but folly, and would stand in the way of our own plans. I leaned against an oak tree and kept my eyes fixed on the light. Though the windows in the house were many, no other light was visible, which seemed strange to me, for it was very early. Back and forth it swung, and then it was gone with a suddenness which made me rub my eyes to see if it were not still there; nothing ailed them. The building was a huge black shadow, but no light shone from it anywhere.

I went in a mighty hurry to Whitestone and told him what I had seen. He loosened the pistol in his belt and said he thought the time for us to make discoveries had come. Once more I agreed with him.

I drew my own pistol, that it might be ready to my hand, if need be, and we walked a bit up the valley. It was very dark and we trusted more to our ears than to our eyes, in which trust we were not deceived, for speedily we heard a faint but regular thump, thump, upon the earth.

“A horse coming,” I said.

“And probably a horseman, too,” said Whitestone.

How glad was I that we had stayed! It was not at all likely that the man coming had any honest business there. We stepped a trifle to one side and stood silent, while the tread of the horse’s hoofs grew louder. In a few moments the horseman was near enough for us to see his face even in the night, and I felt no surprise, though much anger, when I recognized Captain Martyn. He was riding slowly, in order that he might not make much noise, I supposed.

I stepped forward and put my hand upon his bridle rein. He saw who it was and uttered an exclamation; but after that he recovered his self-control with a quickness most astonishing.

“How dare you stop me in such a sudden and alarming manner?” he said with an appearance of great wrath.

But, very sure now that I was right, I intended neither to be deceived nor overborne. I ordered him to dismount and surrender himself.

“You are very impertinent, sir,” he said, “and need chastisement.”

I told him it mattered not, and ordered him again to dismount. For reply he drew a pistol with such suddenness that I could not guard against it and fired point-blank at my face. It was the kindly darkness making his aim bad that saved me. The bullet passed me, but the smoke and flash blinded me.

The traitor lashed his horse in an attempt to gallop by us, but Whitestone also fired, his bullet striking the horse and not the man. The animal, in pain, reared and struck out with his feet. Martyn attempted to urge him forward but failed. Then he slipped from his back and ran into the bushes. My eyes were clear now, and Whitestone and I rushed after him.

I noted from the very first that the man ran toward the house, and again, even in that moment of excitement, I congratulated myself that I had expected treason and collusion and had come back to my post.

I saw the captain’s head appearing just above some of the short bushes and raised my pistol to fire at him, but before I could get the proper aim he was out of sight. We increased our efforts in fear lest we should lose him, and a few steps further heard a shot which I knew came from one of my men on guard. We met the man running toward us, his empty rifle in his hand. He told us the fugitive had turned the corner of the house, and I felt that we had trapped him then, for the second man on guard there would be sure to stop him.

We pressed forward and met the man from behind the house, attracted by the sound of shots. He said nobody had appeared there. I turned to a side door, convinced that Martyn had found refuge in the house. It was no time to stand upon courtesy, or to wait for an invitation to enter. The door was locked, but Whitestone and I threw our full weight against it at the same time, and it flew open under the impact of some twenty-five stone.

We fell into a dark hall and scrambled in pressing haste to our feet. I paused a moment that I might direct the soldiers to surround the house and seize any one who came forth. Then we turned to face Madame Van Auken, who was coming toward us, a candle in her hand, a long white robe around her person, and a most icy look on her face.

She began at once a very fierce attack upon us for disturbing quiet folks abed. I have ever stood in dread of woman’s tongue, to which there is but seldom answer, but I explained in great hurry that a traitor had taken refuge in her house, and search it again we must, if not with her consent, then without it. She repelled me with extreme haughtiness, saying such conduct was unworthy of men who pretended to breeding; but, after all, it was no more than she ought to expect from ungrateful rebels.

Her attack, most unwarranted, considering the fact that a traitor had just hid in her house, stirred some spleen in me, and I bade her very stiffly to stand out of the way. Another light appeared just then at the head of the stairway, and Mistress Kate came down, fully dressed, looking very fine and handsome too, with a red flame in either cheek.

She demanded the reason of our entry with a degree of haughtiness inferior in no wise to her mother’s. Again I explained, angered at these delays made by women who, handsome or not, may appear sometimes when they are not wanted.

“Take the men, all except one to watch at the door, and search the house at once, sergeant,” said I.

Whitestone, with an indifference to their bitter words most astonishing, led his men upstairs and left me to endure it all. I pretended not to hear, and taking the candle suddenly from Kate’s hands turned into a side room and began to poke about the furniture. But they followed me there.

“I suppose you think this is very shrewd and very noble,” said Kate with a fine irony.

I did not reply, but poked behind a sideboard with my pistol muzzle. Both Kate and her mother seemed to me, despite their efforts to repress it, to manifest a very great uneasiness. I did not wonder at it, for I knew they must fear to be detected in their collusion with the traitor. Kate continued to gibe at me.

“Oh, well, it’s not Captain Chudleigh I’m looking for,” said I at last.

“And in truth if it were, you’d be afraid to find him,” replied she, a sprightly flash appearing in her eye.

I said no more, content with my hit. I found no one below stairs, and joined Whitestone on the second floor, the women still following me and upbraiding me. I looked more than once at Kate, and I could see that she was all in a tremor. I doubted not it arose from a belief that I had discovered her treachery, as well as from a fear that we would capture the chief traitor.

Whitestone had not yet found our man, though he had been in every room on the second floor and even into the low-roofed garret. At this the two women became more contumelious, crying out that we were now shamed by our own acts. But we were confident that the man was yet in the house. I pushed into a large room which seemed to serve as a spare chamber. We had entered it once before, but I thought a more thorough search might be made. In one corner, some dresses hanging against the wall reached to the floor. I prodded one of them with my fist and encountered something soft.

The dress was dashed aside and our man sprang out. There was a low window at the end of the room, and with one bound he was through it. Whitestone fired at his disappearing body, but missed. We heard a second shot from the man on guard below, and then we rushed pell-mell down the stairs to pursue him.

I bethought me at the door to bid one of the men stay and watch the house, for I knew not what further treachery the women might meditate. This stopped me only a moment, and then I ran after Whitestone, who was some steps in the lead. We overtook the man who had fired at Martyn, and he said he had hit him, so he thought.

“When he sprang from the window he rose very light from the ground,” he said, “and I don’t think the fall hurt him much.”

We saw Martyn some twenty yards or more in advance of us, running toward the south. It was of double importance now that we should overtake him, for if we did not he would be beyond our lines, and, barring some improbable chance, would escape to Clinton with a report of Burgoyne’s condition.

The fugitive curved here and there among the shadows but could not shake us off. I held my loaded pistol in my hand and twice or thrice had a chance for a fair shot at him, but I never raised the weapon. I could shoot at a man in the heat of battle or the flurry of a sudden moment of excitement, but not when he was like a fleeing hare. Moreover, I preferred to take him alive.

The moon was coming out, driving away part of the darkness, and on the bushes I noticed some spots of blood. Then the fugitive had been hit, and I was glad I had not fired upon him, for we would be certain to take him wounded.

The course led over pretty rough ground. Whitestone was panting at my elbow, and two of the men lumbered behind us. The fugitive began to waver, and presently I noticed that we were gaining. Suddenly Martyn began to cast his hands as if he were throwing something from him, and we saw little bits of white paper fluttering in the air. I divined on the instant that, seeing his certain capture, he was tearing up traitorous papers. We wanted those papers as well as their bearer.

I shouted to him to halt lest I fire. He flung a whole handful of scraps from him. Just then he came to a stump; he stopped abruptly, sat down upon it with his face to us, and drawing a pistol from his pocket, put it to his own head and fired.

I was never more shocked in my life, the thing was so sudden. He slid off the stump to the ground, and when we reached him he was quite dead. We found no letters upon him, as in the course of his flight he had succeeded in destroying them all. But I had not the slightest doubt the order he had given to me would soon prove to be a forgery. His own actions had been sufficient evidence of that.

I directed Whitestone to take the body to some safe place and we would give it quiet burial on the morrow. I did not wish the women to know of the man’s terrible fate, though I owed them scant courtesy for the way they had treated me.

Leaving Whitestone and one of the soldiers to the task, I went back to the house alone.

Mistress Kate and her mother were at the door, both in a state of high excitement.

“Did he escape?” asked Madame Van Auken.

“No,” I replied, telling the truth in part and a lie in part. “We captured him, and the men are now taking him back to the army.”

She sighed deeply. Mistress Kate said nothing, though her face was of a great paleness.

“I will not upbraid you with what I call treachery,” I said, speaking to them both, “and I will not disturb you again to-night. It is not necessary.”

I said the last rather grimly, but I observed some of the paleness depart from Mistress Kate’s countenance and a look strangely like that of relief come into her eyes. I was sorry, for it seemed to me to indicate more thought of her own and her mother’s peace than of the fate of the man whom we had taken. But there was naught to say, and I left them without the courtesy of a good night on either side.

Whitestone and the men returned presently from their task, and I posted the guards as before, confident that no traitor could pass while I was on watch there.

CHAPTER III. A SHOT FROM THE WINDOW.

Whitestone and I held a small conference in the dark. Though regretting that the matter had ended in such tragic way, we believed we had done a great thing, and I am not loath to confess that I expected words of approval the next day when we would take the news of it to the army. We agreed that we must not relax our vigilance in the smallest particular, for where there was one plot there might be a dozen. Whitestone went down into the valley while I remained near the house.

In my lonely watch I had great space for thought. I was grieved by my discoveries in regard to Kate Van Auken. Of a truth she was nothing to me, being betrothed, moreover, to Chudleigh the Englishman; but we had been children together, and it was not pleasing to believe her a patriot and find her a traitor. I could get no sort of satisfaction out of such thoughts, and turning them aside walked about with vigor in an attempt to keep myself from becoming very sleepy.

The moon was still showing herself, and I could see the house very well. No light had appeared in it since our last withdrawal, but looking very closely I saw what appeared to be a dark shadow at one of the windows. I knew that room to be Mistress Kate’s, and I surmised that she was there seeking to watch us. I resolved in return that I would watch her. I stepped back where I would be sheltered by a tree from her sight, and presently had my reward. The window was opened gently and a head, which could be none other than that of Kate, was thrust out a bit.

I could see her quite well, even the features of her face. She was looking very earnestly into the surrounding night, and of a truth anxiety was writ plainly on her countenance. She stretched her head out farther and examined all the space before the house. I was hidden from her gaze, but down in a corner of the yard she could see the sentinel pacing back and forth. She inspected him with much earnestness for some time, and then withdrew her head, closing the window.

I was of the opinion that some further mischief was afoot or intended, but the nature of it passed me. It seemed that what had happened already was not a sufficient warning to them. I began to walk around the house that I might keep a watch upon it from every point. Sleepiness no longer oppressed me. In truth, I forgot all about it.

I passed to the rear of the building and spoke to the sentinel stationed in the yard there. He had seen nothing of suspicious nature so far. I knew he was a faithful, watchful man, and that I could trust him. I left him and pushed my way between two large flower bushes growing very close together. Standing there, I beheld the opening of another window in the house. Again the head of Mistress Kate appeared, and precisely the same act as before was repeated. She looked about with the intentness and anxiety of a military engineer studying his ground. She saw the sentinel as she had seen his fellow before the house, and her eyes rested long upon him. Her examination finished, she withdrew, closing the window.

I set myself to deciphering the meaning of this, and of a sudden it flashed upon me with such force that I believed myself stupid not to have seen it before. Kate Van Auken herself was planning to go through our lines with the news of Burgoyne’s plight. She was a bold girl, not much afraid of the dark or the woods, and the venture was not beyond her. The conviction of the truth depressed me. I felt some regard for Kate Van Auken, whom I as a little boy had liked as a little girl, and I had slight relish for this task of keeping watch upon her. Even now I had caught her planning great harm to our cause.

I confess that I scarce knew what to do. Perhaps it was my duty, if the matter be considered in its utmost strictness, to arrest both the women at once as dangerous to our cause, and send them to the army. But such a course was quite beyond my resolution. I could not do it. Being unable to decide upon anything else, I continued my watch, determined that Mistress Kate should not escape from the house.

The moon withdrew herself and then there was an increase of darkness. Again I was thankful that I had been vigilant, for I saw a small door in the rear of the house open. I could not doubt that it opened to let forth Catherine Van Auken upon her traitorous errand. I made my resolution upon the instant. If she came out, I would seize her and compel her to return to the house in all quiet, in order that Whitestone and the others might not know.

My suspicions—my fears, in truth I may call them—were justified, for in a few moments her well-known figure appeared in the doorway all clothed about in a great dark cloak and hood, like one preparing for a long night’s journey. I retreated a little, for it was my purpose to draw her on and then catch her, when no doubt about her errand could arise.

She stood in the doorway for perhaps two minutes repeating her actions at the window; that is, she looked around carefully to note how we were watching. I could not see her face owing to the increase of darkness and her attitude, but I had no doubt the same anxiety and eagerness were writ there.

Presently she seemed to arrange her dark draperies in a manner more satisfactory and, stooping somewhat, came out of the house. The sentinel in this part of the yard was doing his duty and was as watchful as could be, but he could scarce see this shadow gliding along in the larger shadow of the rose bushes. I deemed it good fortune that I was there to see and prevent the flight. I would face her and confound her with the proof of her guilt.

She came on quite rapidly, and I shrank a little farther back into the rose bushes. Her course was directly toward me, and suddenly I rose up in the path. I expected her to show great surprise and to cry out after the fashion of women, but she did not. In truth I fancied I saw a start, but that was all. In a moment she whirled about and fled back toward the house with as little noise as the shadow she resembled. I had scarce recovered my presence of mind when she was halfway to the house, but I pursued in the effort to overtake her and confound her.

I observed that when she came forth she had shut the door behind her, but as she fled swiftly back it seemed to open of its own accord for her entrance. She passed within, disappearing like a ghost, and the door was shut with a snap almost in my face. I put my hands upon it and found it was very real and substantial—perhaps a stout two inches in thickness.

I deliberated with myself for a moment or two and concluded to do nothing further in the matter. Perhaps it had turned out as well as might be, for I had stopped her errand, and her return, doubtless, had released me from unpleasant necessities.

I made no effort to force the door or to enter the house otherwise, but visited the sentinels, telling them to be of good caution, though I gave them no hint of what had happened.

I found Whitestone in the valley sitting on a stump and sucking at his pipe, which contained neither fire nor tobacco. He told me naught unusual had happened there. I took him back to the house with me, and together we watched about it until the coming of the day, without further event of interest.

Sunrise found my men and me very tired and sleepy, as we had a right to be, having been on guard near to twenty-four hours, with some very exciting things occurring in that long space. I awaited the relief which must come soon, for we were not iron men.

The sun had scarce swung clear of the earth when a door of the house was opened and Mistress Kate coming out, a pail in hand, walked lightly toward the well. I approached her, and she greeted me with an unconcern that amazed me.

“I trust that you enjoyed your night watch, Master Shelby?” she said.

“As well as was likely under the circumstances,” I replied. “I hope that you slept soundly?”

“Nothing disturbed us after your invasion of our house,” she said with fine calmness. “Now, will you help me draw this water? Since the approach of the armies there is no one left in the house save my mother and myself, and we must cook and do for ourselves.”

I helped draw the water, and even carried the filled pail to the house for her, though she dismissed me at the door. But she atoned partly for her scant courtesy by bringing us a little later some loaves of white bread, which she said she had baked with her own hands, and which we found to be very good.

We had but finished breakfast when the soldiers who were to relieve us came, and right glad were we to see them. They were followed a few minutes later by the colonel in charge, to whom I related the affair of Captain Martyn, and to whom I showed the order commanding us to withdraw. He instantly pronounced it a forgery and commended us for staying.

“It was a traitorous attempt to get through our line,” he said, “but we are none the worse off, for it has failed.”

I said nothing of Kate Van Auken’s share in the conspiracy, but I told him the women in the house inclined strongly to the Tory side.

“I will see that the house is watched every moment of the day and night,” he said.

Then I felt easy in mind and went off to sleep.

When I awoke it was about two by the sun, and the afternoon was fine. I heard that fresh troops had arrived from the Massachusetts and New Hampshire provinces in the morning, and the trap was closing down on Burgoyne tighter than ever. Everybody said another great battle was coming, and coming soon. Even then I heard the pop-pop of distant skirmishing and saw an occasional red flash on the horizon.

I was eager to be at the front, but such duty was not for me then. As soon as I had eaten I was sent back with Sergeant Whitestone and the same men to keep watch at precisely the same point.

“Best take it easy,” said the sergeant consolingly. “If the big battle’s fought while we’re away we can’t get killed in it.”

Then he lighted the inevitable pipe, smoked, and was content.

I questioned very closely the men whom we relieved near the house, and they said there had been nothing to note. The elder woman had never come out of the house, but the younger had been seen in the yard several times, though she had naught to say, and seemed to be concerned not at all about anything.

I thought it best not to visit the house, and took my station with Whitestone in the valley, disposing the men in much the same manner as before. Whitestone puffed at his pipe with the usual regularity and precision, but some of his taciturnity was gone. He was listening to the sounds of the skirmishing which came to us fitfully.

“The bees are stinging,” said he. Then he added, with a fine mixture of metaphors: “The mouse is trying to feel his way out of the trap. The big battle can’t be far off, for Burgoyne must know that every day lost is a chance lost.”

It seemed to me that he was right, and I regretted more than ever my assignment to sentinel duty. I do not pretend to uncommon courage, but every soldier will bear me out that such waiting as we were doing is more trying than real battle.

Of a sudden the skirmishing seemed to take on an increase of vigor and to come nearer. Flashes appeared at various points on the horizon. Whitestone became deeply interested. He stood at his full height on a stump, and I would have done likewise had there been another stump. Presently he leaped down, exclaiming:

“I fancy there is work for us!”

I saw at once what he meant. A dozen men were coming down the valley at full speed. The bright sun even at the distance brought out the scarlet of their uniforms, and there was no mistaking the side to which they belonged. Evidently a party of Burgoyne’s skirmishers had slipped through our main line somehow and were bent upon escape southward, with all its momentous consequences.

That escape we would prevent. I sent Whitestone in a run to the two men near the house to bid them take refuge behind it and fight from its shelter. He was back in a breath, and he and I and the other soldiers prepared to hold the passage of the valley. Most fortunate for us, a rail fence ran across this valley, and we took refuge behind it—a wise precaution, I think, since the approaching party outnumbered us.

All of ours, except myself, had rifles, and I carried two good pistols, with which I am no bad shot. The British came on with much speed. Two of them were mounted.

I glanced toward the house. At one of the windows I saw a figure. I trusted if it was Kate Van Auken that she would withdraw speedily from such an exposed place. But I had no time to note her presence further, for just then the British seemed to perceive that we barred the way, for they stopped as if hesitating. I suppose they saw us, as we were sheltered but in part by the fence.

Wishing to spare bloodshed I shouted to them to surrender, but one of the men on horseback shook his head, said something to the others, and they dashed toward us at all speed. I recognized this man who appeared to be their leader. He was Chudleigh, the Englishman, the betrothed of Kate Van Auken, and, so far as I knew, an honest, presentable fellow.

Whitestone poised his rifle on the top rail of the fence and I surmised that it was aimed at Chudleigh. Were the matter not so desperate I could have wished for a miss. But before Whitestone pulled the trigger one of the men from the shelter of the house fired, and Chudleigh’s horse, struck by the ball intended for his master, went down, tossing Chudleigh some distance upon the ground, where he lay quite still. Whitestone transferred his aim and knocked the other mounted man off his horse.

The remainder, not daunted by the warmth of our greeting and the loss of their cavalry, raised a cheer and rushed at us, firing their pistols and muskets.

I do not scorn a skirmish. It may, and often does, contain more heat to the square yard than a great battle with twenty thousand men engaged. These men bore down upon us full of resolution. Their bullets pattered upon the rails of the fence, chipping off splinters. Some went between the rails and whizzed by us in fashion most uncomfortable. One man cried out a bit as the lead took him in the fleshy part of the leg, but he did not shrink from the onset.

Meanwhile we were not letting the time pass without profit, but fired at them with as much rapidity and aim as we could. The two men at the corner of the house helped us much with fine sharpshooting.

Our fortification, though but slender, gave us a great advantage, and nearly a third of their number had fallen before they were within a dozen feet of the fence. But it was our business not only to defeat them but to keep any from passing us. I was hopeful of doing this, for the sound of the firing had reached other portions of the line, and I saw re-enforcements for us coming on the run.

Our fire had been so hot that the British when within a dozen feet of us shrank back. Of a sudden one of them, a very active fellow, swerved to one side, darted at the fence, and leaping it with a single bound ran lightly along the hillside. I called to Whitestone and we followed him at all speed. I was confident that the others would be taken by our re-enforcements, who were coming up fast, and this man who had passed our line must be caught at all hazards.

One of my men at the house fired at the fugitive, but missed. My pistols were empty, and so was Whitestone’s rifle. It was a matter which fleetness would decide and we made every effort.

The fugitive curved toward a wood back of the house, and we followed. I heard a rifle shot from a new direction, and Whitestone staggered; but in a moment he recovered himself, saying it was only a flesh wound. I was amazed, not at the shot but at the point from which it came. I looked up, and it was no mistake of hearing, for there was the white puff of smoke rising from an upper window in the house. It was but the glance of a moment, as the fugitive then claimed my attention. His speed was slackening and he seemed to be growing very tired.

A little blood appeared on Whitestone’s arm near the shoulder, but he gave no other sign that the wound affected him. Our man increased his speed a bit, but the effort exhausted him; he stopped of a sudden, dropped to the earth, and lay there panting, strength and breath quite gone.

We ran up to him and demanded his surrender. He was too much exhausted to speak, but he nodded as if he were glad the thing was over. We let him rest until his breath came back. Then he climbed to his feet, and, looking at us, said in the fashion of one defending himself:

“I did the best I could; you can’t say I didn’t.”

“I guess you did,” I replied. “You went farther than any of your comrades.”

He was a most likely young fellow, not more than twenty, I should say, and I was very glad he had come out of the affair unhurt. We took him back to the valley, where the conflict was over. Our re-enforcements had come up so fast that the remainder of the British surrendered after a few shots. All the prisoners were delivered to one of our captains who had arrived, and he took them away. Then I turned my attention to Whitestone. Having some small knowledge of surgery, I asked him to let me see his arm. He held it out without a word.

I pushed up his sleeve and found that the bullet had cut only a little below the skin. I bound up the scratch with a piece of old white cloth, and said:

“You needn’t bother about that, Whitestone; the bullet that cut it wasn’t very well aimed.”

“It was aimed pretty well, I think, for a woman,” he said.

“You won’t say any more about that, Whitestone, will you?” I asked quietly.

“Not to anybody unless to you,” he replied.

There was a faint smile on his face that I did not altogether like; but he thrust his hand into the inside pocket of his waistcoat, took out his pipe, lighted the tobacco with great deliberation, and began to smoke as if nothing had happened.

The prisoners taken away and other signs of conflict removed, we were left to our old duty, and hill and hollow resumed their quiet. I was much troubled, but at last I made up my mind what to do. Asking Whitestone to keep a good watch, I went to the house and knocked with much loudness at the front door. Kate opened the door, self-possessed and dignified.

“Miss Van Auken,” I said with all my dignity, “I congratulate you upon your progress in the useful art of sharpshooting. You have wounded Sergeant Whitestone, a most excellent man, and perhaps it was chance only that saved him from death.”

“Why should you blame me?” she said. “I wished the man you were pursuing to escape, and there was no other way to help him. This is war, you know.”

I had scarce expected so frank an admission.

“I will have to search the house for your weapon,” I said. “How do I know that you will not shoot at me as I go away?”

“Do not trouble yourself,” she said easily, “I will bring it to you.”

She ran up the stairway and returned in a moment with a large, unloaded pistol, which she held out to me.

“I might have tried to use it again,” she said with a little laugh, “but I confess I did not know how to reload it.”

She handed me the pistol with a gesture of repulsion as if she were glad to get rid of it. Her frankness changed my purpose somewhat, and I asked her how her mother fared.

“Very well, but in most dreadful alarm because of the fighting,” she replied.

“It would be best for both of you, for your own safety, to remain in the house and keep the windows closed,” I said.

“So I think,” she replied.

I turned away, for I wished to think further what disposition to make of Kate Van Auken and her mother. It seemed that they should remain no longer at such a critical point of our line, where in an unwatched moment they might do us a great evil. Moreover, I was much inflamed against Kate because of the treacherous shot which had come so near to ending Whitestone’s career. But even then I sought for some mitigating circumstance, some excuse for her. Perhaps her family had so long worked upon her that her own natural and patriotic feelings had become perverted to such an extent that she looked upon the shot as a righteous deed. Cases like it were not new.

I thought it best to take Whitestone into my confidence.

“We can not do anything to-day,” he said, “for none of us can leave here; but it would be well to keep a good watch upon that house again to-night.”

This advice seemed good, for like as not Kate Van Auken, not at all daunted by her failure, would make another attempt to escape southward.

Therefore with much interest I waited the coming of our second night there, which was but a brief time away.

CHAPTER IV. OUT OF THE HOUSE.

The night came on and I was uneasy. Many things disturbed me. The house was a sore spot in my mind, and with the dusk the signs of battle seemed to increase. Upon this dark background the flashes from the skirmishing grew in size and intensity. From under the horizon’s rim came the deep murmur of the artillery. I knew that Burgoyne was feeling his way, and more than ever it was impressed upon me that either he would break out soon or we would close in upon him and crush him. The faint pop-pop of the distant rifles was like the crackling that precedes the conflagration.

To the south there was peace, apparent peace, but I knew Burgoyne must turn his face hopefully many a time that way, for if rescue came at all it must come thence.

“Another day nearer the shutting of the trap,” said Whitestone, walking up and down with his arm in a sling. I found that he could manage his pipe as well with one hand as with two.

The night was darker than usual, for which I was sorry, as it was against us and in favor of the others. Again asking Whitestone to stand sponsor for the hollow, I approached the house. I had repeated my precautions of the day before, placing one sentinel in front of it and another behind it. But in the darkness two men could be passed, and I would watch with them.

From the hill top the flashes of the skirmishing seemed to multiply, and for a few moments I forgot the house that I might watch them. Even I, who had no part in the councils of my generals and elders, knew how much all this meant to us, and the intense anxiety with which every patriot heart awaited the result. More than ever I regretted my present duty.

The house was dark, but I felt sure in my heart that Kate would make another attempt to escape us. Why should she wait?

I thought it my best plan to walk in an endless circle around the house; it would keep sleep away and give me the greater chance to see anything that might happen. It was but dull and tiresome work at the best. Around and around I walked, stopping once in a while to speak to my sentinels. Time was so slow that it seemed to me the night ought to have passed, when the size of the moon showed that it was not twelve.

I expected Kate to look from the windows again and spy out the ground before making the venture; so I kept faithful watch upon them, but found no reward for such vigilance and attention. Her face did not appear; no light sparkled from the house. Perhaps after her failures her courage had sunk. Certainly the time for her venture, if venture she would make, was passing.

As I continued my perpetual circle I approached the beat of the sentinel who was stationed behind the house. I saw him sooner than I expected; he had come farther toward the side of the house than his orders permitted him to do, and I was preparing to rebuke him when I noticed of a sudden that he seemed to be without his rifle. The next moment his figure disappeared from me like the shadow of something that had never been.

Twenty yards away I saw the sentinel, upright, stiff, rifle on shoulder, no thought but of his duty. I knew the first figure was that of Kate Van Auken, and not of the sentinel. How she had escaped from the house unseen I did not know and it was no time to stop for inquiry. I stepped among the trees, marking as closely as I could that particular blotch of blackness into which she had disappeared, and I had reward, for again I saw her figure, more like shadow than substance.

I might have shouted to the sentinels and raised hue and cry, but I had reasons—very good, it seemed to me—for not doing so. Moreover, I needed no assistance. Surely I could hold myself sufficient to capture one girl. She knew the grounds well, but I also knew them. I had played over them often enough.

The belt of woods began about fifty yards back of the house, and was perhaps the same number of yards in breadth. But the trees seemed not to hinder her speed. She curved lightly among them with the readiness of perfect acquaintance, and I was sure that the elation coming from what she believed to be escape was quickening her flight.

She passed through the trees and into the stretch of open ground beyond. Then for the first time she looked back and saw me. At least I believe she saw me, for she seemed to start, and her cloak fluttered as she began to run with great speed.

A hundred yards farther was a rail fence, and beyond that a stretch of corn land. With half a leap and half a climb, very remarkable in woman, who is usually not expert in such matters, she scaled this fence in a breath and was among the cornstalks. I feared that she might elude me there, but I, too, was over the fence in a trice and kept her figure in view. She had shown much more endurance than I expected, though I knew she was a strong girl. But we had come a good half mile, and few women can run at speed so far.

She led me a chase through the cornfield and then over another fence into a pasture. I noted with pleasure that I was gaining all the time. In truth, I had enjoyed so much exercise of this kind in the last day that I ought to have been in a fair way of becoming an expert.

Our course lengthened to a mile and I was within fifteen yards of her. Despite my general disrelish for the position I felt a certain grim joy in being the man to stop her plans, inasmuch as she had deceived me more perhaps than any one else.

It was evident that I could overtake her, and I hailed her, demanding that she stop. For reply she whirled about and fired a pistol at me, and then, seeing that she had missed, made an effort to run faster.

I was astounded. I confess it even after all that had happened—but she had fired at Whitestone before; now she was firing at me. I would stop this fierce woman, not alone for the good of our cause, but for the revenge her disappointment would be to me. The feeling gave me strength, and in five minutes more I could almost reach out my hands and touch her.

“Stop!” I shouted in anger.

She whirled about again and struck at me, full strength, with the butt of her pistol. I might have suffered a severe, perhaps a stunning, blow, but by instinct I threw up my right hand, and her wrist gliding off it the pistol struck nothing, dashing with its own force from her hand. I warded off another swift blow aimed with the left fist, and then saw that I stood face to face not with Kate Van Auken but with her brother Albert.

There was a look upon his face of mingled shame and determination. How could he escape shame with his sister’s skirts around him and her hood upon his head?

My own feelings were somewhat mixed in character. First, there was a sensation of great relief, so quick I had not time to make analysis, and then there came over me a strong desire to laugh. I submit that the sight of a man caught in woman’s dress and ashamed of it is fair cause for mirth.

It was dark, but not too dark for me to see his face redden at my look.

“You’ll have to fight it out with me,” he said, very stiff and haughty.

“I purpose to do it,” I said, “but perhaps your clothes may be in your way.”

He snatched the hood off his head and hurled it into the bushes; then with another angry pull he ripped the skirt off, and, casting it to one side stood forth in proper man’s attire, though that of a citizen and not of the British soldier that he was.

He confronted me, very angry. I did not think of much at that moment save how wonderfully his face was like his sister Kate’s. I had never taken such thorough note of it before, though often the opportunity was mine.

Our pause had given him breath, and he stood awaiting my attack like one who fights with his fists in the ring. My loaded pistol was in my belt, but he did not seem to think that I would use it; nor did I think of it myself. His, unloaded, lay on the ground. I advanced upon him, and with his right fist he struck very swiftly at my face. I thrust my head to one side and the blow glanced off the hard part of it, leaving his own face unprotected. I could have dealt him a heavy return blow that would have made his face look less like his sister Kate’s, but I preferred to close with him and seize him in my grasp.

Though lighter than I he was agile, and sought to trip me, or by some dexterous turn otherwise to gain advantage of me. But I was wary, knowing full well that I ought to be so, and presently I brought him down in a heap, falling upon him with such force that he lay a few moments as if stunned, though it was but the breath knocked out of him.

“Do you give up?” I asked, when he had returned to speaking condition.

“Yes,” he replied. “You were always too strong for me, Dick.”

Which was true, for there never was a time, even when we were little boys, when I could not throw him, though I do not say it as a boast, since there were others who could throw me.

“Do you make complete and unconditional surrender to me as the sole present representative of the American army, and promise to make no further effort to escape?” asked I, somewhat amazed at the length of my own words, and a little proud of them too.

“Yes, Dick, confound it! Get off my chest! How do you expect me to breathe?” he replied with a somewhat unreasonable show of temper.

I dismounted and he sat up, thumping his chest and drawing very long breaths as if he wished to be sure that everything was right inside. When he had finished his examination, which seemed to be satisfactory, he said:

“I’m your prisoner, Dick. What do you intend to do with me?”