With Ethan Allen at Ticonderoga
by W. Bert Foster · English · Gutenberg #30952 · 398,050 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: With Ethan Allen at Ticonderoga
Author: W. Bert Foster
Illustrator: F. A. Carter
Release date: January 13, 2010 [eBook #30952]
Most recently updated: January 6, 2021
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30952
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Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WITH ETHAN ALLEN AT TICONDEROGA ***
Produced by Roger Frank, D Alexander and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
WITH ETHAN ALLEN AT TICONDEROGA
by
W. BERT FOSTER
Author of
"With Washington at Valley Forge" etc
Illustrated by F. A. Carter
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA
MCMIV
Copyright 1903 by The Penn Publishing Company
With Ethan Allen at Ticonderoga
[Illustration: "FORWARD!" HE SHOUTED]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A Boy of the Wilderness 5
II Enoch Harding Feels Himself a Man 19
III The Ambush 31
IV 'Siah Bolderwood's Stratagem 45
V The Pioneer Home 60
VI The Stump Burning 76
VII A Night Attack 94
VIII The Traitor's Way 107
IX The Otter Creek Raid 127
X The Warning 139
XI An Unequal Battle 160
XII Backwoods Justice 174
XIII The Wolf Pack 191
XIV The Testimony of Crow Wing 208
XV The Storm Cloud Gathers 220
XVI The Westminster Massacre 236
XVII The Cloven Hoof 251
XVIII "The Cross of Fire" 270
XIX The Rising of the Clans 284
XX The Rival Commanders 298
XXI The Escape of the Spy 313
XXII The End of Simon Halpen 330
XXIII The Dawn of the Tenth of May 343
XXIV The Guns of Old Ti Speak 355
WITH ETHAN ALLEN AT TICONDEROGA
CHAPTER I
A BOY OF THE WILDERNESS
The forest was still. A calm lay upon its vast extent, from the
green-capped hills in the east to the noble river which, fed by the
streams so quietly meandering through the pleasantly wooded country,
found its way to the sea where the greatest city of the New World was
destined to stand. The clear, bell-like note of a waking bird startled
the morning hush. A doe and her fawn that had couched in a thicket
seemed roused to activity by this early matin and suddenly showered the
short turf with a dewy rain from the bushes which they disturbed as they
leaped away toward the "lick." The gentle creatures first slaked their
thirst at the margin of the creek hard by and then stood a moment with
outstretched nostrils, snuffing the wind before tasting the salt
impregnated earth trampled as hard as adamant by a thousand hoofs. The
fawn dropped its muzzle quickly; but the mother, not so well assured,
snuffed again and yet again.
In the wilderness, before the white man came, there were to be found
paths made by the wild folk going to and from their watering places and
feeding grounds, and paths made by the red hunter and warrior. Although
hundreds of deer traveled to this lick yearly, they had not originally
made the trail. It was an ancient Indian runaway, for the creek was
fordable near this point. The tribesmen had used it for generations
until it was worn almost knee-deep in the forest mould, but wide enough
only to be traveled in single file. Along this ancient trail, and
approaching the lick with infinite caution, came a boy of thirteen,
bearing a heavy rifle.
Although so young, Enoch Harding was well built, and the play of his
hardened muscles was easily observed under his tight-fitting, homespun
garments. The circumstances of border life in the eighteenth century
molded hardy men and sturdy boys. His face was as brown as a berry and
his eyes clear and frankly open. The brown hair curled tightly above his
perspiring brow, from which his old otter-skin cap was thrust back. His
coming to the bank of the wide stream was attended with all the care and
silent observation of an Indian on the trail. He set his feet so firmly
and with such precision that not even the rustle of a leaf or the
crackling of a twig would have warned the sharpest ear of his approach.
The wind was in his favor, too, blowing from the creek toward him. The
doe, which he could not yet see but the patter of whose light hoofs he
had heard as she trotted with her fawn to the drinking place, could not
possibly have discovered his presence; yet she continued to raise her
muzzle at intervals and snuff the wind suspiciously.
The dark aisles of the forest, as yet unillumined by the sun whose
crimson banners would soon be flung above the mountain-tops, seemed
deserted. In the distance the birds were beginning their morning song;
but here the shadow of the mountains lay heavy upon wood and stream and
the feathered choristers awoke more slowly. The two deer at the lick and
the boy who now, from behind the massive bole of a tree, surveyed them,
seemed the only living objects within view.
Enoch raised his heavy rifle, resting the barrel against the tree trunk,
and drew bead at the doe's side. He was chancing a long shot, rather
than taking the risk of approaching any nearer to the animals. He had
seen that the doe was suspicious and she might be off in a flash into
the thicker forest beyond unless he fired at once. Had he been more
experienced he would have wondered what had made the creature
suspicious, his own approach to the lick being quite evidently
undiscovered. But he thought only of getting a perfect sight and that
the larder at home was empty. And this last fact was sufficient to make
the boy's aim certain, his principal care being to waste no powder and
to bring down his game with as little loss of time as might be.
The next moment the heavy muzzle-loading gun roared and the buckshot
sped on its mission. The mother deer gave a convulsive spring forward,
thus warning the poor fawn, which disappeared in the brush like a flash
of brown light. The doe dropped in a heap upon the sward and Enoch,
flushed with success, ran forward to view his prize. In so doing,
however, the boy forgot the first rule of the border ranger and hunter.
He did not reload his weapon.
Stumbling over the widely spread roots of the great tree behind which he
had hidden, he reached the opening in the forest where the tragedy had
been enacted, and would have been on his knees beside the dead deer in
another instant had not an appalling sound stayed him. A scream, the
like of which once heard is never to be forgotten, thrilled him to the
marrow. He started back, casting his glance upward. There was a rustling
in the thick branches of the tree beneath which the doe had fallen.
Again the maddened scream rang out and a tawny body flashed from
concealment in the foliage.
"A catamount!" Enoch shouted, and seeing the creature fairly over his
head in its flight through the air, he leaped away toward the creek, his
feet winged with fear. Of all the wild creatures of the Northern
wilderness this huge cat was most to be avoided. It would not hesitate
to attack man when hungry, and maddened and disappointed as this one
was, its charge could not be stayed. At the instant when the beast was
prepared to leap upon either the doe or her fawn, Enoch's shot had laid
the one low and frightened the other away. His appearance upon the scene
attracted the attention of the cat and had given it a new object of
attack. Possibly the creature did not even notice the fall of the deer,
being now bent upon vengeance for the loss of its prey, for which it had
doubtless searched unsuccessfully all the night through.
The young hunter was in a desperate situation. His gun was empty and the
prospect of an encounter with the catamount would have quenched the
courage of the bravest. And to run from it was still more foolish, yet
this was the first thought which inspired him. The creek was beyond and
although the ford was some rods above the deer-lick, he thought to cast
himself into the stream and thus escape his enemy. The beast, possessing
that well-known trait of the feline tribe which causes it to shrink from
water, might not follow him into the creek.
A long log, the end of which had caught upon the bank, swung its length
into the stream, forming a boom against which light drift-stuff had
gathered; the swift current foamed about the timber as though vexed at
this delay to its progress. Upon the tree Enoch leaped and ran to the
further extremity. His feet, shod in home-made moccasins of deer-hide,
did not slip on this insecure footing; but his weight on the stranded
log set it in motion. The timber began to swing off from the shore and
one terrified glance about him assured the boy that he was at a most
deep and dangerous part of the stream.
Although so shallow above at the ford, the bed of the creek directly
below was of rock instead of gravel, and ragged boulders thrust
themselves up from the depths, causing many whirlpools which dimpled the
surface of the water. About the boulders the current tore, the brown
froth from the angry jaws of rock dancing lightly away upon the waves.
Although even with his clothing on he might have swum in a quiet pool,
to do so here would be almost impossible. The boy was between two
perils!
He turned about in horror to escape the flood, and was in time to see
the huge cat gain the end of the log in a single bound as it was torn
from the shore by the current. There the beast crouched, less than
twenty feet away, lashing its tail and snarling menace at the victim of
its wrath. The situation was paralyzing. As for loading his rifle now,
the boy had not the strength to do it. The fascination of the beast's
blazing eyes held him motionless, like a bird charmed by the unwinking
gaze of a black snake.
And Enoch Harding knew, if he knew anything, that the beast would not
give him time to reload the clumsy gun. At his first movement it would
spring. And if he leaped into the water, it might follow him,
considering its present savage mood. He beheld its muscles, which
slipped so easily under the tawny skin, knotting themselves for a
spring. The forelegs were drawn up under the breast the curved,
sabre-sharp claws scratching the bark on the floating timber. In another
instant the fatal leap would be made.
Never had the boy been in such danger. He did not utterly lose his
presence of mind; but he was helpless. What chance had he with an empty
gun before the savage brute? He seized the barrel in both hands and
raised the weapon above his head. It was too heavy for him to swing with
any ease, and being so would fall but lightly on the creature, did he
succeed in reaching it at all. He could not hope to stun the cat at a
single blow. And beside, the tree, rocking now like a water-logged
canoe, made his footing more and more insecure. In a moment it would be
among the boulders and at the first collision be overturned.
But he could not drag his eyes from those of the catamount. With a
fierce snarl which ended in a thrilling scream, the brute cast itself
into the air! At the moment it rose, exposing its lighter colored breast
to view, a gun-shot shattered the silence of river and forest. The
spring of the cat was not stayed, but its yell again changed--this time
to a note of agony.
"Jump, lad, jump!" shouted a voice and Enoch, as though awaking from a
dream, obeyed the command. He leaped sideways, and landed upon a
slippery rock, falling to his knees, yet securing a hand-hold upon a
protuberance. Nor did he lose hold of his gun with the other hand.
The body of the catamount landed just where he had stood; but then
rolled off the log and disappeared in the rushing stream, while the
timber itself crashed instantly into one of the larger boulders. Enoch
staggered to his feet, his hand bleeding and also his knee, where the
stocking had been torn away by the rock. The log swung broadside to the
current again, and seeing his chance, the boy ran along its length and
leaped from its end into comparatively shallow water under the bank.
His rescuer was at hand and dragged him, panting and exhausted, to the
shore, where he fell weakly on the turf, unable for a moment to utter a
word. The man who leaned over him was lean, as dark as an Indian, and in
a day when smoothly shaven features were the rule, his face was marked
by a tangled growth of iron-gray beard. His hair hung to the fringed
collar of his deerskin shirt, and straggled over his low brow in
careless locks, instead of being tightly drawn back and fastened in a
queue; and out of this wilderness of hair and beard looked two eyes as
sharp as the hawk's.
He was so tall that there was a slight stoop to his shoulders as though,
when he walked, he feared to collide with the branches of the trees
under which he passed. Erect, he must have lacked but a few inches of
seven feet and, possessing not an ounce of superfluous flesh on his big
bones, his appearance was not impressive. The deerskin hunting shirt,
worked in a curious pattern on the breast with red and blue porcupine
quills, fitted him tightly, as did his linsey-woolsey breeches; and his
thin shanks were covered with gray hose darned clumsily in more than one
place. He would have been selected at first sight as a wood-ranger and
hunter, and carried his long rifle with more grace than he ever held
plough or wielded reaping-hook.
Indeed, Josiah Bolderwood was one of that strange class of white men so
frequently found during the pioneer era of our Eastern country. He
seemed to have been born, as he often said himself, with a gun in his
hands. His mother, lying on her couch behind the double wall of a
blockhouse in the Maine wilderness, loaded spare guns for her husband
and his comrades while they beat off the yelling redskins, when Josiah
was but a few days old. He was a ranger and trapper from the beginning.
He had slept under the canopy of the forest more often than in a bed and
beneath a roof made by men's hands. From early youth he had hunted all
through the northern wilderness, and had been no more able to tie
himself to a farm, and earn his bread by tilling the soil, than an
Indian. Indeed, he was more of an Indian than a white man in habits,
tastes, and feelings; he lacked only that marvelous appreciation of
signs and sounds in the forest, in which the white can never hope to
equal the red man.
"Lad, that was a near chance for you!" he said, when he saw that Enoch
was practically unhurt. "The Almighty surely brought me to this lick
jest right. I knowed you was here when I heard the shot; but as your
marm said you'd gone for a deer, I didn't s'pose you'd be huntin' for
catamounts, too! Howsomever, somethin' tol' me ter run when I heard your
gun, an' run I did."
"I didn't shoot at the wild-cat, 'Siah," said the boy, getting upon his
feet. "See yonder; there's the doe I knocked over. But the critter was
after her, too, and it madded him when I fired, I s'pose."
"And ye didn't git your gun loaded again!" exclaimed Bolderwood.
His young friend blushed with shame. "I--I didn't think. I ran over to
look at the doe, and the critter jumped at me outer the tree. Then I got
on the log and he follered me----"
"Jonas Harding's boy'd oughter known better than that," declared the old
ranger, with some vexation.
"I know it, 'Siah. Poor father told me 'nough times never to move outer
my tracks till I had loaded again. An' I reckon this'll be a lesson for
me. I--I ain't got over it yet."
"Wal," said Bolderwood, "while you git yer breath, Nuck, I'll flay that
critter and hang her up. I'm in somethin' of a hurry this mornin'; but
as the widder's needin' the meat, we won't leave the carcass to the
varmints."
"You've been to my house, 'Siah?" cried Enoch, following him across the
little glade.
"Yes. Jest stopped there on my way down from Manchester. That's how I
knew you was over here hunting."
"But if you're in a hurry, leave me to do that," said the boy. "I'm all
right now."
"You're in as big a hurry as I be, Nuck," returned the ranger, with a
grim smile. "I'm going to take you with me over to Mr. James
Breckenridge's. Ev'ry gun we kin git may count to-day, lad."
"Did mother say I could go, 'Siah?" cried the youngster, with undoubted
satisfaction in his voice. "You're the best man that I know to get her
to say 'yes'!"
Bolderwood looked up from his work with much gravity. "This ain't no
funnin' we're goin' on, Nuck. It's serious business. You kin shoot
straight, an' that's why I begged for ye. This may be the most turrible
day you ever seen, my lad, for the day on which a man or boy sees
bloodshed for the fust time, is a mem'ry that he takes with him to the
grave."
CHAPTER II
ENOCH HARDING FEELS HIMSELF A MAN
Although Enoch Harding had not grasped the serious nature of the matter
which the ranger's words suggested, there was something he had realized,
however, and this thought sent the blood coursing through his veins with
more than wonted vigor and his eyes sparkled. He was a man. He was to
play a man's part on this day and the neighbors--even the old ranger who
had stood his friend on so many occasions already--recognized him as the
head of the family.
Bolderwood saw this thought expressed in his face and without desiring
to "take him down" and humble his pride, wished to show him the serious
side of the situation. To this end he spoke upon another subject,
beginning: "D'ye remember where we be, Nuck? 'Member this place? Seems
strange that you sh'd have such a caper here with that catamount after
what happened only last spring, doesn't it?" He glanced keenly at young
Harding and saw that his words had at once the desired effect. Enoch
stood up, the skinning-knife in his hand, and looked over the little
glade. In a moment his brown eyes filled with tears, which rolled
unchastened down his smooth cheeks.
"Aye, Nuck, a sorry day for you an' yourn when Jonas Harding met his
death here. And a sorry day was it for me, too, lad. I loved him like a
brother. He an' I, Nuck, trapped this neck of woods together before the
settlement was started. We knew how rich the land was and naught but the
wars with the redskins an' them French kept us from comin' here long
before the Robinsons. Jonas wouldn't come 'less it was safe to bring
your mother an' you--an' he was right. There's little good in a man's
roamin' the world without a wife an' fireside ter tie to. I was sayin'
the same to neighbor Allen last week, an' he agreed--though he's wuss
off than me, for he has a family back in Litchfield an' is under anxiety
all the time to bring them here, if the Yorkers but leave us in peace.
As for me--well, a tough old knot like me ain't fit to marry an' settle
down. I'm wuss nor an Injin."
It is doubtful if the boy heard half this monologue. He stood with
thoughtful mien and his eyes were still wet when Bolderwood's words
finally aroused him. "Do you know, Nuck, there's many a time I stop at
this ford and think of your father's death? There's things about it I'll
never understand, I reckon."
Enoch Harding started and flashed a quick glance at his friend. "What
things?" he asked.
"Well, lad, mainly that Jonas Harding, who was as quick on the trail and
as good a woodsman as myself, should be worsted by a mad buck; it seems
downright impossible, Nuck."
"I know. But there could be no mistake about it, 'Siah. There were the
hoof-marks--and there was no bullet wound on the body, only those gashes
made by the critter's horns. Simon Halpen----"
Bolderwood raised his hand quickly. "Nay, lad! don't utter evil even
about that Yorker. We all know he was anigh here when your father died.
He was seen at Bennington the night before, and later crossed James
Breckenridge's farm on his way to Albany. Black enemy as he is to you
and yourn, there's naught to be gained by accusing him of Jonas' death.
It would be impossible. There was not, as you say, a bullet wound upon
your father's body. There was not a mark of man's footstep near the lick
here but your father's own. How else, then, could he have been killed
but by the charge of the buck?"
"You say yourself that father was far too sharp to so be taken by
surprise," muttered the boy.
"Aye--that is so. But the facts are there, lad. I s'arched the ground
over--I headed the band of scouts who found him--remember that! Nobody
had been near the lick but Jonas. There wasn't a footmark for rods
around. Even an Injin couldn't have got near enough to strike Jonas down
with his gun-butt----"
"You believe that wound on his head, then, was made by no deer's
antler?" exclaimed Enoch, eagerly.
"Tut, tut! You jump too quick," said Bolderwood, turning his face away.
"That's never well. Allus look b'fore ye leap, Nuck. My 'pinion be that
your father struck his head on a stone in falling----"
"Where is there a stone here?" demanded the boy, with a speaking gesture
of his disengaged hand. "I saw that deep wound in father's skull. I
never believed a buck did that."
"And yet there was naught but the prints of the buck's hoofs in the soil
here--be sure of that. The ground was trampled all about as though the
fight had been desp'rate--as indeed it must have been."
"But that blow on the head?" reiterated Enoch.
"Ah, lad, I can't understand that. The wound certainly was mainly like a
blow from a gun-stock," admitted Bolderwood.
"Then Simon Halpen compassed his death--I am sure of it!" cried the boy.
"You well know how he hated father. Halpen would never forget the
beech-sealing he got last fall. He threatened to be terribly revenged on
us; and Bryce and I heard him threaten father, too, when he fought him
upon the crick bank and father tossed the Yorker into the middle of the
stream."
Bolderwood chuckled. "Simon as well might tackle Ethan Allen himself as
to have wrastled with Jonas," he said.... "But we must hurry, lad. We
have work--and perhaps serious work--before us this day. It may be the
battle of our lives; we may l'arn to-day whether we are to be free
people here in Bennington, or are to be driven out like sheep at the
command of a flunkey under a royal person who lives so far across the
sea that he knows naught of, nor cares naught for us."
"You talk desp'rately against the King, Mr. Bolderwood!" exclaimed
Enoch, looking askance at his companion.
"Nay--what is the King to me?" demanded the ranger, in disgust. "He
would be lost in these woods, I warrant. We're free people over here;
why should we bother our heads about kings and parliament? They are no
good to us."
"You talk more boldly than Mr. Ethan Allen," said the boy. "He was at
our house once to talk with father. Father said he was a master bold man
and feared neither the King nor the people."
"And no man need fear either if he fear God," declared the ranger,
simply. "We are only seeing the beginnings of great trouble, Nuck. We
may do battle to Yorkers now; perhaps we shall one day have to fight the
King's men for our farms and housel-stuff. The Governor of New York is a
powerful man and is friendly to men high in the King's councils, they
say. This Sheriff Ten Eyck may bring real soldiers against us some day."
"You don't believe that, 'Siah?" cried the boy.
"Indeed and I do, lad," returned the ranger, rising now with the carcass
of the doe flayed and ready for hanging up.
"But we'll fight for our lands!" cried Enoch. "My father fought Simon
Halpen for our farm. I'll fight him, too, if he comes here and tries to
take it, now father is dead."
"Mayhap this day's work will settle it for all time, Nuck," said the
ranger, hopefully. "But do you shin up that sapling yonder, and bend it
down. We wanter hang this carcass where no varmit--not even a
catamount--can git it."
The boy did as he was bade and soon the fruit of Enoch Harding's early
morning adventure was hanging from the top of a young tree, too small to
be climbed by any wild-cat and far enough from the ground to be out of
reach of the wolves and foxes. "Now we'll git right out o' here, lad,"
Bolderwood said, picking up his rifle and starting for the ford. "We've
got to hurry," and Enoch, nothing loath, followed him across the creek
and into the forest on the other bank.
"Do you r'ally think there'll be fightin', Master Bolderwood?" he asked.
"I hope God'll forbid that," responded the ranger, with due reverence.
"But if the Yorkers expect ter walk in an' take our farms the way this
sheriff wants ter take Master Breckenridge's, we'll show 'em diff'rent!"
He increased his stride and Enoch had such difficulty in keeping up with
his long-legged companion that he had no breath for rejoinder and they
went on in silence.
The controversy between the New York colony and the settlers of the
Hampshire Grants who had bought their farms of Governor Benning
Wentworth, of New Hampshire, was a very important incident of the
pre-Revolutionary period. The not always bloodless battles over the
Disputed Ground arose from the claim of New York that the old patent of
King Charles to the Duke of York, giving to him all the territory lying
between the Connecticut River on the east and Delaware Bay on the west,
was still valid north of the Massachusetts line.
In 1740 King George II had declared "that the northern boundary of
Massachusetts be a similar curved line, pursuing the course of the
Merrimac River at three miles distant on the north side thereof,
beginning at the Atlantic Ocean and ending at a point due north of a
place called Pawtucket Falls, and by a straight line from thence due
west till it meets with his Majesty's other governments." Nine years
later Governor Wentworth made the claim that, because of this
established boundary between Massachusetts and New Hampshire, the
latter's western boundary was the same as Massachusetts'--a line
parallel with and twenty miles from the Hudson River--and he informed
Governor Clinton, of New York, that he should grant lands to settlers as
far west as this twenty-mile line. Therewith he granted to William
Williams and sixty-one others the township of Bennington (named in his
honor) and it was surveyed in October of that same year. But the
outbreak of the French and Indian troubles made the occupation of this
exposed territory impossible until 1761, when there came into the rich
and fertile country lying about what is now the town of Bennington,
several families of settlers from Hardwick, Mass., in all numbering
about twenty souls.
But there had been an earlier survey of the territory along Walloomscoik
Creek under the old Dutch patent and in 1765 Captain Campbell, under
instructions from the New York colony, attempted to resurvey this old
grant. He came to the land of Samuel Robinson who, with his neighbors,
drove the Yorkers off. For this Robinson and two others were carried to
Albany where they were confined in the jail for some weeks and afterward
fined for "rioting." At once the settlers, who had increased greatly
since '61, saw that they must present their case before the King if they
would have justice rendered them; so Captain Robinson went to England to
represent their side of the matter. Unfortunately he died there before
completing his work.
On the part of the governors of New Hampshire and New York it was merely
a land speculation, and both officials were after the fees accruing from
granting the lands; whereas the settlers who had gone upon the farms,
and established their families and risked their little all in the
undertaking, bore the brunt of the fight. The speculators and the men
they desired to place on the farms of the New Hampshire grantees,
hovered along the Twenty-Mile Line, and occasionally made sorties upon
the more unprotected farmers, despite the fact that the King had
instructed the Governor of New York to make no further grants until the
rights of the controversy should be plainly established. This settled
determination of the New York authorities to drive them out convinced
the men of the Grants that they must combine to defend their homes and
when, early in July, 1771, news came from Albany that Sheriff Ten Eyck
with a large party of armed men was intending to march to James
Breckenridge's farm and seize it in the name of the New York government,
the people of Bennington in town-meeting assembled determined to defend
their townsman's rights.
Sheriff Ten Eyck started from Albany on the 18th of July with more than
300 men and at once the settlers began to gather near the threatened
farmstead. 'Siah Bolderwood having no farm of his own, was sent through
the country raising men and guns for the defense of the Breckenridge
place. On his way back he had stopped for Enoch Harding and learning
that the boy had gone hunting before daybreak, the ranger followed him,
arriving at the deer-lick in time to render important assistance in the
dramatic scene just pictured. After crossing the creek at the spot where
the boy's father had met his frightful and mysterious death a few months
before, the two volunteers, while still the day was new, reached the
place of the settlers' gathering.
CHAPTER III
THE AMBUSH
The house of James Breckenridge was built at the foot of a slight ridge
of land running east and west, which ridge was heavily wooded. It was
only a mile from the Twenty-Mile Line and therefore particularly open to
attack by the New York authorities. Once before had an attempt been made
by the grasping land speculators of the sister colony to oust its
rightful owner, but at that time naught but a wordy controversy had
ensued, whereas the present attack bade fair to be more serious.
Breckenridge had sent his family to the settlement in expectation of
this trouble, while he and his neighbors made ready to meet the sheriff
and his army. Some of the Bennington men had arrived at the farm the
evening before when news went forth that the invaders were only seven
miles away, at Sancock. But the greater number of the defenders came, as
did 'Siah Bolderwood and young Enoch Harding, soon after sun-up.
This gathering of Grants men was a memorable one. Heretofore, the
clashes with the Yorkers had been little more than skirmishes in which
half a dozen or a dozen men on both sides had taken part. Ethan Allen,
Seth Warner, Remember Baker, and others of the more venturesome spirits,
had seized some of the land-grabbers and their tools, and delivered upon
their bared backs more strokes of "the twigs of the wilderness," as
Allen called the blue beech rods, than the unhappy Yorkers thus treated
would forget in many a day.
Ethan Allen was not as long in the settlement as many of the other men
about him; but he was a born leader, and entering heart and soul into
the cause of the Grants was soon acknowledged the most fiery spirit
among the settlers. He was born in Litchfield, Conn., January 10, 1737,
and probably came to the Hampshire Grants some time in '69. Although but
thirty-four years old at this time he carried his point in most
arguments regarding the well-being of the settlers, and the Green
Mountain boys, as his followers came to be called, fairly worshipped
him. He was singularly handsome, with ruddy face, a ready wit, bold,
unpolished, brave and almost a giant in size, for though not so tall as
Seth Warner he was a much heavier and broader man.
With this company of armed men, too, was Remember Baker and his
flint-lock musket, which seldom left his side waking or sleeping. Baker
was the best shot on the northern border and performed feats of
marksmanship with this musket that could scarce be equaled by any of our
famous marksmen to-day with their improved weapons. Like the stories
told of Robin Hood and his cloth-yard shafts, Baker could split a wand
with a bullet and always filed the flint on his musket to a sharp point.
Other men there were in this early morning assembly destined to be heard
from later in the affairs of the struggling community, but none so
filled young Enoch Harding's eye as did these two. Remember Baker lived
not far from the Harding farm and Enoch often went there to visit young
Robert Baker, or had Robert to stay all night with him at his home. But
Enoch's closest boy friend was James Breckenridge's nephew, Lot, who was
two years young Harding's senior and bore arms on this morning with the
older youths and men. At once when the two spied each other they found
opportunity to step aside and hold such confidences as boys are wont.
Yet they were so excited by the prospect of the forthcoming battle with
the Yorkers that even Nuck's adventure with the catamount was lightly
passed over.
Meanwhile the settlers were divided into several bands, each captained
by an efficient officer who, as 'Siah Bolderwood expressed it, "had
snuffed powder." Bolderwood himself was given command of the larger
number and arranged his men along the top of the ridge behind the house,
where they would be concealed by the brush but could draw bead upon any
person passing along the road or approaching the farmhouse. One hundred
and twenty under a second leader were hidden beside the road while
eighteen and an officer were stationed inside the house itself.
These arrangements had scarce been made when a figure was descried
approaching at top speed. It was a messenger to warn the settlers of the
coming of the enemy. "Run down to the house, Nuck," commanded 'Siah,
"and get the news for me. Keep your heads down, lads! Let them Yorkers
when they come, think there ain't nobody to home!"
Enoch crept through the brush and descended the slope, appearing before
the house just as the runner reached it. Coming so suddenly from behind
the dwelling Enoch startled the newcomer, who sprang back and placed his
hand on the hunting knife at his belt. Then, with a contemptuous grunt,
the messenger passed Enoch by and lifted the latch-string which had been
left hanging out. Enoch followed him into the Breckenridge house.
The runner was a tall Indian lad with a keen face and coal-black eyes
and hair. Enoch knew him, for his people had camped for several years
near the Harding place. But Jonas Harding had had that contempt for the
red race which characterized many of the pioneer people and was the
foundation for more than half the trouble between the whites and reds;
and he had often expressed this contempt before young Crow Wing, who was
a chief's son although his tribe was scattered and decimated by disease.
Crow Wing had hated Enoch's father for his taunts and unkind words, and
now that the elder Harding was dead the young Indian considered his son
cast in the same mould and worthy of the same hatred which he had borne
Jonas. Naturally Enoch would have shared his parent's contempt for the
Indians; but 'Siah Bolderwood, although he had camped, hunted and fought
with Enoch's father for so many years, did not share the latter's
opinion of the Indian character, and from him Enoch had imbibed many
ideas of late which changed his opinion of the red men. There was a
time, however, when the white boy had ridiculed Crow Wing and the latter
had not forgotten.
Enoch watched him now with admiration. The young brave had run for
several miles, having been sent out toward Sancock by one of the
settlers for whom he sometimes worked, but he breathed as easily as
though he had walked instead of run. When one of the men in the
Breckenridge kitchen spoke to him he answered in a perfectly even voice
which showed no tremor of fatigue.
"Him sheriff march now," he said. "Mebbe t'ink um t'ree mile off."
"Where did you leave them?" asked the man in command of the house. The
Indian youth told him. "And how many are there, Crow Wing?" asked
another.
"Many--many!" cried the Indian, his eyes flashing. He held up both hands
and spread all his ten fingers rapidly seven times. "Seventy!" cried one
of the white men. "He means seven hundred," declared the leader. "That
so, Crow Wing, eh?"
The Indian nodded. "Many white men--many guns," he said.
"It's not true," growled one man. "You can't believe anything an Injin
says. Where would the New York sheriff get seven hundred men?"
Crow Wing's eyes flashed and he drew himself up proudly. "Me no lie--me
speak true. Injin not two-tongue like white man!" he declared, with
scorn, and turning his back on his traducer, stalked out of the house.
The settlers, however, paid little attention to his departure. Enoch
scuttled back to the ridge where 'Siah was waiting to hear the news.
There he lay down beside Lot Breckenridge and the two boys talked
earnestly as the men about them smoked or chatted while waiting for the
coming of the Yorkers. Seven hundred seemed a great number to oppose.
The odds would be more than two to one. Despite the ambush which had
been so carefully laid for them, the sheriff and his men might fight as
desperately as the settlers themselves.
"Tell ye what!" whispered Lot to Enoch, "I ain't fixin' to git shot.
Marm didn't want Uncle Jim to let me come, but he said ev'ry gun'd count
this mornin', so she 'lowed I'd hafter. But she says if I git shot
she'll larrup me well."
Enoch chuckled. Although Lot was his senior he was more of a child than
young Harding. The experiences of the last few months had aged Enoch a
good deal. "My mother won't whip me if I git shot; but I mustn't run
into danger, for she wouldn't know what to do without me," he said,
proudly. "Bryce ain't much use yet, you know."
"Zuckers!" exclaimed Lot, "I wisht my marm was like yourn. I ain't got
no father neither; but Uncle Jim don't let me do nothin', an' marm's
allus wearin' out a beech twig on me."
"Guess you do somethin' for it," said Enoch, wisely.
"She'd do it jest th' same if I didn't," declared Lot, yet with perfect
good-nature, as though the Widow Breckenridge's vigorous applications of
the beech wand was a part of existence not to be escaped. "Gran'pap says
I might's well be hung for an ole sheep as a lamb, so in course I do
somethin' for it--mostly."
"If the Yorkers fight we'll hafter stay right here and shoot like the
men," said Nuck, reflectively. "It'll be like the Injin fights my father
and 'Siah were in. I s'pose we'll take trees, an' scatter out so't the
Yorkers can't git up around us here----"
"An' we'll raise the warwhoop an' shoot jest as fast as we kin!"
exclaimed Lot, excitedly. "Crow Wing taught me the warwhoop last year.
An' I know how to scalp, too."
"Oh, I wouldn't do that!" exclaimed Enoch, in horror.
"Umph! Yorkers ain't no better'n Injins, an' I'd scalp an Injin,"
declared Lot, blood-thirstily.
"I wouldn't. My father never did that, an' he was in the war. He said
that was why the Injins warn't no better'n brute-beasts, an' didn't have
no souls--'cause they scalped their enemies."
"Be still there, you youngsters!" growled 'Siah, coming down the line.
"If you want to be men, l'arn to keep yer tongues quiet. Voices carry
far on a day like this. What'd they say down ter the house, Nuck, 'bout
the signal?"
"When they want help, or want us to sail into 'em, they're goin' to
raise a red flag through the chimbley," replied the boy.
"Wal, I'm hopin' they won't fight," said the ranger, squinting along the
road below the ridge.
"Oh, I wanter see a fight--zuckers, I do!" exclaimed Lot.
"Be still, you bloodthirsty young savage!" commanded 'Siah. "You wanter
shoot down men of your own color, do ye? Beech-sealin' an' duckin' is
all right; but it's an awful thing to draw bead on another white man, as
ye'll l'arn some day."
"But you fought the Frenchmen with the Injins," declared Lot.
"Huh! Them's only half-bred. Frenchmen ain't no more'n savages," said
'Siah, gloomily.
An hour passed--a long, long time to the excited boys. Then, far down
the winding road quite a piece of which they could observe from the
summit of the wooded ridge, was seen the sudden glint of sunlight on
metal. "They're coming!" the message went round and the settlers in
ambush crouched more closely behind their screens and even the hearts of
old Indian fighters beat faster at the nearing prospect of an
engagement. James Breckenridge, Ethan Allen, and several others advanced
slowly from the direction of the house to the bridge across which the
Yorkers must pass. Sheriff Ten Eyck spurred forward with his personal
staff to meet them. With him came the infamous John Munro who, as a
justice of the peace under commission from New York, was such a thorn in
the flesh of the settlers. The sheriff was a very pompous Dutchman who
believed without question in the validity of New York's jurisdiction
over the Grants, and who, despite his bombastic manner, was personally
no coward.
"Master Breckenridge," he said to the man whom he had come to evict from
his home, "we have heard that you and your neighbors are armed to oppose
the authority vested in me by His Most Gracious Majesty's colony of New
York. If there be blood shed this day, it will be upon your head, for I
here command you to leave this neighborhood and give over the possession
of this land to its rightful owners."
[Illustration: "I COMMAND YOU TO LEAVE THIS NEIGHBORHOOD"]
"I cannot do that, Master Sheriff," said Breckenridge, quietly. "As for
blood being upon my head for this day's work, you can see that I am
unarmed," and he spread his hands widely. "Besides, I have nothing to do
with this grant at the present time. The township of Bennington has
taken the farm upon its own hands, and it will oppose your entrance with
armed resistance. I have nothing to do with it."
"What is the township of Bennington?" demanded Ten Eyck. "This land
belongs to the colony of New York under the crown. There is no town of
Bennington. What legal rights have a parcel of squatters to this
territory?"
Then Allen spoke. "The gods of the valleys are not the gods of the
hills, Sir Sheriff. You on the other side of the Twenty-Mile Line may
acknowledge the Governor of New York as your master; we on this side are
a free people. We have bought our lands from the government to which
they were granted by the King, and you shall not drive us from them!"
The colloquy ended and the settlers went back toward the house. After
the main body of his army came up, and their numbers seemed quite as
formidable as Crow Wing had reported, the sheriff pressed forward across
the bridge and approached the Breckenridge dwelling. Every settler had
disappeared by now and even those inside the house were still. Neither
the sheriff nor his men suspected that quite three hundred guns were
turned upon them and that, at the first fire, the carnage would be
terrible.
"Open in the name of the law!" exclaimed Ten Eyck, thundering at the
stout oak door of the house. "I demand admittance and that all within
come peaceably forth. Open, or I shall break down the door!"
There was silence for a moment, and then a voice said clearly from
within: "Attempt it and you are a dead man!"
The reply angered the doughty sheriff. He was being flouted and the
majesty of the law scorned. That was more than he could quietly bear.
"Come out and deliver up your arms in the name o' the King!" he cried.
"Ye rebels! I'll take the last of ye to Albany jail if ye do not
surrender!"
At this a chorus of derisive groans issued from behind the barred door
and shutters, and these sounds were echoed by other groans from the men
in ambush, until the very forest itself seemed deriding the Yorkers. The
knowledge that he and his men had fallen into a trap did not balk the
sheriff; his rage rose to white heat and calling for an axe he advanced
to the attack. The moment was freighted with peril. If the Yorkers
attacked the house a withering fire would spring from the guns in the
bushes and on the ridge and blood would flow in plenty in that
heretofore peaceful vale of the northern forest.
CHAPTER IV
'SIAH BOLDERWOOD'S STRATAGEM
Sheriff Ten Eyck was a man of determination and although he had before
tested the mettle of the Grants men, he felt a burden of confidence now
with this army behind him. The ridicule of the party in ambush stung his
pride, and although warned that a considerable number of settlers were
hidden in the wood, he was not disposed to temporize. But the men who
had accompanied him on his nefarious mission were far differently
impressed by the situation. They had followed the doughty sheriff in the
hope of plunder, it is true; if the settlers of the Hampshire Grants
were to be driven incontinently from their homes as Ten Eyck and the
Governor declared, somebody must benefit by the circumstance, and the
sheriff's men hoped to be of the benefited party. But this armed
opposition was disheartening. When the chorus of groans rose from the
surrounding forest, his men as well as himself, knew that they had
fallen into ambush, and this thought troubled the Yorkers greatly.
From the top of the ridge 'Siah Bolderwood had heard much of the
controversy at the door of the Breckenridge house and as the really
serious moment approached the old ranger was blessed with a sudden
inspiration. He sprang forward and seizing Enoch Harding by the collar
dragged him to his knees and whispered a command in his ear. "Quick, you
young snipe you!" he exclaimed, as Enoch prepared to obey. "Run like the
wind--and don't let 'em see you or you may get potted!"
Enoch was off in an instant, trailing his gun behind him and stooping
low that the passage of his body through the brush might not be noted.
He got the house between him and the sheriff's column and soon reached
the side of the road where the other settlers in ambush were stationed.
He found their leader and whispered Bolderwood's message to him.
Instantly the man caught the idea and the word was passed down the
straggling line. Enoch did not return but waited with these men, who
were nearer the enemy, to see the matter out.
The sheriff was on the verge of giving the command to break down the
door of the besieged house when suddenly a wild yell broke out upon the
ridge above and was taken up by the settlers in the brush by the
roadside. It was the warwhoop--the yell which originally incited the red
warriors to action and was supposed to strike terror to the hearts of
their enemies. The shrill cry echoed through the wood with startling
significance. At the same instant every man's cap was raised upon his
gun barrel and thrust forward into view of the startled Yorkers, while
the settlers themselves showed their heads, but nearer the ground. Only
for a moment were they thus visible; then they dropped back into hiding
again.
But the effect upon the sheriff's unwilling army was paralyzing. The
Yorkers thought that twice as many men were hidden in the forest as were
really there, for the hats on the gun barrels had seemed like heads,
too. They thought every man in Bennington--and indeed, as far east as
Brattleboro and Westminster--must have come to defend James
Breckenridge's farm, and they clamored loudly to return to the
Twenty-Mile Line and safety.
In vain the sheriff fumed and stormed, threatening all manner of
punishment for his mutinous troops; the army was determined to a man to
have no conflict with the settlers of the Disputed Ground. Like "the
noble Duke of York" in the old catch-song familiar at that day, Sheriff
Ten Eyck had marched his seven hundred or more men up to James
Breckenridge's door only "to march them down again!" 'Siah Bolderwood's
idea had taken all the desire for fight out of the Yorkers, and after
some wrangling between the personal attendants of the sheriff and the
volunteer army, the whole crew marched away, leaving the farm to the
undisputed possession of its rightful owner.
When the Yorkers departed the little garrison of the house appeared and
cheered lustily; but the men in the woods did not come out of hiding
until the last of the enemy had disappeared, for they did not wish the
invaders to know how badly they had been deceived regarding their
numbers. By and by Bolderwood and his men marched down from the ridge
and 'Siah was congratulated upon his happy thought in bringing about the
confusion of the Yorkers.
"You've a long head on those narrow shoulders of yours, neighbor,"
declared Ethan Allen, striking the old ranger heartily on the back.
"That little wile finished them. And this is the boy I saw trailing
through the bushes, is it?" and he seized Enoch and turned his face
upward that he might the better view his features. "Why, holloa, my
little man! I've seen you before surely?"
"It is poor Jonas Harding's eldest lad, neighbor Allen," Bolderwood
said. "He's the head of the family now, and bein' sech, had to come
along to fight the Yorkers."
"I remember your father," declared Allen, kindly. "A noble specimen of
the Almighty's workmanship. I stopped a night with him once at his
cabin--do you remember me?"
As though Nuck could have forgotten it! His youthful mind had made Ethan
Allen a veritable hero ever since, placing him upon a pedestal before
which he worshipped. But he only nodded for bashfulness.
"You'll make a big man, too," said the giant. "And if you can shoot
straight there'll be plenty of chance for you later on. This is only the
beginning, 'Siah," he pursued, turning to Bolderwood and letting his
huge hand drop from Enoch's head. "There will be court-doings,
now--writs, and ejectments, and enough red seals to run the King's court
itself. But while the Yorkers are red-sealing us, we'll blue-seal
them--if they come over here, eh?" and he went off with a great shout of
laughter at his own punning.
The men were minded to scatter but slowly. All were rejoiced that the
battle had been a bloodless one; yet none believed the matter ended. The
fiasco of the New York sheriff might act as a wet blanket for the time
upon the movements of the authorities across the line; but the land
speculators were too numerous and active to allow the people of the
Grants to remain in peace. Parties of marauders might swoop down at any
time upon the more unprotected settlers, drive them out of their homes,
destroy their property, and possibly do bodily injury to the helpless
people. Methods must be devised to keep these Yorkers on their own side
of the disputed line. Those settlers, such as the widow Harding, who
were least able to protect themselves, must have the help of their
neighbors. The present victory proved the benefit to be derived from
concerted action. Now, in the flush of this triumph, the leaders went
among the yeomanry who had gathered here and outlined a plan for
permanent military organization. In all the colonies at that day,
"training bands," or militia, had become popular, made so in part by the
interest aroused by the wars with the French and Indians. Many of the
men who joined these military companies did not look deeply into the
affairs of the colonies, nor were they much interested in politics; but
their leaders looked ahead--just as did Ethan Allen and his conferees in
the Grants--and realized that an armed yeomanry might some time be
called upon to face hirelings of the King.
"Even a lad like you can bear a rifle, and your mother will spare you
from the farm for drill," Allen said, with his hand again on Enoch's
shoulder, before riding away. "I shall expect to see Jonas Harding's boy
at Bennington when word is sent round for the first drill." And Enoch,
his heart beating high with pride at this notice, promised to gain his
mother's permission if possible.
Bolderwood had already gone, and Lot Breckenridge detained Enoch until
after the dinner hour. Lot would have kept him all night, but the latter
knew his mother would be anxious to see him safe home, and he started an
hour or two before sunset, on the trail which Bolderwood and he had
followed early in the morning. Being one of the last to leave James
Breckenridge's house, he traveled the forest alone. But he had no
feeling of fear. The trails and by-paths were as familiar to him as the
streets of his hometown are to a boy of to-day. And the numberless
sounds which reached his ears were distinguished and understood by the
pioneer boy. The hoarse laugh of the jay as it winged its way home over
the tree-tops, the chatter of the squirrel in the hollow oak, the sudden
scurry of deer in the brake, the barking of a fox on the hillside, were
all sounds with which Enoch Harding was well acquainted.
As he crossed a heavily shadowed creek, a splash in the water attracted
his particular attention and he crept to the brink in time to see a pair
of sleek dark heads moving swiftly down the stream. Soon the heads
stopped, bobbed about near a narrow part of the stream, and finally came
out upon the bank, one on either side. The trees stood thick together
here, and both animals attacked a straight, smooth trunk standing near
the creek, their sharp teeth making the chips fly as they worked. They
were a pair of beavers beginning a dam for the next winter. Enoch marked
the spot well. About January he would come over with Lot, or with Robbie
Baker, stop up the mouth of the beaver's tunnel, break in the dome of
his house, and capture the family. Beaver pelts were a common article of
barter in a country where real money was a curiosity.
But watching the beavers delayed Enoch and it was growing dark in the
forest when he again turned his face homewards. He knew the path well
enough--the runway he traveled was so deep that he could scarce miss it
and might have followed it with his eyes blindfolded,--but he quickened
his pace, not desiring to be too late in reaching his mother's cabin.
Unless some neighbor had passed and given them the news of the victory
at James Breckenridge's they might be worried for fear there had
actually been a battle. Deep in the forest upon the mountainside there
sounded the human-like scream of a catamount, and the memory of his
adventure of the morning was still very vivid in his mind. He began to
fear his mother's censure for his delay, too, for Mistress Harding
brought up her children to strict obedience and Enoch, man though he
felt himself to be because of this day's work, knew he had no business
to loiter until after dark in the forest.
He stumbled on now in some haste and was approaching the ford in the
wide stream near which he had shot the doe, when a flicker of light off
at one side of the trail attracted his attention. It was a newly kindled
campfire and the pungent smoke of it reached his nostrils at the instant
the flame was apparent to his eyes. He leaped behind a tree and peered
through the thickening darkness at the spot where the campfire was
built. His heart beat rapidly, for despite the supposed peacefulness of
the times there was always the possibility of enemies lurking in the
forest. And the settlers had grown wary since the controversy with the
Yorkers became so serious.
Enoch was nearing the boundaries of his father's farm now and ever since
Simon Halpen had endeavored to evict them and especially since Jonas
Harding's death, the possibility of the Yorkers' return had been a
nightmare to Enoch. Lying a moment almost breathless behind the tree, he
began to recover his presence of mind and fortitude. First he freshened
the priming of his gun and then, picking his way cautiously, approached
the campfire. Like a shadow he flitted from tree to tree and from brush
clump to stump, circling the camp, but ever drawing nearer. With the
instinct of the born wood-ranger he took infinite pains in approaching
the spot and from the moment he had observed the light he spent nearly
an hour in circling about until he finally arrived at a point where he
could view successfully the tiny clearing.
Now, at once, he descried a figure sitting before the blaze. The man had
his back against a tree and that is why Enoch had found such difficulty
at first in seeing him. He was nodding, half asleep, with his cap pulled
down over his eyes, so that only the merest outline of his face was
revealed. It was apparent that he had eaten his own supper, for there
were the indications of the meal upon the ground; but it looked as
though he expected some other person to join him. The wind began to moan
in the tree-tops; far away the mournful scream of the catamount broke
the silence again. The boy cast his gaze upward into the branches,
feeling as though one of the terrible creatures, with which he had
engaged in so desperate a struggle that very morning, was even then
watching him from the foliage.
[Illustration: A HAND WAS PRESSED OVER HIS LIPS]
And he was indeed being watched, and by eyes well nigh as keen as those
of the wild-cat. While he stood behind the tree, all of half a gun-shot
from the camp, a figure stepped silently out of the shadows and stood at
his elbow before the startled lad realized that he was not alone. A
vice-like hand seized his arm so that he could not turn his rifle upon
this unexpected enemy. Before he could cry out a second hand was pressed
firmly over his parted lips. "No speak!" breathed a voice in Enoch
Harding's ear. "If speak, white boy die!"
It was Crow Wing, the young Iroquois, and Enoch obeyed. He found himself
forced rapidly away from the campfire and when they were out of ear-shot
of the unconscious stranger, and not until then, did the grasp of the
Indian relax. "What do you want with me?" Enoch demanded, in a whisper.
The other did not reply. He only pushed the white boy on until they came
to the ford of the creek where Enoch and 'Siah Bolderwood had crossed
early in the day. There Crow Wing released him altogether and pointed
sternly across the river. "Your house--that way!" he said. "Go!"
"Who is that man back yonder?" cried Enoch, angrily. "You can't make me
do what you say----"
Crow Wing tapped the handle of the long knife at his belt suggestively.
"White boy go--go now!" he commanded again, and in spite of his being
armed with a rifle while the Indian had no such weapon, Enoch felt
convinced that it would be wiser for him to obey without parley.
Although Crow Wing could not have been three years his senior, he was
certainly the master on this occasion. With lagging step he descended
the bank and began to ford the stream. He glanced back and saw the
Indian, standing like a statue of bronze, on the bank above him. When he
reached the middle of the stream, however, he felt the full ignominy of
his retreat before a foe who was not armed equally with himself. What
would Bolderwood say if he told him? What would his father have done?
He swung about quickly and raised the rifle to his shoulder. But the
Indian lad had gone. Not an object moved upon the further shore of the
creek and, after a minute or two of hesitation, the white boy stumbled
on through the stream and reached the other bank. He was angry with
himself for being afraid of Crow Wing, and he was also angry that he had
not seen the face of the stranger at the campfire. It must have been
somebody whom Crow Wing knew and did not wish the white boy to see.
Enoch Harding continued his homeward way, his mind greatly disturbed by
the adventure and with a feeling of deep resentment against the Indian
youth.
CHAPTER V
THE PIONEER HOME
Enoch arrived feeling not of half so much importance as he had on
starting from the Breckenridge farm. His adventure with Crow Wing had
mightily taken down his self-conceit. Like most of the settlers he had
very little confidence in the Indian character; so, although Crow Wing
had rendered the defenders of the Grants a signal service that very day,
Enoch was not at all sure that the red youth was not helping the
Yorkers, too.
But when he came out of the wood at the edge of the great corn-field
which his father had cleared first of all, and saw the light of the
candles shining through the doorway of the log house, he forgot his
recent rage against Crow Wing and hurried on to greet those whom he
loved. The children came running out to meet him and the light of the
candles was shrouded as his mother's tall form appeared in the doorway.
Bryce, who was eleven years old, was almost as tall as Enoch, although
he lacked his elder brother's breadth of shoulders and gravity of
manner. Enoch was deliberate in everything he did; Bryce was of a more
nervous temperament and was apt to act upon impulse. He was a
fair-haired boy and was forever smiling. Now he reached Nuck first and
fairly hugged him around the neck, exclaiming:
"We thought you were shot! However came you to be so long comin' back,
Nuck? Mother's quite worritted 'bout you, she says."
Katie, the fly-away sister of ten, hurled herself next upon her elder
brother and seized the heavy rifle from his hands. "Look out for it,
Kate!" commanded Nuck. "It's been freshly primed." But Katie was not
afraid of firearms. She shouldered the gun and marched bravely toward
the house. Mary, demure and curly headed, and little Harry, remained
nearer the door, and lifted their faces to be kissed in turn by Enoch
when he arrived. Then the boy turned to his mother.
"Come in, my son," she said. "I have saved your supper for you. I could
not send the children to bed before you came. They were a-well nigh wild
to see you and hear about the doings at farmer Breckenridge's. You are
late."
This was all she said regarding his tardiness at the moment. She was a
very pleasant featured woman of thirty-five, with kind eyes and a
cheery, if grave, smile; but Enoch knew she could be stern enough if
occasion required. Indeed, she was a far stricter disciplinarian than
his father had been. They crowded into the house and Mrs. Harding went
to the fire and hung the pot over the glowing coals to heat again the
stewed venison which she had saved for Enoch's supper.
"Tell us about it, Enoch, my son," she said. "Did the Yorkers come as
friend Bolderwood said they would--in such numbers?"
"In greater numbers," declared the boy, and he went on to recount the
incidents of the morning when Sheriff Ten Eyck had demanded the
surrender of the Breckenridge house and farm. The incident had appealed
strongly to the boy and he drew a faithful picture of the scene when the
army of Yorkers marched up to the farmhouse door and demanded admission.
"And Mr. Allen was there and spoke to me--he did!" declared Enoch. "He's
a master big man--and so handsome. He asked me if I remembered his
coming here once to see father, and he told me to be sure and go to
Bennington when the train-band is mustered in. I can, can't I, mother?"
"And me, too!" cried Bryce. "I can carry Nuck's musket now't he shoots
with father's gun. I can shoot, too--from a rest."
"Huh!" exclaimed his elder brother, "you can't carry the old musket
even, and march."
"Yes I can!"
"No you can't!"
But the mother's voice recalled the boys to their better behavior. "I
will talk with 'Siah Bolderwood about your joining the train-band,
Enoch. And if you go to Bennington with Enoch, Bryce, who will defend
our home? You must stay here and guard mother and the other children, my
boy."
Bryce felt better at that suggestion and the argument between Enoch and
himself was dropped. The widow soon sent all but Enoch to bed in the
loft over the kitchen and living room of the cabin. There was a bedroom
occupied by herself partitioned off from the living room, while Enoch
slept on a "shakedown" near the door. This he had insisted upon doing
ever since his father's death.
"You were very late in returning, my son," said the widow when the
others had climbed the ladder to the loft.
"Yes, marm."
"You did not come right home?"
"No, marm. I stayed to eat with Lot Breckenridge. And then I wanted to
hear the men talk."
"You should have started earlier for home, Enoch," she said, sternly.
"Well, I'd got here pretty near sunset if it hadn't been for somethin'
that happened just the other side of the crick," Enoch declared,
forgetting the fact that he had stopped to watch the beavers before ever
he saw the campfire in the wood.
"What was it?" she asked.
"There's somebody over there--a tall man, but I couldn't see his
face----"
"Where?"
"Beyond the crick; 'twarn't half a mile from where father was killed at
the deer-lick. I saw a light in the bushes. It was a campfire an' I
couldn't go by without seein' what it was for. So I crept up on it an'
bymeby I saw the man."
"You don't know who he was?" asked the widow, quickly.
"No, marm."
"Did he have a dark face and was his nose hooked?"
"I couldn't see his face. He was sittin' down all the time. His face was
shaded with his cap. He sat with his back up against a tree. I was a
long while gittin' near enough to see him, an' then----"
"Well, what happened, my son?"
"Then that Crow Wing--you know him; the Injin boy that useter live down
the crick with his folks--Crow Wing come out of the forest an' grabbed
me an' told me not to holler or he'd kill me. I wasn't 'zactly 'fraid of
him," added Enoch, thinking some explanation necessary, "but I saw if I
fought him it would bring the man at the fire to help, and I couldn't
fight two of 'em, anyway. The pesky Injin made me walk to the crick with
him an' then he told me to go home and not come back. I wish 'Siah
Bolderwood was here. We'd fix 'em!"
"The Indian threatened you!" cried the widow. "Have you done anything to
anger him, Enoch? I know your father was very bitter toward them all;
but I hoped----"
"I never done a thing to him!" declared the boy. "I don't play with him
much, though Lot does; but I let him alone. I useter make fun of him
b'fore--b'fore 'Siah told me more about his folks. Crow Wing's father is
a good friend to the whites. He fought with our folks ag'in the French
Injins."
"But who could the man have been?" asked the widow, gravely. "The
children saw a man lurking about the corn-field at the lower end to-day.
And when I was milking, Mary came and told me that he was then across
the river at the ox-bow, looking over at the house. If it should be
Simon Halpen! He will not give up his hope of getting our rich pastures,
I am afraid. We must watch carefully, Enoch."
"I'll shoot him if he comes again!" declared the boy, belligerently.
Then he closed and barred the door and rapidly prepared for bed. His
mother retired to her own room, but long after Enoch was soundly
sleeping on his couch, the good woman was upon her knees beside her bed.
Although she was proud to see Enoch so sturdy and helpful, she feared
this controversy with the Yorkers would do him much harm; and it was for
him, as well as for the safety of them all in troublous times, that she
prayed to the God in whom she so implicitly trusted.
The next day 'Siah Bolderwood came striding up to the cabin with the
carcass of the doe Enoch had shot across his shoulders, and found the
widow at her loom, just within the door. She welcomed the lanky ranger
warmly, for he had not only been her husband's closest friend but had
been of great assistance to her children and herself since Jonas' death.
"The children will be glad to see you, 'Siah," she said. "I will call
them up early and get supper for us all. I will have raised biscuit,
too--it is not often you get anything but Johnny-cake, I warrant. The
boys are working to clear the new lot to-day."
"Aye, I saw them as I came along," said Bolderwood, laughing. "There was
Mistress Kate on top of a tall stump, her black hair flying in the wind,
and Nuck's old musket in her hands. She said she was on guard, and she
hailed me before I got out of the wood. Her eyes are sharp."
"She should have been a boy," sighed the widow. "Indeed, this wilderness
is no place for girls at all."
"Bless their dear little souls!" exclaimed Bolderwood, with feeling.
"What'd we do without Kate an' Mary? They keep the boys sweet, mistress!
And Kate's as good as a boy any day when it comes to looking out for
herself; while as I came through the stumpage Mary was working with the
best of 'em to pull roots and fire-weed."
"The boys want a stump-burning as soon as possible. Jonas got the new
lot near cleared. There's only the rubbish to burn."
"Good idea. Nuck and Bryce are doing well.... But what was the sentinel
for?"
"It isn't all play," said the widow, stopping her work and speaking
seriously. "Yesterday the children saw a strange man hanging about the
creek yonder. And last night on his way back from Master Breckenridge's,
Enoch saw a campfire in the forest and a man sitting by it. An Indian
youth whom perhaps you have seen here--Crow Wing, he is called--was with
the man. Crow Wing drove Enoch off before he could find out who the
white man was."
"Crow Wing, eh?" repeated 'Siah, shaking his head thoughtfully. "I know
the red scamp. If he was treated right by the settlers, though, he'd be
decent enough. But he got angry at Breckenridge's yesterday, they tell
me. Somebody spoke roughly to him. You can ruffle the feathers of them
birds mighty easy."
This was all the comment the ranger made upon the story; but later he
wandered down to the new lot which the Hardings were clearing, and
instead of lending a hand inquired particularly of Enoch where he had
seen the campfire the night before. Learning the direction he plunged
into the wood without further ado and went to the ford, crossing it with
caution and going at once to the vicinity of the fire which Enoch had
observed. But the ashes had been carefully covered and little trace of
the occupation of the spot left. At one point, however, 'Siah found
where two persons--a white man and a red one--had embarked in a canoe
which had been hidden under the bank of the creek. Evidently Crow Wing
had expected the place would be searched and had done all in his power
to mystify the curious.
When 'Siah returned Mistress Harding had called up the children and
supper--a holiday meal--was almost ready. A lamb had been killed the day
before and was stuffed and baked in the Dutch oven. There were light
white-flour biscuits, Enoch had ridden to Bennington with the wheat
slung across his saddle to have it ground, and there was sweet butter
and refined maple sap which every family in the Grants boiled down in
the spring for its own use, although as yet there was little market for
it. It was a jolly meal, for when 'Siah came the children were sure of
something a bit extra, both to eat and to do. He taught the girls how to
make doll babies with cornsilk hair, and begged powder and shot of their
mother for Bryce and Enoch to use in shooting at a mark. Under his
instructions Enoch had become a fairly good marksman, while Bryce, by
resting his gun in the fork of a sapling set upright in the ground, did
almost as well as his elder brother.
After supper Bolderwood talked with the widow while he smoked his pipe.
"We need boys like Enoch, Mistress Harding," he said. "While he's young
I don't dispute, he's big for his age and can handle that rifle pretty
well. You must let him go up to Bennington next week and drill with the
other young fellows. There will be no need of his going on any raids
with the older men. We shall keep the boys out of it, and most of the
beech-sealin' will be done by the men who hain't got no fam'blies here
and are free in their movements. But the drill will be good for him and
the time may come when all this drillin' will pay."
"You really look for serious trouble with the Yorkers, Master
Bolderwood?" she asked.
"I reckon I do. With them or--or others. Things is purty tick'lish--you
know that, widder. The King ain't treatin' us right, an' his ministers
and advisers don't care anything about these colonies, 'ceptin' if we
don't make 'em rich. Then they trouble us. And the governors are mostly
all alike. I don't think a bit better of Benning Wentworth than I do of
these 'ere New York governors. They don't re'lly care nothin' for us
poor folk."
So the widow agreed to allow Enoch to go to Bennington; and when the day
came for the gathering of those youths and men who could be spared from
the farms, to meet there, he mounted the old claybank mare, his shoes
and stockings slung before him over the saddle bow that his great toes
might be the easier used as spurs, and with a bag of corn behind him to
be left for grinding at the mill, trotted along the trail to the
settlement. Before he had gone far on the road he saw other men and boys
bound in the same direction. Remember Baker passed him, with Robbie, his
boy, perched behind on the saddle, and clinging like a leech to his
father's coat-tails as the horse galloped over the rough road. Enoch saw
Robbie later, however, and invited him to the stump burning which was to
take place the following week. He saw Lot Breckenridge, too, at the
Green Mountain Inn, and invited him to come, and sent word to other boys
and girls in the Breckenridge neighborhood.
Lot's mother would not let him carry a gun, but he had come to look on
and see the "greenhorns" take their first lesson in the manual of arms.
Stephen Fay, mine host of the "Catamount" Inn as the hostlery had come
to be called--a large, jocund individual who was a Grants man to the
core and earnest in the cause of the Green Mountain Boys--made all
welcome and the old house was crowded from daylight till dark. In the
gallery which ran along the face of the inn, even with the second story
windows, the ladies of the town sat and viewed the maneuvres of the
newly formed train-band. Before the door stood the twenty-five foot post
that held the sign and was likewise capped by a stuffed catamount, in a
very lifelike pose, its grinning teeth and extended claws turned toward
the New York border in defiance of "Yorker rule."
The leaders of the party which had suggested these drills--all staunch
Whigs and active in their defiance of the Yorkers,--met together in the
inn that day, too, and laid plans for a campaign against certain
settlers from New York who had come into the Grants and taken up farms
without having paid the New Hampshire authorities for the same. In not
all cases had these New York settlers driven off people who had bought
the land of New Hampshire or her agents; but if it was really the
property of that colony the Yorkers had no right upon the eastern side
of the Twenty-Mile Line, or on that side of the lake, at all. As far
north as the opposite shore from Fort Ticonderoga, that key to the
Canadian route which had been wrested from the French but a few years
before, Yorkers had settled; and the Green Mountain Boys determined that
these people must leave the Disputed Ground or suffer for their
temerity.
After the failure of Ten Eyck to capture the Breckenridge farm, New York
began a system of flattery and underhanded methods against the Grants
men which was particularly effective. The Yorkers chose certain more or
less influential individuals and offered them local offices, gifts of
money, and even promised royal titles to some, if they would range
themselves against the Green Mountain Boys. In some cases these offers
were accepted; in this way John Munro had become a justice of the peace,
and Benjamin Hough followed his example. Some foolish folk went so far
as to accept commissions as New York officers, but hoped to hide the
fact from their neighbors until a fitting season--when the Grants were
not afflicted with the presence of the Green Mountain Boys. But in
almost every case such cowardly sycophants were discovered and either
made ridiculous before their neighbors by being tried and hoisted in a
chair before the Catamount Inn, or were sealed with the twigs of the
wilderness--and the Green Mountain Boys wielded the beech wands with no
light hand.
Almost every week the military drills were held in Bennington and Enoch
attended. But before the second one the "stump burning" came off at the
Harding place and that was an occasion worthy of being chronicled.
CHAPTER VI
THE STUMP BURNING
Enoch and Lot Breckenridge, with Robbie Baker, had completed all the
plans for the stump burning that first training day at Bennington. Lot,
who lived so far from the Harding cabin, agreed to come over the night
before if his mother would let him, and Robbie was to remain with Enoch
the night after. The stumps and rubbish would be pretty well piled up
and fired by afternoon, and then the boys could run races, and play
games, and perhaps shoot at a mark, until supper-time. Mrs. Harding had
already promised if the boys worked well to make a nice supper for them.
"An' we'll have the girls," said Lot.
"Oh, what good'll they be at a stump burnin'?" demanded young Baker,
ungallantly.
"Lots o' good. They allus want good times, too," said Lot, standing up
for his sisters manfully. "You have no sisters, an' that's why you don't
want 'em."
"They'll be in the way. Their frocks'll git torn if they help us, an'
they'll git afire--or--or somethin'!"
"Nuck's sisters will be there. They'll want other girls," said the wise
Lot. "An' b'sides, Mis' Harding'll be lots better to us if the girls is
there. She allus is--my marm is. Mothers like girls, but boys is only a
nuisance, they says." Lot had drawn these conclusions from the remarks
of his own mother, who was troubled by many children and lacked that
"faculty," as New England folk used to term it, for bringing them up
cheerfully.
"I guess we'll get a better supper if the girls are there," admitted
Nuck, quietly.
"But what'll they do?" demanded Robbie, the embryo woman-hater.
"I'll get mother ter be layin' out a quilt, or something, an' the girls
can help about that."
"Zuckers!" cried Lot. "We'll have the finest time ever was. I'll be sure
an' tell ev'rybody down my way. An' we'll all bring powder an' shot; it
won't matter so much about guns, for them that don't have 'em can borry
of them that has, when it comes to shootin'."
"And I'll get Master Bolderwood to come an' be empire," declared Nuck,
no farther out in his pronunciation of the word than some boys are
nowadays.
So the girls were allowed to come, and an hour or two after sun-up on
the day in question the Harding place was fairly overrun with young folk
of both sexes. Those boys who came from a goodly distance brought their
sisters with them; but the greater number of the girls, living within a
radius of a few miles of the Harding cabin, did not come until after
dinner, having to remain at home to help their own mothers before
attending the merrymaking.
And what a merrymaking it was! Truly, all work and no play makes Jack a
dull boy, and in a country and at a time when all young people had to
work almost as hard as their parents, the pioneer fathers and mothers
encouraged the young folk to mix pleasure well with their tasks. Indeed,
it was a system followed by the older folks as well on many occasions.
Corn-shuckings, apple-parings, log-rollings, sugaring-off--all these
tasks even down to "hog-killings"--were made the excuse for social
gatherings. The idea of helping one another in the heavier tasks of
their existence on the frontier was likewise combined in this. Many
hands make light work, and a cabin which would have kept one family busy
for a fortnight was often put up and the roof of drawn shingles laid in
a day's time, by the neighbors of the proprietor of the new structure
all taking hold of the work.
So in this stump burning, which usually followed upon the clearing of a
new piece of ground. More than a year before Jonas Harding had begun on
this lot, with the intention of clearing it entirely and in the end
having a handsome piece of grass-land along the edge of the creek. In
the fall a fire had run over the piece and now the stumps were mostly
dead, although the fire-weed was waist high. Some of the stumps had
already been pulled up, but many were too large for the muscles of the
young Hardings and it was the help of their companions to pull these
stumps to which they looked forward to-day.
With patience remarkable in such youngsters, Enoch and Bryce had dug
around the base of all the big stumps, had cut off the long side roots,
and when possible had dug beneath and cut the tap-root of the tree, thus
making the final extraction of the big stumps all the easier of
accomplishment. They were piled up and set burning, and round these
bonfires the boys danced like wild Indians and kept the fires fed up to
noon-time. Between the sunshine and the flames the youngsters were all
pretty well scorched by then.
But before the horn was blown for dinner there were two arrivals on the
scene, one joyfully welcomed by all and the other rather unexpected but
not less welcome to many of the boys. 'Siah Bolderwood entered the
clearing from a forest-path at almost the same instant that a lithe
young figure appeared from the direction of the creek. Enoch ran to his
old friend and hugged him in his delight. "Ain't I glad you've come,
'Siah! We got most of the work done; we're goin' to get lots of nice
ashes, too. We're goin' ter have races and a wrastling match after
dinner."
"Hullo! who's this?" said 'Siah, pointing across the clearing.
Enoch turned to see the Indian youth, Crow Wing, striding up from the
water's edge. A good half of the boys had turned with shouts of welcome
to meet him, for he was popular with them. Ordinarily Crow Wing was a
very social fellow and taught the white boys to make arrows, string
their bows, build canoes, and set ingenious snares. "I don't want him
here!" declared Enoch to the ranger.
"Tut, tut, what do you care? There's no need in your making an enemy of
that fellow, Nuck. Let him be."
"But think how he used me the other night when I was trying to find out
about that man in the woods! I don't like him."
"Well, we can't like everybody in this world," said Bolderwood,
philosophically. "We gotter take folks as we find 'em--that's my motter.
You let the Injin stay. He's come to help and to have the fun arterward;
you sent 'round the invitation pretty promisc'us like, an' I calkerlate
you can't ask him to leave 'thout makin' yerself mighty onpop'lar. Take
my advice an' let him stay."
So, much against his will, Enoch did so. But he and the Indian lad
avoided each other and nothing Crow Wing did could gain any word of
approbation from his young host. However, Crow Wing and Bolderwood were
in time to help do the heaviest of the work and soon the last stump was
out of the soil and piled upon a flaming pyre. The several bonfires
could not spread to the underbrush, so the boys were able to leave them
for the time and rush away to the creek for a swim before dinner. After
they had washed off the smut and smoke, they engaged in races and in
diving matches until the horn blew to recall them to the house. In all
aquatic sports Lot Breckenridge was the master, for even Crow Wing could
not perform the tricks that he could, nor could the Indian swim so far
nor so fast.
Mistress Harding had arranged two long tables outside the cabin, making
them of planks and "horses," and spreading her unbleached sheets over
them for table-cloths. The girls had picked flowers and decorated the
tables very prettily. There were all kinds and conditions of dishes for
use--earthen, tin, pewter, and even wooden bowls carved out of "whorls."
And as for spoons and knives and forks--well, they were very scarce
indeed. But every boy carried a pocket or hunting knife, and some had
even been thoughtful enough to bring a knife and fork from home.
Nevertheless, despite the lack of articles which we now consider the
commonest of possessions, the table manners of these pioneer boys and
girls were very good. They were on their best behavior while visiting,
and the presence of the girls had a good influence on the boys.
The dinner was not to be the great meal of the day, for the boys did not
wish to eat too much before the activities of the afternoon. Mistress
Harding and the big girls had promised several dainties for supper,
among which was a berry pudding, the girls having picked the berries
that morning while their brothers were clearing the stumpage. The day
before Enoch had shot a quantity of wood-pigeons, too, and there was to
be a huge pigeon pie baked in the Dutch oven. There could be no stuffed
lamb on this occasion, however; sheep were too hard to raise and the
pioneers tasted mutton but seldom, for the fleece was too valuable for
them to kill the animal which supplied it. But Bolderwood had brought in
a fawn which he had hung until it was of the right flavor, and this was
dressed and roasted like a young kid. When the boys heard of these good
things it almost took their appetites away at the dinner table, for they
did not wish to eat more than was absolutely necessary before the
holiday supper.
They were quickly back in the new lot, raked the fires together, flung
the last root and chip on the blaze, and then repaired to the level
meadow by the riverside where the games were to take place. The meadow
had been mown some days before (they always got two mowings a season off
the rich creek bottoms) and the new grass had sprung up just enough to
be soft and velvety to the feet. Off came the shoes and stockings of
those boys who had been trammeled by such articles of attire--all except
Crow Wing. He still wore his moccasins. The foot-races were to come
first, and Bolderwood and Lot carefully measured the distance along the
bank where the land was almost level, setting stakes at either end of
the course. It was not a long run and everybody lined up for the first
trial and they charged down upon the further stake like a gang of wild
colts. Crow Wing, Enoch, Lot, and Robbie Baker were easily ahead of the
others, and they with two more who had shown promise, were lined up for
a second trial. This was really to be the contest and the six prepared
to do their best, while the onlookers, girls and all, cheered their
favorites.
Bolderwood lined up the half dozen youths very carefully. The white boys
had thrown aside their outer shirts so as to give the freer play to
their muscles. Crow Wing wore but one upper garment anyway, and he made
no change in his dress excepting to pull his belt a little tighter. When
the ranger had them placed to his satisfaction and all had signified
that they were ready, he started them off with a shout. This time the
race was to be down to the further post and back again, each contestant
being obliged to go around the post before turning back, and a watch was
set there that no one should make a mistake in this. There was a swift
patter of feet on the sod for a minute and then Crow Wing and Enoch
forged ahead. They rounded the stake almost together and came down the
home stretch far in the lead of the other contestants. First the white
boy was ahead, then the Indian, and finally when the race ended they
were elbow to elbow and one not an inch in advance of the other!
The spectators cheered lustily, but the race must be run over by these
two to learn who really was the winner. Bolderwood allowed them a few
minutes between the trials; but the Indian did not seem to need the
rest. He still breathed easily, while Enoch lay panting on the sod. The
white boy finally went to the line with the assurance in his own heart
that he should be beaten; but he was too plucky to give up the fight
without trying again. This race was even more hardly contested than the
others had been and although it was apparent that Crow Wing ran more
easily than did Enoch, the latter worked so hard that it was doubtful
for a time whether the Indian could win after all. Enoch ran until his
knees almost gave under him and his breath came in great gasps from his
chest. Had he been a less healthy and active boy he might have
permanently injured himself from the overstrain of the contest. As it
was, Crow Wing managed to cross the line first and was pronounced
champion.
Enoch had just strength enough to shake the winner's hand before he fell
upon the grass, and there he lay exhausted while the other boys held a
"potato race" and jumped hurdles. It provoked young Harding terribly to
see how seemingly fresh Crow Wing still was, while he was nearly dead
with fatigue. He began to take interest in the proceedings, however,
when his brother Bryce won the potato race after a close contest with
Robbie Baker; and rejoiced when Lot beat Crow Wing in jumping. "That red
rascal ain't goin' to beat everybody here," thought Enoch, and he got up
and ceased sulking.
The wrestling match was the last of the day's sports. Bolderwood paired
the boys off to the best of his judgment for the first bout; but the
winners drew lots to see who they should wrestle with the second time.
Lot had Crow Wing for an antagonist on this occasion, and Enoch was
paired with Smith Hubbard, a hulking great fellow, bigger and taller
than any other boy in the crowd. But he was also slower and more awkward
than most, having won his first throw by sheer weight rather than skill.
Enoch threw him fairly at the second trial, while the Indian lad quite
as easily worsted young Breckenridge.
The winners drew again and Enoch had quite a tug with another
contestant; but Crow Wing put his antagonist on the ground three times
in succession, and with apparent ease. It was plain that the match was
to end with another contest between the Indian and Enoch Harding and the
interest waxed high. Enoch was determined to keep his head and control
his temper this time. Crow Wing was nominally his guest and he played
fair; there was no reason why he should not bear off all the honors if
he could do so. But the white boy determined to give the red the fight
of his life for the honor of champion wrestler.
Enoch had long been considered the best wrestler among the boys of his
age. Although Lot was older and taller than him, he threw the bigger boy
easily. Crow Wing had quite as easily worsted young Breckenridge; but
when the Indian and Enoch finally faced each other in the ring the
latter gritted his teeth and determined to put forth every ounce of
strength, and use every legitimate trick he knew, to beat his
antagonist.
He had recovered his wind now and felt fresh and strong. He measured the
lithe form of Crow Wing before the word was given and saw that, although
the Indian was doubtless stronger than he in the legs and through the
loins, where much of the strain comes in a wrestling match, his own arms
and shoulders were much better. Crow Wing ran a great deal, or walked.
He was on the trail almost continually, and thus his leg muscles were
splendidly developed. Whereas the white boy swung an axe or wielded a
hoe almost every day and the upper part of his body was in excellent
condition. He saw that if he could seize Crow Wing quickly and with a
first effort overpower him, the victory would be his.
So he went into the wrestling match with the intention of getting a
"down" at once, and the first round was over almost before Crow Wing
knew what Enoch was about. "A fair fall! a fair fall!" cried the boys,
and danced about the pair as it was seen that both Crow Wing's hips and
his shoulders were squarely on the turf. The Indian rose slowly,
evidently much surprised by the white boy's tactics. If he was angry he
did not show it. His face was as passive as ever.
"Quick work that," said Bolderwood. "You'll have to wake up, Crow Wing,
if you want to get the best of Nuck."
"Hurrah for Nuck!" shouted the boys.
But the second trial was another matter. Crow Wing approached warily. He
feinted several times and then leaped away when Enoch tried to seize him
as he had before. He had felt the power of the white boy's muscles, and
he did not propose to allow a second quick stroke. Enoch followed him
around the ring and finally clutched him, but at arms' length. It was
not a good hold; he knew it on the instant. But he had as good a chance
as Crow Wing and there they were, swaying to and fro, and panting for
several minutes, before either obtained the advantage.
Finally the Indian lad forced Enoch over his leg and slowly, yet
determinedly, pushed him backward to the ground. When they fell Crow
Wing was on top, but it was several moments ere he managed to force
Enoch's shoulders and hips to the earth together. The second round was
declared won by Crow Wing and the boys took a rest before the third and
final one. Enoch was glad to see that his antagonist suffered as much as
he did this time, laboring for breath and with his face and arms covered
with perspiration. When Bolderwood called them for the third round the
Indian flung off his hunting shirt, thus showing that he considered the
white boy a worthy antagonist indeed.
Enoch was more confident than before. He saw that he could not repeat
his first quick throw; but he would not be deceived again into getting
any uncertain hold. Crow Wing continued his former tactics, but Enoch
simply followed him about, feinting as well as the Indian, and at last,
when Crow Wing ran in, thinking he had a chance for an under hold, he
caught him like a young bear and hugged him to his chest until the
breath was fairly forced from the other's lungs. Although taller than
the white boy the Indian was not so heavy and this display of muscle
startled him. With one arm caught between his own body and Enoch's he
could do little to help himself and Enoch squeezed hard before he let
him go. Then, with a quick toss, stooping as he made it, Enoch flung
him, long legs and all, over his shoulder, and before Crow Wing could
rise he was upon him and held him down. The Indian was so breathless
that it was a small matter for Enoch to get the "four points" necessary
to win the fall and he rose at last triumphant.
The boys and girls cheered him and Bolderwood said he was a good
wrestler, and then Crow Wing, who had slipped into his shirt again, came
to him and said, with a still impassive face: "Umph! white boy big
wrestler--beat Crow Wing fair!" He held out his hand gravely and, after
shaking Enoch's, stalked away while the others were busy, his absence
being unnoticed until it came time to go up to the house for supper.
"Guess he didn't like being licked," said Robbie Baker to Enoch. "You
better look out for him, Nuck. My pa says them Injins is as treacherous
as wolves."
But somehow Enoch felt that Crow Wing was a better friend to him than he
had been before. Something in the Indian's handshake seemed to have told
him this. The supper was quite as good as the boys had expected. After
the meal they shot at a target under 'Siah Bolderwood's direction and
Robbie Baker, son of the greatest shot in the settlement, as was
expected, bore off the honors. The company went home through the forest
trails by moonlight and thus ended a long and happy day, in which much
that was useful had been accomplished as well as a "good time" enjoyed.
As Enoch stood at the door of the cabin and watched the red glow from
the fires in the newly cleared lot, he went over in his mind the
incidents of the day. Such holidays were not plentiful in his life. It
was mostly work and little play, and he would remember this occasion for
many months. He did not suspect how many months would elapse, and how
many momentous happenings would occur, before he saw all his young
friends together once again.
CHAPTER VII
A NIGHT ATTACK
Not often did the Harding children enjoy such a day as that of the
stump-burning. Life was very real indeed to pioneer folks, although the
fact that every family in the community had to work hard left no
loophole for complaint on any side. There were no very poor people then,
and there were no immensely rich. It is only by comparison that human
beings become discontented with their lot.
The widow's children had to work little harder than their neighbors.
Their mother labored with them in the fields, as well as paying full
attention to her household duties. She could swing an axe with most men
in the township, and was no mean shot with the rifle. She led the corn
hoeing and taught the older boys to do those things which were needful
about the farm. The crops during this summer prospered well, and after
clearing up and barreling the ashes made during the stump-burning, Enoch
and Bryce ploughed and harrowed the new piece along the creek's edge.
They sowed it to winter grain and hung "scare-crows" all about the field
to keep the wild birds from pulling up the tender shoots when they
appeared above the mold.
Besides leading her children in the work of the farm, Mistress Harding
paid more attention to their education than most parents of the
settlement could. There was a school in Bennington during the winter
months; but it was too far away for any of the Hardings to attend. But
the widow had been a school-teacher before her marriage and she had
brought some books with her from her old home. So part of almost every
day she taught her children. The girls and little Harry, who was just
learning his letters and "a-b, abs," studied during the daytime; but the
older boys did their lessons by the light of the candle dips, or lying
on the hearth before the dancing fire. Both summer and winter these
studies were kept up and therefore Enoch and his brothers and sisters
were rather farther advanced in learning than the other children of the
scattered community.
To this study Enoch took rather kindly; but to Bryce, who possessed more
of his father's roving disposition, the school hour was distasteful.
Bryce, too, complained more than a little because he was not allowed to
go to Bennington on training days. He was growing rapidly and was well
nigh as big as his brother, and he felt that he should be counted a
member of the military company.
This drilling in the manual of arms had become a very serious matter to
the Grants people. The Green Mountain Boys, which nickname had before
the end of the summer become fixed upon the bands, were divided into
four companies of which Seth Warner, 'Member Baker, Robert Cochran and
Gideon Warner were the captains. Ethan Allen was elected colonel
commanding by acclamation and plans were made to watch over many of the
outlying districts liable to be troubled most frequently by the Yorkers.
With all his impulsiveness, Allen was long-headed and something of a
strategist; yet he leaned to some extent upon Captain Warner's good
sense. Warner was a man of much finer mould than the chief of the Green
Mountain Boys, was well educated and had a personal following of his own
in the Grants, second only to Allen's. But there was never any jealousy
between them. Allen's was a nature too frank and generous to harbor such
a despicable feeling, while Warner was too deeply interested in the
cause to do so.
Nuck Harding was a proud boy indeed, for he was nigh the youngest among
those who drilled. Such raiding as was done by the Green Mountain Boys
that year was the work of small parties under Allen, Warner, or Cochran,
and no general engagement occurred between the Grants settlers and the
New York authorities, so Nuck saw no real service. At home, however, he
and Bryce frequently talked over what they would do if Simon Halpen
should visit them. That he had been scouting about the farm on the day
of Sheriff Ten Eyck's fiasco at James Breckenridge's place, the older
boy was sure. He was certain that the man he had seen beside the
campfire in the wood, and whom Crow Wing seemed to befriend, was the
Yorker who, twice before, had tried to drive the Hardings from their
home. But neither the man nor the Indian youth appeared in the
neighborhood as the summer waned and the autumn harvests approached.
Nevertheless, after harvest, when the farm work was well cleared up, the
boys put into practice a plan which, after much thought they had
evolved. Many a frontier home of that, and an earlier day, had connected
with it an underground passage, or room which, although usually devoted
to the simple storage of potatoes and roots, could in time of need be
used as a refuge for the family. Of an Indian attack there was little
danger; but they did not know to what length the Yorkers might go when
once they did appear. Nuck believed Simon Halpen to be a man without
compassion or mercy, and that the house might be attacked and burned
over their heads.
So, while still the frost held off, they constructed beneath the
fireplace a deep stonewalled apartment nearly eight feet square--large
enough to hold the entire family if need should come. When finished the
entrance was gained by raising a large flat stone which was a part of
the hearth. But the winter came without any alarm to the Hardings, and
drew its slow length across the green hills and valleys like some albino
monster of prehistoric times. The firs were snow-crowned and the white
mantle lay deep in the hollows. Bryce and Enoch added generously to the
family larder by the fruit of their hunting-trips, for there was plenty
of time for such sport now. They had learned to weave snow-shoes in
Indian fashion, too, and Bolderwood taught Enoch to tan and "work" the
deer hides so well that their mother was able to use the pliable leather
for moccasins for the family. "Boughten" shoes they had; but they were
kept for best, for the money to purchase them with came hard indeed to
the widow.
Not until the sap began to flow from the maples was winter counted
broken. Robbie Baker rode over about the middle of March and begged so
hard that Mrs. Harding allowed Enoch to return with him to help at the
Baker's "sugaring." There were plenty of fine maples near the Baker
house and Nuck was promised a share of the refined sugar. There was no
need of a hut at the sugar orchard, for they slept at Baker's house, and
only a shelter was built over the great kettle in which the sap was
boiled. Captain Baker made the incisions in the generous trees, and
fitted the troughs; but Robbie and Nuck collected the sap and brought
it, bucket by bucket, to the fire which Mrs. Baker tended. It was hard
work but there was some fun connected with it, too, and Nuck enjoyed his
week's visit--or would have done so had it not been for the incident
with which the outing closed.
Through the winter the people of the Grants had lived almost entirely at
peace with their troublesome neighbors over the border. But there were
certain active spirits among the Yorkers who were waiting only for the
coming of spring to continue their persecutions. Because of the raids by
the leaders of the Green Mountain Boys, there were warrants out for
several, and Captain Baker was one of these who was wanted by the Albany
authorities. The infamous John Munro who had accepted the office of
Justice of the Peace from the New York party, gathered ten or twelve
choice spirits on the night of March 22d, and feeling the security of
numbers approached the home of the Grants' remarkable marksman, his mind
fixed firmly upon the reward that had been offered for the apprehension
of "the outlaw, Baker."
The Green Mountain Boy was not a man to be attacked without due
consideration, and the Yorkers came to the house in the dead of night,
breaking in without warning, and capturing Captain Baker in his bed.
Even thus handicapped Baker fought with desperation and, overpowered by
numbers and cruelly wounded, only gave over the struggle when he saw
that the Yorkers were beating his wife and son as well.
"I surrender to ye, ye dogs!" he cried. "But let the woman and child
alone," and at that they ceased to belabor Mrs. Baker and Robbie and set
about removing the captive as expeditiously as possible. Robbie had been
asleep in the loft with his guest when the attack was made and had run
down the ladder to get at the guns; but this last was impossible.
Enoch's rifle was likewise down-stairs and he was unable to help his
friends; but instead of showing himself to the enemy he lifted a corner
of the bark roof and crept outside. It was dark, and although there was
a watch kept without the house, he was not observed and managed to reach
the ground by climbing down the corner logs.
By this time Captain Baker was a prisoner. They allowed him to partly
dress and then securing him with thongs, brought him forth and threw him
into a sledge which was in waiting. Their haste was obvious. Even in the
night, and at this distance from any succor, the cowardly justice and
his friends feared that members of the Green Mountain company would be
aroused, and they had no wish to face Baker's comrades. Their idea was
to get him across the Hudson and to Albany as swiftly as possible.
But Enoch, though unable to render his friends any assistance in the
fight, had not been idle. Keeping the house between him and the Yorkers
at the door, he reached the stable. Mrs. Baker's voice rose above the
general din, begging the Yorkers to spare her husband--to at least allow
her to bind up the wound in his head before they took him away. But they
merely laughed at her request. It made Enoch grit his teeth in rage, and
pulling open the door of the stable he quickly entered and flung the
captain's saddle upon the horse. Buckling the girth tightly he backed
the steed out of the hovel and was astride it before the enemy observed
him.
With a smart slap on the creature's flank Nuck sent the horse tearing
down the road to Bennington and was almost out of rifle shot before the
Yorkers realized his escape and the meaning of it. Several shots
followed him, so reckless were the justice's companions, but there was
no pursuit. Instead, the villains tumbled into the sledge and upon the
backs of their own steeds, and amid the cries of the woman and Robbie,
took the way to the Twenty-Mile Line and Albany. The prisoner's wife and
son scarcely realized what Nuck's escape meant; it looked as though the
guest had fled when peril threatened the helpless family. But Nuck very
well knew what he was about.
It was still several hours before dawn, but the moon brilliantly
illumined the forest road and as the way was fairly well beaten, Nuck
set the horse at his fastest pace. He knew that he could find men at
Bennington--particularly at the Green Mountain Inn--who would consider
no hardship too great to assist the captured settler. Many of Remember
Baker's own company of Green Mountain Boys would be in town and Stephen
Fay, the host, would be able to tell him where to find these men
quickly. It was a long ride to the Hudson and the hope of overtaking the
Yorkers and their prisoner spurred the boy on.
On and on flew the horse and rider until at last the scattered houses of
the hamlet came into view. The settlement lay lifeless under the cold
winter sky; not a spiral of smoke rose from the broad-topped chimneys,
for the fires in every house were banked during the night, and it was
too early for the spryest kitchen-maid to be astir. The horse thundered
up to the door of the Catamount Inn and Nuck's wild halloa brought a
night-capped head to the window instantly--that of the innkeeper.
"What might be the news, neighbor?" he demanded.
"Captain Baker has been carried off by the Yorkers!" shouted Nuck, and
his words were heard by other night-capped heads at other windows about
the inn. "'Squire Munro and some others came and got him out of bed.
They've driven off toward the Line."
"'Member Baker's captured!" The word was taken up by a dozen voices and
the settlers dressed hurriedly and ran forth from their houses.
Meanwhile Master Fay had aroused certain men who happened to be in his
hostelry, as well as the stablemen in the yard. There was a great bustle
about the inn. "Boy!" cried the innkeeper to Nuck, who still bestrode
Captain Baker's horse, "do you go and call Isaac Clark and Joe Safford.
They'll have their horses handy--and good horses, too, I'll be bound.
Tell them to come here with saddle and rifle."
These two men lived at the other end of the village. Nuck routed them
out and in fifteen minutes was back with them at the inn. By that time
quite a crowd had collected and ten men beside Nuck were found to be
mounted and ready to set forth after the Yorkers. Each was a tried Green
Mountain Boy and eager to take satisfaction for the attack upon their
leader. Ten men were considered ample to attack the Yorkers, and with a
promise to the bystanders to recapture 'Member Baker, even though they
followed him to Albany, the cavalcade galloped away from the Green
Mountain Inn, Enoch riding in their train.
CHAPTER VIII
THE TRAITOR'S WAY
Remember Baker lived at Arlington, and the distance from that new
settlement, it could hardly be called a village, to Bennington was about
two and a half miles. Enoch Harding might have given the alarm to the
neighbors of the captured man, but he knew that they would not be able
to pursue the Yorkers, for good horse flesh was scarce outside of
Bennington. And Robbie would doubtless rouse them, anyway, as soon as he
was recovered from his fright. As he saw it, Enoch believed his duty to
point to the Catamount Inn, and we have seen how quickly a company was
formed there for the chase of the Yorkers and their prisoner.
Enoch had ridden Baker's horse hard into town and now he followed behind
the ten rescuers, urging the animal to still greater efforts. The
hard-packed snow rang merrily under the hoofs of the steeds. Fortunately
the boy's mount had been well "sharpened" by the local smith shortly
before, or riding recklessly as he did the horse might have suffered a
fall, and Enoch been flung off. Nevertheless he could not keep up with
Isaac Clark and his companions, so gradually fell behind. His steed's
wind was sound, however, and he pursued the trail steadily.
The rescuers showed no hesitation in choosing their route. There were
but a few beaten trails and they knew the road John Munro and his party
would take with the prisoner to the bank of the Hudson. They could not
miss it. The road from Arlington broke into this main trail at a point
not far beyond the confines of Bennington and there it was at once
apparent that the sledge and horsemen had passed that way not long
before. There were plain marks of the runners and the ice and snow were
cut up by the feet of the flying horses. The fact that the Yorkers
numbered as many--if not more--than themselves, did not disturb the
Green Mountain Boys in the least. "A Grants man who is not good for two
or three of the scurvy Yorkers, is no good at all!" Stephen Fay had
declared when they set forth, and probably the only emotions the ten
felt as they rode on were eagerness and wrath.
Meanwhile, behind them raced Enoch Harding, desiring mightily to "be in
at the death," as the fox-hunters say. His heavy farmhorse could not
compete with the mounts of the possé, however, and with tears in his
eyes he saw them increase the distance between themselves and his
animal. But he doggedly pursued the road, while the clatter of hoofs
grew mellow in the distance. The morning was very still; the moon had
sunk now and the stars were fading before the gray light of the coming
day. In the east behind him the sky was even streaked with pink above
the mountain-tops; the wind blew more keenly and he suddenly awoke to
the fact that he was almost perished with the cold, for he had stopped
for neither greatcoat nor mittens.
Finally arriving at the top of a ridge of land he saw before him--at
least two miles along the road and just mounting another ridge--a group
of flying horses with a sledge in their midst, the prisoner and his
captors. At first he did not see the Green Mountain Boys at all; but as
his own horse plunged down the slope he suddenly observed the squadron
which had left the Bennington Inn, come out of the dip of the valley
where the trees were thickest, and begin the ascent of the further
ridge. The two parties were less than half a mile apart.
But from the elevation he was on Enoch had seen something else. The
second ridge was lower than this and over it and not very far beyond he
had caught a glimpse of the frozen Hudson! The river was not far away.
Would the settlers catch the scoundrelly New York justice and his
companions before they reached the river?
And this must be done if they would rescue Captain Baker. It was all
very well to talk of following the party to Albany; but that would
simply result in the imprisonment of all in the jail. Once at the river
the Yorkers would be among friends and would find plenty of people to
help them beat off the Green Mountain Boys. The latter understood this
well enough. They did not need young Enoch Harding to tell them, and it
was quite evident to the boy that his friends were spurring their horses
desperately up the farther slope in a last grand burst of speed to
overtake the fugitives.
On and on they sped and finally, when Enoch reached the dip of the vale,
Clark and his party were over the hill and had disappeared. The boy
dared not urge his horse up the ascent too rapidly and he lost much
precious time before reaching the summit. But once here he had a broad
outlook over the slope and plain beyond and if he could not be present,
at least he had an unobstructed view of the end of the chase. The Green
Mountain Boys had spurred down the hill madly and gained upon the sledge
so rapidly that the faint-hearted Yorkers were thrown into a panic. The
horses attached to the sledge gave out and one of them slipped and fell
in the harness. Instead of stopping to help Munro get the animal on its
feet, the horsemen, with the fear of punishment from the angry pursuers
before their eyes, rode on and scattered in the thick woods beyond,
leaving the doughty justice to meet the possé alone. Munro was not a
physical coward and he felt that with the majesty of the law--New York
law--behind him, he could face Baker's friends.
They bore down upon him with threatening cries, but he stood his ground
and warned them at the top of his voice neither to shoot nor to try to
rescue his prisoner. There was no need of firearms, of course, for they
were ten to one now. But they laughed his authority to scorn. What!
allow him to carry 'Member Baker to Albany to be tried by a judge who
was himself interested in land speculations, and by a jury antagonistic
to the settlers of the Grants? It was preposterous!
Baker, who suffered sorely from his wounds, was untied and placed upon
one of the horses which could carry double. The possé felt ugly, but
they did not harm the justice and after some wordy warfare rode away
again, leaving Munro to get his horse up and harnessed again to the
sledge without their help. His threats of future punishment for the
entire party were unnoticed. Their wild ride had been crowned with
success, for they had recovered their wounded comrade within a mile of
the Hudson River, and they took him home without any molestation.
But Captain Baker was weak from the loss of blood and terribly shaken by
the experience and was in bed and under the care of a surgeon for some
days. The news of the Yorkers' raid spread throughout the Grants and the
settlers whose fears had been lulled to sleep by the peace of the
winter, were roused to a realization of the fact that the land grabbers
intended to be quite as active in the future as they had been in the
past. The next training day the conversation of the Green Mountain Boys
who were present in Bennington was bitter indeed. Cochran, and such
reckless spirits, were for retaliating with fire and bullet on the New
York border. Nevertheless Warner and other more moderate men counseled
forbearance.
"We overawed the sheriff's army last year, it is true. But at that time
we had given the people of New York no reasonable excuse for attacking
us," declared Warner. "We've beech-sealed more than one surveyor and
warned New York settlers off the farms they had stolen since then. We've
been obliged to use force and now force will be used against us. But I
find that many of these New York settlers have been brought here under a
misapprehension. They did not understand the controversy before they got
the farms, and believed that the land-grabbers really owned the property
of which they are in possession. To visit our righteous wrath upon
helpless women and children will not help the cause of the Grants."
Many of his hearers, however, were not convinced. "'Member Baker's been
beaten and his wife and boy ill-treated. What are we going to do about
it?" was the demand.
"Complaint has already been made to Governor Tryon of New York, and John
Munro may be punished by his own side for what he did the other night."
"And there's 'Member's gun," spoke up another ill-affected partisan.
"Munro stole it and has got it to his house. I'm told so by a neighbor
of his. 'Member thinks a deal of that gun."
"I'll get that," said Warner, quickly. "'Member shall have his property
back before next training day."
And with that promise the disaffected spirits were satisfied for the
time being. When Enoch rode away from Bennington on his return home that
afternoon, the Connecticut giant overtook him on the road. Warner was a
fine-looking man, younger even than Ethan Allen and idolized by the
women and children of the community as Allen was by the men. But there
was nothing effeminate about Warner. He was of the better class of
borderers, possessing more education than most of his neighbors and with
that measure of refinement and cultivation which placed George
Washington above the majority of his associates. Warner had no patrician
bearing, however, but entered into the work, sports and pursuits of his
fellows. He was a superb horseman and rode on this day a mount which the
governor of New York himself might covet.
Enoch Harding had grown used, by this time, to seeing these prominent
leaders of the Grants and had spoken with Captain Warner before. "Master
Harding, your road lies my way for some distance," declared Warner,
smiling on the boy. "We will go together."
"You do not ride this way frequently, sir," said Enoch.
"Nay. But you heard my promise to-day. I must get 'Member's gun. That
rascally Munro may have to be taught a lesson, too."
"But will you go alone?" cried the boy.
Warner laughed. "Why, it is a peaceful mission. See--I have not even my
rifle--only my sword as captain of our military company. A show of force
might only make matters worse--and dear knows they are bad enough as it
stands."
"Munro will be among his friends, sir. Ought you not to have somebody
with you?"
"There might be some doubt regarding that, Master Harding. A man like
Munro is never blessed with an overabundance of friends. He may have
minions that, for wage, would help him in his nefarious deeds. But I
shall meet him when he least expects to see a Green Mountain Boy and I
fear no serious trouble. But if you have doubt as to my safety," and he
smiled again, "you may ride with me and see that the doughty 'Squire
does not capture and run away with me as he attempted to with Captain
Baker."
Enoch's eyes sparkled at this permission and he spurred on after Captain
Warner although the direction was one which carried him some distance
out of his way. A two hours' ride brought them to the settlement where
the New York justice lived. Before they reached the place the figure of
Warner was spied and recognized and Munro met the Green Mountain Boy in
the roadway before his own house, surrounded by several of his
neighbors. Enoch kept in the rear and as they rode up the boy unslung
his gun and laid it across his saddle. Warner smiled as he noted this
act, and then his face grew stern again as he drew rein before the
much-hated Yorker.
"Master Munro," he said, without parley, "it has been brought to my
attention that, upon your late evening visit to Captain Remember Baker,
you carried away from his house a certain weapon which Captain Baker
highly prizes. You mistook it for your own, I presume, and the duties of
your office have doubtless been so onerous since then that you have not
had opportunity to return it. Happening to be in this neighborhood I
have stopped to request the return of the gun."
"Ha, ye rebel!" exclaimed Munro. "Dare ye put yourself in the lion's
jaws in this way? I'll show ye----"
"Whether I have put myself in the jaws of a lion or a jackal may be a
question which is aside from our present discussion," interrupted
Warner, scornfully. "I have come for Captain Baker's property."
"Baker is an outlaw--as are you," declared Munro, wrathfully, "and as
such I took away his arms. An' I shall keep the gun."
"Now, 'Squire, if you had stated the reverse of that proposition I
should have the more easily believed you," cried Warner, with flashing
eyes. "Even a New York justice of the peace may not rob his neighbor
with impunity in the Grants. I shall carry that gun away with me to-day.
So, sir, deliver it without further ado!"
[Illustration: HE WHIPPED OUT HIS SWORD]
"Ye threaten me, do ye?" cried Munro, lashing himself into a rage.
"Seize this villain, neighbors! I call on ye to assist in the capture of
Seth Warner, the outlaw!" He seized the bridle of Warner's horse, which
reared with him and struck out angrily. But the justice hung on, still
calling to the bystanders to interfere and help him. Enoch urged his own
horse forward; but there was no fear of the neighbors aiding in Seth
Warner's capture. They refused to do so, and perhaps as much out of fear
of the Connecticut man himself, as out of dislike for the justice.
Warner's horse was a mettlesome beast and Munro's act in seizing the
bridle angered it. The Green Mountain boy had all he could do to handle
his steed for a moment and, as Munro continued to cling to the bridle,
Warner suddenly whipped out his sword and whirling it about his head
brought the flat of the weapon down upon the officer's pate! The blow
caused Munro to relax his hold and knocked him to the ground, where he
lay, roaring with pain and anger. Warner rode over him and approached
the open door of the house to which Mrs. Munro, frightened by her
husband's overthrow, quickly brought the gun in question and handed it
to the victor.
"Many thanks, 'Squire Munro!" cried Warner, waving the gun above his
head and holding in his charger. "And when next ye seek to impound me,
come in force, sir--come in force!" and letting his mount go, he and
Enoch rode away at a swift canter.
Young Harding went home that night full of the afternoon's doings, and
loud in his praise of Captain Warner's prowess. He and Bryce made many
plans for the reception of the Yorkers if they came to their farm; but
after this matters were quiet for some weeks and the settlers were
enabled to begin the spring work and get the seed into the ground in
peace. On May 19th Governor Tryon sent a letter to the Grants proposing
a conference and promising amnesty to all those who had taken an active
part in the raids of the Green Mountain Boys excepting Ethan Allen, Seth
Warner, Baker and Robert Cochran. The King had commanded that New York
do nothing further toward surveying or settling the lands east of Lake
Champlain and the Twenty-Mile Line until the difficulty could be
properly adjusted, and Tryon promised that the land-grabbers should be
kept away from the Grants.
The farmers were delighted with this letter. They had been living in
continual fear of dispossession since the first attack on the
Breckenridge farm in '69. Now they felt that they would be free to
follow the peaceful pursuits of their calling and began to improve their
possessions, believing that, after all, the right would prevail. None
were more pleased at this turn of affairs than the widow Harding and
Enoch. Bryce, it must be confessed, felt a little disappointed that he
had seen no active service; but they were all happy in their work and
the Harding place bade fair to be one of the most profitable farms in
the township that year.
The boys labored well and after the second corn hoeing in August the
work was so far along that Enoch was able to accompany 'Siah Bolderwood
on a hunting trip. The old ranger, lacking any regular abiding place of
his own, often visited the Hardings and helped in the work of the farm.
But he was a wanderer by nature and could not stay in one place long at
a time. So, being off to the northward, the widow allowed Enoch to join
him for a week or two.
It was not wholly game that Bolderwood was after, however. At least, not
game for present killing. He was mapping out his next winter's campaign
against the wild creatures of the forest. His strings of traps and
dead-falls would be laid along the route which he and his young comrade
traversed. Reaching the southern extremity of Lake Champlain Bolderwood
found a canoe which, well hidden in a hollow log--all that remained of a
monster king of the woodland--had lain untouched since his last visit to
the lake. In this light bark they set sail upon that beautiful body of
water on the shores of which the French and English had so often met in
battle. It has been well said that the Champlain Valley was the school
grounds of the early colonists, and that here were largely unfolded the
elements of character which became of supreme importance in the
Revolutionary struggle.
On the west bank of this lower, and narrower, portion of the lake, stood
the frowning walls of Fort Ticonderoga--"Old Ti" as the settlers called
it--wrested not long since from the French backed by their Huron and
Algonquin allies. That promontory signalized a more ancient landmark of
history even than the Pilgrim stone at Plymouth, and one quite as
important to our country at large. Eleven years before the Mayflower
began her voyage to America, Champlain met the Iroquois in battle on the
site of Ticonderoga, and this battle made the Iroquois the friends of
the English and the enemies of the French for generations. Ticonderoga
was an important link in the chain of French posts extending from the
St. Lawrence to the Mississippi, which was designed to shut the English
colonists into that narrow strip of the continent east of the
Alleghanies.
From the beginning Fort Frederick (Crown Point) and Ticonderoga were a
menace to the English. From these points the red allies of the French
descended upon the border settlements to the south and burned and
pillaged at pleasure. Two fearful campaigns were needed to reduce
Ticonderoga and place the command of the Champlain in the hands of the
British. Since its capture Ticonderoga had fallen somewhat into decay,
for with the changing of the Canadian government from French to English,
danger of attack, even by Indian bands, from the north was little to be
expected by the settlers who had flocked into the rich lands near the
lake after the close of the war.
Bolderwood and his young comrade passed Old Ti and, continuing up the
lake, paddled by Crown Point and reached the mouth of the Otter. Here
they encamped for several days, hunting and fishing, and living in a
nomadic fashion that charmed Enoch. But when they were about to return
another party of hunters came to the spot--men whom Bolderwood
knew--bound for the upper end of the lake and into the wilderness lying
east of that point. Enoch could not go so far because of the work on the
farm; but he urged Bolderwood to accompany this party, as he knew very
well he could find his way home in safety by either the land or water
route. In fact, he rather coveted the chance to make his way home alone,
for he wished to prove to the ranger his ability to do for himself.
It was therefore arranged that the boy should take Bolderwood's canoe
and go up Otter Creek to a certain settler's house, there to leave the
canoe and make his way overland to Bennington, and the next day they
separated. The hunters did not start until afternoon on their northern
journey, however, and Enoch left at the same time. Not far up the creek
was a settlement of Hampshire farmers who on one occasion had been
driven out by Yorkers in the employ of a Scotchman named Reid. But the
Yorkers who had taken these farms stayed but a short time and the real
owners of the property had come back the year before. Here Enoch
expected to remain the first night of his lonely journey.
He did not arrive until late, however, and the houses were in
darkness--indeed they seemed deserted. The mill (built by Colonel Reid's
followers) stood silent, the stones having been broken by the Green
Mountain Boys on the occasion of the driving out of the New York
settlers. Enoch, having heard such good accounts of this settlement, was
astonished by the appearance of inactivity.
Nevertheless he landed and soon found a stockade surrounding a
blockhouse, which was evidently occupied. The people seemed to live
under this single roof as though they were in fear of an Indian raid,
and the boy approached the place cautiously. He was not molested,
however, for no watch was being kept; but when he rapped smartly on the
door he knew by the sudden hush of voices within that the occupants of
the dwelling were startled. There was the clatter of arms and a sudden
command. Fearing that he might be treated as an enemy, Enoch knocked
again and was about to raise his voice in the "view halloa" of the
settlers, when the door was snapped open for an instant and the sharp
blade of a sword thrust out of the darkness, the light of the candles
having been quenched at his first summons.
The boy sprang back with an exclamation of fear, and only his agility
saved him from serious injury, for the point of the sword cut a slit in
his hunting coat. And the attack, so utterly unexpected, quite deprived
him of speech or further motion as the heavy door slammed in his face.
Such a welcome was, to say the least, disconcerting.
CHAPTER IX
THE OTTER CREEK RAID
The late visitor at the Otter Creek settlement shrank away from the door
and, dumbfounded by the sword-thrust which was evidently meant for his
heart instead of his coat, waited to see what the next move of those in
the blockhouse would be. He heard low voices and words which sounded
like military commands. Suppose the occupants of the wooden fort should
fire upon him?
At this idea he dropped upon all fours and it is perhaps well that he
did so, for one bullet did come from a loophole, singing viciously above
his head. Then an angry voice of command rose on the night air: "Haud
yir hand, mon! Let's see an' it be fri'nd or foe." The tone and accent
were broadly Scotch, and this, too, added to Enoch's amazement. He had
not heard of Scotch people coming to Otter Creek since those placed
there by Colonel Reid had been driven forth. At once his suspicions were
aroused, but he cried aloud:
"I am a friend and am alone. I only came for a night's lodging."
"'Tis a laddie, mon! There's naught t' fear," declared the voice within,
as though answering some objection which Enoch could not hear. The
candles were lighted and in another moment the door was opened again,
revealing a tall, raw-boned Scot with a shock of red hair and beard. He
grasped a bared sword, almost as big as a two-handed claymore, and he
looked sternly upon the boy as the latter approached.
"Ha! 'tis wrang for a laddie t' be oot this time o' night," he declared.
"Air ye sure alone?"
"Quite alone," Enoch replied. "I have been hunting west of here and we
camped at the mouth of the creek. My comrades have gone northward and I
was returning home by way of the creek. I did not know that the settlers
here were in fear of Indians----"
"Ha! 'tis little we think o' them rid chiels. There's war nor they in
yon forest-land, an' well we ken that."
"Who do you mean?" demanded Enoch, now stepping within the open door.
"Why, the robber Allen, an' his followers. We do oor wark wi' guns in
oor han's for fear of them same outlaws. Eh, mon! but they're a bold
mob."
Enoch made no reply, but advanced to the gun rack and stood up his rifle
and dropped his pack. He knew now what had occurred at the settlement.
The land-grabber Reid had come back to the Grants, ousted the Hampshire
settlers, and again established minions of his own in their places. The
boy glanced about and saw at least a dozen hardy looking Scots. Every
one of them had doubtless served in Colonel Reid's regiment of
Highlanders. They were descended from men almost as wild and
bloodthirsty as the red Indians themselves, and although ordinarily they
might be harmless enough, that thrust of the sword had shown Enoch that
they were likely to fight first and inquire the reason for it afterward.
They had come to Otter Creek in force this time, and evidently
determined to battle for their master's holdings under the New York law.
But the man who had let him in, and who was a Cameron, was evidently
bent upon treating hospitably the guest which he had so nearly run
through with his sword. "Jamie Henderson," he said to one of the solemn
faced Scots, "speir ane o' the wimmen t' gie us a bite for the lad," and
the repast which was prepared and put before him was generous and kindly
given. While he was eating and John Cameron sat by to watch him enjoy
the food, Enoch gathered courage to ask a few questions.
"We heard down Bennington way that Colonel Reid's people had left this
land and the settlers who formerly owned it had come back," he said,
suggestively. The Scot's eyes contracted as he looked at the visitor.
"Aye, aye?" he said, questioningly. "How long have you been here?"
queried the boy.
"Sin' June. The men ye call settlers were nae proper holders o' their
titles. Lieutenant-Colonel Reid bought this land and put fairmers here
first."
"But he did not get his title from New Hampshire," Enoch said.
"Nae--w'y should he? New York owns the land to yon big river--th'
Connecticut call ye it? Our fri'nds settled here in '69. The titles
these auld settlers held wes no guide--na, na! But Colonel Reid is a
guide mon--'deed yes."
"How do you make that out?" demanded Enoch. He wanted to tell the Scot
what he thought of this business, but he dared not. He knew Ethan Allen
and the other leaders of the Green Mountain Boys should know of it, and
as he, perhaps, was the first to learn of the return of the Scotch, he
must get away early in the morning and reach Bennington in the quickest
possible time. While the Grants men were resting in supposed safety and
peace because of Governor Tryon's letter promising inactivity on the
part of the land speculators, the latter were hurrying their minions
over the line, evicting the rightful owners of the Grants, and stealing
their farms. The boy's heart swelled with anger; but he was wise enough
to hold his tongue and say nothing to rouse the suspicions of the Scots.
In reply to his question regarding Colonel Reid's "guideness" Cameron
told how he, with other Scots, had landed in New York early in June and
had been engaged by the Colonel at once to go and occupy his land in the
Disputed Territory. Reid came with them to the settlement, being at
considerable expense to transport them, their wives, children and
baggage. The day after their arrival while viewing the land covered by
Reid's title, they observed a crop of Indian corn, wheat, and garden
stuff, and a stack of hay belonging to two New England men who,
according to Cameron, had squatted on the land without right or title.
Reid paid these two men $15 for their standing crops and the hay and
made over the same to his new tenants. This was a novel way of telling
how the owners of the titles to the farms received from the New
Hampshire governor years before, were evicted. But Enoch held his peace.
He had considerable doubt in his own mind regarding Colonel Reid's
"guideness," nevertheless, and rose early in the morning and left the
settlement in Bolderwood's canoe. Instead of keeping on up the Otter he
turned back to the lake. The route by which he and the ranger had come
from Bennington would be far shorter than the one he had started upon;
so he went back that way. News of the return of Reid's people must be
conveyed to Ethan Allen and the other leaders of the Green Mountain Boys
as quickly as possible.
He scarcely stopped for food, so anxious was he to get home. He met
nobody on his trip until he reached Manchester and there his story was
hardly believed, for the letter of the New York governor in May,
inviting the Grants representatives to a council, had made a strong and
favorable impression upon public sentiment. This council had advised
that all legal processes against the Grants settlers cease and even now
the echoes had not died away of the jubilation of the deluded people
over what was considered the end of the bitter controversy.
But when he arrived at home and told his mother of his discovery she,
like the truly patriotic woman she was, became vastly disturbed. "You
may not rest idly here, Enoch, while such wrong is being done. Colonel
Allen should know of it at once. He rode past here but yesterday on his
way to Bennington, and gave us a cry. He asked for you, too," she said,
with pride, "and told me how well you carried yourself at training.
There is a council being held in town to-day, I believe, for I suspect
that Colonel Allen and Captain Warner have not been deceived by the
false promises of Governor Tryon. And this business at the Otter Creek
will wake up many of those who would cry 'Peace!' when there is no
peace. Bryce will saddle the horse for you, Enoch," she added, "and
while you eat I will prepare your best breeches and coat. You cannot
appear at the inn before the gentlemen in your old clothing."
The careful woman bustled away and laid out her son's Sabbath suit and
his boughten shoes and, tired as Enoch was, he rode away toward
Bennington an hour after reaching the ox-bow farm.
As his mother had declared, Colonel Allen and several other leaders were
in conference in Stephen Fay's private parlor, and when he had whispered
his story to the innkeeper, the latter brought him at once before the
gentlemen, rightly considering the matter of such importance as to brook
no delay in the telling. Never before had Enoch seen Ethan Allen in any
capacity but that of a leader in action. In the boy's mind he had ever
been connected with scenes of riot, or in the capacity of a commander on
training day. But it was a very serious looking group which surrounded
the table now, and the man at the head of the board lacked nothing in
dignity and stern bearing in comparison with the other members of the
committee.
It was Allen, however, who turned from the subject under discussion and
beckoned Master Fay and Enoch nearer. "What have we here?" he asked.
"Something of moment, I warrant, from the look on Stephen's face. And
there is young Nuck Harding. Is aught amiss in your district, lad?"
"Nay, Colonel," Enoch replied; "but I have been in the north and bring
back news that my mother was sure you would wish to hear at once. So I
rode over without delay to tell you, sir."
"God bless the woman!" Allen exclaimed, heartily. "She's fighting away
there in the wilderness with her pack of babies in a way to make grown
men blush. I was by there but yesterday.... And what's the news you
bring, Nuck?"
"The Yorkers have come back to the mill on Otter Creek."
"What, sir?" cried Allen, leaping from his chair.
"That's not to be believed," cried one of the others. "How know ye this,
boy?"
Enoch told them, using few words; but the tremor in his voice showed the
depth of his feeling. The injury done the settlers--the treachery of the
Yorkers--had affected him as it had his mother. Allen listened with
marked attention, having dropped back into his wide-armed chair, but he
watched the boy's countenance the while. "Egad!" cried he when the story
was done, "there's a boy after my own heart. He knows when he sees a
snake in the brush!" Then he turned instantly to his companions. "We
will postpone this other matter, gentlemen. What we may do in the event
of his Majesty's placing other and more onerous burdens upon these
colonies, affects us not so nearly as what these New York Tories do to
us now. We have no standing either with the colonies or with the King;
we are outlaws, forsooth; our hand is against every man's and every
man's hand against us. Yet, belike in time the trouble between the King
and the colonies may be the salvation of the Hampshire Grants.
"We have other business now. I am away at once, friends," he said,
rising again. "Do so to me and more also, if I allow more time than is
necessary to pass before I fall upon those Scotch scoundrels and smite
them hip and thigh! Send the word around, Stephen Fay. Let them that
will gather here. Be sure Warner knows of this; I will send for 'Member
myself. His company will be first ready, I have no doubt. 'Member's
wound is scarce yet healed, and the sting of it needs dressing," and he
laughed, knowing Captain Baker's fiery temper and his hatred of the
Yorkers who had served him so evilly that very spring. "Let it be known
that we start from Bennington by sunrise."
Enoch returned home, more than a little puffed with pride because of
Colonel Allen's commendation and although he was too young to join the
party which, under Allen and Captain Baker, marched to punish the Scots
at Vergennes, he knew that his fortunate discovery would make him
something of a hero in the eyes of his mates. The Green Mountain Boys
fell upon the Scots unexpectedly, burned the cabins, pastured their
horses in the standing corn, broke the millstones to pieces, and drove
the New York settlers to Crown Point where they took shelter until the
land-speculator, Reid, could gain them transportation to other and more
honestly acquired lands. As for Reid himself, had he been overtaken by
the Grants men he certainly would have been "viewed"--a phrase used by
the Green Mountain Boys, meaning to be whipped. The settlement was,
however, for the time being abandoned by both parties, for it was so
deep in the wilderness that neither could properly defend it from
attack.
CHAPTER X
THE WARNING
After his return from this hunting trip, Enoch Harding was forced to
neglect the training days on several occasions because of the increased
work at home. The harvest was soon upon them and nobly had the fields of
the ox-bow farm borne for the widow and her children. While they were
hard at work getting under cover, or in stack, the last of their crops,
the Manchester Convention was held, from which James Breckenridge and
Captain Jehiel Hawley were sent to London to represent the struggling
settlers, their former minister to the king, Samuel Robinson, having
died before accomplishing the work which he had so well begun.
With the discovery that Governor Tryon's declaration of an armistice had
been an act of treachery, and that the Yorkers were likely to continue
their raids and seize the honestly purchased lands of the New Hampshire
settlers, as Colonel Reid had at Vergennes, the Hardings began to fear
the return of Simon Halpen again. But the summer and fall passed without
the little family being alarmed. With the snow came hog-killing, and
among pioneer people this season was usually one of rejoicing. In the
old times it had been a sort of festival, for with the first fall of
snow all danger from marauding bands of red men ceased. The Indians
would not send out war parties when every footstep would be plainly
visible to the white settlers. The pioneers longed for the snow as soon
as their scanty crops were out of the field, for they were safe then
until the spring. So instead of celebrating "harvest home" they rejoiced
at "hog killing time."
The Hardings had quite a drove of hogs which ran wild in the forest
during the summer and fed on the mast in the fall. But every few days
the widow fed them near the hovel, so as to keep them in the habit of
coming home, and particularly to teach the youngsters where to come if
the old swine should be killed by bears or wild-cats. Now the whole
drove was brought up and "folded" and for two weeks every member of the
family was busy. During that time the bulk of their winter's meat was
salted down, the toothsome sausage made, and all the other delicacies
which old-fashioned folks knew so well how to prepare from the pig.
Somebody has said that at our present day abatoirs they can put to some
use every part of the animal but the pig's squeal; pioneer housewives
were almost as economical.
When the hard work was over Mistress Harding allowed the children to
invite some of the neighborhood youngsters for an evening frolic and
such a gathering had not been enjoyed since the famous stump burning.
Enoch was nearly sixteen now and although Bryce was almost as tall as
his elder brother, the first named was broadening out wonderfully. Few
young men of Bennington under nineteen could have thrown Enoch in a
match of strength, and he had really become the head of the household.
But he was still enough of a boy to enjoy the party to the full.
There was an old hovel near the house, but nearer the river bank, which
their father had first erected--even before building the house
itself--when he came to the ox-bow, and for years this hovel had
sheltered the cattle. But the fall before he died the pioneer had
erected a new and better stable and shed, quite handy to the house. The
children, therefore, had long considered this hovel their own especial
playhouse. At spare moments Enoch and Bryce built a stone and clay
chimney and laid a good hearth in the old structure, and now they
planned to have the party here, where they could do quite as they
pleased.
The girls had scoured the woods for beech, hazel, and hickory nuts, and
Robbie Baker came over on his horse with nigh a bushel of peeled
chestnuts which his father brought him from Manchester way after the
first frost. Then, there were potatoes to roast and a wild turkey which
Nuck had shot two days before and hung in the smoke-house. The bird was
not plucked, but after being entrailed was stuffed with chestnuts to
give it a flavor and then rolled in the tub of sticky clay brought up
from the creek bottom. This great ball was put in the fire early so that
by supper-time it would be done to a turn. The pigs' tails had all been
saved and cleaned, too, and being likewise rolled in clay were baked in
the ashes.
The girls had brought flour bread and made Johnny-cake, and although
there was no tablecloth, the long board table was roomy and fairly
groaned under the good things heaped upon it. The ball of mud, all hard
and red now and cracked like a badly burned brick, was rolled out upon
the hearth and Enoch broke it with one blow of the axe. The hard shell
fell apart and to the burned clay adhered every feather and pin-quill of
the great gobbler which would not have weighed an ounce less than
twenty-five pounds. And the flesh was done to a turn.
In the midst of the good time, while the fun waxed furious, the door of
the hovel opened and there stood in the opening the tall, slim figure of
Crow Wing. As he had come unbidden to the stump burning, so he came now
unexpectedly to this frolic. The white children welcomed him
boisterously, for his people had moved away from the Walloomscoik and
for months he had not been seen near Bennington. But Crow Wing had
evidently not come to join in the merrymaking. His face was impassive
and much older in expression than it had been the year before. And in
his hair was a bunch of eagle feathers which showed that, to his own
people even, he was now a brave and no longer a boy.
"Umph!" he grunted, drawing the blanket draped from his shoulders more
closely around him. "Harding--me talk to you!" He looked boldly at
Enoch, and the latter waving the others back, followed the Indian out of
the hovel. Without speaking or looking behind him Crow Wing led the
white boy to the riverside, and some distance from the hovel. There he
halted and pointed suddenly across the stream in the direction of that
place in the forest where Enoch had once seen the mysterious white man
sitting beside the campfire.
"'Member?" asked Crow Wing, flashing a keen glance at the white boy.
"The man in the woods!" exclaimed Enoch. "You wish to tell me something
about him?"
"Umph! He come again. Look out. Crow Wing tell you, because white boy
strong--know how to fight. Watch 'em sharp!" and with this brief
declaration the Indian youth strode away and the astonished Enoch
watched him disappear in the tall brush along the creek bank. He went
back to the merry party at the hovel with a heavy heart and not until
after the last of the visitors had gone home--the boys swinging pine
torches and giving the warwhoop to scare off any lurking wolves or
catamounts--did Enoch find opportunity to tell his mother of Crow Wing's
warning.
"Simon Halpen is surely coming to evict us," he declared. "I am sure it
was he I saw in the forest last year. And now, taking advantage of our
being lulled by hopes of peace, he will try to strike an unexpected blow
as Colonel Reid did."
"The neighbors will help us," the widow said.
"But suppose he comes with a big force? And we cannot expect the
neighbors to neglect their own homes," said Enoch. "I will try and see
Captain Baker, if you think it best, mother."
"Captain Baker will help us. He knows how hard it would be if the
Yorkers stripped us of our all. He is a kind-hearted man, though often
rude and fretful."
"Well, marm, he has cause to be fretful," said Enoch. "Perhaps we can
get a few of the boys to stay with us nights for awhile."
And this they did, for Captain Baker sent three or four sturdy Green
Mountain Boys around to the widow's farm every night for a week. But the
Yorker and his crew did not appear. At this time, when he might have
been of such assistance to them, 'Siah Bolderwood was away. He had
recently bought a track of land on the lake shore not far from Old Ti
and had gone to look it over and build some sort of a camp there, thus
utilizing his time to good advantage before the trapping season began.
Even after their fears were lulled, either Enoch or Bryce remained
always in sight of the house. But about a fortnight after the
hog-killing frolic an incident occurred which served to take both Bryce
and Enoch away from the cabin. There had been a second fall of snow and
the nights were becoming very cold. But all the wild animals had not yet
sought their winter sleeping quarters, for there descended upon the
Hardings' hog-pen an old bear who evidently desired one more meal of
succulent pork before retiring to his burrow. The remaining swine were
shut up now in a close yard of logs; but the bear got over that fence
with ease.
The trouble occurred in the early morning and aroused by the clamor
Enoch, despite the inch or two of snow on the ground, grabbed the rifle
and ran out just as he got out of bed and without shoes or stockings.
But when he saw the huge bear seeking to climb out of the enclosure,
hugging a lively shote to his furry breast, the boy was not likely to
notice the cold and snow. He climbed the end logs of the hog-pen himself
so as to get a shot at the marauder, and rested the rifle on the top
rail; but the logs were slippery and just as he pulled the trigger he
went down himself and the charge flew high over the bear's head, while
Enoch sprawled most ungracefully on the ground.
The old bear uttered a wild "oof-oof!" and without trying to climb the
barrier again, flung his huge body against it and a length of the fence
went down with a crash. By this time Bryce, who had kept the old musket
by his side since Crow Wing's warning, and slept in the loft, was
aroused by the disturbance, and he pushed up the corner of the bark roof
and blazed away at the beast just as it scrambled through the wreck of
the hog fence. The bear had continued to cling to the squealing and
kicking shote, for bruin is a strangely perverse and obstinate creature,
unwilling to give up what he has once set his mind upon. There was a
wild shriek of agony from the poor pig and when the bear moved clumsily
away still clinging to the porker there was a broad trail of blood on
the snow.
"I shot him! I shot him!" yelled Bryce, dodging down into the loft and
beginning to hastily pull on his breeches. But when he came down-stairs
Enoch had returned to the house and was calmly dressing. "Why didn't ye
foller him?" demanded the younger boy. "He's bad wounded. He'd dropped
that shote in a minute."
"You killed the shote all right," said Enoch in disgust. "Neither of the
shots touched the bear at all. There's no use chasing after the critter
now. We'll wait till after breakfast. He won't go far, lugging that
shote."
The bear was fat and in the best possible condition for salting down for
winter use. So even Mrs. Harding had no objection to make when the boys
started after breakfast to follow the trail. She herself, with the help
of the younger children, collected the hogs in the pen again and put up
the log fence. Meanwhile Nuck and Bryce found that the bear had made for
a piece of swamp about two miles away. The swamp was close grown with
saplings and brush, while here and there a monster tree shot skyward.
Some of these big trees were so old that they had become hollow and
without doubt there was more than one lair of wild creatures in the
swamp.
But it was easy enough to follow the early morning visitor to the cabin.
After carrying the shote into the edge of the swamp, bruin had stopped
and made a hasty meal upon the porker. Indeed the boys, who started on
his trail scarcely two hours after the raid had been committed,
undoubtedly disturbed him at his repast. The shote was not completely
eaten when they found the bear's breakfast-table. "It is a mighty big
bear anyway," Bryce declared, looking at the marks of the marauder's
feet. "He couldn't have brought that pig so far if he hadn't been."
"He warn't big enough for you to hit," said Nuck, slyly.
"Huh! guess you can't crow any," responded the younger boy. "You missed
him good and wide, too."
They hurried on then, easily tracking the big, human-like spoor of the
bear in the soil which here was not frozen. Indeed, in some places they
"slumped in" rather deeply. The bear seemed to have picked out his path
by instinct. But he could not hide his trail and before long the hunters
came to a huge tree standing amid a clump of brush on the top of a
hillock. The high ground was surrounded by water and rather hard to come
at; but the boys were determined to get the bear after chasing it so
far. They approached with caution, however, Enoch making Bryce remain in
the rear.
"If I fire and don't kill him you must be in reserve with your gun," he
whispered cautiously. "He'd be an ugly customer if he turned on us. He's
as big as a steer."
"Huh! who's afraid?" demanded Bryce.
"Jest you remember how father was killed," Enoch said, gravely. "Who'd
ha' believed a bull-deer could kill an old hunter like him? You do as I
say!"
So Bryce dropped behind and watched his brother crawl up the side of the
hummock with infinite caution, parting the brush with the barrel of his
rifle, which he held in readiness to use at any instant. Suddenly, from
the heart of the brush clump, there sounded an angry growl. The bear was
not to be taken unawares. And when a big bear growls in anger the sound
is hair-raising to the uninitiated. Bryce felt a chill in the region of
his spine and if his old cap did not actually rise off his head, it
certainly felt as though it would. He was to one side of Nuck's position
so as not to get his brother between him and the bear should the
creature come forth, and suddenly he saw the shaggy head and shoulders
of the beast rise up over the brush. It looked enormous and when the
bear opened its jaws, and displayed its great teeth and blood-red gums,
it was indeed a fearsome spectacle.
"Shoot him! shoot him!" exclaimed Bryce, excitedly. But Nuck remained
comparatively cool--at least, to all appearance. He stood up, too, with
the rifle at his shoulder. The bear stretched wide his great fore-paws
and plunged forward to seize the boy; but the rifle spoke and the smoke
of the piece hid the creature for a moment.
When the cloud passed there was a great commotion in the brush, and
Bryce saw that Nuck had darted back several paces and was rapidly
loading his gun again. The younger boy could not see the bear; but it
was badly wounded without doubt. The thrashing in the brush told that.
Recovering his courage he pushed forward and finally saw the huge brown
body on the ground, writhing in the muscular activity which follows
death. The charge of Nuck's rifle had reached a vital spot.
But something more Bryce saw. A second bear had followed the dead one
from the hollow tree, and the boy observed this one whisk back into the
dark opening between two roots. The tree was all of a dozen feet in
circumference and there was doubtless a good-sized cavity in the tall
trunk. "Come on! come on!" cried Bryce, excitedly. "Here's another,
Nuck."
"Have a care, boy!" responded the older lad. "Don't go too near. It may
turn on us." He hastily finished the loading of his rifle and came up
the hill again. They could see the entrance to the lair plainly; but no
sight could they get of the second bear. Bryce brought a handful of
clods and flung one after another into the hole in the tree. The bear
did not even growl, so they were pretty sure that the missiles had not
reached it. "He's climbed up inside," declared Nuck. "I warrant that
tree's holler up to the first crotch."
"What'll we do?" demanded Bryce. "You shot that one, Nuck. Now I wanter
git the other, before we go home."
"We'll smoke him out," declared the elder brother. "You stay right here
and watch, and I'll get some wood." Nuck had brought a tomahawk which,
with his skinning knife, was thrust into his belt. With the hatchet he
obtained dry branches from the lower limbs of some spruce-trees which
grew near, and packed a big fagot through the mire to the hillock where
Bryce stood guard. This wood he flung into the mouth of the lair,
started the fire with his flint and steel, and when the flames began to
wreathe the branches hungrily, he flung on leaves and grass to make a
"smudge." His suspicions regarding the hollowness of the tree proved
true, for the draft through the hollow hole acted like a chimney and
sucked the smoke upward. It began to wreathe out between the first
limbs, some thirty feet or more from the ground.
Suddenly there was a great clatter and scraping of claws inside the tree
and then there popped out between the branches the head and shoulders of
a smaller bear than the one which now lay still in the bushes. "Wait
till he gits out!" shouted Nuck, as the excited Bryce raised his musket.
"If you shoot him there he'll tumble back into the hole."
Bryce was cool enough to see the wisdom of this advice and stay his
hand. But in a moment the bear was completely out and then he fired. The
bullet struck home and the bear lost its hold upon the limbs and dropped
to the ground, landing with fearful force at the roots of the tree. But
it was not dead and after a moment's struggle, got upon its feet again.
But the shock had dazed it and for a little it could neither see its
assailants nor find any means of escape. Nuck ran in, placed the muzzle
of his rifle within a foot of the creature, and finished it off with
despatch.
Bryce was dancing about and yelling like a wild Indian; but it was not
for joy over the death of this second bear. He was pointing on high and
Nuck looked upward to see a third bear in the tree-top. This one had
followed the second out of the hollow trunk and was mounting among the
branches with great agility. The smoke pouring up through the hollow had
driven the whole family into the open air. The Hardings reloaded their
guns with despatch and then, on either side of the tree, fired at the
remaining bear. Both bullets went true, but in falling the bear became
wedged in the crotch of a big limb and Nuck, throwing aside his shoes
and stockings, essayed to climb the trunk to push the dead beast off to
the ground.
This was no simple matter, for all he had to cling to were the knots and
"warts" on the side of the trunk. It was almost like climbing up the
wall of a house. But he reached the first crotch finally and after
resting a spell, found the remainder of the climb easy enough. Before he
pushed the carcass of the bear out of its resting-place he took an
observation of the forest, for he was high above the swamp here and
could see beyond the creek. In some way they would have to get the
carcasses to the creek bank and transport them to the cabin by canoe. It
would be no easy task.
And as he scanned the stretch of river which he could see from his high
perch he suddenly observed something which almost caused him to lose his
hold upon the tree and fall, like the bear, to the ground. Coming up the
stream were two canoes, each paddled by a couple of Indians, and with
three white men in each craft. Even at that distance Enoch knew them to
be strangers, and they were not a hunting party. Naturally his mind
reverted to the warning Crow Wing had brought him a fortnight before,
and without stopping to dislodge the dead bear, he descended the tree in
utmost haste.
"Why don't you push the bear off?" shouted Bryce from below.
Nuck leaned over and placed his finger on his lips, shaking his head
warningly. Then he slid down the remainder of the way, falling in a heap
on the carcass of the second bear. "Quick!" he gasped, seizing his shoes
and stockings. "They're coming."
"What's coming?"
"The Yorkers. I seen 'em on the river. Two canoes full."
"Simon Halpen!" exclaimed the younger boy, his face blanching.
"I don't know. Couldn't tell any of 'em so far away. But they be'n't
Bennington men, that's sure." Nuck was hastily pulling on his stockings.
"You run back and tell mother. I'll watch 'em till they land and see
what they intend to do."
"But the bears----" began Bryce.
"We'll have to leave 'em. That one in the tree will be all right for a
while for sure. Now hurry."
Bryce obeyed at once and a moment later the elder boy started off in the
other direction for the bank of the creek. He ran carefully, however, so
as not to make any noise and thus warn the canoe party of his presence.
In half an hour he was abreast of the boats, for they progressed but
slowly up the stream. Here he had a good view of the men. In the first
canoe he saw Crow Wing and another young Indian of his tribe, while the
paddlers in the second were likewise Iroquois. The white men were
Yorkers he was sure, and all were heavily armed.
As he scrutinized the whites his eyes rested finally on one man in the
leading canoe whom he was sure he had seen before. He could not mistake
that lean, dark face and hooked nose. Whether or not it was the person
he had seen in the wood the day of Sheriff Ten Eyck's fiasco at the
Breckenridge farm, he was certain of the man's identity. It was Simon
Halpen who, under a New York patent, claimed territory on the
Walloomscoik, a part of which the Harding farm was.
Dodging from tree to tree, the boy followed the canoes and finally,
before they came in sight of the Harding house, saw the party land. The
Indians remained with the canoes; but the white men disembarked with
considerable baggage. One of the men carried a surveyor's instrument,
while a second bore a chain. Halpen led them and when he had seen the
party strike into the forest in the direction of the house, Enoch sped
away on a parallel trail and headed them off, arriving first at the
destination.
He found that his mother and the children had already put up the
shutters and made ready to receive the Yorkers. The cattle were shut in
the yard surrounding the barn and the smaller children were put in their
mother's bed to be out of the way. Bryce went into the loft where he
could watch for the appearance of the enemy; but Enoch remained outside
the door, his rifle in the hollow of his arm, ready to parley with the
Yorkers who soon were reported by Bryce as coming through the lower
fields.
CHAPTER XI
AN UNEQUAL BATTLE
A masterful spirit had entered into Enoch Harding during the past few
months. He was no longer a child; he thought and acted as a man in many
things. Now, with this danger threatening them all, he did not shrink
from the ordeal, and none might know his inmost feelings from the
expression of his face. He did not speak to his mother, nor did she seek
to advise him. Long before they had talked this emergency over, and it
had been agreed that the homestead must and should be defended even to
the point of firing on the Yorkers who might come to dispossess them.
The legal authority claimed by Simon Halpen was not recognized in the
Grants and did the Hardings put themselves in Halpen's power by agreeing
to let the New York authorities arbitrate the matter, they would lose
all that they had toiled and suffered for during the past ten years.
The widow saw that the windows of the cabin were shuttered and that
Bryce had both powder and bullets beside him in the loft. Then she went
into her own chamber and falling upon her knees prayed as only a mother
can whose children are in bodily and imminent danger. How far the
Yorkers would dare go--to what lengths Halpen might force the fight for
the ox-bow farm--it was impossible even to imagine. He was a cruel and
unscrupulous man, but he had already had a taste of the temper of the
Bennington settlers and perhaps the remembrance of the beech-sealing
which had been dealt out to him two years and more before, would make
him chary of coming to blows.
Soon the six Yorkers appeared around the corner of the log fence which
enclosed the cattleyard. Four of them, including Halpen, were armed with
guns. The surveyor and his assistant carried their tools only, and
walked in the rear of the more warlike quartette. Their leader, his
lean, black face clouded by a threatening scowl, strode across the home
lot and approached the cabin door. His beady eyes glittered and when he
was enraged his hooked nose seemed to glow a dull red beneath the dusky
skin, like a half-heated iron.
Simon Halpen was much better dressed than the citizens of Bennington
were apt to be, and he carried himself haughtily. His hair was done
carefully and the queue tied with a silk ribbon. His rifle was
silver-mounted and his powder-horn was partly of silver filagree work.
In every way--dress, accoutrements and manner--he bore out the account
the Hardings had received of him, that he was a wealthy and proud man.
The three other armed men were fellows of the baser sort, hired at
Albany for the purpose of driving the widow and her children from their
home.
[Illustration: THE BOY STOOD LIKE A STATUE]
Enoch Harding thought this as he saw the party approach, and his heart
beat faster while his cheeks were dyed with crimson. Should these men
march up and deprive his mother and brothers and sisters of their home?
Not as long as he held a gun and had powder and shot with which to load
it! The fearful thought of shooting down one or more of these men in
cold blood did not shock him now. The bitterness which filled his heart
against Simon Halpen overbore any other emotion. He raised his rifle
threateningly and cried aloud: "Halt there--halt I say! What d'ye want
on our land?"
The three retainers of Halpen, as well as the surveyor and his
'prentice, halted instantly, but Simon strode on, his eyes blazing and
his great nose growing ruddier as his rage increased. "Your land--your
land, forsooth!" he exclaimed. "I'll teach ye better than that, ye young
viper!"
Instantly Enoch had his rifle to his shoulder and had drawn bead upon
the Yorker. The muzzle of the weapon covered Halpen's heart. The boy
stood like a statue--there was no trembling to his young arms. "Back! If
you come a yard nearer I will fire!" he cried. He did not recognize his
own voice, but Halpen heard him plainly and was impressed with his
earnestness. He stopped suddenly, half raising his own gun. "Don't do
that!" cried Enoch, instantly. "Keep your gun down. Why, I have but to
press this trigger and you will drop where you are! Be warned."
"Hi, captain," growled one of his supporters, "the little varmint means
it. Have a care."
"You--you----" Halpen only sputtered for a moment. He could not find
words to properly express his rage. "I believe on my life, he would
shoot me."
"I certainly will, Master Simon Halpen, if you come nearer. You are
quite near enough. You have come here for no good purpose. We own this
land--my father paid for it and has improved it. He may be dead, but we
will show you how we can defend the place from you Yorkers."
"You crow loud, my young cock-o'-th'-walk!" exclaimed Simon Halpen, yet
seeking to come no nearer the boy. "But you cannot hope to stand before
his Majesty's officers--though some of you vagabond Whigs have become
bold of late. Know ye that I bear authority from the loyal governor of
his Majesty's Colony of New York, to turn you off this land, which is
mine and has been mine for these six years."
"And I have told you that you cannot come here and drive us off, for we
shall fight ye!" declared Enoch, his anger rising. "And what be more,
Master Halpen, though ye might succeed in driving us off, ye could not
hold this land. It is too near Bennington, and ye know well what sort of
men Bennington folk are, and what they would do to you."
At this reminder of his former embarrassment, when caught by the
neighbors and "viewed," Simon Halpen flew into a towering rage. He shook
his rifle in the air as he berated the fearless youth. "Have a care with
that gun, Master Halpen," said Enoch, "for it might go off by accident.
And if such a thing should happen I would shoot you down--'deed and I
would!"
This warning cooled the man's ardor somewhat. For a full minute he stood
silent eyeing Enoch from under his shaggy brows. "Would you dare flout
me to my face?" he demanded.
"I dare keep my rights here, Master Halpen, as my father did before me,"
said Enoch, his voice trembling for the first time. And at the mention
of the dead and gone Jonas Harding more than Enoch were moved. Halpen's
manner changed; his face paled perceptibly; the fire died out of his
eyes and his nose no longer glowed. He dropped his head and half turned
as though to leave the spot.
But suddenly one of his retainers stepped forward and whispered in his
ear. The whisper brought the leader to his old mind. His head came up
and he flashed a look of bitter hatred at Enoch. He nodded to the man
who had spoken and instantly the three armed retainers began to quietly
spread out as though to surround the house. "I'll parley no longer with
you, my lad," Halpen said, shortly. "This land is mine and you are
naught but squatters on it. And as such you shall be put off, or my name
is not Simon Halpen!"
Quick as thought Enoch darted backward to the house, for he had noted
the action of the three men. "It is fighting you want, then, Master
Halpen?" cried the boy, shrilly. "And you will get bullets instead of
fair words if you press us--now I tell ye that! This is our home and we
shall fight for it."
"Stop the young rascal!" roared Halpen, raising his gun now in earnest,
when he saw that Enoch no longer had him "covered." But the boy dodged
into the house and slammed to the heavy door. As he did so a bullet
buried itself in the door frame. Halpen had actually fired.
The widow herself dropped the bars into place, for she had come out of
her chamber and heard the conversation between her son and the Yorker.
Now Enoch ran to one of the loopholes from which he could observe the
movements of the man who had shot at him in so cowardly a manner. He saw
that the surveyor, who had thus far kept in the background, was
expostulating with the angry man. He could not hear what they said, but
it was evident that the surveyor was a man of some conscience and could
not see such murderous actions without striving to put Halpen in better
mind. But the latter shook him off in rage and loaded his gun again. The
house was now surrounded by the four armed men and the three
understrappers were only waiting Halpen's command to fire.
"Shall I shoot him? shall I shoot him?" cried Bryce, from the loft.
"Hold your fire!" commanded Enoch. "You may have blood on your hands
yet, if you be not careful."
"But he fired at you."
"And a poor job he made of it. We will not fire unless we are forced
to."
His mother said never a word. She went into her chamber again and with
the girls and little Harry crouched upon the bed. But she glanced
frequently from the loophole to observe the movements of the Yorker upon
that side of the clearing.
By and by Halpen raised his voice and addressed the besieged. "Open the
door and come out, or we will batter it down. And it will go hard with
you then, I warrant! If you give up the place peaceably you may cart
away your household stuff and the cattle and hogs. I'll not be too hard
on you."
"If you come near this door I will send a bullet through your black
heart!" was Enoch's reply, poking the muzzle of his rifle through the
loophole beside which he stood.
The widow came running from the chamber. "Enoch! Enoch!" she cried, in
horror. "Would you kill him?"
"He killed my father!" cried the boy, before he thought what explanation
of his secret suspicions that remark might necessitate.
"The child is mad!" she murmured, after staring at him a full minute.
"You do not know what you say, Enoch. Master Halpen had naught to do
with your poor father's death."
But Enoch had not to reply. A cry came from Bryce in the loft. "Look at
that! Look at that!" he shouted, with excitement. "I just will shoot
him!"
And then his old musket spoke. There was a yell from without. Enoch
thought Simon Halpen himself had been shot, but the Yorker only ran
around the end of the cabin to where one of his men stood howling like a
wolf, and holding on to his swinging arm.
"I've broke his arm!" declared Bryce, proudly, coming to the head of the
ladder. "He was flinging blazing clods on the roof."
"What shall we do?" gasped the mother. "My boys will be murderers."
"I'll kill them all before they'll harm you, mother," declared young
Bryce, very proud indeed that he had hit the mark, but secretly
delighted as well that he had done the villainous Yorker no serious
damage.
But the moment after, he shrieked aloud and came again to the top of the
ladder. His face was blanched. "Oh, oh! they've done it--they've done
it!" he cried. "The roof is afire. Don't you smell it?"
Enoch could not believe that this horror was true until he had run up to
the loft. The red flames were already showing at the edge of the house
wall, and the crackling without told him that the bark and binders of
the roof were burning fiercely. "Tear it off!" he shouted, and dropping
his rifle he seized a length of sawed scantling which his father had
brought from the mill, and began to break up the burning roof and cast
it off. But as it fell to the ground against the house, soon the logs
outside were afire. The dwelling was indeed imperiled.
"Come out! come out!" shouted Simon Halpen's voice. "The hut will burn
to the ground an' ye'll burn with it. Ye'll go to Albany jail for this,
every last one of ye!"
"Let me shoot him, mother!" cried Bryce, doubly excited now. "He'll
never take you to jail."
"Come down from the loft, Bryce," the widow commanded, calmly. "Nothing
can save the cabin now."
The children were crying with fear. The red flames began to lick the
edges of the shutters and the door frame was afire. If they escaped they
must pass through a wall of flame. The men outside, frightened by the
result of their awful act, were shouting orders and berating each other
madly. Yet none dared come too near, for they feared the guns of the
defenders of the homestead. Enoch for the moment completely lost his
head and stood as one daft.
But his mother was not so. Swiftly did she sweep aside the ashes on the
hearth. Then of her own exertions she lifted on its edge the flat stone
which covered the underground apartment. There was the ladder the boys
had made leading down into the cool depths. "Down with you--all!" she
commanded, seizing little Harry first and thrusting his feet upon the
ladder.
"Oh, we'll smother down there, mother!" cried Kate.
"Nonsense!" exclaimed the widow, yet with shaking voice. "Do you think
mother would tell you to do anything that would hurt you?"
But though she encouraged them to descend, in her own mind she was
simply choosing the lesser of two terrible evils. The girls and Harry
descended quickly; but she had to fairly force Bryce down. He wanted to
stay and fight, and he clung to the old musket desperately. Although the
tears were running down his face, he was made of the stuff which holds
the soldier, though frightened, to his post.
"Go down yourself, mother," Enoch said, recovering his presence of mind
and speaking calmly now. "I will follow you and drop the stone into
place. But first I want to look out----"
He ran to the loophole, through which the smoke was now pouring. But
after a moment there was a break in the cloud and he saw the group of
frightened Yorkers plainly. They stood not many rods away and poking his
rifle through the hole, he aimed at the villainous Halpen and, pulling
the trigger, ran back to the hearth before the echo of the shot died
away. Down the ladder he darted, dropping the heavy hearthstone into
place, and leaving the cabin which for so many years had been their
home, to be consumed above their heads. But his heart sank when he found
how closely the six packed the tiny room and realized how little air
reached them down here in the earth.
CHAPTER XII
BACKWOODS JUSTICE
At daybreak on this very morning when the Yorkers attacked the Harding
place, 'Siah Bolderwood returning from the direction of Old Ti, suddenly
came upon a little glade on the bank of the Walloomscoik Creek. With the
instinct long gained by his life as hunter and woodsman, he never
crossed an open space in the forest without examining it well. In this
glade he saw, at first glance, the signs of recent occupancy. The
smouldering ashes of a campfire and the marks on the creek bank told him
that a canoe party had camped there during the night and that they had
been under way but shortly. Making sure that they were now out of sight
he more closely examined the spot. The party numbered at least half a
dozen, and there had been two canoes. He had come up the creek bank
himself; therefore, not having seen the strangers, they had gone on
ahead of him. Five miles or so up the stream lay the ox-bow at which his
old friend Jonas Harding settled when he came into the Disputed Grounds,
and where the widow and her brood now lived. After examining the camp he
quickened his step toward the Harding place.
A mile further on, however, he heard the stroke of paddles and the sound
of men's voices. He would have gone to the fringed river bank and peered
out upon the stream had not a figure suddenly risen before him as though
from the ground itself and barred his way. "How d'ye, Crow Wing!" he
exclaimed, yet showing no surprise at the Indian youth's appearance. The
latter bore a brace of rabbits on his gun and Bolderwood guessed that he
belonged to the canoe party and had left them to get this game for their
dinner.
"Umph!" returned the Indian and looked at him stolidly.
"Your people?" asked the ranger, with a gesture toward the river.
"Umph!" was the reply. It might have meant yes or no. Crow Wing seemed
undecided. "Why you no at Hardings?" he demanded finally.
"I'm bound that a-way now," said the white man.
"Hunting?" grunted Crow Wing.
"Been up to Old Ti. Bought some land up there."
Crow Wing seemed about to pass on. But over his shoulder he said: "You
go to Hardings' farm. They want you--mebbe."
"What for?"
The Indian shrugged his shoulders and walked on. But Bolderwood strode
after him. "What's going on?" he asked, anxiously. "Who's that out
yonder?" nodding again toward the creek.
"Umph! Men hire Crow Wing to paddle canoe. They go to Hardings'."
"Yorkers!" exclaimed Bolderwood.
But the Indian youth said no more and quickly disappeared in the bushes
which overhung the creek. The ranger hesitated a moment, appeared to
think of following him, and then turned abruptly and plunged into the
forest on a course diagonal from the river. Therefore, when Nuck and
Bryce were fighting the bears in the swamp he did not hear their guns,
being by that time some miles away and striding rapidly toward
Arlington. He had suspected the truth and instead of wasting time
observing the party of which Crow Wing was a member, he had it in his
mind to rouse the neighbors to go to the aid of the widow and her
children. After the affair at Otter Creek, which he was sorry indeed to
have missed, Bolderwood had expected something like the present raid.
He, like the Hardings, believed that Simon Halpen would find the time
ripe for the carrying out of his nefarious designs.
It was the season of the year when the farm work having been completed,
the pioneers felt free to go about more, and hunting was popular. Many
men were off with their rifles; but Bolderwood picked up some half dozen
determined fellows and hastened back to the Harding place. While yet
some distance away they heard a rifle shot and so disturbed was the
ranger by this, that he started on the run for the ox-bow farm, and was
far ahead of his friends when he broke cover at the edge of the forest
and beheld the cabin.
His horror and despair when he saw the house wrapped in flames and the
Yorkers running across the fields toward the river, knew no bounds. Yet
even then he did not suppose that the widow and her family were within
the burning dwelling. He presumed they must be hiding in the
outbuildings and he ran on after the fleeing Yorkers, thinking only to
take vengeance upon them for their wanton cruelty in burning down the
poor woman's house at the beginning of winter.
One man kept turning back to look at the blazing structure which was now
more than half consumed; and this fellow the ranger quickly overtook. It
was the surveyor and he was wringing his hands and weeping as he ran.
Bolderwood dashed past him without a word, seeing plainly that he was
not armed and was sore frightened. "I'll attend to your case later," the
ranger muttered, and spurred on after the rest of the party. But they
were too quick for him, and having reached the bank of the creek leaped
into their canoes and the Indians pushed off. The fear of what they had
done pressed them hard and they had run like madmen from their single
pursuer. Now at an order from Halpen the Indians stolidly paddled down
the river again and were quickly out of sight around the nearest bend in
the stream.
Bolderwood went back and found the surveyor prone upon the ground and
weeping like a woman. "Get up, you great ca'f!" cried the ranger.
"Nobody'll kill you for your part in this matter though you desarve
little mercy.... Was that Simon Halpen?"
"It was indeed--the demon!" gasped the fellow, dragged unceremoniously
to his feet by the borderer.
"If he ever comes into this colony again I doubt but he'll be hung as
high as Haman," Bolderwood declared. "And you were the surveyor, eh? One
of Duane & Kempe's men? Well, sir, your back will be well tickled, or my
name's not 'Siah Bolderwood! But bear up, man--'tis no killing
punishment."
"What, sir?" cried the fellow. "Do you think I weep because of your
promised punishment? I fear you not--I am a leal subject of the King and
peaceful. You cannot touch me. But I weep because of the work that
dastard has done this day."
"What do you mean?" cried Bolderwood, fiercely. "Where is the woman and
her bairns?"
The surveyor pointed a shaking finger at the cabin, the smoking walls of
which were now all that were standing. "They are there. Wait! let me
tell you. I had nothing to do with the dreadful work. Nor, indeed, did
Simon Halpen mean to destroy the house and the poor woman and children.
They meant to burn the roof off to scare them out, and one man threw
burning clods on it. But those inside tore off the flaming roof and it
fell all around the cabin and set the walls afire. They dared not run
out through that wall of flame and smothered to death they were--God
pity them!" and he began to weep aloud again.
Bolderwood was speechless--well-nigh overcome, indeed, with the horror
of this. He saw his friends appear from the wood on the other side of
the house and he walked toward them like one in a dream. But still he
clung to the surveyor's arm and forced him to approach the cabin. The
roof had, of course, been completely consumed, and the outside of the
walls was blackened and still blazed fiercely at the corners. The window
shutters and door were burned away and the interior of the place was
badly demolished.
"Where's the widder and the boys?" shouted one of the newcomers to
Bolderwood. The old ranger did not answer, but his hand tightened upon
the surveyor's arm. Suddenly the latter shrieked and would have fallen
to the ground had not the grasp upheld him. In the door of the burning
cabin stood the figure of Enoch Harding, his face covered with smut and
his clothing half burned off his back. For a moment the surveyor
believed the dead had risen and he covered his face with his hands to
shut out the sight of the boy.
"Are ye all alive, lad?" shouted Bolderwood, dropping the surveyor and
running forward.
"We're all right, but well-nigh smothered," returned Enoch, hoarsely.
"Bring--bring some water!"
He staggered out of the cabin and fell upon the ground. In a moment the
surprised neighbors were running with buckets and pans from the well,
for Mistress Harding's milk vessels had been left to dry outside the
springhouse. Bolderwood took it upon himself to revive the
half-strangled Enoch, while the others dashed water over the smouldering
interior of the cabin, putting out the fire on the floor which was
burning briskly, and finally being able to draw the widow and the
smaller children from the secret room under the hearth and carry them to
the outer air. Here they quickly revived and Mistress Harding with the
girls and little Harry took shelter in one of the hovels.
The destruction of the cabin was practically complete. There was not a
log that was not charred, and the interior furnishings of the house were
ruined. The kind-hearted neighbors saved the chests of bedclothing and
the family's best garments, for the flames had not gotten at them. But
everything was sadly smoked. And the house would have to be torn down
and rebuilt with new timber throughout. It was a sad spectacle indeed
for Enoch and Bryce to look upon. "I wish I had shot them all!" cried
the latter in a rage. But Enoch said nothing. He would not whisper how
his anger had made him aim to kill Simon Halpen. Now, in cool blood, he
was glad that the bullet had not sped true.
But the condition of the house filled him with despair. Winter was at
hand and it would be next to impossible to build a good house before
spring, although the timbers could be drawn and squared while the snow
was on the ground. What would they do for a shelter until then? "We'll
make yonder hovel that you boys play in, all tight and warm for the
winter, Nuck," Bolderwood observed, seeing the tears running down the
boy's cheeks. "Don't cry about it. And we'll have up a better house than
this in the spring, lad. The neighbors will all help ye."
Meanwhile, however, Bolderwood had kept his eye upon the surveyor. The
latter, seeing that the family had been so miraculously saved from the
fire, sought to get away while the men were saving those goods which
were unconsumed. But Bolderwood was after him with mighty strides and
dragged him back, a prisoner. "Nay, friend, you'll be needed here as a
witness," he said, grimly. "We don't allow such gentry as you in the
Hampshire Grants without presenting you with a token of our respect and
consideration. Ha!" he added, suddenly, "whom have we here?"
A horseman rode quickly out of the wood and approached the burned cabin.
Before he pulled in his steed the men welcomed him vociferously, for it
was Captain Baker. "Look at this, 'Member!" cried Bolderwood, dragging
the trembling surveyor forward. "What a sight this is to blister the
eyes of decent men! A poor widder's house burned about her ears and only
by the mercy of God were she and her youngsters saved."
"The villains!" roared Baker. "And is that one of them?"
"He was with the party. But I truly believe that he had little to do
with this dastardly work. He's only a poor surveyor body."
"We'll find shelter with some neighbor for Mistress Harding and the
little ones," said Baker, "and then attend to his case without delay."
But the widow was not minded to leave her homestead. It was not yet very
cold and the hovel in which the children had had their frolic a
fortnight before was easily made comfortable for the family. She set
about this at once while Captain Baker and the neighbors sat in judgment
upon the trembling surveyor. These impromptu courts held by the Green
Mountain Boys when they happened to capture a Yorker guilty of meddling
with the settlers, were in the nature of a court martial. Sometimes the
sentences imposed were doubtless unjust, for the judges and juries were
naturally bitter against the prisoners; but the punishment seldom went
beyond a sound whipping, and in this case the surveyor, still sputtering
and objecting to the illegal procedure, was sentenced to two score
lashes, save one, and Enoch and Bryce selected the blue beech wands with
which the sentence was to be carried out.
The surveyor was taken behind the log barn, his coat and shirt stripped
from his back, and Bolderwood and one of the other neighbors fulfilled
the order of Captain Baker as judge of the military court. Bolderwood,
remembering the tears the prisoner had shed when he thought the family
burned alive, could not be too hard upon him, and although the woodsman
made every appearance of striking tremendous blows, he scarce raised a
welt upon the man's back. But when the other executioner laid on for the
last nineteen strokes, the surveyor roared with pain and without doubt
the lesson was one which did him good. It would be many a day before he
ventured to survey the lands east of the Twenty-Mile Line--at least, not
until his back stopped smarting. Finally he was given his clothing, and
part of the band marched him across country to the New York border and
turned him loose.
The attack of Simon Halpen upon the Hardings had practically failed. Yet
the loss of their home was a sore blow. In a couple of days, with the
help of Bolderwood, the old hovel was made very habitable. But it was
small and so many of their possessions had been burned that even Bryce
cried about it. Nevertheless their supply of food was all right, and the
cattle had not been injured. Also, with Bolderwood's assistance, the
three bears which the boys had so happily killed, were brought home, the
hams smoked, some of the meat salted, and the pelts stretched and dried
for winter bed coverings. By the time the snow lay deep upon the earth
the Hardings were once more comfortable.
The boys did very little trapping and hunting that winter of '72-'73 for
they could not attend to traps set very far from the ox-bow, and the
Walloomscoik country was becoming scarce of game. 'Siah Bolderwood did
not go back to Old Ti, either, but contented himself with making short
hunting trips around the lower part of the lake, for he spent all the
time he could spare in helping the widow and her boys to get the timber
ready for their new abode. Enoch and Bryce were determined that this new
structure should be much better than the log cabin which their father
had erected ten years before, and every timber dragged to the site by
the slow moving oxen was squared with the broad ax and carefully fitted
so as to "lock" at the corners. Some planks were sawed at the mill and
sledded to the ox-bow on the ice, too, and when the plaintive call of
the muckawis--the Indian name for the "whip-poor-will,"--ushered in the
spring, a noble company of Green Mountain Boys gathered to build the
widow's house again.
Although the new house was put up and made habitable in about ten days,
it took some time to fit window-frames, build two partitions, for there
were to be two sleeping chambers on the ground floor in this house,
which was larger than the old structure, and lay the floor of the loft,
build bunks to sleep in, make a new meal chest and dresser, and
construct other articles of furniture which were needed to replace the
stuff burned in the fire. Enoch had a mechanical turn of mind and Bryce
made an able assistant. Between them they turned out a new table,
several chairs with hide backs and seats, and even essayed a "rocker"
for their mother which, although rudely built and with its rockers not
exactly even, was declared by Mrs. Harding to be a marvel of
workmanship.
All these things had to be done besides the regular work of the farm
during the spring and summer, and the studies of the older boys were
rather neglected that year, greatly to the delight of Bryce. Indeed,
several of their mother's precious books had been destroyed by the
flames, and had it not been for the sorrow he knew she felt at their
loss, Bryce would have openly expressed his satisfaction. He was born
for the woods and fields, and although he made no objection to farmwork,
it was plain that his father's roving disposition had entered strongly
into the make-up of the lad.
He still felt injured--indeed, the feeling grew with his own
growth--because he was not allowed to join the military companies; but
Mistress Harding had finally promised that if he could trap enough game
the next winter to pay for a new gun--a rifle instead of the old musket
which had once been Nuck's and which their father had brought with him
on his return from the French wars--he should be allowed to attend the
Bennington drills. That was putting the privilege a year ahead, but
Bryce was partially contented with it.
Lot Breckenridge had finally been allowed to join the Green Mountain
Boys and so Enoch had somebody in his company near his own age. On
several occasions there were frolics in the neighborhood to which the
young people foregathered, and before the new house was built Lot and
Enoch had gone on a very brief hunting trio. But as fall again
approached the two friends, Lot and Enoch, planned to go trapping on the
upper waters of the Otter and its branches as soon as harvest and
hog-killing should be over and the winter really set in. Lot had several
steel traps which had belonged to his father, and Enoch was likewise
supplied. Both had canoes, but they agreed to use Enoch's only, as one
was all they cared to "pack" over the portage to the upper Otter.
CHAPTER XIII
THE WOLF PACK
Meantime throughout the Grants the line between the Whigs and Tories had
become more distinct. Although it had been forbidden for any person to
hold office or issue writs under advice from New York, in certain
sections where the Tory sentiment was strong, New York justices
continued to write papers of ejectment against the Hampshire settlers,
and other Yorkers were found to serve the documents and on occasion to
drive helpless farmers and their families from their homes. These
affairs went on openly in the town of Durham, which was a Tory
stronghold.
Justice Benjamin Spencer was the principal official who dealt out the
New York brand of justice in this town, and he resided in the village of
Clarendon. Early in the fall Ethan Allen and a force of Green Mountain
Boys, appeared at Clarendon and read to the people the resolutions
passed by the Bennington Council to the effect that no person should do
any official act under New York authority, and that all lands should be
held under title from New Hampshire. The Durhamites were threatened
that, if they refused to comply with these orders within a reasonable
time, they would be made to suffer for their temerity. At this visit
Judge Spencer absconded, remaining away from home until he was sure "the
awful Green Mountain outlaws" had decamped.
Enoch and Lot planned their start into the woods in November, and they
were nearly ready when the second raid on Durham was proposed. The boys
knew that the matter had been discussed by Colonel Allen and the other
leaders for some time, for Justice Spencer still continued to disobey
the orders of the Council of Safety, and the matter could not be
ignored. It was past the middle of November when the commander of the
Green Mountain Boys and some of his followers set out in the direction
of Durham, and Lot and Enoch hurried their own going, determined to hide
their canoe when once they reached the Otter and join in the descent
upon Clarendon village.
It was eleven o'clock at night, November 20th, that Colonel Allen,
Captain Baker, and more than a score of their friends, entered the
settlement with all the care and circumlocution of Indians. Nuck and Lot
Breckenridge had joined the party at supper time in a certain rendezvous
of Allen's in the woods, having hidden their canoe and traps on the bank
of the Otter several miles away. The attacking force of Green Mountain
Boys was heavily armed and might have been bound upon an expedition
against Fort Ticonderoga itself, one might imagine. But a show of force
was thought to be necessary to overawe the Yorkers who made up more than
half the population of the village.
The Green Mountain Boys awakened nobody in their approach to the house
of Justice Spencer, until the leader himself thundered at the door and
demanded that the New York official come down. After some parley, and
seeing that there was no help for his case, Spencer descended and, as
the next day was Sunday and nothing could be done then, the prisoner was
hidden in the house of Mr. Green, some mile and a half from the
settlement, until Monday morning. Early on that day, a still larger
force of Grants men having gathered, as well as settlers whose titles
had been derived from New York, Justice Spencer was taken to the door of
his own house and tried.
The inquest, with Allen, Warner, Baker, and Cochran, sitting in
judgment, was carried forward with all due formality, although the
judges were the principal accusers of the prisoners, and the sentence
was finally pronounced that the prisoner's house be burned and he
himself give his bond to not again act as a New York justice. At this
the doughty justice broke down, for he plainly saw that his captors were
quite able, and in the mind, to carry out the sentence. He told the
court that if his house were burned his store of dry goods and all his
property would be destroyed and his wife and children made destitute.
"And have you and your like not made many of our friends destitute?"
cried some of the crowd. But more showed some heart for the justice,
notably Captain Warner. Warner finally suggested that as the dry goods
store was a public benefit and was one of the few stores in the
township, it should be saved if possible; and it would be too hard at
that time of year to turn the man and his family out of their home. He
declared for taking off the roof of the prisoner's house and then
putting it on again, providing that Spencer acknowledged that it was put
on under a New Hampshire title, and that he would purchase the same at
once. Spencer, who might have felt some gratitude by this time, promis
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